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Decolonization at Concordia: What is it, and how it is going?

Loyola Pow Wow, Kaitlynn Rodney/The Concordian

National Truth and Reconciliation Day is right around the corner — let’s talk

For the second time since its establishment in 2021, Canadians will celebrate National Truth and Reconciliation Day on Sept. 30. This statutory holiday honours the survivors of residential schools as well as those who never returned from them. What better way to commemorate and learn from the past than to take some time to educate ourselves on Indigenous issues?

Like many students in Quebec, Kenny Gourdet, a black political science undergrad at Concordia, says she was taught the same “European explorers came to populate society” story over and over again. A prime example of colonialism is how history classes often glorify the arrival of Europeans to the Americas, where they would supposedly save Indigenous peoples by “civilizing” them.

When Gourdet started pursuing her minor in First Peoples Studies, she realized how colonialism had tainted her education. “I think through that minor, I’m starting to understand what decolonization means to me, and what I can do to actively be a part of decolonization,” she explains.

Manon Tremblay, Senior Director of Indigenous Directions at Concordia University, says, “I’ve always thought that if you get anything out of university, regardless of what you study, it is openness of mind.” 

Tremblay, who is also Plains Cree and a member of the Muskeg Lake Cree Nation, explains the Office of Indigenous Directions came up with the Indigenous Directions Action Plan in 2019. This “blueprint” as she calls it outlines 40 recommendations to tackle reconciliation, indigenization and decolonization at Concordia. These recommendations include creating institutional protocols to better engage with Indigenous knowledge, encouraging the use of Indigenous languages at Concordia, increasing opportunities for Indigenous graduates and students, decolonizing the institution and curriculum, and more.

“Decolonization is not dismantling systems that work,” says Tremblay. “It’s basically looking at systems and at those parts that don’t work for Indigenous people and may constitute barriers to success.”

As Gourdet puts it, decolonization is the undoing of colonialism. For her, it starts by unlearning the aspects of her life that have been affected by it, whether it be her education or her perception of herself.

All hands on deck

“Decolonization belongs to everyone,” says Ezgi Ozyonum, a PhD candidate in education at Concordia. She is also a researcher and events coordinator at the Decolonial Perspectives and Practices Hub (DPPH).

Her colleague Sandra Mouafo, a sociology undergrad, describes the DPPH as an incubator for initiatives, activism and empowerment. Their team aims to amplify the voices of students whose perspectives are left out of conversations that pertain to their wellbeing and future. The DPPH works to bridge the gap between academia and different ethnic communities within the student body.

“Nobody is safe from oppression,” says Mouafo. “If tomorrow it’s your neighbour, the next day it’s you. You shouldn’t wait until the fire gets to your house before you start worrying about it.”

She adds that decolonization can be discussed from many standpoints, ranging from politics to academia to interpersonal relationships. According to her, these reflections should begin by asking ourselves: “How do we look at society from a different lens than colonialism?” 

Both Ozyonum and Mouafo strongly believe decolonization is plural, meaning it requires a plethora of diverse perspectives. They say understanding multiple viewpoints will help contribute to decentering dominant models and patterns of oppression.

Ozyonum likes to use the word “decolonizing” as a verb. For her, it’s an ongoing effort to challenge colonial engagement and systemic oppression in the world.

According to Mouafo, everyone is responsible for deconstructing colonial influences and holding themselves accountable, whether they are racialized or non-racialized bodies. 

“We are all here on one earth and we are responsible for the actions or the things that happened in the past,” says Ozyonum. “We are responsible to learn from history.”

Looking back at previous education

Gourdet realizes how strong a hold colonialism had on the predominantly white private high school she attended. “I never felt like the school I went to created a safe space for me and my diversity,” she admits.

At first, Gourdet didn’t think too much of her school’s pride in its founder, Wilfrid Laurier, but then she finally learned the truth behind Laurier’s involvement with Indigenous residential schools and anti-immigration policies through her political science classes. “His name was and is still plastered all across the school,” emphasizes Gourdet.

During her time there, Gourdet says the only effort to welcome diversity was the organization of a week-long event that superficially highlighted multiculturalism, “to show white kids diversity exists.” Other than that, Gourdet thinks the school’s promotion of diversity was shallow. “I felt like the school’s view on diversity was transmitted to the whole student body,” she said. 

Although oppression affects all marginalized communities, the main targets of colonialism in Canada are Indigenous peoples, as we stand on their lands. Concordia’s efforts to indigenize aim to bring Indigenous voices to the University’s administration and academia.

So how is Concordia doing?

“Education is key,” shares Tremblay. “You can go forth in your life after university and see systems a bit differently and have a better openness of spirit and of mind.” However, as Gourdet’s experience highlights, students can absorb colonialist mindsets when they are in colonialist environments.

Concordia’s first steps into decolonization date back to 1992, when the Otsenhákta Student Centre was established, which serves as a resource for First Nations, Inuit and Métis students. Concordia’s decolonization efforts are now primarily orchestrated by the Office of Indigenous Directions.

“I think we’ve made some really good progress,” says Tremblay. “It helps that we have the unwavering commitment of higher administration. They believe in this, and they want to see it happen.”

On Friday, Sept. 16, Concordia hosted a powwow, which Tremblay deems to have been quite a success. She says they aim to organize more Indigenous-themed activities to increase visibility, but also to educate. “Not everything about Indigenous people is oppression,” she states. “We have things to celebrate too.”

Otsenhákta Student Centre Pow Wow. KAITLYNN RODNEY/The Concordian

The University has also incorporated territorial acknowledgement to its decolonial practices, stating that “the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation is recognized as the custodians of the lands and waters on which we gather today. Tiohtià:ke/Montréal is historically known as a gathering place for many First Nations. Today, it is home to a diverse population of Indigenous and other peoples.”  

“I think Concordia is good at initiating and providing spaces,” says Ozyonum. She believes the only missing piece is communication. “In this part, the Hub has a role to play,” she adds, since the DPPH works to reform systemic injustices in higher education.

Among other events, Ozyonum often organizes syllabus deconstruction workshops, where students, teachers and administration members meet to carefully deconstruct colonial patterns in their syllabi. “They talk about the power dynamics and how to reimagine the classroom with this syllabus, because a syllabus for us is a tool,” explains Ozyonum.

Both Ozyonum and Mouafo agree that the process to decolonize classrooms will take time, effort, and a lot of important conversations. Looking at the different aspects of our lives with a critical eye is the foundation for decolonizing ourselves and our environments.

“The thing with decolonization is that it’s not simple,” shrugs Mouafo. “It is a tireless commitment.”

The Office for Indigenous Directions aims to decolonize curriculums by bringing in more Indigenous experts and perspectives. This allows them to explore ways of teaching that every student finds a benefit to, according to Tremblay.

As Tremblay explains, not all cultures that fit under the “Indigenous” umbrella term agree with what needs to be done. “There’s a constant need for engagement to make sure that we’re always moving in the right direction,” she says.

Decolonizing and indigenizing need to be done continuously. “It’s work that’s long,” says Tremblay. “We’re not always going to see the results right away.” That’s why the Office of Indigenous Directions is committed to reviewing their action plan regularly. Their latest update was in June 2021.

Although education is a good place to foster conversations on decolonization, Ozyonum affirms that “Decolonization should be happening on all levels, and in different places, so it shouldn’t only be happening in school.”

A path of stepping stones

Mouafo adds that decolonization shouldn’t stem from a virtuous and heroic place, but from a humble willingness to learn and to become better people. It is an individual effort as much as it is a collective effort.

Although decolonization seems like a huge challenge, the DPPH members encourage everyone to simply try. “Even mistakes can be our learning opportunities,” smiles Ozyonum. A variety of resources, webinars and workshops are offered by Concordia’s Indigenous Directions Learning Series Pîkiskwêtân (Cree for “let’s talk”).

Self-education outside academia can happen through books, movies, series, podcasts and more. Because decolonization is an increasingly hot topic, resources are becoming more and more accessible. The CBC podcast Telling our Twisted Histories, which addresses the erasure of Indigenous perspectives in Canadian history, is one of many examples. 

“There’s no right way of being decolonial,” says Mouafo. “It’s a colonial mindset to think there is one right way,” she laughs. 

As Ozyonum says, we are responsible for building our future — a future where we look at the world in an intersectional way and live in respectful dialogue.

“Have these conversations,” implores Mouafo. “And if you’re uncomfortable, that means you’re in the right place, because this conversation is not meant to be comfortable. It’s not meant to be easy, but it’s needed.”

Photos by Kaitlynn Rodney

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Features

At work with Memento Cycles

Three entrepreneurs use their knowledge and experience to produce handmade high-quality bicycles.

Ronny Perez Jaramillo, Mathieu P. Hamel and Étienne Trudeau are the three proud owners of Memento Cycles. They design and manufacture high-quality bicycles in their workshop located in Rosemont, Montreal. 

For many years, the three of them worked together as bike couriers and messengers. Their experience in the field, and the knowledge that comes with it, have given them a better understanding of the cycling industry and its needs. 

The cycling industry, like most industries, is dominated by mass production in low-income countries. It focuses on low-cost and low-time production bicycles. Memento Cycles differentiates itself from the bunch by choosing quality over quantity.

The Rosemont-based artisans weld and assemble the bikes themselves. Every bicycle frame they make is customized for every client so that the bike perfectly fits the person’s body. They design and make their products for cyclists who want to ride a bicycle that feels like an extension of their own body, and offer a solution to those who want to ask for more from their bike.

Kaitlynn Rodney/ The Concordian

Both Trudeau and Perez Jaramillo are engineering graduates. They took to the field so that they could earn high salaries and work in very safe, stable jobs like they thought they were supposed to. Instead, they decided to make the daring decision to choose passion over money and boldness over safety.

Perez Jaramillo believes that Memento Cycles is about more than making a living by selling bicycles.

“It’s about learning and growing,” he explained, referring to both being an entrepreneur and a human being.

Kaitlynn Rodney/ The Concordian

The Work Market is Changing

The pandemic has redefined the way Canadians think about their work. For many, it’s opened up options beyond working for someone else. Employees and employers now have to deal with the new rules of the labour market. 

The human resources firm LifeWorks uses the Mental Health Index (MHI) to measure Canadians’ level of happiness and satisfaction at the workplace. The firm has conducted surveys every month since 2017, and their data can be used to understand the evolution of Canadian workers’ views and feelings about their job. 

Their study on the MHI found that the Canadian workers who feel a sense of belonging and acceptance at work have among the highest mental health scores. Lower mental health scores can cause lower productivity while higher mental health scores result in higher productivity. They also found that more than one-third of employed Canadians are either thinking about leaving their job, or are unsure because their current job does not satisfy them.

Additionally, Statistics Canada publishes estimates of business openings and closures every month. Their latest comprehensive report released in July 2020 compares the first few months of the pandemic to the same months during the preceding year. It states that the number of new businesses has risen by eight per cent from March to July 2019.

We will have to wait for more recent data to make conclusions about the long-term effects of the pandemic, but the first five months’ statistics suggest that the pandemic has encouraged Canadians to start their own businesses.

Memento’s history

Perez Jaramillo and Trudeau graduated in 2020 and 2019 respectively. Fresh out of completing their degrees in engineering, both believed that an office job would not satisfy them.

They felt the need to work on their own terms toward an objective of their own. They both appreciate the ability to work when they choose, and to take a day off when they feel like it.

“It all started when I was taking entrepreneurship classes during my last semester at university,” said Perez Jaramillo with a smile.

“I was really looking for a project to start my business. At first, it was not about the bikes; it was more about being an entrepreneur.”

“At first, it was Étienne and me,” Perez Jaramillo remembered. They asked Hamel to join because they thought that his experience in the cycling industry and his knowledge of bike mechanics would be beneficial. 

“I think that three is the perfect number for our business. Everyone brings something different to the table. We had to buy a lot of tools and machines to produce bike frames. It was good that we could split the expenses in three.”

Trudeau is the one who had the idea of producing cargo bikes. “All the cargo bikes we have here are imported from the Netherlands and are very hard to get. It costs about $10,000 to buy and ship the bike to Montreal. It should actually only cost you $5,000. Étienne thought there was a market there. This was all we needed.”

Trudeau explained that cargo bikes are the fastest way to deliver goods in the city. They have a very small front wheel with a wide platform attached to the fork which makes it easy to carry great loads. There already are a few companies in Montreal that use those bikes to make deliveries. The three entrepreneurs hope to convince those companies to stop importing expensive bikes from Europe, and instead, use their locally made bicycles.

“At first we only wanted to make cargo-type bikes,” Trudeau remembered. But they quickly realized that it was quite complicated to start with such a complex product. They decided to start making regular bicycle frames. The trio quickly found out that this was still hard. This is why they decided to start by making bike racks and small accessories.

Étienne attaches a bike rack to the front of a bike. They shared that the fitting is one of the most important part of the process. Kaitlynn Rodney/ The Concordian

Similar to the two other partners, Trudeau still works a part-time job. He is a bicycle messenger for a company that uses cargo bikes to deliver goods on the Island of Montreal. He is very used to riding those unique bikes, and hopes to be able to produce and sell the first cargo bikes made in Montreal.

