NEWS 04
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C Icart and Michelle Young eic@the-peak.ca
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NEWS WRITERS Corbett Gildersleve and Lucaiah Smith-Miodownik
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FEATURES EDITOR
Daniel Salcedo Rubio features@the-peak.ca
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PEAK ASSOCIATES
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COVER ARTWORK
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SFU studies men who experienced intimate partner violence
Independent Jewish Voices responds to SFU’s resource list for Jewish Heritage Month
The organization is concerned about platforming Zionist organizations
LUCAIAH SMITH-MIODOWNIK · NEWS WRITER
In May, SFU shared a collection of resources for Jewish Heritage Month. In response, Independent Jewish Voices (IJV) SFU issued a statement condemning the inclusion of links from the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) and the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA), which are Zionist organizations.
IJV SFU, “a small collective of anti-Zionist Jewish students” on campus, was explicit in expressing that the ADL and CIJA alike “endorse the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of anti-semitism, which conflates criticism of Israel with bigotry against Jewish people.” According to IJV SFU, the “definition has been used to smear anti-genocide protestors and perpetuates Islamaphobia and anti-Palestinian racism.” Both organizations have published pieces denying that the state of Israel is committing genocide.
IJV’s statement included a call to action, asking “that SFU revise this resource list with an effort to preserve our university’s commitment to social justice and peacebuilding.” They added, “We expect that an institution of higher learning, such as our own, would have done more research to understand the nature of the resources they are distributing on behalf of the Jewish community.”
The Peak spoke with Dina, a member of IJV. Dina compared the resources shared by SFU to the school’s stated commitment to the University Act, explaining that “the idea that this is just a non-political document on Jewish history is
AI AND ACADEMICS
obviously not true and does go against [SFU’s] stated goal and position of being non-political and sectarian.” She added, “On top of that, I would argue that CIJA literally has Israel in its name — it’s an explicitly political organization.
We ask that SFU revise this resource list with an effort to preserve our university’s commitment to social justice and peace-building.
DINA INDEPENDENT JEWISH VOICES SFU
“It’s really hard to claim that anything is non-political these days, especially when there’s a genocide going on. You can’t really be neutral in a situation like that.” While IJV reached out to SFU after the document was sent out, the university has yet to reply. SFU told The Peak , “The threepage document on Jewish History Month contained around 80 links to articles, groups, movies, books, podcasts, and social media accounts. The list is compiled by the Canadian Centre for Diversity and Inclusion and any questions or
SFU to share draft artificial intelligence policy this summer
The AI task force created guidelines related to academic integrity, ethics, and other areas
CORBETT GILDERSLEVE · NEWS WRITER
On January 31, SFU released a statement that their Artificial Intelligence Learning and Teaching Task Force started developing policy recommendations regarding the use of generative artificial intelligence (GenAI) like ChatGPT for coursework. Currently, SFU has no AI policy developed, but the task force will share its guidelines with the public this summer. The policy is anticipated to be implemented in the fall.
These guidelines will consider “academic integrity, pedagogy and teaching innovation, governance and ethics, impact assessment and communication, and graduate studies.” The Peak corresponded with Megan Robertson, co-chair of the task force’s pedagogy and innovation subcommittee, about its progress and challenges.
Robertson said each subcommittee has now “submitted information to the chair” of the task force, Paul Kingsbury. Kingsbury and special advisor Parsa Rajabi have compiled this information into a draft of recommendations, which is currently under review by the task force.
Robertson said the subcommittee considered the different approaches professors take with AI, as some are “incorporating AI tools into almost every aspect of teaching and learning,” while others see “that AI tools are not effective for the goals of the course.” She also said that while AI has posed some issues pertaining to academic integrity, “the introduction of AI tools is an opportunity to rethink assignments, assessments, and exams. Advocating for instructors to have the time and space to reimagine their courses is an important part of my work.”
When asked about the well-known issue of GenAI “hallucinating” and providing made-up information, Robertson said, “One of the key recommendations of the task force relates to increased awareness and literacy about what AI tools are, how they work, and the opportunities and risks involved with using them.” Specifically, she said it was key to ensure “everyone has access to information about protecting personal information, intellectual property, and copyright” moving forward.
One of the key recommendations of the task force relates to increased awareness and literacy about what AI tools are, how they work, and the opportunities and risks involved with using them.
MEGAN ROBERTSON CO-CHAIR, PEDAGOGY AND INNOVATION SUBCOMMITTEE
Additionally, “We know from research and use cases that people are least confident in AI outputs when they have knowledge and expertise in the area that they’re asking the AI to generate content about.” She suggested instructors can appropriately “model how they analyze and interpret ideas” with AI by disclosing why they chose to use it.
concerns about those educational resources should be directed there.”
Dina explained, “We as Jews have no problem in educating people when it comes to anti-semitism, when it comes to Jewish heritage. I just think that it is very, very important that when we’re doing so, we’re doing so in a way that doesn’t pit us against other marginalized groups.” She added, “I also think that there are a lot of aspects of Jewish history and heritage that are not talked about. It’s always very tied to Zionism and imperialist projects.
“Until I got involved with IJV, I didn’t know anything about the Bund, which was a socialist Jewish movement” founded in 1897. It was explicitly anti-Zionist and called for “the abolition of discrimination against Jews.” The Bund “fought for a democratic republic, women’s equality, social reforms, and an eight-hour workday.” The movement also defended “Jewish identity, the Yiddish language, and the culture of Eastern European Jewry.”
“Things like that never get highlighted when it comes to Jewish history,” Dina said. Regarding what IJV is focused on at the moment, Dina shared that the organization is hoping to reach out to more Jews at SFU. She also spoke to her involvement in an ongoing project titled the 2025 University Scholasticide Response University Rankings, which involves ranking Canadian universities on “their complicity in genocide and their commitments to various goals and demands that students have laid out.”
GenAI is not the only form of artificial intelligence that has been developed. Some examples include expert systems, machine learning, and neural networks. When asked if the subcommittee looked at other types as part of their work, Robertson said the task force “focused on how to develop guidelines and recommendations that will allow instructors to make informed decisions about their individual teaching contexts.” SFU stated they are “hopeful that the task force will approve the guidelines in the coming weeks” for community feedback, and that “information on the work being undertaken by the task force, as well as resources for students and instructors, are available on the AI strategy website.”
