Talon Print Edition by ev-elyn

the talon UBCâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Alternative student press

Issue 01 2014 - 2015

Map by Stamen Design

We would like to acknowledge that we are producing and publishing content on the occupied, unceded, traditional, and ancestral territories of the Coast Salish peoples, specifically the skwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), sel̓íl̓witulh (Tsleil-Waututh), and xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam) nations. UBC Vancouver sits on the occupied ancestral homelands of the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm people. As uninvited guests studying on these lands, we participate in the ongoing dispossession of Indigenous lands and people, and we benefit from their resources. In carrying out our work we hope to give back to the communities to which we are all connected through the knowledge and ways of knowing of our diverse histories. To learn more, please visit indigenousfoundations.arts.ubc.ca.

THE TALON The Talon is operated by a horizontally-structured editorial collective of current students at the University of British Columbia. The Talon was established in the summer of 2014 to fill the void of critical, independent student media within the UBC context. Though the various members of the editorial collective have different interests and experiences, we are all dedicated to anti-oppression organizing and passionate about social change. We also firmly believe that there is no such thing as true ‘journalistic objectivity’ – any publications claiming to lack an ideology are tacitly endorsing the status quo. Through The Talon, we aim to stimulate discussion centred on social justice and offer an accessible, critical perspective on issues affecting UBC students. We would like to thank The Mainlander for the support and guidance they provided to us at the outset of this project.

“We want a world in which all worlds fit.” - Subcomandante Marcos

We, The Talon editorial collective, are a group of students who believe that an alternative press is both possible and necessary on these unceded lands that we call the University of British Columbia. As it stands, there is only one campus-wide student newspaper, a publication that sees its role as apolitical, and which feels its scope should be limited to UBC news. There is an absence of a critical press that demands transparency from the university administration and an absence of media that sees its role as explicitly activist. Further, we lack a paper that aims to provoke discussion about issues that extend beyond campus. In the past, members of our collective have played these roles by submitting op-ed responses to Ubyssey articles. However, it is time for us to be proactive and unapologetic about speaking truth to power. Within the realm of student press, just as in the world at large, the language of “neutrality” works to endorse the status quo and silence the most marginalized. While it is possible to plainly report events, we reject the premise that it is possible to be an “objective” media outlet. The voices that are centred and the questions that are asked – these are profoundly political choices, and they have consequences. At The Talon, we want to amplify the students whose voices have been sidelined. We want to make space for the students who look into the predominant campus media and don’t see themselves or their perspectives reflected back at them. We are here to create that platform, and to start a conversation about the problems and barriers that different groups are facing in isolated silence. The Talon is also a call to action. In recent years, the campus left has become fractured and atomized. We want to unite and magnify UBC’s rabble-rousers, spotlighting the students that are working towards a future without racism, colonialism, sexism, classism, ableism, heterosexism, homophobia, transphobia, transmisogyny, spiritual violence, speciesism, capitalism, environmental injustice, and all other forms of oppression. We also want to start a dialogue with students who don’t see the world through our lens – we can all learn from each other and grow together. So, to answer the question “what is The Talon about?”, we would have to respond: it’s about starting conversations that no one is having, it’s about claiming a place at the table, and, most of all, it’s about expanding the realm of what is possible at UBC. Yours in solidarity,

The Talon Editorial Collective 7

CONTENTS 2014 - 2015 Issue 01

Why I didn’t report Anonymous TW: RAPE, depression, self-harm, anxiety

“you’ll find a boyfriend once you lose some weight” anonymous tw: disordered eating, fatphobia, body shaming, diets discussion

i lowered my hands to write this blessing falayi

violence on the land, violence on our (student) bodies daniette jubinville

Social Justice synonyms: ‘ocd’ & ‘bipolar’

reconciling whom i love with where i love

social justice synonyms: i ‘raped’ that midterm

reid hishon

matthew ward

jane shi

navigating beyond the gender binary

I am still here reflections on #aminext

the politics of coming out

tracy ma

francine burning

k. ho

on consulations and classism

every year is the year of feminism

social justice synonyms: ‘Transgendered’ and ‘Tranny’

reflections on student leadership

ivan l.

Alex Mierke-Zatwarnicki

tara chee

Cicely Blain

The Communist Who Ruled the AMS: An Interview with Blake Frederick

The Enduring Silence of UBC’s ‘Hunting Ground’

a note on remembrance day

to exist is to resist: a look at palestine solidarity activism at ubc

Alex Mierke-Zatwarnicki

paul krause

joshua Gabert-Doyon

urooba jamal

Why I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t report Anonymous

clearing the fog: a retrospective on campus activism laura fukumoto tw: sexual assault, violence, racism

Trigger warning: this article contains an intensely personal account of rape and sexual assault that occurred on the UBC campus. The article also discusses depression, self-harm and anxiety.

In February 2013, I was raped. Like most people on the last day of Spring Break, I was at a party. Loud music, mixed drinks, dancing, talking, kissing, locked doors, darkness. Rape. It took me six months to call it rape. It took me six months of depression, crippling anxiety and bloody razor blades to become aware of the fact that the events of February 22nd 2013 were not my doing. It wasn’t that I was wearing a low cut top, or that I’d had some wine or that I stayed behind to talk to him despite my friends’ warnings; it was that he took advantage of me. He was — he is — a rapist. He doesn’t deserve more than a few sentences, but I am determined to note one thing about this experience. I knew him, just like 80%1 of survivors know the person who raped them. Not only did I know him, I trusted him. He was older, wiser, someone I had been convinced to trust. We were both scholarship students; both (supposedly) cherished by the University, both chosen from our high schools as leaders, and therefore both intricately entwined in each other’s lives. The heteronormative and hierarchical spheres in which we socialized led me to trust him. These spheres indoctrinated me to worship him as superior because of his age, his ‘trustworthy’ good looks, his traditional heterosexual appeal and his ‘harmless’ flirting. They held him as a god because of his excellent manliness, coupled with his academic success that the University loved so, so much. (What sort of person would say no to him?) These spheres – my friends, my peers, my advisors – were complicit in my rape. My friends, all straight girls, downplayed experiences of harassment because our communities were focused around

traditional relationship structures. Essentially, our conversations were centered around the ‘opposite’ sex, future husbands and potential mates. The men we knew insisted that “compliments are harmless,” “flirting is just a bit of fun” and “girls should lighten up.” I was nineteen, alone in Canada, and feeling like a freak because I didn’t have a boyfriend. So, I believed them. I believed them at the party, when my drink was being topped up. I believed them when the bathroom was inescapable. I believed them when my face was against the sink. However, none of this erases the fact that there is only one person at fault here: the rapist. Never should the blame be removed from his shoulders and never should his actions be excusable. But we are all products of our society. I find no peace or closure in labelling him as a monster, as a sick and twisted individual, exempt from societal influences and acting alone in his crimes. Yes, he is all of those things and many more despicable adjectives — but he and I were both socialized such that this moment was inevitable. We had absorbed and inherited, throughout our lives, norms, customs and ideologies that caused him to be a rapist and me a victim. This does not mean that he did not make an active decision to commit a crime, or that his actions are in any way excusable. It means that our society has created a rape culture — one that is ripe with rape jokes, victim blaming, slut shaming. A culture that equalizes rape with success and acquits rapists — so that rape is inexorable.

Every seventeen minutes2 a woman in Canada is raped. Four out of five3 female undergraduates in Canada have been sexually assaulted. Half4 of all women in BC will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime. Fifty percent. That’s 1.15 million women.

So he’s not abnormal. He’s just like the boyfriend/friend/ brother/husband/colleague of 1 in 45 North American women. Not to mention he’s a Frat Boy: he’s 300%6 more likely to rape. And me? I’m a woman. My body is subject to legislation, sexualization, exotification, fetishization, objectification and correction, so it leads me to contemplate the expectations of a heteronormative rape culture such as this one. Our society has created the perfect platform for violation of female or feminized bodies, as it is founded upon patriarchy, violence, colonialism and the sexual power and privilege of cisgender heterosexual men. I was convinced to see a counsellor. But I found UBC Counselling to be so conspicuous, so obvious, so terrifyingly close to student services like Enrolment Service Professionals and the careers center that I was afraid that I would run into someone I knew. The experience was troubling even before I sat in a dimly lit room with an older man who insisted on mis-remembering my name. The déjà vu was triggering. I decided to stick it out; I had to recover from my mental illnesses. I couldn’t bear the thought that not only had my body been violated, my mind had been broken too. Months of crying, insomnia and the inability to walk on campus without breaking into a paranoid sweat were just a few elements

of the long term rape of my spirit. Not only was I struggling under the weight of social stigma against mental illness, I was crushed by the idea that these psychological burdens had been inflicted upon me. I found UBC Counselling neglectful and frustrating, from the long waits7 to the constant focus on my academic success rather than my overall well-being. However, the most triggering part of the experience was the counsellor’s insistence that I report the incident. I didn’t want to report. I didn’t want to report because my rapist existed in so many of my social and academic circles. I imagined that the devastation caused by a court trial would destroy our tight-knit community and cause me to be alienated. What if no one believed me? What if I went through all the trauma of engaging with the racist, sexist, oppressive court system and he went unconvicted like 99% of rapists? What if his popular status, like that of Jian Ghomeshi, called people to support him and silence me? What if people assumed it could explain my queerness? What if people used it against me in feminist discourse? What if it discredited me in job prospects? What if I had to relive the ordeal over and over and over again?

“Our society has created the perfect platform for violation of female or feminized bodies, as it is founded upon patriarchy, violence, colonialism and the sexual power and privilege of cisgender heterosexual men.”

Organizations for Survivors: AMS Sexual Assault Support Centre at UBC Battered Women’s Support Centre BC Society for Male Survivors of Sexual Assault Transgender Health Information Program Catherine White Holman Wellness Centre Women Against Violence Against Women PIVOT Legal Society

i lowered my hands to write this Blessing Falayi

“He was the leader of the pack for my [children]. He was meek. He was humble. He was tall. He was a man. He loved dogs. He loved people. He loved anything that had life in it; a plant. And that’s why I can’t understand why that happened to my child.” - Lesley McSpadden, Michael Brown’s Mother

I try

to shake away this sinking feeling,

but I am far from surprised. I know the answer. Michael Brown was an easy target. Michael Brown was Black. Blackness has been constructed as synonymous with dirt, impurity, and evil. We are made to feel ashamed not only of our physical characteristics, but of our very being. We are ill-represented. We are hated. Black is the opposite of white. Black must be promulgated as bad, not only by those who only view blackness in passing, but by those who carry the colour themselves. In a white supremacist society, this systematic brainwashing is one of the most effective ways to maintain subordination. If society is able to make me hate myself, if society is able to make me ashamed of something I have no control over, of something that I was born with, of something that my father had, my grandmother had, my grandfather had, my great-grandmother had, then that, my friend, is power. By saying that Mike Brown was Black, some may accuse me of looking past the facts, seeing only colour. Darren Wilson could not unsee colour. I cannot unsee colour. You have trained me from birth to see colour.

“Darren Wilson could not unsee colour. I cannot unsee colour. You have trained me from birth to see colour.” You have trained me to see my own colour and to be ashamed of it. You have taught me to mould myself into something I will never truly become. I will never be white. I can never be white. I can change myself, contort myself, distort myself, even eventually destroy myself, but I am and always will be Black. The distortion of facts is common to any case. However the fact that an unarmed Black teenager was murdered is non-negotiable. A cop with a gun, a cop who refused to carry a taser, a cop who has openly shown no remorse since Mike Brown’s murder is as clear as day. There are thousands of Mike Browns. There are millions of Mike Browns. How can we do them the disservice of not looking at their colour when the very cops who have sworn to protect them

are trained to see colour? How dare we claim to not see colour, to not see race? Race was constructed to create a hierarchy based on colour. Mike Brown did not simply become Black when he was murdered. He did not become Black when social media took up the case of his death. Mike Brown was born Black. From the moment of his birth he was taught to be weary of a system that had sworn to protect him. He was taught that one step out of bounds would lead to his destruction. This is what he was taught. This is what we all are taught. Blackness is a threat, therefore blackness becomes a target.

I see my colour. I love my colour. It is so ingrained in me I could not imagine life without it. It shapes how people see me, what people say to me, how they relate to me. I understand that, but I will never be ashamed of it. Never again. I will take pride in the skin of my ancestors. I am a person deserving of humanity. Mike Brown was a person deserving of humanity. We are human beings. What’s the difference between a white person and a Black person when they argue about race? The white person never has to prove that they are deserving of humanity; the Black person always does.

social justice synonyms

‘OCD’ & ‘Bipolar’ Riel Hishon The Talon’s Social Justice Synonyms discusses harmful and oppressive language embedded in our culture and provides ways to unlearn this language. This installment’s words are ‘OCD’ and ‘bipolar’.

The terms ‘OCD’ (short for obsessive-compulsive disorder) and ‘bipolar’ are both medical terms used to describe mental illnesses. The DSM IV-TR defines a person living with OCD as someone who has “recurrent compulsions and/ or obsessions,” where obsessions are intrusive and unreasonable thoughts, and compulsions are repetitive behaviours carried out to neutralize these obsessions. Although the portrayals of OCD in the media often include compulsions related to checking, contamination, and organization, there are in fact many different types of compulsions resulting from feelings of fear, guilt, and anxiety that are unique to the person experiencing them. These compulsions can either be carried out externally (e. g. repetitively jumping up and down) or internally (e. g. counting to 500 in your head). A person who carries out their compulsions almost exclusively internally is living with a type of OCD called “Purely Obsesessional” or “Pure-O” OCD. Medical practice and research centre Mayo Clinic defines the term bipolar as a “psychiatric illness characterized by manic and/or depressive episodes,” and includes four different types of the disorder: type 1, where the individual experiences episodes of mania and depression

in weeks-long periods; type 2, where the periods of depression outweigh the manic cycles, and the highs are less extreme; cyclothymia, which is a more mild form of the disorder, but also the fastest cycling; and bipolar disorder not otherwise specified, where the individual falls somewhere in between these various diagnoses. Like ‘crazy1,’‘OCD’ and ‘bipolar’ have been widely misappropriated to become ableist terms. In colloquial language, the word ‘bipolar’ is used to describe someone experiencing mood swings, either as an insult or descriptor of a negative quality. For example, you might hear someone saying that their teacher is “so bipolar” after getting angry in class, or referring to themselves as “bipolar” for experiencing moodiness. Although these traits may resemble the media’s portrayal of a person living with bipolar disorder, these usages of the word are reductive, offensive, and incorrect. A person who is bipolar does not simply “have mood swings,” but experiences manic and depressive episodes that can last for extended periods of time. These periods of mania and de-

pression are much more intense than periods of happiness or sadness that a person without bipolar disorder may feel. Popular Healthline writer, Brian Krans, describes his experience with mania as a period filled with plenty of energy where he becomes extremely optimistic, talkative, and sociable. He describes the period of depression as one where he “wants everyone to disappear” because the smallest details annoy him, and “seeing all those people carrying on… is an annoying reminder” of his bipolar disorder. He then goes on to describe the period in between these manic and depressive episodes, which he names “the middle”, as one in which doesn’t feel like “running around” or like “a mopey, lazy slug.” Similarly, ‘OCD’ is used in mainstream culture to describe either a “quirky trait” that someone may have or extreme habits regarding things such as cleanliness and organization. For example, someone might refer to themselves as “so OCD” for liking to keep their room tidy, or for making punctuality a priority. While these are traits that may appear in an indi-

vidual living with OCD, the difference is that for a person without OCD these are simply preferences, whereas for an individual living with OCD who experiences compulsions, they are repetitive behaviours carried out to reduce the anxiety caused by intrusive thoughts (e. g. “My mom will die if I don’t clean my room”). These intrusive thoughts are based on anxiety the person may be experiencing regarding schoolwork, social situations, illness, death, or anything else relevant to their experiences.