Why are Memento’s bikes unique?

The three Memento owners were cyclists years before starting their company. Their background and experience allow them to better understand the demands of bicycle lovers. Perez Jaramillo believes that “cyclists are the best persons to create cycling products.”

“People do not want to buy something they could have done themselves,” he said. “They want to buy something special, clean, and unique.” 

Manufacturing bikes on a smaller scale than most bike brands allows memento Cycles to create a relationship with the customers. Perez Jaramillo thinks this is central to their work.

“I loved the idea of working with my hands,” Perez Jaramillo explained. He always was more cerebral than manual but he “was very attracted by the idea of learning to weld and work the metal.”

Kaitlynn Rodney/ The Concordian

The road to success was a bumpy one, but Perez Jaramillo tries to find something positive in everything. 

“We made a few mistakes,” he said, “but I think that we learned from every one of them. As long as your mistake does not destroy your company or kill anyone, I am sure you can draw something positive from it.”

Trudeau believes that one of the biggest challenges is to manage to reach out to as many people as possible. “In order to do that,” he said, “we need to have a diversified range of products.”

There are 600,000 bikes sold a year in Quebec. The three Memento members hope that they will be able to sell at least 20 bikes a month. That would allow them to leave their respective part-time jobs and focus on the company.

Looking Ahead

“When I come here, I don’t have the feeling that I am working,” Trudeau shared happily. “If I was not in a love relationship, I would spend all my time here without feeling like I am spending all my time at work.”

Being an entrepreneur can be very challenging at times, requiring a great amount of motivation to keep going even when the pay is not as good as one would hope or everything seems to want to fall apart.

Perez Jaramillo finds his motivation by comparing his life to those of his fellow classmates. “I have friends who graduated from the same program I graduated from who have a nine-to-five type of job, a good salary, and a nice office to work in. But they all tell me the same thing: this is not enough. They feel like they are missing something. This is why I tell myself that even if I had a full wallet, I would not necessarily be happier.”

Trudeau explained that his bachelor’s in civil engineering and Perez Jaramillo’s bachelor’s in mechanical engineering are relevant to their work. They use a lot of the knowledge learned in their studies, especially when it comes to materials and their particularities. Harmel completes the trio well with his knowledge and experience in bike mechanics.

“There are too many generations who convinced us to study a lot, find a decent job, and get settled,” Trudeau said. “I see too many people who are unhappy with that type of life.”

Perez Jaramillo believes that “entrepreneurs are people willing to dedicate their heart and their soul to their projects. I don’t mean to become crazy — but it’s almost that.”

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Nunavimmiut Scholars: Testimonies of purpose

From left: Concordia students Ulayu Sequaluk, Daphne Tooktoo, and Ayagutak May. (Not pictured: Jason Annahatak) CEDRIC GALLANT/The Concordian

Students from Quebec’s northernmost region go through thick and thin to have post-secondary education. Four of them shared how they surmounted these challenges and what the future holds for them.

On decisive days, ambitious Inuit students board Canadian North or Air Inuit-tagged planes with most of their belongings, saying goodbye to their families and hometowns. 

Watching from their porthole, the lakes, rocky meadows and forests slowly dissolve into houses, highways, buildings and towers. 

Between 1,100 to 1,900 kilometres separate Nunavik communities and Montreal. A select few decide to tackle this challenge in the pursuit of post-secondary studies.

Nunavik is Quebec’s northernmost region. It has 14 Inuit communities, Kuujjuaq being the most populous with around 3,000 inhabitants. Students from these communities must leave the region to access post-secondary studies. 

Four students shared their stories with The Concordian.

The system in place

Before diving into the student’s stories, we need to summarise the system that is in place for them. Nunavik students wishing to pursue post-secondary education in the south must first apply for a sponsorship at the Post-Secondary Student Services department of Kativik Ilisarniliriniq, which translates as ‘school board in English’. 

The institution provides financial, social, and academic support for students when moving to wherever they want to study. 

However, even with all the support provided by Kativik Ilisarniliriniq, profound challenges remain.

The Kativik School Board estimates that “three per cent of Inuit have a diploma of college studies, compared with 37.4 per cent for Quebec as a whole. The rate for a certificate, diploma or university degree is two per cent compared to 30.9 per cent for Quebec overall.”

In 2018, Quebec’s Ombudsman reported that, “Despite promising initiatives, access to postsecondary studies remains difficult” in Nunavik.

As a previous post-secondary director, Annahatak admits that seeing these statistics can be “quite disheartening.” 

From his understanding, part of the problem is that “the few students who graduate high school are like superstars” in their communities. “They were the big fish in a small pond,” he said. “When they come here, they become a very small fish in a huge ocean, and that’s a big hit to the ego.”

Another problem is the lack of support post-secondary students have at the community level. 

Annahatak said that students “do not get a lot of support for coming to school in general.” Having been a director, he mentioned, “I knew there were some students who were actively discouraged from going to college.”

Because of this, Annahatak said that “there are no role models” for post-secondary students to look up to. He points out that the few graduates who are engineers or lawyers were raised and educated in the south, putting them into a separate category altogether.  

Michelle Smith, Métis Cinema-Communications teacher at Dawson College and principal investigator for the First Peoples’ Post-secondary Storytelling Exchange research project (FPPSE), interviewed dozens of Indigenous students studying away from their home communities. A few of them were from Nunavik.

Smith provided another perspective on the situation. 

“On the one hand, [students] are trying to navigate the western system of learning to acquire skills that they did not build in high school,” she explained. “On the other hand, they are in this place of deep questioning about who they are and who they want to be.” 

She said that these two factors alone can be overwhelming for students.

This western system of learning was a prominent aspect in Smith’s research. She said that “post-secondary systems are still modelled on a certain type of learning where reading and writing are really important qualities to have.”

“I see so many brilliant, young minds who are able to talk at length about deep knowledge and understanding of their culture,” she said. However, “writing this knowledge down in a formal structured essay with all the rules and expectations is not always going to happen, and it doesn’t mean that the person is not capable.”

Both Smith’s FPPSE project and the report made by Quebec’s Ombudsman concluded that there are many problems Kativik Ilisarniliriniq should resolve for better education in Nunavik.

There are no science or math prerequisite courses in Nunavik, preventing students from partaking in science programs. Both reports suggest additional support for students to transition from high school to college and university. There should also be more post-secondary options offered in Nunavik. 

With this appropriate context laid out, we can now turn to the stories provided by our students from Nunavik; looking at how their journeys started, the various challenges faced, and how they surmounted them.

The birth of purpose

From Kuujjuaq is Ayagutak May, a political science and First Peoples studies student at Concordia. Fellow Kuujjuamiut (an Inuktitut word meaning “from Kuujjuaq”) is psychology and First Peoples studies student Ulayu Sequaluk. From Kuujjuaraapik is graphic design student Daphne Tooktoo. Last but not least is Jason Annahatak from Kangirsuk. He has two master’s degrees; one in psychological counselling and the other in business. He was also the director for post-secondary services in Nunavik for four and a half years.

All of their stories began with a purpose. 

May’s purpose first showed itself during her last two years of high school. Her Inuktitut teacher encouraged the school to add Inuit history as part of the educational curriculum, and it was then that she was first exposed to the realities her ancestors faced through residential schools.

Ayagutak May. CEDRIC GALLANT/The Concordian

“I was not fully aware of what happened to my community, especially to my community,” she said. “Knowing that my family went through a lot of hardships and trauma back in the day… that’s what motivated me into doing something more.”

“Discovering more about my heritage and colonization gave me ambition to help my community by pursuing a university degree.”

Even though Sequaluk lived in Montreal for years, she said that her purpose came when she returned home to Kuujjuaq after studying Global Makeup at Vancouver’s Blanche Macdonald Centre. She started working part time at the Nunavik Regional Board of Health and Social Services’ suicide prevention initiative. 

Ulayu Suqualuk. CEDRIC GALLANT/The Concordian

“The work I was doing there was just more fulfilling. And given the very high suicide rate in Nunavik, I just got really tired of seeing all my friends die… so I wanted to do something about it, and I did.”

Tooktoo said that she started post-secondary studies long after graduating high school and raising her family. In 2014, she made the leap and enrolled in CEGEP. She first went to John Abbott College in the Graphic and Web Design program. Afterwards, she attended University of Victoria’s Visual Arts program in British Columbia. Now, she is continuing her degree at Concordia. 

She said that “there are a lot of graphic designs on the web that are not translated into Inuktitut,” and she aims to create a larger Inuit and Indigenous presence on the web.

Annahatak’s story started with a desire for adventure. He said that he “wanted to experience something beyond high school, to live in a city and try something outside of a small town.” There are around 600 people in his hometown of Kangirsuk.

He admitted that his journey was “a bit of a winding path.” He wanted to study business, but he felt his math skills were not up to par. “I got discouraged, and went into social sciences, from there I started studying psychology.” 

The pitfalls

“It was very hard to be in class with so many people and adapt to the structure of how they teach,” May shared. “Homework was very new to me; it was like a pile of things that I had no idea what to do with.”

Daphne Tooktoo in her hometown of Kuujjuaraapik. CEDRIC GALLANT/The Concordian

Tooktoo said that language was her toughest hurdle. “The most challenging part was my English, because it’s my fourth language,” she said. “I grew up learning Inuit and listening to Cree people. I went to a French elementary school and then I did CEGEP in English.” During class, she often had to check her dictionary to know what everything meant.

Another core difficulty was homesickness. May said that moving out “is a very emotional moment for us because we get homesick, we miss eating our country food and going camping.” Since the city is anything but a natural environment, both of these needs cannot be fulfilled.

Sequaluk added to this point by saying, “you go from 3,000 people in your hometown to a school of over 3,000 kids in a big city, the culture shock is huge.” She added that “a lot of people quit school, not because they can’t handle it. They quit because they’re homesick.”

Annahatak faced culture shock, homesickness, and a new system of learning at the age of 16. He lived in Montreal with his parents for a year. He couldn’t wait until the year was over so that he could go back to his community. 

He explained that the western system “felt sort of loud” to him. “To some extent, there is a lot of emphasis put on talking,” he said. “You have to produce, you have to be out there and make space so you can be heard.” In the Inuit world, he said “there is more emphasis put on listening, being quiet and paying attention to your environment.”

When Annahatak enrolled in CEGEP, it was a totally different story. Having been to high-school in Montreal, it gave him a head start, and he knew what he was getting himself into. However, he understood quickly that post-secondary education was also academically challenging. “It’s like going from the minor leagues to the major leagues in terms of what you need to produce and the quality of writing.”

However, in the end, all four managed to find their own strategies to make their university experiences enjoyable.

Strategies to surmount

May’s adapting process is still ongoing. But she found comfort in bringing her country food here to relieve her homesickness. Things like Tuktuk (caribou), Puijiviniq (seal meat), Iqaluk (fish), Mattak (beluga), among others, are her meals of choice.  

She also added that having a child grounded her, even with all the responsibilities that come with motherhood. “Ever since I had my daughter, I am more focused on what I want to do, I am more ambitious, and she makes me feel so much better when I am down south.”

Sequaluk said, “I make a real effort to practice my Inuktitut and do cultural things while I am here, just so I don’t forget that part of my identity.” She followed by saying, “I think it’s just a balance, and I do realize not everyone handles being in the city all that well, and I don’t judge them when they go back up north.”

Ulayu Sequaluk at Concordia’s Loyola campus. CEDRIC GALLANT/The Concordian

For Tooktoo, she doubled down on learning English. Now, she can attend school and understand university-level language without the need of a dictionary.

What helped Annahatak was his friend group. He was surrounded by fellow Inuit students who were going through similar difficulties, although he admitted that he “did not try hard enough to make friends with non-Inuit people” in CEGEP. In university, he changed that for the better.  

He advised all Nunavik post-secondary students to “have a sense of exploration. Even if the homework is unpleasant, it is part of the package of socializing, having fun and learning about life,” which makes the overall experience more enjoyable.

He kept this mentality when he travelled all over the world, from South Africa to Hong Kong. That sense of exploration helped him rekindle his Inuk identity. “Once I started travelling, my identity became a source of intrigue and interest,” he shared. Some people would ask where his family name came from, and he said that “sometimes it started a really nice conversation where I got the chance to talk about Inuit people.” This made him take pride in who he was.

What’s to come

With time, the purpose that guided our storytellers through their hardships helped them form clear objectives.

Ayagutak May at the Otsenhákta Student Centre in the Hall Building. CEDRIC GALLANT/The Concordian

May has a distinct inspiration that helps guide her on her path: her aunt Mary Simon, Canada’s governor general.

For her, Simon is a beacon of inspiration, driving her to make a change in her home community.