Reviewing AI policies and guidelines from other universities in Canada, many of them follow a similar format. The University of BC, University of Victoria, University of Alberta, University of Saskatchewan, University of Manitoba, University of Toronto, and McGill University all put the onus on the student, instructor, staff, and administration to decide whether or not to use GenAI. In the case of the University of Victoria, they do not allow the use of tools to detect GenAI use for assignments due to “how they collect and store student information and intellectual property.”
ILLUSTRATION: JILL BACCAY / THE PEAK
IMAGE: CASH MACANAYA / UNSPLASH
SFU study indicates men surviving intimate partner violence don’t have enough support
The study interviewed 16 men who experienced intimate partner violence
Content warning: mentions of physical and sexual abuse, intimate partner violence, substance abuse, and suicide.
A new study co-authored by Dr. Alexandra Lysova and Dr. Eugene Emeka Dim was published on February 28 in the Journal of Family Violence, examining how men surviving intimate partner violence (IPV) deal with their abuse. Lysova, an SFU criminology professor, and Dim, a University of Victoria assistant professor in sociology, highlighted that men in Canada were significantly less likely to receive support due to stigma, a lack of dedicated services, and poor coping strategies. The Peak reached out to Dr. Lysova and CJ Rowe, director at SFU’s Sexual Violence Support & Prevention Office, for an interview, but could not conduct an interview by press time.
This study reviewed previous studies conducted on the topic, drew data from the 2014 General Social Survey (GSS) victimization survey, and analyzed 2016 interviews with 16 men who experienced IPV. Although the interviews occurred almost 10 years ago, the researchers found that “there have been no significant changes in societal attitudes or support systems” toward men who experienced IPV in Canada. The men who were interviewed were over the age of 18 and had experienced IPV in their married, common-law, or dating relationships.
The study states, “Previous studies utilizing the GSS 2014 data found that men were significantly more likely than women to report experiences of physical and/or sexual IPV (2.9% of men and 1.8% of women in current relationships).” However, the 2025 study highlights that men were significantly less likely to seek support than women, revealing several disparities, as found through several statistics. For one, the study found
women “are more likely to confide in their families (56.3%)” compared to men (27.8%).
The interviews showed that the men’s coping strategies fell into four areas: “denial of abuse and/or withdrawal, diversion to work or other activities, maintaining the relationship, and seeking help after the abusive relationship ended.”
When men wanted to seek support through counselling or other services, some were not immediately available to them, or they were expensive.
One respondent said, “I wasn’t (coping). I was just existing. I guess I was dissociating; that would be my best guess. I still don’t remember those memories; it’s a bad time of my life. Obviously, I tried to repress it.” Another respondent who focused on other activities said, “I hide . . . work more, play video games, do home projects, and other activities.” Others tried to focus on saving their relationship through seeking couples counselling, Alcoholics Anonymous support groups, or focusing on helping the abuser instead of themselves. One man said, “I thought I could be a hero . . . I focused solely on trying to help her, instead of trying to help me. Alcoholics Anonymous group helps you look at the alcoholic person from
a different perspective. I loved my wife and I believed that she would change.” Only after the relationships ended, some found support through counsellors or groups: “I’m going to the male support center every week for meetings,” one noted.
When men wanted to seek support through counselling or other services, some were not immediately available to them, or they were expensive. From the 2014 GSS victimization survey, a substantial percentage of respondents had incomes below $40,000, with (at the time) counselling sessions costing $50–220 per session. One of the 16 interviewees said that after their breakup, they sought out suicide prevention support and shelters, but “every helpline was for women and children.” One man noted, “So, the message for me was, don’t call this number . . . Even shelters in Toronto are all named for women and children.” Fortunately, he was able to find support through his job benefits — something that not all survivors have. The study concluded that a “nuanced understanding” of the factors affecting men “is crucial for developing policies, practices, and interventions that comprehensively meet” their needs.
If you or someone you know has experienced physical and/ or sexual abuse, you can contact the SFU Sexual Violence Support and Prevention Office, call 778-782-7233, or email svsupport@sfu.ca. They support anyone in the SFU community and are open to all gender identities and sexual orientations. Additionally, the BC Society for Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse provides individual and group therapy sessions as well as victim services at 604-682-6482 or victimservices@ bc-malesurvivors.com (Vancouver), and 672-963-9931 or surreyvs@bc-malesurvivors.com (Surrey).
PHOTO: BITA ESKANDARI / UNSPLASH
Group work shouldn’t be mandatory in online courses
Group projects don’t belong in courses designed for flexibility
Online courses are a valuable tool for students to relax their schedule and seek flexibility. This is especially true when students want to take a break from traditional in-person classes or reduce their course load — to stay on track and not fall behind while travelling or recharging. COVID-19 forced educational institutions to reimagine how education could be delivered — at times, this meant replacing in-person interactions with online platforms. Students have become familiar with how online classes work, how they are structured, and how to organize their time accordingly.
While online courses are designed to offer flexibility, group work in this context can often do more harm than good. In theory, group work is meant to help students improve their skills in time management, role delegation, and conflict resolution. However, the lack of accountability and face-to-face interactions can increase pressure, anxiety, and stress on the rest of the team.
In addition, doing group work in an asynchronous course demands more time to collaborate and establishes classist assumptions about students’ availability. Some of those assumptions can include computer literacy, and access to an appropriate online learning environment and high-speed internet. Oftentimes, the group is built with members you haven’t met before and everyone has different schedules, accessibilities, and responsibilities. Meanwhile, the main options for interaction rely on digital tools and platforms such as Google Meet, Zoom, and Calendar, among others. This would mean that students’ experience with group work will depend on the knowledge and experience each person has with these platforms. This can result in unequal collaborations and an unfair share of workload for each member.
