Tag: culture

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Opinions

How to be a happy romantic in a hookup culture

graphic by Ana Bilokin

One student’s experience with romance and realizing why it begins when you stop partying

It took years for me to realize that it’s possible to be a happy romantic in a hookup culture. And it all started in April 2017, when I made the conscious decision to stop partying.

Throughout my years of partying, I surrounded myself with hookup enthusiasts who constantly told me that my romantic aspirations were juvenile. They warned that I was “too serious” for my own good, and a big part of me believed them. YOLO and FOMO smothered my brain like thick cobwebs. I wanted to experience the euphoric young adulthood talked about in all those hype dance songs, and portrayed in all those badass Hollywood movies. Consequently, I became desperate to emancipate my heart from emotion.

I wanted to go out and dance with cute guys, without caring whether they asked for my name. If they asked for my name, I wanted to answer without hoping they’d ask for my number too. If they asked for my number, I wanted to flirt without expecting the conversation to blossom into something more meaningful. I failed miserably. Every time a cute guy would prove that his interest in me was purely physical, I’d feel a pang of disappointment deep in my belly. Every time a crush flirted with other girls the way he flirted with me, I’d feel a punch of rejection bruise my heart.

Hookup culture was crushing my inner romantic and the desire I had to find someone legit. At the time, however, I didn’t see it that way at all. I resented the pain, and told myself it was proof that I desperately needed to get a handle on my emotions. When I stopped partying though, I was no longer under the influence––not of friends, of alcohol, or of hookup culture. I was able to weed out anxieties and facades that I kept having to live up to while in the skin of a social butterfly.

Without a shadow of a doubt, abandoning nightlife was integral to my confidence as a romantic person. It was step one along a path that, almost two years later, led me to a wellspring of happiness and peace. I do not believe I would’ve been able to access this wellbeing had I continued partying.

We live in a culture that constantly encourages us to believe that we can be anything. And in some ways, that’s inspiring. However, too many millennials are trying to transcend desires that they’d be better off embracing: feelings of wanting more from one person intellectually, emotionally, and romantically. It saddens me to think that I ever villainized my desire for loyalty. I bought into pop culture’s highly manipulative lie, which says that the happiest young people are those who are down for anything, anywhere, with anyone.

If you’re a romantic millennial, I urge you to tread cautiously in environments that propagate hookup culture. These scenes will trick you into believing that you’re your own worst enemy. But in the words of inspirational speaker Alexander Den Heijer, “When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.” If in your heart you are hoping to meet somebody special, the dance floor isn’t so much a place of freedom as it is a vortex that forces you to be something you are not.

To my fellow romantics: I can confidently assure you that none of those parties will go down as the best nights of your life. Conversely, they’re liable to endanger your happiness, and demotivate you from seeking the loyal relationship you deserve. Your person is out there, but they’re not waiting for you in a room that ridicules the real you.

Graphic by Ana Bilokin.

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Student Life

SPHR Concordia keeping Palestinian culture alive and atmospheric

SPHR Concordia is keeping Palestinian culture alive and atmospheric

During an evening of food, music and conversation on the 7th floor of the Hall building on Jan. 25, the Solidarity for Palestinian Human Rights Association (SPHR) at Concordia aimed to raise money to donate to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) for Palestinian refugees. Tickets were sold for $15 each and the group managed to raise over $1,000.

The event, called Eat Like A Palestinian, began with a buffet of traditional Palestinian dishes like fatouch salad, frekeh soup, and msakhan. The food was prepared by Om Ossama, a Palestinian woman dedicated to supporting Palestinian community events through her cooking skills. Many of the event’s attendees were learning about Palestinian dishes for the first time.

Eat Like A Palestinian, an event which sold out on Facebook, took place on the seventh floor of the Hall building on Jan. 25. Photo by Mishkat Hafiz.

Syrian-Canadian student Marya Akkad, who attended the event, said “it’s very atmospheric and cultural. Everyone is very welcoming, and the music reminds me of home.” She added that she was pleased with the strong cultural identity at the event.

After dinner, a live band played traditional Arabic songs with a combination of instruments; an oud, a saxophone and drums. Guests clapped to the music and sang along. A few got up to dance. After the band was done, people continued to dance to Palestinian songs played over projected images of Palestine and symbols of its culture.

Later, one of the team organizers started a Palestinian trivia game. The prizes were traditional Palestinian accessories, which were also sold at the event. The trivia game also provided an opportunity for people to contextualize Palestinian hardships through historical facts. The dinner party reflected Palestinian culture through the hospitality of the organizing team, and tales of endurance of the Palestinian people.

Many of the organizers believe this type of event keeps the Palestinian culture alive, instead of focusing on the political disputes surrounding the country.

President of the SPHR Concordia, Houda Kerkadi, spoke about the motivation behind hosting the event. “We were thinking of ways we can help, [rather than] simply [asking] people for money,” Kerkadi said. She also hoped to provide an interactive experience that combined raising money with a cultural experience.

“We asked ourselves, ‘What would combine people of all ethnicities and backgrounds together like food?’ Arabs don’t always agree on political leanings when it comes to Palestine, but we can all agree that we love the food,” Kerkadi said.

SPHR Concordia is planning a few more events this semester, including Israeli Apartheid week and an end of year celebration.

Feature photo by Mishkat Hafiz.

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Opinions

‘Cancel culture’ and problematic celebrities

Graphic by @spooky_soda

We must hold famous people accountable and push them to reflect, rather than retract

Now more than ever, celebrities are being called out for their problematic comments. This has resulted in many of them being “canceled,” meaning that society no longer supports them due to their past behaviour.