That change consists of joining Nunavik’s political sphere. May said, “my biggest goal would be for Nunavik to become functionally self-governing in a way that fits Inuit concepts and ways of knowing. To give a positive and thriving environment for Nunavimmiut where trauma, substance abuse, and suicide could be decreased.”

Sequaluk’s goals are about reshaping the field of psychology. If she gets a doctorate, she will create “Inuit-led and Inuit safe practices, because there is a lot of distrust within the healthcare system, especially for mental health.”

That strategy is about intertwining cultural practices with mental healing. It is called “on-the-land healing.” She followed this by saying that her method “would be to integrate on-the-land healing with psychological approaches [she] has learned in school.”

After the doctorate, she wishes to lead her own field of research and break new boundaries. However, she is aware that “a lot of academics do not regard Indigenous research as being serious. So, there is that hurdle to go over in the future.”

For Tooktoo, it’s about increasing Indigenous and Inuit presence online. She knows that by herself, it is a task that would take many lifetimes. “I want to teach at my local school,” she said. “A computer class that I will be teaching in my own language.”

While she currently makes websites and designs in Inuktitut, she wants to bring her knowledge to a new generation of young web designers to increase the online representation of Indigenous languages and art styles. 

Years after graduating, Annahatak still seeks out new experiences. During his time as post-secondary director, he started his second master’s degree in business. He now works in the economical development department of the Makivik Corporation, an Indigenous organization that helps develop businesses in Nunavik.

In terms of systemic issues, Annahatak remains hopeful. He points out a couple of initiatives that have the potential to solve a few problems for post-secondary students.

He talked about Montreal’s Nunavik Sivunitsavut, a one-year bridging program that teaches skills rooted in Inuit culture. He said that it “serves as a nice incubator where students build their self-esteem and collective pride.”

He also mentioned JUMP Math Canada, an online platform that helps educate students at home. In an article for Nunatsiaq News, reporter Elaine Anselmi wrote that “It was conceived as a resource for educators to find lessons shaped by the Inuit worldview,” supporting teachers and families alike. For Annahatak, these programs are steps in the right direction.

He acknowledged that sometimes, he feels there are no improvements. “Some days, I think we are regressing.” However, he admitted that “there is very incremental progress.” Between laughs, he added, “progress that is going at a glacier’s speed!” 

Photos by Cedric Gallant

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We are the voice of the people

The Open Door shelter on Park Ave. JAMES FAY/THE CONCORDIAN

A Montreal homeless shelter coordinator shares his experience working during the peak of the Omicron wave.

When John Tessier first visited The Open Door seven years ago, he was a drug addict searching for a sense of direction. What he didn’t realize was how much the homeless shelter would change his life, or that he would end up serving the community he once was part of.

Tessier began volunteering for The Open Door seven years ago. “We have a reputation of doing things a little differently,” said Tessier, the centre’s coordinator. “We build a relationship with the people that we serve.”

The Open Door is a homeless shelter and drop-in centre located in downtown Montreal, Quebec for low-income individuals. The shelter also offers various other services like counselling, referrals to mental health professionals, and drug addiction counselors.

Walking up Park Ave, where The Open Door is located, you would never think there is a homeless shelter right in front of you. The shelter is in the basement of a church — not easily spotted by the naked eye.

When someone first arrives at The Open Door, they must go down two flights of stairs until they are eventually greeted by volunteers at the front desk. 

Afterwards, the volunteers accompany the clients to either a bed, the kitchen area to get something to eat, or a shower. There are many showering stations around the shelter providing access to shampoo, soap, and other personal hygiene products. 

Before becoming the centre’s coordinator, Tessier was an Open Door client. “I was a drug addict and I needed services as well,” he said.

“After I allowed myself to get straightened out, I wanted to give back. I started to volunteer, and a job opened up.”

Tessier’s day-to-day activities at the shelter are always different. “There is no standard day, I coordinate the entire centre. With the intervention team, we might be accompanying people to court,” Tessier explained. “Right now, one of our long-time users is in the hospital at the rehab centre. One of our team leaders is there with her, helping her get set-up and figure out what her next steps are.”

The pandemic shifted the usual routine at the shelter, as The Open Door couldn’t accommodate as many people as usual. With the tighter living quarters at the shelter, sanitary measures became of utmost importance. The volunteers and staff were equipped with gear such as N95 masks, goggles, gloves, and more. 

The Omicron wave has made Tessier more aware of the issues in this community. In particular, the challenges of how Montreal’s shelters are at over-capacity.  He recalled the shelter experiencing waves of Omicron infections during the first few weeks of January 2022. This was a very difficult time, even with the isolation period only being five days for essential workers who caught the virus.

Despite the challenges, Tessier said that The Open Door staff remain resilient. When the Omicron wave hit the shelter, everyone still came to work, even when the virus seemed to be getting worse by the minute. “I commend the volunteers who were still coming in here,” said Tessier.

“This Omicron wave hit us, and a lot of places had to reduce their capacity,” said Tessier. 

On Jan. 10, 2022, CTV news published an article about a 74-year old homeless man who died in the freezing cold. The news of this tragic death sparked up a lot of debate among Montrealers. “It’s so sad and heartbreaking,” said Tessier in response to the news.

“This is ridiculous and tragic that this happened,” said James Hughes, the president and CEO of the Old Brewery Mission.  “In many ways it shouldn’t be surprising, but it is still shocking.”

Hughes explained that the Old Brewery Mission – one of the largest resources for homeless people in Quebec – experienced a tough January this year. Almost reaching full capacity, the shelter has been unable to accommodate as many as they would have liked. In order to do so, Hughes and his team had to turn to large soccer stadiums. During the period of Jan. 13 to Feb. 6, 2022, the Old Brewery Mission was set up at the State de soccer de Montréal. Since then they have been able to stabilize.

A lot of people that come to the Old Brewery Mission only seek their services and do not want to stay overnight, explained Hughes. “A lot of people just say no, I don’t want to stay here for a long time, I am just hungry and I want to warm up.”  

“We expect [the unhoused people] to work with a counsellor and work on a housing plan,” said Hughes. “We’re trying to reduce homelessness above everything else.”

Creating long-term housing plans is one of the main goals that The Open Door shelter works towards with their clients. 

“We have an Inuit specific housing program. However, we only have 16 spots in that program,” said Tessier. As a result, there is a long waiting list. 

Projet Logement Montréal (PLM), a housing program that seeks to help house homeless people get apartments, recently made an offer to The Open Door in January 2022 to help support their clients with a more long-term housing plan. According to Tessier, the housing program offered The Open Door 25 spots for clients to join their program, so they could live in available apartments.

However, PLM is not a long-term housing solution. It helps unhoused people for up to three months, with their rent and utilities taken care of during that time. Afterwards, they are on their own. 

“There is not enough funding to put people into long-term housing, and that is the main issue,” said Tessier.  “If we had around 50 spots with the Inuit housing program that would be great, but since we don’t the waiting list gets long.” 

According to Tessier, implementing a transitional house could be a potential solution. In the transitional housing, the unhoused people would have continuous support from the intervention workers until they have a stable living situation. 

“A lot of the centres in the city feel institutionalized and that’s why people won’t go to them,” said Tessier. Most people that come through the shelter do not want to feel forced to adhere to a certain set of regulations. “They do not want to feel like they are in a jail or a hospital.” 

Due to the various services that The Open Door offers, such as food and clothing, laundry services, shelter during the day, counselling, and referrals to professional mental health and drug addiction, more people tend to want more of those services. 

For Shawn MacIsaac, a client and volunteer at The Open Door, the shelter offers him options that he has not seen at others. “I was referred to The Open Door by a friend of mine, who was a full-time volunteer, and he told me that they offered only vegetarian meals, which was great for me because I am a vegetarian,” said MacIsaac. 

The Open Door is staying afloat thanks to the volunteers who work there and the people in the Montreal community who make generous donations.

When Victoria Kalisky, a political science student at McGill University, first read the headline about the death of a homeless man outside in the cold, she was motivated to start a GoFundMe campaign. Kalisky wanted to raise money to help homeless people in Montreal gain better access  to winter coats. Since the beginning of January 2022, Kalisky has managed to donate over 150 winter jackets to The Open Door. 

The shelter receives winter jackets that are lightly worn and second-hand, according to Tessier. However, receiving new, much-needed winter gear hits differently.  

“It is just a whole different feeling when we give someone something brand new with the tags still on it,” said Tessier. “The smiles that we see when we are able to give people that are amazing.”

“The secret to this type of work is building up trust and treating people as if they are family. We haven’t lost many workers here because when you walk away from this place, it’s like you are walking away from people you truly care about,” said Tessier.

Daphnée Dunleavy has worked as an intervention worker at the Open Door since August 2021. Central to their role, intervention workers provide guidance and support to the people inside the shelter. “I find it’s a really important experience because you are dealing with people who basically have nothing.”

At The Open Door, Dunleavy can be seen helping people around from her spot at the front desk. Clients come to her with their questions. 

As Dunleavy works the front desk, MacIsaac volunteers at the breakfast service shift in the kitchen. 

“I start at six in the morning, with the breakfast service, like today I made the oatmeal that we are serving,” MacIsaac explained.  

Part of Dunleavy’s motivations for working at the shelter are to combat dehumanizing stereotypes of homeless people. When someone starts working at The Open Door, they begin to understand what kind of a community exists at the shelter, she explained. “Everyone knows each other, it’s really amazing.” 

Hughes said that the best way to help one another during challenging times is by getting together in big groups, donating clothes, and starting food drives.

“When you do see a homeless person, just go out and say, ‘Hey how are you doing today?’” said Hughes. “Acknowledge them, they are humans above everything else.”

With spring around the corner, homelessness is still an ongoing issue. 

“Homelessness doesn’t start in December and end in March,” said Hughes. “We need innovative solutions all the time.”

Photo by James Fay

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‘You’re creating your own life based on what you want:’ Meet the owner of Cocktail Bomb Shop

Kiana Gomes, a second year journalism student at Concordia, started a bakeshop in the middle of the pandemic from the comfort of her own home. A few months later, she expanded her business to selling cocktail bombs

During the first COVID Christmas holidays, most other students were taking a break from Zoom classes. Meanwhile, 21-year-old Kiana Gomes was converting her home into a Willy Wonka chocolate factory and perfecting her first “chocolate bomb.” 

Hot chocolate bombs are chocolate spheres filled with chocolate milk powder and marshmallows. When put into a mug with hot milk, they explode to make hot chocolate. Gomes thought they were a great way to treat yourself during the winter in lockdown.  

Gomes started her bakeshop to ease her boredom during quarantine and pursue her baking passion. During the first wave of the pandemic, she started baking cakes for friends and family. 

“I started making cakes because I didn’t really have a job because of the pandemic.” 

It was late October 2020; Montreal had just entered into a red zone, restricting people from non-essential activities and services. The weather was getting colder and the days shorter. Like many people, Gomes was stuck at home in need of distraction.  

When her mom suggested she sell her cakes on Facebook Marketplace, she began baking five cakes almost every week.  

Gomes baked custom birthday cakes using coloured frosting and edible decorations. Her personal favourite was an Among Us birthday cake. 

Inspired by a video she saw on Facebook, Gomes had the idea of making chocolate bombs for the holidays and decided to sell them on Facebook Marketplace.  The chocolate bombs were the perfect product to sell during the cold winter, stuck in another lockdown. In just a few weeks, she launched Kiki’s Bakeshop from her house around the Montreal area. 

Soon after she began her venture, her family members were welcomed  by the mouth-watering smell of chocolate and peppermint. In contrast, the room itself was cold and dry — they had to turn off the heaters to keep the chocolate bombs from melting. As her family entered the kitchen, they were welcomed by the sight of chocolate bombs scattered along counters, leading up to her dining table.  

Around fall 2020, while most students keep their cameras off during Zoom lectures, so no one sees their bedhead, Gomes closed hers so no one would see that her shirt was white with flour. With the help of her mom and two family friends, she made hundreds of chocolate bombs a day. 

Her family’s garage quickly turned into Gomes’ own mini warehouse. Sales exploded. Gomes was selling chocolate bombs on Etsy, shipping them to the United States, while also selling them locally in Montreal. Local orders were picked at her house, while the U.S. orders were shipped through Canada Post.  

 It was hectic; her days were long but felt short. During her Christmas break that year, Gomes started her days at 5 a.m, working over 12 hours. Time flew by as she packed what felt like endless boxes of bombs all day, drinking lots of hot chocolate in the process.  

 However, as the holiday season came to a close, her chocolate bomb business started to die down. She knew that they would not be very popular after the winter months. Gomes needed a new idea to keep her business flowing.  

Inspiration struck when she came across a video on social media of a bartender in New York City making cocktail bombs for a special event. She then searched the recipe online and experimented to find the perfect ratio for the ingredients.  

For Gomes, putting the puzzle pieces together was a matter of trial and error. 

“The first bombs that we made are not even the same bombs that we make now,” said Gomes. “Before, it took longer to dissolve, now it dissolves in two minutes, and the flavours are stronger. There’s a lot of things that I figured out along the way.”