Below are a few synonyms that you can use to replace these words in your vocabulary:

The misappropriation of these terms in colloquial language serves to belittle the illnesses that the terms refer to, as well as those living with them. The illnesses are belittled in that they are likened to behaviours that are, in fact, not a result of mental illness, but simple personality quirks that are highly common. Although persons living with OCD and bipolar disorder are often high functioning individuals, many have at some point felt debilitated by their diseases, or have encountered feelings of distress, depression, and alienation. In contrast, a person without mental illness who has a mood swing, or enjoys being punctual, does not have to live with these same symptoms. This type of misappropriation can prevent someone living with mental illness from speaking up or reaching out for help since they might fear not being taken seriously or being met with ignorance. This is especially poignant due to the inapparent nature of these diseases.

I’m so OCD about cleanliness. I like keeping my room clean.

My mom is so bipolar today. My mom is being really unreasonable.

I’m feeling so bipolar this weekend. I’ve been having mood swings this weekend. My boyfriend went completely bipolar on me. My boyfriend changed his mind on me. My brother is so OCD about his work schedule. My brother likes to get to work on time.

reconciling

whom i love with

where i love Matthew Ward

Note: This piece originally appeared in Sowing Seeds and Setting Roots: An Outweek 2015 Zine1 as a part of Outweek’s2 first zine. This publication was released in tandem with a number of events made possible by the Pride Collective at UBC. This piece was written in response to a call for intersectional approaches to queer identity.

My name

is Matthew Wardand I’m a nêhiyaw napew from

Driftpile Cree Nation in northern Alberta. I identify as a queer Indigenous cisgender man that prefers ‘he’, ‘his’, and ‘him’ pronouns. I am currently studying at UBC in First Nations and Indigenous Studies with a minor in Political Science. When I first heard about the Sowing Seeds and Setting Roots zine coming out I knew that I wanted to be involved. Being familiar with a number of people involved in the collective, and attending events such as the Transgender Day of Remembrance3 and Harlan Pruden’s presentation on Two Spirit people, I felt that their contributions to the community I have been witness to should be reciprocated in the best way I know how. This is what I’ve decided to write.

I thought I would take this opportunity to speak about intersectionality in the context of being Indigenous, queer, of mixed identity, and living away from my community. More specifically I want to look at how these challenges have made me think critically about the ways in which I see my relationship to myself, my family, my community, and my work. This should be prefaced with an acknowledgement of the multiple privileges I hold in this conversation. My family’s support of how I choose to live my life and the work I do is something I do not take for granted. I have the opportunity to live, learn, and play on the beautiful territory of the Coast Salish peoples. I also have the oppor-

tunity to receive an education from one of the best Indigenous studies programs on the planet with some of the most brilliant minds in the world. I am so thankful for all of these things in my life that have brought me here with my understandings. A lot of the work I do deals with identity politics. As an Indigenous person who grew up near their territory but without much context, culture, or language, I spent a large portion of my life trying to prove I wasn’t like other Indigenous people. I wanted to do well in school, go to college, get a good job, and have a beautiful family. For some reason I grew up thinking that if I was

‘too native’ that these things couldn’t be a reality for me. The older I got and as my struggles with my sexuality came to the forefront of my life at school, I decided that I needed to move to the big city; Edmonton. While there, I was able to deal with a lot of my struggles around being a young gay person in a mostly conservative province. I met other LGBTQIA2+ people. I learned about the struggles they faced in Canada and around the world. I learned about love. By the time I graduated, I felt I was ready for another adventure, cue UBC. While at UBC, my father encouraged me to take an Indigenous stud-

ies course. I was hesitant. I felt I knew what I needed to know. I thought it might be depressing and truthfully I was scared. My good friend and writer, Samantha Nock4, mirrored many of these feelings on her university experience. “I wasn’t going to major in Native Studies because I didn’t want to be that Native kid5”. Little did I know that taking that [First Nations and Indigenous Studies] course would put me on a path of self-discovery, self-love, anti-oppression, and decolonization and that this would significantly change the way I saw and continue to see the world. While I won’t go into the details of the coursework per say (GO TAKE A FIRST NATIONS AND INDIGENOUS STUDIES COURSE! IT WILL CHANGE YOU!), I will say that I’ve had the opportunity to think about the world with an understanding that has taught me not only why I felt the shame I did growing up (hint: its called internalized racism, and its often experienced by Indigenous people!), but also that I am part of a strong, resilient, and beautiful community among hundreds of other distinct, beautiful, resilient nations that have been fighting for Indigenous rights and sovereignty on this territory, and across the globe since colonization began.

Now that I am coming to the end of my time at UBC, I’ve had to have that dreadful conversation one does in their last semester where for the first time ever, you really have to answer that question, “So what are you gonna do with your degree?” Only this time it’s a whole lot scarier because it’s coming from inside your head and not from across the dinner table over the holidays. My first instinct was to reconnect with my community. A small community of roughly 1200 members, most of which do not live on our reserve. While in theory, I should be acknowledged and accepted as a member and feel safe being on my territory with my people, I’ve come to realize that this isn’t necessarily the case. Despite my membership and ties to my community, as a gay man, it turns out that leaving an urban space and entering a small, tight-knit community with familial tensions and some conservative values isn’t that easy. I don’t know if I can say for sure that living there at this point is a reality for me. An Indian with a community he can’t visit. Of course this isn’t uncommon (hell, it was written into legislation that native women who married white men were to be forcibily removed from their communities until the 1980’s through the Indian Act), but what does this mean for other LGBTQIA+ and Two-Spirit people?

I am part of a strong, resilient, and beautiful community among hundreds of other distinct, beautiful, resilient nations that have been fighting for Indigenous rights and sovereignty on this territory, and across the globe since colonization began. 21

By having the opportunity to acknowledge all parts of myself, I’ve found myself trapped with the call to my territory, and simultaneously the fear of violence in those spaces. How do I reconcile whom I love with the place I want to learn to love again? Of course many people will tell you that Two-Spirit people were always revered, respected, and held power within Indigenous communities, but many of these stories, teachings, and traditions have been lost over the years of colonization and residential schools. This piece isn’t meant to invoke pity for me. It also isn’t necessarily meant to provide answers to these difficult questions. I’m a happy guy, learning every day and trying my best to decolonize the places I call home. I instead want to problematize the ‘pan-indigenous’ experience that settlers often cast on Indigenous peoples. The intersections of our identities through race, gender, sexuality, class, ability, etc. all hold real implications in our lives outside the Indigenous vs. non-Indigenous binary. I’m not interested in oppression Olympics, but instead creating spaces that acknowledge the diverse experiences within marginalized communities. It is through this acknowledgement that we are going to create real spaces of decolonization that challenge the racist settler-colonial heteropatriarchal state and all its manifestations.

social justice synonyms

i ‘raped’ that midterm Jane Shi Content Note: This piece discusses rape, rape culture, child sexual abuse, colonialism, violence against sex workers, and transmisogyny.

In honour of Sexual Assault Awareness Month here at UBC, this installment of Social Justice Synonyms will be dedicated to phrases which trivialize sexual violence, such as “I raped that midterm” or “that midterm raped me.” Casual use of the word ‘rape’ is common in a culture that continuously condones sexualized violence against women, against genders that don’t conform to colonial gender binaries, and against men, often used as an attempt to emasculate or feminize them.

Whether or not you believe we live in a rape culture, you would still most likely understand that people shouldn’t rape, that getting raped is a horrific violation of autonomy and privacy. Whether or not you have an understanding of rape as a tool of war and colonization, you may still find rape to be a devastating crime, or encroachment upon deeply sacred codes of human conduct. In other words, you don’t have to be a feminist or anti-violence activist to know that rape should not be taken lightly. If rape is so common and horrid, as well as so commonly reviled (even if not in a structural or survivor-centred sense), why should it be okay under any circumstances to use the term ‘rape’ casually, in contexts other than acts of sexual violence themselves? As the first time writing for Social Justice Synonyms, I find myself asking the following question about this series as a concept, as a tool to end oppression, and as a way of thinking about language: What is it about a word and its meanings that make it unacceptable to use in a certain way? In the case of “I raped that midterm” or “that midterm raped me,” this question can be taken up in several ways. One is the normative claim that rape as an act of violence should not be trivialized, and therefore the word ‘rape’ should not be used out of context. Simply put, misuse of the word ‘rape’ is offensive, connoting profound disrespect of rape survivors as well as social orders that take seriously each person’s bodily and sexual autonomy (i.e. a consent culture). Most readers can probably swallow this argument. But another approach is to explore this question further, by examining the structures underlying our world, the way our world conceives of sexual violence, and the limits of language to adequately describe that violence in the first place. In other words, I want to explore some disconnects between the world of sexual violence and the language we use to describe it.

The Language of Sexual Violence Truth be told, the word ‘rape’ and its meanings haunt me, both as a writer and a racialized woman, just as sexual violence haunts me as a form of violence. The way it haunts me can be attributed to the ways in which rape is commonly spoken about: as something shameful we are not to speak about in polite company, as a capital crime that should be met with the rapist’s immediate execution/eternal imprisonment, as something that happens so infrequently that most survivors’ testimonies are not believed... unless their rape is reported to the police, tried in supreme courts, or exposed ad nauseum to the general public. Indeed, the ways in which sexual violence is first introduced to a person (often: young girl) as a concept is never through this word directly, but through gestures, warnings against talking to strangers (i.e. men), and silences. Certainly these silences precede my initial encounter with the word ‘rape,’ which didn’t happen until I came to Canada and learned English. Having spent my pre-teens and teen years consuming North American media, what introduced me to the world and language of rape are songs like Sublime’s “Date Rape,” Nirvana’s “Rape me,” news stories depicting individual incidents, as well as episodes of Dr. Phil and Oprah speaking of sexual violence in highly sensationalized ways. In the case of Sublime’s “Date Rape” song, the natural fate of rapists is depicted as rape in prison. Meanwhile, gang-rape had been primarily depicted as a phenomenon of primarily poor, ‘sketchy’ neighbourhoods, as well as distant colonies of India and Africa, creating a false sense of security for the well-policed modern city in the Global North. All these depictions limit what a person can imagine rape as being. Meanwhile, I was still a preteen when I read about Michael Jackson being charged with “child molestation.” Had the newspaper used the language of rape, I would have understood immediately what these cases were about. Instead, as a new speaker of English I was left to guess what Michael Jackson had done. After all the word ‘molestation’ has four syllables; ‘rape’ only one.

On this note, it’s important to remember that for many, their first encounter with the world of sexual violence is through first-hand experience: as in, through child sexual abuse. In these cases the word ‘rape’ and related words describing this profound abuse of power and violation of trust is often nowhere near the table. Adults (or other children) who violate children in this way would use language to conceal the violence they inflict by using the language of sexuality, of seduction, of children and young people’s socalled hypersexuality. When the statutory rape of young girls by adult men is collo-

quially deemed "the Lolita effect," so popularized by Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Lolita, you know our culture actively aestheticizes and normalizes such violence. Even the phrases ‘child sexual abuse’ and ‘child molestation’ suggest some difference from rape, though child sexual abuse is just another form of rape. To understand these acts of violation through language that does not acknowledge rape, then, hides just how prevalent rape is in our world. In 1983 when a slew of important changes were made to Canadian laws pertain-

ing sexualized violence, the word ‘rape’ was replaced with ‘sexual assault,’ connoting a crime that violates any person’s sexual integrity, rather than a property crime that only men do to women outside marriage. In some ways, this shift in language suggests a disavowal of (though not necessarily a genuine commitment to ending) the incredibly patriarchal ways that ‘rape’ has been conceived throughout history. But it also acknowledges that ‘rape’ is not the same as a wider range of violations more accurately conceived, by Canadian law, as sexual assault. A question I want to raise is: why is

this distinction necessary in the first place? And why do some organizations, such as RAINN, use the term ‘completed rape’? On the one hand, why does the media so frequently perpetuate rape culture by avoiding the word ‘rape’ in their discussions of sexual violence, by resorting to calling it ‘non-consensual sex’ or similarly victim-blaming language? On the other hand, what ideological differences are being connoted by differences in how feminist support/crisis centres name their organizations? What are these rhetorical effects?

rape, reputation, and hyperbole To take up the first question is to appeal to the principle that I hope even readers who are skeptical of SJS can get behind: that rape is so serious that we ought to never misuse the word. Take for instance the fact that Canada’s media and criminal (in)justice system take the greatest pains not to name rape when it happens. While they do this out of a failure to highlight the systematic nature of rape culture, their reluctance to employ the language of rape also reveals the social attitude that rape is so vile and shameful that it would be devastating to falsely accuse someone of rape. To label someone a rapist is to cast them into the outskirts of society, to ruin their reputation forever. Several months after Sauder frosh’s rape chants became widely known and circulated in the media, I found myself roped into a conversation with a business student from another Canadian university, in which they gloated about how no such chants exist (though they could have said “were discovered”) at

their institution. Furthermore, this person had heard through the grapevine that Sauder students actually blame the person who tweeted out the rape chants that got them into trouble in the first place. It’s as if the only reason the rape chants are so condemnable is because students got caught. It’s as though people’s main incentive to avoid such language is to save face, especially at an institutional level where reputation has financial implications. In a social environment where institutional and personal reputation seem to matter more than safety and autonomy, UBC students who care about the former should still avoid using “I raped that midterm,” or “that midterm raped me.” When you say that a midterm raped you, you are bulldozing over survivors’ experiences (as described in “Why I Didn’t Report,” see page 10), and contributing to a world that could not care less about survivors’ safety. When you say that you raped a midterm, you are comparing yourself to a rapist. As I suggested earlier, who would want to be compared to a rapist?

According to Lucia Lorenzi’s account of graffiti artist David Choe’s “joke-making” in the name of art, apparently not even rapists themselves: despite casually describing his rape of a massage therapist on a 2014 podcast and even calling his actions “rapey,” he repeatedly insisted that he was not a rapist1. Consider another question: Just what is it about the word ‘rape’ and its meaning that make people want to use it inappropriately? When a UBC student says that a midterm raped them, what they intend to say is that they feel as though they’ve failed. They might also mean to say that they feel that an exam has conquered them, that they feel dominated by it in a significant way. Conversely, when a UBC student says they just raped a midterm, they mean they feel like they’ve conquered its questions, that they’ve aced the test. They are using the word ‘rape’ as a literary device, as a hyperbole to describe subjective experiences: i.e. merely a feeling. That means when they misuse this word, they are implicitly acknowledging that rape is a horrific experience. Their error is to assume there’s no social repercussions to that misuse, and no damage done by using rape as hyperbole. Ending rape culture ultimately means acknowledging that there is more at stake than rapists’ reputations. It also means that we use the language of rape to describe the action itself: the act of violence, the active refusal to honour someone's affirmative consent, the refusal to hear their "no."

misuse of ‘rape’ for ideological reasons I want to turn here to the ideological differences connoted by feminist uses of the word ‘rape.’ Given that Vancouver has several centres which support survivors of sexual violence, and that their respective politics around supporting survivors vary dramatically, this question has broader implications for feminists’ struggle to end rape culture. To be clear, I don’t believe that the language of rape is better or worse than the language of sexual assault. The language of ‘rape’ has a specific history that needs to be highlighted, remembered, and honoured. Furthermore, the language of ‘rape’ is especially powerful for under-

standing experiences with sexualized violence when the rest of the world uses victim-blaming language to invalidate survivors’ experiences. Meanwhile, the language of ‘sexual assault’ is useful to engage with for legal reasons, as well as for acknowledging a broader ranges of violations that some survivors may not feel entirely comfortable calling ‘rape.’ However, I don’t think feminists are exempt when they also misuse the language of ‘rape.’ To move forward as a movement such misuse needs to be examined and held into account.

