‘I will gladly take the heat’: CUSA subcommittee advocates for divestment, despite pushback
DOUAA QADADIA
The Carleton University Students’ Association’s (CUSA) divestment subcommittee is advocating for students’ concerns about the university’s investments, despite the university’s senate voting against divestment and disclosure last October.
According to Artur Estrela da Silva, CUSA’s vice-president (student issues) and subcommittee executive member, the subcommittee has two primary goals: divestment and surveying effects on students.
Toward the former, CUSA is urging Carleton to divest from companies deemed to be in violation of international law. As for the latter, it launched a survey on Jan. 20 for students to share their experiences with anti-Arab and anti-Palestinian racism on campus, with a final report planned for March 2025.
“This is what we are hearing from the student community,” Estrela da Silva said. “It all goes back to what matters to students.”
Even so, the subcommittee has faced opposition while pursuing divestment, particularly from local pro-Israel organizations, according to Dana Sayed Ahmed, a CUSA councillor and leader of the subcommittee.
“We’re always going to face backlash just because of the nature of the topic in itself and ... how debated it is in Western cultures and imperialist countries.
“I still believe in it,” she said. “I will gladly take the heat for it.”
Advocacy groups including Carleton University 4 Palestine (C4P) and Students for Justice in Palestine are involved in the subcommittee’s efforts.
“Hundreds of students have signed petitions to call on the university to divest,” said a representative from C4P. He asked not to be named because he desires privacy and fears personal repercussions.
“People are opening their eyes and realizing this is the great injustice of our time, and it has to be taken seriously,” he said.
Student senator and Independent Jewish Voices Carleton president
Nir Hagigi said Carleton has resisted divestment efforts. He criticized the university’s handling of the issue, calling it “shameful.”
“The majority of the university wants divestment,” Hagigi said. “We’ve seen this with CUASA motions, with CUSA motions, GSA motions, CUPE motions. The only places it hasn’t passed are the senate and Board of Governors.”
In a Jan. 20 email statement to the Charlatan , university media relations officer Steven Reid said Carleton is “committed to responsible investment.”
The university has a responsible investing policy, is a signatory to the UN Principles for Responsible Investment and uses environmental, social and governance factors to consider the financial returns and “overall impact” of new investments, the statement adds.
The C4P representative compared divestment advocacy work today to the push for divestment from apartheid South Africa in the 1980s.
“Our student predecessors have fought for divestment from South Africa and students before them have fought for the civil rights movement in the U.S.,” he said. “This is
something very similar.”
CUSA is not only on the right side of history, Hagigi said, but also in an ideal position to advocate for students.
“They’re able to influence the university in ways that individual student clubs aren’t,” he said.
The success of CUSA’s subcommittee depends on both CUSA and the university, according to the C4P representative.
“It depends on the willingness of CUSA councillors and the CUSA executive body,” he said. “It also depends on the university and whether or not they decide to listen to their students.”
CUSA councillor Sayed Ahmed said it’s important to balance advocacy with practical limitations.
“There’s a cost-benefit analysis to everything,” she said. “That includes making sure we get divestment, but not at the cost of other students’ rights and responsibilities.”
Despite the various considerations, Sayed Ahmed said divestment efforts are vital.
“Advocacy like this brings back a sense of community,” she said. “It fosters a feeling of safety and well-being, to know that someone is out there fighting for you.”
Graphic by Alisha Velji
Carleton student invents tree-planting robot to combat shoreline erosion
KYLA SILVA
Stefan Teodorescu stands outside of Dunton Tower. [Photo by Kyla Silva/ the Charlatan]
Shoreline erosion is deteriorating coastal regions around the world, but for Stefan Teodorescu and his new robot, the solution isn’t eroding with the coast.
The first-year Carleton University aerospace engineering student designed “Mangrover,” a robot that streamlines the laborious planting process of its namesake tree, the mangrove.
Mangrover won top honours at the 2024 Canadian Robotics Olympiad, leading Teodorescu and his high school classmate, Oscar Barbieri, to present Mangrover as a solution to shoreline erosion in Turkey at the 2024 World Robotics Olympiad.
The Charlatan sat down with Teodorescu to discuss Mangrover and environmental resilience growing alongside robotics.
The Charlatan (TC): What is Mangrover?
Stefan Teodorescu (ST): It’s a robot that plants mangrove seeds. Mangroves are a type of tree with aerial roots that grow in tropical coastal regions, mostly sandy marshy areas.
They act as a natural erosion barrier and very strong carbon sinks. They foster biodiversity as well because they provide a unique habitat for many endangered species.
If we want to start planting wide stretches, we need to automate the process. It’s not efficient to just have volunteers doing it over and over.
TC: What inspired you to pursue the Mangrover idea?
ST: My aunt went on a trip to the Pacific islands and she sent me some photos of mangrove plantations on beaches. There’d be just the charities who were planting the mangrove seeds to protect it from erosion.
I looked more into the process, it’s very repetitive—it’s just somebody who takes these seeds and jams them in the sand or marsh, hours on end in a grid. It’s very easy to make a robot that could do that.
TC: How does Mangrover actually work?
ST: We built a rover, which you can set in a predefined geofenced area, so
just the coordinates of four corners of a square, and you put the robot in one of the corners of that square. The robot will stay within the bounds of that square and autonomously follow a zig-zagging path, avoid obstacles and plant rows after rows of mangrove seeds.
TC: What is the threat of shoreline erosion?
ST: With climate change, many storms or other meteorological events are becoming more and more violent and a lot of coastal regions are mostly formed of sand. This means that if you have a hurricane and you have large waves, these waves are going to slowly, with time, wash away the sand.
TC: Why is Mangrover’s mission important to you?
ST: It’s something that’s very overlooked. Usually when we think of solutions to problems caused by climate change, you think about stuff like electric vehicles. I thought this was different. Something that’s not as easily visible, but also very powerful.
TC: Why is it important to focus on less visible climate solutions?
ST: If everybody concentrates on all the same things, we’re going to overlook the other things. Climate change is really a wicked problem with a lot of ramifications, so we have to think about more widespread prevention measures.
TC: How do national accolades and bringing Mangrover to the international stage impact your mission?