The cocktail bombs are similar in concept to bath bombs. You add them to a glass of sparkling water and pour in a shot of liquor of your choice. They can also be prepared as mocktails, making it a great option for children and non-drinkers who wish to join in on the fizzy fun.  

 Gomes’ cocktail bombs are unique. The ingredients have a high quality and natural focus, with the final products packaged in biodegradable plastic. 

These bombs make a great addition to any drink by adding fun colour and taste. A popular flavour is the Peach Bellini bomb. As Gomes describes, it tastes like a peach with a splash of tequila. Other choices include margarita, blue raspberry, raspberry orange, mojito, mimosa, and piña colada.  

Gomes’ involvement on TikTok was also a major factor in the success of her business, as she began making short videos to promote her products.

“When I first posted the TikTok about the bomb, I knew it would be something big,” said Gomes.

Gomes was happy with the amount of good reviews and comments from her TikTok videos. 

“Because the business came so fast, we had a lot of time to adapt on what people were saying: what we should change, what’s good, what’s not good, to finally come up with this perfect product, but I wouldn’t even call it perfect, because it’s constantly evolving. Like tomorrow we might change something or add new flavours,” Gomes said. 

“I feel like the product is so new. It doesn’t really exist, [it] is is growing with the business,” she added. 

Her cocktail bombs are now being sold in different Linen Chest stores around Montreal, as well as Pusateri’s Fine Foods, and smaller gift stores. They are also shipped to the US and internationally through the Cocktail Bomb Shop’s website.  

 Since March 2021,Gomes has seen her business grow exponentially. Instead of working from her workshop at home, she now owns an office in downtown Montreal, with 10 full-time employees. From working in her messy kitchen and garage, Gomes now has a small office and an open space with designated areas for her employees. The sections are divided into three departments: manufacturing, packaging, and shipment.  

 The employees are constantly producing bombs, while Gomes focuses more on the on the administrative side of the operation, such as clearing paperwork, answering emails, taking phone calls and attending meetings.

Though she misses making the cocktail bombs, she is very happy that her business has flourished. 

“Follow your passion, because I really liked baking so I decided to sell the cakes, and it brought me to this,” said Gomes. “Everything that I did was out of the fact that I enjoyed doing it. It wasn’t doing something that I was miserable in.” 

“If you want to be an entrepreneur, you just have to do what you love because the business can be generated from anything.”  

 Gomes still attends university part-time while running her business. She explained that she loves the program and is willing to finish her degree as a backup plan.   

“Every day, it just continues to grow. I guess sometimes it hits me that it’s not that small anymore. I think that every day is just an adventure. I don’t know how big it’s going to get or if it’s going to stop tomorrow. Who knows? But right now, I’m just going to ride and see what it becomes.”  

Gomes’ quarantine hobby ended up creating the perfect product for a socially distanced picnic in the park. 

 

Visuals courtesy of Kiana Gomes

 

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A Letter to Yourself

Dear Me,

The pandemic was not kind to you this past year, but it could have been worse — yet another bullet you somehow managed to dodge by the skin of your teeth, for now. You still managed to reinvent yourself and take on another challenge by embarking on this whole university gig and starting a new job, all while running a business.

Who would have thought you’d be starting your first year as an undergraduate student this late in your life? You barely passed high school some 23 years ago, yet here you are, following a dream you never even had the courage to admit you had, and crushing the goals you initially set for yourself to boot. Who would have thought you had it in you? Surprise, you do.

You’ve had a lifetime of hardships and have hustled and fought for everything you’ve gotten. You’re used to being thrown into the deep end without a life jacket, yet you manage to keep your head above water. So, this year, how about you just aim for easy? I know, I know. It sounds radical for someone like you to take the “easy” approach, but try it. Instead of resolutions and long-term goals for 2022, try something new and give yourself a break. Stop trying to find things about yourself that need to be worked on, changed, or improved!

You’re your own worst critic and this year, I hope you see the greatness within you, and see yourself through a much clearer and loving lens.

You CAN do it all, but allow yourself the luxury of not needing to do it all and be okay with that. This year, take a sick day, turn off the distractions around you, and binge watch Who’s the Boss? reruns in pyjamas and take that long overdue vacation. Most importantly, live in the moment, and stop trying to be Superwoman. You’re not impressing anyone by burning yourself out.

Goals are important, and challenges are exciting, but don’t forget to savour the journey in the process. If these past couple of years have taught you anything, it’s that everything is temporary.

Chill out, woman. You’ve got this. Maybe not every day, but you’ve got this.

Signed,

My Glorious Self.

Dina Bastounis, first-year journalism student.

 

Dear Rhea,

It’s 2022. So, I hope you’ve already rolled your eyes at those “new year, new me” posts all over social media, considering how overused they feel lately. I think that every day is a new start, and you can be a new you whenever you want. Also, change takes time and that’s okay too. You don’t need to change just because the clock turned to midnight, and suddenly everyone starts writing down their New Year’s resolutions.

Right now, with how things are, nothing is really new. It’s a lot of the same, but that doesn’t mean 2022 can’t be a good year for you.

You have a lot of good right now, and that can help you forge a great path ahead. Please don’t be worried if it’s taking more time than you would like.

There is one thing you do need to work on, and that is just letting go. You hold onto things too much, and sometimes it’s fine to take a break. That’s what this letter is: a break. An example of self-care.

Be you. Be your oddball self, no matter if people hate it.

You have always been the black sheep in the family. But you have also been able to laugh about it, and enjoy that. You care a little less now, and your son will appreciate that his mom is just a nerdy weirdo.

Since you like lists, I figured I would make you a 2022 To-Do List to get you through this year. Twenty-two items, for 2022.

To-Do List, Jan. 1, 2022 to Dec. 31, 2022:

  1. Get more sleep, or at least better sleep
  2. Finish all the Christmas Hallmark Movies
  3. Finish watching iZombie, PLEASE
  4. Participate at least once in each of your seminars
  5. Embrace all the trash music you listen to
  6. Finally finish writing one of the 10 thousand books you started
  7. Commit to therapy
  8. Continue stealing hugs from your son (only when he wants them)
  9. Figure out what to do with the mop you call hair
  10. Keep singing even though your voice is tragic
  11. Try and keep up with all the 90 Day Fiancé spin-offs
  12. Practice tongue pops. They seem to come in handy for you
  13. Keep buying pencils, pens and paper
  14. Make sure your husband knows you will annoy him for life
  15. Read at least one-third of the Bible
  16. Work on spatial awareness
  17. Stop falling down and hurting your knees
  18. Work on your ability to write those steamy love scenes
  19. Start saying “no” more
  20. Keep up the multi-level marketing hate
  21. Work on your application to be a co-host on The View
  22. Take care of yourself, and stop feeling selfish when you put yourself first

That’s all I have for now, but I am sure you will re-write this list at least 10 times before agreeing. Twenty-twenty-two is just another year, but if you fill it with a balance of fun and seriousness, it will be your greatest success yet.

Semi-love,

Rhea

Rhea Giuliana, master’s in theology.

 

Hi, it’s you. Well, a past version of you, here to give you some advice.

First of all, I want to tell you how proud I am of you. Life has thrown you a lot of curveballs and, let’s be real, it hasn’t been as easy as you sometimes pretend it is.

I want to remind you that you are exactly where you need to be in life right now and to trust yourself.

I know that there are plenty of unfairnesses in life and that sometimes just getting out of bed feels impossible, but it is your strength that separates you from the crowd. Strength, however, does not mean that you can’t fall apart sometimes; it’s about how you rebuild yourself and continue to set goals.

I want you remember that the ultimate goal is to be happy and that it’s okay to let go of the things that are standing in the way of that. It’s also okay if something or someone that used to bring you happiness no longer does. You are a bright light in a sea of darkness, and you deserve to be happy.

Challenge yourself everyday but don’t take yourself too seriously. Keep singing Taylor Swift in your hot pink PJs, keep washing your hands, and keep using condoms.

Stop comparing yourself to others and stop second-guessing yourself. As you know, life is short, so keep telling your loved ones how much they mean to you and be a shoulder they can lean on.

Not to spoil the ending but everything is going to work out for the best. You have the power to do anything you set your mind to. I believe in you and love you so much.

XOXO,

Your younger self

Delaney Kelly, third-year journalism student.

 

Dear Adela,

The year 2022 has just started and you’re already back in online school: not your cup of tea, but you’re about to graduate! Well, first you need to write your final essay by the end of the semester and then you’ll graduate. You should be proud of yourself, though! You started graduate school during a global pandemic and you have done everything you could to get to this final semester, so don’t screw it up.

But, don’t feel like you have to be happy and grateful all the time. Again, we’re still in a global pandemic.

Being sad is okay and wanting to do nothing is okay as well.

You need to give yourself space to breathe and to cry. Don’t hold your emotions in anymore. It really is okay (I swear) to let them out and talk to people about how you feel. You are valid!

I am scared of what happens after I graduate. How long until I get a job? Can I even get a job? Will I make enough money to just live? The job market is weird. I look at entry-level jobs and they want four years of experience, but only for a 40K salary? It’s kind of depressing to look around at jobs you think you’d like but feel you’re not qualified for. It’s not like wages are going up. The price of rent, among other things, makes me question whether or not I can even sustain myself.

On a different note, you got engaged! Congrats to us! Time to start thinking about planning a wedding or, really, whatever you want to do. I never had plans to have a big wedding but something small would be nice — if only wedding prices were small too. Pick a budget and have an idea of whatever you want to do, because this is your wedding.

Do tons of research, write pros and cons of what you want your wedding to look like: dress, wedding party, venue, and whatever else you need to do to prepare for a wedding. Don’t make this too stressful on yourself. Try to make the process fun, because your wedding should be fun and will be something to look forward to.

There are both scary and really cool things happening this year. Understand that maybe not everything will go as planned. But, don’t forget to  look forward to the wonderful life-changing plans ahead of you. You’re going to be okay, kid.

Love,

Adela

Adela Languein, masters in digital innovation in journalism.

 

Dear self,

You’ve made it to a whole new year. Congratulations!

You are so lucky to be here. To be loved. To be happy. To be healthy.

There’s something so special about the beginning of a new year: it’s like an untouched journal, filled with blank pages waiting for your story to be written.

Hopefully the story you choose to write in 2022 is filled with happiness, love, and laughter. Yes, it’s the story you “choose” to write — because although life is bound to throw you curveballs and things you can’t control, you can control how you respond to every situation and how you wish to live your life.

So while you’re writing this story, would you mind throwing in a chapter or two where you travel the world and celebrate milestones alongside your friends and family without fear? That’d be great. Thanks!

The last few years have surprised you in unimaginable ways. And no, I’m not only speaking of the “C” word — which I refuse to mention in this letter, by the way.

These years surprised you because what you thought you were missing in life, you had with you all along.

You longed for meaningful friendships — which were right in front of your face all along.

You longed for someone who could love you unconditionally — that person was there all along.

You longed to be part of something special and make a real difference in people’s lives — you were doing so all along.

Look around. You have everything you need and more.

So in 2022, can you just chill? No, seriously. Just relax. Breathe. Don’t take life so seriously.

You’re literally a small speck of dust in this vast universe.

And no matter what happens, “No fim, tudo dá certo. Se não deu, ainda não chegou ao fim.”

Okay, don’t fool yourself now. You may be half Portuguese, but you can’t read that.

So, here’s an English translation to what Fernando Sabino once said: “In the end, everything will be okay. If it’s not okay, it’s not yet the end.”

Remember that there’s always a light amid the darkness, and there’s always a reason to smile every day.

But, cry too. Sometimes all you need is a good cry.

So, here’s to 2022:

The year you’ll go back to your tradition of Sunday night dinners with your Italian family; the year you’ll visit your friends casually; and the year you’ll see people smiling naturally.

Now go book yourself a spa day. Or don’t. Do whatever makes you happy.

You deserve it.

Melissa Migueis, journalism and communications studies.

 

 

Graphic by Madeline Schmidt

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Where should Montreal plant its coveted 500,000 trees?

The city’s government must find a place for the urban forest it promises by 2030

As Christmas trees begin gradually disappearing from windows this time of year, the opposite may soon be true for trees just outside them. With an urban forest in mind and a shovel in hand, will Montreal’s government be planting near you?

The city’s Climate Plan is promising half a million more trees on the island by 2030. However,  as the Government of Canada’s website explains, large-scale tree planting is often not as simple as it sounds. It involves ensuring that “the right tree is planted in the right place, for the right reasons.”

Determining the right place when it comes to tree planting is something that Carly Ziter, urban ecologist and assistant professor at Concordia University’s Department of Biology, is wholeheartedly invested in. Ziter’s research focuses on “ecosystem services,” or the services that flora could provide to people within urban environments.

“One of the reasons I focus on urban areas is that you are providing benefits directly to people where they live,” said Ziter, who had cycled to the university’s greener Loyola campus despite the snowy start to the November day. “Things like reducing temperature during heat waves, reducing flooding, improving air quality, improving mental health and wellbeing.”