One especially important example of this misuse occurs when trans exclusionary radical feminists (often referred to as TERFs) paint trans women as men’s rights activists who make cis women vulnerable to rape when they enter women’s bathrooms and community spaces. Not only is this claim horribly transmisogynistic, it also implies that rape can only be committed by ‘males’ (of course, trans women are female2, so this point is moot) and that all men are necessarily rapists. Furthermore, to think of sexual violence as merely men’s violence against women is to deny that sexual violence on these lands is rooted in ongoing

colonialism and settler-colonialism, in gender violence against Indigenous peoples3. If rape is a form of taking power away from its victims, men’s power against women is not the only form of taking power. TERFs, and transmisogynists more broadly, thus use the language of ‘rape’ against an entire marginalized population before any attempt to verify their presence as threats. Such fear-mongering must be resisted for our discourse around sexual violence to be respectful, because it forces an entire group to be responsible for acts they have not committed. In this way, not only do TERFs perpetuate violence against trans women by denying

their linguistic self-determination (i.e. with the rhetoric of ‘biological sex’), they also dilute the ways in which we talk about sexual violence, crying wolf about rape. And by understanding rape as solely penis-in-vagina, they replicate outdated conceptions of criminal law around rape that continue to uphold patriarchy. Diluting the way we talk about rape means that we overgeneralize rape, as well as flatten and erase the complexities of people’s experiences with sexual violence. If survivors (or however someone wishes to self-identify) themselves do not call their experience rape, it would be further injustice to speak for their experiences.

Another example of such overgeneralization occurs when abolitionist feminists who are not sex workers and who haven’t had a history with sex work themselves use the language of ‘rape’ to paint prostitution as nothing more than systematic rape that’s paid for. As argued in Naomi Sayers and Sarah Hunt’s article in The Globe and Mail 4 , the discourse that sees sex work as victimization is especially damaging to and infantilizing of Indigenous women who engage in sex work. Furthermore, the troubling discourse of seeing sex work as sexual slavery also fails to understand sexual slavery as a product of war, that occurs within a different set of conditions, as well as denies survivors of slavery and the slave trade their own assertions about these experiences. In other words, how we use language around sexual violence, and violence in general, matters. The words we use shape how we understand that violence, even if the very nature of rape means that some experiences can never be adequately described through language.

Who has the power to determine how we use language? If we are committed to creating a juster world free of violence, only those marginalized by that violence themselves should determine how they describe their experience. As much as I disagree with abolitionist ideology, if women who have been in the sex trade see their experience as rape, their usage also needs to be respected. Beyond avoiding using phrases like “I raped that midterm,” a culture of consent would honour the language of those who experience violence, who resist ongoing sexualized violence and the profound culture of silence surrounding that violence. Systematic ‘language fascism’ is certainly not "Social Justice Synonyms." Rather, language fascism is Canada’s criminal (in)justice system insisting that a survivor of rape cannot use the term ‘rape’ to describe their experiences. If a legal framework cannot equip survivors with justice, we must all at least seek justice where we can ourselves: in the words we use.

“If a legal framework cannot equip survivors with justice, we must all at least seek justice where we can ourselves: in the words we use.”

I raped that midterm.

I feel like I excelled at that midterm. I aced that midterm. That midtern raped me.

I feel like I did horribly on that midterm. I think I may have failed that midterm. Those bullies raped my mind.

Those people emotionally and verbally abused me. I am traumatised by how they treated me. They manipulated me. I raped that game!

I won that game. I beat the final boss and it was glorious. I’m gonna go up the rape stairs now.

I’m going to take the shortcut across campus from Totem Park residence. Rape jokes.

Just don’t.

“you’ll find a boyfriend once you lose some weight” Anonymous Illustrations by Sarah Fisher Trigger Warning: for disordered eating, fatphobia, body shaming, weight loss and discussion of diets. If you are struggling with an eating disorder, the National Eating Disorder Information Centre has a toll-free helpline that you can access by calling 1-(866)-633-4220.

“The more beautiful we are, the more admired our appearance, the closer we approach the dream of the incredible beauty, the less reality our personality or intellect will have. [...] This only goes for women, of course; men’s character and personality and will always shine through their appearance, both men and women look at them that way. But one is taught in society by the emphasis on the images of feminine beauty to view women differently. The important thing is not the mind, the will, but the appearance. You ARE your appearance.” - Dana Densmore, “On the Temptation to be a Beautiful Object”

A week or two ago,

I missed a call from an unknown number. Instead of phoning back immediately, I took a second to Google who it was that had called me without leaving a message. I quickly realized that, rather than an employer or friend, the call was from a diet clinic that I had frequented a few years ago. When I was 18-19 years old, I had used this clinic to lose 66 pounds in five months. They were calling, as they do from time-totime, to ask if I wanted to come back for a “tune up.” I was initially encouraged to go to the clinic, as with all my previous dieting efforts, by my parents. Their motto throughout my childhood was always: “You’ll find a boyfriend once you lose some weight.” They whispered this to me over dinner tables to encourage me to eat dry spinach salads and skinless chicken breasts. They used this slogan as bargaining clout when they would offer me vacation souvenir money in return for pounds I lost. “We’re worried about you,” they said, when they encouraged me to go to the clinic for the introductory session. “You gained weight while you were travelling on your gap year and you just don’t seem happy at this size.” Their reasoning was always the same: my weight was the root of all my “problems”, in particular my solitude. Growing up, I escaped my self-hatred by getting lost in the same (heterosexual) teen romance movies over and over again. My favorites were the ones in which unconventionally attractive girls underwent make-overs and then fell in love - Never Been Kissed and She’s All That topped the list. By watching those types of movies, reading teen lit, through conversations on the playground, and via every other facet of my day-to-day childhood life, I came to learn that my parents weren’t the only ones who thought that thinness was a prerequisite for love. And love, as I also learned throughout my entire childhood, was the most important thing of all. Feminist scholar Adrienne Rich writes1 that the “ideology of heterosexual romance is beamed at [girls] from childhood out of fairy tales, televi-

sion, films, advertising, popular songs, wedding pagentry,” and “has been represented as the great female adventure, duty, and fulfillment.” You’re taught, to put it bluntly, that if you never find love, nothing else you accomplish will ever matter. As a woman, you’re taught that finding a man who loves you is necessary for your “psychological completion2.” Meanwhile, in every one of these love stories, regardless of medium, the female protagonist looks the same: she has long, shiny hair, white skin, and a thin body. While male protagonists come in all shapes and sizes, female protagonists share the same figure, and fat women are relegated to the role of sidekick or comedic relief. The narrative in our society, usually hammered home in much subtler ways than my parents’ slogan, is that you need to be thin to be loved, and you need to be loved to live any type of life worth having. So with the knowledge that my life would be void of love and therefore meaning - if I didn’t lose weight, I heeded my parents’ advice and went to the clinic for the first time. I would walk through those doors three times a week for the five months that followed. While I was on the clinic’s diet, I was only allowed to eat around 350 calories a day (sometimes more like 200), with portions selected from a short list of allowed foods. The foods were selected to minimize caloric, sodium, and sugar intake. Absolutely everything was fat free. An example of a day’s spread would be a: small apple, four crackers, two small pieces of chicken, and a green salad with low calorie dressing. Every time I went to the clinic, they tested my urine to see if I had cheated on the diet. Though I never cheated, they would still often take away my bread and fruit portions if they determined that my body wasn’t sufficiently burning fat (which became more frequent as my body adjusted to the diet). During every clinic visit they would also review my food log and weigh me before giving me a double injection of vitamins into my thigh or stomach. The injections were painful and left me with massive bruises because the nurses often didn’t administer them properly. I could hide the bruises, but other symptoms of the diet weren’t as easily forgotten, like the rapid hair loss and my increasingly erratic behaviour. Over the course of the diet I developed a compulsive need

to weigh myself at least eight times a day, and would often try to make myself vomit, though I never succeeded. I also did not get my period for three months. Though in pictures from the period I look gaunt and frail, I wrote about how overweight I felt and how I didn’t want to be seen in public. Having started the diet at 198 pounds, I quit while weighing in at 132. My weight loss had stagnated and I remember thinking to myself, ‘It’s fine because even though I’m still fat, I’m attractive to men now as long as I hide it with clothing, and I’ll just lose the rest on my own through exercise.’ Even at that time, when I was wearing size 3 jeans and while I was the thinnest I will probably ever be in my life, I still held the male gaze as the number one marker for my value. Even though I was aware that my body was rejecting the diet (and quite frankly, the loss of my period scared the shit out of me), I still thought that becoming conventionally attractive was more important than tending to my health.

“I realized that I was the collateral damage of a society which teaches women to see their pant sizes and marriages as the most salient components of their identities.”

Four years later, as my friend circles and politics have changed, this is a part of my history that only a handful of people know about. As you would expect with any crash diet, I gained most of the weight back within a year. I hid my ‘thin clothes’ in the back of closets for future days, and did my best to avoid looking at the thin photos of myself (which still sometimes fill me with feelings of shame at my re-gain). I learned to ignore my parents when they (to this day) blame my weight for my singledom or make disparaging comments about my body size and eating habits. Gradually, through feminism, I came to understand my dieting experiences and parents’ words as the result of a patriarchal Western society that enforces narrow standards of beauty. I realized that I was the collateral damage of a society which teaches women to see their pant sizes and marriages as the most salient components of their identities. I also, with a little time and a lot of patience, came to understand the importance of unlearning.

In a broad sense, unlearning means fighting against the social constructs that you have internalized and critically reflecting on what you’ve come to believe about the world’s structures and mechanisms. Unlearning is a process important to every type of oppression, a process that is central for any and every person who is learning how to newly navigate this world through social justice frameworks. In this case, unlearning means first rejecting the idea that heterosexual romance is the purpose of my life (or that any romance is the purpose of anyone’s lives). Unlearning means unpacking what it means to be “attractive” or “beautiful” in a society that conflates these words with “thin.” Unlearning means reflecting on how those concepts intersect with our society’s ideas about love. Unlearning means shushing the little voice in my head that still whispers “it is because of your weight” every time things don’t work out with someone I have feelings for. Unlearning means accepting that I am fat, that I am single, and that both of these things are totally okay. And most of all, unlearning, for me, means deciding not to call the clinic back this time.

violence on the land, violence on our (student) bodies

danette jubinville this redwood tree is wearing a protective covering because it was literally beaten to a pulp. on our campus. by ubc students. the tree, which stands on the north side of the first nations longhouse, is long known to some students as “the punching tree.” one blogger even advised the world wide web that, “you can punch it as hard as you like and you won’t hurt yourself 1!” but what about the tree? after several years of beatings, the tree sustained so much damage that ubc building operations was finally forced to take action. this spring, they erected a plastic chain link fence around the tree to stop students from punching it. however, in the fall they wrapped the tree in this protective covering, because the fence wasn’t doing its job. students continued to punch the tree, stepping right over the bendy plastic fence to do so. i had the pleasure of encountering two such students. after watching them trample over the fence to lay their fists on the tree, i approached them. in my calmest tone, i asked what they were doing, and why.

looking like they had just discovered some magical secret, they wanted to know, had i tried punching the tree? because it was great! staying calm but delivering some serious side-eye, i replied that no, i had not tried it. and i wouldn’t be trying it. did you notice the fence, i asked? how about the damage to the bark? i explained that in my way of life, the earth is to be respected and treated with kindness. in my way of life, this was an act of violence. at that point, the students became visibly rattled. they wanted to know who i was, and why i was there, as if i was the one who was totally out of line. they promptly ended their discussion with me and walked away.

Photos provided by author

well, they weren’t the only ones who left that conversation feeling rattled. i knew for a while about the “punching tree,” but this was my first time witnessing anyone actually punching it. i was (and still am) deeply troubled by this kind of behaviour. as a nehiyaw-nahkawekwe, my elders teach me that the land is my first mother. they teach me that the land provides us with everything we need for survival, and therefore we treat it with the utmost love and respect. they teach me that the plants, the animals, the water, and the air feed me, and therefore i am of the earth. the elders teach me that to hurt the land is to hurt myself. these days, i walk by this tree on a regular basis and i can’t help but connect the violence enacted on this tree to the violence enacted on my fellow female students. just over a year ago, the final of six (still unsolved) highly publicized sexual assaults was reported2. due to the reality of our (in) justice system, gender violence often goes unreported for reasons like victim blaming, retraumatization, and mistrust of police. so, we can guess that this occurs more frequently on our campus than police reports would suggest.

indigenous feminists have been saying for a long time that violence on the land is connected to violence on women’s bodies. women and the earth are symbolically linked, as givers of life. colonialism and patriarchy are like diseases that have sought to control both women and the earth through violence, for profit and for power. in other words, colonial violence and gender violence are intrinsically connected. indigenous women know this better than anyone else. andrea smith states that gender violence is built on a male/female binary3. plants defy gender binaries, and i can’t help but wonder if that makes them especially vulnerable to brutality. my cree and saulteaux ancestors did not conceptualize gender in the narrow, rigid ways that western culture tends to. to them, gender and sexuality were much more fluid. according to smith, the patriarchal settler society targeted indigenous cultures for destruction, for precisely this reason. i also can’t ignore that this tree, now a site of violence, stands next to the first nations longhouse, the only place on our campus that is clearly marked ‘indigenous.’ just a few feet away from the tree are sacred ceremonial grounds.

is it a coincidence that this is where countless students have deemed it appropriate to unleash their pent-up aggression? i think not. colonialism and patriarchy are big, academic-y words, that represent attitudes, structures, and systems. but what do these things look like in real life? on the day that i witnessed the tree punching, these concepts looked to me like two typical ubc students, both oozing with a sense of entitlement.

as long as colonialism and patriarchy go on uninterrupted in our individual and collective thoughts, words, and actions, we will see violence on our campus. this violence will be asymmetrically perpetuated against marginalized communities, the land, and nonhuman beings, as it is everywhere else. this is why i am happy whenever i see students taking action to disrupt these systems, and when i see faculty and administrators empower students to take these kinds of actions. i am grateful to all those folks taking a stand against the kinder morgan pipeline, not far from the sfu campus. and i am inspired by the many indigenous folks and women i know, who refuse to be victims of violence. instead, they are warriors who demonstrate resilience for future generations. as for the â&#x20AC;&#x153;punching tree,â&#x20AC;? i think it is so generous that it continues to give us air to breathe, in spite of how it has been treated. did you know that when a redwood dies or is cut down, a new one sprouts from its roots? like the source of my ancestral strength, its roots never die. it is a survivor, too.

navigating beyond the gender binary Tracy Ma

When I was a young child, I thought my parents wanted me to be a girl so badly that they secretly surgically altered my body so I’d be a girl (i.e. have a vulva). I never brought it up with my parents, I just frustratingly accepted it. I was taught gender and sex1 were synonymous, and that I am female, even if my body was an artificial one. I left it at that for most of my life, and as I grew up I realized that scenario was highly unlikely (my dad wanted a boy, after all). When we were given sex-ed in high school, sexuality and gender identity was brushed over quickly, taught for a dyadic - people who are not intersex - and binary audience.

When we are not given the option or knowledge or freedom to explore our gender identity, how are we to know if what we are is not an arbitrary assignment based on nothing but a doctor’s assessment of our genitals at birth? While I didn’t exactly feel like a girl growing up, from what I knew about the gender binary, I knew I wasn’t a boy, either, or at least not completely. So I stuck with what was familiar, no biggie. While some people may have known their gender since the moment they recognized their own identity as an individual, others can’t realize it because they aren’t given the option of something else until late adulthood. When I found out about non-binary genders2 around two years ago, I didn’t understand them at first. Gender as a spectrum? No gender? Multiple genders? It seemed like a minefield. Even though I’m confident in my gender identity now, there are still days where it looks like a navigational nightmare. Just like with compulsory heterosexuality, most people in our cisnormative society argue that if a person never questioned their gender, then they’re probably cis. The idea that cis is default, and a person isn’t trans or gender variant unless it’s constantly on their mind is harmful to and debilitates individuals, and as a result, entire LGBTQIA2+ communities.

So, I suggest everyone to ask themselves the questions I’ve asked myself:

Am I happy with my assigned gender? What if I were assigned a different gender? What if I weren’t assigned a gender? Which parts of whom I am makes up my gender? Do I want to be this gender? Some of these questions might be difficult to answer. Sometimes it’s just a feeling that’s difficult to explain. And if after exploring your gender identity, you find you’re cis, then excellent! You’ll know yourself better by analyzing parts of your person and being confident in the identity you claim.

Photo by K. Ho

I happened to find that I was not exactly happy with my assigned gender. And something happens when you realize who you are, and realize others don’t see you the way you see yourself. That’s when you start thinking about coming out; sharing with the world, or a slice of the world, on who you are. I was lucky that the slice I’ve chosen to share it with were accepting enough of it.