ST: By doing these competitions you develop the skills to research, to find a problem, to create a product that addresses this problem. This is what I think is beneficial for the rest of humanity from these competitions: you’re creating a generation of problem solvers.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
‘We still fight’: Albina Holokhvastova shares nuances of Ukrainian refugee experience
WARNING: This article contains sensitive topics. Those in need of support can contact the Mental Health Crisis Line: 613-722-6914 (within Ottawa) and 1-866-996-0991 (outside Ottawa), the Ottawa Distress Centre Crisis Line: 613-2383311, or the Youth Services Bureau 24/7 Crisis Line: 613260-2360 or 1-877-377-7775 (toll).
While waiting four months for Canadian visas in 2022, 17-year-old siblings Albina Holokhvastova and Danyil Holokhvastov stayed with host families in three countries. Each home moved them further and further away from their home in Bila Tserkva, located just outside of Kyiv, Ukraine.
They first stayed in Zamosc, Poland for nearly two months. It was their first time travelling alone and they didn’t know any Polish.
Holokhvastova said some host families expected the siblings to be more extroverted and explore their cities —
something easier said than done.
“All I wanted to do was to sit in my room and talk to my friends and look at the news,” Holokhvastova said. “It’s not really a journey or travelling. You’re escaping your own home.”
When Russia invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022, Holokhvastova’s parents were vacationing in the Dominican Republic with family friends who lived in Canada. Following the invasion, one of them helped Holokhvastova’s parents move to Canada.
Holokhvastova remained in Bila Tserkva with her brother and uncle. Her mother called daily, pleading with her to move to Canada, but Holokhvastova resisted.
“There were videos of people stopping the tanks with their hands and I was going to be one of them,” Holokhvastova said. “I was like, ‘Mama, I’m not leaving.’”
When bombs started dropping over Bila Tserkva in late February, residents were encouraged to shelter in basements. Holokhvastova recalled walking to her local community centre’s basement with her dog, Jessie — the lightest of her 10 pets she could carry.
“The basement was not safe, it was super small ... and it was mad old,” Holokhvastova said. “I have a better chance of living in my house if it falls down than in this basement trapped underground.”
Holokhavastova stayed in the basement for just one night. She said it was terrifying to know the shelter could be hit at any second — and she would be powerless to stop it.
“It’s almost like your body is always tense.”
Albina Holokhvastova, a first-year communications and media studies student at Carleton University, fled Ukraine in March 2022. [Photo by Sadeen Mohsen/the Charlatan]
SADEEN MOHSEN & MAIA TUSTONIC
By March, Holokhvastova said she believed she was safe in her home, despite routinely falling asleep to the sounds of sirens. That changed when her cousin’s friend’s house — close to her school and a 15-minute drive from her home — was bombed.
After the bombing, her mother quickly arranged for Holokhvastova and her brother to stay with family friends in Poland. They boarded an evacuation bus the next day.
“I still kind of have this survivor’s guilt,” Holokhvastova said. “Part of me is like, ‘Why did I get a chance to leave?’”
Their first stop was a school gymnasium full of tents, where they received blankets and tea. Despite the language barrier, Holokhvastova said volunteers at the emergency centre provided much-needed care.
“It was really wholesome, experiencing that kindness,” she said.
After spending the next two months with a host family, the siblings moved to Kessel, Germany for three weeks, where they met Margo Kobliakova, who had fled Kyiv in February 2022.
Kobliakova said the pair immediately became friends, spending two weeks together chatting on walks and in cafés.
“I wasn’t expecting to meet that kind of smiley and really outgoing girl,” Kobliakova said. “Albina is like sunshine.”
Three years later, the two keep in touch over social media. Kobliakova, who returned to Kyiv last year, said she hopes Holokhvastova will also return to Ukraine so the two can meet again.
“Those two years in Germany were difficult for me,” Kobliakova said. “Hanging out with [Holokhvastova] was one of the most bright and colorful memories of my German life.”
Holokhvastova and her brother then spent a week in Belgium before receiving Canadian visas and moving to Ottawa.
Holokhvastova recalled the whirlwind of meeting people in evacuation lines, new friendships and families opening up their homes to her and her brother.
“These people ... have been there for you during the hardest times,” Holokhvastova said. “I switched three host families, I met so many people and I haven’t learned how to say goodbye yet.”
After four months of separation, Holokhvastova and her parents were reunited in June 2022.
In September 2022, Holokhvastova started her first day of Canadian high school. She had already graduated in Ukraine, but needed to take English classes to get into university.
At the time, she understood English but couldn’t speak fluently. Students and teachers consistently asked if she was an international student, despite her saying she was from Ukraine.
She said she felt “really alone” and like nobody knew about the war in her country.
“It was just really hard to speak about my experience and explain it to people.”
On that first day of school, Holokhvastova wrote a reflection in her notes: “I’m a refugee, I’m not an immigrant.”
Looking back, she said she understands why people can be afraid to use the word “refugee.”
“ ” It’s not really a journey or travelling. You’re escaping your own home.
- Albina Holokhvastova
“Not everyone is fine to be called that,” she said. “To me personally, it just acknowledges the fact that I fled war. I’m here not because I was immigrating, I genuinely was escaping home.”
Holokhvastova is now a first-year communications and media studies student at Carleton University. After she finishes her degree, she said she’s going back to Ukraine.
“That’s where I belong,” she said. “I still feel a lot of guilt that I’m here in safety ... I have to do something.”
To that end, Holokhvastova found work as a nanny for a Ukrainian family and started donating to the war effort. She attended Ukrainian events and hosted her own fundraisers. On her social media, she committed to posting at least once a day about the conflict.
But Holokhvastova said her “real advocacy work” began when she discovered Carleton’s Ukrainian Students’ Club in 2024. Since then, she’s spoken with members of Parliament about her experiences as a Ukrainian refugee, but she said events which showcase Ukrainian culture, like Discover Ukraine, are equally as important for her country’s preservation.
“War is not the only thing that you can learn about Ukraine,” she said. “It’s a beautiful country and that’s what we are fighting for. When we show this music, art and photography, this is what we are afraid to lose.”
Erin Okrainec, a member of Carleton’s Ukrainian Students’ Club, said Holokhvastova reached out before starting at Carleton to learn more about the club’s advocacy work.