The tree oath is part of the city’s vision for a “green Montreal,” with a three-pronged mission: to combat climate change, bolster the ecological resilience of the island, and improve quality of life for residents.

As a part of that tree oath, Soverdi, a tree-planting non-profit organization based in Montreal, will be planting 200,000 of those trees on non-municipal land, which takes up 66 per cent of the city’s total land area according to Soverdi’s General Manager Malin Anagrius. Private and institutional land is Soverdi’s main focus, explained Anagrius, and a greening of Montreal cannot be possible if there is an exclusive focus on parks, or cutting through sidewalk pavement to plant trees.

“That’s the traditional tree planting when you think about trees. It’s either the side of the street or in the forest,” said Anagrius. “But what we do is that we try to see it otherwise and try to make a little mini forest behind different kinds of land.”

The non-profit collaborates with boroughs, land owners, and companies to fund the sprouting of these mini forests in locations such as schools, hospitals, and industrial areas.

“Trees can be integrated into a lot of different spaces,” explained Ziter, “and so even if we don’t have enough space for, you know, a larger green space or a park or a garden, we might have enough space to plant a tree.”

In spite of its versatility, the location of a tree is paramount to maximizing its benefits and can present several challenges, as outlined in Montreal’s 2021 Nature and Sports Plan. One challenge is the “availability of required spaces for planting.” The government is also committed to identifying and planting trees in zones which are vulnerable to heat waves, since greening would help prevent overheating.

For Christopher Vaccarella, president of Concordia’s Political Science Student Association, the question of place was an easy one to answer. In keeping with the association’s first sustainability policy, Vaccarella and his partners successfully planted 250 trees in Montreal last year.

“​​All of our tree planting projects were in elementary schools,” shared Vaccarella proudly, sitting at a Second Cup Café in downtown Montreal. He donned a forest-green fleece jacket, a colour absent from the storefronts of many cafés downtown.

“But what I found interesting was all of them are in the East End, which is what we preferred because that’s an area neglected by the city.”

Vaccarella’s heavy endorsement of planting trees in the east comes as no surprise. Just this October, a CBC article analyzing a 2015 study on Montreal’s tree canopy revealed significant disparities across the island. The wealthier neighbourhood of Mount Royal, with its median income of $110,000, boasted a 40 per cent canopy cover. In the east, Hochelaga-Maisonneuve and its median income of $40,000 had a canopy cover of just 11 per cent. Reasons mentioned in the analysis  include real estate values, lot sizes, and differences in property tax revenue.

“If I had 500,000 trees in Montreal, I would certainly focus on improving what we sometimes call tree equity,” said Ziter. “[We should] focus on reducing some of those disparities in the canopy cover and ensuring that low canopy, low green space areas did receive the majority of those trees.”

Soverdi is doing their best to ensure just that, as their operations continue taking root in areas like the east end of Montreal.

“It costs a lot more too, to plant in the city than to plant in [a] rural environment,” said Anagrius, whose organization Soverdi has planted 85,000 trees in Montreal since 2014. Trees need to be bigger in order to withstand a metropolis’ tougher conditions, and in many cases, obstacles like asphalt have to be removed to make planting possible.

Location also breeds all sorts of complex decisions concerning appropriate tree species, Ziter explained.

But greener may not always be better. Vaccarella expressed worries over eco-gentrification, a phenomenon that associates greening with snowballing real estate and rent values.

“Just here,” Vaccarella claimed, pointing to the grey pavement adjacent to the Second Cup coffee shop. “You can fill that with a tree and it’ll probably shoot up the market value by a couple of hundred bucks.”

Indeed, when announcing the $1.8 billion greening project in May, Mayor Valérie Plante emphasized the allure of an urban forest for tourists and investors. The greening is a point of focus in the city’s post-pandemic recovery plan, which could exacerbate government-led gentrification.

“One thing that’s really important is thinking about, as we implement greening projects or policies, are we also thinking about corresponding social mechanisms or policies that will help people to stay in their communities?” asked Ziter. She believes that these mechanisms could include rent freezes, subsidies, and a more community-led approach.

Still, that disparity may be bridged with the city’s development of 110 km of “green corridors” connecting large parks and living spaces across the island. One of those corridors will branch out from Bois-de-Saraguay Park in Ahuntsic-Cartierville to Angrignon Park in Le Sud-Ouest.

“You’re going to get a lot more people that can access that kind of thin strip of green space than if you had that same amount of land kind of condensed in, you know, a square or a circle where it’s really only serving people in that particular area,” said Ziter.

This “linear greening” would also benefit wildlife as the corridors create safe paths for their city-wide movements. For the urban ecologists, the location of a tree should not only have humans in mind. “I would also want to think about areas where we could try and maximize the impact for both people and other biodiversity,” explained Ziter.

Towards the end of last year, tragic events in British Columbia concerning the knock-on effects of wildfires, floods, and deadly mudslides have once again drawn attention to issues of soil stability. Reforesting is one viable solution, though it represents a vastly different and much larger scale of tree planting according to Ziter.

Anagrius hopes the topic of reforestation will be addressed by the federal government and their own 2030 arboreal aspirations.

“With the two billion trees project from the federal government, I think there’s enough trees for everyone,” said Anagrius. “We just have to find the space to plant them.”

 

 

Visuals by Madeline Schmidt

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The Woodnote Solidarity Cooperative — a year and a half into the project

After management woes and pandemic slowdowns, The Woodnote is beginning to take shape

After opening in 2020, The Woodnote Solidarity Cooperative has faced many challenges. The pandemic, a rotating door of board members, and a lack of training and guiding policy have made things difficult. However, as the pandemic slows down, along with a new student board elected on Oct. 17 and president elected on Nov. 5, things are beginning to change.

Sylvia Pascua-Matte joined The Woodnote’s co-op board in October 2020 and is the only remaining resident board member from that time, despite board members being elected for two year terms. She is now president of The Woodnote’s Solidarity cooperative’s board.

“I think that the [current] board has a lot of potential. I think that the board [members] are very confident people, and I love their work ethic and I love the project. But the project in itself is riddled with errors,” said Pascua-Matte.

The housing project is the first of its kind, intending to give students access to affordable, not-for-profit housing. Instead of just the usual landlord-tenant model, The Woodnote is a solidarity co-op, meaning it also has a board made of primarily volunteer tenants who help to manage community living within the building. The board consists of six seats for tenants and three for support members — one from UTILE, the other from the CSU and one representative from the Montreal community.

The three main groups who helped bring The Woodnote to life are UTILE, the not-for-profit housing company that designed, developed and owns the building; the CSU, who were the initial investors in the project, fronting almost two million dollars for its development; and the co-op’s board.

Before The Woodnote opened in summer 2020 a provisional committee of students was created to guide the developmental phase of the project, before passing things onto the board.

The co-op struggled in their first year due to an overwhelming lack of training, and balancing administrative tasks they felt unprepared for, like finding insurance for the building’s common room and creating the co-ops governing policy, while trying to foster a community.

“Nobody in the past provisional committee had even thought about [training]. There wasn’t proper onboarding, because everybody who was on the provisional board [left] and didn’t look back,” said Pascua-Matte.

One reason for the lack of support was that neither the CSU nor UTILE deemed it their responsibility to be involved in the student governance of The Woodnote. However, both groups hold support seats on their board.

“We don’t have any legal obligations to The Woodnote. There’s nothing on paper that ties us to The Woodnote other than this support member seat,” said CSU general coordinator Eduardo Malorni.

“The plan was never for the CSU to be the landlord of this building. The plan was never for the CSU to manage this building. The plan was never for the CSU to be involved in the day to day operations of the board. The plan for the CSU was always to be the initial investor, to allow this building to come to existence, and for the students within the building to really play the main role in managing their own building.”

A sentiment which UTILE executive director and co-founder, Laurent Levesque also shared.

“We handle our management partnership in all of the building operations. So all of the maintenance, rent collection, all of the baseline work to make sure people are safe and the building is well maintained is handled by our team of professionals,” explained Levesque.

“And then there’s the community living layer on top of that, which is handled by the co-op, which is led by students. And in that layer, we only play a support role.”

But it wasn’t just community living that the board was left to deal with.

Stephen Beker has been involved with the project since July 2019. He was a member of the provisional committee put in place prior to The Woodnote’s opening and is the former president of the board. He claims that the provisional committee put in place didn’t do enough to set the board up for success.

“We had meetings every week, and we tried to solve problems we weren’t equipped to solve. And we were tasked with making policy.” Beker said. “The problem is that the committee had no expertise.” Today, much of The Woodnote’s policy regarding finances, labour agreements, anti-opression, sexual assault and misconduct remain unfinished.

“The problem was that when people moved into The Woodnote, the building blocks were not built. As we speak today, the building blocks are still not built,” said Beker. “I would spend hours and hours on the phone, doing the most simple things like trying to get us a bank account.”

These issues have made it difficult for The Woodnote to cultivate its co-op identity, and students have noticed. Dylan Gitalis has been a resident at The Woodnote since it opened in 2020. He says his experience has been “very positive.” But, there are things he thinks it could do better.

“There’s definitely a good strong community here.” Gitalis said. “But it doesn’t really feel like a co-op, it feels like UTILE kind of owns it. It doesn’t feel like we have ownership over the building […] But, we’re still all people here so there is so much in our control in terms of the social dynamics and the culture.”

A Woodnote resident, Dylan Gitalis shares his experiences living in the co-op. CATHERINE REYNOLDS/The Concordian

Even though the board is supposed to represent students living in the building, when residents have issues related to the building or their apartment unit they have to take them to the property manager employed by UTILE. This limits the board’s ability to represent students on these issues. Julia Belmore is a former woodnote resident who found it difficult to get help when she had problems with her apartment.

“Every time we brought up an issue, it kind of felt like it became our fault —  like my fridge broke, and I wasn’t there and then all of a sudden, they were saying that we’re gonna have to pay for repairs. My apartment had no fridge for like a month in total.” Belmore said.

“But, if anything happened, it was on you to deal with.”

When applying to live at The Woodnote, students are asked what they can bring to the co-op . But, the pandemic and a lack of consistent access to their common room made planning these events difficult.

“Everybody has something they can bring, but nobody’s really doing it now unless you’re on the board and go through all these hoops,” said Gitalis.

“We can all run events that we’re talented at in the common room: someone can run yoga, we can all paint together. We can all do a jam session, and we can paint the stairwells, you know, and make our mark on it. […] That stuff to me means that this is our space, our cooperative. Right now it’s not.” Gitalis continued.

“We want to be a community together.”

Instability on the board also made running these events difficult. There was a very high-rate of turnover with board members consistently stepping down. Pascua-Matte was the only resident board member to return when the five new resident members were elected on Oct. 17. Former president Stephen Beker, who stepped down in October, had concerns that without stability and the removal of a great deal of institutional knowledge under a brand new board the co-op could fold. Something that neither UTILE nor the CSU have been worried about.

“The board is pretty much immune to folding.” Malorni stated. “Let’s say everyone left, every member of the board all decided not to show up. Someone could have gone to The Woodnote and been like ‘Hey, officially the paperwork [still says] that we’re a solidarity co-op. Can we organize a meeting and appoint a new board?’ An entire failure of the board will just result in one year of [a bad] experience, and then someone would restart the board and they would start fresh again,” Malorni stated. Levesque also shares this perspective.

“That’s the beauty of the model. If [the co-op folds] or decides to go dormant or dissolve by its own decision, it doesn’t have any impact on the building continuing its operations. The achievement of the goal of affordable housing is not directly tied to high-level student involvement.”

However, the co-op model is a big part of what makes the building unique, and it’s not something Pascua-Matte wants to see fail.

“To have them say if the board were to fail [it would be fine], that shouldn’t be in the realm of possibility. You’ve poured a [lot] of money into a project. That doesn’t mean you give it the option to fail. If you’re giving it the option to fail, then obviously it’s gonna fail.”

But UTILE said they are holding up their end of the bargain, and in many ways, The Woodnote has achieved many of its goals.

“Woodnote is a resounding success. I mean, they have newly constructed units at a very good price in a very good location and that’s the bottom line.” said Levesque.

“One of the things that The Woodnote does that deserves to be mentioned is the fundamental aspect of not trying to profit off of students,” said Levesque.

“Rents in the project increased by 1.5 per cent to follow inflation; but, rents on the plateau increased by 5 per cent, that non-profit approach to housing is important to make work in the short term. But, [it] has really important impacts in the long term, in ensuring affordable housing for future generations.”

The Woodnote Co-op in the Plateau Mont-Royal. CATHERINE REYNOLDS/The Concordian

To help get the co-op back on track after a rough first year, Malorni said the CSU is giving The Woodnote more attention by bringing in more experienced support members to give input on training and managing the board.

“​​I’m calling up people with board experience, who actually work in these sort of organizations to find someone willing to take up extra volunteer tasks of helping these people,” said Malorni. “I’ve been ensuring that pieces are joining the board which will ensure its success.”