So here are a handful of things I’m thankful for in my coming out process, and I’m sure others will be in their own coming out process.

Respect

Throughout the process, there will be questions. Ranging from “what pronouns do you use?” to “is this just a phase?” and the inevitable “aren’t ‘they’ plural?” I’m lucky enough that I didn’t have to deal with the more aggressive variations.

Relationship Maintenance

I’ve been fortunate to not have lost any friendships after coming out. Sometimes it’s difficult to accept the friend you have is no longer the person they used to be, or the person you thought they were, especially if they choose to transition.

Support

Perceived gender plays a large part in social dysphoria3 for trans and gender variant folks. Sometimes, it gets difficult when people get my pronouns wrong4, or when people stubbornly refuse to use gender neutral language. While I’ve accepted that, for the meanwhile, gender variance is not widespread knowledge, it helps to have a safe space to be able to just be.

Acceptance

Coming out was exciting and a bit nerve wracking, each and every time, and almost every person I came out to had not heard of non-binary genders until my introduction to them. Sometimes it was difficult to explain, and I could tell that some didn’t really understand the concept. However, they were all accepting, all willing to learn and put in the effort to adjust to my new identity. And the chance to write for The Talon and share my ongoing experience. Thank you.

Photo by K. Ho

i am still here

reflections on #aminext

Francine Burning A while back there was a social media campaign called “Am I Next?1” which aimed to raise awareness about the numerous murdered and missing Native women2 in Canada. In solidarity with the campaign, many people changed their Facebook profile picture to a silhouette of a Native woman with a feather in her hair with the words, “am I next?” included in the image. I did not change my profile picture because it was too close to home for me. I belong to the Kanien’kehá:ka, People of the Flint (Mohawk) Nation of the Six Nations of the Grand River Indian Reservation, Southern Ontario – Turtle Clan. I have lived in Vancouver for just over two decades, moving here just after I turned 20 years old. When I first arrived in this city, I was very young and naive. I was very trusting – too trusting. Because of the nature of my innocence, I had a steep learning curve of the cruel ways of the world outside where I grew up. I had no idea how much danger I was in all the time, how risky it was to go to bars alone and be so accepting of new people. I just loved meeting all types of people. Above all, I believe I was seeking to share a sense of acceptance and understanding. News coverage named the places serial killer Robert Pickton frequented.

Then I realized some of the places I went where right around the corner. One night, I distinctly remember considering going into one of the places he habitually visited. I stood at the door against the wafting smell of stale beer and funk, and got a really bad feeling. I did not step one foot in that place. It’s funny to think that some places I went weren’t much better. During this period of time, I had close calls with danger, and was the subject of violence by strangers and people I knew. I had to run away from ‘perps’, and was protected by good people that chased away men who were looking to grab or harm me. I was on welfare and lived in one of the hooker hoods in East Vancouver. For the life of me, I couldn’t walk to the bus stop without a “date” trying to get me into his car. Creeping up and pulling over… trying desperately to make eye contact. Those four blocks were long indeed. Many times, these altercations were aggressive and unrelenting. One day, I snapped. A man in a blue Honda was driving his car behind me slowly as I walked down the sidewalk and harassing me. This was the first time I kicked a car. I raged against the machine! I quickly realized this

was effective in deterring men from continuing to elicit sex from me after I had repeatedly refused. From then on, the practice of kicking cars with my ‘gently used’ military boots became a weapon in my arsenal to protect the only thing of value I had: my dignity. I had no phone of my own at the time because BC Tel required a $200 deposit to open a landline and coming up with that kind of money all at once was an impossible feat. However, there was a pay phone (that’s right we used to have pay phones) at the Mac’s on Dundas and Lakewood St. I couldn’t use the pay phone without men trying to get me to drink or use drugs. “Anything I wanted,” and “come with me…” they would say. Of course there was always a line up for the phone, so I had to endure these advances, while being polite and amiable to the men who sought to destroy me. One day, I received a neighbourhood newsletter in the mail. In the newsletter, an article warned the community about men preying on young Native girls with the intent of inducing them into sex trade. I thought to myself, ‘no kidding!’ My neighbourhood had a lot of Native families and I worried about other young girls in the area.

Photo by K. Ho

Over time, I began to feel that these experiences had degraded my sense of self-sacredness. Every time these things happened, it chipped away the foundation of the good upbringing3 my mom had provided, and my sacredness as Onkwehonwe woman. Painful experiences are enduring when they alienate you from your understanding of yourself and your place in the world. This is the nature of colonization. Over time, I became more angry and resentful. Every month I would walk to pick up my welfare cheque in the Hastings and Boundary area. One of those days, I noticed there was a poster with missing women on it. It was one of the first posters produced by the women who started the campaign to find their loved ones. I studied the faces on the poster. Each time I went, I stared at their faces for a long time. As I lingered in front of their images, I felt empathy coupled with loneliness. The poster was a grid of faces, mostly mug shots, of women. As time went on, the faces got smaller as the pictures on the grid increased. I studied the faces and looked out for the women – there

were so many. For some reason I didn’t make the connection of danger to myself, but that picture is very clear now. The very first friend I made in Vancouver was murdered. Her body was dumped North of here4, and discovered in a lonely lake. Her name was Kari Ann5. She was a very strong young woman, both physically and in determination. What she taught me was how to stand up against our enemies. She showed me by doing it even though it took me a while to employ this lesson. I can still see her standing up abruptly and getting right into a big man’s face yelling, “SHE TOLD YOU NO!” chest out, shoulders back, with fisted hands. It was awesome. Kari Ann defended me against jerks who refused to leave me alone. I never knew she was Native until after she was gone. She never told me. We never talked about being Native. It makes sense now why she was so protective and showed me around Vancouver. I still can’t believe she’s gone. Kari Ann’s murder remains unsolved. When the ones who protect you are murdered – how does this world make any sense?

In later years, I went to my home territory and participated in an assertion of sovereignty event regarding the Jay Treaty6 where our people walked from Niagara Falls NY, to Niagara Falls Canada unimpeded. We walked like a parade to Canada and ended up at a park where further cultural festivities unfolded. I came up to a stand with a big poster on it. It was a poster to raise awareness of the missing and murdered women. This poster was even bigger than the last and the images of the women were smaller. So I did what I always do when the poster showed itself to me. I began to study the faces. When I saw Kari Ann’s face I began to cry. I was disturbed. All the memories of her kindness and smiling face flooded in along with harsher memories, all mixed and overwhelming. She is counted among the murdered and missing ‘Aboriginal’ women. Kari Ann is not just a number to me. She would never have asked, “am I next?”. Kari Ann would have asked “who’s ass can I kick for you?” A couple years ago, I met a young woman who said her aunt told her she had a Mohawk ancestor when she was a teen. She went on to say how disgruntled she feels because other Native academics won’t even consider her as Native. This also disturbed me. All at once my lived experiences came into my throat and I felt like throwing up. You see, being Native is not all feathers and beads, drums and singing. It’s riddled with injustice and lost loved ones. Part of me feels like these kinds of people want to take all the good parts of my culture and identity and wear it like a cloak to further their privilege. It makes me angry and my stomach turns. There are layers and layers of hurt and

disempowerment laced into living a Native life in Vancouver and colonial Canada. But there is also so much love and fulfilment too. It was clear that we had very different reference points in regard to identity, but what struck me most was sense of entitlement to the identity. This is one of many interactions I’ve had of this nature and for me, what’s left from these is a deep humiliation I’ve yet to un-pack. Identity appropriation is also colonizing and harmful. As an Onkwehonwe woman, I was taught not to say or think things that are negative or morbid – it’s not of a Good Mind7. This adds another dimension to my weariness about asking the question, “am I next?”. We never say, especially out loud, things we never want to happen. I won’t ask if I am next, but I will share these experiences to raise awareness. You see…I can’t ask this question because I understand the realities of what ‘Am I next’ are for myself and other Indigenous women. Today, I have three teenage daughters of my own. Being their mother is the greatest thing in the world. I would have them understand these experiences are attributed to colonization. Racism, sexism and femicide are by-products of systematic disempowerment and dispossession and should not be treated as isolated crimes, as Harper suggests8. These are just a few stories. They are real. They are in my heart. These experiences have degraded me on all levels. I have rebuilt myself as many times as I needed to in order to survive – sometimes daily. Academia can’t account for any of this. You can count and you can ask these questions but you can never FEEL what I have shared – only a sense of it.

I would like to end by saying this: I am still here. I will celebrate by thanking my mom for life. I will write “I am still here” on a piece of joss paper and burn it as a letter to my ancestors. It would also say, “I am scared but also brave. I am sacred but vulnerable. I thank you for your continued protection. I trust in you, just tell me what to do next.”

Special thanks to the organizers of the annual memorial march for the murdered and missing native women in Canada, to the creators of the “Am I Next” social media campaign, to the women and girls who have survived such encounters with colonialism and to the ones who are no longer with us. 45

the politics of coming out K. Ho

Note: This article was published on October 14, 2014 - the annual date of National Coming Out Day.

On a warm autumn Friday exactly a year ago, I came out to my friends and family on Facebook. It was the middle of the morning. I sat down at my desk, opened my laptop, and took a deep breath. Today is October 11th, National Coming Out Day, I wrote. In the past few months, I have been able to come out to an ever-widening circle of family and friends, something that had been a huge source of anxiety, denial, and self-doubt for me. […] Today, I am coming out because I want to live honestly, visibly and proudly – first and foremost to myself, and then to others around me. I pressed “post”, closed my laptop, and didn’t check my phone, Facebook, or messages for the next fourteen hours. My day was a buzzy, beautiful blur, filled with a deep and effusive feeling of warmth that never left. I went on a solo forest walk in the sun, had introvert time at my favourite coffee shop, and got redwine happy-drunk with close friends. At 2 a.m., I finally logged onto Facebook. I could not believe what I saw on my screen. The post had over 500 likes and 80 comments.

Ok, pause.

As National Coming Out Day is today, I’d like to invite folks who are queer, questioning, and allied to take the time to reflect on the politics of coming out, and consider its wider context. (For shorthand purposes, I’m going to use the word queer as the umbrella term for LGBTQIA2S+, which stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, trans*, queer/questioning, intersex, and two-spirit, as well as identities that exist beyond the acronym.) We live in a society that privileges people who are white, cisgender, heterosexual, male, able-bodied, thin, non-Indigenous, and middle class. This occurs systemically (in institutions that govern our lives) and locally (in our interpersonal interactions). Coming out, therefore, is safer for some queer folks, and less safe for others. To all the folks thinking about coming out today or any other day – power, strength, and visibility to you. Stay fierce. But know this: there is a broader context of systemic and localized oppression in which we are all situated, and there is pride, discomfort, and silence embedded in this context. This is something I wish I had considered in my own process of coming out — but more about that later. So, in no order of importance, here are seven reflections on ‘coming out of the closet’:

1. On coming out as a perceived ‘goal’ Coming out is not always the goal for queer people, nor should it be. For many folks, coming out is not necessarily safe, expressed, or desired. Some people do not come out for privacy reasons. Some people do not come out because they are – or never will be – ready. These choices are all totally valid. Your identity is your own, and your (non-)coming out story should take whatever path you wish. Note: ‘Coming out’ can also occur in other forms, such as in reference to disability, sexual assault survivorship, and mental illness.

2. On coming out as a perceived ‘choice’ Coming out is not always a choice. Sometimes we are forced to come out. Sometimes we are ‘outed’ without our consent. Sometimes we are shamed for not being ‘visible’ and ‘proud’. This is an unfair burden that we have to navigate on top of the difficulties (and joys!) of being queer.

3) On cisgender and ‘mainstream queer’ identities: We live in a heteronormative and cissexist society – a society that privileges and normalizes straight and cisgender folks, while stigmatizing and oppressing queer and trans folks. Thus, coming out is generally less safe for people who identify as trans, asexual, intersex, Two-Spirit, bisexual, pansexual, and non-binary gender (including genderfluid, genderqueer, and agender)1. These folks face erasure, ridicule, and pathologization of their identities. 57% of trans people are disavowed by their families upon coming out, and 65% have suffered physical or sexual violence at school or work2. These statistics are even more extreme for folks who are, for example, racialized, Indigenous, disabled, and/or poor.

As well, many folks are forced to explain their sexuality/gender identity on top of having to come out. Many others experience oppression through language, as their identities exist outside the colonial confines of English – at the shortcoming of the language, not the person. Even in social justice spaces (and of course, in mainstream culture), these people are often excluded and rendered invisible. Some examples include the trans-exclusionary politics of TERFs (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists) and the frequent erasure of asexual identities.

4) On racism, colonialism, and queerness: We also live in a society that privileges and sustains white dominance. Coming out is therefore generally safer for white folks, and less safe for queer and trans folks who are mixed-race, Indigenous, and/or people of colour (QTMIPoCs). In addition to being hypersexualized, exotified, and fetishized, QTMIPoCs (queer, trans, mixedrace/Metis, Indigenous, people of colour) are disproportionately affected by the realities of assault, homicide, poverty, unemployment, workplace discrimination, homelessness, and incarceration. For example, in 2011, people of colour comprised 87% of all anti-queer murder victims3. Just one example is Islan Nettles, a young black trans woman who was violently murdered because of her trans identity, appearance, and race.

In white settler societies such as Canada, the United States, and Australia, colonization is intimately linked with homophobia and transphobia. European colonizers denigrated and shamed Two-Spirit people (essentially, those who embody both a masculine and feminine spirit), who had been respected and honoured as visionaries, medicine people, and healers in many Indigenous communities. Today, TwoSpirit, queer, and trans Indigenous folks continue to survive and resist the colonial products of homophobia and transphobia within and outside their communities, in addition to other ongoing colonial violences.

5) on intersecting oppressions As community educator Kim Katrin Milan says, “we are layers, not fractions4.” Our identities live in relation with, not isolation from, each other. In addition to the cissexism, transphobia, transmisogyny, racism, and colonialism discussed above, many of us experience additional compounding oppressions, such as ableism, sizeism/fatphobia, mental health stigma, xenophobia, border imperialism, homonationalism, pinkwashing, sexism, and classism. Coming out is less safe for folks navigating intersecting oppressions.

6) on heteronormativity and homonormativity Coming out can reinforce heteronormativity (essentially, the dominance of heterosexual people in society), as it positions queer people as anomalies who have to declare ourselves as different. We often have to appease straight folks and compromise our identities to be ‘accepted’. In other words, sometimes we have to act as the ‘palatable queer’ and subscribe to tropes of queerness in order to be understood by mainstream society. This is called homonormativity. Both homonormativity and heteronormativity do not actively dismantle homophobia and transphobia, as they continue to uphold heterosexual privilege while allowing certain queers (read: white, settler, cisgender, able-bodied, middle-class) to join ‘the club’. This occurs at the expense of queer folks who are, for example, racialized, Indigenous, trans, Palestinian, poor, and undocumented.

7) on intenalized shame and stigma ‘Post-coming out’ is not a magical pot of rainbow gold at the end of some arc in the sky. Some days are still really hard. As queer people, we are taught not to exist. We are taught not to celebrate our desire or non-desire, not to hold our lover’s hand in public, not to have children. Often, this manifests in repression, denial, and internalized shame – all of which we carry in our bodies. Our individual journeys towards self-acceptance are not always easy, and coming out isn’t necessarily the culmination of this process. For many of us, coming out is just one step in an ongoing battle against internalized homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, and anti-asexuality – to list a few. 50

Ok, unpause. After checking my Facebook that night, I spent the next hour crying into my hands. I never thought I could be out to over 500 people, let alone see the tangible support from 500 people, but there I was: out to the world, out of my closet, vulnerable yet affirmed. It felt odd to derive so much emotionality from a Facebook status, but at the same time, the post bore witness to the magnitude of support I was so, so lucky to receive. However, I come from a place of privilege when I speak about my positive experiences with coming out. The reality is that my community’s support, as well as my ability to come out in the first place, directly stems from my cisgender5, thin, able-bodied, class, white-invoking, academic, citizen-status, settler, English-speaking privileges. In other words, my privileges made coming out a (comparative) breeze for me. I did not have to think about being ridiculed, invalidated, disowned, alienated, or homeless. The day after, I wrote a follow-up post to try to be accountable to these privileges – but in the end, I was still coming from a place of safety and validation. I now realize that my coming out moment had the potential to devalue or negate other people’s experiences with coming out. It had the potential to make some folks feel uncomfortable, silenced, or upset. As I look back, I feel a complex mix of emotions about my coming out experience: happiness, shame, pride, sadness, and, well, ambivalence. It’s a complicated thing that I’m working through, and it feels really vulnerable to write about.