“Even though she wasn’t a student, she wanted to help,” Okrainec said. “She would repost our stories and posts on Instagram, Facebook.”
Now as a club member, Okrainec said Holokhvastova continues to “help wherever she can” and look for creative ways to raise awareness about Ukraine.
“She always wants to do the best she can,” Okrainec said.
Holokhvastova stopped short of calling herself an activist, saying there is still work for her to do and everyone should commit to activism.
“There should be at least something you genuinely care about,” she said. “To that degree, I guess everyone can be called an activist.”
Almost three years since Russia’s invasion, Holokhvastova said it’s important to remember the conflict began with Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014 and that it is about people and their fate, “not just a place on the map.”
She said she sees strength in keeping Ukrainian cultural practices alive and that her people’s resilience inspires her continued advocacy for her country.
“I just see a lot of strength in how unbreakable people are,” Holokhvastova said. “Resilience is in the fact that we still fight for what’s ours.”
February 2025
Features Editor: Kyra Vellinga | features.charlatan@gmail.com
Hand in hand: Students launch Black Future Lawyers Carleton chapter
Members of the Black Future Lawyers Carleton chapter from left to right: Ify Obi, Marie-Danielle N’Guessan, Kenza Kayinamura and Jahnelle Woldegiorgis. [Photo by Kyra Vellinga/the Charlatan]
ABYSSINIA ABEBE & KYRA VELLINGA
It’s small, slender and made of bronze. But to founders of the Black Future Lawyers (BFL) Carleton chapter, a tiny pin engraved with the scales of justice embodies deep motivations and historical significance.
Kenza Kayinamura, a third-year undergraduate law student at Carleton University, said the pin was gifted to attendees at a September 2024 pre-law conference hosted by the Black Law Students’ Association of Canada (BLSAC).
The event presented opportunities for Black pre-law students to interact with Black legal professionals in various stages of their respective careers.
“It was beautiful,” Kayinamura said. “They were being very vulnerable ... telling us about impostor syndrome and what it is to be the minority in those kinds of spaces.”
At the end of the event, attendees were invited to participate in a series of affirmations. While reciting phrases such as “I see myself as a future Black lawyer” and “I see my own potential,” bronze pins were bestowed as a symbol of perseverance and community.
“It changed the chemistry in my brain,” Kayinamura said.
Kayinamura said creating a BFL Carleton chapter this academic year was her attempt to bring a piece of the BLSAC event back to her home campus.
“I know I’m not the only person who thought my dreams were unattainable. I’m trying to make them more attainable for myself and others,” she said.
Just 4.24 per cent of students in Canadian law schools are Black, according to a 2023 BLSAC census report. The report also indicates Black students who attend a Canadian law school are often the only Black person in their class or cohort.
By fostering communal support and practical resources, the new BFL Carleton chapter is striving to transform the legal landscape and overcome systemic barriers at the undergraduate level.
Originating in 2020 at the University of Toronto, BFL is a nationwide program providing resources, workshops, mentoring and opportunities to Black students interested in entering the legal profession. The program’s
goal is to increase Black enrolment in law schools.
Currently, BFL chapters exist at eight Canadian campuses, with Carleton’s chapter being one of the newest additions.
Founding the chapter
Despite some bureaucratic delays in certifying the club with the Carleton University Students’ Association, BFL Carleton’s events co-ordinator Jahnelle Woldegiorgis said establishing the chapter was “just divine.”
“The way that it came together was very much meant to be,” she said. “I promise you, there’s probably going to be at least 20 or more Black law students in a classroom because of this chapter.”
The enthusiasm surrounding the chapter is illuminating the need for mutual Black student support at Carleton, Woldegiorgis said.
Upcoming events
With the first round of events underway, BFL Carleton executives said they are eager to grow a vibrant collection of resources for Black pre-law students.
In November, the group visited Fortune 500 company Accenture’s Ottawa office to learn more about the career trajectories of in-house legal counsel and consultants. The networking event was the first of many BFL Carleton intends to host.
Fostering professional connections is especially valuable for Black pre-law Carleton students who often don’t have connections in the field, Woldegiorgis said.
“You are deserving of having a community of people to celebrate your wins with and to pick you up when you’re down,” she said. “A lot of opportunities [are] geared towards law students or articling students, and not so
“I thought, ‘Deep down, people are really crying out for help,’” she said. “We’re so used to just pushing [feelings] down, toughing it out and being resilient leaders who have to deal with it all alone.”
For Ify Obi, a third-year Carleton undergraduate law student, the creation of the BFL Carleton chapter felt like an “answered prayer.”
“I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders because I’d been praying for opportunities,” she said. “I’d see my classmates getting incredible chances — some of them are even law clerks — but many people of colour didn’t have the same access.
“The struggles of being Black in law are very real. It’s hard to find your community.”
much for undergrad students,” Kayinamura added. “We’re trying to push something for undergrad law students at Carleton.”
The ability to “get a taste for different aspects of the law” is an important opportunity to Marie-Danielle N’Guessan, a fourth-year undergraduate law student.
“I really want more of an actual law field [position] or at least some sort of experience, because I can’t go into law school blind,” N’Guessan said.
In addition to networking events, BFL Carleton is planning to host study groups, free LSAT prep courses, mental wellness events and professional photoshoots.
As an international student with South African and Nigerian roots, Obi said she intends to facilitate financial workshops for Black international students at Carleton.
Black Law Students’ Association of Canada pins. [Photo by Kyra Vellinga/the Charlatan]
She said having access to correct financial information and resources is like a “key to the door that you didn’t know you could open.”
Woldegiorgis said she hopes to change limiting narratives for Carleton’s next generation through BFL.
“I always had a different outlook on my learning experience ... It felt very lonely for a very long time. Going to law school and becoming a lawyer felt like a dream,” Woldegiorgis said. “Sometimes you just need that one person or reminder that you can do it.”
“ ”
We can all be lawyers.
- Kenza Kayinamura
Transforming the legal landscape
A s the chapter embarks on its mission to build community, Woldegiorgis said BFL’s presence is sorely needed at Carleton in order to challenge harmful norms in the legal landscape.
