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Toil-et and trouble

Why we shouldn’t be charged to use public bathrooms

 

I’m dancing at a club in Amsterdam. House music blares (I wish it was Taylor Swift instead), the floor is sticky, and the room is filled with people. It’s fantastic, especially after so much time spent in lockdown.

What’s not fantastic is my acute urge to pee. I tap my friends on the shoulder and let them know I’m going to find the washroom.

When I get there, I’m appalled. There’s a woman standing outside the door, collecting 50 euro cents before allowing people through.

Over the course of my first few weeks on exchange in Europe, this is not the first time I’ve been required to pay to use the facilities. Budgeting for entering public washrooms is one thing that I certainly had not planned for.

Still, I need to rant about why I think this phenomenon, though extremely common here, is absolutely insane and should definitely not exist.

My first point is the obvious one: needing to excrete is a natural and normal function of our bodies, so why should we have to spend money to do so? It’s the infrastructure surrounding our ability to relieve ourselves in a socially acceptable way that’s not natural.

And the fact that we’re forced to pay for a basic necessity of our own human creation makes it even worse.

Also, we can’t control when and where we’ll suddenly have the urge to go. If we could, I guarantee no one would ever use a public washroom to begin with. But since that’s not possible, shouldn’t our toilets be accessible to all?

Another point for my takedown of the pricey public washroom is the consequences you face when you don’t have your 50 cents, or refuse to pay all together.

The first option that comes to mind is good ol’ fashioned public urination, which is a literal fineable offense. The logic here is missing — if you don’t pay for the washroom and nature pee (or wild wee, as my British flatmate calls it) and get caught, you have to pay even more. It makes no sense.

This is even worse: to combat this “problem” of public urination, probably correlated to the blasphemous concept of paying to use the washroom, the Dutch installed public urinals (a glorified hole in the ground with a panel for privacy) at some places in the center of certain cities. But of course, this brings forth an annoying double standard. While penis-owners who are comfortable enough get to whizz to their heart’s content, free of charge, people with vaginas don’t have it as easy. Classic.

Furthermore, as I’m writing this, it’s becoming clear that paying for public bathrooms isn’t the sole facet of our society that works this frustrating way. Period products, though necessary because of the cultural norms surrounding menstruation, are also inaccessible without money.

My annoyance with having to pay for the public bathrooms in Europe reveals a harmful phenomenon. Humans create these unbreakable social norms relating to natural bodily functions and then profit off of them, leaving those who can’t pay in difficult situations.

I can’t say I expected my rant about public bathrooms to get so serious — but oftentimes, it’s the most silly topics that end up revealing the most. While I don’t have a solution to the challenges of commoditizing natural bodily functions, the best I can do is bring attention to them to try and advocate for a change.

 

Graphic by James Fay

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Opinions

What the hell is an NFT?

The next digital revolution — let’s break it down for you.

Chances are you’re feeling the same way your grandparents did when the internet blew up in the ’90s and, rest assured, you’re not alone.

Las year , you saw Mark Zuckerberg host a weird video about a game-like reality. Now, your friends are making thousands of dollars on some alien planet they call the “Metaverse.”

What kind of witchcraft is going on here? Let me break it down for you.

 

NFTs explained

An NFT, or “non-fungible token” is a digital asset that’s been around for quite a while now. In plain English, that basically means that it’s entirely unique and irreplaceable… kind of like the original Mona Lisa — just digital.

Think of it as a form of virtual art, whether it’s music, a drawing, a Gucci-themed ghost, or a picture of your cat. Wait, I can make money off my cat? We’ll get into that in a second.

So how exactly do NFTs work? It all started with Ethereum, the first blockchain to support these tokens. To oversimplify: a blockchain is a digital ledger that records and distributes all transactions across an entire network of computer systems, making it virtually impossible to be manipulated.

Ethereum’s blockchain, unlike Bitcoin and Dogecoin, is designed to support NFTs by storing additional bits of information. Attaching metadata (details like name, description, image and a link), along with a transaction log, to each token provides investors, artists, and collectors an additional layer of authenticity and value to their assets.

When crypto-mania exploded and gained support from high-profile celebrities such as Paris Hilton, Gen Z masses were quick to hop on the trend. In fact, Chain Analysis, a data platform providing research findings, estimates that the NFT market reached $41 billion (yes, with a “b”) in 2021.

Unsurprisingly, a number of other NFT-supported blockchains have since emerged like Flow and Tezos, each trying to capture their share of the market.

 

The Metaverse explained

So, you just bought Beeple’s artwork for $69 million and want to show it off. There’s only one problem – it’s not a physical object. Did you really just waste $69 million? No need to panic, the tech gods have got us covered.

Simple, just buy land in Decentraland – one of many virtual land platforms – build a museum, hang up your most prized possessions on the wall and invite others to visit. Problem solved.

Welcome to the Metaverse.

A virtual or augmented reality where you can do everything you do in the real world — okay, maybe more. Your avatar (fancy way of saying your fictional character) can buy clothes, cars, houses and can go to work, just like you do in real life. Here’s the catch: those virtual goods cost real money.

If you’re thinking this might just be a phase, have a look at world-renowned brands who are diving into NFTs like Coca-Cola, Taco Bell, Balenciaga, Gucci, Ray-Ban… the list goes on. They can now sell their products for real money, while avoiding rising costs along with the entire manufacturing and supply-chain process. No wonder big corporations are hopping on the crazy train.

 

I just want to know how I can make money off my cat

Well, it’s certainly not impossible. A proud pet owner recently sold a picture of their grumpy cat as an NFT for $83,000. Shortly after, a meme of a dog, commonly known as Doge, was auctioned for $4 million. The best part is that the process is pretty straightforward once you got your digital wallet set up: you simply select an NFT marketplace like OpenSea, upload your file along with important details, and let the buyers bid away.

