Perspectives on Gender, Equity, and Politics: Issue 1 by pgepjournal

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P E R S P E C T I V E S O N G E N D E R , E Q U I T Y, A N D P O L I T I C S

Layout Design By Maya Kotsovolos and Armita Dabirzadeh

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Cover Art by Meenakashi Ghadial, BFA ‘23 Artist Statement: The Perspectives on Gender, Equity and Politics Journal has given me the incredible opportunity to design and create the cover for their first publication with the theme of Resistance. I am learning and creating on the traditional territories of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy and the Anishinabek Nation through the Fine Art program at Queen’s University, I have acquired a richer understanding of how settler-colonialism and heteropatriarchal white supremacy have affected Canada’s history. Through the courses Indigenous Women Feminism Politics and Resistance with Karen Lawford and Special Topics in Gender Studies: Indigenous Resurgence with Elizabeth Brule, I have developed a deeper understanding and appreciation for the role women play in anti-oppresive movements. Through my cover, I attempt to amplify these voices by depicting strong women from the Black Lives Matter protest, the Wet'suwet'en Land Defender Blockades, and the Free Palestine movement. The removal of the statue of Sir John A. MacDonald was a celebrated step for the Indigenous communities in Kingston, but is still heavily debated and misunderstood within the wider community. The removal of this monument is a leeway for the resurgence of Indigenous, Black, and other marginalized communities in Kingston to grow beyond colonization. I believe artwork in itself is a form of resistance. I thank the PGEP team for allowing me to creatively incorporate resistance work within my art practice.

RESISTANCE

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Issue I: Resistance

f o r e w o rr dd by: isabela rittinger tinger

esistance is a badge of honour, donned by those who refuse to be subjugated to the margins of activism, academia, or social institutions. For many, especially young women of colour, to resist is to simply ask to be taken as seriously as our counterparts. Personally, there have been countless scenarios during the process of founding a non-profit organization in which I have been denied respect, opportunities, and consideration as a result of not being taken seriously as a young female founder. I founded Bleed the North, a youth-led non-profit committed to ending period poverty and period stigma in Ontario in March of 2020. Bleed the North services our community through the distribution of period products, education of individuals on menstruation, and advocating for legislative change. Like with any new endeavour, I would anticipate facing significant barriers and trepidation from community members, other organizations, and companies. One thing I did not necessarily anticipate was how often I would be expected—or told—to settle. As young people, we are repeatedly told to be grateful for the scraps of solutions we are sometimes given, such as the recent Free Menstrual Products in Schools initiative passed by the Ontario Provincial Government. Indeed, this was something that Bleed the North had been advocating for, yet, the initiative was so limited in its reach it was rendered a failure. A critically low number of products being distributed to schools and a complete disregard for Indigenous and rural schools are but two of the many oversights of this misguided program. When asked about Bleed the North’s perspective on the issue, I reiterated that this half-solution indicated a considerable gap in the government’s understanding of the extent of period poverty in their community, and this undoubtedly insufficient “solution” constructed a false narrative that substantial progress was being made. What was I told? That I needed to be grateful for what was offered because it was all they could provide. I still recall one specific instance in which I was attempting to open a bank account for the organization. I was required to bring my father, as I was under the age

Issue I: Resistance

of 18. We were both called into the teller’s office where the young man asked a series of questions about the intentions of our visit and the organization itself. Every question was directed toward my father, who tried his best to deflect them onto me while repeating that I was the president of the organization. The conversation was rife with microaggressive comments, winces at the mention of menstruation, and explicitly misogynistic jokes. I did not make efforts to correct or reject any of these transgressions, nor did I allow myself to become frustrated. I resigned myself to accepting the situation—I opened the account and walked out of the branch feeling much smaller than I had when I entered. This feeling of derision was not unique to myself, nor was this the only instance that caused it. As time passed after the bank incident, I realized that such casual exclusion from a sense of acceptance or success as a founder is exactly how young women are continually put down. We are not taken seriously, and are expected to accept the mediocre service and perfunctory respect which follows. When youth ask for climate reform, we are given a few disinterested speeches from international political leaders. When we ask for police reform or action against hate crimes, we are given a few months of interest before being forgotten. When we ask to experience natural bodily functions, such as menstruation, without economic hardship, we are told to stop being radical. When we ask to be listened to, we are patted on the head and told to step aside. Young people have every right to be a part of critical conversations, since we will be most impacted by the decisions being made about our own future. There is value in having the perspectives of young people on social issues. We are able to provide unique feedback and observations, yet the ways in which youth are excluded from

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meaningful dialogue perpetuates the assumption that we are incapable of contributing in the first place. Resistance looks different depending on the ways in which one’s lived experiences and positionality impact how they approach resolving the challenges impressed upon them. Thus, young women of colour often share a very similar understanding of resistance. On top of the challenges any young activist incurs, we must also navigate the incessant experience of needing to repeat ourselves, convincing others that we have opinions and solutions, and proving that we deserve to have a seat at the table. To resist is to demand what is rightfully ours. There is undoubtedly a sense of solidarity among those who share these experiences. We form a community, within which we can work together to redefine what leadership looks like. At Bleed the North, our executive board is largely made up of female-identifying youth, a substantial number of whom are women of colour. We are therefore able to rely on one another, bound by our lived experiences, for support. These connections are what allow us to continue participating in scholarly discourse and advocating for change. This journal features countless stories of young people who are refusing to settle and refusing to allow their words to be taken at a lesser value. Speaking up about our experiences is considered resistance, but the more we are able to emerge as scholars and activists, the more we will shift societal standards until we become the norm. Our voices are not only relevant, but necessary. We are not the “voices of the future.” We are the voices of today, and we need to be heard now. However, we will continue to wear the badge of resistance with honour.

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Issue I: Resistance

to all those who paved the path before us, and to those who will continue to do so

...and to everyone who told us no

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contents. Our Team.................................................................................................................................................................................................................. 07 Letter from Directors................................................................................................................................................................................................ 12 “Maybe We’ll Make Something”: Feminist Theory Production in Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” and “Talkin’ ‘bout A Revolution”.................... 13 Academic Resistance: Perspectives From a Former Gifted Kid...............................................................................................................................17 In the Classroom.......................................................................................................................................................................................................20 Towards a Pedagogy of Care: Re-imagining academia for graduate-international students in the post-pandemic era...........................................21 Toward a Decolonial Feminism and Ecological Applications: Examining Barriers and Possibilities in Canada....................................................27 Revisiting the Subjects of Dialectics of Isolation: An Exhibition of Third World Women Artists of the United States.........................................31 The Brothers Band....................................................................................................................................................................................................37 My Dad.....................................................................................................................................................................................................................41 What Were They Wearing?.......................................................................................................................................................................................45 La Belle Province: An analysis of why Quebec’s abortion access came to be ........................................................................................................49 “Unmasking Racism”: A Critical Analysis of the Burka Ban Law in France..........................................................................................................56 The Burden of Resistance: How Minorities Suffer Under the Weight of Having to Change the World..................................................................61 Threads of Thought...................................................................................................................................................................................................65 Youth Voices - Critical Writing Challenge................................................................................................................................................................73 Afterword..................................................................................................................................................................................................................85

RORY SULLIVAN

ARIANNE PETCH GOTUZZO

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MAITLAND SHAHEEN

Issue I: Resistance

To me, resistance means advocacy and persistence. It means refusing to conform to oppressive binaries and using our privilege to dismantle the legacy of colonialism and the maintenance of white supremacy within our society and our institutions. It means being loud and demanding a restructuring of unequal power dynamics working towards equity.

To me, resistance is a necessity, not a want. Resistance is born from oppression and can be a symbol of hope. Resistance is fighting to improve any and every aspect of life, even if it doesn’t directly concern you. It is supporting your fellow humans even when it’s hard.

Resistance is uncomfortable and difficult, but necessary in order to enact change. Whether it’s in your personal life or on a larger scale, change is made when people choose to take a step towards something different.

Issue I: Resistance

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To achieve equity, we need to think critically about society’s power structures that leave too many behind. Resistance is pushing against the status quo and working to make every corner of the world a better, and more just, place for all.

OLIVIA BATTEN

To me, resistance is asking profound questions, and having a perspective that is open to any answer that may come from it. It means believing that people hold fiery truths that deserve to be heard. And it means that we hold each other accountable for our actions and inaction, our thoughts, our emotions, and use the hope we have for the growth of our world to refuse the inequities that exist in society.

KIANA NASER

To me, resistance is difficult. It is time consuming, hard fought, and never easy. But it is also the future. It is what we must strive for in times ahead because resistance is what breaks down centuries of barriers, biases, and binaries to build a better world. Resistance is the power to create the realities we want to see.

SANAEA SUNTOK

ARMITA DABIRZADEH

Issue I: Resistance

Resistance is about persisting through afflictive and challenging situations placed against us. It is changing the circumstances into something better. It’s a powerful act that is necessary for development.

MARTHA HILLEN

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Resistance to me is about radical self care. It is a refusal to accept the capitalist demand to give up every piece of yourself, and it embraces the beauty of selfishness when it comes to keeping caring for the inner child that cannot be stolen by another.

MAYA KOTSOVOLOS

To resist is to embrace the struggle of contradiction—to treasure a world that promises us joy and adventure, and at the same time, heartbreak and pain. Resistance is to shamelessly exist within this era of joy, and to find meaning in the moments of sorrow that we will inevitably expeirence. Embrace the contradictions of yourself, of your body, of your mind. Resistance is to radically love and appreciate who you are, and who you will one day become.

Issue I: Resistance

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Resistance is as simple and powerful as it is defined. It can be the refusal to accept the dominant perspective in academia. It can also be the attempt to shine a light on the darkness that is overwhelmingly present on the oppressed, yet unspoken of amongst the oppressor. Regardless, resistance is the way we oppose and refuse to accept the injustices and inequities of our society in a way that is as simple and powerful as it is defined.

LAAV NAVARATNAM

Resistance, to me, means believing in the possibility of a better world. Working together to challenge systems of power, we have the power to build a future that centers justice and freedom.

SAM LIN CHARLOTTE ALFRED

Issue I: Resistance

SASHA COHEN

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Resistance does not depend on, or require one specific medium, and the broad term further encompasses a myriad of desires for social transformation; Resistance can be reclamation, it can be hope, it can be a refusal of the status quo. It is up to the group or the individual to define how they will stand up against systems of prejudice and oppression, who have the opportunity to solidify their connections with one another through their own journeys, their lived experiences, and their shared desire for real change.

ANIKA INES BOUSQUET

Resistance, to me, is radical hope. It is not defined by action or inaction. Rather, by a profound belief that things can change, no matter how strong a grip there is on current structures of power. It is also defined by a profound desire to connect and reconnect, to question, to learn, and to live, all to the fullest extent possible. Resistance may be conceived from within, but both blossoms and grows its roots as a collective.

OUR REVIEW BOARD Caroline Marful Chelsea Pope Emma Fingler Lama Tawakkol Lori Oliver

Issue I: Resistance

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To Our Readers, Our names are Sasha Cohen and Anika Ines Bousquet, and we are two fourth year students at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario in Canada. We became friends, and coworkers when serving as co-speaker’s coordinators for a conference on campus; our mission was to build a speaker’s roster that went beyond the mainly white, formal, electoral sphere. We wanted to highlight that politics doesn’t always happen in electoral, legislative spheres, but it is done all around us, everyday. After the conference was over, we sat over coffee discussing how our studies in political science lacked the critical, creative, and interdisciplinary nature of “politics’’ we sought to highlight with our speakers. These norms fail to reflect the many ways of knowing, ways of sharing, and lived experience that thrive in the world around us. We then began to think of ways we could create a platform for discourse on the “new,” more fluid academia the two of us longed for, but failed to find in the established academic space

around us. Little did we know, the mission we set out on as speaker’s coordinators would turn into the incredible collection of work we present you with in our inaugural volume: Resistance. So, we came up with an idea: to create a publication, open to secondary, undergraduate and post-graduate students, with the specific focus of redefining perceptions of what constitutes “the academic” and “the political.” We talked about our own experiences feeling alienated and excluded from the world of elite academia, and thought about other students who may feel the same, particularly peers from historically marginalized backgrounds. From here, the Perspectives on Gender, Equity, and Politics Journal (PGEP) was born. A year ago, PGEP was a concept. It was an idea that was sprung from a burning desire to challenge the status quo, to push boundaries on the kinds of knowledge that are legitimized and given a platform. Since February 2021, our team has grown to fourteen executive members, five

graduate-level reviewers, and over 21 contributors. PGEP seeks to elevate and connect diverse student voices from across what is now known as Canada, to highlight many sides of the topics we examine, and the questions we ask. We are committed to learning from, and applying decolonial and radical lenses to our work, and encourage all of our writers and contributors to do the same. By challenging the norms of academia, we hope for PGEP to serve as a tool to encourage and inspire meaningful social and political change by questioning current systems and structures, and thinking creatively and critically about ways we can learn from and transform them. The mission we have embarked on has been rooted in creativity, passion, and ambition; each of these qualities are embodied by our writers, our executive team, as well as our review board (a group of post-graduate individuals who assist us in our editorial process). We hope to continue to grow, learn, and share with you all in this issue and beyond. Love, Sasha and Anika

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Issue I: Resistance

“Maybe We’ll Make Something”: Feminist Theory Production in Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” and “Talkin’ ‘bout A Revolution” By: Darby Babin

Positionality Statement: This paper was written for my Feminist Theory course at The University of Ottawa as part of my PhD coursework. As a white, non-binary queer person I want to note that the question of audience can be a generative one. Although these cannot be addressed here, they are integral to discussions of feminist theory and the mobilization of Black feminist epistemologies as well as citational practices by white academics. I chose Tracy Chapman because her music was important to me as a young queer person, but this does not mean I claim to speak on her behalf or on behalf of communities to which I do not belong. Ultimately, I believe this paper demonstrates the important of finding theory in non-academic spaces, and how feminist praxis is mobilized before it comes to be named.

Issue I: Resistance

n her songs “Fast Car” and “Talkin’ ‘bout A Revolution,”1 Tracy Chapman evokes different spaces and temporalities within which feminist theory can be found. Chapman’s descriptions of space within both songs, as well as the songs themselves as textual/discursive space, generate what Dion Million refers to as “theory from life” (2014, p. 31). This idea will be used alongside the work of Katherine McKittrick on cartographies of resistance (2006), and Simone Browne’s discussion of dark sousveillance (2015). Together, these theories illuminate how Chapman’s subject matter is rooted in experiences of anti-Black-

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ness, the legacies of chattel slavery and colonization, and the situated knowledge that comes from moving through the world as a Black woman. While Chapman’s use of acoustic guitar and folk rhythms tends to place these songs as sad or even romantic, they are also sites of anger, trauma, and survival.2 In this paper, I will argue that through her lyrical storytelling, Chapman describes the car and the welfare line as spaces where subjectivity is both generated, surveilled, and challenged. I begin by discussing how “Fast Car” and “Revolution” both describe and generate space. Next, I demonstrate how surveillance is used as a tool of racial control, which is reflected in both songs. Finally, I conclude with a discussion of what Chapman can contribute to feminist theory and how her music can provide a path forward in the creation of an abolitionist world. Through her descriptions of the car and the queue, Chapman describes and participates in resistance through her storytelling. Million argues that “stories, unlike data, contain the affective legacy of our experiences” (2014, p. 31). Both “Fast Car” and “Revolution” can be understood as reflective of this idea, as Chapman’s lyrics tell complex stories of intergenerational trauma and affective responses to violence. Additionally, how Chapman describes and challenges space is a response to the legacies of chattel slavery, colonization, and the continued white

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supremacist project. One of the central facets of white supremacy is the construction of spaces as inherently white, thereby erasing Blackness through spatial conquering. McKittrick describes this “whitening” of spaces as a “material, political, and social landscape that presumes—and fundamentally requires—that subaltern populations have no relationship to the production of space” (2006, p. 92); meaning, white supremacy and colonialism require that spaces be constituted as white, and that all subjectivities be constructed in relation to whiteness. The insidiousness of the white supremacist project requires that whiteness not only be upheld through geography, but through textual, discursive, and normative mechanisms. Chapman’s music challenges white supremacist spatial dominance, while the two songs themselves also function as discursive space. The car in “Fast Car” plays a role as a site of freedom, as well as a vehicle to generate space between the subject and the place that causes them pain. In the first verse of the song, Chapman sings: “You got a fast car/I want a ticket to anywhere/Maybe we can make a deal/ Maybe together we can get somewhere/Any place is better” (1988). She sets up the idea of this space as not related to a particular temporality: it can be anywhere, any place, as long as it is different from her current one. It is here that Chapman plants the seeds for imagining a future no longer tethered to the

For the sake of brevity, this song will be referred to as “Revolution” throughout this paper. It is important here to note that my position as a white audience member generates many more questions about the consumption of her music. Although these cannot be addressed here, they are integral to discussions of feminist theory and the mobilization of Black feminist epistemologies as well as citational practices by white academics.