Photo provided by author

Ok, deep breath. Coming out is a complex subject. It can be heavy. It can be silencing. But it can also be liberating and freeing. It’s important to talk about these experiences too (though always important to remember for whom coming out can be liberating and freeing). As someone who spent many years struggling with internalized homophobia and shame, I never thought I could reach a place of self-care with my identity. My journey was not easy. My internalized homophobia manifested in externalized homophobia, which I unfairly inflicted on some people very dear to me. I am still trying to pick up the pieces, and I owe so much of my ongoing process of self-acceptance to their loyalty and patience. And yet it has become easier. It has only been a year since I left my suffocating yet simultaneously comforting closet, and there have already been so many beautiful-shy-raw-thrilling experiences: from timid queer moments to proud queer moments, from waste-face make-outs to butterfly kisses, from one night stands to tender first dates, from tinder laffs to okcupid bffs, from nervous isolation to soft-powerful new communities. I have mixed feelings on how I came out, but I have absolutely no regrets about coming out. Today, I am proud to identify as a queer woman6 of colour, and it feels good to honour and nourish all the elements of my layered self. The point of me sharing my story is to say this: if you’re not ready to come out, or never will be, that’s totally cool. If you decide to come out (or have come out), that’s cool too. But please remember this: coming out can hold different meanings for different people – liberation, dignity, uncertainty, discomfort, visibility. Our experiences as queer people are intricately connected with, and affected by, each others’. Happy National Coming Out Day!

Thank you to Lauren Kimura, Emilee Guevara, Kim Katrin Milan, and so many others; without you I do not know where I would be. An additional thank you to Arielle Baker, Jezebel Delilah X from Black Girl Dangerous, and the folks at The Talon for their incredible editing help.

on consulations and classism

#iamastudent Ivan L.

Note: This speech was given at the #iamastudent teach-in on October 14, 2014, held in response to the then proposed 10% increase to tuition for incoming international students and 20% increase to residence fees. A portion of this speech was filmed by K. Ho, and that footage is available online: bit.ly/1BOlGTw.

Thank you so much for having me speak; there’s so much to speak to but so little time, so I’m just going to dive right into it and share my thoughts on two things today: The first is on what the university will have you believe is a “democratic” consultation process. A process in which – and I quote the university here – “your voice counts.” But does it really? Is it really a democratic consultation process when the university has already decided what the problem is (that we’re behind on charging our students), how they’re going to fix it (increase student fees) and exactly how long it is going to take them to convince us that they’re right (30 days)? All of this before bringing us into the loop. That’s not consultation; that’s notice. I implore you to ask yourselves – better yet, ask the university – “How long have they been sitting on this?” How long have they had to look at the situation, the data, to gather the

information, to think about it and talk about it, discuss it and come up with a decision on the best way forwards. 30 days? I don’t know about you, but I very much doubt it. And they know that in those 30 days we have midterms and papers, scholarship requirements and jobs, families to take of – lives. They know that anything less than the time they have had – any less resources, any less information – is insufficient. They trust that we trust them to make the best decisions for us. We shouldn’t. UBC touts itself as a university that attracts the best and brightest minds from around the world; we are told that we are among the most brilliant and critically thinking students out there. Yet we are being treated like sheep, undeserving of equal participation in decision making,and incapable of autonomy. You see, I imagine a better process. A process where we are

Photo by K. Ho

the key decision makers on issues that ultimately are about and affect us – the students. A process where, when the university has a problem, we collaborate on the solution: we have access to the same data, the same information, we have the same time, we discuss together from day one on how to overcome it. Not one where we are thrown a ridiculous four-step infographic on how increasing tuition will somehow benefit students. An infographic that erases the students that the increase will not benefit – the students that this increase will harm. That’s the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. It’s easy for the university to decide that increasing fees is the best way forward when they are so very far removed from the consequences of that increase - when they are so very far removed from the reality of being a poor, queer, international student of colour. I am already facing a number

of barriers to my education as it is. I cannot fathom how much more difficult it would have been for me if I had to pay 10% more tuition and 20% more for housing in my first year. Can you? I’m not usually one for absolutes, but I know that at least for me, it would have been impossible. Education and affordable housing is a right, not a privilege. But the university is slowly changing that for us. Every 100 dollars pegged on to tuition means 100 less poor students attending UBC. Every hike in housing costs means more students of colour moving 3 hours away from campus. And for what? To raise “the value” of our degree? Let me break that logic down real quick for you: The value of a UBC degree is only relative to the value of degrees from other universities. The value of a UBC degree is only relative to the status of not having that degree, or any degree. That is where the university and I agree. But this is where we don’t agree: when the path to value is

through increasing fees, it is the poorest students who suffer. It is the poorest students who become unable to cross those checkpoints of 10% and 20%. It is the poorest students who become unable to attend UBC. Sure, some of us will be able to get by, by being forced into sex work or back into abusive families and relationships – back to a life of harm and horror that I promise you, the UBC administration have either never experienced or have the luxury of forgetting about. But for most of us, that too will not be enough. And maybe the university is on to something, maybe increasing tuition can increase the “value of our degree.” Maybe higher tuition will mean higher value. But what of the students that can’t afford high tuition? What of the students who can’t afford a UBC degree? Since we’ve already agreed that value is relative, what will be the value of their degree? Funded by the tuition of the poorest students. Funded by the lowest tuitions. What happens when other universities follow UBC’s ‘excellent’ example of raising tuition to raise value? What will be the value of those without university degrees? You don’t have to look far: ask yourselves, how does society value you? How is UBC treating you right now? How much do you get paid? I know my time is short, so I’ll leave you with a quick joke that I shared with my friends the other day. We were saying that it’s funny how UBC is always quick to congratulate us on overcoming so many barriers to our education, yet finds no qualms in building these barriers themselves. And I said that it’s starting to feel like we’re in the Hunger Games, and the students are all the capitol’s prized victors. We laughed,

Photo by Tobias Klenze

sure, but none of us denied the truth of that comparison. I don’t know about you, but I for one am tired of being paraded about like some kind of infantilized token incapable of actual autonomy. We are told that we are leaders; we are told that we are change makers – that we are the ones who are best equipped to solve the problems that our predecessors could not. It is time for UBC to start treating us like it, and it is time for us to start demanding that we are. Thank you.

Ivan L. is a member of Colour Connected Against Racism, an AMS resource group that provides support and information to students who feel alienated and disempowered due to discrimination. They organize events on various issues pertaining to peoples of colour, and lobby the University and other institutions to implement necessary changes.

Photo by Tobias Klenze

Photo by K. Ho

Photo by Tobias Klenze

every year is the

year of feminism Alex Mierke-Zatwarnicki

When classes started back up in January, The Terry Project hosted a BARTalk that sought to assess how feminism had fared in 2014. Panelists Lucia Lorenzi (PhD candidate in the English Literature department), Jarrah Hodge (blogger at Gender Focus) and Scott Anderson (professor in the philosophy department) discussed the events that gave feminism major media coverage over the past year, and whether they represented any “watershed moments” or, at least, “teachable moments” that progressed the struggle against the patriarchy. The emcee closed the panel by asking (and I’m paraphrasing slightly here): will 2015 be the “year of feminism”? I don’t want to dump on the Terry Project, who I know to be great feminist allies that do important work on campus. However, I am interested, more generally, in this idea of the “year of feminism,” because it’s a trope that seems to pop up in a lot of places. Time magazine published an article, for example, entitled “This May Have Been the Best Year for Women Since the Dawn of Time.” I have also seen this ‘year of feminism’ narrative appear in feminist discussion spaces and communities. Intimately connected to this is the idea of “watershed moments” or “breakthroughs” that are conceptualized as single turning points in the state of global gender relations. I understand the impulse to look back on a year, the desire to subtract the bad from the good and then extrapolate from the remainder. But overall, I think our desire to classify this year or that year as the one pivotal “year of feminism” is an impulse that we should resist and question. Why? We live in a consumerist culture of instant gratification. For those of us privileged enough to have the internet at our fingertips, we are frustrated when our connection lags and makes us wait an entire minute to get the results of a Google search. Here in the West, my generation grew up watching action-packed movies that tell the story of a lifetime yet reach resolution in an hour and a half. We were taught that if you have a need and you have the financial means, you fill it by

going to the store and purchasing something. In a culture of constructed wants, we have gotten used to getting what we want, and we have gotten used to getting it immediately. In the conversation around feminism, this culture of instant gratification encourages us to see every event and development in isolation, to forget the ongoing struggles and the long histories of struggle that came before. We’re on the edge of our seats waiting for ‘the moment’ that changes everything. We want to be able to proclaim that ‘feminism has won, once and for all’ after one major incident. We are unaccustomed to the idea of long, slow battles that can’t be won overnight, that require years upon years of community organizing and coalition building. I remember the aftermath of one of 2014’s highly publicized events, back when Emma Watson’s UN speech was going viral. Quite a few people messaged me and asked me what I thought this meant, whether I thought this was the beginning of the feminist revolution. Emma Watson’s speech, however, was far from the beginning. As Black feminist blogger Mia McKenzie wrote at the time: “[Watson] seems to suggest that the reason men aren’t involved in the fight for gender equality is that women simply haven’t invited them and, in fact, have been unwelcoming. [...] This is an absurd thing to suggest. Women have been trying to get men to care about oppression of women since…always. Men have never been overwhelmingly interested in fighting that fight, because it requires them giving up power and all evidence suggests that’s not their super-fave thing1.” Not to forget that the text and spirit of Watson’s speech has roots in white feminist “equal rights” discourses that have been around and evolving since at least the 18th century.

Photo by Seven Resist via Creative Commons

The struggle against the patriarchy has a long history on this continent, longer than conventional (white) narratives would have us believe. Before I go further, I want to situate myself here as a white settler, and stress that there is an important role for settlers to play as allies in the processes and struggles of decolonization. As someone who originally came to feminism through academic writing, learning about decolonization has had vast consequences for my understanding of feminist resistance and its history. As feminist Andrea Smith writes, we tend to speak of feminism in waves that begin with the suffragettes. As a result, “this periodization situates white middle-class women as the central historical agents to which women of colour attach themselves. However, if we were to recognize the agency of indigenous women in an account of feminist history, we might begin with 1492 when Native women collectively resisted colonization2.”

When we look at the mass media feminist conversations of 2014 - Beyonce dancing in front of the word “FEMINIST” at the VMAs, Emma Watson’s UN speech, Gamergate, the rise of Laverne Cox and Janet Mock as prominent figures, the pushback to Jian Ghomeshi and Bill Cosby, the reaction to Elliot Rodger, #YesAllWomen, Lupita Nyong’o’s Oscar win, and so on and so on - as important as these moments are, we need to situate them in relation to the feminist struggles that have existed on these lands since before European contact.[*] We also need to remember that gender oppression, as it operates on Turtle Island today, was brought to this continent as a tool of colonialism and enforced through physical violence and racist/sexist legislation. Indigenous women have resisted patriarchal oppression every single year for centuries and continue to resist. So no, Emma Watson’s speech was not the “beginning.” Far from it.

These origins and histories of resistance are essential to grasping where we are today. In the words of scholar Kiera Ladner: “There have been and will continue to be countless seemingly “little things from which big things grow” on Turtle Island. […] Little things like the women (including Sandra Lovelace, Jeanette Corbière Lavell and Irene Bédard) who refused to leave and/or returned to their reserves after they had married non-status men, gotten divorced or been widowed and who brought this gendered inequality to the Canadian Courts, the constitutional talks, the United Nations, and the International Court of Justice. […] The echoes of these past resistances continue to be heard 3.” Likewise, the legacies and ongoing struggles of Black feminism, Muslim feminism, trans feminism, and all other feminisms are the context to any “main event” we see play out in the contemporary moment. Though long-form narratives and nuanced contexts may not satisfy our generation’s desire for immediate gratification and simple resolution, we can’t erase these histories to make a conveniently blank page for a single, pivotal “year of feminism.” I’m also not swayed by the (milder) retrospective tendency to classify this year or that year “a good year for feminism.”

“As far as I’m concerned, every year that feminism persists is “a good year for feminism.” The resilience of women and allies who continue to resist a system that suffocates and silences them, who continue this fight against all odds, is a powerful thing - whether those struggles make it onto the six o’clock news or not. So, to finally answer the question, ‘will 2015 be the “year of feminism?”, my answer would have to be: of course it will be. Just as 2014 was the year of feminism. And 2013 before that. And 1492 before that. Because every year is the “year of feminism.” And us feminists know that we can’t let the anticipation of “watershed moments” stop us from building a movement.

[*] Note: I want to acknowledge here that this tendency to erase the struggles of Indigenous women and overlook their contributions to feminist organizing is by no means limited to reflections on feminism’s past. The work of Indigenous feminists continues to be erased. It is telling that the organizing around Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women on Turtle Island - including the hashtags #MMIW, #ItEndsHere and #imnotnext / #aminext - is largely absent from mainstream/ whitestream feminist retrospectives of last year’s events. For links to further reading on these topics, please visit the online version of this article: thetalon.ca/every-year-is-the-year-of-feminism Special thanks to Sarah King, Matt Ward, Sam Nock, K. Ho and Jane Shi for their editing help and wise words.

social justice synonyms

‘transgendered’ & ‘tranny’ Tara Chee

You may have seen or heard ‘transgendered’ used in media and literature, by organizations and institutions, or even by a friend. Some may wonder, what does this term mean and where did it come from? For a little Trans 101, the term ‘transgender’, sometimes conjugated as ‘transgendered’, was originally an umbrella term meant to encompass the histories, identities, and experiences of folks who did not conform to the gender roles associated with their sex assigned at birth. This term combines the prefix trans, meaning across, and the word gender, and originally included drag queens and crossdressers. Currently, ‘transgender’ is used almost exclusively1 to refer to trans men and women – people who identify as a sex or gender different or opposite from the one they were assigned at birth2. Back to the term ‘transgendered’. As a trans woman of colour, I cringe whenever I come across it. Here’s why – transgenderED would grammatically imply an action done unto a person, or a condition. Think about the terms ‘gay’ and ‘lesbian’: they typically describe attributes of people, and you would never say someone is ‘gayed’. Similarly, ‘transgender’ is correctly used as an adjective and not usually as a verb or noun; I may self-identify as transgender, but I am not ‘a transgender,’ and we are not ‘transgenders’ (unless we claim it in the spirit of self-identification). This is because most transgender people do not want to be reduced to or defined by society’s perceptions of gender and body norms; a noun is defining, while an adjective is describing.

All these distinctions may seem small, but they are important to the dignity and agency of transgender people. Unfortunately, society continues to ‘other’ transgender populations and individuals. When trans people are othered for embodying a breaking of gender norms, they are often dehumanized, and treated with less respect and dignity. Countering this othering process is partially why the terms ‘cis’ or ‘cisgender’ were developed to describe people whose experiences of their gender match the sex assigned to them at birth. The persistent othering of trans people by society raises concerns around simply accepting ‘transgenderED’ as a default term for describing trans people. As described above, the use of the word entrenches trans individuals firstly as ‘transgendered’, secondly as a person. This allows trans people little room to navigate how they want to define themselves. For example, a person may have a history of cross-gender identification, yet not identify as transgender. Another person may actively identify as trans/transgender because they want to increase the visibility of a marginalized population. Both of these pathways to self-identification are minimized when people are labelled as ‘transgendered’. Besides transgender, you can also use ‘trans’; it is shorter and rolls off the tongue better, and allows for greater self-definition outside the gender binary.