Oh, and it gets better. A CNBC report just announced that real estate sales in the Metaverse hit $500 million in 2021. Let that sink in – digital land and buildings… in an imaginary world… are now worth more than Beyonce’s entire career. Yes, the world has completely lost its mind. Or perhaps not.

It seems the Metaverse, along with NFTs, has given birth to a different form of investment. Similar to stocks, investors are buying tokens with the expectation that their value will appreciate and that they’ll be able to re-sell them for a profit. Of course, this is the lowest level of NFT involvement and requires nothing but a digital wallet and a couple hundred dollars (maybe more than a couple).

So, the big question remains: is this a bubble? Perhaps, but one thing is sure, there is money to be made until it bursts.

 

Graphics by James Fay

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Student Life

Girls Who Like Money: Why we’re workaholics

Answer: we don’t know

 

Girls Who Like Money is a column written to help you feel less bad about your money habits, plus some advice on how to finance your expensive taste.

What is it about being 22 that makes you realize who you are? Is there some sort of old and wise threshold that you need to pass in order to understand all those parts of you that don’t make sense?

I’ve been a perfectionist for as long as I can remember, and for a long time that was all it was. I have always been artistic, creative, independent, down-to-earth, and a go-getter. However, I am also forgetful, never on time, stubborn, jaded, and chronically depressed and angry.

Everyone’s good traits have a dark side (call it yin and yang). For me, perfectionism manifested into hard-core-BDSM-level workaholism. Some might call it ambition. I call it perfectionism, but often throughout my life it appeared as the exact opposite: carelessness.

I suppose it’s because it’s impossible to be perfect all the time, but my nit-picking has always been selective, and school was last on the list. I took the easy way out with everything that was required, but anything not required had to be executed to perfection.

The other day I started thinking about high school. I don’t remember much from my time spent in class, apart from harsh fluorescent lighting and the constant feeling of wanting to get in and out of it as soon as possible. I was always rushing to school, as two tardies got you detention, and rushing out of school, back to my other life.

My other life, my real life, was work. I’ve always loved learning, but having long-ago realized the arbitrariness of grades, my brain must have logically pushed them to the bottom of my priorities. Schoolwork was just below chores, which were below exercise, which was below friends, which were below family, which, admittedly, was below work.

Work is over everything, and when you’re not working, you’re thinking about more ideas you can execute and whether something needs revision. Somehow, you always create more work.

You hope to surround yourself with other workaholics, so that your priorities don’t get in the way of, but rather support the friendship. So that’s how I’ve always met my best friends — through work. And that’s just one way a workaholic unconsciously creates a life that is centred around their job(s).

But how does a workaholic manage the other aspects of life? A workaholic might respond, “What other aspects?” Family, friends, relationships, and health all take a backseat when there’s work to be done. And there’s always work to be done… even when you’ve finished it all..

A workaholic often stays up late to top things off. Nine-to-five work hours are suggested for other people, but not for us. How does one kick off a budding career with all that time spent sitting around? Answer: one doesn’t. Instead, we use the omnipresent threat of said “budding career” as a reason to push harder.

We often wake up in the middle of the night to write things down, set our alarms for way too early, and end up sleeping in. Our Google Calendar app is where we feel most at home.

Even now as I write this, my partner and I are spending quality time, as we always do, cuddled up next to each other. As usual, he’s sleeping and I’m deep into this semi-necessary extra-curricular task.

We’re both workaholics, and as I explained once to my therapist, “It works out well because we have the same schedule.” She responded, “Yeah, but when do you spend time together?” I painted, for her, a picture of this exact moment: The Office plays in the background, he’s sleeping next to me, and I’m getting through the work I’m still catching up on from the day. That counts, right?

If you’re reading this and you think this may be you, I’m sorry but I haven’t figured out why we’re like this. If this article seems chaotic, that’s because it’s a reflection of me. However, there has been one discovery to come out of this.

As much as I love money, I realize now that money has nothing to do with my workaholism. You know how I know? Because I have three jobs. Two jobs are fun and make me almost nothing. The other job sucks and makes enough to pay rent and then some. Guess which job I do most?

I always thought I loved money so much that all I wanted to do was make more of it. But the truth is, I just want to do stuff. I always want to stay busy, because when I’m not busy, I just have ideas that never come to fruition.

It’s like getting in a metro car that never closes its doors. It just stays still for 20 minutes and you wonder if you should get off. And then another 20 minutes go by and you get off and you have to figure out another way to get to the place you’re going. It’s the same feeling.

People talk about balance, and I wonder how I can do that too. Let me know if you figure it out.

 

With love,

Lily

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Opinions

What makes Molotov cocktails on a weekday night worthy for a journalist?

In the pursuit of finding the answer to journalistic woes, I was reminded why I am here

Patricia Mukhim, an investigative journalist and the editor of The Shillong Times was greeted with a gasoline-filled Molotov cocktail at her house on April 17, 2018 in Meghalaya, India. She had been reporting on illegal limestone mining in the northeastern hilly state with a fragile ecosystem.

Raman Kashyap, a freelance investigative journalist at Sadhana TV, Uttar Pradesh, India, was at first declared missing and later found dead on Oct. 4, 2021. He was covering the ongoing farmer protests where a vehicle of an official allegedly ran over protesters.

I could have brushed these examples off as anomalies in the vast profession that is journalism. But the stats didn’t support me either. In Reporters Without Borders’s 2021 World Press Freedom Index that ranks nations according to their press freedom and safe reporting laws, India ranked 142 among 180 countries. This calls out a crisis in Indian journalism, the very crisis I decided to be a part of.