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aforementioned legacies of white supremacy that construct space and subjectivity. Within the textual space of the song, she imagines somewhere in which both the subject and the listener can participate in a space that demolishes borders and establishes something new. This question of border abolition is an important one. To challenge the white supremacist project, a major cartographic shift needs to happen. This is true not only insofar as colonization has been continued through globalization, but through domestic methods to delineate what spaces are for whom. “Fast Car” can be seen as challenging both these methods of bordering. Chapman continues: “Won’t have to drive too far/Just ‘cross the border and into the city/ You and I can both get jobs/And finally see what it means to be living” (1988). Evoking borders brings in another spatial reality of white, colonial narratives further explained by Harsha Walia. Walia describes borders as an “ordering regime” that operate through “racial-capitalist accumulation and colonial relations” (2021, p. 2). The border in “Fast Car” is a reminder of the life-or-death choice that Chapman makes reference to when she sings “leave tonight or live and die this way” (1988). We know that attempts to cross borders are met with violence and punishment at the hands of the carceral, imperialist nation-state. While borders are most often considered transnationally, the conceptualization of local borders is significant here as well. “Fast Car” evokes images of crossing from life in shelters to a house in the suburbs (Chapman, 1988). This distinction

reminds the listener of the delineation between socio-economic status and the connection of wealth to space. The image of the suburb as a white space is quite clear; most often constructed as clean, upper class, and lacking in crime and violence. Lower socio-economic spaces, whether they are the shelter or the low-income household that the subject of “Fast Car” wishes to leave, are narratively constructed as the result of Blackness. The reality is that the border between low-income spaces and high-income ones is both discursively and spatially generated by white supremacy. In opposition to this construction, Chapman is generat-

“By evoking borders, Chapman is generating a space not beholden to the rigid temporalities of nation-state boundaries.”

ing both a textual and imaginative space in which this is no longer the status quo. This narrative aligns with what McKittrick describes as the possibility of geographies that are not bound by borders (2015, p. 104). In her hopeful refrain, Chapman is saying that there is something beyond borders that promises a better way to live. The space of the car as a vessel for a new life is imbued with desire, putting distance between the subject of the song and the initial space in which she finds herself. By evoking borders, Chapman is generating a space not beholden to the rigid temporalities of nation-state boundaries. I will now turn to “Revolution” as a space for challeng-

ing sites that are temporally fixed and surveilled. The song centres around the queue as a temporal space and whispers as discursive space. Chapman sings: “While they’re standing in the welfare lines/Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation/Wasting time in the unemployment lines/ Sitting around waiting for a promotion” (1988). Understood as an extension of the nation-state, the welfare line is another ordering regime through which racial subjugation is maintained. The line is evoked as a method of control and construction of docile subjects, something that can be traced back to the positioning of bodies through chattel slavery (McKittrick, 2006; Browne, 2015). This can be further unpacked through McKittrick’s description of Blackness being landscaped out of sight (2006, p. 96). McKittrick argues that nations reproduce Black invisibility through the absorption of Blackness into the nation-state, while maintaining Blackness as “Other” (2006, p. 97). We can take Chapman’s description of both the welfare and unemployment lines to be reflective of this: The Other can exist, but only when frozen in a time and place that reflects the hegemony of whiteness. Simone Browne describes the slave ship as a site of panopticism in which Black prisoners were relegated to inhumanely tight quarters, designed to encapsulate as many bodies as possible (2015, p. 47). Her conception can be extended to the welfare line as a space in which marginalized communities are forced into the queue. This often creates uncomfortable conditions, but becomes a requirement for re-

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ceiving a state-rationed livelihood under the capitalist system integral to white supremacy. “Revolution” demonstrates how the white supremacist project was designed to map Black and brown bodies out of sight, and continues to do so through contemporary social services. As spaces are constructed to marginalize bodies, surveillance inevitably follows. Browne argues that surveillance is an inherently racialized project (2015, p. 8). Robyn Maynard further explains that Black women are surveilled and policed through welfare structures (2017, 135). Welfare is explicitly named in “Revolution”, but “Fast Car” also touches on the socio-economic realities of poverty. Together these songs paint a picture of how one comes to be positioned within these neoliberal institutions. Similarly, as “Fast Car” describes flying away, “Revolution” describes mobilizing the welfare and unemployment line as a site of resistance; a space intended to generate docile bodies is manipulated to be a site of community building and revolution. In both the opening lyrics and the chorus of the song, Chapman is generating a space of resistance within her music. The lyrics begin: “Don’t you know/They’re talking about a revolution?/It sounds like a whisper/ Poor people gonna rise up/And get their share/Poor people gonna rise up/And take what’s theirs” (1988). She reminds the listener what is at stake and what resistance can look like. Her songs are a site of what Browne calls “dark sousveillance” (2015, p. 21), a starting point from which to both critique racialized surveillance and begin to imagine

processes of freedom (2015, p. 21). The epistemological nature of dark sousveillance (Browne, 2015) is reflected in Chapman’s use of storytelling as a method of resistance. As she sings about whispers, she is producing a similar action through soft folk rhythms. Throughout “Revolution,” Chapman shifts from the objective “they” to the personal “I.” She demonstrates to the listener that she is reflecting her own experiences as a Black woman, as well as a person whose position is tied to a community. What Chapman has done through her music is maintain the affective legacies

Chapman shifts from the objective “they” to the personal “I.” of these roots, as well as the history of music, poetry and art as dark sousveillance (Browne, 2015, p. 5). Through “Fast Car” and “Revolution,” Chapman generates theory from situated knowledge of anti-Blackness and the affective responses to both the legacy and continuation of the white supremacist project. Chapman demonstrates what Dian Million calls “theory from life” (2014), in which praxis is integral to the construction of theory. While she does not name theory in her music, she describes practices of survival and revolution that reflect dark sousveillance, Black feminist thought, and abolition. To live in the current white supremacist world is to be indoctrinated into cisheteropartiarchy and neoliberal ideologies; a world in which the institution of whiteness

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monopolizes space-making. Chapman’s music both depicts space and becomes discursive space from which to challenge this hegemony. “Fast Car” illustrates the car as a space that is not temporally situated but can push through borders that are. “Revolution” describes the welfare line (and other queues) as spaces which are temporally fixed, but can be manipulated toward resistance. If there must be a line, let it be filled with whispers of resistance. When she says “maybe we’ll make something,” she is asking us to do just that. What can we make when space is not solely constructed by whiteness? What geographical markings can be overcome by challenging the idea of borders as things to be crossed? What happens when we make something rooted in our relationality as a lived, creative experience? While these questions are outside the scope of this paper, they generate important reflections for how we engage with feminist theory and non-academic sites of theory production moving forward. By both describing and generating space, Chapman reflects the possibilities of the life that creativity can build. She demonstrates how situated knowledge is rooted in the praxis of theory before we have the words to describe it; to live is to theorize. By living in community, we theorize together, building new subjectivities and realities for ourselves. Chapman sings “maybe we can make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere” (1988). It is only together that we can get somewhere, anywhere, better.

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ACADEMIC RESISTANCE: a perspective from a former gifted kid By: Ariel Burgess

POSITIONALITY: I’m a third year Politcal Studies major and Philosophy minor who is heavily involved in the Queen’s community, especially via the Queens University Liberal Association. I’m a white, cisgender, bisexual and disabled woman. I’m incredibly passionate about human rights, justice, international relations, and the study of morals and ethics. It’s a pleasure to have the opportunity to contribute a personal piece to a journal like PGEP.

’ve been feeling the seismic shift in the world since the start of the pandemic – the external shift, the global shift, and my internal shift. It feels like those eerie moments after you hear a thud in the dark, when there’s no sound except your own breathing. I’ve been sitting in the dark, waiting for the next thud, since 2020. One thud sounded the night I watched my first patient in the nursing home I worked at die in front of me. The next thud landed when I was assaulted. The final one landed last month, when I was diagnosed with Autism. All along, someone in the

background has been urging me to ignore the thuds and go back to sleep – or in this case, school. I’ve recently decided that going back to sleep and ignoring the sounds in the dark is no longer something I can do. Long before the thuds began, and my decline into a steep academic drop started, I thought I knew myself, and that I knew how to learn. In high school, I was captain of the cheer team, with a 97% average (or some other number that screams “overachiever”). I played lead flute in the band. I never had to study, and I always aced my exams. I had very few friends, and my hobbies were strange to say the least (I still go to the rug-hooking class I took back then), but I never questioned it. As it turns out, my classmates had completely left me in the dust. I realized this, rather harshly, during my first

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year of university. I had experience doing all kinds of chores, but somehow, they never got finished, despite my mile long to-do lists. I knew how to make expert small talk, but struggled to really identify with people, and felt as if I were constantly missing this enormous blaring sign that everyone else saw, one saying “Do X to make people like you.” I threw myself into school, something I had always been good at. But slowly, I started to fail for the very first time. I know now that it was because I needed academic accommodations for undiagnosed Autism, but in first year I felt as if I were failing some future version of myself with every single grade. The Bs very quickly became Cs. The further I threw myself into school, the less time I felt I had to do anything else, and the days I did anything else I couldn’t manage school. Life very quickly became a game of “Do I do laundry or do I go to class?” That’s when I should have realized something was wrong. In second year, when I left residence, my executive functioning got worse at a spectacular rate. My high school partner and I broke up, I witnessed people die at my job, I was assaulted in the apartment I was living in, and I ended up living alone in a three-bedroom rental for most of the year. I stopped being able to do dishes or laundry at all, and at school I felt so much pressure I couldn’t breathe. I regularly forgot to eat food or drink water – sometimes going a full day without a glass. My GPA dropped from a respectable 3.5 to a 2.7 in less than a year, and no one noticed I was drowning – including me. It felt like everything was too loud and bright all the time, and because of my summer job all I could think about was the people around me dying. I couldn’t shower at my own apart-

ment and used to drive to friends’ houses to do so, inexplicably showing up with a lie about my plumbing not working, or my heat being off. When I was in class, I was unmotivated, silent, and wearing the same clothes I had been wearing for days. I eventually stopped going. Before I had normally dressed nicely for class – even putting on makeup at least once a week – and had spoke at every opportunity. The difference should have been alarming. The extreme drop in grades, change in appearance, and lack of enthusiasm for life should have been noticed by someone. Especially when it was coming from a person who took (and is learning how to again) so much

“To me, resistance is taking your future and present into your own hands. It is advocating for yourself and your needs regardless of the societal narrative that infiltrates and examines our every move.” joy from learning. Unfortunately, I was extraordinarily good at hiding it. The laundry machine was always broken, I had always just finished hosting a messy get-together, I was pulling all-nighters, I didn’t like the professor… the excuses were believable, and I delivered them like a trained actress. Throughout all of this, an all-consuming need to excel like I had in high school was slowly killing me. I needed to be academically validated because I felt socially and emotionally useless, and I refused to get help because I thought no one else around me needed it. I found it difficult to communicate to pro-

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fessors and peers that I needed extensions because of mental health, that I couldn’t be reached past 5 PM because otherwise I would obsess over the work, and so on. I never set the boundaries and so they were constantly being stepped across. I felt that, as a student, it was my responsibility to always be on top of my work, and to always prioritize school over all else. I did not want to disappoint my past self, let down my future self, and look weak to the professors that I respected so much. My life is certainly not all better – I have a long way to go in developing my executive functioning, and I probably will never have a solid grasp on how to make friends. However, I’ve decided this semester that I will no longer force an academic narrative that requires me to ignore the personal struggles I am facing. This isn’t to say that I don’t go to class or study. I mean, rather, that I am no longer forcing my life to form around my academics. When I feel sick, I ask the professor or a peer what we did in class, and I take the time to feel better instead of plowing ahead. When I am confused, I ask all the questions I have (even though part of me screams not to), and I ask them until I understand. When I am struggling, I tell people. When my laundry needs to be done, I set aside the amount of time it takes me to do it without guilting myself over wasted study time. I am still afraid to fail, don’t get me wrong, but I no longer feel as if my entire life revolves around each and every grade I get. It took me three years and an inexplicable amount of heartache, trauma, and searching to discover that I had no idea what learning and success really were – I only knew to measure them in percentages. I still don’t know what they look like, only that I feel better when I go to class be-

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Issue I: Resistance

cause I care about what I am learning instead of going because I want an A. Grades are still important, but I have so much more to offer the world and Queen’s than an A in Political Theory, and realizing this – as obvious as it may sound - has changed my life. To me, resistance is taking your future and present into your own hands. It is advocating for yourself and your needs regardless of the societal narrative that infiltrates and examines our every move. It is setting hard boundaries in academic and work life, and it is enforcing those boundaries. Resistance is a deeply personal act, one that is interpreted and shaped and implemented in a way so specific that no one else could ever recreate it exactly. To resist academically is to take everything pushing against you and push back harder. It is telling professors that you need accommodations, and ensuring those needs are met. It is telling classmates you will not respond to texts about

school after 5 PM. It is asking for help, and communicating that you are struggling. The act of academic resistance is to resist our internal narrative that says we must always do it alone, that we must always be the best. There is power in being the worst every now and again. University is far too often a competition to be the best and know the most. I know far too many people who have sacrificed sleep, health, mental wellbeing, and happiness for a grade, and that must change before this next generation of leaders is too burned out to be curious once they are released into this world. Resist the urge to go back to bed and ignore the thuds - you will sleep better if you investigate them first.