When it comes to ‘tranny’, you might have heard the slang thrown around in your social circles, in the media, in comedy and entertainment, and perhaps even in gay and/or queer communities. While ‘tranny’ originated as the short form for transsexual or transvestite, it is generally viewed as a slur against trans women and trans men. Commonly ‘tranny’ is used in ignorance, for derogatory purposes, or in jokes where trans people are the punch line. To many, the idea of men inhabiting femininity is wholly disturbing, and involves the lowering of one’s self, inviting laughter either in discomfort or ridicule. ‘Tranny’ may also take on sexualizing and objectifying dimensions, where ‘tranny’, ‘shemale’, and ‘chick with a dick’ are used synonymously. This stems from frequent mainstream representations of trans women, especially trans women of colour, in the pornography industry and survival sex work; in reality, trans women are over-represented in porn and sex work due to intersecting struggles against colonization, class and race oppression, as well as transmisogyny. On transmisogyny, Laura Kacere writes, “trans women experience a particular kind of sexist marginalization based in their unique position of overlapping oppressions – they are both trans and feminine. They are devalued by society on both accounts3.” Thus when people refer to trans women as ‘trannies’, many are also being reduced to devalued caricatures and sexualized bodies. Unfortunately, this reinforces marginalization where trans people can be treated as less than human, compounding with more institutional oppressions that leave trans people highly vulnerable to poverty and exploitation, as well as

physical, verbal, mental and sexual abuse. You may be unconvinced that ‘tranny’ should be treated as a slur all the time; after all, don’t gay men and drag queens often call other drag performers and trans women in their communities ‘trannies’? Some argue that it’s a term of endearment, as there is a history of its use in a transgressive, edgy manner. Some say it follows the pattern of a marginalized group taking back power by reclaiming a word that had been historically used against them. Nevertheless, although drag queens are sometimes targets of the slur, the right of gay men to reclaim ‘tranny’ is more tenuous. Even though ‘tranny’ may be endearing to those who can leave their gender transgression behind once the performance is over, trans women, by physically embodying that transgression, are the ones left facing the brunt of society’s violence and marginalization on a daily basis. Embodying hyperbolic performances of femme fierceness and sexuality may be empowering to drag queens, but the experience of being viewed daily as imposters appropriating femaleness can be violent and invalidating to trans women. Nevertheless, instead of strict censorship, this author would like to advocate for greater conscientiousness around the use of the word tranny. A movement away from using ‘tranny’ towards using the terms ‘trans’ and ‘transgender’ helps reshape societal consciousness around the realities of trans people. For most cisgender folk, that will probably mean abandoning the use of ‘tranny’ entirely. For gay men, it may mean being considerate of the narratives being generated on behalf of trans women when ‘tranny’ is used.

So if you had ever used ‘transgendered’ or ‘tranny’ before - don’t fret and let’s learn some alternatives! “We provide services to women (including transgendered women).” “We provide services to all self-identified women.”

“I am transgendered.” The Talon is not in the business of policing identity unless it is highly problematic, and you should not be either, so this is fine. An example of something problematic would be non-Indigenous people identifying as Two-Spirit, as it is appropriating a term that is culturally meaningful to many Indigenous groups.

“Dang, you’re one hot tranny mess.” Maybe, if you’re a gay or trans person saying it to a friend, and that is simply how you two communicate. Very, very context dependent. Alternative - “You’re one hot mess! Oh, and trans people are beautiful people who deserve all our love.”

“Laverne Cox is hot, for a transgendered man.” Laverne Cox identifies and presents as female. Therefore she is a woman, not a man. (You can also skip the trans or transgender qualifier unless it is relevant.) Alternative - “Laverne Cox is a beautiful possibility model4 for trans people everywhere.”

“We will need to get the tranny box fixed before we take it on our road trip.” Short form for a car transmission, which is an object, and not a person. Use away.

“That tranny is FIERCE!” Do you know that person, are they trans, and are you tokenizing them? Is there a friend who could overhear and think that it is okay to use it to refer to all trans people? Alternative – “I really admire that person’s confidence and assertiveness in expression of who she is. She’s FIERCE.”

Tara Chee is a local trans and queer activist, and board member of Our City of Colours. She enjoys writing long-winded Facebook rants on her free time, in hopes that it can help make the world a better place.

reflections

on student leadership Cicely Blain

Photo by Tobias Klenze

Note: This reflection is not on the individuals who work tirelessly to foster community-building, safe and inclusive spaces and respectful language. On the contrary, I greatly value, respect and appreciate the staff that I have worked with during my time at UBC; they have been inspirational, captivating and some have been profoundly life-altering. My concerns and criticism rest, rather, with a system that stresses student leadership but actually leaves students little freedom, power or agency, to which we are all victims.

As a “student leader”, I am constantly and continually celebrated for my contributions to the university. As soon as I signed up to “give back” (the trademark slogan of involving yourself with supervisor-led campus involvement) through the Peer Programs/ student involvement departments, I could feel myself and my peers being subtly molded into narrow roles that constitute a pre-determined notion of the term “student leader”. This is not to say that I have not felt worthy and important as a student leader on campus, nor that these groups do not do excellent work. It is to say that I have come to both question my own independence within the initiative and also to suspect that there are hidden agendas at play. Peer Programs is a subset of students services that aims to provide “exceptional peer to peer support to enhance student life and learning”. The programs attempt to cover most aspects of student life, from physical wellness to environmental sustainability. Being a Peer Programs “student leader”, while a great opportunity to meet other students and boost your resume, comes with personal sacrifices of your voice, autonomy and creativity. On my gazillionth time attending a Peer Programs-wide training day, I began to question and evaluate the information I was receiving. As I watched yet another presentation on a navy blue and white background that dictated official UBC policies in the Whitney typeface, I contemplated my role as an individual and my creative worth in a room of 500 students. Are we really “leaders” if we are receiving and regurgitating information to fit a mold the university has created? Are we really “leaders” when we have no control over the projects we produce? It seems ironic to me that “student leaders” are placed on a pedestal when our contributions are minimal in com-

parison to those of other students, and when we are given very little freedom to spearhead our own projects without the watchful eye of UBC staff. For example, a former Wellness Peer remarked that on several occasions she suggested more “edgy” workshop themes such as “non-traditional relationship structures, safety with psychedelics and prescription drugs, or eating-disorders” but her ideas were dismissed because, she feels, the staffled nature of the system requires the Wellness Centre to be “mundane and sanitized”. She also mentioned that when students came to the centre with genuine mental health concerns they could only refer them to counselling or give “restricted” advice like “eat your veggies and get eight hours sleep a night”. Another student commented that “student leaders” are given an illusion of creative freedom within their program, only to be later overruled. He and his team spent several weeks planning and preparing a campaign only for their aesthetic, theme and content to be completely changed after staff moderation. This resulted in a project that did not reflect the students’ vision at all, leading them to become disillusioned with their program. This, one student believes, leads to an element of “disproportionate self-congratulation” – not because the intentions of the students and staff are not good, but because the actual impact Peer Programs “student leaders” are allowed to have, is very minimal. A student in the Equity Ambassadors program commented that while she thoroughly enjoyed the experience of being able to connect with enthusiastic staff members and students, she felt frustrated at the repetitive nature of the programs. Reflecting on the program-wide training days, she said “there was little room for discussion”,

and the dialogue that does occur is tailored to garner specific and pre-constructed results. She acknowledges that staff members are very passionate about training us in building respectful communities but feels that systemic and time constraints make for uninspiring sessions. A few former program members surmised that were students to have actual input in their respective projects, there would be much greater student turnout and response. Most likely, some students commented, the university has a pre-existing vision for a project or event and simply involves students in the creation to save face and increase productivity. Perhaps original intentions were great – peer to peer support is an invaluable resource but the lack of genuine student input has resulted in superficial services that draw little enthusiasm from both the “student leaders” and the rest of the student body. To give some more context, my reflections have also led me to make comparisons between Peer Program “student leaders” and those involved with AMS clubs and other campus initiatives. Despite the fact that we are so revered as free-thinkers and change-makers, we are among the only group of students whose ideas and actions are monitored and moderated by staff members. While the completely student-run executive team of the UBC Feminist Club or the UBC Intercultural Alliance, for example, develop ideas, create programming, market their brand, promote their ideals, hold events, collaborate, entertain, engage and teach with no direction or input from staff members, “student leaders” whose programs fall under the Centre for Student Involvement, follow guidelines, orders and instructions to an extent that their events, services, and programs are not a result of their own creativity but of a university agenda. Are we just machines programmed to fulfill quotas

and promote institutional ideals? The premise of our “leadership” is that we are all indebted to UBC and therefore we must “give back”. This premise comes with little or no recognition of how the university is indebted to the land and its owners, the Coast Salish peoples, as one example. Furthermore, the emphasis on the “give back” mandate is completely at odds with the individualistic paradigm focused on personal achievement and “resume-boosting” that is stressed by the exact same department. At the aforementioned training workshops, we are constantly reminded of our responsibilities and duties as “student leaders”: how we must be role models and educators to our peers (are they really peers if they are not equal to us?). Though UBC posits itself as a place of innovation, inspiration, and mind, all my experiences have convinced me that the university perpetuates out-dated, inflexible, and traditional conceptions of what leadership looks like. Leadership is not exclusively about authority and power. Yes, I am a leader with authority and decision-making power in some of my roles at UBC, but as a queer woman of colour, power dynamics usually do not favour me. For me, then, taking a leadership role is a deeply personal endeavour that cannot be taught through slide-shows or long Saturdays spent in Buchanan lecture halls. One can be a leader in their own right by simply enacting practices that reflect their own values, principles, beliefs and so on in order to create communities where each individual feels respected and their needs are adhered to. In its best form, leadership is personal, diverse and inclusive. Often, I find myself frustrated at levels of student apathy and therefore urging students to take more control over their surroundings. However, anecdotal evidence has shown me that there are many students willing and excited to make real and radical change as well as have lasting and profound impact on their campus but are increasingly snubbed by bureaucracy. Therefore, my urge this time is for the university to acknowledge and celebrate the variety of student leaders on campus and allow creative freedom and control to students whose passions lie in student services. UBC, it’s time for you to “give back”. Photo by Bena Peters

The communist who ruled the ams

an interview with blake frederick Alex Mierke-Zatwarnicki Five years ago today, on November 27th, 2009, news broke in The Ubyssey1 of a scandal that would polarize campus for months to come. Two incumbent members of the AMS Executive, President Blake Frederick and Vice President External Timothy Chu, had gone behind the backs of AMS Council and taken drastic action to try to start a conversation about rising tuition and the barrier it represents to postsecondary education. In what is now colloquially referred to as “UN-Gate,” Frederick and Chu filed a human rights complaint2 to the United Nations against the Government of Canada. With the help of PIVOT Legal Society, a local NGO, they argued that the Canadian government was violating its commitment to make higher education accessible (and eventually free) for all.

Photo provided by author

Frederick and Chu’s action started a firestorm on campus and in the broader Canadian media. Their opposition camp accused them of wasting AMS money on frivolous legal support, claimed they were wasting the UN’s time, and said they had embarrassed the university on the global stage. Meanwhile, their supporters thanked them for standing up for students and congratulated them for calling widespread attention to an issue that is consistently swept under the rug. In January of 2010, Frederick was very nearly impeached3 as a direct result of the incident. In honour of the action’s fifth anniversary, Blake Frederick sat down with The Talon to talk about the UN scandal, what it was like being a radical leftist in the AMS, and whether or not UBC students can actually count on our student society to win meaningful compromise from the university in the fight for lower tuition.

Could you tell me the story of your action, in your own words? The UN complaint came at the end of a very long and frustrated political effort on my part to push the issue of tuition in the AMS. […] It was one of the main motivating reasons for why I was involved in the AMS, and why I wanted to run for President in the first place. I made that clear in my campaign and then Timothy Chu and I were constantly pushing in the AMS to adopt a policy to lobby for lower tuition, which we thought was a pretty modest idea but we confronted a lot of resistance. Every time we tried to put a motion forward to the council it would be rejected, so council wouldn’t even consider a motion about tuition. Eventually this idea came up of putting forward a UN complaint at our Executive Council. So we instructed our policy manager to look into it and to contact PIVOT. Then we decided to file it because of the frustration that had built up to that point, but also because it was designed primarily to put the issue of tuition into the media. That’s really all it was designed to do – to get the issue of tuition into the media so that we could talk about it and why it’s an issue and why it acted as a barrier for students accessing post secondary education. The secondary purpose, which we were somewhat aware of at the time as well, was to piss off AMS council. And that effort succeeded on both fronts. But it was never part of any larger movement. It wasn’t part of any other action, other than our own personal efforts to push the issue of tuition.

Photo by Bena Peters

Why did you initially decide to use the AMS as a platform for activism and radical politics? Because it’s what I already knew and what I was already involved in. It was when I came back from a program I did called Canada World Youth after my second year at university. Half of that program I lived in Cuba, and I became open to different ideas when I was there. […] I was really inspired with the fact that education was free there. Obviously there’s a lot of problems but I was really inspired by that so [when I came back] I naively thought “Oh yeah we should push for this at UBC and the student union is the place to do that”. It was naive because I didn’t understand at that time that it was a conservative-leaning institution that had no interest. It’s a business. It’s operated as a business and the money just goes in to fuel this bureaucracy which then supports this business. I didn’t understand that at the time. I also didn’t understand that the people who are getting involved are the people who are the least affected by the policies of UBC and the government. So, I was involved in this policy-writing job. And I was young and I thought: ‘All we need is good policy, if we just convince the university with our good arguments they’ll build more housing! We just need to convince them that its a good idea.” And then as I met them, as I met Brian Sullivan who was the VP of Students and I tried to talk to him about housing, I started to piece things together and realize that they weren’t actually committing to the agenda, they were just trying to pacify us to go away. It’s really the experience that I had in the AMS, interacting with the university, that radicalized me, guaranteed. So I just continued down that path. I was a bit involved with the Resource Groups as well but I just stayed on that path that I’d already started.

Around the current tuition hikes there has been a big debate about that sort of strategy, about whether the best way to fight the decisions is to sit at the university’s table and play nice rather than protest. What do you think about the AMS’ tendency to take the ‘play nice’ route? Well, I can speak from when I was involved. A lot of my fellow executives who were elected and the council members are explicitly interested in currying favour with the higher-ups at UBC because of the work prospects that that will bring them after they graduate. I think that’s one reason why the AMS tends to be more conservative. The other reason is that a lot of the people who are involved in the higher echelons of UBC – like the VP Students position and the President – when you interact with these people they are very very effective at disarming you and making you believe that they are well-intentioned and that that’s good enough. […] These are powerful people and you want to believe that they’re telling the truth. What I’m trying to get at, I guess, is the level of charm that’s involved with their “look at my world, everything’s nice over here”. They’re rich people, the people who you interact with at the UBC executive level. They’re rich people and they know exactly what students want to hear. Another aspect of it is that, the people who get involved, that’s what they think is an effective way. They don’t want to ruin their relationship because of some belief that if you say the wrong things that UBC will no longer work with the AMS. One of the aspects of the SUB project that I hated so much was that it increases the propensity to do nothing on political issues because of this multi-million dollar partnership that the AMS and UBC have. When Tim and I would get political over issues like tuition, Brian Sullivan (the VP Students) would often come back and be like “Now, we’re also working on the SUB project, we need to be very careful how our relationship proceeds because the SUB project is really important and blah blah blah blah.” So there’s just a lot of institutional relationships that I guess the people involved in the AMS worry they will be breaking if they get too political.

Photo by Bena Peters

Around some of the initial planning for the #IAmAStudent teachin and movement, AMS folks such as President Tanner Bokor expressed concerns about protests damaging their relationship with the university.

I think its naive. This Tanner fellow probably believes that if he just makes the right argument he will convince UBC to do the right thing. That’s completely wrong. The university is a business. It is run as a business, and in order to make it do something that’s contrary to its business interests, you have to force it. You don’t force it by talking in a room at a table – that’s not leverage. It doesn’t make any sense. He can play his game of suits and ladders and whatever, but at least use the student protests behind you to your advantage. That is your bargaining power, that is your everything. If you have no threat of disrupting the business as usual My response to that is that the whole purpose of having a student then you have nothing. union is to act as a political organization, to represent the students. Your purpose is not to be a service provider. Your purpose is not to run an effective business. The purpose is to advocate on behalf of students and push for their agenda.