“The law has a lot of power in shaping our society and shaping how we view each other as humans and in communities,” she said. “Unfortunately, a lot of the time society or institutions don’t always prepare us naturally to be successful.”
Kayinamura cited legal cultural norms as a hindrance to Black students, explaining that lawyers are classically portrayed as white, affluent men.
“What a lawyer ‘is’ looks very different now,” she said. “We can all be lawyers. It’s just the drive and willingness to put in the work and keep going.”
Inclusive policies, representation and environments aren’t “just a feel-good goal,” said Erin Tolley, a Carleton political science professor and the Canada Research Chair in gender, race and inclusive politics. She said more inclusivity in public life leads to greater trust in institutions and increased quality of decision -making.
“If you have homogenous institutions or a homogenous judiciary, you are going to get decisions, policies [and] outcomes that haven’t taken into account the whole range of perspectives in society,” Tolley said.
Initiatives like BFL Carleton will shape not only the legal profession, Tolley said, but Canadian politics as well. According to her January 2025 research report, Black on the Ballot, law, government and business are “pipeline occupations” for prospective political candidates.
She said diversity in those fields has a “downstream effect” on the diversity Canadians see in public office.
Woldegiorgis said BFL Carleton presents an opportunity to “pop the myth that doing a legal studies undergrad is a prerequisite for entering law school.” She said the group wants to empower students to pursue law, “even if they’re studying biology.”
Building on the momentum of changemakers that came before them, BFL Carleton executives are striving to encourage Black excellence at the university.
“We need you in the field. We need your knowledge [and] experiences. You are going to play an active role in shaping what’s to come,” Kayinamura said of Black students at Carleton. “We need you to get through the impossible, the failure and get back up.”
Overcoming obstacles through community
The executives pointed to micro and macro-aggressions at the university as hardships which can be lessened through community care.
N’Guessan said when she’s the only Black person in a classroom, it often emboldens people to make assumptions about her cultural knowledge. She noted that professors often “point you out” to share perceptions on topics related to Black culture and history.
“You’re expected to either be the activist, the person that speaks out or to share experiences that you may not even have,” she said. “We’re not experts — we only have experiences that we can talk about.”
This lack of understanding contrasts sharply with the support and connection that can come from being taught by a Black professor, according to Rebecca Mesay, the 2024-25 BLSAC director of advocacy and a third-year student at the Toronto Metropolitan University’s Lincoln Alexander School of Law.
Mesay said instruction by a Black professor is “deeply enriching,” largely because of shared experiences. She said this mutual understanding creates an environment where students feel secure in expressing concerns or challenges.
The decisions academic institutions make, from hiring to setting curriculum, are crucial influences on the experiences of Black students and professors, Tolley said.
“One key thing is to think about who we hire and the faces at the front of the classroom. But it’s not just numbers,” she said. “If you only focus on hiring, but the institutions themselves are hostile or not welcoming, you aren’t going to retain all those wonderful people you hired.”
For students, “the climate and culture within universities” can either encourage or isolate, she said.
“Is the classroom a safe space for diverse perspectives? Is it a safe space for students who aren’t white? Are we putting in place a climate where everybody feels like they belong?” Tolley asked.
She added that re-evaluating “what we consider to be the canon texts” taught in university can transform the learning journey of all students.
Beyond education
The issue of representation extends beyond school and into the legal profession itself. According to the Law Society of Ontario’s 2023 annual report, Black and racialized Ontarians account for 28.7 per cent of lawyers, despite composing 34.43 per cent of Ontario’s population. Additionally, BLSAC’s 2023 census found 63 per cent of Canadian law schools have a Black enrolment rate disproportionately lower than the Black population of the cities they’re located.
“You can imagine, some 30 years ago, it was even less,” Mesay said.
Mirabelle Harris-Eze, BLSAC’s 2022-23 president and a recent graduate of the University of Calgary’s law school, said even the most recent statistics follow years of intensive calls to action.
“It’s not like we’re looking at these numbers in a complete vacuum where no one is advocating,” she said.
Harris-Eze emphasized these disparities are not due to Black students’ inability to achieve high scores, but
Woldegiorgis and Obi arm-in-arm. [Photo by Kyra Vellinga/the Charlatan]
reflect systemic issues in Canadian legal culture.
“Black law students are completely capable of having high grades and high LSAT scores. They do this every day and are often at the top of their class,” she said.
“The question,” Harris-Eze said, “is whether a good GPA and a good LSAT score makes you a good lawyer — or whether they simply reflect the opportunities you had growing up.”
She argued that acknowledging privilege is essential to creating a fuller understanding of the diverse experiences within the legal field.
“There are different privileges we all have, and I don’t think it’s a problem to acknowledge those privileges,” she said. “If we’re truly exploring how law schools can be more inclusive, these conversations are necessary.”
“We rarely get that space where we can come together and there’s so much that we can relate to,” she said. “I think it’s resilient in a way for [BFL Carleton] to be created. This is going to be one of the many things that will help incoming students.”
Two of the BLSAC 2023 census final recommendations include making physical environments more inclusive and incorporating additional informed discussion of race into curriculum.
N’Guessan said she feels BFL Carleton is a physical place for inclusive experience-sharing. event.
Woldegiorgis said the chapter’s role is to equip students for the challenges of law school.
“It’s a space where we can prepare ourselves — whether mentally, emotionally or academically,” she said.
“Those resources will ensure that, ‘OK, I am at least building my toolkit to get the full return on my investment in law school.’ It’s not an easy commitment and it’s not a small one at all.”
For Kayinamura, this undertaking is tied to one specific affirmation from the September 2024 BLSAC
She still keeps her bronze pin close as a reminder of the experience.
“The line that made me cry at the BLSAC expo was, ‘You are the embodiment of your ancestors’ wildest dreams,” she said. “It was beautiful.”
Graphic by Alisha Velji
‘Stronger together’: How Ottawa drag artists find identity and community
GEORGIA LOOMAN
Slushy has a specific order she follows each time she gets ready.
First, she starts with makeup and glues down her eyebrows, applying contour, foundation and concealer. Eyeshadow and lashes come next, with lipstick and gloss as the final cosmetic touches.
After makeup, she tapes and glues her wig down, swishing her long, black hair back and forth as she takes in her new look.