Cancel culture does not address issues such as sexual misconduct or illegal activities, but rather offensive comments the celebrities have shared, mainly found on social media platforms and in interviews.

I think there should be a distinction between “cancelling” celebrities and simply calling them out. Let’s use Katy Perry as an example. Perry lacks a lot of social awareness. This was clear in 2008 when she came out with the songs “Ur so gay” and “I Kissed a Girl.” These songs were extremely problematic toward the LGBTQ+ community. She has also practically embodied the definition of cultural appropriation with copious tone-deaf music videos. Do I think Perry has no chance of effecting positive social influence because she released problematic songs in 2008? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that society’s criticisms put pressure on Perry to be more respectful. Whether or not she learns from this criticism is her choice.

One of the main issues surrounding cancel culture is the iconization of an individual celebrity. I think, as a society, we give celebrities too much influence over our lives. Personally, I often catch myself obsessing over specific celebrities I think hold the same values as me. It’s one thing to love the work of certain famous people, to enjoy their platforms and learn from them, but I think there is a reoccurring issue of giving them too much influence over how we think. This is problematic because when they inevitably make mistakes, we often do one of two things: ignore the mistake and make excuses for them, or cancel them because they weren’t who we built them up to be. Frankly, I often forget that my favourite icons are not actually my friends; they’re people with flaws and insecurities, hopes and dreams, fears and demons. I don’t actually see them outside of the way they’re presented––I don’t see them as multidimensional characters with depth.

Cancel culture is extreme because celebrities often end up representing a lot of the western world. They become our role models and, if they get cancelled for an offensive comment or statement, it sends a message that there’s no use in learning from your mistake. If these celebrities get completely shut down, then how can they be expected to learn from their mistakes? This applies to non-famous people too. This is not to say that offensive comments should be excused, but celebrities should be encouraged to introspect and reflect when they slip up, rather than make a simple PR statement or be cancelled.

Overall, the phenomenon of “political correctness” is a movement that has promoted respect and understanding from different intersections of society. Yes, cancel culture does make celebrities fearful about what they say and do—and to a certain extent, that’s a very good thing.

Marginalized communities have been fighting tirelessly for their voices to be heard. One way they can do so is by expressing their distaste or anger towards problematic comments made by celebrities. However, I think we need to find a balance between shutting someone down entirely and reprimanding them for their ignorance. They should have the space to reflect and grow.

When people say the world is becoming too sensitive and that people are too easily offended, it’s very important to remember that this isn’t true. People were always offended. Only now, thanks to societal shifts, decentralized communication and increased community organization with social media platforms, we can hear them a bit better. But let’s remember to hear everyone out, and offer wrongdoers the space to grow and learn, rather than be cancelled and shunned.

Graphic by @spooky_soda

Categories
Arts

Queerness, community and Rocky

A look at Montreal’s renditions of the cult classic and what it means to the city

Towards the end of September, I walked into The Concordian’s office, first to arrive at our Friday pitch meeting, to find a large envelope on the floor that was addressed to me. Thinking I had deeply upset someone, I anxiously opened the envelope, emptying the contents on the table. Out spilled several papers, one of them labeled “WHAT TO BRING: TOAST, WATER GUNS … NO RICE.” Another showed illustrated instructions for the Time Warp dance. This was my invitation to the The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I am not unfamiliar with the spectacle, but since I had never seen the live performance, I was riddled with excitement. Autumn is a strange time of the year, sometimes heatwave and sometimes freezing, but one constant remains: Rocky Horror. Posters litter the streets, every lamppost and every café. This was it, this was the year I was finally going to see the live show I had heard so much about. Not long after, I found out there are not one, but two live performances. “What’s the deal?” I asked myself. “Why does Montreal love Rocky Horror so much?”

Two weeks ago, I found myself walking up a narrow staircase above Segal’s Market on St-Laurent Blvd. The Mainline Theatre wasn’t what I expected; it was homey. People of all ages bedazzled with feather boas, wigs, fishnets and a lot of glitter waited impatiently in a line filling the entire lobby.

The theatre was small. On three sides, the room was lined with rows of elevated seats facing the performance area in the centre. Out came the usheress, beginning the show with a fantastic musical number. With a run time of 120 minutes, the performance was longer than the film itself and featured amazing numbers and raunchy call backs. My favourite scene was when the newly engaged conservative couple’s strange night began.

Elyann Quessy, as Janet, and Adrian MacDonald, playing Brad, got into a car completely formed by the bodies of the phantom dancers, with Kiah Ellis-Durity at the head, planking for the duration of the scene. When Ellis-Durity first experienced Rocky Horror at the age of 16, she was empowered by Frank-N-Furter’s words: “Don’t dream it, be it.” They made her realize she could achieve more than she ever imagined. To her, Rocky Horror is the embodiment of sexual liberation and self-confidence.

First-timer Yannick Victor had never seen the film, he only knew of the production in passing from posters on the streets and the one scene in The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Victor was simply baffled by the name: Rocky. Horror. Picture. Show. Words that are recognized all over the world, but what do they mean? “I think that very confusion, that inability to put this cult event/show/ritual/performance thing into a box is what it’s about,” Victor said. “There’s a clear link for me now between Rocky Horror not fitting into a neat little category and the gender fluidity of the characters.”

Montreal’s second version of the picture show is held at the Imperial Theatre. At The Rocky Horror Picture Show Halloween Ball, a shadow cast acts alongside a screening of the original film. The audience is encouraged to dress up and interact with the cast, spraying water and throwing toilet paper, newspaper and toast at specific points during the screening.