Moreover, if one member does not submit their part on time, it immediately affects others. For instance, a challenging situation that can happen in group work is when a team member decides to stop answering messages. In an online setting, this might be further complicated by the hurdles that need to be overcome to contact them, hold them accountable, or solve the issue with the team member before a deadline. Obviously such a thing might occur in group assignments during in-person classes, as well. In general, conflicts like
these can impact educators’ schedules because there will be complaints, requested extensions, and it ends up placing negative pressure on them. While simultaneously, places added pressure and work on the rest of the team members and creates frustration.
Online courses are meant to allow students to manage their time, learn at their own pace, and be graded based on their understanding of the course material.
What Grinds our Gears
Friend who guesses the movie’s plot
Never have I ever had a friend guess the plot twist of the movie I was showing them in the first 20 minutes. Oh wait, yes I have. And I’m guessing you have too.
There’s always that one person in your friend group or family who just knows what’s going to happen in a movie or a show. It’s like they have some kind of psychic superpower. Not just that, you end up bending over backwards to convince them they’re wrong. About everything. And all you’re thinking is, “This is supposed to be my leisure time. Why am I working overtime to help someone else experience this show properly?” Isn’t showing someone else something you’re obsessed with, all about the experience? Not for them, I guess!
Look, I get it. You’re smart and you know all about how movies work. But please don’t bring that type of energy into this house; maybe don’t catch the foreshadowing. We like to go with the flow and vibe. We want a bowl of popcorn, a soda in hand, and a movie plot simple enough that we don’t have to pause and dissect the literary devices. And hey, maybe we’ll even throw a five-star rating their way afterwards.
Students have their reasons as to why they decided to take an online course during that semester. For instance, students with disabilities, full-time workers, caretakers, or those who are living in a different time zone, could struggle keeping up with the material and let alone find a suitable time to communicate and cooperate with their team. Online courses are meant to allow students to manage their time, learn at their own pace, and be graded based on their understanding of the course material. Therefore, the grade shouldn’t rely on students’ ability to navigate scheduling conflicts with others or manage group coordination.
Group work in remote courses shouldn’t be mandatory as it complicates collaboration and could negatively impact students’ grades. Alternatively, there are accessible ways in which we can seek collaboration during remote courses, such as discussion posts. These are great tools since they allow students to manage their time without being forced to rely on others’ availability and commitment with the project.
ILLUSTRATION: CASSANDRA NGUYEN / THE PEAK
YULISSA HUAMANI · PEAK ASSOCIATE
PHOTO: EMILY LE / THE PEAK
RUSHAM VERMA SFU STUDENT
The Vancouver Arts Book Fair returns to the city once more
Kay Higgins explains how publications are more than objects — they are acts of intimacy, resistance, and community
ASHIMA SHUKLA · STAFF WRITER
From July 4–6, 2025, the Vancouver Arts Book Fair (VABF) returns to the Roundhouse Community Arts and Recreation Centre, bringing you not just knowledge transfer, but also many visions of what a publication can be. It is not just “Canada’s longest-running international art book fair,” but one of the most persistent, having been an annual Vancouver staple since 2012.
Kay Higgins, board chair at VABF and professional development coordinator at SFU School for the Contemporary Arts, attributes this longevity to “stubbornness.” Higgins has been attending art book fairs with her partner since the early 2000s. For her, this work is more than just making and selling books; it is about the intimacy inherent in this physical exchange. “It’s something that has gone from my hands to a stranger’s hands,” she says.
For Higgins, it is also about self-expression and resistance. Art publishing “can be very, very political,” she notes. “It’s got the potential for you to express ideas that wouldn’t be very viable to express even through a small press.” And yet here they are in our hands: zines, risograph editions, photocopies, handstitched booklets, even envelopes.
“There is so much variety in what we do,” Higgins continues, her passion for publishing evident in her voice. “A book is not just a vessel to put things in. It is a thing in itself,” she quotes from Ulises Carrión’s The New Art of Making Books. As
beautiful objects, these publications have a life of their own, and book fairs are vital spaces for this culture of appreciating books to be made and passed along.
However, Higgins is keenly aware of the limits of space, time, and funding. “We need to be able to do things we haven’t done yet,” she says. Imagining a future where arts book fairs can create broader networks of solidarity with Indigenous artists, those from the Global South, or those making art under oppressive regimes, she admits, “We are still in the infancy of working with Indigenous artists, including artists from the host nations.” This decolonization is not uncomplicated, as some might find even the book a colonial form.
However, her work is ongoing. “My vision is that we manage to get everybody a living to produce work that creates meaning,” she shares. Mindful of the tension between these independent cultural spaces and her more institutional roles, she recognizes the limited power we hold as artists and scholars. Yet, she believes learning to work with institutions is a way to triangulate power, to make space for work that would otherwise be impossible. It is personal and political. And it has a cost.
Yet, artist-publishers from all over the world show up: Brooklyn, Seattle, Tokyo, Eindhoven, Shanghai, Hong Kong. From established names like Art Metropole and Emily Carr/Libby Leshgold, to some of Kay’s personal favourites like Brick Press, Cathy Busby Projects, HOMOCATS, Wendy’s Subway, and more, the fair is packed with diversity. The best part? It is also free to attend and open to all. The books are often affordable, and most exhibitors accept debit and credit payments.
Higgins first learned about art publishing in her twenties, with creative projects like File magazine by General Idea, which parodied fashion and culture, and Aspen magazine, which came in a box. It was a revelation to her then, that “anything made public is a publication.” That same wonder and sense of possibility is what VABF is about.
Wander in. Stay awhile. Witness what happens when strangers gather around ideas made tactile. And take something home — a sense of community but also a book or two — a reminder of the long, invisible chain that connects us. No special equipment or knowledge required. Just curiosity and some time. So, head out to Yaletown to see the fair for yourself!
SWEET AND HEAT SWEET AND HEAT
A FUNERAL FOR CORBETT’S TONGUE
We are all gathered here today to mourn the loss of Corbett’s tongue, lost to us at a ripe young age of 44. Corbett thought himself adventurous, having lived in China for two years where he ate many different types of dishes, many of which were of the spicy variety. The numbing spice of Sichuan peppercorn was no match for him, nor the shredded pork dishes heaped with chilis. So, when one of The Peak’s Editor-in-Chiefs asked for someone to attend a Hot One’s Challenge as a media taster, Corbett foolishly volunteered as tribute.