These events and stats made it really hard for me to convince my dad to fund my journalistic interests. Like any Indian father, he too was religiously following the loud news debates, atrocious insensitive headlines, clickbait thumbnails and shameful coverage of what is now merely labelled news. He politely asked me to choose something else to pursue.

When I first shared my intentions to still pursue journalism, the immediate response was a shocking “Why?” followed by a big “No.” My loved ones were worried about my safety — and it was a valid fear. They knew I would be too ambitious to cover a mere puff piece instead of a scandal. Thankfully, I convinced them.

Once travel restrictions around the world were lifted, I flew thousands of kilometres from Hyderabad, India to Montreal to study journalism. I hoped that it would give me a global perspective on the respected profession.

Soon after arriving, I luckily came across an investigative article by Ricochet Media, which reported on police brutality in Montreal against student journalists during a protest. The Canadian Association of Journalists also published a press release condemning multiple attacks on journalists and reporters covering protests in Montreal and Quebec City. They requested police to take action against the attackers.

What I learned from instances like this is that the world views journalists and our profession as something to be restricted, disrespected, and controlled with an iron hand no matter the continent.

Why do these journalists keep going back to the field, back to their newsrooms, back to reporting and investigating just to be shoved around, arrested and even killed? Why am I still here writing for newspapers and looking for events to report on? It is because journalism is a powerful profession — one that I want to be a part of.

My presence as a media person suddenly made people around me self-aware of what they said and did. That was something to take pride in. It’s crazy to think that I, a student journalist who just started her classes, am already making people nervous. It was this power of journalism that still drives me and convinced my loved ones to support me.

Journalism is founded on the efforts made to seek the truth, and I believe that the profession derives its power from this truth.

Truth-seeking is also one of the founding pillars of freedom of the press. In the same way, the makers of the Indian Constitution included freedom of speech and expression as some of the fundamental rights for its citizens, with a few press or media exceptions.

But where do we draw the line in our reporting, when it doesn’t guarantee complete truth?

Some journalists get hit with death threats and “sedition” cases for digging deep or getting closer to a hidden truth. However, those who spread and propagate falsified truths remain unaffected.

The reason behind those who benefit from fabricating truth being unharmed is complex. When the truth is being weaponized, fabricated and projected from behind a shroud of imagined righteousness, those holding the weapon are not harmed, nor those who fixed the targets. I could be at the right place trying to debunk false news at the wrong time and become an easy target in this chaos. Now, I understand the collective concern and worry my friends and family had for me and my professional choices.

In the wake of all this, what is journalism fighting for? For the truth that is losing its sanctity? For righteousness that is constantly maligned? For an ultimate value that can never be achieved? No. Journalism fights for change.

Mukhim’s reporting moved the local government to make amendments to licensing limestone mining. This was a partial win as the illegal and environmentally harmful extraction of the locally abundant material hasn’t stopped. But neither will she.

Efforts of journalists like Kashyap, along with many local farmers, enabled change. They covered different angles of the farming laws, collected reasons for the dissent, debunked fake rumours for over a year, and finally led the government to annul the new farming laws.

Hope that change can be achieved, even in part, pushes journalists to keep going against the odds. It inspires young journalists like me to take up this profession so that in every article I write, I am able to push the wheel of change, one millimetre at a time.

It is great to witness journalism striving for noticeable changes and generating value for itself by overcoming the negative effects of the actions of some of its own, seeking truth, and hopefully being safe to practice. Until then, cheers to Molotov cocktails on weekday nights.

 

Photo by Christine Beaudoin

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Student Life

Omicron or I’m-in-class?

Exploring the impact the return to campus is having

I heard the ping of my email, and saw it was from Concordia — instantly, my heart started racing.

I read the email and my heart sank. We were returning to campus as of Feb. 3, 2022.

This was two weeks ago. Concordia has since re-opened its door to students, with most campus activities returning in person.

My initial reaction to the news of in-person classes was anger and disbelief: was Concordia seriously doing this? We are still at the height of a pandemic, and their response was to make us all go back? I instantly started to spiral — at the time, this was the worst news I could have gotten.

Truth is, going back to campus right now is scary. For one, I am the mom of a 15-month-old. He cannot get vaccinated, he cannot wear a mask. He is vulnerable to COVID. Now, twice a week, I have to go to campus and potentially expose myself to COVID even more so than before.

On top of the added risk, Concordia doesn’t seem to be implementing too many measures to ensure that the return to school is safe. I would feel so much better if there were more measures put in place. This semester is now bound to be a mess. Don’t get me wrong — I want things to feel normal again. I just don’t know if that’s going to happen.

I am frustrated and scared about being in person. I feel rushed in my return to campus. What was the real reason? Is it really just because of government directives? The reasons are varied.

Many people I know are over COVID, and think that we just need to move on. They say that at this point, we have to accept COVID is not going away, so we need to “just live life” and let things go back to normal.

I tend to fall more into the other category, where I think most of us just need a little more time. We need to remember that we have not officially entered the endemic phase here, and I think it would be better to value health and safety before other things.

With all the conflicting opinions, we will never really know the real reason Concordia decided to go back in person so quickly.

There are aspects of in person learning that I miss and am looking forward to. I miss jumping into conversations and not having to wait in the Zoom queue — it would definitely make my seminars a lot more enjoyable.

I’m even looking forward to something as simple as holding a physical book in the library again. Those things will be great, but not at the expense of me, my family, and my classmate’s health.

All that being said, I am at a place where I have accepted that this is our shared hell-hole that we call reality. I don’t have much of a choice, other than signing the petitions calling for a slower transition that have been circulating. I have to comply, and make sure that I do what I can to be safe with my return to campus.

I also realized that I don’t have to go through this alone. There are resources that I can access at Concordia that can help make this transition easier.