Finally, it’s time for the outfit, which she digs out of her shimmery, colourful closet. This time, it’s an oversized green bedazzled tiger shirt with white gloves, glittery high heels and a thick black belt with a rhinestone gun charm.
This is a routine Slushy has mastered over her threeyear career as a drag queen, which began in her first-year dorm room at the University of Ottawa.
What started as applying makeup with friends soon turned into buying wigs and performing at bars.
“I know some people are more drastic and just [got] into full drag one day ... but for me, it was definitely a slower process and I’m happy I did it like that,” Slushy said.
Growing up in Thunder Bay, Ont., Slushy said they were never exposed to the 2SLGBTQIA+ community during their childhood.
“I knew I had more feminine or queer tendencies, and definitely it feels other-ing growing up in an environment where that’s not reflected,” she said.
Slushy moved to Ottawa as an 18-year-old and said she remembers her first time seeing drag queens outside The Lookout Bar, a prominent gay bar in the ByWard Market.
“That was a super eye-opening experience for me,” she said. “I feel like drag has definitely helped me express a more feminine side of me and express my queerness, [a] thing often as a child I was ashamed of.”
Now a full-fledged drag queen, DJ, model and Ottawa’s Next Drag Superstar competitor, Slushy defines drag as a form of self-expression.
“[Drag] really reflects what is important to that person as an artist and what they want to share with their audience,” she said.
Slushy said her drag encompasses her favourite qualities from the women in her life.
Slushy’s final drag queen look. [Photo by Georgia Looman/the Charlatan]
“[My girlfriends] have such good confidence, and they own themselves as a woman and they give powerful feminine energy, and I feel like I want to emulate that in my drag,” she said.
Ultimately, she said, drag is a big celebration of “femininity and being gay as hell.”
Like Slushy, drag clown Vex Scandal said drag is an “artistically fulfilling” experience that allows them to use aspects from their art schooling in animation in their drag makeup.
“[Makeup] was a way to feel connected with myself visually, because I didn’t like how I looked and I didn’t feel comfortable in my body,” they said.
Vex Scandal first started performing as a drag king because they weren’t aware of the performer diversity within the drag community.
“Everyone was calling me handsome, calling me ‘he’ and it was very affirming at the time,” they said. “The past three years I’ve been on testosterone and the more that people perceive me as a ‘he’ as default, I’ve been not
liking it as much.”
Vex Scandal soon found their footing as an MX, or non-binary drag clown, which they said is simply “a clown that does drag.”
Vex Scandal said non-binary and MX performers are a “very recent thing,” as non-binary performers are often sidelined in drag. They said they first saw a non-binary
category in a pride pageant drag show when they moved to Ottawa in 2023.
Originally from Sault Ste. Marie, Ont., Vex Scandal said they expected Ottawa’s drag scene to be “scary and mean like they are on TV,” but soon realized everyone was “really friendly” and “uplifted” each other.
Non-binary drag artist Mx. Tique also highlighted the supportive nature of Ottawa’s drag community.
“I came out later in life, but I feel like the drag community has helped me
When they first started competing, the drag artist said they experienced impostor syndrome.
“When I debuted and I got to the venue and I saw everyone else’s outfits, everyone else’s makeup and stuff like that, I was just like, ‘What am I doing? I should have prepared more,’” they said.
“
” The drag community has helped me embrace my identity.
-Mx. Tique
But when they have those moments of doubt, Mx. Tique said they remember themselves as a child when their dream job was to be a professional lip-syncer.
“I’m just kind of like, ‘Dude, this is what you’ve wanted forever. Don’t walk away from it now.’”
Vex Scandal said focusing on a cool idea gets them through moments of uncertainty.
“No one else is going to have an S&M Rihanna number where I replace the sexy parts of the song with sound effects and then I get pied in the face,” they said with a laugh.
Slushy, on the other hand, credits the queer community for getting her through times of doubt.
“” Community is such a vital part of the queer experience. - Slushy
embrace my identity and I don’t think I would be as at home with [my identity] if I didn’t have drag,” they said.
In 2019, Mx. Tique’s friend introduced them to drag.
“Community is such a vital part of the queer experience,” she said. “As a queer community, you’re always stronger together. We need each other.”
Mx. Tique said drag is all about being your own biggest fan and championing yourself any chance you get, which they said is “kind of healing.”
“It’s really important for people to see that drag is just such a beautiful
outlet for people, [a] creative outlet,” they said. “It’s a family, and without drag, there are a lot of people who would just be navigating the world on their own.”
Slushy preparing her drag queen look. [Photos by Murray Oliver/the Charlatan]
‘A symbol of freedom’: For the Black community, hair is a medium of artistry and resilience
ALEXA MACKIE
Growing up, Montessa Barahoga’s parents were “strict” about her internet usage on school days.
“The rules were either take a nap after school or figure it out,” Barahoga said, laughing.
Limiting her screen time for most of the week allowed Barahoga to spend afternoons in the backyard with her nanny, who taught her how to braid grass into different patterns.
“That’s the earliest memory I have about braiding,” Barahoga said. “It grew my love for seeing what my hands could make.
“When I was able to eventually translate that onto people’s heads ... and see them have that, ‘Wow, this is what our hair can do’ [moment], I was like, ‘I have to make this my life.’”
Barahoga’s independent hairstyling business, Monheira, is now approaching its second year of
operation. She does braids, dreadlocks, afro cuts and more.
In preparing for her designs to be showcased at the Black hair art show Crépu: Our DNA, held on Feb. 1 and 2, Barahoga has been able to do something different. She’s experimented with editorial hairstyling—a style seen on major runways and fashion magazine covers.
“It’s a lot more artistic stuff. Playing with structure, defying gravity and shapes and all that stuff,” she said. “I love to push myself. A lot of my love for hair comes from seeing how far I’ll go.”
Crépu: Our DNA is put on by Black-centred event planning group Hors Pair Social in collaboration with the Moving Art Gallery. It’s an annual event first established in 2022, showcasing the artistry of Black hair through hair care demos, runway shows, music and film.
Hors Pair Social founder Sharlene Clarke said for the Black community, hair is more than another step in the getting-ready-in-the-morning checklist. With historical significance, hair is a medium for Black people to express creativity and resilience.