On June 7, Corbett arrived at the Good Company Granville, host of the event. It was sponsored by Gladstone Hot Sauce, who provided six of their eight featured flavours. While watching a competition of eager community members, he was provided an eight-piece sampler with a list of hot sauce flavours, ranging from mildest to hottest. What he didn’t know was that the wings were not in the same order. It was a chicken wing roulette!
This poor, innocent man, not knowing the danger in front of him, grabbed the first wing and, after devouring it in seconds, knew he had chosen poorly. Heat filled his mouth like never before. What heat! What betrayal! The ice water . . . it does nothing! Fortunately, the fire faded quickly, and he decided to be more thoughtful in his next choice. Luck was on his side, as the next five were of the mild to medium variety. Some had a sweet honey flavour, while others had a chipotle or sweet Thai chili flavour. Maybe he just got unlucky with the first wing. Maybe that was the hottest.
Editor’s note: It was not the hottest.
After biting into the second-to-last wing . . . Pain! Unmitigated pain!
The final wing provided no relief as it, too, was one of the hotter ones — or maybe Corbett’s tongue was so burned that the nerve endings had given up. Either way, he quickly flagged down a server to order a bowl of ice cream, which just so happened to be advertised on a board next to the competition.
This is a pullquote. It pulls a quote from the piece and is
Corbett went through at least two litres of ice water, which he knew would have no real effect, but it was better than doing nothing. Tears flowed, face muscles perked, and breathing was as heavy as in all those “romance” novels people read now.
That singular bowl of ice cream was the only source of comfort that day. Corbett left Good Company Granville a broken, changed man. Never again will his tongue be able to taste things the same again.
PHOTO: KATE BEZZUBETS / UNSPLASH
PHOTOS: Corbett Gildersleve / The Peak CORBETT
Reboot culture is killing creativity in TV
There’s a strange sense of déjà vu when scrolling through streaming platforms. Full House becomes Fuller House, Gossip Girl is reimagined, That ‘70s Show gets a Netflix sequel set in the ‘90s, and even animated classics like The Powerpuff Girls are dusted off and revamped. At a glance, this might seem charming — a sentimental tribute to shows we once loved. But peel back the glossy packaging and a different picture emerges. Beyond its surface appeal, the rise of reboot culture is not just an uninspired fallback; it’s a calculated, market-driven use of nostalgia that prioritizes profit over originality. The logic is simple: why invest millions in developing new intellectual property when you can repurpose something audiences already recognize? It is important to observe how this logic doesn’t just determine what gets made, but shapes who gets heard.
The two faces of nostalgia
To understand why this feels so pervasive, we can turn to cultural theorist Svetlana Boym, who explores restorative nostalgia. Restorative nostalgia is about reconstructing the lost home and believes in a return to “the good old days.” It’s the foundation for most reboots: the idea that we can go back, recapture the magic, and make it relevant again.
Today’s media landscape is drowning in restorative nostalgia. Reboots are not asking viewers to think critically about the past — they are asking us to consume it again, as if no time has passed. This glosses over cultural shifts, ignores outdated narratives, and leaves little room for nuance or growth. In doing so, studios weaponize nostalgia as a sales pitch: a comforting echo of what we already know, instead of a challenge to see something new.
Michael Scott has gone international
Take The Office, for example, a show that’s become a global content template. While it was originally created by Stephen Merchant for the BBC in 2001, it was the American version, launched in 2005, that turned the mockumentary sitcom into an international phenomenon.
Since then, The Office format has been replicated across the globe: Stromberg in Germany, La Job in Quebec, La Ofis in Chile, The Office in India, Al Maktab in Saudi Arabia, and so on. Each version makes small tweaks to fit cultural norms, but the show remains the same. Ironically, The Office — a satire of corporate monotony — has become a symbol of industrialized, algorithm-driven content.
Creativity on life support
When production companies prioritize nostalgia over innovation, they send a clear message to writers and filmmakers: stay within the pre-drawn lines, write what’s already worked, and take fewer risks. For actors, the situation is equally stifling. Talented performers are either recast into roles made famous by others or forced into reunion specials that lean more on their past glory than on their current abilities.
For example, consider the scrapped Lizzie McGuire’s reboot for Disney+. Hilary Duff, who played the titular character, advocated for a more mature and honest portrayal of Lizzie as an adult. However, Disney disagreed, insisting on keeping the character family-friendly. Rather than evolve the show into something meaningful and resonant for its now-adult audience, the studio chose cancellation. And really, who was the reboot for if not the generation that grew up with her?
This move reflects a larger industry pattern: major studios acquire bold creatives for the sake of optics or prestige, only to dilute their creativity in service of safer, more commercial ventures. These are not development deals — they’re creative silos.
The risk of cultural stagnation
What happens when the industry is overrun by old stories told in new packaging? We lose out on future classics. For every reboot greenlit, there’s an original script collecting dust. Diverse voices, especially from marginalized communities, struggle to break through in a market that favours proven names and formulas. Additionally, what was favoured was the stories of the “accepted.”
In the world of reboots, this means those who were marginalized then, are further marginalized now.
The exclusionary aspect of nostalgia
When production companies prioritize the familiar over the innovative, they reinforce existing power structures.
Nostalgia often idealizes eras that were explicitly exclusionary. The shows being rebooted or endlessly replicated are rarely the ones that center Black, queer, disabled, Indigenous, or otherwise marginalized experiences. Rather than writing narratives centered around underrepresented communities, actors have been pushed into existing roles — originally written as white characters — while leaving much of their unchanged.
The live action reboot of The Little Mermaid cast Black actors in roles that weren’t originally envisioned with them in mind. While this is a step forward in casting diversity, the narrative of the movie remained mostly unchanged, doing little for diversity in storytelling. Due to the increasing solidaristic cultural awareness and advocacy, there is a clear demand for diverse stories. Yet, studios often respond with tokenism disguised as inclusion. Actresses like Halle Bailey and Rachel Zegler have had to endure the racist backlash of those attached to the original presentation of their characters. In doing so, diversity becomes an aesthetic addition rather than central to the narrative and marginalized creators are made to weather the storm of all the discriminatory commentary hurled at them.