“I’m playing a much more communicative role, which isn’t necessarily the role of the CSU to try and stabilize this board. We’re making sure that they do have the tools to succeed.”

While the CSU is trying to put more effort into supporting The Woodnote, Pascua-Matte still doesn’t feel she is seeing it enough and still feels the co-op’s concerns are being neglected and ignored.

“We would like to be properly supported and represented and what [they’re] doing right now is not representative of that.”

But as the pandemic eases, The board has finally been able to begin doing the community building it set out to do all along, the board is encouraging students to get involved and they’re responding by starting clubs and running events.

“We’re starting to work with different organizations that reflect what we want at The Woodnote. We are hoping to get some compost soon, […] we’re getting workshops done, like mandatory ones regarding anti-oppression and sexual violence.”

Now, with a new board of enthusiastic members some more training and hard work the student-run community can begin to take shape.

“People are seeing that the board is functioning, and we’re here and we’re supposed to represent you and they’re participating more and that’s what we want: participation,” said Pascua-Matte.

Pascua-Matte thinks The Woodnotes goals as a co-op are worth fighting for, and now with a more stable board they can begin to create a positive change and live up to the original promise of a student managed cooperative.

“Although there’s a lot of turmoil. I think that we can still follow the mandate that was originally given to us,” said Pascua-Matte. “I think the people on this board are willing to work for it.”

 

Feature graphic by James Fay and Catherine Reynolds

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Features

Why banking sucks here

Why does Quebec make us choose a bank based on which one sucks the least?

Upon meeting a new friend, one might be asked their astrology sign, how many siblings they have, or what they do for a living. It helps us get a sense of who a person is. What might be most telling, for Quebecers, is to ask which bank they use.

The Big Five make up most of the Canadian market share, so chances are, your new friend banks with one of the following: Royal Bank of Canada (RBC), Toronto-Dominion Bank (TD), Scotiabank, Bank of Montreal (BMO), or Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce (CIBC).

Thanks to extensive mergers over the past few decades, these banks have become about as big as government institutions themselves. An international banking regulator called the Financial Stability Board determines which banks are global systemically important banks (referred to as G-SIBs, and domestically as D-SIBs). As of 2020, TD and RBC are still on that list, which also includes U.S. banks such as JPMorgan Chase and Goldman Sachs.

Lists like these are based on an economic theory that some banks become “too big to fail” (TBTF), when so much of the population relies on them to remain stable. G-SIBs and other banks the government decides, whether explicitly or implicitly, are TBTF, are regulated to “maintain additional capital buffers” and “discourage banks from becoming even more systemically important,” according to the Bank for International Settlements (BIS). They are also high-profile enough that in an economic recession, or even a forecast of a recession, the government becomes pressured to become their guarantor.

Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems

Logically, it seems like if a big bank has so much money, it would be the safest place to be during a recession. Sometimes that’s true. The fact that our banks are so large and diversified made them some of the most stable banks in the world, as ranked by Global Finance Magazine in their annual stability report. But sometimes it makes it riskier.

Once big banks get TBTF status, they have virtually unlimited protection from the government. Given they are still businesses trying to make as much money as possible, they are prone to make riskier moves, leading to higher likelihood of more government bailouts.

Don’t like the fact that your tax dollars would be bailing out a company that rakes in a couple billion dollars each quarter? Maybe you do. It’s partially what makes our banks so stable.

Others can’t get down with it. Given the fact that our banks are very stable, most Canadians believe they aren’t in need of government assistance. Many journalistic efforts have been published, including pieces by the Financial Post and the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives. Most of these pieces are merely estimations based on public funding, such as pension funds and individual welfare checks. Some have even cited CERB as an implicit government subsidy for people’s pandemic-related bank struggles.

Employee-led research from the Bank of Canada arguing against TBTF cites that along with increased market power, gaining TBTF status was the driving force behind major bank mergers and the formation of the oligopoly we know and love today. While at the G-SIB level, they are subject to global regulations putting caps on profits, they are more likely to receive implicit support when the economy struggles.

Like any good government organization, our big banks have their flaws. You might wait forever, or be helped pretty unhelpfully. You might wonder why your bank doesn’t give a hoot that you’re funding their business with literally all the money you have.

Bank mergers are a major reason why we pay way more for our banking privileges, compared to the United States. Down south, you can almost universally expect to bank for free, and earn a decent interest on your savings account. That’s due to their more fragmented system, which creates more competition between large and small banks, leading to lower rates. Our Big Five are the result of major mergers of medium-sized banks seeking more market power. They now dominate the Canadian market and charge us the fees to match.

Another downside to the oligopoly is that no matter what, money in your bank account is funding a company that can put money in whatever they choose, regardless of their clients’ politics. As CBC reported earlier this year, RBC is among the top five banks worldwide involved in fossil fuel financing, with over $160 billion lended out between 2016 and 2020. Reasons for not pulling out, if any, would be fear of disrupting the Canadian economy, which is heavily reliant on the fossil fuel industry, according to CBC.

As of November 2021, all Big Five will sign onto a new international agreement, the Glasgow Financial Alliance for Net Zero (GFANZ), according to CBC. While the goals of this new agreement include prioritization of “green” investments and lowering emissions of bank clients, signatories of the plan need not to withdraw from ongoing funding projects in the fossil fuel sector. Climate activists have warned the public not to start celebrating until those withdrawals are made.

Finding My Bank Soulmate

Ever tried joining a new bank in Quebec? Maybe you’ve just been with the same one since you were 14, like I had. When I first moved to Canada four years ago, I just went to the one that was closest to me. After three years, I started noticing how much I detested it. Some people do all their banking online, but I’m more high-maintenance than that.

My bank never answered the phone, and when they did they would respond with long scripted responses. At the branch, they looked at me with disgust when I approached their counter, they held my checks for days on end. I didn’t feel wanted.

Since my broke beginnings while growing up in the States, I’ve held an account at a credit union, not a bank. If you’re a true Quebecer, you’ll know it as the “caisse-populaire,” associated with the Desjardins group. Credit union, caisse-populaire, potato, potate. Same thing? You could say so. I’ll share my American experience first.

Close your eyes. Imagine a world just like your own. Maybe a tad warmer. Imagine you call your bank and they pick up right away. Imagine they speak with you like a friend: They ask you about your day, and give you all the platonic intimacy you deserve. Imagine you hang up the phone feeling satisfied and reassured that your request has been diligently honoured.

Imagine your account is free, no matter how much is in it, and when you walk into a branch, at least three individuals await you with a smile, and even if they have filing to be done, you, a member, are their top priority. Open your eyes: that’s what a credit union feels like.

Upon making the decision to leave TD after three years — a bank I highly do not recommend — I looked endlessly for another bank with this level of devotion. Unfortunately, I don’t think it exists in Canada just yet.

When inquiring on what bank is best to turn to, most reddit users recommended Tangerine, one of the only online banks available in Quebec. Formerly known as ING Direct, it has since been acquired by Scotiabank, but still operates as a separate company. Due to the lack of in-person branches, it’s free for everyone, and has some of the best rates for high-interest savings accounts. It seemed like my only option. At the same time, if I did turn to Tangerine, I’d be going from unpleasant, in-person branch visits, to no branch visits at all. Is that what I really wanted?

I quickly realized that what I was looking for was not a bank, but a credit union, just like I had back home. The peak difference between a bank and a credit union is that a bank is for-profit, and a credit union is not-for-profit.

A credit union is like your local co-op grocery store. As a member, you are part owner and participant in the union, in turn taking advantage of low rates and high quality service. A bank is a business set out to make profit and satisfy shareholders —  the reason for usually much higher rates.

Did you ever notice that while a credit union has more of a “you’re one of us” attitude, a bank has more of a “you need us, we don’t need you” attitude? Maybe not. That’s because unlike every other Canadian province, in Quebec, Desjardins is basically just another one of the Big Five. Actually, if you considered it a bank, it would knock CIBC right out of the Big Five club.

Caisses Un-Populaires

Time for the tea you all came for. Let’s talk about credit unions in Quebec: a concept that has a history tied to the very beginning of credit unions in North America.

Desjardins is our one and only caisse-populaire in Quebec, founded in 1901 by a Mr. Alphonse Desjardins as the first credit union in North America. Just seven years later, Desjardins and a group of French-speaking immigrants opened the very first credit union in the United States, which is now home to well over 5,000 of them, as of 2021.

So why is Quebec left with only one? And why does Desjardins play along like they’re just another one of the Big Five?

If you search the term “caisse-populaire” in Wikipedia, you’d be redirected to the Desjardins Group, made up of numerous investment firms, real estate holdings, and brokerages. It’s also the proud owner of many Canadian expansions of U.S. insurance giants such as State Farm (since rebranded to Desjardins Insurance). Does any of that remind you of your friendly neighbourhood gardening collective?

During my search for a new financial soulmate, I actually found exactly what I was looking for. It was a credit union (duh), whom I called and was immediately connected to a friendly customer service woman. The conversation was refreshingly friendly and easy, like talking to an old friend. I felt strongly that this union was the place for me: a perfect match. The representative then explained that membership was not available in Quebec, due to some regulations. She encouraged me to call back in a year, though, to see if the law had changed. A law that possibly hadn’t changed since 1901?

Since I couldn’t find any answer for this online, or an alternative credit union in our province, I nearly gave up. Every article I found was talking about how cool and hip Desjardins was, so I decided to check it out for myself. Maybe I would make this my bank after all.

When I got there, I felt like I was back at TD. The computer was so slow, and after 5 minutes of dial-up style loading speed, I was told I couldn’t get an appointment for another four hours (even though I was the only one there). I knew there was an advisor upstairs holding her breath, because I heard her sneeze right before leaving.

I went back to my trusty sidekick, Google. I suddenly found myself reading words like “…the authority shall establish…” on the Quebec government’s open source website, and discovered nothing further.

It Really is Quebec’s Fault

I spoke with Professor Moshe Lander, a senior lecturer in the Economics Department at Concordia, who has at least 20 years of experience teaching on the subject.

As I quickly discovered, one thing Google can’t explain is the vast, black hole that is the relationship between Quebec’s history and its modern economic regulations. It might be something that goes right over the heads of Quebecers who have never lived anywhere else, and only be a problem for those of us who have migrated from other provinces or countries.

When we ask questions like, “We’re a part of Canada, so why don’t we get what everyone else has?” the answer almost always has something to do with our provincial government.

You see, the Big Five aren’t affected by Quebec laws. Banks are regulated by the federal government. Credit unions, on the other hand, are regulated provincially.

My first assumption was that there was a distinct law mentioning Desjardins as the only credit union allowed to operate in Quebec. In fact, the situation is purely circumstantial.

According to Professor Lander, after 120 years of operation, Desjardins has a monopoly over our province, making it hard for outsider credit unions to gain traction here. “It’s not worth it [for them],” he said.”Tack on all of the language requirements, the different legal system […] getting your foot into Quebec is almost impossible.”

It seems that the province’s unique legal system is what keeps a lot of that cool stuff out. “Just take a look at fast food restaurants,” Lander began. “Swiss Chalet doesn’t exist here. St. Hubert exists here, because the legal system is different. So, in terms of product liability, consumer protection, disclosure requirements… For a privately-held company it’s different.”

Professor Lander said these provincial differences also extend to the banking and financial sector. Credit unions such as Vancity in British Columbia, and motusbank in Ontario, can operate in any other Canadian province, since their legal and regulatory systems are similar, but not in Quebec.

One other reason that this problem might be specific to credit unions is the very fact that they are only as big as their clientbase. Lander said that both the non-Quebec credit unions and Desjardins would not seek to maximize their client-base all across Canada for the same reason. “Because [credit unions] are not a private company that’s looking to maximize shareholder value, [they] are ultimately owned by [their] customers,” he explained.

So, when the operator from the Ontarian credit union I spoke with before said, “if something changes in a year, call us back,” she probably wasn’t talking about a change in Quebec regulations. Most likely, she was talking about a change within their company that would drive them to begin doing business here.

Furthermore, it doesn’t help that Quebec is pretty much a ghost town compared to the United States. Our population is just a fraction of the size. That’s probably why Desjardins doesn’t offer the hottest rates or the hottest service ⏤ with their member numbers being just as low as a mid-size niche credit union in the United States, they can’t afford to offer Quebecers a better rate than any of the Big Five.

As for the lack of choices to overall banking methods in Canada, it’s actually a federal problem. Professor Lander attributes this to both population size and lack of regulations over mergers between banks, unlike the U.S. which regulates inter-state transactions. As for Canada, “Through mergers, [big banks] basically came to swallow up everybody underneath them, and left nothing behind. That sort of concentration hasn’t taken place in the U.S.,” he said.

“Even if you take the biggest banks in the U.S., [such as] Bank of America, they don’t add up to 95 per cent of the deposits or mortgages and loans. It’s a much more fragmented system,” he said. That also explains why Desjardins became a monopoly across the province, which was once home to many small, local credit unions.