“It’s not just something that we ... tie up before we go to work. It’s generational. It’s historical,” Clarke said.
Clarke added that throughout decades of transatlantic slavery, different hairstyles were used to map out “worlds to freedom” in South America. “It’s not the same today, but it’s definitely a symbol of freedom.”
However, in spite of its history, Clarke said Black hair is not always “a big political statement.”
“We’re just saying that Black hair is really cool and we just want to celebrate it,” she said about the Crépu event. “It’s not inherently political.”
Moving Art Gallery curator Sandra Dusabe said she feels Black community celebration is particularly important in a Canadian context.
“This country has been effective in completely ignoring Black people,” Dusabe said. “The assimilation that you take on is so strong that when we have events that we say are explicitly for Black people, you’re always going to be met with folks who are like, ‘Well, what about the others?’
“I think, overall, the resilience part of it is that we deserve to have events dedicated to us.”
Events carved specifically for Black people can also build a sense of community. Dusabe said “important conversations” can stem from discussions that Black people share about how to style their hair and finding the right hair product.
“Being in a room full of people in one place doing it all together, I think that’s a whole different kind of energy,” Dusabe said.
And for artists like Barahoga, hairstyling goes beyond pushing back against the status quo.
“I can’t even put it all in the category of resilience or even a symbol of resistance,” she said. “It ties into self-expression and even just self-empowerment.
“With mainstream beauty standards favouring straight hair over textured, Black hair and by embracing our natural hair, braids, locks [and] afros, I believe that Black people challenge these standards and reclaim our cultural identity.”
Graphics by Alisha Velji
Sports Editor: David Cummings | sports.charlatan@gmail.com
Northern Super League: The next frontier for Canadian professional women’s sports
During the women’s soccer bronze medal game at the 2012 Summer Olympics in London, Canada was one goal away from their first Olympic soccer medal in 108 years.
Diana Matheson stepped up in the game’s most pivotal moment. During the second minute of extra time, the Canadian midfielder sent the ball past the sprawling French goalkeeper to break the game’s deadlock and secure the win for Canada.
As the ball crossed the line, Matheson joined the roaring contingent of Canadian fans in celebrating a turning point for the nation’s women’s soccer program.
“We’d had some limited success on the world stage, pretty much the same roster for over a decade and no one really knew who we were,” Matheson told the Charlatan , reflecting on the moment more than a decade later.
“It was a totally different landscape before and after that London 2012 bronze. We came home from that Olympics and suddenly I was being recognized in the subway in Toronto.”
After flying home from London, the Canadian women’s team never looked back — the team won another bronze medal in Rio at the 2016 Summer Olympics,
followed by its first-ever gold medal at the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo.
“That gave us a platform that we’ve all been able to build on that we didn’t have before,” Matheson said.
Years later, she started using that platform to push for a domestic professional women’s soccer league in Canada.
With Matheson as its founder, the Northern Super League (NSL) was announced in May 2024 and is set to kick off this year on April 16. Inaugural clubs include Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver, Calgary, Halifax and Ottawa’s own Rapid FC, which will play games at TD Place.
For the league’s first season, NSL clubs will have a roster capacity of 25 players, and a maximum of eight international players. The league will allocate a $1.6 million salary cap for each team, enforcing a league minimum salary of $50,000 CAD. It’s a big upgrade from the National Women’s Soccer League’s launch in 2013, when it set an original minimum salary of only $6,000 USD.
“We looked at a living wage in Canada, and we felt like $50,000 was a minimum salary we could support based on all that,” Matheson said.
DAVID CUMMINGS & CAELAN FOYE
Now that there’s this pool of new players in this league, it’s an opportunity for young kids to look at them and look at the league, and I think that’s really cool and inspiring.
”
- Liv Scott
This will make the NSL’s minimum salary among the highest of all professional women’s leagues worldwide. It’s $20,000 more than the minimum salary and nearly $400,000 higher than the salary cap of the men’s Canadian Premier League.
“If we’re asking our players to be professional, we need to provide them a living wage to start,” Matheson said. “So that’s the number we’re starting with and then we’ll look to grow that as our revenues grow as well.”
On top of founding the league, Matheson is a co-owner of Ottawa’s Rapid FC, alongside her former Queen’s University classmate, Thomas Gilbert.
According to Gilbert, who is also the team’s CEO, his reunion with Matheson on this project was “not a coincidence at all.” The two talked about the idea for years until Matheson asked Gilbert to formally join the project through a voice note in June 2022.
Kristina Kiss, Matheson’s former teammate, also joined as Rapid FC’s technical director.
In October 2024, Kiss tapped Katrine Pedersen, her former Norwegian league teammate and former captain of Denmark’s national team, as Rapid FC’s first head coach.
“I think we brought in a world-class coaching staff,” Kiss said. “That was really important to us.
“We’re still working on the roster buildup and bringing in the top players, the best players that we can from across Canada and internationally,” she added.
Although unfinished, Ottawa’s roster includes
Canadian defender Liv Scott, an NCAA alumna from Quinnipiac University, who signed with the team on Jan. 10.
Despite originally aspiring to play professionally in Europe, when the opportunity came up to play in Canada, Scott said she “didn’t really want to pass it up.”
“It’s something new ... for us Canadians to play professionally in our home country,” she said.
“
soccer at home.
“I talked to a lot of our youth players, and they didn’t know it was possible to earn a living playing soccer,” Kiss said. “They haven’t necessarily seen soccer at a high level and had the opportunity to idolize players coming out of Canada.”
Scott said the NSL is a platform for young girls to see professional soccer as a Canadian opportunity, not just one that exists outside of its borders.
“Growing up, I think you look up to the Canadian women’s national team, but now that there’s this pool of new players in this league, it’s an opportunity for young kids to look at them and look at the league, and I think that’s really cool and inspiring,” Scott said.
But the NSL has the potential to create jobs beyond the roster.
“The opportunity to play pro sport is now a possibility for sons and daughters out there,” Matheson said. “And beyond that, not every little girl wants to be a professional athlete.”
The new league could create an industry around domestic professional women’s soccer, Matheson said, employing coaches, referees, sports medicine doctors, media, business and more.