“Honestly, sometimes I wish I actually got hit with the toast,” admitted performer Hannah Miller. “Seeing the crowd having so much fun, playing and being free like kids, is really beautiful. It is the strangest way to build community, but it really works.”

Ten years ago, Miller was introduced to the show by Heidi Rubin, who plays Frank-N-Furter in the Montreal production. Miller joined the cast as an assistant and played Eddie the following year. Miller has been playing “Montreal’s favourite asshole,” Brad Majors, ever since.

This year, Concordia student Zynor Majeed played Rocky. He has been part of the cast for six years and has played various roles. According to Majeed, the ball is much more “extravagant and campy” than any other production he has been part of, which is one of the reasons he loves doing it.

“It’s an event that is difficult to describe,” the performer admitted. ”You can never truly have expectations. It isn’t your conventional play or movie screening, and I think events that give audiences an experience they have likely never had before reasonably get them excited.” Rocky Horror, Majeed added, “has given me a space to explore my sexuality and identity.”

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a rule-breaker, and there is antici… pation that its audience and performers will be too. It remains a curious cultural phenomenon that permits the audience to behave in ways that would be severely frowned upon at any other film screening, and brings together different generations through love and queerness.

Graphics by @spooky_soda

 

 

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Just a sci-fi girl in an apathetic world

How attending Comiccon helped me find community

Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time with me knows I’m a horror junkie. Even as a kid, I grasped onto any opportunity to feast my eyes on something that would permanently maim me. When I was just barely 10-years-old, I cherished sleepovers at my grandparents’ house because my grandmother would take me to the video store and let me pick out any DVD I wanted.

At home, I was never allowed to watch anything rated PG-13 or higher. I was sequestered while adults watched movies that all my friends had seen, like Titanic or Grease, until I hit double digits. My parents deemed Kate Winslet’s nipples and hickeys from Kenickie as content far too inappropriate for my prepubescent eyes.

My mom’s parents were never the sheltering type, though. Nor were they fond of enforcing strict bedtimes. The first horror movie I remember watching was in their basement, shortly after midnight, both of them fast asleep on the couch beside me. It was Child’s Play—often colloquially referred to as Chucky. The film is a 1988 Tom Holland slasher (the first of seven in the series) about a possessed doll who terrorizes a little boy and his mother. To an adult, it’s a fun, vulgar, slightly cheesy hour and a half. As a child, it was virtually my worst nightmare—and I couldn’t get enough.

Luckily, it wasn’t hard to find others that shared my dark taste in cinema, especially as I got older. From supernatural scares at seventh grade slumber parties, to ninth grade torture porn marathons, to Marble Hornets binges during senior year, I found that most of my friends shared this interest of mine (or at least tolerated it). I’m guilty of making a good handful of boys sit through the classics with me. My first relationship started in my family’s dingy basement, kissing on an old couch while the credits rolled on Friday the 13th. Our hearts pounded in our ears as a result of teen hormones, but mostly because of that insane shot where Jason Voorhees’ decomposing body shoots out of the water and totally wrecks Adrienne King.

The thing with horror is that, while it’s not necessarily everyone’s cup of tea, it’s become relatively accepted. It’s not hard to find people to bond over it with. Yes, an obsession with it might be off-kilter, but it still makes for good conversation, pizza night entertainment, and background noise for makeout sessions. Throughout my 20-something years, I never really considered my interest in horror to be “nerdy”. It was so vast and varied as a genre that I wasn’t forced to identify with a particular group. There was something in it for almost everyone. Before last summer, I hadn’t truly known what it was like to be into something that few people understood.

About a year ago, I discovered The X-Files—a sci-fi television show about two FBI agents who investigate cases that deal with the supernatural. I had always been generally aware of The X-Files. I knew it existed. Most people I knew had either tuned in occasionally when it originally aired in the 90s, or had seen an episode or two on Netflix and given up. One night, I came across it in my “Top Picks” and decided to give it a chance. It was one of those rare occasions where, from episode one, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Everything about it screamed “me”. I promptly reached out to anyone and everyone I knew and was shocked to find that literally no one in my personal life thought anything of it. Not only did the show not stand out to them as special, but some people even admitted outright that they hated it.

Aside from a few other fans I found in real life who I texted during major plot twists, watching The X-Files was a completely solitary experience for me. I watched each of the 11 seasons and two films all by myself. Because of this, my experience of the show was very private in nature. It felt like my dirty little secret—an escape of sorts. I spent hours laughing, crying, and gasping in front of my television screen during popcorn-fueled binge sessions after the rest of my family went to bed. I became deeply attached to the characters. Unlike horror movies, it was the first time I had an obsession that I couldn’t share. It truly felt like the show had been created for me, and the fact that I had no one to experience it with was both entirely uplifting and mildly heartbreaking.

Up until this point, I had little-to-no experience with nerd culture. I’d never picked up a comic book, I didn’t really like anime, I’d seen only a handful of superhero movies, and I thought “gaming” was something that 30-year-old white guys with neckbeards did in their moms’ basements while double fisting Mountain Dew and Doritos. Plus, I had always associated nerd culture with sexism. In my mind, “nerdy” spaces were cesspools of male cliques firing off condescending remarks and participating in sexual harassment. I wanted no part of it.

Nearly every time I clicked into an online forum discussing The X-Files, my preconceived notions of these spaces were instantly validated. I simply didn’t feel welcome. This was jarring, especially considering the feminist tones of the show. I was annoyed and I concluded it was an interest I’d just keep to myself. But, it was lonely. I wanted so badly to be a part of a community I could share it with.