As it turns out, you can assume that it’s all loosely attributed to the war between the French and the English that took place 350 years ago. That’s what makes us special. As Professor Lander noted, “It drives a huge amount of product law and business law and these oddities that just don’t exist elsewhere in North America.”

It seems things won’t change until the nicer credit unions take a leap of faith across provincial borders, or our government does a major ego-check. For now, we’ll have to choose between the bank that sucks the least, or keeping the cash under the mattress.

 

 

Visuals by Lily Cowper

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Parlez-vous français? Concordia students reflect on the potential outcomes of Bill 96

How Bill 96 is sparking a fiery debate in the city of Montreal

The November municipal elections are fast approaching and, more than ever, young people are motivated to vote in response to the effects of life during the pandemic. After a year stuck indoors, forced to take classes online, worried about future employment prospects, Montreal’s younger demographic is also now faced with a choice: do they stay or do they go?

Bill 96 is a reform proposed by the Quebec government in which the Canadian Constitution will recognize the province as a nation, with French as its official language. The reform is expected to include over 200 amendments, equipped with the primary goal of strengthening the status of the French language in Quebec.

Roxanne Tesar, a 22-year-old biochemistry student at Concordia, was born and raised in Montreal. She said that her knowledge of French remains limited, making her part of the population who will be most affected by the bill, if it comes to fruition. “French is not the only language here, we are bilingual. So if we start introducing bills that don’t reflect the population’s interests, conflict will arise,” said Tesar.

In Montreal, just over 65 per cent of the population’s mother tongue is French. So, why is this bill so pressing, given that French is the dominant language?

According to a 2019 study made by the Office québécois de la langue française (OQLF), workplace usage of the French language has dropped from 60 to 56 per cent since 2015. Workers aged 18 to 34 were those most prominently reflected in this data.

“It’s all about respect […] by creating this bill, the French language will be validated and francophones will feel heard,” says Sruthi Matta, 26, a journalism student at Concordia from India.

Omar Kanjou Agha, a 20-year-old mechanical engineering student from Syria, thinks some parts of the bill are positive, such as the offer of financial aid for studying the French language. He still thinks there are downsides.

“Capping the amount of places in anglophone schools completely violates fundamental rights and freedoms that Quebecers enjoy,” he said. “The bill wants to protect the French language, but they are doing it in ways that I don’t support and that I feel are illegal.”

These feelings of injustice are shared by several Concordia students. Kailee Reid, 18, a liberal arts student at Concordia, remembers the anxiety she felt during her first weeks in Montreal, after moving from Toronto. “When I first came here, I was so nervous to check out at a store,” she said. “I didn’t know how to manoeuvre around the city, not knowing who speaks English and who speaks French. It was quite isolating.”

Despite apprehensions and fears of not being understood or excluded from the city, Montreal still welcomes thousands of international students every year. Nearly 35,000 foreign students studied in the city in 2015.

“My first impression of Montreal was that it was very welcoming and diverse, so when I heard about this law I became very worried,” said Olenka Yuen, a 21-year-old computational arts student at Concordia, when asked about her thoughts on the city.

Agha also shared Yuen’s concerns. “I see Montreal as a multiethnic diverse city and this bill is trying to eliminate these components,” he said. “This worries me because I am part of the minority.”

International students, many of whom fall into the minority of non-french speakers, now face uncertainty in the job market after completing their studies in university. If Bill 96 becomes official, many employers would be faced with tougher hiring policies and many students who do not have a proficient level of French would be excluded. The Bill would implement a limit on the number of places at English schools and a limit on the amount of English-speaking jobs, making life for the non-french-speaking minority harder than it already is.

“I’ve been worried about jobs before this bill was even introduced,” said Tesar.

Saddened by the possibility of being excluded from Montreal life due to her limited French-speaking abilities, Tesar feels that she has no choice but to consider other living options. “This is a good reason for me to move to another province because it’s unfair.”

“I am worried as an anglophone about finding a job as I have in the past and this bill would only make it harder,” said Agha. He has worked part-time as a delivery driver, because he says that it’s one of the only jobs that does not require employees to speak French.

However, it isn’t just the non-francophone speakers who recognize the constraints Bill 96 would create for Montrealers. Delphine Belzile, a 23-year-old francophone journalism student at Concordia, acknowledges the fear that the bill has instilled in young non-francophones living in city.

“I don’t worry about my prospects of jobs, but I worry for other people who are non-francophone because I’m worried about how the government will handle the transition if the bill comes into effect,” said Belzile.

“You can’t ask a whole population to suddenly speak French,” she continued. “You need to account for a plan and make the language free and accessible to learn for all, or else you’re discriminating against non-French speakers.”

Another francophone student at Concordia from Montreal, Véronique Morin, 23, appreciates that she’s been able to attend an English-speaking university in a predominantly French-speaking city. “I am grateful to be able to study in English because for me, it has broadened my perspectives and allowed me to become more diversified,” she said. “But French is more threatened in Montreal than in Quebec.”

Morin further explained that when interacting in shops, she’s more likely to speak English than French to guarantee she is understood.

“As a francophone, we need to protect the French language and make it a real official language with laws that encourage people to speak and share it,” said Morin. “[But if] someone is working to get to know the language or making the effort to learn it, for me, that’s enough.”

Many non-French-speaking Concordia students do not refute the notion of French being a language in need of protection. In fact, several students said they celebrate the uniqueness of having this language in Quebec.

“The French language is Quebec’s identity,” said Agha. “It makes the province a distinct society compared to the rest of North America.” In a similar vein, Matta also agreed that “French should be cherished and made equally important in Quebec.”

The importance of the French language is a feeling shared by many politicians running in the municipal elections. However, not all of them agree with the many components that this bill would instate. Joe Ortona, who is a chair of the English Montreal School board and running as an independent city councillor in the Loyola district, shares this sentiment. A previous member of Denis Coderre’s Ensemble Montréal, he was ousted from the party after taking a stance against Bill 96.

Ortona received an overwhelming amount of support after his exit from the Loyola district and throughout Quebec.

“I felt that ultimately I was chosen because I am a defender of anglophone rights and English institutions,” said Ortona. “The banner may have changed, but my values haven’t.”

However, Ortona was quick to mention that although his stance is against Bill 96 and the many problems he sees with it, he is not against the French language. “I recognize that the French language is important in Quebec, and it’s worthy of being protected,” he said. “My issue is that Bill 96 is tackling a problem with inappropriate solutions,” he emphasized.

When pressed on what he means by “inappropriate solutions,” he replied, “To suspend one’s civil liberties in order to allow for this law to give government agents broad powers that can allow them to come into a place of business unannounced and confiscate computers without a warrant. All on the basis of an anonymous tip that states that an employee is communicating in English.”

Ortona argues that Bill 96 is actually aimed at the English language and English Quebecers in particular. While the idea that English-speaking Quebecers are those who have failed to adopt Quebec customs is a popular perception held by some, he argues that “they are actually the most bilingual people in Canada who not only recognize the French language as important but adopt it as a second or third language to their own.”

“We don’t reject French at all, we embrace it,” said Ortona. “We see bilingualism as an asset, an advantage. If this bill does come into effect, then the message you’re sending is that anyone who doesn’t speak French is not welcome here; whether they realize it or not, that’s the message it’s sending.”

Overseas students are already flagging the potential effects of Bill 96.

“Getting into the country is already hard enough as an international student, with the CAQ [Certificat d’acceptation du Québec] and study permit I can’t imagine how much more difficult it will be if the bill is passed,” shared Matta, who recalls the gruelling admission process for her studies when applying from India.

Tesar believes the bill will negatively impact those students who might have stayed in Canada, contributing to its economy. “I don’t think the young people of today will easily allow themselves to be repressed,” she said. “We know we have options to leave, so if this bill and all its components are put into effect, we will.”

The subject of Bill 96 has become the centre of a fierce debate in Montreal. However, the effect the policy might have on the city’s international population is perhaps an unperceived consequence. Not only do students feel like the bill is a threat to English-speaking Montrealers, but they also feel like they will be left out in a city that they have come to know as their home. If implemented, the bill runs the risk of driving those targeted to look elsewhere for studies and work.

 

Graphic by James Fay

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Life of L’Ange

Gaëtan Ouellet, also known as Old Montreal's "Angel", waits for his latte at Tommy Cafe in Montreal, Quebec, October 4, 2021. The man with a past on the streets now receives food and beverages from local businesses in exchange for favors such as taking out garbage and cleaning windows. CHRISTINE BEAUDOIN/The Concordian

From a man who once lived on the streets to one who now gives back to his community in any way he can, Gaëtan Ouellet’s life inspires him to support those in need

Trigger Warning: The following includes mentions of suicide, addiction, and mental illness.

A life of ups and downs best describes a man who, through the toughest of hardships, continues to keep his head above water. Someone who strives to be a positive influence to those around him who are struggling, as he once was. From being someone who got offered a helping hand when he needed it most to now being that person who lends a hand, Gaëtan Ouellet remains a man of perseverance and humility.

Ouellet is well known in the Old Port of Montreal, and more specifically known by the name “Ange.” His nickname grew out of his previous acts of generosity in parking lots. Beginning in the mid ‘90s — back when parking meters could be filled at individual machines set up for each spot —  Ouellet would take pleasure in filling them out for people before parking security showed up to issue them a ticket. When car owners noticed Ouellet saving them from a ticket, they would ask for his name.

“I’m just a guardian angel looking out for people. They call me Gaë-tange,” he would reply.

Those who discovered who their parking meter angel was often thanked him by offering small gestures, such as meals, money, or cigarettes.

People’s small offerings were not the motivators behind his actions. Although people’s kindness meant the world to him, all he expected was a simple “thank you.” Simply put, Ouellet enjoys helping others, and that’s that.

Growing up in Gaspésie on the east coast of Quebec, Ouellet had a rural upbringing. At the age of six, his father moved their family to Montreal after having trouble finding work in their area and he has been here ever since.

Ouellet’s early adult life began to take off when he took a welding course. He had an interest in the technique behind the craft and had studied it at a trade school in Saint-Henri. He ended up earning a steady income for five years as a welder and then moved on, working at Québecor binding magazines for 23 years. Things were looking up for Ouellet, until everything suddenly came crumbling down.

Looking back, the year 1994 marks a difficult time in Ouellet’s life. In the span of one week, he had lost his job due to layoffs and came home to find his roommate’s body —who was also a childhood friend of 32 years — hanging in their apartment. This line of horrific events led Ouellet into a dark cycle of drinking and heavy drug consumption of heroin and cocaine. Four months after being taken in by his family and friends as a temporary solution, Ouellet found himself alone, homeless, and on the streets of the Old Port of Montreal.

“Living on the street, you need a vice to forget you’re living on the street,” said Ouellet.

The homeless community of Montreal was never a stranger to Ouellet. Growing up, he would spend most of his free time around the Old Port. Ironically, years before finding himself homeless, Ouellet came to know an elderly homeless man whose health was in poor condition. He recalls the man being concerned about what would happen to his physical spot on the street once he was gone. Ouellet remembers the man sharing that if ever Ouellet was to be in tough times, his spot would become available soon as the man knew he wouldn’t be here much longer.

The elderly man’s spot soon became Ouellet’s first home on the streets of Montreal.

“It’s funny how life works,” said Ouellet. “It makes you realize we are not that different from one another.”

No one is prepared for the moment when they realize that bartering for their next meal is one of their only options for food. They don’t expect to find themselves desperately picking through ashtrays on the city sidewalk in hopes of finding a cigarette that isn’t fully smoked. Living on the streets, Ouellet was faced with this hard-hitting reality. For nine years, he was begging strangers to get by.

It’s often easier to think of the hardships that we face in life as temporary situations. Ones that won’t last long. For Ouellet, along with many others who find themselves in a similar situation, finding their next meal or having to endure weather of all kinds, lasted longer than he would have liked.

His days under the influence of heavy drugs and alcohol were spent begging for change at traffic lights and slurring words at passersby. The reaction on people’s faces was telling. They were not willing to help someone in an intoxicated state. Instead, he realized that they would be more willing to give to someone who was looking to help themselves. He knew his behaviour was not an effective way to appeal to people’s sympathy and generosity.

Ouellet takes out the garbage for a Vieux Montreal business, Montreal, Quebec, October 4, 2021. In exchange for services such as this one, “l’Ange du Vieux Montreal” is fed. CHRISTINE BEAUDOIN/The Concordian

Over the years, Ouellet learned that if this was to be his lifestyle for the time being, he had to make some changes in order to survive. Once he was clean and no longer being consumed by his vices, Ouellet decided to offer his free time to performing small tasks which became a new way to meet his needs of meals and clothing.

Gaëtan Ouellet, also known as “l’Ange du Vieux Montreal”, cleans up dust and spider webs from a restaurant’s window, Montreal, Quebec, October 4, 2021. CHRISTINE BEAUDOIN/The Concordian

On an average day, Ouellet can be found spending the better part of his time lending people a helping hand on Saint-Paul St. in Montreal’s Old Port. From brooming store fronts, washing windows, to shoveling walkways during the winter months, Ouellet’s acts of generosity are done with nothing asked in return.