Issue I: Resistance

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1 in 4 i look out at those faces only a few years removed oh, the things i wish i could tell them in the hopes it might travel through time and space 1 in 4 i stay up grading their papers i walk the tightrope i try to be their guide i tell them this is a place where it’s safe for them to fall i want to protect them the truth is, they are not safe here just like i wasn’t safe there 1 in 4

in the classroom

as i look out at those bored faces i wonder how many of them might have hung those signs or laughed at our pain i wonder how many of these young women are having to come here every Monday morning and sit in class next to someone who laughs at the pain we, and only we, all silently understand 1 in 4 how many of you young men hung those signs? laughed at them? walked past and kept your head down? have laughed in the locker room? have been told “no” and chosen to hear “pour me another drink?”

or “try harder?” or dismissed it as an illusion because objects can’t speak? 1 in 4

By: Aurora Jane Wells POSITIONALITY: This poem discusses the epidemic of misogyny, sexual violence, and gender-based violence at Queen's and the University's frustrating lack of an effective response to it, from the perspective of a teching assistant. Aurora (not her real name) is a teaching assistant who worries about her students' safety and wishes she could do more to protect them. She heavily implies that she was subjected to a sexual assault in her undergrad and when she looks at her students, especially the women, she cannot help but wonder how many have had or will have the same experience. She calls on men, the University administration, and the community at large to do more about misogyny and

how many of you have to come here and sit in class next to he who laid claim to your body like it wasn’t yours? how many of you are avoiding eye contact because of that time when she was just overreacting? because of that misunderstanding? because of that time when she shouldn’t have been walking home wearing that? because of that time when she never said no? because of that time where it didn’t happen to him because it doesn’t happen to men, right? 1 in 4 blue lights are not enough enough lighting it up, time to burn it to the ground the world will never have a hope until the number of us who are furious so furious they can no longer lower their heads who are ready to say we won’t take it anymore who are ready to say knock it off, bro is 4 in 4

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Towards a Pedagogy of Care: Re-imagining academia for graduate-international students in the post-pandemic era Fairuz Sharif - Ph.D. student at University of Ottawa in the Institute of Feminist and Gender Studies Sohini Ganguly - Ph.D. student at University of Ottawa in the Institute of Feminist and Gender Studies

Introduction: The 2020 pandemic has brought life-threatening challenges closer to home. Globally, it is affecting every section of the population in varying degrees. Our paper focuses on academia and the challenges faced by graduate-international students within academia in the pandemic era. We discuss the challenges of incoming graduate-international students during Covid-19 in two parts- (1) challenges students faced during distant learning and (2) challenges they encountered while relocating to their designated learning institution during a global pandemic. The article shares anecdotes of graduate-international students’ personal experiences, the necessity to overcome the challenges faced by them, and how we can reimagine pedagogy in the post-pandemic era. Issues such as inclusion, diversity, and intersectionality have become

The ideas emphasized in this paper is a form of resistance to the existing system which can be silently oppressive to certain bodies and races. By system, we refer to the neoliberal, white supremacist academic structure and systematic barriers that privileges white bodies. Our ideas pose a challenge to the normative academic space, advocating the need for effective engagement and inclusion towards the marginalized bodies of color in academic spaces. The pedagogy of care is both a form of change and resistance.

even more critical. Universities must cultivate care, understanding, and concrete engagement with students from varied backgrounds. We are suggesting a Universal Design (UD) to pedagogy, as theorized by Dolmage (2017), which is used to make university spaces more accessible to all. Keeping Universal Design (UD) as our theoretical framework, we are coining the term “pedagogy of care” to discuss building communities, building better pedagogy, building designs for all, and build-

ing opportunities where international students have more agency to hold institutions accountable for their actions (Dolmage, 2017, p. 118). In post-pandemic times, we propose a shift towards a “pedagogy of care”; instead of temporarily accommodating people, physical and virtual structures should be designed with a wide range of citizens in mind and includes planning for the active involvement of all (Dolmage, 2017, p: 115). However, UD, like inter-

Issue I: Resistance

sectionality, is becoming a buzzword under neoliberal university structures (Dolmage, 2017). Academia must think more deeply about providing solid support to students worldwide that will continue in post-pandemic time. As Corbera et al. (2020, p. 191) note, “this disruptive time can become an opportunity to foster a culture of care, help us refocus on what is most important, redefine excellence in teaching and research, and in doing so make academic practice more respectful and sustainable.” Academic institutions must cultivate a culture of care within their ecosystem, towards teachers and students alike, without any hierarchy and supremacy across all disciplines. A nuanced discussion is presented on how true “pedagogy of care” will be ensured by creating a space that is open for vulnerabilities within academia, without any biases and shame.

space is seen as a social and learning leeway, where everyone’s input is considered in building that space. We have taken inspiration from Bailey and Miller (2015) for the stylistic approach of writing this paper. In their work, they have conveyed their feeling of isolation and lack of belonging as Blackqueer professors in their new academic environment (Bailey and Miller, 2016, p. 171). This piece highly resonated with us and truly depicts that racial bodies even when they are in a position of power within pedagogy, are secluded by skin color and their race. Our feeling of isolation was mutual and understated. In today’s political climate, students share apathy towards social causes and intersectional understanding; whereas, in the course of history, students have sparked movements through their work and collaboration (Bailey and Miller, 2015, p.176); and the Theoretical Framework: shared experiences in our academWe frame our paper around ic space have ignited that spark to UD, an architectural design coined translate into something meaningby designer and architect Ron ful in the form of this paper. Mace (Dolmage, 2017). UD is a modified concept of accessibili- Research Methods: ty for disabled people. Dolmage As mentioned before, the (2017) talks about academic in- paper is about the personal experistitutions and their steep steps as ences of graduate-international stua metaphor for exclusion in ac- dents coming from different counademia. They look at how these tries. As researchers and authors, steps are designed to restrict cer- we are aware of our privileged tain bodies and minds from ed- position to access higher studies ucational institutions. UD caters in North American institutions. to all bodies and minds and uses By pedagogy, we refer to Canadia transformative access approach an pedagogy as we can only speak in which everyone’s input is con- for our experiences in a Canadian sidered in building that space. By university. However, it can still be space, UD does not only mean the relevant to European and Ameriinfrastructure but also the culture can pedagogy because these instiof that space. Incorporating the tutions in pedagogy are built from transformative access approach, a colonial point of view, keeping

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white bodies in mind. Hence, the struggles of graduate-international students go beyond the borders of Canadian pedagogy. As authors and Ph.D. students starting off their degrees during the pandemic, we both share our testament in this paper, which makes us “a compromised researcher” (Griffin, 2012, p. 334). Research that is ‘close to heart’ surfaces a variety of vulnerability; makes feminist researchers expose themselves and, in the process, become compromised between the research method and emotions (Griffin, 2012, p. 334). We acknowledge as researchers at an early stage of our careers, invested in research close to our hearts like this one, is likely to affect the validity and reliability of our research (Griffin, 2012). But, as we proceeded and talked to more of our peers, we realized that this work is a tale of reality for many other incoming graduate-international students who started their new degrees or school year amidst a pandemic. Although, as insiders of graduate-international students’ cohorts, we cannot share commonalities in every way. It is imperative, that every insider researcher will encounter challenges due to different class backgrounds, social status, gender, and sexual identities (Noh, 2019, 332). That makes a researcher ‘in-betweeners’ (Noh, 2019, 332). That is why when we expand our research to a cross-Canada study, with future funding opportunities, we need to mind ourselves to nuanced intersectional understanding which is not in lieu of ‘disciplinary feminism’ (Bilge, 2013, p. 409). Bilge (2013) explains: By disciplinary feminism, I refer to a hegemonic intellectu-

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Issue I: Resistance

al position with regards to knowledge production, a way of doing “science” which is more concerned with fitting into the parameters of what constitutes legitimate scientific knowledge than challenging those parameters (p. 409). With this research, we are claiming to reimagine the academia for graduate-international students with a pedagogy of care that challenge the existing parameters of educational institutions much like Bilge’s (2013) argument. Challenges during distant learning: In this solitary journey of Ph.D., kick-started amidst a pandemic, the most daunting challenge for graduate-international students was distant learning and class schedule at odd hours. Graduate-level courses were mostly all synchronous live lectures, set according to the designated learning institution’s time zone. With 8-12 hours of the time difference, attending those classes at odd hours affected the productivity of students and led to mental fatigue. Navigating through the technical intricacies and maintaining attention for long hours on virtual seminars added to the overall challenges of graduate-international students. However, distant, or online learning helped many international students join classes and continue their learning experience with ease from their home countries. It is a viable option for disabled students as well. While the online teaching market will grow as remote learning is cheaper and less time-consuming, this is still a problem for subjects that need practical experience.

On the other hand, online teaching or learning experience has exposed uneven access to resources and fundamental privileges of class, race, and gender. A high-speed Wi-Fi at home to support uninterrupted virtual classes is not an easy possibility for everyone. It is not only a question of affordability, but sometimes the geography of space is also important to acknowledge when we question accessibility. Many of these students, joining these online classes from the Global South, lack the required resources due to a lack of high-tech infrastructure in their countries. The space issue also becomes valid when many graduate-international students did not have a learning environment or a designated study room at home as family co-habitation is a common thing in those countries. Due to the pandemic, many had to fulfill the role of caregiver to family members while being full-time Ph.D. students. These were some valid challenges for graduate-international students, that cannot be relevant for their classmates, faculties, and administration who belong to the West or Global North. Information in in-accessible language was another challenge that we faced as graduate-international students. Due to the pandemic, we regularly depended on the university website for various information and updates in distant learning. We found most of the information written with a native English-speaking audience in mind. English is perceived and spoken in different ways in different parts of the world. The English language is vast and only a fraction of it is known by us as graduate-international students,

whose primary language is often not English. Furthermore, it becomes difficult to understand the jargon, clauses, rules, and legality of any information which are new to us as outsiders. For example, something as simple as obtaining a study visa or teaching contract would contain terminology that we were not familiar with as beginners. All of that makes sense to us after a couple of years but in the beginning, familiarizing ourselves with formal English, added to our anxiety and confusion. By default, universities have the assumption that we know everything as graduate-international students. Often students do not reach out to administration staff for clarification for fear of looking ‘dumb,’ whereas it is entirely understandable that a newcomer would not understand everything. Even when we reach out to the administration staff for clarification, their answer is not always helpful. Often, we are treated with late replies or non-responsiveness. Time difference became vital if we needed quick information on urgent matters during distant learning. We acknowledge the challenges that universities also had to adapt to the pandemic, and it is an unprecedented event for everyone. Still, it is far more complicated for graduate-international students. There should be a better solution for these problems considering online learning is a feasible option for disabled and international students. We also observe a lack of readiness plans by the universities. Although most universities assured graduate-international students that they understand and cultivate a culture of care, but we often found them with no readi-

Issue I: Resistance

ness plan. Professors who preach intersectional awareness would be somewhat flexible, supportive, and reliable. They would be sensitive to the student’s circumstances. But we cannot be sure this is always the case for students from all disciplines across. Challenges of relocating during a pandemic: Relocating to the designated institution’s location during a pandemic was the next challenge for graduate-international students- involving a lot of anxiety, uncertainty, and tension for them. Graduate-international students had to provide paperwork for immigration to prove student status, quarantine plans, Covid-19 tests, symptoms of Covid-19 registration in various apps, course enrollment verification in order to fulfill international flying requirements. In such instances, we see the discrepancy and unjust regulations that exist within the system in academia. International student tuition is a huge source of profit generation for universities in the Global North and Europe (Cantwell, 2015; Usher, 2016; Varughese and Schwartz, 2022). At the start of the pandemic, institutions assured graduate-international students that they would be handled with care and all necessities would be fulfilled by the university administration when they must fly. However, when it was time, universities started charging fees for providing required documents such as student and enrollment status. Due to the pandemic, there was a capitalist opportunity to make more money from international students by these neo-liberal institutions. In one such instance, when she required a document,

one of the co-authors, Fairuz, resisted the system which excluded her further. She refused to pay an extra amount of money for such documents when universities and departments could easily publish these documents in a word or PDF document with letterheads, which she later, received from her department. That said, not all graduate-international students have the same assertion with the administration. To add, we are not stating that regulations are unnecessary; nevertheless, sometimes a little cooperation from universities can make graduate-international students’ lives less complicated, particularly amidst a pandemic. Another significant issue is the unfamiliarity with health insurance, which is a new concept for many incoming graduate-international students. The use of health insurance, how to access it, where to access it, how does clinic services work, what to do in a medical emergency, all this information is very important for new students uprooting their whole lives from one country to another. During a pandemic, the issue of health insurance becomes vital. We observed a lack of reediness plan among the university administration in this issue. Accessibility to health insurance should not be something that students have to seek after a health emergency but rather the university administration should make it more readily approachable. Again, this is a great example of universities assuming that we know. After traveling, the mandatory isolation and quarantine regulation had jarring effects on the mental health of these students. Completion of Covid-19 tests after the fourteen-day isolation pe-

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riod of isolation was compulsory by universities. This information was also not readily available for students. In some cases, not being able to provide Covid-19 tests results on time lead to an extended period of isolation for graduate-international students. Here, it is important to mention that this segregation in terms of health care laws for graduate-international students is due to their relocation from certain Global South nations. Several nations like India were on a travel ban list, so many graduate-international students could not relocate to their designated institution’s location up until recently. Sohini, one of the co-authors, is one of the prime examples of such a case. This segregation in terms of our citizenship status is that this “differently treated” by authorities is not only limited to immigration, the healthcare system, or the larger society that views us as outsiders. All the above contexts in this paper show that graduate-international students are “differently treated” within the academic space as well. And this bothers us. It is a white supremacist and colonial approach to segregation. Academia is a space for equals who possess great merit and earn their credibility. We question the system in academia and a pedagogy which operates in silent oppression of graduate-international students. Thus, we propose to move towards a pedagogy of care, care not only shown by professors, but also by administration staff and numerous departments that need to reevaluate their process of handling matters when it comes to international students.

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Towards a pedagogy of care: The first step towards a pedagogy of care is accessibility. In Universal Design (UD) accessibility does not only mean making wheelchair-friendly buildings but making all minds accessible to language and knowledge. We suggest building structures that fit everyone while identifying the violence within the systems that benefit one race (Cutrara, 2021). If we want to be genuinely inclusive and address systemic bias, we need to rebuild structures with greater access and freedom for all abilities (Cutrara, 2021). Then, we propose to create a translation tool for information websites where graduate-international students can get the information in their language if required. It will provide a one-stop solution for all information without forwarding them from one office to the other. Also, a first-year one-on-one mentorship program that is available virtually and physically can help newcomers. Senior students will be assigned new students, share their old class materials like books and notes, help them with information, and help them navigate through the right office or contact people for any help. If such programs are already available in an institution, we propose the right promotion and advertising of its usefulness to graduate-international students. If any new feature can help graduate-international students, it should be surveyed and added to such existing programs. This way, we can shift from systematic barriers to systematic inclusion that will stop providing systematic benefits to one race. Next, we must consider when Charania (2011) proposes a

pedagogy with transformative and reflective actions. The situatedness of every action, that Charania (2011) mentions, can be applied for graduate-international students; where white bodies that are normative and privileged within pedagogy, can choose to help those students when they are new here, without moving across the world to help another person of color. Such actions also convey a sense of responsibility and accountability in white people who have access to all resources. This measure will be more effective since it will help new students with learning, engaging, and finding the right information. Charania (2011) speaks about Global North and Global South not only in terms of geographical location but also in terms of socio-economic divisions between the two (p. 352). She questions the need for a geographical move from the Global North to Global South to combat injustices. Many white women with privilege want to help the women in the South by situating them in their location. They do the non-glamorous work of development, whereas another person of color does the actual fieldwork. She questions this idea of development that white women perpetuate the predominant notion that everyone in the Global South needs saving (Charania, 2011). This idea stems from a deeply hierarchical relationship with those who are from the colonized nations (Charania, 2011). Our ideal pedagogy of care is towards the psychological and emotional well-being of both teachers and students. Cutrara (2021) recommends the value of self-care, setting off-hours timings, and providing clear informa-

tion to students and teachers (Cutrara, 2021, p.12). We are talking about promoting care by sharing feelings, showing more sensitivity to the situations we are living in, and at the same time acknowledging the injustices, complicity within the structures of academia, and promoting accountability. Cultivating a pedagogy of care within academia can also be in the form of resistance to neoliberal, white supremacist, patriarchal structures of academia. Our pedagogy of care is a counter-response to the capitalist ways of doing things where “neoliberal universities uphold productivity, view students as consumers of education” (Mehrotra, 2021, p. 538). The pedagogy of care implies valuing performances that promote the well-being of all and moving away from only individualistic growth. This involves looking beyond the normative definition of excellence, rat race in academia and giving attention to the diverse circumstances, life experiences that involve uncertainty, conflicting emotions of students, Ph.D. candidates, teachers, scholars, professors. (Corbera E. et al., 2020). Finally, we propose making care an essential part of learning and teaching. In most cases, it is female professors who are left with the task of providing care that should be practiced by both male and female professors. To quote Hooks (1994), “to teach in a manner that respects and cares for the souls of our students is essential if we are to provide the necessary conditions where learning can most deeply and intimately begin” (p. 13).We also suggest an effective technical support team for teachers and students. Both

Issue I: Resistance

teachers and students should be given clear instruction on how to navigate virtual spaces. Teachers, especially, should have an effective technical team who can help them with the technical knowledge so that the focus can be on learning and caring for each other, not adding to more anxieties and confusion. Through applying these various steps and changes, we can move towards a pedagogy of care in academia that effectively responds and caters to all needs, including those of graduate-international students. Conclusion: The primary concern remains whether inclusion for all people in this neo-liberal academic culture is possible or not. According to Dolmage (2017), Universal Design (UD) has been reduced to a buzzword in a neo-liberal academic culture. The true purpose of UD is to ensure the inclusion of all. This may remain unattainable in academic spaces due to a lack of resources, funding, and fear of increasing the workload of existing staff. In academia, UD, like inclusion and diversity, has been co-opted by institutions to prove they are disabled-friendly and intersectional. Birk (2017) calls out the system and structures that are responsible for the injustices that exist in academic institutions (p. 8): The systems and their history in racist ideologies, not individual people of colour, must be held accountable for perpetuating uneven access to the academy and other institutions of power. There is a reason why certain bodies are able to effortlessly navigate systems: The

systems were made for them to navigate, are geared for the ways in which they think. This is not a coincidence (Birk, 2017, p. 8). Birk (2017) also talks about the unfair culture of academia where people of color are expected to share their stories of struggle to educate or make white people aware of them (p. 9), similar to what we are trying to achieve through this paper. In contrast, white people get to be inspirational storytellers by sharing their incredible adventures (p. 9). The pandemic has also helped us see the vulnerabilities within educational spaces (Cutrara, 2021). By vulnerabilities, we mean understanding the varying circumstances of students addressing the biases, complicity, and inequalities that exist within academic spaces. We need to ensure that we provide justice in these spaces and cultivate a culture of care towards students and teachers. Through a pedagogy of care, we propose a meaningful learning/ teaching experience where teachers and students exchange their uncertainties, fear, share stories of survival, struggle, and vulnerabilities and support each other in the journey. bell hooks notes, “most professors must practice being vulnerable in the classroom, being wholly present in mind, body, and spirit” (hooks, 1994, p 21). This will ensure true engagement with students and a secure environment in these unprecedented times. This way, students and teachers can both support each other in dealing with the anxieties and feelings of uncertainty. Finally, we cannot go back to the old ways: the neo-liberal capitalist structures of doing things,

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from administration tasks to teaching methods, must be re-evaluated considering the pandemic. Covid-19 has given space to the silenced, marginalized voices within the system. The pandemic also made us aware of the prejudices existing in educational spaces for a long time. We cannot pause and switch to the old normal from the new normal. That ship has sailed. As much as distant learning has been challenging in many ways, it has created learning opportunities for disabled and international students to access education without moving away from their homes. The pandemic has given us time off from the capitalist and colonial ways of doing things and we should build on that. We propose, for consideration, bending the rules where possible and a culture in academia that cultivates genuine care and inclusion, so that everyone can participate without any systematic barriers.