When I was first offered the opportunity to attend Montreal Comiccon as a member of the media this year, I was skeptical. I wanted to go to see if I could find fellow “X-Philes,” but I knew I’d have to write up something about the convention, and I didn’t want to have to write a scathing review about a toxic environment. Boy, were my preconceived notions ever wrong.

Montreal Comiccon completely shifted my perspective on what it means to be a nerd. It channeled what the true spirit of what being a “nerd” really is. I mean, where else on earth can you walk into a room full of strangers by yourself and instantly feel completely welcome and at ease? Where else can someone who is in love with an odd, campy, 90s television show about aliens find a thousand other people who feel the same way?

Walking into a room full of hundreds of “X-Philes,” I felt the most included and myself I had in a long time. It also made me realize that nerds weren’t all straight, white men in cargo shorts tweeting about #GamerGate and quoting The Big Bang Theory. Nerds were 10-year-old girls, drag queens, disabled people, gay couples, women of colour… I suddenly realized that this thing—this series that I had turned into such a private indulgence—was far bigger than just my secret obsession. These characters that I had developed one-sided relationships with weren’t just mine, they were ours. They helped us all relate to one another.

Comiccon takes a person’s private experience with art and makes it social. The main reason people attend is to meet other people and find those who love the same stuff they do. Making friends only gets harder as you age, so finding somewhere you can be yourself, express gratitude to the artists behind your favourite work, and meet people from different walks of life with shared interests is something pretty special.

There will always be cliques, fandoms, and rivalries. We will always be into different kinds of art. We’ll always experience that art differently from one another. Comiccon showcases that perfectly, but also reminds us that, at the end of the day, we’re all just huge freakin’ nerds. Together.

Graphic by Wednesday Laplante

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Student Life

The connection between language and culture

Emily Dakkak (left) alongside participants from the French conversation groups with CUSP Concordia. Feature photo courtesy of Emily Dakkak.

Concordia student turns her passion into a project as she teaches French to native Arabic speakers in Montreal

Making an effort to speak someone else’s language, even if it’s only simple sentences, can help people understand more about other cultures and identities. “I feel that if you could understand the essence of a culture, you would be able to understand the language as well, and vice-versa—it’s intertwined,” said Emily Dakkak, an anthropology student at Concordia University.

For a research project in her fieldwork class, Dakkak decided to explore the language, culture and integration of native Arabic speakers in Montreal. “I always had a strong interest in languages,” said Dakkak, who speaks English, French, Spanish and a bit of Arabic. “I’ve been around Arabic my whole life. I knew I wanted to study Arabic speakers in particular.”

It was a cultural immersion trip to Cadiz, Spain, in 2016 that first sparked Dakkak’s interest in how people learn new languages and adapt to new societies. “I had Spanish lessons everyday […] and then we would have cultural activities to use the Spanish we had learned that day and communicate with native Spanish speakers,” she said. “I really loved how learning [Spanish] allowed me to integrate into the culture over there […] I was curious about how that process happened.” Dakkak also developed an interest in how language is used in different cultures.

To begin her research, Dakkak contacted the Concordia University Student Parents Centre (CUSP) concerning their French conversation group courses, where student volunteers teach other students French as a second language. Dakkak approached CUSP with her research idea, and she said the timing worked out well because the centre was looking for someone to teach the French conversation groups. Dakkak sent out a newsletter in search of native Arabic speakers interested in learning French, and received responses from a couple from Egypt, as well as a woman from Libya and one from Jordan. For two months, Dakkak taught a two-hour French class twice a week, which amounted to 32 hours of teaching. During this time, she observed how the students would interact and engage with the material when learning a new language, as part of her project’s fieldwork research.

According to Dakkak, the Egyptian couple were not staying in Montreal long, and learning French was not a priority for them. Nonetheless, she said they saw it as a useful tool. The participant from Jordan had only been in Montreal for a month, and wanted to learn some French before attending a photography conference in Quebec City. The Libyan woman who participated now lives in Montreal. A mother of five, she taught English in Libya and wanted to learn French.

The Egyptian couple from Emily Dakkak’s French Conversation Group courses said learning French is a useful tool.
Photo courtesy of Emily Dakkak.

“We had fun,” said Dakkak about her experience teaching the French conversation group. “I made [the lessons] light-hearted. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to also have an emotional connection with those people; that was really important to me.”

During the classes, Dakkak learned about different perspectives of language and culture from her students. The Egyptian man explained to Dakkak how, in Egypt, everything is heart over mind; everything has to do with your emotions, and that translates through their language. In comparison, when Dakkak was in Cadiz, the language and way of life was very relaxed. “[Their pronunciation] is more relaxed, and they don’t put as much effort with their bodies to make sounds,” she said. “They are more laid back; they spend time by the beach, and I think you can find that in the language as well.”

During her research, Dakkak came across the theory of linguistic relativity, which explains how language can be experienced differently through a specific culture. “No matter what culture you come from, you will have a certain way of speaking,” she explained. “Language is relative; it is not fixed.”

Although the significance of language within a culture is important, “I don’t think it’s everything, and this project showed me that,” Dakkak said. Occasionally, she has a hard time fitting in with her own Egyptian heritage because she only speaks a bit of Arabic. “Even if I don’t have the language, I still feel very strongly about my Arab culture but just with a different language,” Dakkak explained.

During the conversation group lessons, Dakkak would try to speak to her participants in Arabic. “They really appreciated it, and they would help me pronounce words better—I think it’s a way to bond with others,” she said.