Concordia offers short-term psychotherapy, which can help with the transition with going back to in person learning. Of course, the experiences that each student will get may not be the same. So it’s important to note that there may be some challenges accessing these services. Regardless, it is still a resource that Concordia offers, so at least getting some information about it can be a starting point to having support during a difficult time.

While you are waiting for the professional services, there are things you can do on your own that could help. Something as simple as creating playlists with happy music might help put you in a better mood. Or cooking that dish you have been thinking about cooking for oh-so-long. Even going for a nice walk to get some fresh air, might make things a little less scary.

One of the most interesting things is that Concordia offers some self-help tools, including a wellness tracking tool, and various workbooks that students and staff can consult. Sometimes we just need some self-reflection, and that may help.

There are also text/phone support options that students can access. While most of these are external links, they are still being suggested through Concordia, like Wellness Together Canada, which has many resources and options for people to use and perhaps help them.

Sure, they’re not perfect, and people need to explore what works best for them, but this is at least a foundation that could help students.

While I am still incredibly nervous about the potential exposure, and wishing Concordia would do more, I have hope that with time and with access to resources, the semester will be the best it can be despite all the issues we are still facing.

 

Photo by Kaitlynn Rodney

My strange obsession: Aspic

The gelatin-based confection is a ticket to small-scale opulence

I have a modest proposal: consider aspic, the vibrant jellied dish that is my current obsession, for your next culinary project.

Hear me out!

The word “aspic” inevitably conjures up a sense of dinner party dread, or visions of mid-century advertisements, of technicolor jello stuffed with hot dogs and peas and marshmallows.

One might think of the numerous aspics showcased on the @70sdinnerparty Instagram page, such as the “24-Hour Vegetable Salad,” a rather classy walnut and apple-stuffed creation topped with what could conceivably be jellied mayonnaise, and an intriguing recipe for “Illuminated Gelatin.”

But what is aspic? It is in fact “meat jello,” made from gelatin and broth. Gelatin is a hydrocolloid, derived from animal bones and skin. When heated with broth, the collagen in gelatin mingles with the liquid, creating a gentle jelly when cooled. Various bite-sized ingredients are then suspended in the mixture. When set, aspic is served cold, jiggling slightly. None of this I refute.

Maybe a better question, then, would be: “Why aspic?”

I recently embarked on an aspic escapade myself. My roommate and I decided to cheat a little bit and use store-bought gelatin and broth instead of taking the full gourmand route of boiling veal knuckles for hours. We even acquired a bundt pan for the occasion!

Any kind of container works, however — like sourdough, aspic can easily be dressed up or down, and allows for all kinds of skill levels and modifications. For vegetarians, seaweed-derived agar can be used in place of gelatin. It truly is a dish for all seasons and occasions.

Building the inner structure of the aspic was certainly the most challenging part of the process. Primarily, if you’re attempting a more elegant look over an overstuffed one, you have to gradually build up the jelly as you add your morsels to hold them in place.

We quickly learned that aspic really is a craft. It necessitates a long process, skillfully placed ingredients, and careful colour choices in order to create a distinctive picture. Aspic demands an attention to the decorative — as MIT professor Eugenie Brinkema has noted in her book The Forms of the Affects, the jelly is both a culinary medium and an aesthetic showcase.

And yet there is always something to be gleaned beyond the dichotomy of “gross” or “tasty.” What value is there in eating something you do not find that appetizing? No, our aspic was not miraculously delicious, nor did we expect it to be. But it felt delicious to orchestrate the event of aspic, and to try and articulate what about it specifically prompted a sensation of disgust.

We all agreed that the contrast between the meaty taste and the cold temperature was the most unsettling element. I’ll go out on a limb and say that our aspic seemed to inspire a kind of affectionate disgust.

So, why aspic? Aspic is not simply a food — that’s almost beside the point. Aspic is delightfully absurd. Aspic is an experience. Aspic is an event. And I think we should all indulge more often in such low-stakes aesthetic experiences, in small-scale opulent events of our own design.

 

Graphic by James Fay

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Opinions

My strange obsession: Day in My Life Vlogs

No Danielle-like-and-subscribe-buy-my-merch, it’s a day in MY life (I wish)

The extreme close-up of espresso dripping down into a marble mug.

The lo-fi beats shimmering over aesthetically pleasing B-roll footage of candles being lit, coffee being sipped, and hydro flasks being filled.

The La Croix-stocked fridge.

Let’s not forget about the eloquently lit bathroom consisting of The Ordinary skincare products, guasha stones, and eucalyptus hanging over a rainshower.

Hi. My name is Mélina and I have a slight obsession with “Day In My Life” vlogs.

There’s something about watching people on YouTube go through their days doing supposedly productive and wholesome things that just… gets me. From the morning coffee, to the seven-step skincare routine, to the weekly trip to the Village Juicery, I want it all.

When I open a video and see that it’s more than 10 minutes long, I know it’s going to be a good day for me. The truth is, I usually end up watching these videos for inspiration hoping they will encourage me to at least try to have a YouTuber-esque day in my life as well.

A day that is worthy of being accompanied by lo-fi beats as I film myself sipping an oat milk latte in my Barefoot Dreams robe, sitting on a white fluffy couch next to a perfectly manicured tall plant.

These YouTubers fill me with a different sense of “put-togetherness” that I haven’t quite felt before. At the same time, they also remind me that I should probably be getting to tasks that I’m avoiding, which is usually the case.

Through watching these vlogs, I too feel I am living the seemingly perfect life I get to witness through my laptop screen. Only in a less trendy, less glamorous, but equally caffeinated sort of way.

I may not be living out my life in a high rise apartment in New York City, grabbing expensive brunches with the gals, and reading spicy books by Colleen Hoover under fairy lights in a low-key type of coffee shop in Brooklyn, but I’m still living my best life.