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Toward a Decolonial Feminism and Ecological Applications: Examining Barriers and Possibilities in Canada By: Sofia Pennacchietti

his paper examines intersections between decolonization, feminist theory, and environmental frameworks. I pose the question: how can decoloniality be used to address environmental and gender issues? Using the theories of María Lugones, I explore how gender and environmental equity issues can be solved alongside one another in the context of a case study on Indigenous women in Canada. To do so, I expand on Lugones’ theories of dialogue, collaboration, and complex communication to environmental frameworks. Throughout this paper, I explore how decolonial relations can be created to combat the negative outcomes that modern, capitalist, colonial structures have inflicted on both gender equality and environmental justice efforts. Overall, I argue that María Lugones’ discussion of the decoloniality of feminism

POSITIONALITY

Issue I: Resistance

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This piece was written for a third-year Political Studies course in Contemporary Political Theory, taught by Dr. Pinar Dokumaci. It became clear to me that resistance is central to our current political climate, and that theories of resistance can be used to address inequalities. Resistance is an empowering concept; it acknowledges the oppression caused by global capitalist, and colonial systems on women, BIPOC, LGBTQ2IA+, and other marginalized communities, without allowing this oppression to define them. Rather, these communities hold immense strength because they are continuously resisting the process of oppression.

can be used to address environmental and gender issues by looking through a lens that refers to those who face gender and environmental injustices as the ‘resistors.’ Dialogue Lugones’ emphasis on dialogue stems from the acknowledgment that colonized women faced, and continue to face, the inferior status of gendering as women without any of the privileges accompanying the status for white bourgeois women (Lugones, 2010). This is in line with Lugones’ (2010) broader understanding of coloniality as the “inseparability of racialized and capitalist exploitation.” It is important to understand dialogue as the root of oppression within this understanding of colonialism. Dialogue begins the process of institutional and systemic

discrimination. At the same time, dialogue is not easily contained. Laws and institutional changes limiting hate speech and discriminatory language are rarely effective (Koutouki, Lofts, and Davidian, 2018). Understanding dialogue as the ‘theoretical’—that which cannot be directly applied through legislative action, but rather is applied by fostering ontological knowledge within society—allows for a stronger grasp on how difficult it is to address oppression faced by colonized women. It is necessary to divulge into Lugones’ theory of dialogue with greater specificity to understand its application to the relationship between Indigenous women in Canada and environmen-

tal frameworks. Here, two points are worth emphasizing. First, Lugones draws attention to how dialogue operates as a standard process of knowledge production and decolonial thinking. Second, by focusing attention on dialogue as knowledge production, Lugones creates space to understand hierarchical dichotomies and categorical logics in relation to decolonial and intersectional dialogue (Lugones, 2010). There exists both a vocabulary for what the oppressor does to the oppressed and a shared wisdom about the shortcomings of the oppressor (Lugones, 2006). Regardless of the negative impacts that the oppressor has on the oppressed, humans have rejected the reality of the oppressor as true even

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Issue I: Resistance

when we recognize that it rules our lives, even from the inside. As such, dialogue greatly impacts the power structures that have allowed for the oppressor vs oppressed dichotomy (Lugones 2006). As Lugones explains, Indigenous women face the inferior status of gendering as women, while also facing the negative impacts of colonization (Lugones, 2010). In Canada, this is evidenced by the levels and types of violence Indigenous women experience. The anti-Indigenous and sexist dialogue circulating across Canada has led to non-existent or violent legal and governmental responses for Indigenous women in crisis (Bingham, 2014). Through this, we see that Canada has failed to allocate the necessary resources to Indigenous women for them to prosper, which limits the ability of Indigenous women to contribute to environmental discourses in Canada to their full potential. Fortunately, those who are able to share their rich cultural relationship to the Earth in climate, pipeline, mining, and water cleaning negotiations, play a central role in the improvement of environmental outcomes (O’Faircheallaigh, 2013). As such, the success of Indigenous women in improving environmental outcomes shows that the negative dialogue surrounding Indigenous women must change for the prosperity of Indigenous communities, and society more broadly. The dialogue can only be changed through a societal shift, classified by the deconstruction of previous ontological assumptions. As such, changing dialogue relies on both individual and coalitional spaces which reject current dialogic norms and embrace open and in-

tersectional discourses. Coalitions and Collaboration To Lugones, it is essential to create a space for collaboration, participation, research, and popular education in order to see the details of the processes of the colonial gender system (Lugones, 2008). Lugones’ examination of oppressed groups as ‘resistors’ is vital in the pursuit of collaboration. The resistors are those who are being oppressed by the colonizing construction of the fractured locus (Lugones, 2010). Instead of thinking of the global, capitalist, colonial system as successful in its destruction of peoples, knowledge, relations, and economies, we ought to think of the process as being continuously resisted (Lugones, 2010). The locus is fractured by the presence of resistance, the active subjectivity of the colonized against the colonial invasion of self in community (Lugones, 2010). Moving away from identity politics, Lugones argues that we ought to build coalitions of all groups of people in order to move forward towards a more equitable world. Coalitional spaces are increasingly important in contemporary colonial gender and environmental issues. I refer to collaborative and coalitional spaces as the ‘applicable,’ meaning that such practices can be implemented into legislation and have the potential for real-life resemblance. Thus, through effective policy making, collaborative and coalitional theories can create a more equitable world through the openness to learn each other’s meaning; coalitions are a loving connection towards liberation (Lugones, 2006). This proposition of

coalitions is demanding in that it contrasts with the temporary, epistemically shallow sense of coalition based on coincidence of interests (Lugones, 2006). Coalitional spaces are often not made for the intersection of gender and environmental issues because the solutions to these issues are falsely viewed as unrelated to one another. However, based upon Lugones’ theories of coalitional and collaborative spaces for the decoloniality of feminism, I argue that such frameworks can be transferred to the intersection of gender and environmental issues. Indigenous women assume responsibilities in their communities that expose them to harms stemming from climate change impacts and other environmental changes (Whyte, 2016). For Indigenous women living amidst a colonial world, it is important to emphasize the impacts that climate change has on them. Meaning, it is vital to create coalitional spaces which stress the political responsibilities of non-Indigenous parties for supporting distinctly Indigenous efforts at climate change adaptation and mitigation (Whyte, 2016). The impact of environmental degradation on Indigenous women highlights why policy must create collaborative spaces to discuss the intersection of gender, coloniality, and environmental issues. Indigenous populations have a deep sense of ecological awareness and a relationship to nature that can assist in combatting environmental degradation. More specifically, Anishinaabe women have a specific responsibili-

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ty in protecting water (Whyte, 2016). Collaborations between Indigenous women and international policy organizations has led to great change in water protection. The Mandaluyong Declaration of the Global Conference on Indigenous Women, Climate Change, and REDD Plus (2010) is an example of a collaborative space which discussed the ways in which Indigenous women’s cultural responsibilities and social situations put them at great risk from climate change impacts (Whyte, 2016). Such efforts contribute to climate change adaptation and mitigation, while strengthening the voices of Indigenous women who participate in them (Whyte, 2016). This shows the importance of coalitional spaces for gender and environmental issues. Complex Communications Complex communication is a creative notion where we create and cement relational identities, meanings that did not proceed the encounter, ways of life that transcend nationalism, root identities, and other simplifications of our imaginations (Lugones, 2006). Complex communication is not the act of assimilating the text of others to our own; rather, it is enacted through a change in one’s own vocabulary, one’s sense of self, one’s way of living, in the extension of one’s collective memory by developing forms of communication that signal disruptions of the reduction attempted by the oppressor (Lugones, 2006). Lugones argues that it is this disposition, the openness to learn each other’s meaning, that we

are often lacking (Lugones, 2006). Lugones’ theories of complex communication can be labelled as both the ‘theoretical’ and the ‘applicable.’ Complex communication synthesizes and expands on the theories of dialogue with the theories of collaboration and coalitions. The decoloniality of dialogue in its application to complex communication aims to combat discourses that address the colonizer as reducing the colonized through monologue (Lugones, 2006). Such dialogue addresses the colonizer’s monologue through defiant interpellation, without anything other than this disruption (Lugones, 2006). Through the refusion of transparency and operating with relational identities, collaboration and genuine coalitions are enabled (Lugones, 2006). As such, coalitions and collaborations are a part of the ‘applicable’. Thus, through the eyes of Lugones, and through the examination of complex communication, the applicable works alongside the theoretical. One could go as far to say that the applicable is only possible if they succeed in the theoretical. In such a way, complex communication can be seen as a two-fold theory with aspects of the theoretical construct of dialogue, and the applicable construct of collaboration. Canada, as a culturally diverse nation, ought to use complex communication in the decoloniality of gender and environmental issues. This must include the creation of spaces for Indigenous voices to be heard and respected. Lugones’ emphasis on coalitions as a vital element to complex communication highlights that there are various groups of resistors that cannot be treated identically. This is high-

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lighted in Canada, where various Indigenous populations face different gender and environmental challenges. Koutouki, Lofts, and Davidian (2018) explain that the environmental impacts of Indigenous women differ between Nunavut, Labrador, and Northwest Territories based on different climates, landscapes, and community responsibilities. Thus, in the application of complex communication, various groups of resistors must be included in coalitional relationships. In a similar manner, complex communication emphasizes that our discourses surrounding Indigenous populations must acknowledge inter-cultural differences. Conclusion Through my exploration of Lugones’ theories, it is evident that dialogue, collaboration, and complex communication can be applied to ecological issues, specifically in the Canadian context. Indigenous women in Canada face the effects of colonization and environmental degradation, while facing the inferior status of gendering as women. Both the theoretical and applicable elements of Lugones’ notion of the decoloniality of feminism can be used to improve gender and environmental outcomes. The relationship between colonial practices, gender inequity, and environmental degradation is clear and the solutions to these issues can help to serve each other. Above all, coloniality has created tremendous barriers in the path of the struggles of women and this is distinctly highlighted through the gendered impacts of environmental change. Thus, the decoloniality of feminism transfers into environmental frameworks seamlessly.

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Issue I: Resistance

REVISITING THE SUBJECTS OF DIALECTICS OF ISOLATION: AN EXHIBITION OF THIRD WORLD WOMEN ARTISTS OF THE UNITED STATES

BY CICELY HAGGERTY I am a first-year MA Candidate in the Department of Art History and Conservation. I am a white settler in Canada and the United States and a cis-gendered woman. My research – which is largely informed by and indebted to the work of Black feminist scholars, transnational feminist theorists, and queer perspectives on art history – often serves as an opportunity to learn about, listen to, and amplify perspectives different from my own. I make active attempts to cite a variety of these standpoints, but I have to acknowledge that I am working from within an institution (art history) which centers whiteness and is informed by the very colonial values that I discuss and attempt to disrupt in this paper.

Issue I: Resistance

The US and the USSR are the most powerful countries in the world but only 1/8 of the world’s population. African people are also 1/8 of the world’s population. of that, 1/4 is Nigerian. 1/2 of the world’s population is Asian. 1/2 of that is Chinese. There are 22 nations in the middle east. Most people in the world are Yellow, Black, Brown, Poor, Female, Non-Christian and do not speak English. By the year 2000 the 20 largest cities in the world will have one thing in common none of them will be in Europe none in the United States. -Audre Lorde, January 1, 1989

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In the wake of George Floyd’s murder on May 25, 2020, and the subsequent proliferation of Black Lives Matter activism, North American art institutions were called to be more accountable to Black and other racialized communities. While public discourse has represented these calls as new, they are part of a longer history of anti-racist struggle in the arts. This history is evidenced by the exhibition Dialectics of Isolation: Third World Women Artists of the United States (DOI), which opened in September of 1980 at the Artists in Residence (A.I.R.) Gallery in New York City. DOI was co-curated by artists Ana Mendieta, Kazuko Miyamoto and Zarina and featured eight Chicanx, Black, Brazilian, Indigenous, and Indian artists who united under the shared experience of being Third World Women in the US.1 The goals of DOI were twofold: to protest the whiteness of A.I.R., and to resist dominant narratives and expectations of both the art world and feminism in the 1970s, to claim their subjectivities as Third World women, artists, and feminists. While the dominant strands of feminism at this time were certainly exclusionary and ethnocentric, to neglect the work of Third World feminists by generalizing “second wave” 1 Although it is no longer widely used, the term Third World Feminism emerged in the 1970s as a way for BIPOC feminists in the US to connect with the efforts of women involved in liberation and decolonial struggles globally. My understanding of this term draws from Chandra Mohanty’s articulation of “Third World” women - as I believe it is useful in analyzing DOI help explains why the artists included in the exhibition came together under the discursive category of “Third World women,” despite their varying experiences and positionalities. Mohanty does not claim any unitary or fixed meaning for the category “Third World,” and acknowledges the inevitable fluctuation of Third World feminist politics. However, she argues for the productivity of the term as a unifying category, as it allows for a nuanced, intersectional understanding based in lived experiences.