Dakkak also observed how learning a language doesn’t necessarily integrate people into a new culture. “It’s not set in stone that, just because you are learning French, you will integrate. It can be very difficult, and it’s not the same experience for everyone,” she said.

Dakkak said she believes it’s important to let someone try to speak the language. “A lot of the native Arabic speakers told me it’s hard to go out in public and try because people don’t have the patience,” she said. “It’s a very fast-paced society; people don’t really want to let them try, so it can become a vicious circle of them not being able to practice, which hinders their development of being able to speak French.”

Dakkak wants to continue her research by digging deeper into how the emotional side of Arab culture affects the way Egyptians integrate into Montreal society.“It’s so important to understand that people are all different; they come from different backgrounds,” Dakkak said. “If someone is trying hard enough to actually learn [the language], we need to respect that.”

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Opinions

Tide Pods: From laundry to brainwashing

Graphic by Alexa Hawksworth.

Social media challenges highlight a deeper issue within today’s meme culture

Over the last three weeks, a new challenge has emerged on social media called the “Tide Pod Challenge.” It quickly became a meme online, as many people made jokes about eating the colourful detergent packets. Despite the danger and the laundry brand telling people not to eat the pods, many people—mostly teenagers—continue to videotape themselves eating Tide Pods.

The first time I heard about a challenge on social media was the 2014 Ice Bucket Challenge, and it was for a good cause. Since then, many new dares have emerged on the internet, and in my opinion, many of them are stupid. With the Tide Pod Challenge specifically, teenagers record themselves biting into the packets in order to gain views, recognition and popularity on social media.

You’re probably reading this thinking the same thing as me: this challenge is just stupid and dangerous. People are ingesting toxins by intentionally eating Tide Pods. In 2017, before the challenge even began, more than 10,500 children under the age of five and 220 teens were exposed to Tide Pods, and about 25 per cent of those cases were intentional, according to the Washington Post.

Perhaps we can understand why very young children might be attracted to the colour and the pleasant smell of Tide Pods, but I for one cannot understand why a teenager—who can make reasonable choices—is compelled to do the same. So why are they doing this? I believe I might have an answer.

Recently, our society has entered an era characterised by social media and meme culture. This facet of culture has been defined by Richard Dawkins, in his book The Selfish Gene, as “an element of a culture or system of behaviour that may be considered to be passed from one individual to another by non-genetic means, especially imitation.” In today’s culture, memes and social media are the diffusers of ideas within the online world, and they are limitless. Anyone can find anything on any subject online. It is a beautiful and useful tool, or a dangerous one—especially for people who are easily influenced, such as teenagers.

The problem is that, in our era of social media, the border between public and private life is slowly being erased. Every time we log on to a social media platform, such as Instagram or Facebook, we see people sharing idealistic pictures and videos of their everyday lives.

Even if most social media users understand that these perfect images do not reflect real life, I believe many teenagers can be influenced by these people, which lead them to constantly pursue views, likes and perfection online.

These teenagers, therefore, will follow a trend not because it is something they think is valuable and useful, but because they think it is the first step to celebrity and popularity. However, reality often catches up to them, but perhaps too late, when their lives are endangered. They hope to become celebrities, but often become known on a small scale, limited to their neighbourhood news or the emergency medical services.

Fortunately, Tide has quickly reacted to the challenge by creating advertisements that show the dangerous effects of eating their products. Yet it doesn’t seem to be enough as more intentional cases of Tide Pod ingestion are reported every day (already 39 since the beginning of the year, 91 per cent of which were intentional), according to the Washington Post.

I believe social media perpetuates meme culture, and teenagers in this culture suffer potential brainwashing from online trends. Unfortunately, most teenagers today cannot be themselves without thinking about what they have to do in order to be liked and loved in their virtual community.

Graphic by Alexa Hawksworth 

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Opinions

Engaging with the world’s problems today

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin.

Active listening, sharing experiences can go a long way in the face of systemic issues

In my opinion, 2017 was a very terrible year. We were inundated with awful news on a daily basis. My reactions perpetually got more apathetic and became more withdrawn because of these stories. The sheer amount of bad events that happened during 2017 makes it impossible to list a few, because I believe all of them are equally important and deserve to be read into individually. However, I learned something very important throughout last year: listening and being supportive of people, no matter how small these actions may seem, are important in making the world a better place.

There were many issues I wasn’t well informed on, such as President Donald Trump banning transgender people from enlisting in the American military. So, I read as much as I could to become better informed and understand people’s experiences—especially pieces written by trans people. I opened my heart and became more empathetic about issues towards people with different lives than mine, because I think solidarity is important during difficult times. I became an active listener, willing to listen to anyone who wanted to open up about their life and hardships.

I never had the opportunity to vote when I was growing up in Saudi Arabia, and was quite surprised to learn that many Canadians are apathetic about using their right to vote. I understand that many political candidates are not ideal, however, I believe indifference contributes negatively to many people’s lives, especially marginalized people. Supporting and encouraging more people of colour, women and members of the LGBTQ+ community to run for political office would also help us take steps in the right direction. In my opinion, the more diverse our politicians become, the better and more accommodating policies will be.

In addition to participating in the democratic process, other actions we can all take include talking and writing about our own experiences, and listening to other people’s stories. We need more diverse voices in every level of society. We need to fill the large gap of knowledge that has been suppressed for many years. It takes a lot of courage to write and talk about experiences that may be traumatic, sad, insulting or demeaning—and I respect anybody who doesn’t want to do that, since it isn’t their obligation to speak out. But doing so does help other people understand experiences they will never live through.