However, if there’s one thing that these videos have taught me it is the absolute therapeutic pleasure of perfecting a skincare routine.

This has to be my favourite part.

Sometimes, I’ll stand in front of the mirror with my headband on, hair tied back, and snuggled in my bathrobe and recite my entire skincare routine, step-by-step. I do the whole shabang in a very “Harper’s Bazaar get unready with me” type of style.

I start with a classic, “Hey Guys! So I’ll be running you through how I take care of my skin…” and then go on to describe the benefits of each of the products I’m using each step of the way. I even do a little smize and shimmy in between steps, just to make myself FEEL like a real YouTuber.

The only people truly witnessing my routine are my cats, who like the warm bathroom floor.

You’re lying to yourself  if you’re reading this and thinking, “That’s weird I would never do that.” I know who you really are and you can’t hide from me.

Bottom line is that “Day in My Life” vlogs keep me sane these days, sort of. They’re that extra sprinkle that make my days better.

I’m not an influencer (if you didn’t catch that already). I know I can’t afford most of the things that they have or do.

In the words of Miss Ariana Grande: “I see it, I like it, I want it, I [don’t] got it.”

 

Graphic by James Fay

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Opinions

Tackling worldwide issues requires a new definition of proximity

COVID-19 tested our ability to care for strangers, and this test will only continue as we face climate change

I scoured the internet for the name of the first man to die of COVID-19. I learned that he was a 61-year-old man from Wuhan, China. I learned that he was a regular at the live animal market, he had previously been diagnosed with abdominal tumours and chronic liver disease, but I couldn’t find his name. He’s a number; he was patient zero. His heart failed on Jan. 9, 2020, and since then, there have been over 5.5 million COVID-19 deaths worldwide.

As consumers of news, there is always a disconnect when reading about events happening overseas.

These stories lack one of the seven ideals in newsworthy journalism: proximity. If you want people to read your articles, you need to report on issues that affect your reader or their communities directly. A man died of a virus in China, why should I care?

At this point, the answer to that question should be clear.

After that first death in Wuhan, it only took three weeks for the World Health Organization to declare a global health emergency, on Jan. 30, 2020.

Every single person on the planet was affected by COVID-19 in one way or another, and as the world becomes more globalized, there will be more of these worldwide issues that affect all of us. What we thought of as “proximate” is no longer relevant.

The problem we’re facing is that these new types of global issues are blurring geographical borders, but we are all still inclined to care more about issues directly affecting our family, friends, and neighbours. It’s hard to care about strangers overseas.

In international news reporting, we need to be connecting readers to issues by fabricating a sense of proximity. This would lead to better global awareness and a deeper understanding of events that will inevitably affect us all.

Personal narratives can be used to “reduce” distance and diminish the disconnected feeling we get from reading about foreign issues.

Having journalists report on people’s lives in a more intimate way can make it easier for audiences to empathize with the subjects — even those from far away, and even when they are not directly affected.

About two months into the pandemic, NBC News published a story about 60 lives in 60 days, which told the stories of some of the first American victims of COVID-19. They outlined other hardships the victims overcame in their lives and provided testimonies from loved ones. While this project didn’t receive an overwhelming number of likes on social media, the comments posted in response were genuine. Strangers were mourning these deaths.

However, in some cases, cultural or political barriers don’t allow us to gain the insight we need to make these connections.

Obviously, reporting operates differently in China.

Whether the country was trying to downplay the virus in January 2020 as they did with SARS in 2003, or whether the government’s official statements were delayed due to its complex, rigid system, it is possible that patient zero’s name purposely wasn’t shared. But not sharing his name was a disservice to the rest of the world.

If you had told me he left behind a wife or kids, it would’ve made me think of deaths that occurred in my own family. It would’ve brought about a fleeting wave of sadness, and it would’ve sparked an emotional connection.

Award-winning writer Walt Harrington wrote that more intimate journalism stories open “windows on our universal human struggle,” — and death and mourning are inevitable for all of us; it’s relatable. Sure, patient zero’s personal details wouldn’t have been all that relevant in reporting the spread of the virus, but readers abroad would’ve been able to connect.

COVID-19 isn’t the only ongoing global issue. Climate change is creeping up on all of us. And I mean all of us.

Developing countries have been suffering for decades from earthquakes, tsunamis, and other natural disasters as a result of global warming. And if that’s not enough to make you care, the recent floods in British Columbia are an indicator that these problems are not as far away as they may seem.

Sound familiar? The virus once felt far away too.

COP26, the most recent UN climate change summit, is one example of a collaborative effort — however flawed it may be. After 26 gatherings, the Earth should be in better shape, but what we do benefit from is the exposure to those people affected by climate change.

James Cadet, the Minister of Environment of Haiti, spoke in French about how their lives are “intimately linked” and their economies are “interdependent.” It doesn’t matter how far away Haiti may seem; COVID-19 wasn’t bothered by geographical borders, and climate change won’t be either.

Haiti is a vulnerable country and undoubtedly feels the intense consequences of climate change. Hearing first-hand about the hardships faced from a Haitian native creates a new type of proximity in which listeners feel closer to and empathize with the speaker.

Some journalists have turned to different forms of media to fabricate this sense of proximity.

Mia Lindgren, Professor and Dean at Swinburne University of Technology, discusses the effectiveness of audio media in storytelling. Mediums like radio and podcasts create proximity with the human voice. Hearing the warmth in the voices of strangers makes it easier to relate and sympathize than it would be through a piece of text.

Ear Hustle, a podcast which is recorded and posted by current prison inmates, is a perfect example of how technology has made it much easier to keep up with people beyond our own geographical and social borders.