Diversity shouldn’t end with the cast, it should be central to the stories told. Casting BIPOC actors does little to shift the status quo when the writers’ room is still rehashing the same white centered narratives.
Reflective nostalgia is possible
Reflective nostalgia, as Boym describes it, doesn’t aim to restore the past but to engage with it critically — to reflect on what has changed, what’s been lost, and how we carry history forward. This form of nostalgia is possible with reboots. Creed is a great example of this. Rather than simply reviving the Rocky franchise for sentimental value, Creed interrogates the legacy of that world. Instead of focusing on Rocky’s character, the film shifts its attention to Adonis Creed, the son of Rocky Balboa’s former rival and friend, Apollo Creed. The film reveals the relationship that unfolds between the two characters; navigating grief, abandonment, and the burden of expectations. The film balances between honouring the past and forging your own path. This is reflective nostalgia in action — a lens through which to reimagine the past, not a leash that drags it forward, unchanged.
Reflecting forward
What it comes down to is this: nostalgia should be a lens, not a leash. The best storytelling reflects where we’ve been and where we’re going. If we keep letting studios repackage the past, we’ll miss the chance to make something truly new. Not because we lack the talent, but because we keep letting memory write the script. Until studios begin to trust the power of all of our stories, we’ll be left watching the same thing in different fonts. And no matter how slick the reboot, that’s a future no one should be nostalgic for.
ZAINAB SALAM · OPINIONS EDITOR
ILLUSTRATION: ANGELA SHEN / THE PEAK
The Peak WHY LOCAL NEWSPAPERS STILL MATTER
Local newspapers are essential tools for community memory
I picked up my first copy of The Georgia Straight on a crisp fall afternoon, wandering through the East Vancouver neighbourhood I had just moved into. The air smelled of damp leaves, a woman was singing from the second-floor balcony, and I still didn’t know where to buy the good dumplings. Tucked into a rusty blue box near Victoria Drive, the paper felt like a time capsule and a relic. Thick with classifieds, live music listings, and bold headlines about local parks and politics — I couldn’t believe they were distributed for free.
Holding that newspaper did something no algorithm ever had: it told me where I was, not just geographically, but culturally. It told me about experimental live music at the Biltmore and the story of resistance emerging from CRAB Park. It helped me better understand the place I was in, and with it, a sense of belonging to a rich history of local stories. Hidden in the newsprint, I hadn’t just found information, I had found a friend — an unlikely intimacy.
In a world where clicks shape headlines, these little encounters brought me back
into my reality. They made me reconsider: what happens when news serves community rather than capital?
Local and student newspapers might not seem revolutionary. After all, they are slow to be published, some smell like dust, and are decorated with coffee stains and margin doodles. We find them discarded around the hallways and assume they are practice runs for aspiring writers building their portfolio. But in that slowness, in their physicality and long-term commitment to a place, they gently resist the way most of us consume news today. They don’t just report events, they participate in collective memory. While the world accelerates, they stubbornly stand still and ask us to pause — to hold, to remember.
Consider Haida Gwaii, a temperate archipelago draped in fog and stories of resilience. Here, the sea presses up against the forest, and the islanders’ lives are shaped by wind, salt, and time — a place of mostly locally owned businesses. Here, The Haida Gwaii Observer ran locally from 1969 until it was sold to Black Press in 2014. This wasn’t just a matter of economics; the islanders lost
a mirror that reflected to them their values and voiced their concerns.
The folded newspaper on your kitchen table doesn’t just say this happened; it says this matters.
When the ferry ride to the mainland takes seven hours and things like milk become difficult to find, “go local” becomes a strategy for survival. Black Press’ ownership, tied to Big Oil, led to headlines that missed the nuance of kinship and ongoing local disputes. Simon Davies, former communications director for the Council of the Haida Nation, told J-Source that when journalists lack the awareness of decades of cultural annihilation and resource extraction, they “stomp around on top of material.” Davies added that they “don’t know the situation, don’t know the complexity, don’t know the families, don’t know the strife within the families.” That’s the difference between larger publications and local news:
when residents can read a story and recognize it as their own. It’s what makes the work of community members like Stacey Brzostowski, who co-founded and runs the Haida Gwaii News from her kitchen, stand out. While algorithmic newsfeeds collapse geography and context and create an illusion of omniscience, her paper is rooted in the now, bringing the community together.
The Observer is not alone in its disappearance. Since 2008, over 340 Canadian communities have lost local news providers and today, over 2.5 million Canadians live in postal codes with none or only one local news source. In the silence left behind, we are at risk of losing the ability of a place to remember itself.
Cultural critic Walter Benjamin once wrote that modern time is “homogenous and empty” — a string of identical days to be filled with productivity. TikTok trends vanish in hours, news disappears behind paywalls. By contrast, the work of local newspapers lives on, allowing the past to surge into the present with urgency. The folded newspaper on your kitchen table doesn’t just
EDIT: Gudrun Wai-Gunnarsson / The
say this happened; it says this matters.
The Georgia Straight for instance, was born during the Vietnam war, the environmental movement, and a counterculture looking for a home. It reported police harassment, platformed scandalous art, and educated readers about climate change long before it was fashionable. Its power lay in its refusal to be just a “product” because really, it was making culture. Just as a dam alters the flow of a river and protest signs shift one’s perceptions, a local newspaper can reshape its community. That’s why sociologist Bruno Latour called some objects “actants,” things that don’t just exist passively but have the potential to initiate change. Local newspapers are actants too, they can change a community’s sense of self.
The Ubyssey, UBC’s student paper since 1918, sued the university in 1995 after exposing a secret deal with Coca-Cola. Their win set new benchmarks for transparency across Canadian universities. This same spirit fuels The Eastern Door, a community paper in Kanien’kehá:ka which started with a print circulation of only about
1,500 copies. Under financial strain from the pandemic, they launched a bilingual site to preserve Elder stories in Kanien’kéha. Perhaps not traditional news, it became the site for cultural and linguistic revival for the community.
They record what the dominant media forgets: the lives of seniors, the questions of tenants, the songs of underground musicians, the legacy of local traditions.