Also, I think it’s important to talk about positive experiences. Young people are always looking to relate to people who look like them or who have a similar background. By sharing positive stories and experiences, people can relate to each other in meaningful ways. They can see a perspective they don’t see often—a positive one.

The more visible representation we have, the more diverse the stories become. I’ve tried to do this in some of my writing as I’ve enjoyed interjecting personal anecdotes into my works, and it may give people an insight into a life different from their own.

In my opinion, we are facing huge problems as we enter 2018. Old systemic issues that have plagued us for many years, such as racism, misogyny, war, homophobia, famine and violence, continue to exist. Yet, we are also facing new emerging problems that are unprecedented, for instance our increasingly wild weather patterns due to climate change, and the threats on Twitter of nuclear war by the United States and North Korea. Nonetheless, there is no reason to remain apathetic—I believe indifference is a privilege only certain segments of the population can have.

I’ll personally continue trying to listen, grow and become a more empathetic person. I’m not egotistical enough to think I’m going to solve the world’s problems, but if I make my community a little bit better, I’ll be happy. Small acts of positivity and collective action have great potential to at least make the lives of those around you better, and hopefully have a positive impact on a larger scale.

Graphic by Zeze Le Lin

 

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Opinions

Conversations and the cultural stereotypes within them

Graphic by Alexa Hawksworth.

One student’s observations about the “French” and “Canadian” ways of discussing

Have you ever heard the phrase “the British are too polite to be honest and the Germans are too honest to be polite?” I really get a kick out of cultural stereotypes. Not the nasty ones that pigeon-hole people into a category to exclude or ostracise them. Quite the opposite. I enjoy cultural stereotypes that bring us together by showing us there are patterns in human behaviour and many of us are creatures of habit. These cultural habits provide some humour to the process of being human and give us something to relate to each other with. Unless those generalities don’t work well together—then there can be trouble.

All that just to ask, which culture doesn’t like to chat? I know that, growing up in rural Manitoba, the kitchen table is the centre of discussion in the home, and as a Française, my partner will agree. But that’s where our similarities on the topic end. I often get the impression that I don’t “discuss” the way she expects me to, and my partner’s method of discussion is one that invariably leads to a fight. So, I am wondering about the whole process of discussion because I’m sure most of us enjoy sitting with friends and gossiping about work or even the banal observations from the day. This is what makes us people; this is what we do, and this is how we exchange our thoughts and ideas. But I’ve noticed I may be going about it wrong. So, what does this have to do with how people exchange ideas? I think it depends who you ask.

As someone from the countryside, this is how I discuss: I make a statement of observation within a group of friends, and it’s either accepted without much pause or it is received in silence. Obviously, the former is the most desired outcome, and this essentially means your observation was met with no real opposition and requires no further discussion. The latter means it was not agreed with, but the other participants feel no need to take it any further nor create a big stink over it. Nice and neat. It doesn’t require the barrage of questioning and scrutinizing that my partner expects from her listeners. Perhaps this is why I get corralled into being called passive or even naïve.

From my observations, this is the “French way” of discussing: Propose an idea and let it be subjected to a hammering of questions and critiques by all within earshot, whether they’re at the table, standing nearby, or even just walking past the café where the “discussion” is taking place.

The end goal being that, even if your observational statement is not true, it has survived countless rounds of interrogation, and you can rest easily knowing you have convinced everyone involved that this is just one perspective of many available to the situation.

Despite my way of discussing and hers, I cannot help but be attracted to those with strong opinions who challenge every goddamn thing I say. As much as it pisses me off, I respect that. I respect people who balk at a theory and take things to task to see just who’s who and what’s what. I love her very much but, even after nearly seven years of “discussing” with her, my Canadian-ness still struggles to adapt.

At the same time, I know that Canadians are not innocent, and we have our assumptions. We are just as guilty of possessing our own silly stereotypes about others. And for that, I’d like to apologize.

Graphic by Alexa Hawksworth 

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Opinions

The millennial pursuit of monetizing passion

Graphic by Alexa Hawksworth.

One student’s realization that passions are valuable whether they bring you success or not

An interest in yoga has transformed into the pursuit of becoming a fitness model. A knack for style has evolved into the goal of owning your own fashion label. A passion for music has morphed into a dream of becoming a world-renowned rapper.

Among other defining characteristics, millennials’ willingness to pursue their dreams sets them apart from generations past. Unlike our parents, who weren’t necessarily encouraged to envision futures beyond desk jobs, millennials live in a world constantly inspiring us to nurture our passions and interests.

To be in our 20s today is to live in a time of endless possibility—a time when social media can become your ticket to superstardom, like it did for Justin Bieber; a time when your own voice can propel you past homelessness and poverty, as was the case for The Weeknd.

Despite a generation of baby boomers who tend to label us as lazy and entitled, our reverence for creativity makes us one of the most ambitious generations this world has ever seen. We believe there is nothing hard work and perseverance can’t achieve, and we are unapologetic and fearless in the pursuit of our dreams.

As a millennial myself, I am an avid believer in unearthing individual talents and interests. Art, dance, cuisine, writing—whatever it is, I encourage you to discover the joy and fulfillment that comes with asserting yourself as a unique individual.

I am, however, troubled by the sense that a materialistic mentality has pervaded my generation. What started as a goal in the name of passion has been overtaken by a thirst for money and fame. Our passions matter as much as the attention they receive. This is particularly evident through our changed relationship with social media, where our posts and popularity are as valuable as the likes and followers they generate. The song you post to YouTube isn’t impressive because you made the beat yourself—it’s impressive because of its view count. It doesn’t matter that I took the time to write this article—what matters is that you took the time to share it on Facebook.