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feminism as a middle-class, white movements erase the fundamental, intersectional feminist foundations built during this period. This paper offers a retrospective review of DOI, to highlight a different legacy than that of white, middle-class feminism, and to explore what Third World Feminism meant to the artists involved. Returning to DOI from the perspective of today’s art world social justice discourse may inform responses to calls for resistance and anti-racist institutional change, providing an opportunity to interrupt the enduring legacy of racism and sexism in the arts. Started in 1972 by Barbara Zucker and Susan Williams, A.I.R. Gallery was the first women’s cooperative art space in the United States. With a founding collective of 20 women artists, the gallery quickly gained a certain level of art-world celebrity and currency. Members paid monthly dues, worked gallery shifts, and attended meetings, in exchange for two solo shows per year (Lovelace, 2021). However, due to the inclusion of very few artists of color and members’ consistent refusal to discuss race, the cooperative reproduced the problems widely associated with 1970s and ‘80s white, middle-class feminism. Howardena Pindell, an artist included in DOI and the only Black woman among A.I.R.’s founding members, has since testified experiences of microaggressions and outright racism at the gallery. Pindell (1980) explains that the space was “exclusionary to those without significant financial means.” She has recount-

ed that her attempts to discuss racism were ignored because race was viewed as peripheral to feminism (Weissberg, 2017, 211). By shutting down conversations about race and class and demanding the time and money of its members, A.I.R. gallery clearly defined who they believed the subjects of feminism and the arts to be: white, middle-class women. As Pindell (2017) describes, DOI was organized eight years after the founding of A.I.R. to “protest the fact that the gallery ha[d] very few members of color.” It was an intervention into the dominant narratives of the 1970s and 1980s which positioned Third World women as subjects neither of feminism, nor the art world (41). The exhibition included work by Judith F. Baca, Beverly Buchanan, Janet Olivia Henry, Senga Nengudi, Lydia Okamura, Pindell, Selena Whitefeather, and Zarina. The works in the exhibition were rooted in personal experiences and explored and asserted the artists’ subjectivities. While mainstream white feminism centered the idea that the personal is political, for artists of color, opportunities to express this idea were limited by the reductive, racist demands of the art world. The women involved in DOI used the personal in expansive ways, and their combined works refused erasure, homogenization, and false representations of Third World women as exotic, suffering, and as the ‘other.’ As Mendieta (2017) succinctly states in the exhibition catalogue,

Do we exist? To question our cultures

is to question our own existence, our human reality. To confront this fact means to acquire an awareness of ourselves. This in turn become a search, a questioning of who we are and how we will realize ourselves… This exhibition points not necessarily to the injustice or incapacity of a society that has not been willing to include us, but more towards a personal will to continue being ‘other’ (214). Mendieta’s statement highlights a recurring theme in the exhibition: a refusal of Euro-American feminist values. The women in this exhibition were not re-writing history (in fact, they believed that this was what white feminists were doing to feel unthreatened) but inserting their neglected experiences into the narrative.2 My reading of this exhibition draws on the foundational transnational feminist theory of Chandra Mohanty, who argued that the basis of 1970s and 1980s alliances between Third World women was an affinity found in resistance. Importantly, Mohanty emphasizes that the term “Third World” does not constitute any one homogenous, easily defined group. In terms of geography, the Third World consists of Latin America,

2 Pindell has described that her video work, Free, White and 21 (1980), was created to address white feminists and their continual rewriting of “history in a way that made one group feel safe and not threatened.” Thus, “rewriting” here refers to a misconstruing of history. Rather than assimilating into the art world, the artists in DOI present history on their own terms. Their assertion of “new” histories thus refers to a practice of agentic storytelling, rather than simply accepting or adding to pre-existing, misconstrued white narratives.

Issue I: Resistance

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Fig. 1: Photograph of Beverly Buchanan’s Wall Column (1980). the Caribbean, sub-Saharan Africa, South and Southeast Asia, China, South Africa, and Oceania; however, BIPOC people living in North America, Europe, and Australia can also be grouped under this term (Mohanty, 2003, 47). Thus, Mohanty argues that the unifying characteristic of Third World feminism is neither geography nor biology, but rather an “oppositional political relation to sexist, racist, and imperialist structures” (Mohanty, 2003, 49). These oppositional political relations are what Mohanty defines as “common differences,” a concept which provides a framework for understanding the unification of the Third World women in DOI. Mohanty suggests Third World feminism consists of “imagined communi-

ties of women with divergent histories and social locations, woven together by the political thread of opposition to forms of domination that are not only pervasive but also systemic” (Mohanty, 2003, 46-47). The artists in DOI represent one of these imagined communities, as they bonded together in opposition toward the art world and the violence of white feminism that they faced both within and outside of it. Multi-media artist Beverly Buchanan’s contribution to DOI was a sculptural work titled Wall Column (1980) (Fig. 1). Buchanan explores her identity through this work by focusing on formal innovation rather than creating an explicit testament of suffering and oppression. The piece incorporates four cast cement rectangular blocks,

three of which are aligned against the wall in a horizontal row, while the fourth is laid on the ground in front of the middle upright block. Buchanan added a small amount of clay from Georgia – where the sculptures were made – giving the concrete blocks their unique hue (Buchanan, 1980). The analogy of Georgian architecture was intentional: Buchanan was interested in the urban landscape of her childhood (Buchannan, 1980). The title of the work suggests a structure that exists in one piece, yet the sculpture in front of the viewer is one of fragmentation. This disconnect alludes to change and decay (Buchannan, 1980). Here, decay references the architecture of the rural south, while the disjunction represents fragmented, miscom-

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municated narratives (perhaps, the decay of southern tradition, as well). Buchanan asks the viewer to consider “how historical narratives are constructed and who is included or excluded” (Weissberg, 2017, 212). The viewer is made to wonder why the sculptures, and in turn histories, are structured in one specific way, and by whom. Although the work exemplifies elements of minimalist sculpture, it also furthers strong narrative context about Buchanan’s experiences as a Black woman in the rural south. The care Buchanan invests in storytelling through material and formal elements is exemplified through her artist’s statement, where she describes that “placing each piece involves a long time of looking and moving – shifting – replacing and looking some more” (Buchanan, 2017, 216). Buchan-

an’s sculpture and the ideas behind it are representative of the labor being enacted through DOI: while making subversive political statements and expressing elements of their lived histories, the artists also refuse to submit to a conventional art world demand for racialized artists to create explicitly political art. Pindell’s video contribution to DOI, titled Free, White and 21 (1980), depicts the artist grappling with issues of gender and race through an exploration of personal experiences (Fig. 2). While this piece is seemingly one of Pindell’s more explicitly political works, she too is negotiating between the demands of the art world, politics, and formal concerns. Through her collaging together of color, narratives, and role-playing, Pindell uses testimo-

ny “as an objet trouvé,” and therefore still privileges formal innovation while forwarding a political message (Beckwith, 2018, 98). In the exhibition space, two TVs played the color tape while a metronome continuously ticked. The 12-minute video switches back and forth between shots of Pindell talking and shots of a white woman (Pindell in whiteface and a blonde wig) listening and responding condescendingly (Pindell, 1980). As the tape goes on, the colors of the background change while Pindell shares a collection of memories from her lifetime that are marked by racism and sexism. While talking, Pindell wraps a white cloth around her face, continuing to tell a story unperturbed. Covering her face reflects the experiences of erasure Pindell is alluding to in the piece. The white woman is period-

Fig. 2: Photograph of Howardena Pindell’s Free, White and 21 (1980) being played on TV monitors.

Issue I: Resistance

ically shown expressing disbelief and disapproval, suggesting that if Pindell does not want to follow the rules set by white voices in art worlds and feminist circles, these authorities will simply find other token women or artists of color. Finally, Pindell removes the white cloth from her head, unmasking herself and suggesting that by asserting her experiences into narratives which typically negate them, she is in some way reversing the erasure pointed to earlier; the video is an act of undoing. Pindell’s primary motivation was “not to put the viewer on defense, but to record, on her own terms, her lived experience as a woman of color,” particularly, as a Black woman (Weissberg, 2017, 213). Buchanan and Pindell, along with the other Third World Women artists in DOI, weave together narrative content and formal abstraction (albeit in ratios unique to their experience) to offer new stories and political statements through their work. The poem in the epigraph, written by Audre Lorde, as quoted in Mohanty (2003), serves as the introduction to Chandra Mohanty’s chapter “Cartographies of Struggle: Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism.” Mohanty articulates a definition of Third World feminism, as well as the experiences of Third World women in the United States, and the potential political framework that emerges from such experiences. She suggests that Lorde’s words paint a picture of

a world that is definable only in relational terms, a world traversed with intersecting lines of

power and resistance, a world that can be understood only in terms of its destructive divisions of gender, color, class, sexuality, and nation, a world that must be transformed through a necessary process of ‘pivoting the center’ (to use Bettina Aptheker’s words), for the assumed center (Europe and the United States) will no longer hold (43-44). As seen through both Buchanan and Pindell’s expressions of refusal and innovation, this – pivoting the center and resisting hegemonic conceptions of the ‘artist’ and the ‘feminist’ – is exactly what the DOI exhibition at A.I.R. Gallery was attempting to do. Further, Mohanty (2003) suggests her motivation in analyzing Third World feminist engagements when she describes, “I write… in an attempt to ‘pivot’ the center of feminist analyses, to suggest new beginnings and middles” (84). I believe that this is what the women of DOI are doing through their work, so I, too, write to highlight a different story. These conversations remain relevant in 2022, as calls for institutional change are imbued with increasing urgency. What can be done so that these same questions will not be reproduced hereafter? How can the demands put forth through DOI inform our

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responses to current demands? A closer analysis of the exhibition and its reception reveals that critiques, even positive ones, discussed the exhibition through identity politics and tokenization, despite the artists’ intent to move away from such a lens. By continuing the pattern of expecting racialized artists to “announce” their political messages, such reviews “fail[ed] to recognize the nuanced complexity of form, in which intensely subjective histories grounded in the politically informed worldview of the artist are manifest through minimal or abstract techniques” (Shirazi, 2021, 10). These critiques perpetuated the binary relationship between form and content which the artists were working to dissolve (Shirazi, 2021, 10). Further, the racial makeup of the gallery following the exhibition demonstrates that any success DOI achieved was not strong enough to influence the pervasiveness of racism at A.I.R. in a lasting way. Can seeing these failures of the exhibition in time with its successes allow us to implement more productive changes? While these questions are left open in this paper, I propose that the work of the diverse women in DOI demonstrates that “omission creates a false and rather fraudulent impression that only artists of European descent are doing valid work” (Pindell, 1988, 189). The art world has yet to overcome the neocolonial structures that exclude non-white artists, but the lasting presence of a socially-engaged art of refusal might be at least a glimmer of hope for institutional reform.

re, I don’t want, (No! No!) Don’t be here, I’m making it clear, I’m g it here, I don’t want, (No! No!) wanna be here!I don’t want, don’t don’t wanna be here, I don’t want, No!) Don’t wanna be here, I’m makt clear, I’m saying it here, when pen your mouth it fucking hurts my I don’t want, (No! No!)Don’t wanhere! Have I made it clear, have e it clear I don’t! (No! No! No!)I want (No! No!) I don’t want (No!) wanna be here! Get out of your ng chairs and do what you want! No! No! No! No! (x4)

Issue I: Resistance

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The s r e h t Bro Band How do I start? Honestly I never imagined myself writing a piece about my own album, and what it means to me in terms of resistance. It’s pretty fucking cool I’m not going to lie. Also a little weird because you could listen to the album yourself, and see how the music within it screams resistance against systems within capitalism and a general societal status quo which, in my opinion, we’ve been taught to internalize. By listening to it yourself you can also apply your own experiences to it, and use the music to empower yourself to resist against anything in your own life, or flashback to a time when you felt belittled and resisted against a higher power/authority. So talking about what it means for me feels a little strange since I don’t want to take away the power of the album (power of music) in the path of empowering oneself to resist. Yet, in mentioning how the album empowers each and every individual differently, I want to share my thoughts on the conversation of Fury Road, and how for me it encapsulates resistance, and continues to empower me. Before writing the first song on the album “I Wanna Make a Scene!” I found myself being pushed into a mold set by society, a mold that meant I had to ignore things around me like racism, ignore toxic relationship dynamics and how they affect me and my mental health, and ignore problems within a broken capitalist system and to simply be told to “shut up and play the game” anytime I would try to resist and explain myself. I watched Mad Max: Fury Road during that time, and something in me clicked. Watching Furiosa’s journey of resistance against a ruler which would imprison and torture those she cared about was inspiring to me. Not only that, but the energy of the film, the music, the character’s

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voices, the scenery; it all drove me to stop speaking for other people in my music, and start speaking for myself. By thinking like that, and changing my mindset, I started speaking up against racism and things within the system that acted as a barrier to me, and my work. By speaking up, societal standards told me to stop, that I was being too aggressive. So, one day I sat down with my guitar and started playing and singing what came to be “I Wanna Make a Scene!” I wanted to remind myself that, in some people’s eyes, calling out systematic problems is seen as “making a scene.” And

Issue I: Resistance

Fury ROad fy on spoti

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rather than be silenced and reluctant to speak up in fear of being rejected by an internalized status quo, I want to make that scene. I want to stand up for what I believe in everyday and speak my truth, rather than be silenced. Making the album, I hope to empower everyone who feels, even slightly, similarly impacted in their own lives. To resist is to keep “making a scene,” as they say. Because speaking up and using our voice is the only way we can be heard as humans who deserve compassion, and deserve to be heard. By making a scene, you resist. And so, I kept writing my music to keep empowering myself. As I did, I discovered, like Furiosa, that I was on my very own Fury Road. A road which some will call “crazy” or “insane.” But I remind myself of something Captain Carter said, when I feel affected by the words of others: “If everyone starts to call you crazy, and makes you feel like so, and they tell you to turn around and abide - that’s when you plant yourself even firmer into the ground; and say no.”

RESISTANCE: A STORY OF DIGNITY AND SACRIFICE

ANONYMOUS The author is a French-Algerian dual citizen and former Master’s student at Queen’s University in the Department of Physics. Alongside two brothers, he was raised in France by his dad, an immigrant from Algeria, and his mom, who was born to French parents. The experience of being bi-racial has had a strong influence on his childhood, not only by bearing a foreign name but also by interacting within two worlds that sometimes have trouble understanding each other. He would often hear arguments he couldn’t understand then. He writes about his experience for the first time here, not only believing this story is worth being shared but also as a good exercise on his way to making peace with his dad and with himself. The PGEP publication seemed as an ideal stage for him to tell his story.

I have always wondered if it could have turned out differently, but I don’t think so. Sometimes, resistance is part of who you are. Sometimes dignity has to come first. Can you be Algerian, grow up in Algeria fighting for its independence, and not feel hatred within you? Actually, can you just have grown up in Algeria and not feel such hatred? France has taken so much from you, from your family and your nation. Forgiveness, and reconciliation is the last thing you care about. Of course, my dad didn’t escape that feeling. France is the enemy. You swear when you hear about glorified French heroes, because one who may have brought victory and wealth to France often left behind blood and misery in Algeria. You watch the news on TV hoping for troubles in France, because maybe they would get distracted from interfering with the fate of the Algerian people. My dad’s hatred for France evolved a lot as he grew up, and I believe this hate has always been a driving force for him. One might think that France was my dad’s worst enemy, but it was not; injustice was his worst enemy. There are many things I can hardly stand about my dad, but I cannot help but admire his sense of justice. When he hated, he resisted. Looking back, I realize most of his fights were driven by this feeling of injustice, deeply embedded within him at every level. In ending arguments between me and my brother as young children, I was always the one at fault. But so was my brother. With three noisy boys, my dad still managed to build and foster a just home. And, yet, his

greatest exploit was to build a just life. In the world we live in, and his world especially, only God can know how hard it must have been. My dad always loved his country wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, injustice is not a French monopoly. As a child in the 1950s Algerian Béjaïa province, dreaming of a bright future and successful career was a luxury. From a young age, my dad defied the odds; he showed excellent abilities at school and became the first in his family to attend university. There, he took an interest in studying economics. Later, he joined the prestigious National School of Administration in Algiers, which provides training to future senior officials and leaders of Algeria. Flying so close to the top, though, he began to realize all the malfunctions of an elite system supposed to serve his country, a society still scarred by the French colonial system. In that situation, you try to go ahead and act as if you saw nothing, because you are on a bright path that has the potential to lead you to a place so many have dreamt of. It works for a bit, until you are not sure you can stay silent. And you write about it: for yourself first, and for others next. Like my father did, until some powerful people heard about it and decided he had to stop, until these same people banned him from his own country. From the place he loved the most, from all the people he loved, from that bright path he had hesitantly taken steps on. All because he had chosen to fight against a system that shaped the world around him and whose roots were deep, he had everything to lose, and he lost it. The cost of resistance could not be higher.