Listeners can feel the pain, sadness, or guilt in the voices of the podcast host and guests. Audio storytelling achieves the element of proximity outlined in the principles of successful, newsworthy journalism.

Not knowing the name of COVID-19’s patient zero created even more distance in a situation where it was already difficult to connect. What if he wasn’t just a faceless victim? What if we had the opportunity to feel for him more deeply, 11,000 kilometers away?

If Wuhan wasn’t reported on, the situation could’ve been very different once COVID-19 reached North America. If there wasn’t communication across various nations, it’s possible that vaccines would not have been developed as quickly as they were. People need to be aware of events happening internationally – that’s how solutions are found.

This lesson learned from our pandemic response can be applied to every sort of global issue. Solutions will require worldwide collaboration, so again geographical proximity becomes irrelevant.

The Montreal Protocol is the most impressive example of this much needed communication and collaboration, as it is the only UN treaty to ever be ratified by all 197 UN-recognized countries. This collective agreement to protect the ozone layer came into effect in 1989. Among its notable achievements, it has led to the phaseout of the production and consumption of 98 per cent of ozone depleting substances. Global cooperation led to fixing global-scale problems — weird!

The traditional definition of proximity is no longer relevant in deciding what is “newsworthy.” As our problems get bigger, we have to widen the scope of our concern accordingly. Journalists have the power to create a feeling of proximity through their storytelling and make us care — something the world desperately needs as we face unprecedented, worldwide issues. The stories of those already affected by climate change must be shared, because we saw what happened when the world couldn’t sympathize with patient zero.

 

Graphics by James Fay

Categories
Opinions

Why am I telling the story this way?

Podcasts are a form of journalism that reach audiences differently with various perspectives

Podcasts are the new radio. They create a space where listeners can plug in their devices during their daily commute and gain insight not only into what’s happening in the world but to any topic they can enter in the search bar. In the 2020 Signal Hill podcast report, Canadian adults represent 27 per cent of monthly podcast listeners, showing that there is a good reason to look at this medium as a form of journalism. Concerns about news representation and the format of podcasts has led to several discussions about the journalistic value they have. Catching popularity in the early 2000s, this is not a discussion we should still be having. Podcasts are a form of journalism.

Indeed, podcasts can extend to various topics, from news to lifestyle content, and listeners might not categorize every show they listen to as reporting. Still, what journalism is and how we cover stories are highly debated topics and adding podcasts as a medium has created differing opinions on how journalism should be represented. However, the fact is that podcasting fits into various categories of recognized journalism like investigation, news, reviews, features, and columns.

One of the answers to the question “What is a journalist?” often argues that journalists are primarily content producers. This can put them in the same boat with content creators and online platforms who create content in a specific niche to share with followers and subscribers, including but not limited to podcast channels.

“We’re all journalists in some right,” said Alyson Fair, consultant at Bluesky Strategy Group, a public relations firm. “Podcasts are an extension of journalism and allow more voices to be heard.” Fair explained that while being a producer for CTV and working with Don Martin, the two saw podcasting being introduced as a way to share stories, news and content — prompting them to jump in and not fall behind.

In recent years, the amount of adult podcast listeners has increased and the 18-34 age range make up over half of adult Canadian listeners, according to the 2020 Signal Hill podcast report. More specifically, the top podcast genres for this age range include society and culture, news, arts and sports. This shows that all the topics we find in traditional media are also being covered on podcasts, the majority of which have no extra cost to the listeners.

“You have a worldwide audience. You never had that before with traditional media,” Fair said, adding that podcasts are a way to engage in longer, more in-depth conversations about topics in all spheres, including news and politics. The less restricted media becomes, the more opportunity it gets to grow its audience.

Millennials and older Gen Zs spend more time listening to podcasts, with news remaining in the top three most popular genres, according to Signal Hill in 2020. These generations demonstrate an interest in understanding what is happening in the world, but crave a more in-depth comprehension compared to the short clips we see or hear in traditional media. The younger generations live in a time where cellphones are ubiquitous, as they are how we gain access to information. With podcasts readily available for free through multiple platforms and applications, we are more likely to gravitate towards podcasts to hear stories and gain knowledge whenever we want, as opposed to tuning into a timely broadcast or paying a subscription to a newspaper.

In 2019, 34 per cent of Francophone and 28 per cent Anglophone Canadians read the news almost exclusively in text form, according to the Digital News Report; this is only marginally higher than the number of Canadians that listen to podcasts. This shows that the use of podcasts as a form of absorbing news is similar to text-based news, one of the most traditional mediums.

Podcasts create in-depth stories, a format that doesn’t fall under “hard news.” Still, it shows that hard news is not the only news. Canadians are interested in different approaches and perspectives to the same stories we hear in shorter, less detailed formats, like television and radio news packs. Podcasts build on many niches, subjects, and themes, but what is common is that they have details about a topic that helps their listeners build a better understanding by sharing a storyline with relatable conversation. They integrate interviews, clips, and research that creates depth in a simple way that makes them easy to listen to. For example, the podcast Canadian True Crime provides extensive detail for listeners about crimes and cold cases in Canada. This niche-specific podcast involves investigation, interviews, and retells each story comprehensively. As journalists, that’s what we do.

The Globe and Mail Monday to Friday news podcast, The Decibel, released an episode on Sept. 22, 2021 about a sexual assault case at Western University, where young women were drugged and sexually assaulted during orientation week. The host of the episode interviewed an education reporter and the coordinating news editor from Western’s student paper, the Western Gazette, who discussed more details about the event. The episode shared background information, commonalities between the number of reported cases and how social media posts started the police investigation. This information thickened the storyline, with open conversations that allowed listeners to get a better idea of the situation that they wouldn’t have been able to get in the two-minute television broadcasts.