“If you have no threat of disrupting the business as usual then you have nothing.” 67

“I didn’t understand at that time that it was a conservative-leaning institution that had no interest. It’s a business. It’s operated as a business and the money just goes in to fuel this bureaucracy which then supports this business. I didn’t understand that at the time.” One thing that came up (off record) during the Knoll interview series was that during Tristan Markle’s time as VP Admin, the AMS would go to the legislature to try and lobby for post-secondary funding and then the BC Liberals would Photo by K. Ho de-politicize the action by offering inYeah we’ve seen some of that type of ternships to the students. Did you have pushback against I Am A Student, the re- experience with that too? curring claim that we can only stop the Yeah, I went through that before I was President. I was Assoproposals if we bring the right types of ciate VP External at that time and I went to “Lobby Days”, what it’s called. It’s a junket, it’s like a political junarguments and thorough financial re- that’s ket. It’s the people who are involved in Council spending search to the university. students’ money to go have wine with the decision makers. One thing that most people involved, even at the Council level, do not understand – or haven’t had the chance to see I guess – is that UBC acts like they’re well intentioned when they are dealing with the AMS… they are not. They are extremely aggressive and manipulative. It became very clear through the SUB process. They would sneak in clauses, they would try to screw the students out of millions of dollars through these interest rate clauses. We had to spend thousands and thousands of dollars on lawyers to even understand what they were trying to do. They would lie to us – they would agree to something but then they would put it back in. It’s a historic pattern of lying and manipulation. […] It always comes back to that point: they’re operating as a business, they are aggressive, they are trying to cut costs. And there’s a lot of ways to do that using the AMS as an enabler of sorts.

[…] It was so fascinating when I went because I did not understand the relationship between these people who were involved in the AMS and the people who were involved in government until I went there, and I saw and experienced it – people putting on suits and going to the meetings and being all happy and jovial with one another when myself and some other people were there… we were angry! We were angry and mad as hell, right, and this was our opportunity to confront the people who were responsible for a lot of the injustices that were going on on our campus. And … they were just shaking hands and taking photo ops. Literally, they were taking photos with one another. My partner was there too and she was told by multiple Ministers how cute it was, that she reminded them of their granddaughter, who really wanted to make a difference. And she was like: “I’m not here to ‘make a difference’, I’m here to tell you that you are the problem.” I remember that Tristan refused to wear a suit on one day and he got into this super heated argument with this guy named Matt Naylor. […] He was yelling at him about how disrespectful it was to not wear the right clothes and it was so obvious to me that we are coming here to become them

rather than to push against them. So I went to that and the next year, when Tim and I were in office, we cancelled it (laughs). We just didn’t do it. And they really wanted to, they would not accept that. We mentioned that we wanted to cancel it and they were like “well we’ll pass the resolutions and do it anyways.” So we’re like “Ok, we’ll do it, we’ll do it. Don’t worry, we’re planning the meetings” and then we just never did. [Note to reader: Lobby Days still takes place]

So besides the UN scandal and the new SUB, what else was happening with the AMS during your time as President? Another really interesting involvement of the year when I was involved was – the university and Translink were working together to put an underground bus loop in the middle of campus. It was going to be funded mostly by Translink and so UBC was in favour of it because it was free infrastructure money. Everybody knew it was a terrible idea. Even the non-left-leaning students on Council showed up to all the consultations and made a lot of noise about it. So, I had meetings with UBC and they told me “we have information that the bus loop might be in jeopardy, don’t tell anybody.” And I was like “I’m not going to not tell anybody… like, if you’re telling me this I’m going to speak about it.” And they’re like “Okay, as long as you don’t tell anybody outside of council.” I was like “I’m going to tell council, and its going to get out anyways, but if you guys want to tell me what’s going on….” And so they told me that Translink was thinking of pulling the funding but they weren’t sure yet. I immediately issued a press release (laughs) to the effect of ‘the underground bus loop was in jeopardy and needs to be cancelled for all these reasons.’ Well.. that somehow landed on the 6 o’clock news and then I felt the full wrath of UBC come upon me. They were not happy. I got a phone call from the President telling me that I was jeopardizing the reputation of UBC.

“My response to that is that the whole purpose of having a student union is to act as a political organization, to represent the students. Your purpose is not to be a service provider. Your purpose is not to run an effective business. The purpose is to advocate on behalf of students and push for their agenda.”

Stephen Toope? Yeah, like I singlehandedly was jeopardizing the reputation of UBC – as if I had any ability to do that. He sent a letter to Council telling [them] that I had done this horrible action and that the value of a UBC degree could go down as a result of what I had done and they believed it. The people on Council believed it because it was like their boss telling them that they were being reprimanded. So I got censured for that and that was one of the first instances where the university really tried to punish me in an explicit way.

So did you ruin UBC forever? Yeah, I think it was ruined before I got there.

The enduring silence of ubc’s ‘hunting ground’ Paul Krause Associate Professor, UBC Department of History Several months ago, a UBC student who had been sexually harassed told me that while university administrators publicly insist that we should openly confront and discuss such incidents, the real message they habitually, directly deliver to those who have been assaulted is, “Shh.” The student laughed and her eyes widened as she drew her index finger to her lips to repeat and illustrate the point: “Shh.” My admiration for this student is immense, and I know that she will be okay – better than okay – but her sense of humour belied her ongoing ordeals: the act of harassment itself; the isolation arising from our collective refusal to publicly acknowledge this transgression; and the burdensome weight of endless meetings and interviews on her, and not on her assailant. These are some of the themes of The Hunting Ground1, a recently released movie that explores the problem of sexual violence,

Illustration by Evelyn Cranston

and various non-efforts to assault it, on university campuses in the USA. My sense is that UBC has engaged in similar non-efforts for a long, long time. One story from my past illustrates this, I think. I share it not to get even, but to cast light on a problem. About twenty years ago in the wake of a crisis in the Political Science Department that received international attention2, I addressed one of my classes about professorial sexual harassment of students. Our discussion turned to what are allegedly consensual relations between professors and students. I told the students that this is a line that should never be crossed, as it invariably issues from power inequities and violates trust. Nonetheless, I said, in the recent past a female student had killed herself after an affair with a professor had gone woefully, tragically wrong.

a colleague of the professor who was involved with the deceased woman. Needless to say, I felt as though I had fallen into the proverbial good old boys club. No one in the club, I knew, would want the story of the suicide to come out, as I had in fact told my students it should. The dean told me that my job was at stake: in her view, I had “slandered” colleagues and moreover was “guilty of spreading rumors.” I quickly hired an attorney and private investigator, who interviewed my students. To the chagrin of the dean and other university administrators, the students told the truth: I had drawn no link between the deceased student and the Political Science Department and had not mentioned any details about her death. The cost of proving this? A cool ten grand.

How did I know this? A high-ranking university administrator with responsibilities in our counseling services had told me. There was no reason for this person to deceive me about the story or any of its details – one of which was that the professor involved was not a member of the Political Science Department.

But the real cost was larger. Though I thwarted the dean, and my own department head, and though there would be no official record of the incident, I was compelled to apologize – not surprising, given that UBC’s lawyer, in finest Stalinist form, had asked me to rat out the colleague who had told me of the suicide. I declined.

Months later, I received a furious call from the dean of arts, who demanded that I appear that day in her office to answer charges of professional misconduct. I had no clue what I might have done. When I arrived in the dean’s office, she told me that she had learned that I had identified a specific professor as having been implicated in the suicide, and had told my students that the woman’s nude body, along with a journal that named names, had been found on Wreck Beach. In the Dean’s office were two other faculty members, men, also dismissive of my denial, who were known to have had a close relationship with at least one of their women students. The dean, for her part, had been

But I am not proud to say that, in the end, the combined efforts of UBC’s administrators largely worked: for many years, I shut up about this incident, lost my voice, and became a more timid teacher, sometimes manoeuvring as carefully in my classrooms as I had manoeuvred in newsrooms where I had been a reporter for the mainstream press. I spoke to students, from time to time, about male proprietorship and predatory violence and, often quoting the writer James Baldwin, about how an intimate relationship between unequals always is “perverse.” More recently, I have included a section on sexual harassment and assault in my undergraduate, and graduate, syllabi,

and have pointed to the lingering effects of my encounter with the dean as an example of enforced, complicitous silence. That a tenured, male faculty member could be intimidated for speaking out, one wise student explained to me, only underscores the far greater difficulties facing women students who may be considering an attack on UBC’s culture of “shh-ing.” The experiences of the student who identified the ubiquitous “shh-ing” virus, UBC’s well-documented under-reporting of sexual violence against women3, and multiple instances of rape and harassment here and at many other North American universities plainly have demonstrated that the male predation and misogyny which shape our academic lives awaits full unsilencing. But the reputation of the university’s brand always is at stake – at Dalhousie, at Harvard, at Florida State, at Stanford – and often administrators and faculty worry more about their corporate careers than about their students. So, the history of silence at UBC, too, is a long one. It is time – past time – to engage in the unsilencing of all of this – and to change it. We all need to be immunized against “shh-ing.” What possible risks could an inoculation bring? This question might well be directed, in the first instance, to the editors of The Ubyssey. They refused to publish this essay. How many others have engaged in acts of silencing? Why?

Special thanks to many anonymous editors and readers, and the editorial collective of The Talon.

Certain aspects of Remembrance Day make me uncomfortable, and I don’t think I’m alone in this. The white poppy (sometimes called the peace poppy) is worn as an alternative to the red poppy, and is meant to ensure that remembering past conflicts doesn’t involve glorifying or simplifying war. Traditional Remembrance Day ceremonies honour the victims of war within certain nationalistic frameworks, and I find that problematic because it erases the struggles and sacrifice of those who are excluded from nationalist projects. Along with this comes a sort of militarism that I think works against the greater goal of these ceremonies: to make sure that these sacrifices don’t need to happen, and to work towards ending war. This year, I'm wearing the white poppy because it more closely aligns with the way I choose to remember the victims of war. This article is not meant to be a critique against remembering those who fought in past conflicts, but to examine some features of this annual day of memorial: it is meant to call attention to what we remember, and whom we remember (or more specifically whom we don’t remember) on November 11. The recent reports which revealed that Canadian inmates assembled 2.4 million red poppies1 for the Canadian Royal Legion this year might be a good reason to start looking into the standard Remembrance Day narrative about the sacrifices made in “fighting for our freedom.” How can we remember war while acknowledging colonial violence both at home and abroad? How can we make sure that Indigenous sovereignty is respected and that Remembrance Day doesn’t mean discounting Indigenous veterans as it did at last year’s Remembrance Day parade in Toronto?2 What about the Indigenous warriors who protect our en-

vironment against multinational oil companies? They certainly aren’t mentioned in memorial ceremonies I attended growing up. How can we talk about the colonial policies of European states and the wars that were waged against colonized people across the world? How can we work towards a Remembrance Day that includes respecting the victims of colonial oppression? I’m not arguing that the white poppy is the solution these problems, but it’s a way of moving the conversation towards peace and beginning to talk about alternative ways of looking at war remembrance. A lot of the significance of the white poppy, for me at least, has to do with its origin. The white poppy was first printed around 19333 by the Co-operative Women's Guild in Britain, a group organized around working-class labour issues and issues pertaining to women. This was a group of individuals who had not participated directly in fighting but had served as nurses and in support position during conflict, and had seen the impact war had on returning soldiers. The Co-operative Women's Guild was a civilian group who was able to gauge the effects war had on society as a whole. The white poppy is rooted in the idea that everyone affected by war should be remembered, including civilians who became (and continue to become) the “collateral damage” of global politics. The movement aims to acknowledges that war is complex and shouldn't be placed within a rhetoric of heroism and nationalistic pride. The Peace Pledge Union is a pacifist group and one of the biggest organizers of this white poppy distribution. They write: "The white poppy was not intended as an insult to those who died in the First World War - a war in which many of the white poppy supporters lost husbands, brothers, sons and lovers - but a challenge to the continuing drive to war4.” Through the work of the Peace Pledge Union and other organizations, the white poppy is recentering the Remembrance Day conversation around peace.

The White Poppy & Remembrance Day Joshua Gabert-Doyon

Publicly, there has been some opposition to the white poppy. While the Royal British Legion has no opposition to the white poppy, the Canadian Royal Legion has shown some opposition in the past; oddly enough, it was mostly for trademark reasons5.The Conservative Party Minister of Veterans Affairs has also come out against the white poppy6. Remembrance Day is focused on nationhood and emphasizes military solutions. Remembering those who have lost their lives in war is important, but I will not apologize for anger directed at politicians who could not resolve conflicts through diplomacy and who made the decision to send soldiers into battle. As others have argued before me7,there's a certain degree of hypocrisy in Stephen Harper wearing the red poppy a mere nine days after Canadian jets dropped bombs in Iraq. Being able to position this memorial holiday within the proper historical and contemporary context is key here. Although this year marks the 100th anniversary of the beginning of World War I, a conflict that may seem like it was a long time ago, the Canadian government is still very much involved in military action today and therefore benefits from implicit narratives of militarism. We also need to remember that those who fought in the world wars often did not do so on their own accord (conscription), and were essentially victims to the whims of imperialistic land grabs and the ruling class as a whole.

Nationalistic campaigns of propaganda and manipulation aimed at gaining support for military action and recruiting soldiers were deployed on a massive scale for both world wars. Soldiers who were recruited and drafted by governments have traditionally come from the working class, and often recruitment came with a temporary injunction over racial inequality: marginalized bodies were valued when these bodies could be holding a gun and serving on the front lines. The rhetoric of the red poppy diminishes or often completely omits the sacrifices of women, Indigenous peoples, immigrants, people of colour, and all of those who do not fall into the Ideal Canadian Soldier: the young fit white male â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the abstracted body that dominates the representation of sacrifice at memorials and in Remembrance Day speeches. Tokenizing women on Remembrance Day8 is not going to do the trick either. For me, the question is not about remembering or not remembering: it is clear that the victims of war should be remembered and honoured. But to me this is about finding a new way to remember, one that pays respect to all those affected by war while remaining critical of the historical and ongoing injustices perpetrated by Canada, and most importantly, one that calls for an end to all war.

to exist is to resist

a look at Palestine solidarity activism at UBC Urooba Jamal This article is the second in a 3-part series that investigates Israel’s massacres in Gaza from a UBC perspective. It examines the challenges to Palestinian solidarity activism on campus. This first part provided a general overview of Canada’s relationship with Israel. The last piece focused on Hillel UBC. In yet another harrowing series of military airstrikes and a ground invasion led by Israel in the Gaza strip this summer — named Operation Protective Edge — some 1473 Palestinian civilians were killed1, including 501 children, and over 110,000 have been internally displaced. In the wake of this unremitting violence in the Occupied Territories, there is the usual rhetoric that emerges from the vestiges of self-exalting Western political faculties. Both Obama and Harper have staunchly supported these military operations as Israel’s “right to defend itself ” from “terrorism associated with Hamas.” Most of the major Canadian federal parties2,3,4 have made similar remarks. Discussed as if the conflict involves two equal sides, there is no analysis of the grossly disproportionate Palestinian deaths. The root cause is said to be rockets fired by Hamas and not the structural dynamics of Israeli settler colonialism, occupation and apartheid. Further, parallel to discourse within some factions of pro-Israel Jews, Harper has equated criticism of Israel with anti-Semitism. Appealing to these ill-conceived narratives marginalizes Palestine solidarity activists as ‘extremists.’ On-campus organizers struggle with the fallout from such an antagonistic climate.