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Funnily enough, my dad chose to make France his new home. Welcome to the beautiful Paris and its golden-paved avenues! I believe his arrival in France was when my dad realized that the world was everything but binary. Speaking French was not the only thing that led him to France; the main reason was this young French woman he had met a few years earlier while travelling. Shock in Bejaïa, Algeria! Betrayal! My dad was about to marry the enemy, a woman whose people caused so much pain to those around him. He must have questioned whether it was right to marry this woman whose only fault was to have been born on the same land as the colonizers. But he did it anyway and never looked

back. After he left, the situation in Algeria did not change suddenly. And, of course, he didn’t stop writing. He sometimes used my brother’s name as his pen name to draw attention away from himself. Remembering my brother’s face the day he was told he was the author of a collection of books never fails to put a smile on my face. My dad was away from all the people he had grown up with, his family and friends. He could have stopped writing; it would have been simpler to apologize and beg for re-entrance into Algeria. But resistance is never simple, and it is never the easy way out. Resistance often comes with sacrifices. I can only try to imagine how it must have felt to have been an Algerian immigrant in 1990’s

France, where many were still sympathetic to the idea of a colonial Algeria. Once again, my dad defied the odds. After losing every hope of a future in Algeria, he slowly started to build a new life in France. Working hard, he was invited to conferences and radio interviews. Life is so merciful! Despite losing everything, you get an opportunity to start all over again! My dad is Muslim. His experiences living both in colonial Algeria and in France as a Muslim man contributed to his longstanding interest and empathy towards oppressed people. For this reason, he has always been a vocal supporter of Palestine in the Israeli-Palestinian “conflict.” He never understood why it was referred to as a “conflict.” The basic empathy of any human should be enough to understand the misery of an oppressed people. My dad never cries and never shows he is hurt, but his frustration and the pain in his eyes when talking about Palestine are more than enough to convey his agony. I have rarely seen someone who hurts so much from a people’s condition. Like he does with France, he hopes for trouble

Issue I: Resistance

in Israel or the USA so that maybe it will alleviate the sufferings of Palestinians. He sometimes tries to mathematically predict the year when Palestine will finally flourish as a nation. My dad’s hopes for Palestine are not always rational. But can you blame him? Can you blame someone who lives with such frustration and hurt, whose life mission is to resist? The French mainstream media narrative is very different from my dad’s on this, however. When invited on the radio and asked his opinion on the Palestinian question, he tried to go back to reason, to explain in simple terms the injustices lived by the Palestinian people every day. Right after the interview, he received a phone call: “do you think we will ever invite you again?” The French mainstream media, just like many elsewhere, is a well-oiled system. If you want to exist, to have a platform, you agree with their version of the story. A bit of xenophobia on top was enough to put an end to my dad’s short rise. He was extremely qualified, an expert in his field of study, but could only find small, low-wage, temporary jobs.

With three kids to feed, he didn’t really have a choice. Of course, my dad didn’t lose everything from one radio interview question. But his idea of social justice, his genuineness, and his frankness did not fit in many places. And every time he opened his mouth, he knew exactly what he was doing. I always wonder if his life could have turned out differently. I don’t think I would have had the courage to give up my future for what seems such an unattainable ideal of justice. I try to think of all the things he could have achieved if he hadn’t answered that way during that interview, or if he had not brought up a point that he knew was sensitive, controversial, or provocative in another. He didn’t gain any fame, and no one will remember what he did. He would have had a more successful life had he chosen to shut up when he was asked to, had he not resisted. Maybe he would have even had a happier life. But my dad never cared about these questions; he only did what he knew was right. He sacrificed so much, but dignity had to come first. So many times, I have asked him if

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he had any regrets. He always stares at me for a few seconds before telling me he never had one. Resistance is full of sacrifices, especially when you are alone. A few years ago, my dad was officially pardoned by the Algerian government. The ban ended and he got a chance to kiss my grandmother for the first time in 20 years. It happened to also be a goodbye as she would pass away shortly after their meeting, as if she had been waiting for him the whole time. I remember my dad coming back home exhausted after a long day of manual work at a factory. I was young at the time, and he looked like any working dad. Looking back, I realize everything he did for us and how he did it without a single complaint. I cannot help but admire him and his journey. I do think my dad has enjoyed his life; a life where standing against injustice led to the greatest sacrifices. He always put his family before anything else: resistance did not take everything from him in the end. I hope that has made him happy. He deserves it.

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Issue I: Resistance

what were they wearing? by: vanessa ervin

Issue I: Resistance

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Vanessa Ervin is a feminist, activist, and multidisciplinary artist that passionately promotes change through conversation, art, and education. Ervin’s work is heavily research and content-based, and addresses a variety of feminist topics. As a multidisciplinary artist, Ervin has interests in mediums such as drawing, sculpture, multimedia, photography, fabric work, painting, digital art, and graphic design. Her pieces often include detailed penmanship, tactile sculptures, interactive pieces, and realism styles. Overall, her goal is to create open dialogues and to foster critical thinking through her art pieces in order to change the current status quo. Ervin is a third-year Women’s Studies Master’s student at the University of Ottawa; her Major Research Paper focuses on the Importance of Creative Methodologies in Settler Colonial Education Systems. She attended Lakehead University for her undergraduate degree, majoring in an Hon ours Bachelor’s of Fine Arts and a minor in Women’s Studies.

What were they wearing? is a piece that highlights the importance of consent and tackles sexual assault myths. Too often, the clothing that a victim is wearing is wrongly blamed for causing or inviting the assault – for example, people asking ‘what were they wearing?’ in response to sexual assault. With an overwhelming amount of victim-blaming, slut-shaming, scapegoating, gaslighting, and more occurring around sexual assault, I felt an undeniable call to make a ‘consent clothing line/brand.’ This clothing line shows the reality of what we have come to – the need for clothing that clearly states ‘I do not consent’ in order to feel safe, to not be blamed, and for survivors to take back their personal autonomy. My clothing is meant to aggressively

and defiantly take away the myths used by society to excuse sexual assault; in order to force them to see the reality of just how problematic all sexual assault myths are, and that it is not the survivor’s fault. For this art piece, I announced a ‘call for donations', and asked the community for articles of clothing to contribute to this art initiative. Once I received all the donations, I selected a variety of clothing that ranged in size, colour, style, fabric, and that came from a variety of backgrounds. The clothing also included a range of articles - from pants, underwear, t-shirts, long sleeves, dress shirts, bras, dresses, and tank tops. Additionally, all of the clothing varies from more ‘provocative’ to ‘conservative’ clothing. I

What were they wearing? Vanessa Ervin Embroidered clothing on a clothing line 2019

purposely selected a diverse range of clothing in order to convey that consent is always mandatory, regardless of the kind of clothing being worn. Once I had my selection of clothing articles, I embroidered and designed different ways of saying ‘no’ onto the clothing; such as “I do not consent”, “Still No”, “No means No”, or “Non-Consenting.” Once the clothing designs were completed, I created two old-fashioned clothing lines to hang my pieces on. I used clothing lines to display my art as they reference the act of ‘putting your dirty laundry out to dry’, and because clothing lines have been banned in communities as they were deemed to ‘decrease the aesthetic’ of the neighbourhood. Similar to clothing lines and dirty laundry, sexual assault

is often a topic that is – wrongly - hidden away and considered social taboo. However, my work aims to actively defy this notion, by putting the topic of sexual assault out in the open for all to see – to talk about, to ask questions about, and to become educated on. This piece has been on display at several art galleries and has resulted in meaningful discourse , both in-person and online. Its purpose is to bring up critical questions, conversations, educational opportunities, and to act as a symbol of solidarity in the fight against sexual assault myths. My art piece’s goal is to also allow survivors of sexual assault to feel a sense of community and resistance – that they are not alone, and that it is not, and was never, their fault.

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LA BELLE PROVINCE Issue I: Resistance

AN ANALYSIS OF WHY QUEBEC’S ABORTION ACCESS CAME TO BE BY: CAROLYN SVONKIN

FOREWORD Th e o ri gi n a l v er sion of th is p iece was wr itte n fo r GN DS38 0 : G e nd er , R ace an d Rep r oductiv e J ustice . In th at cl ass, w e exp lo r e d h o w i d e nt i ty, po l i tics and sexuality inter sect to cr eate cl im ates a r o u nd pr oced ures like ab ortion th at decr ease wo m e n ’ s b o dily a uto no m y , es peci ally mar ginalized wo m e n . Th is cl ea r ly co n n ects to the th e m e o f r esistance, as this essay de m o n st rates, b eca use d es pi te h u ge s o ci etal bar r ier s, wom e n in p l aces l ike Qué b ec h ave m a na g e d to as s ert th eir rights and in de p e n de n ce a n d ca rve o ut space fo r r e pr odu cti ve j ustice and a m o r e just wo r l d fo r wo m e n g lo ba l ly .

Issue I: Resistance

Despite abortion being decriminalized in Canada in 1988’s Supreme Court case R. v. Morgentaler, accessing an abortion is very different for Canadian women, depending on where they live. In some provinces, notably on the East Coast, abortion is extremely difficult to access. By contrast, other provinces have made it reasonably simple to access abortion. One of these provinces is Québec. Québec offers exceptional abortion access, hosting 46 of Canada’s 94 abortion facilities. In fact, “[n]o other province comes close to providing the same level of access” (Vogel, 2015). Scholars have connected abortion access in Québec to a unique form of progressive Québecois feminism. However, this brand of pro-abortion feminism seems to be in conflict with Catholicism, the religion of 75% of Québeckers (Riga). This presents a puzzle in the development of abortion attitudes and access in the province. How and why does Canada’s most Catholic province also host the nation’s best and most progressive abortion access? In this essay, after a brief discussion of the history of abortion in Québec, I will explore how the nationalism and Catholicism unique to Québec have created the environment of abortion access that exists today. I will use a reproductive justice framework in this discussion. Reproductive justice, as defined by Kimala Price, “recognizes the importance of linking reproductive health and rights to other social justice issues…. Although reproductive justice activists acknowledge that an emphasis on gaining legal rights, lobbying, and electoral politics is not necessarily a bad thing, they argue that

there has to be an intersectional analysis and the acknowledgment of oppression in order for women to truly gain freedom” (Price, 2010, p. 43). Using this lens, it is important to first acknowledge that while abortion has taken center stage in reproductive discourse, and will do so in this essay, it is only one of many elements of reproductive freedom over which women must have autonomy and should be studied academically. Literature shows that “[t] he progressive treatment of abortion in Québec began long before it did in the rest of the country” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 96). In fact, before the Supreme Court’s 1988 decision, Québec had liberalized abortion regulation so much that after R v. Morgentaler, not much in Québec actually changed (Johnstone, 2018, p. 98). Québec’s liberalization can be dated back to the 1960s, a period of Québecois history known as the Quiet Revolution. The Quiet Revolution was a series of political reforms undertaken by the provincial Liberal government from 1960 to 1966. It was a “far-reaching campaign of accelerated state intervention… in the areas of education, economic management, health and social services” (Gavreau, 2005, p. 3). The liberalization and modernization of society during the Quiet Revolution meant that by the 1960s and 1970s, “Québec feminism was already radical, politicised and successful in transforming a pre-existing network of women’s organisations into a vibrant contemporary, second wave movement” (Connolly, 2005, p. 79). This vibrant and well-organized movement pushed to improve abortion access in Québec, which,

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up to that point, had mainly taken place in anglophone hospitals in Montreal (Stettner, 2016, p. 38). In 1973, Dr. Henry Morgentaler, a physician and abortion rights activist, was first arrested for providing illegal abortions in Montreal, and quickly became a symbol of the pro-abortion cause in Québec. Surprisingly, he was found not guilty, a verdict which “shed light on the changing social climate in the province” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 58). Throughout the 1970s, Morgentaler was acquitted in Québec courts several times, which strongly suggested “the degree to which the abortion law was out of touch with social attitudes in Québec, which had been transformed by the Quiet Revolution” (Stettner, 2016, p. 48). The refusal of Québec juries to convict Morgentaler contributed to public acceptance of abortion as a woman’s right, and the procedure being seen as socially necessary and acceptable. A turning point in the fight for abortion liberalization in Qué-

“HOW AND WHY DOES CANADA’S MOST CATHOLIC PROVINCE ALSO HOST THE NATION’S BEST AND MOST PROGRESSIVE ABORTION ACCESS?”

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Issue I: Resistance

-bec came in November 1976— two months after Morgentaler’s third acquittal—when the Parti Québecois (PQ) came into power. Led by René Lévesque, the PQ was a left-wing nationalist party that supported abortion access. “In defiance of federal law, the new government quickly granted immunity from prosecution to all doctors qualified to perform abortions,” effectively decriminalizing abortion (Stettner, 2016, p. 48). The PQ government also instituted funding for most abortions at this time, and voted for “free abortions upon request” for Québecois women at its 1977 party convention, although Lévesque vetoed the vote due to concerns that the stance would be too politically divisive. The provincial government’s support for abortion “strengthened pro-choice activism in the province,” with many Québeckers coming to agree with Lévesque that, when it came to abortion, it was time to “get out of the dark ages… and start to do something positive” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 97). Since the 1970s, as well as since abortion’s decriminalization

nationally in 1988, progressivism towards abortion in Québec has continued to outpace the rest of Canada. Successive governments have continued to create “exceptionally progressive services under the umbrella of health care” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 115), and “unlike other provincial governments, the National Assembly of Québec has not remained silent on the issue of abortion” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 99). “The acknowledgement of abortion as a matter of women’s rights is evident in all aspects of Québec society, including its National Assembly” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 96), which continues to pass pro-abortion motions, such as one in 2010 which “reaffirm[ed] the rights of women to freedom of choice and to free and accessible abortion services and ask[ed] the federal Government and the Prime Minister of Canada to put an end to the ambiguity that per-

urban counterparts. This is very uncommon in other Canadian provinces, which provide abortions, but where it is extremely challenging for rural and/or low-income women to access abortion services. By contrast, due to the CLSC model, half of Québec’s abortion facilities are in rural areas, and for over 40 years, “Québec has dedicated funds to establish abortion clinics in underserved areas” (Vogel, 2015). As seen through reproductive justice, in order for women to achieve true autonomy, it must be easy, private and cost-effective for all to access an abortion, regardless of their geography. Thus, not only is Québec a leader in numerical access, it is also a leader in equitable access. Taking a reproductive justice lens, it is worth noting that Québec’s focus on gender equality and abortion’s role in that movement is monolithic. The govern-

“IT MAY SEEM THESE TWO THINGS CANNOT EXIST SIDEBY-SIDE, AND IN SOME WAYS THEY CAN-NOT—“IN CATHOLIC JURISDICTIONS, THE DECLINE OF A RELIGIOUS NATIONAL IDENTITY IS LIKELY TO FAVOUR A LIBERALIZATION OF ABORTION RIGHTS”—BUT IN ACTUALITY, THE STRENGTH OF CATHOLICISM IN QUÉBEC HAS CONTRIBUTED TO ABORTION ATTITUDES, ALBEIT IN A RATHER BACKWARDS WAY.” sists in relations to this question” (Johnstone, 2018, pp. 99-100). Currently, abortion in Québec is administered by two types of public medical facilities: hospitals and CLSCs, community health centres with abortion services. Many CLSCs are located outside urban areas, allowing for rural women in Québec to have similar abortion access to their

ment openly acknowledges the oppression that women face in society, but omit intersectionality in that acknowledgement. As in the rest of Canada, women of colour, low-income women, women with disabilities and LGBTQIA2S+ people face greater and different oppression than white, cisgender, middle-class women. The feminist movement has historically