The most effective way to understand podcasting as a form of journalism is understanding that journalism itself evolves and adapts cohesively with new mediums. As the formats change, so should our perspectives on progressive journalism, finding ways to share stories, facts, answers, and opinions that appeal to a wide variety of audiences.

 

Feature graphic by James Fay

Categories
Features

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

Categories
Opinions

Netflix and Chappelle can’t play harmless

Whether they like it or not, media has always been influential

In 2021, it feels strange to still see debate around the influence the media has on real world events. I think of the 1994 movie Natural Born Killers, which was suspected to have inspired a slew of copycat crimes. I think of Stephen King’s 1977 novel Rage, which he allowed to fall out of print after incidents resembling those in the plot occurred after publication. And as a journalism student, of course I think of the industry’s mistakes. How perpetrators of mass violence have been sensationalized, then idolized and imitated. Or what about all the harm the media has caused Indigenous peoples, while ignoring the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women, girls, and Two-Spirits, Even if a case is covered, the media usually perpetuates racist stereotypes through their coverage.

If you have any doubts about how powerful media can be, might I remind you about how misinformation helped elect Donald Trump in 2016, then caused a domestic terrorist attack at the U.S. Capitol? Or how about how misinformation about COVID-19 has led to confusion and resistance to public health measures? And, combined with centuries-long racist media, led to a spike in hate crimes against Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders.

That’s why Netflix Co-CEO and Chief Content Officer Ted Sarandos’s recent comments about veteran comedian Dave Chappelle’s controversial new Netflix special The Closer are so ridiculous.

Saraondo said, “With The Closer, we understand that the concern is not about offensive-to-some content but titles which could increase real world harm (such as further marginalizing already marginalized groups, hate, violence etc.) Last year, we heard similar concerns about 365 Days and violence against women. While some employees disagree, we have a strong belief that content on screen doesn’t directly translate to real-world harm. The strongest evidence to support this is that violence on screens has grown hugely over the last thirty years, especially with first party shooter games, and yet violent crime has fallen significantly in many countries. Adults can watch violence, assault and abuse — or enjoy shocking stand-up comedy — without it causing them to harm others.”

Chappelle’s The Closer spends a lot of time (more than you’d think for a 48-year-old straight man) talking about the LGBTQ+ community. Chapelle’s last special Sticks & Stones was similarly controversial, with jokes (or “jokes,” depending on your perspective) about the LGBTQ+ community, abuse allegations against certain celebrities, and his defence of admitted (but unprosecuted) sex offender and comedian Louis C.K.

Chappelle is undoubtedly influential. He’s an Emmy, Grammy, and Mark Twain prize winner, and arguably one of the most influential comedians of the 21st century. While The Closer does not encourage violence against the trans community, it is harmful.

He fixates on the private parts of trans people, mocks the appearance of queer people, uses slurs, and compares trans women to white people wearing blackface.

Chappelle jokes about rapper DaBaby, who recently made homophobic remarks about HIV/AIDS. Chappelle says DaBaby, “Punched the LBGTQ community right in the AIDS.” He goes on to reference an incident where the rapper shot and killed another Black man in self-defense, which did not negatively affect his career. Chappelle says, “In our country you can shoot and kill a n***** but you better not hurt a gay person’s feelings.” This is the self-proclaimed central idea of The Closer

“I have never had a problem with transgender people… my problem has always been with white people,” he says. But as Black gay activist and writer Kenyon Farrow points out, Chappelle is playing into, “a 30 year-old campaign carried out by Christian Right groups to use LGBT rights as a cultural wedge issue with African-Americans,” and forgetting how many people belong to both groups. Chappelle posits these communities against each other with stories about encounters he’s had with white LGBTQ+ people. He says he is jealous of the progress the LGBTQ+ community has made over a hundred years, and jokes that “If slaves had oil and booty shorts on, we might have been free 100 years sooner.” It’s clear to me that Chappelle is frustrated. I get the impression through his stories that he thinks the LGBTQ+ community is a way for white people to victimize themselves, get away with racism, and distract from the ongoing struggles of the Black community. I understand why Chappelle thinks this way given his age and the life he has led but it’s still unfortunate to see minority groups still be pitted against each other by white supremacist, Christian, and right-wing structures.

As the National Black Justice Coalition points out in their criticism of the special: “With 2021 on track to be the deadliest year on record for transgender people in the United States — the majority of whom are Black transgender people — Netflix should know better. Perpetuating transphobia perpetuates violence.”

It’s such a shame that Chappelle’s standup in the last few years has come to this. In his early career, Danielle Fuentes Morgan, who teaches a course on African American comedy at Santa Clara University, says that he “punch[ed] up, to speak truth to power, to focus his ‘attacks’ on injustices and institutions with discernibly more power than he had.” Punching up or down is a concept usually discussed in the context of comedy. Punching up means criticizing and mocking a person, group of people, or institution with more power than you. Punching down is the reverse. In Chapelle’s case punching up would be white people, the police, the government for example, trans people decidedly belong to a group with less power than the cis-het millionaire. In The Closer, Chapelle acknowledges that he’s been accused of punching down, and wonders what the phrase means. As Morgan writes, “In teaching Chappelle, it’s become increasingly important to address how a person can be marginalized while also marginalizing others.”

I’ve written about the real world impact media has on minorities before, but comedians are a special case. Culturally, comedians have a bit of an outsider/underdog complex that many can’t shake, even when they become famous millionaires. There’s even a common joke that comedians are themselves a minority group. And so they think they can joke about anything, forgetting they have influence, especially in the era of mass-produced, mass-streamed Netflix stand-up comedy.