From 2007 onwards, Ouellet began performing odd jobs for local businesses. Every now and then, he brings in garbage bins and occasionally fills in for dishwasher duty. While Ouellet may not be employed by anyone in particular, the 12 clients that he helps out from time to time provide him with food and clothing in exchange for his services.

Ouellet, Old Montreal’s “Angel”, takes out recycling bags from an Old Montreal alleyway, October 4, 2021. Some mornings, Gaetan wakes up early to do his rounds of trash removal in the area. CHRISTINE BEAUDOIN/The Concordian

Living as a homeless person, he came into contact with several influential people, including celebrities such as Carlos Santana, by chance, through mutual friends. Judges, lawyers and restaurant owners like Chuck Hughes are also acquaintances Ouellet has formed bonds with. Ouellet’s down-to-earth and friendly personality even got him invited out to lunch by judges who were looking for company during their lunch break. He noticed his presence on the street made a difference. On the odd day when he didn’t follow his usual routine, familiar faces would ask him why they had missed him and where he had been.

Notably, 2021 marks 19 years since Ouellet got sober. He attributes his success in getting clean to a good friend, now a lawyer, who he met while living on the streets. When he could no longer stand to see him in this state, Ouellet’s newfound friend called an ambulance so he could get admitted to the hospital for help; the first step taken on the road to recovery.

This lawyer friend paid for Ouellet’s four month stay at the Louis-H. Lafontaine psychiatric hospital, which got Ouellet clean and provided medication for his health issues.

It is also thanks to this lawyer friend that he now has a government-subsidized apartment to come home to, as well as a place to offer others to stay if they need a roof over their head and a good night’s rest.

Despite no longer living on the streets, Ouellet still gets up everyday to support those within his community, whether they be homeless, business owners, or just people passing by.

The sun rises over Old Montreal, the place Ouellet, “Angel”, calls home, October 4, 2021. CHRISTINE BEAUDOIN/The Concordian

In the fall of 2020, Ouellet began devoting his free time to residents of the Notre-Dame Street camping site because of the large volume of people who continued to struggle during the COVID-19 pandemic. Along with the help of volunteers, he aided in distributing donated goods, such as clothes and food. Eventually, they managed to find long-term homes for 16 people at the campsite, providing them with an affordable rented space when sharing the cost amongst groups of two.

Ouellet recently got contacted on Sept. 19 by the Old Brewery Mission who provide services to the homeless in Montreal. He was asked to help them out given how he’s familiar with the community in need and could make them feel more comfortable in accepting the help. He went out to the corner of Berri and Sainte-Catherine St. to help homeless citizens in the area. The team focused on preparations for upcoming weather changes, so heavier jackets and boots were distributed in addition to access to a barber and foot care services for those in need.

As someone who once lived that reality, Ouellet knows first hand the needs of people living on the street. Access to foot care and acceptable personal hygiene resources are as necessary as warm clothes and appropriate footwear. It’s this type of knowledge that Ouellet feels thankful to have when lending a helping hand to those in need.

Ouellet places a mat in front of Tommy’s cafe for people to sit on in Old Montreal, Quebec, October 4, 2021. CHRISTINE BEAUDOIN/The Concordian

Ouellet is the proud father of three daughters. While they have been in and out of his life during his time on the streets, his bond with them has grown now that he is clean. He enjoys the time with his six grandchildren who brighten up his days. He feels fortunate to have gotten sober. He says that he now feels like he can fully appreciate and enjoy the years ahead with his family. What does the future have in store for his retirement years? Ouellet doesn’t have a set plan just yet.

Ouellet says that he is happy where he is now and is grateful for the opportunity to help others. Lending a helping hand to those he sees sleeping on park benches for nights at a time fulfills him with a sense of gratitude.

Life has its ups and downs for every individual in any community. Some people’s challenges may be more visible than others. Kindness is universal and can go a long way in impacting how someone’s story plays out. In rising above hardships, we have the ability to look beyond those less than perfect times in our lives with compassion. It is that compassion that allows us to put ourselves in others’ shoes. Ouellet reminds us that everyone has a story and, more importantly, that everyone is human.

“Are we really that different? I look at the human side of every person that I meet whether they be officials such as police officers, judges or just humans that need support. They are all the same in my eyes, I help everyone in good faith,” said Ouellet.

 

Visuals by Christine Beaudoin

 

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Living with Stage 4 Cancer: Nalie Agustin’s Journey to Inspiring the World

Best-selling author, public speaker, and social media influencer has made it her mission to spread light and hope on her path to raising breast cancer awareness

“You have cancer.”

These are the words that changed Nalie Agustin’s life when she heard them for the first time in 2013. Eight years later, Agustin is thriving despite living with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer – and she’s doing it in the most inspiring way.

At 24 years old, Agustin found a lump in her left breast. Initially, she didn’t think much of it, given that breast cancer is known to be most common in older women. It wasn’t until the lump continued to grow larger that she decided to take action and seek medical assistance. After several tests, the results came back: On July 17, 2013, Agustin was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer.

Driving home from the hospital on that very day, after receiving life-altering news, Agustin recorded a raw, unfiltered and incredibly emotional vlog in her car for her YouTube channel. “The reason why I’m recording this is [be]cause I know I have a crazy journey ahead of me, and this is day one,” she says to the camera.

Eight years later, Agustin has a growing community of over 29,000 YouTube subscribers and 110,000 Instagram followers who are inspired by her ability to shift perspective, find inspiration in the everyday and remain resilient, brave and courageous despite her cancer diagnosis.

These unique abilities have been instilled in Agustin since childhood.

Growing up, Agustin was raised to be thankful for the little things. With family in the Philippines who didn’t have much, her parents always ensured that she and her two brothers understood the importance of gratitude. In the Agustin household, even a simple dinner began with a prayer. “We had to be grateful for everything on the table, no matter if it was big or small, or fancy or not,” she said.

The resilience, courage and bravery that she emanates today also stems from her childhood. As the only girl in her tight-knit family, Agustin was always ready to prove that she could successfully take on any new challenge that stood in front of her with determination and drive. Naturally, from a young age, her ability to face any obstacle head-on was clear.

After completing CEGEP in 2008, Agustin enrolled in communication studies at Concordia University, a program she felt would allow for the exploration of her creativity in several facets of media, including writing and video. As a self-proclaimed “multi-passionate” individual, this program was perfect for her. However, post-graduation in 2012, Agustin landed a job working in eCommerce where she felt incredibly lost and unfulfilled. She knew it wasn’t the right fit for her.

Photograph by Karolina Victoria Jez

“I always knew I was meant to do something special,” recalled Agustin as she reflected back on this time in her life.

While a cancer diagnosis may not have been her idea of “special,” raising awareness about breast cancer in young women and inspiring both the cancer and non-cancer community may have been the “special” she was searching for.

It wasn’t long after Agustin graduated from Concordia University that she received her diagnosis: stage 2 breast cancer.

She spent the following year in and out of the hospital receiving the standard treatment, while simultaneously sharing blog posts to “nalie.ca” and vlogs to her YouTube channel. “As a creative, and being a communications graduate, it just felt therapeutic and right to express myself and write,” she said.

Her blog posts were written in the form of personal diary entries. At the time, Agustin’s goal was to keep her large Filipino family updated with the treatments she was receiving, as well as how she was coping with the challenges she was facing.

What started out as a way to communicate with her close relatives and express herself eventually grew into a large and supportive online community.

“I dedicated my entire journey at that point to advocating and spreading awareness because I didn’t know any other 24-year-old who had breast cancer,” said Agustin.

As Agustin sees it, going through breast cancer at a young age raises unique concerns that may not impact older women in the same way, such as the potential of infertility.

In 2014, after chemotherapy, a mastectomy, and 23 rounds of radiation, Agustin was considered to be in remission. For three years, she was travelling, speaking and sharing her story with many individuals around the world. “I was really living that dream list of things I’ve always wanted to do,” she said.

The sense of freedom that Agustin felt was cut short in 2017, when she had a recurrence. She was diagnosed with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer — which spread to her lungs. “That was really traumatic because I really thought it was over,” Agustin recalled. “I really thought I was in the clear.”

A stage 4 diagnosis is considered incurable and terminal. Evidently, this reality was a scary prognosis that weighed heavily on Agustin and her loved ones.

Although difficult, she continued to share her journey with a growing social media following who were “beyond just followers on Instagram.” Based on the overwhelming support she receives, it’s evident to Agustin that her “followers” genuinely care about her health, happiness, and progress. This is evident in the hundreds of kind, supportive and empowering comments left on every post, and in the meaningful interactions Agustin has with individuals in her direct messages.

For a while, the cancer was quite stable and everything seemed to be going well — until May 2020, when Agustin’s cancer journey took an unexpected and unfortunate turn.

Agustin began experiencing neck pain, headaches, muscle spasms and sudden numbness in her legs. An immediate visit to the hospital and an emergency CT scan confirmed that Agustin’s cancer had spread from her lungs to her brain.

“All I remember hearing in my head was ‘no.’ No, this can’t be true […] No, this can’t be the end,” shared Agustin in an Instagram caption.

What followed were five rounds of whole brain radiation, Taxol (a chemotherapy medication) and stereotactic radiosurgery. “That was probably the toughest time of my entire eight-year journey,” she said.

“My brain is like my artifact, it’s where I get all my ideas, it’s what controls my whole body […] it’s my mind which is key to everything,” she explained.

With such a traumatic diagnosis, Agustin disconnected from social media. She knew that focusing on healing herself had to be the biggest priority. “I had really dedicated my last seven years to helping others, and now I realized I really need to help myself,” she explained.

However, although she temporarily ceased writing for her active online community, she never stopped writing for herself.

Writing by hand in her diary, Agustin wrote out her life lessons learned amidst the trauma.

When Agustin returned to social media four months later, she decided to make separate dated Instagram posts to update her followers. Each post represented an event or an experience that she had undergone during those intense months of treatment. But most importantly, each post had an incredibly powerful caption with an inspiring takeaway. Organizing all these posts within Instagram’s “Guides” feature, she titled them “The Diary of Nalie.”

These posts are the inspiration behind Agustin’s new book, The Diary of Nalie: A collection of life lessons and reflections shared while thriving through stage IV cancer.

“I always wanted to write a book and have something tangible and physical that my community can hold,” expressed Agustin.

Overnight, her book found its place as a #1 Amazon Best Seller in Canada, as well as in two specific categories: #1 Best Seller in Cancer, and #1 Best Seller in Practical and Motivational Self-Help.

“There’s such a big analogy between a stage 4 cancer diagnosis and not knowing what’s to come, and I feel like that’s what people are facing right now – complete unknown and uncertainty,” said Agustin, referencing how the ongoing pandemic has changed life for everyone.

In an Amazon review, one reader shares, “I do not have cancer and I felt like this book spoke to me […] This journal is raw and authentic with so many incredible life lessons that would definitely make you do a double take on how to perceive things in life and how to handle it with grace.”

Another reader wrote that “Nalie will walk you through her journey and inspire you to keep moving forward in the midst of your battles.”

Evidently, The Diary of Nalie is offering a glimmer of hope and inspiration that many are so desperately seeking in such an unpredictable time. That’s why Agustin believes her book has seen so much quick success.

During some of the lowest lows of her cancer journey, her book and its success has ignited a sense of purpose and joy in Agustin and her family’s life. Launching the book was a beautiful way to “flip the script and really celebrate the wins rather than focus on the trauma,” she said.

In true Agustin spirit, she has found a way to give back. On Oct. 20, she will be hosting a book signing at Maison Principal. All ticket sale proceeds will be donated to the Program for Women’s Cancer Research at the McGill University Health Centre Division of Radiation Oncology.

It’s been eight years since the words Agustin never thought she would hear changed her life.

But she will continue to live every day with gratitude and faith.

She will thrive.

She will grow.

She will evolve.

She is determined to do so.

“To me all that matters is focusing not on eradicating the illness, but making sure [I] feel as strong and good as possible, because when you feel strong and good, then that’s living,” she said.

While Agustin is eternally grateful for the medicine she has received and her team of oncologists at the hospital, she believes that’s only half the battle. “Healing happens at home,” she explained.

She believes that effective cancer care is the perfect combination between standard treatments in hospitals and integrative out-of-hospital holistic therapies.

Agustin’s years of undoubtable challenges have also been marked by unforgettable life lessons: taking care of your mind and body is key to truly living. Mindfulness, meditation, healthy eating and light exercise is “the reason I believe I am still here today,” she said.

Agustin is the epitome of what it means to face adversity and uncertainty with resilience and bravery. Throughout it all, she has continued to use her platform as a way of giving back in incredible ways. She remains driven to inspire thousands online, advocate for young women diagnosed with breast cancer, and be a voice of hope within the cancer community.

Agustin calls herself a “Thriver,” and by continuously sharing her genuine and authentic self, she inspires the rest of the world to thrive alongside her.

 

Feature photograph provided by Nalie Agustin

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