Issue I: Resistance

marginalized many of these women, and the fight for abortion in Canada has been shrouded in the legacy of forced sterilization and eugenics, which were extremely traumatic for many Canadian women, especially Indigenous women. While the CLSC system is a good start in providing local and accessible care, in order to operationalize abortion as part of the greater reproductive justice movement, Québec must acknowledge the differences in experience that intersectionality creates and move towards creating sustainable and culturally appropriate access to all reproductive rights, for all women. Québec is heavily Catholic, a religion that is openly and oftentimes virulently anti-abortion. Given this, why does Québec have such a progressive take on abortion? There are two driving forces behind this phenomenon: nationalism and Catholicism, which have played on each other to form today’s climate on abortion in Québec. Over the last 100 or so years, and especially during the latter half of the 20th century, there was a powerful nationalist independence movement in Québec. Scholarly work on nationalist independence movements have shown that they can “open up opportunities for women’s movements to mobilize and engage directly in the nation-building process” (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 3) and can “become a powerful carrying structure for feminist politics” (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 2). This is because as nationalists look towards building a new society, women’s movements may see an opportunity to imbue this new society with feminist principles. Moreover, nationalist iden-

tities quickly and easily become enmeshed in public policy, “[b] ecause public policies in advanced industrial societies are typically formulated by governments tied to national boundaries’’ (Kozlowska et. al., 2016). As a form of public policy, social policies like abortion can thus “become contested yet powerful national symbols or, at the very least… framed and understood as expressions of concrete national norms and identities’’ (Kozlowska et. al., 2016). For independence movements that situate themselves on the left, abortion and other progressive social programs can therefore become “link[ed to] secession debates on equality, welfare and justice issues” (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 2). “A common ideological positioning supportive of a social justice agenda thus creates an affinity between independence and feminism,” where feminist movements can use nationalism as a vehicle to further their goals, and where nationalists may “make direct appeals to women’s groups and feminist movements in an attempt to gain allies” (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 2). This was certainly the case in Québec. As shown by the razor-thin margin in the 1995 Québec referendum, throughout the second half of the 20th century, nationalism was strong in Québec. Many prominent Québecois were enthusiastic about creating a distinct nation in Québec, which nationalist leaders envisioned as being a left-wing socialist state that stood apart from conservative English Canada. Québec feminists, the majority of whom were also left-wing, as evidenced by their fight for gender equality,

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recognized the opportunity this provided to promote feminism in the province. They formed a close alliance with the PQ, a major reason why it was a PQ government to decriminalize and fund abortion for the first time both in Québec and across Canada. Finding similar values as left-wing movements, Québecois separatists worked heavily with feminists, and “the Québec feminist movement has directly and actively engaged in the fight for independence” since the 1960s (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 2). Québecois feminists used the province’s nationalist sentiment to their benefit “by combining discourses about the liberation of women, Québec, and society” (Johnstone, 2018, p. 97). For many feminists, “women’s liberation from patriarchy came to be viewed as possible only through [Québecois] sovereignty” (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 2). It was successfully argued by feminists that only through the eradication of patriarchy could the independent and socialist state that Québec nationalists wanted be truly realized. The linking of feminism with the popularity of nationalism legitimized feminist ideas, including about abortion legality and access. Québecois feminists made it clear that women’s equal participation in society required bodily autonomy and access to abortion. They were unapologetic in demanding that abortion access was integral to feminism, so much so that after Lévesque vetoed the right to free and accessible abortions in the PQ’s 1976 platform, many feminists left the party in protest (Beauregard et. al., 2020, p. 5). Clearly, Québec feminists

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Issue I: Resistance

tionalism required gender equality and gender equality required abortion access, convincing many Québeckers who believed in Québecois nationalism to also support abortion. The power of these links is supported by not only academic literature, but the complementary trajectory of abortion access and nationalist sentiment in Québec, both of which gained momentum after the Quiet Revolution. It is impossible to talk about Québec without speaking of Catholicism, as it is such a critical part of Québecois society. Further, “religion is not outside of nationalism but embedded in it,” as “religion helps define the boundaries of the nation” (Kozlowska et. al., 2016). This is certainly the case in Québec, where the Catholic majority population differentiates it from most other provinces in Canada. As Catholicism is often outspokenly anti-feminist and anti-abortion, it is counterintuitive that Canada’s most Catholic province also provides the most abortion access. It may seem these two things cannot exist side-byside, and in some ways they cannot—“in Catholic jurisdictions, the decline of a religious national identity is likely to favour a liberalization of abortion rights” (Kozlowska et. al., 2016)—but in actuality, the strength of Catholicism in Québec has contributed to abortion attitudes, albeit in a rather backwards way. Scholars show that abortion liberalization in Québec was “the product of a long political struggle, which took place after decades of highly restrictive and punitive abortion policies backed by the Catholic Church” (Kozlowska et. al., 2016). Thus, the strong progressive tra-

dition in Québec of the last 50-60 years, from which abortion access came, can be seen as a backlash to Catholic Church domination. Prior to 1960, Catholic values formed the roots of Québecois society, and the Church was the backbone of all Québec institutions. This had a deep effect on the role of women in Québecois society, as Catholicism “institutionalize[d] the traditional nuclear family as the foundation of the nation,” (Kozlowska et. al., 2016) which includes a subservient, domestic mother figure. Feminist scholars have argued that “the social body constrains the way the physical body is perceived” (Brown, 1992, p. 223). In Québec, society was “[d]ominated by a male-centred, sex-negative conservative Roman Catholicism… [which] ideologically manipulated women into believing that their bodies were linked to all that is lower and should therefore remain hidden, unspoken” (Brown, 1992, p. 223). The Church told society that the female body and its functions—menstruation, pregnancy, and giving birth—were taboo (Brown, 1992, p. 223). Thus, open discussion of women’s bodies became extremely stigmatized, and women were shamed and guilted into traditional, restrictive roles, in service of God. Since the discussion of the female body was so frowned upon, it was impossible for women to gain bodily autonomy. The female body was owned by religious society, and women were regarded as “loyal and compliant servants of the Roman Catholic Church” (Gervais, 2012, p. 385). However, as the province’s clerical elite “vigorously”

defended traditionally restrictive roles for women, “the inconsistencies between feminism and Catholicism [were] exposed and the discrimination faced by women… in the Roman Catholic Church

“TAKING A REPRODUCTIVE JUSTICE LENS, IT IS WORTH NOTING THAT QUÉBEC’S FOCUS ON GENDER EQUALITY AND ABORTION’S ROLE IN THAT MOVEMENT IS MONOLITHIC.” [became] better known” (Gervais, 2012, p. 385). There began to be an “excruciating tension with the institutional church” for many Catholic women in Québec. By the midpoint of the 20th century, feminism had begun to take hold in newer and stronger ways, and it became clear that Catholicism as it had traditionally been practiced in Québec was no longer consistent with a feminist consciousness. Moreover, it was not only feminists who were fed up with the Church’s role in society. “By 1960, because of its very traditional character, and its clericalism and alliance with political conservatives, Catholicism had become increasingly unpopular with a rising middle class of professionals, academics, and administrators devoted to secular and technocratic ideals of economic progress and political modernization” (Gavreau, 2005, p. 5). The backlash to Catholicism in the 1960s was a direct cause of the reforms taken during the Quiet

Issue I: Resistance

Revolution. Among many political and social reforms, the period is most notable for “usher[ing] in changes that put an emphatic secular stamp on government and society” (Chew, 2009, p. 84). The Quiet Revolution purposefully secularized Québec by reducing the influence of the Catholic Church across society, politics, and the economy. The government removed Church control of education and healthcare services, secularizing and modernizing these services in a complete overhaul of Québec’s public sector. Throughout the Quiet Revolution and the rest of the 20th century, Québecois women’s bodies became a battleground when it came to religion. Abortion, especially, became a lightning rod, as it represented the most evil subversion of both the stigmatization of women’s bodies and conventional roles of women as mothers. Scholarly literature shows that high levels of Catholicism are anathematic to abortion access, and so as Québecois women began to increasingly identify with feminism in the 20th century, they began to question the validity of Catholicism’s stifling and sexist rules. Feminism showed women that they should have control over their bodies and reproductive systems, while Catholicism told women the opposite. And after decades of subjugation, women were tired of the stigma and subservience ascribed to their bodies, and thus they participated heavily in the Quiet Revolution, working toward a more secular society where women were free to operate their own bodies, including obtaining an abortion. However, it cannot be ignored that many Québeckers re-

mained Catholic. Further, prior to 1960, feminism was alive and well in Québec, even under a strictly religious society. The fact that so many women were able to use Catholicism to their advantage, when the religion itself so strongly opposes abortion and other feminist tenets, is an oft-ignored narrative. Scholars find that throughout the 20th century, and especially before the Quiet Revolution, “women in Québec may in fact have been strategically investing in the Catholic faith in very large numbers… for their own personal need for emancipation and expression in the public sphere” (Connolly, 2005, p. 79). Catholic women, and especially nuns, were encouraged to form Catholic women’s organizations and spend time with other Catholic women. In the 1930s, for example, the Church created various Catholic Action movements, which enlisted thousands of young women, encouraging them to identify beyond the home and showing them the power of organizing. The Church encouraged this with the intention of propping up its own ideals, but women in Québec subverted this in order to use their networks to gain power as a collective force to further women’s rights. Nuns, especially, became

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interesting figures in this story. In most other monotheistic religions, women are not given substantial respect or power, but nuns are seen as highly respected members of the Catholic community, are highly educated, and are tasked with the responsibility of providing healthcare and education. This inadvertently elevated women within the Church, and created a class of women who, while still loyal to religion, were educated and active in society outside of the home. To this day, “many ‘Catholic feminists’ remain ‘Catholic’ and are thus affiliated with the institutional church, but only to the extent that they may enrich their essentially feminist spirituality with select aspects of Catholicism that they still find meaningful” (Gervais, 2012, p. 388). Catholicism has not been extinguished from Québec society by any means, but to the extent that it exists, women have used it as a tool for comfort and activism on their own terms, refusing to be defined by the traditional views the Church imposed on Québec society for decades. Although women in Québec have found resourceful ways to adjust religion to feminism, in remembering years of Church-instituted restriction, Québecois feminists

“THROUGHOUT THE QUIET REVOLUTION AND THE REST OF THE 20TH CENTURY, QUÉBECOIS WOMEN’S BODIES BECAME A BATTLEGROUND WHEN IT CAME TO RELIGION.”

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have a strong reason to adamantly support secularization and abortion access for women. This history is unique to Québec—no other Canadian provinces have gone through a period similar to the Quiet Revolution—and thus provide a strong basis for Québec’s unique abortion attitudes. Unsurprisingly, there is a lack of literature on how Québecois women of other faiths have interacted with both their own religions and the dominant Catholic faith in their journeys for autonomy. In the literature on Catholic women and abortion in Québec, there are also very few mentions of the other oppressions instituted by the Catholic Church, such as the residential school system, and how these oppressions interacted with reproductive movements such as that of abortion. This unfortunately mirrors a pattern across academia and traditional feminism, where some narratives are privileged over others. The white, middle-class, married women dominating the feminist movement and who lead the backlash to the Church in 20th century Québec are not the only story, but their privilege means that the literature has much to say about their journey, and very little to say about women who had different experiences. Moreover, while freedom for white, Christian women is prized in Québec, policies such as Bill 21 show that the same attitude is not afforded to other women, specifically those of religious minorities. “[T]he assumption that feminists were all on the same side is a further deep misunderstanding of the structure and heterogeneity of the Québec women’s movement,” and of soci-

ety in general (Connolly, 2005, p. 80). If we are going to be pro-reproductive justice, rather than just pro-choice, we must give more weight to historically untold stories and expand the narrative of which women are ‘deserving’. To this day, abortion access in Québec exceeds that of any other province in Canada. While this may be surprising given the province’s traditional Catholic background, it is shown that religion and nationalism ultimately popularized progressivism and secularism, creating an environment where abortion access flourished. However, there is still work to be done. Reproductive justice shows us that abortion is only one element of women’s reproductive freedom, yet it is still a singular focus for many Québecois (and Canadians). Moreover, while Québec is progressive when it comes to abortion, narratives from women of colour, low socioeconomic status, and the LGBTQIA2S+ community are still absent from mainstream narratives. The impressive access in the province is no doubt a highly dignified stance, and standpoint for other Canadians to emulate, but it in no way should signify an end to the movement for reproductive justice and freedom in Québec.

“ Unmasking Racism”: Racism ”: A Critical Analysis of the Burka Ban Law in France

Issue I: Resistance

Since the emergence of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, the issue of mandatory face-coverings in public places has become the center of attention of debates worldwide. However, it is not the first time that legislation regarding face coverings has been enacted. In 2010, the French Parliament passed their first law banning face-covering in public places, with the stated purpose of increasing public security and women’s equality and freedom in society1. Although this law applied nationally and did not specify any religion as a target, their primary target was Muslim women wearing face-coverings (burka or niqab) in public places. Muslim women wear the burka as an indication of modesty based on their sharia beliefs. The banning of face-coverings in law has become famous

The face-covering ban in public law passed in 2010 in France created two new punishable offenses: First, wearing clothing that designed to cover one’s face in the public sphere is punishable by either requiring taking a class on the meaning of citizenship or by a maximum of € 150 fine, or both; Second, forcing a woman to wear a face-covering is punishable by a €30,000 fine or one year of imprisonment (Legifrance, 2010).

By: Farinaz Basmechi

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Issue I: Resistance

as the “burka ban” law because, as stated above, it targets the removal of burkas or niqabs from the French public sphere. Despite disagreements and protests at the national and international level over passing such an Islamophobic law in France (The Guardian, 2011), this law has been established in other countries2 to maintain national security and gender equality. To legitimize the burka ban law, the approach of the French Constitutional Council has been to argue that hiding one’s face in public does not comply and respect the minimal necessary requirements of being involved in social life (McCrea, 2013). During the pandemic, wearing a face-covering became essential for entrance into public places. Many have pointed out the contradiction between the burqa ban law and the mandatory

face-covering globally enforced due to the coronavirus pandemic (Eli, 2020; Ricca, 2020). While wearing a face mask during the pandemic was justified due to public health and safety concerns, countries used the same justification of public safety to prevent Muslim women from wearing a religious face-covering. A critical question arises from this paradoxical situation: security and freedom for whom? This article examines the burka ban law in France after ten years of its implementation and in the era of mandated face masks. In this paper, I argue that, despite the initial goals of increasing national security and women’s equal rights and freedom through the face-covering ban law (burka ban), the law has had a direct negative effect on Muslim women’s lives and does not increase their freedom or national safety.

The following list is the name of European countries that implemented the Burka Ban law in public places in chronological order: France (2010), Belgium (2011), Bulgaria (2015), Austria (2017), Denmark (2018), and Switzerland (2021) (BBC News, 2018; BBC News, 2021).

The Burka Ban Law, National Safety, and Intersecting Surveillance Increasing national safety was one of the central supporting claims brought up by burka ban law advocates, who focused on the fact that face-covering prevents the clear identification of the individuals in society (Heidar, 2012). Since 2010, Muslim women were the main population in France who wore face-coverings due to their religious beliefs and many argued that the ban was aimed at eliminating niqabs or burkas worn by Muslim women from the French public sphere (Heider, 2012; Nanwani, 2011; Spohn, 2013). The burka ban law in

Issue I: Resistance

France should be seen as a transparent policy that implements intersecting surveillance on Muslim women’s bodies, which leads to the over-marginalization of this population in French society. Since September 11, 2001, Islamophobia has been on the rise. Muslim individuals have been targeted for racial surveillance (Brown, 2015), where police performed more ID checks on the Muslim population. For instance, in 2013, at least 423 women who wore full-face veils were stopped for identity checks (Bouteldja, 2013). Also, a study conducted in 2019 by a collective against Islamophobia reported that Muslim women had experienced a higher level of physical and mental insecurity due to intersecting surveillance in France. According to this study, sixty percent of discriminatory Islamophobic hate acts and speech were directed at veiled Muslim women (Time, 2021). Furthermore, France mandating face masks due to public safety in 2020 is an indicator of the arbitrary nature of the face-covering ban law in 2010 as it legislatively mandated what was previously banned in the name of public safety. While many believed that mandatory face mask laws would end the burka ban, France’s Interior Minister confirmed that the burka and niqab bans would remain in effect (CBS News, 2020). Ironically, though wearing a face mask due to COVID-19 hides people’s identities and impedes the logic of living together in French society, Muslim women are still banned from wearing their religious face covering. The hypocrisy of the law becomes evident after this incident since it shows that the bur-

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ka ban is not about public safety. Interestingly, a Muslim woman wearing a niqab cannot ride a bus, but one with a face mask on can.

Impact of the Burka Ban Law on Gender Equality Maintaining gender equality for Muslim women in France was another primary justification for the burka ban law. However, the state’s restrictions on women’s dressing undermines gender equality because it presumes a universal, unilateral perspective on achieving gender equality by assuming that the same formula works for every woman.