In the pursuit of careers that will satisfy our intrinsic interests, millennials disregard passion for passion’s sake—doing something simply because you love it, with no ulterior motive like making money or getting noticed. Our sense of purpose becomes tethered to popularity, and we wait for the day when we will finally be recognized as the superstars we really are. In the meantime, we disregard things that make “everyday” jobs appealing, and overlook those who work nine-to-five jobs instead of pursuing a career they’re passionate about. Stable hours, benefits and a reliable salary aren’t good enough for the go-getting millennial, who scoffs at the idea of working in a cubicle.

But just because someone else hasn’t made a career out of their passion doesn’t mean they’re living a mediocre existence. They have worked just as hard to get to where they are. And they too are individuals with talents, interests and passions. Conversely, just because someone hustles in a field that they love, doesn’t mean they’re ever going to find success.

For those of you who think I’m saying these things because I don’t have any dreams, you are wrong. I hold a desire in my heart which many have called a pipe dream. I no longer measure the value of my passion based on whether or not I am able to turn it into a career because I made the disheartening discovery that, sometimes, hard work doesn’t actually pay off.

Indeed, contrary to what we’ve been told our whole lives, working towards your passion is often not enough. The difference between being good at something and getting paid to do it depends on a variety of factors beyond your control, like connections, timing and luck.

In a world that constantly measures you in likes, followers and cash, I urge you to remember that the value of your passion goes far beyond a dollar sign. You do not need recognition from others in order to enjoy or be good at something. Whether you are able to turn your passion into a career is irrelevant. The beauty of your passion is that it is yours, and that is valuable beyond measure.

Graphic by Alexa Hawksworth

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Opinions

Learning when to speak and when to listen

Graphics by Zeze Le Lin.

Joseph Boyden controversy opens up a larger discussion about cultural appropriation

Joseph Boyden is one of the most celebrated Canadian writers to ever take pen to paper. He has claimed an Indigenous heritage throughout his career, and most of his work centres around this identity. Since the start of his career in 2005, with his debut novel Three Day Road, Boyden has won numerous awards, including the Canada First Novel Award, the Rogers Writers’ Trust Fiction Prize, the Scotiabank Giller Prize and the McNally Robinson Aboriginal Book of the Year Award.

However, in December 2016, the Aboriginal People’s Television Network (APTN) discovered Boyden has no Indigenous heritage. APTN reported that even though Boyden has claimed ties to Métis, Mi’kmaq, Ojibway and Nipmuc communities throughout his life, they were unable to find any specific links to these communities. According to the report, “Boyden has never publicly revealed exactly from which earth his Indigenous heritage grows. It has been an ever shifting, evolving thing.”

Some of the things the APTN researched were his family tree and a book about the Boyden family that was published in 1901. After researching his familial claims and ancestry, the network learned that his inconsistent claims lead to a lack of concrete proof of his Indigenous heritage.

Boyden himself remained relatively silent after that, until the beginning of August when he responded to the allegations made against him by writing an article in Maclean’s. He said he’d taken a DNA test that showed he’s a “mutt,” and went on to list the results of the test. Boyden claimed these results indicated he is part Indigenous.

Prior to Boyden’s response in Maclean’s, an article from Vice News featured Métis writer Aaron Paquette saying that being Indigenous isn’t about DNA. He echoed a claim Boyden himself made on Twitter in his response to the controversy: “It is about community. It is about who claims you.” But who exactly claims Joseph Boyden?

In his Maclean’s article, Boyden vaguely claimed to have been “adopted by a number of people in Indigenous communities.” Robert Jago, a member of Kwantlen First Nation, was one of the researchers who questioned Boyden’s ancestry. In an article on Canadaland, he questioned the validity of being adopted by many communities, since the term “First Nations” refers to the many individual communities that make up the broader Indigenous community. “There is no person in Canada who is Indigenous without first having a national identity,” he said. In other words, you can belong to the Indigenous community in Canada, but you can’t belong to more than one of the individual groups that make up that broader community. Boyden claimed to be just that, which highlights his misconception around what it means to be Indigenous. If he misunderstood this key part of Indigenous identity, think about the other things he could have misunderstood and the problem with him spreading misinformation like this while claiming that he himself is Indigenous.

Some may say that, despite his questionable methods, Boyden helped raise awareness for Indigenous communities, but Jago refuted that claim in the same article for Canadaland, saying: “Being Indigenous is not a requirement to stand up for Indigenous rights.”

There seems to remain some uncertainty about whether Boyden was mistaken about his heritage or purposely deceitful. Regardless, this controversy opens up a larger, increasingly present debate about cultural appropriation. Although Boyden did spread awareness for Indigenous issues, there’s a potential his actions were harmful to the community as a whole if he took away speaking opportunities, money and cultural context from genuine Indigenous voices.

There exists a fine line between spreading awareness about relevant issues and being a part of the problem when sharing Indigenous stories without belonging to that community. This situation is about non-Indigenous people knowing—or at least being willing to learn—when it’s their turn to talk, and when it’s time to step aside and allow Indigenous people an opportunity to tell their own stories. This is a lesson for not only Boyden, but for all non-Indigenous Canadians who want to right the wrongs of their ancestors—myself included.

Graphics by Zeze Le Lin.

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Student Life

How immersive technology and culture can help create a better future

Creative director and co-founder of ALLFUTUREEVERYTHING (AFE), Monika Bielskyte (left), during a panel discussion at C2 Montreal alongside interviewer and executive producer of the National Film Board of Canada, Hugues Sweeney (right). Photo by Kirubel Mehari.