Student activists across Canada must navigate volatile terrain. The distemperment surrounding the recent passing of University of Windsor’s referendum5 to support the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement (BDS)6 reveals there is much opposition and controversy surrounding pro-Palestine activism. Even so, the passing of this endorsement by the vote of a majority of the student body indicates a real success in the sphere of such activism in universities across Canada. At least nine student unions7 support BDS, most of them from Eastern Canada. At UBC, Students For Palestinian Human Rights (SPHR) is at the forefront of organizing around issues on Palestine. Responding to last summer’s massacre, SPHR joined with numerous other local groups in organizing rallies throughout Vancouver.The group has been active on campus in recent years, holding major events as a part of the international Israel Apartheid Week (IAW). A couple of years ago, they erected an 8-foot high wall in front of what used to be the grassy hill known as the knoll. The structure represented the apartheid wall8 in the Occupied Territories, a heavily militarized and patrolled barrier that cuts into 85% of the West Bank and isolates some 260,000+ Palestinians. SPHR has also been able to bring in some notable public figures such as Norman Finkelstein in 2010 (an event that saw over 800 people in attendance), Gideon Levy (an Israeli journalist who writes unapologetically about the Israeli occupation of Palestine), and Dr. As’ad AbuKhalil in 2013 (an activist and professor from California popularly known as “The Angry Arab”). According to Dania Kallas, a second year Palestinian student at UBC and the

current president of SPHR, there is the usual mix of responses to their events ranging from positive to negative, informed to confused. In the past, however, there have been more significant tensions. Omar Shabaan, former SPHR president and vocal Palestinian activist, recounts the many times a pro-Israel group on campus, then called the Israel Advocacy Club (IAC) but now known as Israel on Campus, tried to cancel the venue bookings SPHR needed to hold events on campus. “[But] the university was always on our side,” Shabaan explained, adding, “We didn’t [ever] have anything to hide [about our events]. The admin would decide our events didn’t sound problematic and would allow us to have them.”

Even under former UBC Vice President Stephen Owen, who has been vocal in his support for Israel, SPHR was told that the university tries its best to prevent having to cancel an organization’s events. Admin had even helped the group make a booking after they had a missed the deadline to do so. Shabaan informed me that some of this may have had to do with the fact that the IAC “[...] had been very rude to Stephen Owen”for not cancelling

SPHR’s events. Even so, Shabaan thinks the university was just trying to save face and not cause any problems, assisting SPHR not because they share views with regards to the conflict, but because they are aware of the negative response some Canadian universities have received for suppressing Palestinian solidarity activism. Not wanting to put out any fires or provoke negative media attention may instead have been the factors motivating the university to assist SPHR. The most concerted opposition SPHR faced occurred during the presidency of AMS president Bijan Ahmadian. In 2010 the Social Justice Centre (SJC) at UBC agreed to support SPHR by sending a donation to the Canadian Boat to Gaza, an aid initiative committed to alleviating the blockage of the Gaza Strip. However, Ahmadian blocked the financial transaction. Speculative fliers circulated on campus, incorrectly stating that the donations were to go to the “terrorist organization of Hamas.” SPHR and SJC organizers agreed to let the AMS council vote on the issue. After a long meeting that lasted several hours inside the Norm Theatre, filled with people both in support of sending the aid and those opposed to it, the AMS council voted to send the donations. Ahmadian was prevented from voting and several others abstained.. he next day, Ahmadian blocked the transaction again, announcing that he wanted to seek legal counselling. Another council meeting was called, this time with the lawyer Ahmadian sought present. After more debate, the council held another vote in which a unanimous decision to send the aid to the Canadian Boat to Gaza was made. Shabaan counts it as one of SPHR’s biggest victories.

zero tolerance for anti-Semitism and many members are involved with other social justice movements. As such, the group has extensive networks with activists in the city. “We also get some support from many Jewish people in the community”, said Kallas, the current president. SPHR also works in solidarity with Indigenous communities both on and off campus. Recognizing the ongoing legacy of settler colonialism at UBC and on the unceded territory now known as Vancouver, almost every single event hosted by SPHR has featured an Indigenous speaker. Many Palestinians are inspired by Indigenous resistance movements, and so too have many First Nations groups been by Palestinian activism. Hanna Kawas, a local Palestinian activist, has been awarded with a gift from an Indigenous women’s centre, an indicator of the ways in which these communities collaborate and inspire one another. While the climate of Palestine solidarity activism at UBC can be contentious at times, SPHR continues to organize for the upcoming year. Kallas says they have many events planned for the coming months, such as fundraisers, movie screenings, and public lectures. Most excitingly, the goal of passing a BDS resolution in the AMS is on the agenda. Let us now see if UBC will follow suit with the nine other student unions across Canada that have passed it and truly live up to its proverbial “leftcoast” reputation.

Shabaan said that one of SPHR’s real strengths is their ability to engage students on the issue, referring them to resources whenever necessary. They have

Photo by K. Ho

references why i didn’t report 1. "Sexual Assault Statistics in Canada." Sexual Assault and Rape Statistics, Canada. bit.ly/1nKhDD2 2. ibid. 3. “Rape Myths.” WAVAW Women Against Violence Against Women. bit.ly/1y4pNpr 4. ibid. 5. Valenti, Jessica. “Frat Brothers Rape 300% More. One in 5 Women Is Sexually Assaulted on Campus. Should We Ban Frats?” The Guardian. September 24, 2014. bit.ly/1tYZFgI

social justice synonyms: ‘ocd’ & ‘bipolar’ 1. Ho, K. “Social Justice Synonyms #1: ‘Crazy’.” The Talon UBC. September 23, 2014. Accessed March 24, 2015. bit.ly/1N80l9I

reconciling whom i love with where i love 1. “Reconciling Whom I Love with Where I Love.” Sowing Seeds and Setting Roots: An Outweek 2015 Zine, May 1, 2015. bit.ly/1Os9sFq 2. “Outweek 2015.” Facebook. on.fb.me/1FRI5AJ 3. Abernathey, Marti. “Transgender Day of Remembrance.” Transgender Day of Remembrance. tdor.info 4. Nock, Samantha. “A Halfbreed’s Reasoning.” A Halfbreeds Reasoning. October 1, 2012. bit.ly/1N1SjRo 5. Nock, Samantha. “Garbage Baggage.” A Halfbreed’s Reasoning. April 30th, 2014. bit.ly/1DPVKcq

social justice synonyms: i ‘raped’ that midterm 1. Lorenzi, Lucia. “Your Words Are Not Victimless: Rape Culture and David Choe’s.” Lucia Lorenzi. April 19, 2014. bit.ly/1CYfNFX 2. “It’s Time For People to Stop Using the Social Construct of “Biological Sex” to Defend Their Transmisogyny.” Autostraddle. June 5, 2014. bit.ly/1mjCar4 3. Simpson, Leanne. “Not Murdered and Not Missing.” Indigenous Nationhood Movement. March 5, 2014. bit.ly/1hMsBl0 4. Sayers, Naomi, and Sarah Hunt. “Abolition of Sex Work Won’t End Violence against Native Women.” The Globe and Mail. January 22, 2015. bit.ly/1BLNl8y

“you’ll find a boyfriend once you lose some weight” 1. Rich, Adrienne. "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence." Terry College of Business. bit.ly/1DNCxHI. 2. ibid.

violence on the land, violence on our (student) bodies 1. The Adventure of Ruan, “UBC & Whistler,” bit.ly/1AifSxB 2. CBC News, “6 sex assults on UBC campus appear connected: RCMP,” bit.ly/1EYcv3V 3. Andrea Smith, “Systemic Violence against Native Women and First Nations Land Struggles,” YouTube video, 13:46. December 19, 2012. bit.ly/19cmMOm

navigating beyond the gender binary 1. “Sex Is a Social Construct (and a Bad One at That).” Evil Porn Plot Bunny,. October 1, 2013. bit.ly/1MB2Ym3 2. Ballou, Adrian. “10 Myths About Non-Binary People It’s Time to Unlearn.” Everyday Feminism. December 6, 2014. bit.ly/1yMMUbg 3. “Reader Ramblings: Physical and Social Dysphoria.” Neutrois Nonsense. January 4, 2012. bit.ly/1GQDUqI 4. Bracegirdle, Nadia. “You’ll Get It One Day.” Honi Soit. September 16, 2014. bit.ly/1Ap0oI0

i am still here: reflections on #aminext 1. Zak Cheney-Rice, “Haunting Photos Powerfully Capture the Terror Facing Canada’s Indigenous Women Today.” Identities.Mic. September 11, 2014. bit.ly/1uG6rbh 2. CBC News, “Murdered and missing aboriginal women deserve inquiry, rights group says.” January 12, 2015. bit.ly/1y4T5YH 3. Aboriginal Healing & Outreach Program, “Traditional Teachings Handbook.” Native Women’s Centre, 2008. bit.ly/19NuOO3 4. Mylifeasitturnedout, “Murdered & Missing Aboriginal Women & Girls.” Wordpress Blog, February 19, 2013. bit.ly/1C8JbWe 5. Lindsay Kines, “Murdered prostitute cases the toughest.” Vancouver Sun, September 31, 1999. bit.ly/1xwtrOm 6. Aboriginal Rights & Research Office, “Jay Treaty 1794: Aboriginal Border Crossing Rights.” Mohawk Council of Akwesasne, November 19, 1999. bit.ly/1CnQevE 7. Frieda J. Jacques, “Use the Good Mind!” Wellbriety, n.d. bit.ly/1HzqkFb 8. APTN National News, “Harper’s Approach to MMIW ‘quite disturbing’ says Indigenous senator.” National News, November 19, 2014. bit.ly/18VDtwP

the politics of coming out 1. This list is not at all exhaustive. And thank you to Savannah Pulfer for notifying me about the omission of non-binary gender identities. 2. Lexi Cannes, “New study: Family rejection, violence — cause for high transgender suicide attempt rate,” Lexi Cannes State of Trans, January 28 2014. bit.ly/1CaLlVx. 3. Alexandra Bolles, “Violence Against Transgender People and People of Color is Disproportionately High, LGBTQH Murder Rate Peaks,” GLAAD.org, June 4 2012. bit.ly/1eeOmcr. 4. Kim Katrin Crosby, “Beyond Definition: On Queer Black Love and My Kaleidoscope Identity,” Autostraddle, June 10 2014. bit.ly/1GlTedy. 5. Edit: author no longer identifies as cisgender, but as gender-confused/gender non-conforming. 7. Edit: author does not always identify as a woman anymore.

every year is the year of feminism 1. McKenzie, Mia. “Why I’m Not Really Here For Emma Watson’s Feminism Speech At the U.N. -.” Black Girl Dangerous. September 24, 2014. Accessed March 19, 2015. bit.ly/1tZiRef. 2. Smith, Andrea. “Indigenous Feminism without Apology.” Unsettling America: Decolonization in Theory and Practice. September 8, 2011. Accessed March 19, 2015. bit.ly/1bgApwB. 3. Ladner, Kiera L. “From Little Things...” In This Is An Honour Song: Twenty Years Since the Blockades, 299-314. Winnipeg: Arbeiter Ring Pub., 2010.

social justice synonyms: ‘transgendered’ & ‘tranny’ 1. The terms trans, or sometimes trans* (generally a short form for transgender) is evolving in many communities to be inclusive of those who are non-binary (people who do not strictly identify as male or female) as well as those who are transmasculine or transfeminine. This includes people who identify with both or neither gender, or those who identify more to one side of the gender spectrum, but may not desire to adopt some of the physical traits or social roles attributed to men and women. How a trans person sees their body and their relationship to it is not strictly tied to the gender we see performed every day in society. Boundless, “Transgender Identities and the Gender Spectrum Source,” Boundless Psychology, July 3, 2014, bit.ly/1xdnbuk. 2. The language of ‘sex assigned at birth’ is an acknowledgement that people are often born with a sex assigned to them based on the presentation of their genitalia, without considering how a person may self-identify later in life. 3. Laura Kacere, “Transmisogyny 101: What Is It and What We Can Do About It,” Everyday Feminism, January 27, 2014, bit.ly/1w3mtfq. 4. Mey, “Flawless Trans Women Carmen Carrera and Laverne Cox Respond Flawlessly To Katie Couric’s Invasive Questions,” Autostraddle, January 7, 2014, bit.ly/1cWbwDG0.

The communist who ruled the ams: An interview with blake frederick 1. Mann, Arshy. “BREAKING: AMS files complaint to United Nations.” The Ubyssey. Nov. 27, 2009. bit.ly/1LioUBT 2. “University of British Columbia Alma Mater Society & Tristan Markle - v - Government of Canada, Province of British Columbia.” Macleans. Nov. 25, 2009. bit.ly/1EBjOfi 3. McElroy, Justin. “UBC student union president impeached—for one day.” Macleans. Jan. 30, 2010. bit.ly/1Lk303W

the enduring silence of ubc’s ‘hunting ground’ 1. “The Hunting Ground.” Facebook. on.fb.me/1URzzrP 2. Farnsworth, Clyde H. “University Comes Down Hard on Bias, Setting Off a Debate Across Canada,” The New York Times, July 4, 1995, nyti.ms/1LjKcSC. 3. Sawa, Timothy and Lori Ward. “Sex assault reporting on Canadian campuses worryingly low, say experts,” CBC News, February 6, 2015, bit.ly/1KAs8A0.

The White Poppy and Remembrance Day 1. Kuitenbrouwer, Peter. “From Plastic, to Prisons, to Lapel: How Canada’s Millions of Poppies Get Made.” Financial Post, November 8, 2014. Accessed August 8, 2015. bit.ly/1KY9O7s. 2.MacLellan, Stephanie. “First Nations Veteran Arrested at Remembrance Day Ceremony.” Toronto Star, November 12, 2013. Accessed August 8, 2015. on.thestar.com/1KYaeuq.

3. “Peace Poppies - Why.” Accessed August 8, 2015. bit.ly/1gTHeHL. 4. “White Poppies Are for Peace.” Peace Pledge Union. Accessed January 30, 2015. bit.ly/1MUDL8w. 5. “Legion May Sue over White Poppy Campaign.” CTV News, November 4, 2010. Accessed August 8, 2015. bit.ly/1OYxkPB. 6. Proussalidis, Daniel. “White Poppies ‘disrespectful,’ Says Veterans Affairs Minister.” Edmonton Sun, November 5, 2013. Accessed August 8, 2015. bit.ly/1HylxBT. 7. “The Hypocrisy of Our Poppy-Flaunting Leaders on Remembrance Day.” Crates and Ribbons. November 11, 2012. Accessed August 8, 2015. bit.ly/1DEqgqt.. 8. Woods, Allan. “One Woman Bears Nation’s Grief.” Toronto Star, November 11, 2009. Accessed August 8, 2015. on.thestar. com/1hqVdod.

to exist is to resist: a look at palestine solidarity activism at ubc 1. Occupied Palestinian Territory: Gaza Emergency Situation Report.” OCHA. Sept.4, 2014. Accessed Sept. 12, 2014. bit.ly/1t7CwWu 2. “Statement by the Prime Minister of Canada in Response to the Situation in Israel.” Prime Minister of Canada. July 13, 2014. Accessed Sept 13, 2014. bit.ly/1owEWKL 3. “Statement by Liberal Party of Canada Leader Justin Trudeau on the situation in Israel and Gaza.” The Liberal Party of Canada. July 15, 2014. Accessed Sept. 13, 2014. bit.ly/1Pyn1m5 4. “Statement by NDP leader Tom Mulcair on situation in the Middle East.” New Democratic Party of Canada. July 22, 2014. Accessed Sept. 13, 2014. bit.ly/1sOfcQS 5. “Israeli-Palestinian conflict comes to UWindsor.” The Lance. Dec. 19, 2013. Accessed Sept. 10, 2014. bit.ly/1JpNKlN 6. “What is BDS?” Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions Movement. Accessed Sept. 10, 2014. www.bdsmovement.net 7. Pinch, Steffanie. “Five successes of the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement.” rabble.ca. Feb. 26, 2014. Accessed Sept. 9, 2014. bit.ly/1TTew5K 8. “The Wall.” Stop the Wall. Accessed Sept. 10, 2014. www.stopthewall.org/the-wall

Evelyn Cranston

Justin Choi

Cecily Downs

K. Ho

Cicely Blain

Matthew Ward

Sarah King

Eviatar Bach

Urooba Jamal

the talon

editorial collective 2014/2015

Alex Mierke-Zatwarnicki

Maneo Mohale

Justin Weibe

Jordan Buffie

Jane Shi

Josh Gabert-Doyon 83