“We want to make all those opportunities visible for everyone,” Matheson said.
Lending to the league’s visibility in its inaugural season is a multi-year partnership with CBC and TSN, signed in June 2024 to broadcast games starting in April. With a new broadcasting deal, the league can cast a larger net to raise fan engagement in the stands and beyond.
“I am very confident that when this league starts in year one, we are already going to have an average attendance that is in the top four [women’s soccer] leagues in the world,” Matheson said.
Only four days after Scott’s own signing that confidence became tangible in Ottawa. On Jan. 14, Rapid FC signed Scott’s idol out of retirement: midfielder Desiree Scott (who shares no familial relation with her new Rapid FC teammate).
Desiree Scott is a Team Canada veteran who finally won an Olympic gold medal in 2020 after twice earning bronze with Matheson in 2012 and 2016.
“What a small world,” Liv Scott said. “What are the odds the player that I used to watch when I was younger
The opportunity to play pro sport is now a possibility for sons and daughters out there.
”- Diana Matheson
all the time is now playing on my team?”
That same night, in front of more 6,500 fans gathered to watch the city’s other professional women’s sports team, the PWHL’s Ottawa Charge, Rapid FC announced its big signing.
The enthusiastic reception from that crowd, which has made the PWHL franchise a smashing success through its first year and a half, was a good
Kiss, who spent years working with youth since 2021 as the manager of development and programming for Canada Soccer, echoed the importance for Canadian soccer players to have opportunities to play professional
sign for Gilbert.
“The noise level in that arena when Desi Scott’s face flashed on the screen gave me a lot of confidence,” he said. “This city is ready for women’s professional soccer.”
PERSPECTIVE: How my Palestinian identity shapes my future as a journalist
SADEEN MOHSEN
When I entered Carleton University’s journalism program in 2022, I believed the industry was ready to embrace racialized journalists and their perspectives. I was prepared to shed light on untold stories as an early-career student journalist.
Through my work in the Charlatan , I’ve had the opportunity to report on several communities and the social issues that impact them. It’s some of the most meaningful work I’ve done in my life.
Reporting on my own community has been a different challenge.
As a Palestinian, I’ve grown up with personal stories and narratives shaping my perception of the world around me.
Every family gathering always involved conversations about the status of our homeland, reminiscing about the past and hoping for a future there.
As a Canadian journalist, none of those narratives are supposed to enter my coverage. My identity is not supposed to cloud my judgement as a reporter — and it doesn’t.
If anything, it has made me a more humane reporter when I handle stories about other vulnerable and marginalized communities. I’ve learned to be more compassionate with my sources and understand a perspective my colleagues may not possess.
Media coverage of Palestine has been a nuanced issue between news outlets, professors and student journalists. How do you cover such a complicated conflict in a 600-word article and deliver that story in a way that hooks and engages your audience?
At the beginning of the conflict, I felt unseen everytime I opened social media or a respected news outlet. The latter surprised me, considering I’ve been taught that a journalist’s duty is to tell the truth. At the time, nothing else was more truthful to me than my community’s suffering.
There were moments where I questioned my role as a journalist and why I wanted to enter an industry that seemingly didn’t care about a Palestinian’s perspective, let alone my own.
In her September 2024 lecture at Carleton, Pacinthe Mattar calls this “The Palestine Exception,” explaining it best when she said there is a fear within newsrooms to report on Palestine. Mattar shared her experience at CBC, where an interview with a Palestinian-American journalist was unaired and pulled without discussion.
She said Canadian news organizations’ language guides prohibit the use of the word “Palestine.”
Over the past year, it’s become more apparent than ever that Palestinian voices and perspectives are underrepresented in the media.
When you’re a journalism student, whose entire curriculum is based on constant news consumption, it’s overwhelming when you see that pattern of underrepresentation repeat itself over and over again.
Mattar’s lecture has pushed me to reflect further on my experiences and what I want for my future. I’ve always believed journalism to be a safe space for the truth to shine through, but I never expected it to turn its back on me.
I have and always will love journalism and everything about it.
But entering an industry where Palestinian journalists are scrutinized for their identity feels like a risk.
Do I water down parts of my identity to pursue a career I’m incredibly passionate about, or do I risk losing credibility in the eyes of media outlets by advocating for my country?
I’m grateful for the space and role I have as a student journalist within my student paper, where we’ve taken on stories and perspectives missing in mainstream media.
All journalists have a sense of curiosity that allows us to find the stories we connect with in some form. But as young people, we have a sense of fearlessness that seems to be lost in the industry.
As a Palestinian-Canadian journalist, I feel most secure in my identity when I’m at my desk with my Charlatan peers.
When I’m in my newsroom, a space filled with duck figurines and a foosball table that’s always one loose screw away from falling apart, I’m allowed to talk about these complicated feelings of grief and ambition in the journalism world.
Sadeen Mohsen discusses what her work as a Canadian-Palestinian journalist looks like. [Photo by Alexa MacKie/the Charlatan]
Inside the science of diverse community members’ responses to stress
ALEA ST. JACQUES
To fight or to fly? This is the question our bodies ask every time we encounter danger.
What follows is stress, which can give us a mental and physical boost when we need it most.
But what if the threat doesn’t pass and the body continues to be stressed?
This is the reality for many marginalized groups, who face a greater burden of stress due to their disproportionate exposure to social, economic and environmental threats, according to a report by the American Psychological Association.
In the long term, chronic stress can have negative mental and physical effects on all systems of the body, including the respiratory, cardiovascular and reproductive systems. For some communities, the risk is heightened.
Despite this, community members around the world demonstrate incredible resilience to stress and trauma. Here’s how.
The body during stress
The stress response begins when you perceive danger and this sensory information is sent to the amygdala, a part of the brain involved in processing emotions.
The amygdala interprets the danger and sends a distress signal to the hypothalamus. The whole process is like a game of telephone.
The hypothalamus acts like the central call centre, communicating with the rest of the body through the
autonomic nervous system. As part of this system, the sympathetic nervous system is activated, triggering the body’s fight-or-flight response and preparing it for action.
The hypothalamus then signals for the release of adrenaline into the bloodstream, making the heart rate surge, breathing quicken and the body more alert.