 Creative director and co-founder of ALLFUTUREEVERYTHING (AFE), Monika Bielskyte (left), during a panel discussion at C2 Montreal alongside interviewer and executive producer of the National Film Board of Canada, Hugues Sweeney (right). Photo by Kirubel Mehari.

 

C2 Montreal invited creative director, Monika Bielskyte, to discuss the future of virtual reality

C2 Montreal is an international conference that gathers visionaries and innovative thinkers from around the world for a three-day event filled with panel discussions based on creativity and commerce. This year’s edition of the event, which ran from May 23 to 25, featured a talk given by Monika Bielskyte on virtual reality (VR) technology and how it might help create a better future.

Bielskyte is the founder of ALLFUTUREEVERYTHING (AFE), a company that designs and builds futuristic virtual worlds using computer-generated simulations of three-dimensional images that people can physically interact with. For example, the company creates simulations of how cities will look 50 years from now.

Bielskyte is a creative director at AFE, specializing in immersive technology such as augmented reality, a technology that uses goggles to superimpose computer-generated images on a user’s view of the real world. She also works with mixed reality, which merges the real and virtual world to produce new environments, and she creates VR prototypes.

For Bielskyte, creating these futuristic virtual worlds offers a way to possibly change our future.“Why I am interested in speaking about the future is because it gives us this necessary distance to look at the present with fresh eyes,” she said during her C2 Montreal talk. “But ultimately, it’s always about the choices that we are making today because there are no answers, only choices.”

According to Bielskyte, the prototypes designed and created using immersive technology and media can have a direct impact on our culture—which influences our reality and eventually our future. And although artificial intelligence (AI) is becoming a more common component of immersive technology, she said, it doesn’t really help improve our world or our future. “We’ve been designing into AI the failures of humanity,” she said. “So our AI will fail as we fail.”

For this reason, Bielskyte designs virtual futures that depict how culture and humanity can be utilized to improve the world. “I am interested in showing how cultures of the world can cohabit and enrich each other rather than fighting each other,” she said. This idea of cohabitation and collaboration has been a focus of Bielskyte for a long time.  “From a very young age, I realized that everything is truly connected,”she said. “What interests me is to find how cultures affect each other, because no culture is self-contained.”

The idea that technological innovation without humanitarian revolution leads to a dystopian future is part of what drives Bielskyte’s focus on culture in her virtual prototypes of the future.“Technological change is much easier than cultural change, but if culture doesn’t change, nothing does,” she said. “We’ve been a little too focused on technology. Technology is important, but it’s truly just an extension of ourselves—it’s a tool. Technology is not good or bad, humanity is.”

During the talk, Bielskyte also tackled some misconceptions she said people often have concerning VR. “Technology/content companies haven’t done a great job in marketing this new technology and these new ideas,” she said. “[Virtual reality] is mostly perceived as an entertainment gimmick.” The ideas Bielskyte discussed about VR, in comparison, were not about entertainment, but rather about building a glimpse into the future and broadening our horizons with tangible experiences. VR is a world where people no longer sit in front of a computer to get a glimpse into another world, she said. Instead, they become immersed in other realities. “It’s about leaving the rectangular screens behind and stepping into a space where the world is our desktop,” Bielskyte said, describing a world where VR simulations would allow users to feel like they’re truly experiencing another reality.

According to Bielskyte, when immersive technology becomes the new common form of communication, it will cause major changes to our view of reality. “When most of the content we consume is no longer something that we watch, but truly something that we are in—is it just virtual? If it can cause real physical damage, is it only a simulation?” Bielskyte asked the audience. “[Mixed, augmented and virtual realities] are in some way as real and as impactful as real experiences might be.”

Bielskyte also spent part of her talk delving into the storytelling aspect of immersive technology. “People are only at the beginning of learning how to tell stories through interaction [with the audience], and VR does not exist without interaction,” she said.

At the moment, VR simulations are set up in closed environments, such as small rooms or booths, which Bielskyte said is an example of how old media habits are still being applied to this new medium. Instead, she encourages more creative thinking in the development of immersive technology—particularly VRs that interact more thoroughly with the real world. “The digital world will soon enough be meshed with the physical in such a way that our reality will be the transparency that we choose,” she said.

This distinction between reality and virtual reality, however, is more significant in the Western world, Bielskyte said. During her extensive travels, she has learned that places like Central and South America have different perceptions of what is real. “With my Colombian friends, we can shift the conversation about physical experience to dreams, to art, to shamanistic and psychedelic experiences in a blink of an eye—all of these things in their culture are real,” she said.

These varying perspectives of virtual reality are why Bielskyte said she enjoys teaching workshops on immersive creativity around the world. “I can definitely say that the students I had in places like Rio de Janeiro and in Bogotá come up with ideas for virtual reality that are not only equally good as the projects that are being pitched to me in Los Angeles or Silicon Valley—they are way more inspiring and way more interesting,” she said.

For Bielskyte, creativity is the key to developing immersive technology that will truly help humanity. “Humans are creative animals, and it’s only through creativity that we might find ourselves in a habitable future,” she said.  

Recently, some of Bielskyte’s work has extended to creating participatory story worlds for Hollywood, including the design and prototyping of the world in Ghost in the Shell. She is also working on a project called Future Nation, which aims to bring fictional worlds from Hollywood into the real world. “It’s about imagining these fictional futures for actual places, for real countries, cities and geographic regions—to help the policy-makers imagine how they could build a better future,” she said.

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