Beyond present-tense media, these newspapers thus also do the work of cultural and political memory keepers. They witness, record, and remember with care that few institutions can summon. They create living archives of sidewalks and townhalls, of public parks and public grief. Take The Sprawl from Calgary — launched just before the 2017 municipal election — its purpose is not to dominate headlines but
to deepen them. Funded by over 1,600 readers giving $5 a month, it tries to tell stories that other media don’t. And to tell them slower, to dwell, to notice. This commitment is present throughout the country. In Montreal, a banker named David Price launched The Westmouth Independent and here in Vancouver’s West End, a writer and publicist Kevin McKeown launched The West End Journal to chronicle the small stuff: sewers, rezoning applications, local artists. The news of ordinary life, with the trust that someone will care enough to follow it. In a time of sponsored content, disappearing stories, and infinite scrolls, unfolding a local newspaper and smearing your thumb across the newsprint is about joining a quiet ritual of remembering together.
From the archived cover pages on The Peak’s office walls and the archived photographs of WWII veterans being welcomed back home on Crowsnest Pass Herald’s office door, local newspapers show up every day to document the mundane. As Pass Herald’s publisher Lisa Sygutek writes, “Local papers are the diary
of their community.” They record what the dominant media forgets: the lives of seniors, the questions of tenants, the songs of underground musicians, the legacy of local traditions. They gather the evolving symbols, dialects, and concerns of a place before they are forgotten.
So, we press ink into paper like our ancestors pressed pigment onto rock. We declare: we were here. In the pages of our community paper, we ensure we still are. And in doing so, we believe we can continue to be.
Ashima Shukla Staff Writer
PHOTOS: Coen Devlin / The Peak
Peak
Avengers, assemble for the Pentagon and its allies
The sponsored propaganda of militarism in Marvel
ZAINAB SALAM · OPINIONS EDITOR
The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) has become one of the most dominant forces in modern cinema. Yet beneath the visual grandeur and pop-culture appeal lies a subtler narrative thread — one that blends the art of filmmaking with ideological messaging. The MCU pushes out pro-military propaganda, leveraging its immense cultural reach to reinforce particular narratives about American power and militarism.
The root of this relationship runs deep. Since the inception of the MCU with Iron Man (2008), Marvel Studios has collaborated with the United States department of defence on several projects. These collaborations manifested as military personnel consults, and vehicles and locations supplemented by the Pentagon. However, they are not without strings attached — the Pentagon frequently influences scripts and portrayals. This symbiotic relationship results in films that often glorify the military while glossing over the role of the US in global geopolitics and the involvement of its military in controversial military operations around the world.
Marvel operates as a covert outpost for the American military recruitment propaganda. With their movies, they regularly criticize the government and military, only to rely on and find a necessity in both. Take the Iron Man movies: Tony Stark’s storyline is that he realizes that arms manufacturing causes immense harm, prompting him to shut down Stark Industries’ weapons division. However, by Iron Man 2 (2010), Stark begins working more closely with military and intelligence officials. This encourages viewers to support more nuanced forms of militarism.
Another example of this propaganda is Captain Marvel (2019), a film developed in close partnership with the US Air Force. Marketed as a feminist milestone, the movie follows Carol Danvers’ transformation from pilot to intergalactic superhero. However, the movie glamorizes the life of military personnel, suggesting that heroism and nationalism go hand in hand. This
brand of storytelling actively works to rehabilitate the image of US military power. It also paints an image of a gender-inclusive military life. Unfortunately, that is an inaccurate depiction of the reality of women in the military. The US military remains riddled with sexism, gendered violence, inaction against said violence, and an institutional culture of antagonism towards not only women, particularly women of colour, but also transgender and queer soldiers.
The inclusion of Sabra in Captain America: Brave New World (2025) is not a neutral creative decision — it also functions as a pro-settler colonialism and pro-genocide statement cloaked in the aesthetics of superheroism.
This pattern of aligning heroism with state power doesn’t stop at American militarism — Marvel’s latest decision to include the character of Sabra in Captain America: Brave New World (2025) posits a willingness to extend that narrative to its close ally, Israel. It functions as a pro-settler colonialism and progenocide statement cloaked in the aesthetics of superheroism. Sabra, a Mossad agent in the comics, represents an arm of
the Israeli state that has been deeply involved in the violent displacement, surveillance, and genocide of the Palestinian people. By incorporating this character into a mainstream, globally beloved franchise, Marvel effectively normalizes and valorizes the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land. It recasts agents of a violent apartheid regime as defenders of justice, thereby erasing the lived realities of ongoing ethnic cleansing and settler violence.
Furthermore, this inclusion reflects a broader ideological alignment within the Marvel franchise, one that is deeply entangled with settler colonial values. The MCU, in many ways, is a product of the US, a settler colony built on the ongoing dispossession and erasure of Indigenous Peoples across Turtle Island. Most of its films are shot on Indigenous lands without acknowledgement given towards their communities, notably in Atlanta, Georgia, and Australia. This is against the backdrop of the systematic violence, resource theft, and cultural suppression that Indigenous communities continue to face every day. When a franchise produced in a colonial context so readily uplifts a figure like Sabra, it reveals a troubling consistency: a willingness to erase the brutal foundations of state imperialism if it fits neatly into a heroic narrative. As viewers, especially in settler-colonial states, we must question what it means to consume this content uncritically. Who gets framed as a hero? Who is absent from the screen, or reduced to a threat? When pop culture normalizes settler colonialism both at home and outside, it doesn’t just reflect our political values — it shapes them.
It’s worth scrutinizing the MCU’s values and ideologies it perpetuates. In blending high production value with promilitary and pro-settler colonialism narratives, the MCU illustrates how popular art, as a form of soft power, serves to shape public sentiment and political views in powerful ways.
Monday Music
A reminder that time is lived in every direction, at every speed
LUCAIAH SMITH-MIODOWNIK · NEWS WRITER
“Airplane” by Hana Vu
“Do you remember getting older? Can you tell me what it’s about?” Vu delivers a ballad for what once was, or perhaps what could be. With a voice that echoes equal parts longing and apprehension, she blends past with present in a song that leaves listeners simultaneously nodding their heads and tapping their feet while searching for memories yet to happen.