As the initial surge of adrenaline wanes, the HPA axis kicks in to maintain a chronic stress response. The hypothalamus triggers a domino-like chain of reactions. This, in turn, signals the release of cortisol, which helps sustain the body’s heightened alertness and energy.
Once the threat passes, cortisol levels decrease and the parasympathetic nervous system takes over, calming the body and restoring it to a normal, restful state.
What has become more clear, however, is that restful peace of mind is a privilege some cannot afford.
Social determinants of health and stress
The World Health Organization defines social determinants of health as “conditions in which people are born, grow, work, live and age.” These are non-medical health determinants like income, education, employment, food insecurity and housing.
In Canada, discrimination, racism and historical trauma are important social determinants of health for
certain groups, such as Indigenous peoples, 2SLGBTQ+ community members and Black Canadians.
One Journal of Affective Disorders study found microaggressions and discrimination were linked to increased anxiety symptoms in young adults, with discrimination showing a strong association with depression and sleep disturbances.
Another Journal of Women’s Health study examined how access to care, social support and stress contributed to the development of antepartum depression among low-income mothers. Approximately 22.6 per cent of women in the study reported experiencing depression during pregnancy. Negative social support indicators, such as abuse during pregnancy, were nearly four times more likely to develop antepartum depression.
The 2SLGBTQ+ community also faces persistent discrimination in areas such as education, employment, health care and personal relationships, one Journal of Family Medicine and Primary Care study found. Exclusion from societal norms often leads to isolation. Heteronormative expectations pressure 2SLGBTQ+ individuals to conform, causing internal conflict and heightened stress. For marginalized communities, social determinants of health contribute to mental and physical stress. So how does the body cope?
Resilience
Resilience, the capacity to maintain normal function despite adversity, is key to mitigating stress. One Nature study described resilience as an active, adaptive process, not merely the absence of negative responses to stress. A key player is the HPA axis, the control centre for emotional and stress responses.
Studies show resilient individuals may exhibit distinct biological responses that moderate HPA activation. Other factors potentially contributing to resilience include higher levels of one hormone from the adrenal gland, which may counteract the effects of cortisol. Testosterone, associated with positive mood and social connection, may also contribute to resilience during stress.
Overall, the human body possesses remarkable resilience to stress, employing various mechanisms to maintain psychological and physical well-being.
Graphic by Alisha Velji
Protesters demand change and regularization from the Canadian government at the Human Rights Monument in Ottawa on Sept. 15, 2024. [Photo by Murray Oliver/the Charlatan]
and supporters
Jan.
Ukrainian protesters
march in solidarity on Laurier Avenue Bridge on
19, 2025. [Photo by Daniel Fraser/the Charlatan]
Owusu-Akyeeah encourages protesters and supporters to speak out against anti-migrant messaging on the steps of the Canadian Tribute to Human Rights in Ottawa on Sept. 15, 2024. [Photo by Murray
by
Graphics
Alisha Velji
Gillian Graham walks in front of the Climate Culprits march in downtown Ottawa on Sept. 21, 2024. [Photo by Syd Robbescheuten/the Charlatan]
Debbie
Oliver/ the Charlatan]
Q&A: ‘Black on the Ballot’: Shifting gears in the Canadian political arena
ABYSSINIA ABEBE & JUSTIN BALL
“Politics” can feel like a dirty word. But for Black Canadians, political representation adds a layer of complexity often clouded by unspoken barriers and systemic silence. A lack of research into the experiences of Black Canadian politicians has left their stories untold.
However, podcast production company Media Girlfriends seeks to change the narrative with Black on the Ballot . The podcast is the companion project for a groundbreaking January 2025 report — the first national survey and archival research on Black Canadians in politics.
In the report, Black Canadians who ran for office were surveyed about their experiences and challenges. Out of those surveyed, half of respondents experienced some form of discouragement from running for office.
Media Girlfriends launched the series’ first episode on Jan. 15, giving listeners an inside look at Black politicians’ stories and struggles in Canada.
The Charlatan spoke with Media Girlfriends co-founder Garvia Bailey, who also worked on Black on the Ballot , to discuss the significance of increased discourse in reshaping the Canadian political landscape.
The Charlatan (TC): What makes Media Girlfriends a good fit to share the experiences of Black Canadians in the political landscape?
Garvia Bailey (GB): It very much is in line with what we do as a company. When we started Media Girlfriends, our main goal was really to tell as many stories as we could that we felt were not getting as much attention. The fact that there is this groundbreaking research, and we could actually animate it through our storytelling skills as podcasters and as journalists, was a perfect marriage. It just made perfect sense.
TC: Why is podcasting the ideal medium to deliver research on this topic?
GB: What we’ve done as a company is a lot of knowledge translation work, which means that we are taking big concepts and big studies and animating them for the public through real people and real stories. I think it’s something academia could do a lot more of. Why have this research regular Canadians can’t access or understand? This was a way to use the human voice. It’s a true path towards trying to understand each other and where we’re coming from. Audio lends itself to intimacy.
TC: What were the challenges in producing a podcast in an under-researched area?
GB: To me, it’s like, “Let’s make the bed so that folks can lie in it.” I think it’s a challenge, yes, but you get to be on the ground floor of setting it so that other people can listen and take in vital information about our democracy. It’s a sin that we haven’t asked folks these questions before and that this research is so scarce in Canada. Yes it’s a challenge, but really, it’s an opportunity.
TC: Why is there a lack of research in this specific realm in Canada compared to the U.S.?
GB: The people who get to tell the stories and have their stories told are usually the ruling class, right? That’s why there are such major gaps in whose story is told and how it enters into historical records of who we are as
Canadians. I think that there’s a shift happening. We have to tell everyone’s story if we’re going to do it right. I think we live in a system that is really hard on marginalized voices, so it’s nice to be part of something that is maybe shifting that narrative and creating space.
TC: What is one important message about resilience you want listeners to take away from Black on the Ballot?
GB: If you’re thinking about becoming politically active, regardless of who you are and where you’re from, just go for it. Be brave, be courageous, do the thing. We’re at a time right now where democracy feels like it’s on an unsure footing sometimes. I feel like we need as many different voices and perspectives as possible. That’s what I want people to walk away with.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