Many have pointed out the irony and hypocrisy of Sarandos’ recent claims “content on screen doesn’t directly translate to real-world harm” even after the platform released Disclosure in 2020, a documentary about the impact of ignorant and inaccurate portrayals of trans people in American cinema. This is the same documentary Sarandos cites in statements following the Chappelle controversy about Netflix’s commitment to inclusion.

No matter what Chapelle, Sarandos, or anyone who whines about cancel culture says, art has impact. Jokes cannot just be jokes, especially not ones aimed at minorities. No, The Closer is probably not going to directly cause someone to go out and commit a hate crime, just like author J.K. Rowling’s trans-exclusionary radical feminist (TERF) essay didn’t. But when hate and ignorance is given a platform, it is normalized and perpetuated and that is what leads to violence and discriminatory legislation.

 

Photo collage by Catherine Reynolds

Categories
Music

A look at the new Rolling Stone 500 all-time songs list

It’s only natural that such an opinionated topic can divide a large portion of music fans

Rolling Stone just released their list of the top 500 greatest songs of all time, creating a polarizing conversation in the music community. They sought help from over 250 people coming from every corner of the industry — artists, producers, musicians, critics, writers and journalists all pitched in for the 2021 edition. The list of people who contributed spans from Megan Thee Stallion to Joey Santiago from Pixies, to people working for Spotify, Rolling Loud and even RCA Records. Contributors were asked to submit a ranked list of their top 50 songs of all time. Nearly 4000 songs were mentioned and they then cumulated the results.

An inaugural version of the top 500 list came out in 2004, which was compiled by a variety of figures across the industry. Unfortunately, the list had many issues. The first and most obvious flaw is that the list contains next to no variety: 40.8 per cent of the 500 songs, which equals 203 tunes, are from the 1960s alone. The 1970s also have a lot of entries on the list with 142 songs, (28.2 per cent) of the list. The list is basically telling listeners that for the hundreds of years that music has been around, 69 per cent of the 500 greatest songs of all time have been created in a 20-year time span. As great as the ‘60s and ‘70s were for music, this is a highly controversial take.

In addition to lacking different eras of music, the 2004 list is also deprived of breadth in the genres and languages it presents. The list is mainly composed of early rock and soul songs with not a lot of other genres. It does make sense that these are favoured the most by the list since it is dominated by the ‘60s and ‘70s, an era where rock and soul were at their peak. The vast majority of tracks on the list are English songs, with only a few exceptions such as “La Bamba,” by Ritchie Valens, which is sung in parts English and Spanish and “Barrio Fino,” by Daddy Yankee, which is sung solely in Spanish. Songs in English are widely more popular in North America and in the U.K., where Rolling Stone is mostly based, but to not have a single song in another language is problematic. All-time classic songs like “La Vie en rose,” by Édith Piaf, which is sung in French, could have easily been worthy of being on the list.

The latest 2021 edition of the list addressed most of these problems by incorporating a wide range of musiciality. This saw every major genre being at least represented, and significantly more songs being featured coming from artists all over the world. With its latest version, the list isn’t afraid of incorporating songs that are incredibly contemporary — putting them next to all-time great songs from decades past. Tracks like “Old Town Road,” by Lil Nas X (#490) or “Dynamite,” by BTS (#346) that had tremendous success in the past two years both appear on the list. The highest charting song of 2020 on the list is “Safaera,” by Latin superstar Bad Bunny, which occupies the 329th spot.

 

The top 10: 

 

  1. “Hey Ya!” by Outkast, released in 2003

 

  1. “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, released in 1977

 

  1. “Get Ur Freak On” by Missy Elliott, released in 2001

 

  1. “Strawberry Fields Forever” by The Beatles, released in 1967

 

  1. “What’s Going On’” by Marvin Gaye, released in 1971

 

  1. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana, released in 1991

 

  1. “Like a Rolling Stone” by Bob Dylan, released in 1965

 

  1. “A Change Is Gonna Come” by Sam Cooke, released in 1964

 

  1. “Fight the Power” by Public Enemy, released in 1989

 

  1. “Respect” by Aretha Franklin, released in 1967

 

The top ten is pretty solid in its own right. “Respect,” by Aretha Franklin at #1 is a safe and great pick, and every song on this list has had a lasting impact on music. The only song that feels out of place here is Missy Elliott’s “Get Ur Freak On,” which is a great track, but should be nowhere near the top 50. ”Imagine,” by John Lennon (#19) or “A Day in the Life,” by The Beatles (#24) could have easily replaced this for a spot in the top 10, but regardless, it could have been way worse.

As you would expect from such a subjective list, people complained about the placement of certain songs — for instance, the article on the Rolling Stone’s website has amassed over 1900 comments. While the value of a song is in the eye of the beholder, this list cannot be perfect. Some songs are deemed way too low, others are placed way too high. Some placements make sense, others are truly outrageous. Are we really living in a world where Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own” is the 20th best song of all time? Where “Royals,” by Lorde (#30) is one spot higher than The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,”? Where “All Too Well,” by Taylor Swift (#69) is ranked a spot higher than “Suspicious Minds,” by Elvis Presley and three spots higher than “Yesterday,” by The Beatles? Absolutely not.

Putting “Hotel California,” by The Eagles at #311, “Wish You Were Here,” by Pink Floyd at #302, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” by The Beach Boys at #297 and “River” by Joni Mitchell at #247 should be considered a crime.

With all this being said, while the new list has its flaws, it is exponentially better than the 2004 list by being far more versatile in every aspect — with songs from every era, a greater variety of genres, and by also incorporating tracks in other languages. While some people have problems with the idea of a list like this, I personally find it extremely entertaining that some of music’s brightest people can put together such a list for casual and devoted music fans alike to debate and have a discourse over. Yes, some placements were not great, but overall, the list is not as bad as people make it seem and it arguably contains the 500 greatest songs of all time.

 

Graphic by James Fay

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