“I don’t feel the same as I did when it’s over,” sings Vu, and neither will the listener after hearing this song.
“Pretty Lady” by Tash Sultana
Sultana brings an infectious sound to the often complex dynamics of relationships. Anyone who has struggled to find a balance in communication with their partner, romantic or otherwise, can see themselves in the lyrics.
“I’m passing through a lesson learnt in time, but I know we’ve been over this. Why can’t I break through the other side?” Sultana forces us to ask ourselves how many chances we get before our past simply transcends our present, or perhaps the other way around. Still, beautiful experiences are forged when we are with the right person, and it’s times like these that we “try to make a moment last,” as Sultana sings.
“Burn” by Benja and Glitter Party
Time continues to change, regardless of whether we follow suit or remain “frozen thinking everything through.” With gentle voices, Benja and Glitter Party explore what it means to look at what used to be in order to become something new. Calming riffs and tender intonations coax the listener towards a sense of hope and possibility, a reminder that sometimes a better tomorrow is hidden in yesterday, so “today I’ll face my life and make it burn.”
“Forgot Your Roots” by Buffalo Traffic Jam
“You lost who you are, forgot your roots and it shows.” Buffalo Traffic Jam confides in listeners what it means to lose yourself through someone else’s eyes. With Caampesque vocals, the duo reminisces on what could have been. But whose fault is it when things don’t work out? Such a question is seldom easily answered. As the song reminds us, the truth is usually a messy combination spanning across people and timelines. Wishing extends its wellworn arms in all directions, pushing and pulling us with it. This is a tune for anyone who finds themselves longing to be anywhere but the here and now.
ILLUSTRATION: VICTORIA LO / THE PEAK
Five subtle recession indicators you NEED to know
Watch closely, you spendthrift!
Petra Chase Peak Associate
Recession indicators are all the rage. We took a Buzzfeed “What recession indicator are you?” quiz, and apparently, we’re Lady Gaga (ra-ra-ra-rad!). Lipstick sales, Mariah Carey going grocery shopping, and flash mobs are also on the list.
The Peak contacted an SFU economics professor to speak on this phenomenon, to which they responded, “You can request a statement through Cameo for $10. I also do birthdays. You can pre-book me for Christmas carols,” — to which we responded, “Recession indicator!”
Here are five more gentle reminders our economy is nearing collapse.
Decline in oat beverage sales
Milk Statistics Canada reported that oat “myllke” sales are in decline. Sorry, for legal reasons, we can’t use the word “milk” (AKA the dairy industry will sue). Even bisexuals are ordering it less (yeah, Milk Statistics Canada is thorough about demographic data). Do you know what it means when bisexuals are sacrificing their daily oat m**k lattes during Pride month? Things are BAD.
Labubus
With their mischievous grins and versatile eyes (open, closed, and winking), Labubus are the collectible plushies everyone wants hung from their Stanley cup. An article called “Labubu Dolls, Economy Falls: A Symbiotic Analysis” in the Journal of Radical Marxism explains that collecting dolls and trinkets during tough times signifies a longing to return to childhood. Also, in season five episode 83 of the sitcom The Office, business-minded assistant to the regional manager Dwight Schrute bought the town’s stock of Princess Unicorn dolls and sold them to desperate parents to make a profit. 15 years later, Schrute’s resourcefulness continues to inspire side-hustling Marketplace Labubu resellers who are making bank. And who can blame them in this economy?
Increase in three kids stacked on top of each other in trench coats Investigative journalists at The Peak have concluded there’s been an increase in parents stacking three small children on top of each other, draping them in a trench coat, and plopping them into corporate jobs so they can get an early pension. Many of these kids have gone undetected, even in leadership roles, due to the rise of anti-intellectualism and the smartest kid being strategically placed on top. While it’s unclear how many are currently disguised as grifters, we’re also investigating under one Jordan Peterson’s trenchcoat after the personality was flummoxed during a Jubilee debate. He asked his opponent to clarify what conjunctions and interrogative words mean, leading some experts to propose he is actually a six-year-old on another six-year-old’s shoulders.
Hobbyhorsing is a thing
Remember when horseback riding was affordable? JK, it’s always been a rich people sport, BUT you know things are bad when even upper-income equitarian enthusiasts (AKA horse girls) from Philadelphia are resorting to galloping through obstacle courses on wooden toy horses. Apparently the sport originated when a child asked their mom for horseback lessons and was told, “We have horses at home.” Though hobbyhorsing has been around since the early 2000s, said Philadelphians organized the first school competition last month, showing that it’s gaining popularity.
Everyone’s watching or rewatching Lost
Aren’t we all a little bit lost during an economic recession? Comparing egg prices in the supermarket, tattooing our toenails. It’s no wonder we’d want to get lost in six seasons of Lost, the hauntological action mystery that revolutionized the early 2000s. The show explores questions of destiny versus free will through the morally complicated survivors of a plane crash as they unlock the mysteries of an island and a curious number sequence. During an economic recession, the fluctuating prices are also confusing numbers that make us question faith and science, so we can relate.
ILLUSTRATIONS: Stella Laurino / ThePeak
HOT-TAKE: SHREK IS ANTI-OGRE
Maybe my mom was right, I should touch some grass
Zainab Salam Opinions Editor
Let’s get this out of the swamp: Shrek is not the ogre ally you think he is. Sure, he’s an ogre. Sure, he lives in a swamp, eats eyeballs like olives, and has a roar that can clear out an entire Disney knock-off kingdom. But let’s not confuse identity with ideology. I am here to make a bold, probably an obvious claim: Shrek hates ogres, including himself, especially himself.
You may be thinking, “But wait! Shrek taught us it’s OK to be different, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and that ogres are like onions!” Well, sure. But onions also make people cry. Shrek’s layers? Stinky
Here’s the love story: a classic grumpy/sunshine trope. A tale of a surly ogre who falls in love with a beautiful princess, who then turns out to also be an ogre. At first glance, it’s empowering, it’s feminist. By the 98th viewing, the fragments begin to make themselves present. The main fragment is that Shrek fell for the human Fiona.
By this point, I can feel a bunch of you disagreeing with me — yes, I can. But I have the proof to dispel you from your erroneous ways of thinking. Exhibit A, your honours, the scene where Fiona confesses her ogre-ness to Donkey.
Shrek overhears her say, “Who could ever love a beast so hideous and ugly?” Instead of hearing her out or allowing her to explain herself, he throws a FIT! Like, daddy chill.
Even after discovering that Fiona is an ogre by night, Shrek doesn’t immediately say, “Cool, we can be gross together.” No. He mopes. He pouts. He hands her to Lord Farquaad, a man with the charisma of a soggy breadstick.
To be honest, I almost wish that Fiona had married Lord Farquaad. At least he would’ve provided for her. He’s got the bob look going for him, and he has an army. Who cares about his milkboarding habits in the cellar — it’s not like I am a gingerbread woman.
And don’t even get me started on the sequels. In Shrek 2, Shrek literally drinks a magical potion to turn himself into a human just so Fiona will love him more. And guess what? He loves himself more, too! He struts, and smoulders. The ogre was thriving. The only time he’s ever confident and happy is when he looks like a medieval Liam Hemsworth, who happens to be the least loved Hemsworth. Yeah, Liam, I will never forgive you for what you’ve done to Miley (allegedly).
We need to call it what it is: internalized ogrephobia. Shrek, despite his gruff charm and thick accent, never really embraces his ogre identity. He tolerates the way some people tolerate beige. He accepts being an ogre the way I accept a parking ticket — grudgingly. He never wanted a fairytale ending with an ogre bride. He wanted a normal, nonsludge-covered life with a princess who had fewer warts.
So the next time you watch Shrek, pay close attention. Behind the earwax candles and mud baths lies a bitter truth: Shrek doesn’t love ogres. And if Fiona had stayed human, Shrek wouldn’t have complained. He’d have probably installed a bidet and learned how to use a napkin.
2025 song of the summer shortlist
Because
we
cannot face collapse without the right soundtrack
It’s June, and the vibes are off. We’re in a climate apocalypse, the billionaires are feeling victimized, the aux cord is haunted, and we still don’t have a song of the summer. Can Benson Boone save us? No. Can the “married in a year in the suburbs” or whatever guy save us? Certainly not. What shall a worldin-collapse do without a unifying bop??
We asked our very professional music reviewers, Mason and Ashima, to come up with The Peak’s shortlist for song of the summer! You’re welcome.
We’re literally being trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Even when we’re not in a rush, as soon as we hear the aggressive “NEXT STOP” from our SkyTrain, we’re pushing and shoving like we’re some sort of celebrity. Let’s stay anxious 24/7 with this underrated banger.
Nothing screams 2025 like Y2K nostalgia and ungrounded optimism. Let the youth believe “I’m high but I’m grounded” meant microdosing shrooms and ASMR-induced nirvana.
This song is a public service announcement. Because this summer, we’re hoping NO ONE lets their dogs out. Let me make it crystal clear that NO ONE wants to see unclipped toenails in your Instagram posts. Thanks!!
In a world of pastel-Glinda-Grande-conservatism, Nara-Smithapron-core-delusion, and Sydney Sweeney bath-water-soaps, this song is perfect for the girlies rethinking feminism. Because nothing screams empowerment like performative rebellion and satire that only props up the status-quo.
And if you’ve stopped asking questions altogether, this one is for you. Perfect for lying face-down on a hot sidewalk and realising that, this is the summer, babe. No skips. Just censorship, surveillance, and a bonus LSD trip (minus the LSD).
Ashima Shukla Staff Writer
Mason Mattu Humour Editor
Facebook Dating solves the issues with modern romance
Three reasons why Facebook Dating will elevate your love life
Katie Walkley · SFU Student
In our modern era, staying single has become an appealing option. I count my blessings every day I don’t have to be married by age 14 like my foremothers. My romantic interactions are limited to checking out the SFU hotties on the 143 bus (hmu baddies). Just kidding, please don’t, I’m not ready.
Anyways, I have noticed that many of my friends also experience the epic highs and lows of singledom. On one hand, I would not give up my solo nights watching old Survivor seasons for ANYONE. However, I need to take a peek at what we’re missing out on. Thus, I have taken it upon myself to investigate how to find love as a dating-curious-loner-queen.
The saying is true that love finds you when you stop trying. And I really had given up on that one fateful night where after asking, “Why on earth does Facebook have a dating app?” I made myself a Facebook Dating profile. No bio. Just a picture of me in my alien makeup sitting on my friend’s toilet.
It was originally just to see what kind of hooligans were finding love on my Aunt Linda’s favourite app. Then, my curiosity grew into respect like a caterpillar’s transformation into a slightly larger caterpillar. So, here are my three reasons why Facebook Dating will change your status from unwitting loner to reciprocal boner just in time for some summer romance.
1. Low standards: boost your ego!
My extraterrestrial form has received many confessions of love and coffee invites after the briefest of exchanges. Since it is impossible to fumble a Facebook diva, even the most inexperienced, non-committal users will feel like fine shyt in no time.
2. Absence of rizz: assure a genuine connection
Most Facebook daters have limited real-life dating experience. Some are even bold enough to sing their woes in their bios. One man wrote a full paragraph about how he’s a good-looking guy — so it’s not his fault he hasn’t had sex in over a year. I could tell his hand was relieved to take a break from its full time job and write that paragraph. You can rest assured that these people aren’t putting up an act because they tell you things that most wouldn’t give up under torture.
3. Loneliness across the board: you’re not the only hermit
In a land where people have resorted to finding their other half on Zuckerberg’s social hellscape, the inhabitants surprisingly do not have the most frivolous social lives. This means they will text you back faster than even your closest friends. With their abundant free time, they put lots of thought into their responses and they don’t mind giving you a double, triple, no, wait, septuple text.
So, is Facebook the place for you to embark on your first relationship? God no! I hope you said no or else you’ve misunderstood everything I’ve said worse than an ignorant bachelor misunderstands 500 Days of Summer. But is it the place for you to go from time to time to safely flirt while remaining peacefully single? Absolutely.
CARTOON: Cliff Ebora / The Peak
PHOTO: Katie Walkley / The Peak
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