Considering a burka as a piece of cloth instead of a significant religious garment is evidence of bias against non-Western religions. Moreover, it seems that this point of view is coming from a colonial perspective that considers anything outside of the colonial lens as unacceptable, dangerous, and needing to be removed from the social arena. This perspective

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is problematic since it does not take Muslim women’s agency into account and considers the mainstream French culture as the superior culture that everyone should follow in public. This positions the Muslim culture of face-covering as inferior, worse, and one that should be hidden from the public eye. This suggests an understanding of gender equality from a single lens, which has not empowered all women but has marginalized some women who believe in other forms of appearance, dressing, and equality. According to such a point of view, Muslim women are vulnerable people who are not accountable for their choices, including their ways of dressing; they do not have any agency of their own and need politicians to hand them their equal rights in society by outlawing their ways of dressing. However, Muslim women who used to wear burkas before

the ban still find gender equality in a way in which they could choose their way of dressing, and most of them continue to wear their choice of dressing (Bouteldja, 2013) as a form of resistance to the law (Mahmoud, 2005). In 2020, the French government decided to legislate a mandatory face mask law due to the COVID-19 pandemic. However, they did not reverse the burka ban law. The justifications behind the burka ban, namely gender equality, were reaffirmed, yet, the ban continues to demonstrate governmental bias and the use of a colonial lens in understanding women’s rights. Still, the state is reluctant to include visible Muslim women in French society and accept them as a part of the French national identity.

Impact of the Burka Ban Law on Muslim Women’s Freedom Russo (2019) provided a critical analysis on the concept of a “savior” that has been used to strengthen the subject positions of subordination and dominance, which reproduce the binary of us (who are saviors) and them (who need saving) in the name of empowerment. The same logic has been introduced and used in establishing the burka ban law. White supremacists in a patriarchal system introduced themselves as the savior of Muslim women who

need saviors to pass a law that saves them from wearing a burka. Therefore, one of the primary justifications of the burka ban law is promoting freedom for Muslim women in French society. Yet, by banning burkas and niqabs in the name of women’s freedom, Muslim women in France who wear face-coverings as part of their spiritual-religious identity became subjects of violence and subordination. Therefore, they are condemned to be present in public in a way that French society is comfortable with them appearing. According to Bouteldja (2013), Muslim women reported less freedom to go out into public spheres because they are uncomfortable in a social environment without their niqab or burka. The burka ban law seems to have implicitly legitimized the abusive treatment of veiled women, which leads to the marginalization of Muslim women and them experiencing less freedom in France’s public sphere. However, in the era of mandated face masks, although the ban on wearing a burka or niqab is still in effect, some Muslim women who wear face coverings because of their religious beliefs feel more comfortable being in public. The mandatory face mask law allowed Muslim women to cover their faces in public without a high level of negative stigma toward them. However, they are still not allowed to wear their own choices of dressing (burka or niqab) in public without harassment and stigmatization from the perspective of their saviors.

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Conclusion I have argued that the face-covering ban only targets Muslim women in French society by putting them at the intersection of intensified racialized gendered surveillance (intersecting surveillance) and does not increase national security. By implementing the burka ban law, the French Senate normalized the heteropatriarchal white supremacist approach in French society in the name of national safety, gender equality, and Muslim women’s freedom. On the other hand, in 2020, the French government mandated wearing a face mask while in public due to

public health and safety, but still condemned Muslim women for wearing a burka or niqab for the very same reason, showing the hypocrisy of the burka ban law after ten years of its implementation. Despite its objective of engendering gender equality, the burka ban law has failed to improve gender equality and women’s freedom, specifically for Muslim women in France, since it assumed a generalized position about women’s inequality and postulated a standardized solution that has had dangerous consequences (Narayan, 2000)

including promoting gendered Islamophobia. To promote women’s equal rights, what is needed is the deconstructing and unsettling of the dominant discourse regarding agency and accountability. Gender equality and women’s emancipation should be understood through “a performative dimension: a political praxis aimed at the unsettling of dominant discourses on gender and sexuality” (Mahmoud, 2005, p.21). In contrast, this has not been the case regarding the burka ban law and its way to pursue Muslim women’s equal rights leading to masked racism.

The Burden of Resistance: How Minorities Suffer Under the Weight of Having to Change the World By: Liz Gonzalez

Positionality Statement: This piece was written as a personal interest research project. I myself am not an activist so I cannot speak directly on the experience and am using other people’s experiences to shine a light on one of the adverse impacts of resistance.

Resistance is a fundamental step in achieving change and dismantling systems of oppression. To resist is to actively work against; to embark in protest, teaching, and other forms of public discourse, to push against the norm. But why in the 21st century is resistance still glorified as a wonderful, unifying push against oppression, when it can be a taxing experience for so many? Today, the onus of resistance has unfairly fallen on the backs of minority groups, rather than acknowledging the role that all of society must play in actively resisting systems of oppression rather than joining the bandwagon of support for tokenized activists. Our idealization of resistance, which glorifies the dedication of activists, should be subverted in order to recognize that more often than not, the brunt of this burden unduly falls on solely marginalized groups. This article will highlight the ways in which resistance, while necessary for social change, poses a burden on activists through examining the emotional and physical impacts of resistance, the way these consequences impact activism, and the effects of tokenism. It then considers what future steps ought to be taken to avoid ongoing abuse of activists and their commitment to resistance.

It should not be surprising to anyone that the experience of activists is emotionally taxing. In actively working to combat systems of racial or sexual inequality, one can expect to feel mentally drained, especially knowing that activist efforts often see little immediate success. Paul C. Gorski and Cher Chan (2015) have found that activist burnout is most likely to occur for activists of racial, gender, and queer justice. This should not be surprising; resistance that is directly correlated to one’s own identity and results in confronting their own oppression would likely result in emotional exhaustion. Through interviewing various activists on their well-being following activism, Gorski and Chan (2015) found that “activists who are part of marginalized communities must contend with additional layers of anxiety, stress, and emotional exhaustion related, not just to the oppressions their activism is targeting, but also to the oppressions they are experiencing” (390). Ultimately, the experience of being an activist exacerbates the oppression that activists experience in their everyday life, resulting in exacerbated emotional turmoil and mental health struggles, all as a

consequence of resisting systemic oppression and seeking to make change. In fact, Gorski and Chan reports that 10 out of 14 participants experienced a deterioration of physical or mental health due to their social justice (Gorski and Chan: 2015, 396). While these findings should not be surprising, it is worthwhile examining what exactly is behind the overwhelming mental health struggles of those dedicated to resistance. Vice News examined the issue, concluding that “often, sexism and racism pervades activists’ own ranks, compounding the stress and anxiety women and activists of color may already be experiencing as a result of their work” (Solis: 2018). There is also clear evidence that suggests activism to be traumatic in itself; in interacting with police, speaking about racial violence, and other forms of resistance are truly just interacting with emphasizes trauma triggers that activists continuously deal with while participating in their resistance (Solis: 2018). Whether it is coming face-to-face with violent police forces, or experiencing online harassment from white supremacists, an integral symptom of resistance regrettably en-

tails facing the exact type of oppression one is trying to dismantle. Consequently, there is no way to be an activist without resigning one’s own well-being and peace to destruction. This is especially true for minorities who participate in resistance, who often face generational trauma with the frameworks of resistance—family members and friends who have been targeted, shunned, and harmed. Their commitment to the cause means they are constantly opening up their own wounds surrounding their oppression. Fatima Chan, 19, explained to Teen Vogue that being in activism means she “hears a lot about Black trauma and little about Black joy” (Stauffer: 2021). Gorski describes this experience as racial battle fatigue, or the general deterioration of one’s own well-being that occurs from both experiencing oppression as a person of color and constantly attempting to advocate against it as an activist (Silva: 2020). This is then amplified by the fact that more than ever, activists are expected to also be mentors, to be projectors of education and teach people about their oppression. This is a phenomenon that particularly became apparent during the momentum gained by the Black Lives

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Matter movement in the summer of 2020, in which many Black activists reported being flooded with questions about their experiences and how their friends could learn more. Danielle Hairstan, a psychiatry residency training director at Howard University Hospital says that asking Black people to teach you about their struggles is “an additional burden for black activists... you have people who are saying ‘we’re allies “but are asking you to teach them... but it should really be more of a collaborative effort” (Silva: 2020). In examining how resistance is unfairly a burden for minorities, it is also significant to examine how this is still true, if not even more negatively consequential, for youth involved in activism. When young people are constantly considered the beacons of change, they face an extra pressure to commit to their activism despite the stress it might place. Youth are also more susceptible to be exploited in the name of resistance; they are drained of all zealous excitement to tackle the world and passion that they can dismantle what harms them. The ‘youth’ label opens up larger questions about the

commodification of youth, how that pressure impacts social justice or political work” (Stauffer: 2021). Stories of young activists are inspiring and easily palatable for the public—images of teenagers who are eloquent and impassioned are more impressive to be displayed within the media than other activists. However, when one connects this to the emotional toll described above, the commodification of young activists is just another level in which activists bear the unfair consequences of their own work. Moreover, it is important to emphasize that these conditions are further exacerbated by the effects of tokenism. As activism becomes more popularized through the mobilizing efforts of social media and general changes in social attitudes, this paves the way for activists to be used for big corporations’ own personal agendas, rather than genuinely supported. In reference to LGBT media and mainstream magazines like out magazine, and Instagram accounts like the account Diet Prada, have posted tributes to Marsha P. Johnson, many Queer activists felt like their movement was being used for commercial profit (Ya-

kovlev: 2020). Aude Konan spoke in particular to this event, noting that oftentimes activists like Marsha P. Johnson are glorified in order for brands to redeem themselves of any accusations of racism (Yakovlev: 2020). This feeling of being used for profit—both monetary and reputation-wise—would only worsen the emotional burden of being an activist. While minorities have to take on the anxiety, stress, and triggers of their own advocacy, they must also deal with navigating which corporations have their best intentions at heart. Moreover, there is an emotional rollercoaster of working with corporations which seem to be making strides towards greater social awareness, only to realize they are being used for business motivations. This tumultuous relationship with media and big corporations has been ever-so present with the social media traction of Black Lives Matter. While many big corporations showed their support through aesthetically pleasing social media posts, as Black activists faced physical abuse at the hands of police, many wondered if this representation will be there after #blacklivesmatter leaves the

Issue I: Resistance

headlines (Yakovlev: 2020). Again, being taken advantage of, while activists struggle to see their movements make substantial change and face emotional turmoil, will only worsen their mental health condition. The overwhelming result of this tokenism, the commodification of youth activists, and the emotional triggers, is that while minorities are expected to advocate, they end up feeling disillusioned with advocacy as a whole. Gorski emphasized in his paper; the culture of martyrdom within the activist community would lead to people feeling guilty for prioritizing their mental health (Gorski and Chan: 2015, 400). This ultimately leads to minorities staying within the movement until they officially burnout —causing withdrawal from activism as a whole. Paul Gorski expressed his concern over the fact that his research depicted a direct path line from burnout to withdrawal, reminding people that “when you have so many people burningout and leaving, it really messes up the potential for these movements to be effective” (Solis: 2018).

The emotional turmoil of being an activist eventually results in people having to leave the movement for their own mental health. As movements lose members due to the psychological burden, they lose the potential ability to make real social change. Thus, activism in itself is a double-edged sword: if you commit to a life of advocacy, you take on the onus of emotional distress, but if you prioritize your wellbeing you are accused of abandoning the quest for justice. This piece intended to highlight how the idealization of resistance must be addressed in order to recognize how the brunt of this burden unduly falls on solely marginalized groups. While activism is depicted as an honorable commitment, it should be noted how minorities put themselves through emotional turmoil in the name of advocacy. Moreover, they are often exploited, starting from a young age, and expected to dedicate their own peace in order for the glorified understanding of resistance. Resistance in itself should be a commitment of society, not just of the individual—espe-

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cially individuals who have to regularly face oppression in their personal life. If the burden of resistance continues to be placed on the shoulders of minorities, one can expect the movements themselves to be hindered by the eventual dissolution of their members. There may not be a way to end the emotional turmoil of being an activist: facing struggle as you reject a system of oppression is in many ways, inherent to the process of resistance as a whole. However, there is much room for allyship to expand and improve; it is not enough to show your support for an oppressed groups’ movement if you are ignoring their pain and struggle in doing so. One cannot ride along with the momentum of a movement if those on the front lines are being drained of their mental wellbeing—there is a social duty to step up and take their own responsibility in advocacy to alleviate the stress. There is a requirement to provide genuine support to those who bear the burden of resistance; the applause is not enough to sustain social change.

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THREADS OF THOUGHT By: Sara-Maya Kaba

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The Sexual Body is a Site of Spiritual Battle. Part I: Spears of sensation hitting Shields of morality. Swords of pleasure tearing Emblems of innocence. A bow of desire releasing An arrow of sin. The sexual body is a site of spiritual battle…. Part II:

Part III

With scars of shame and wounds of guilt Cloaking damaged surfaces of my body, I become the battlefield and the warrior. Armed with medicinal verses and prayers Everyone around me becomes a doctor of repentance, Reminding me that God on their side And their demons are on mine. The sexual body is a site of spiritual battle…

A holy battle Full of contradictions. The battle of the sacred becoming the profane And the individual becoming the public. The battle that seems personal until we celebrate the suhaag raat* announcing to the world SHE WILL HAVE SEX TONIGHT No she can have sex tonight. The battle that seems personal until law makers invoke the name of Christ in court to deny women the rights over their bodies. The battle that seems personal until until we weaponize protection to maintain control over sanctity, righteousness and colored bodies. The sexual body is a site of spiritual battle…

*Suhaag Raat: In the Indian subcontinent, the night of the wedding when the marriage is consummated

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Part IV The sexual body is a site of spiritual battle… My sanctuary is His hands on my hips a place of congregation and gathering. Just him and me In the house of Light The room is dark I lower my head in prayer And I look up into his longing eyes, Giving thanks Wanting more, Asking for forgiveness Giving me another reason to sin. Turning momentarily away from the world His lips caress the side of my face Towards the Divine, He pulls me in towards him Longing to reduce the space There’s no more space between us.

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Hijra. Migration. Movement. Golden dhaage weave into the intricate border of her saree; she graces the ground she walks on. She embodies Resistance. Normalcy. Divinity. She is a reminder.

From one existence to the next, she migrates Negotiating, Worshipping, Worshiped. Paradoxical, isn’t it? On some days we treat her like a Goddess, asking for her blessings On some days we treat her like a monster, dictating to her what her existence should look like. On some days she goes home as a father, a labourer, married to a woman On some days she does up her bra and applies makeup for another kothi sister. The ordinary is tethered to the divine. She is both ordinary and divine. She is a traveler. A Migrator, Between realms Between normals Between words of acceptance and abuse Between what society can comprehend, and what it can’t. She is beautiful.

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Issue I: Resistance

If God Was a Single Mother: If You were human, Would you be like us? Messy. Confused. Struggling. Experimenting And… A little lost? Would you be the single mother working remotely, balancing a laptop with one hand, And soothing a crying kid in the other? Would you also have plans cooking on the stove, Catastrophes spread across the bedrooms And a phone to your ear listening to someone’s complaints over all the noise? Would you also have days where it’s too much? Days when you need a hand, a friend to rant to, and someone to babysit your kids for a while? Would you also need some alone time? Someone else to give you direction? Someone to clasp your hand in theirs, to look into your eyes, and reassure you that this is temporary? You know, I don’t think that you’d give me a struggle that you haven’t lived through… So, my lord, on days when it’s too much for me, please remind me That you are my single mother. That I am your child. And if you could raise me alone, Then maybe I can do this alone. Remind me.

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Ar-Rahman, Ar-Rahim. Of the 114 chapters in the Quran, 113 start with these words. Imagine. Imagine introducing yourself 113 times. Imagine how important those words must be For you to open with them

One Hundred and Thirteen times. In the name of God, the Infinitely Merciful. In the name of God, Eternally Compassionate. No. That does not do justice to those words. Being infinitely merciful and eternally compassionate still places You too far My merely human heart cannot comprehend those words. Rahman and Rahim come from ‫م–ح–ر‬ the womb. I can’t understand God’s love for me, But I can partially understand a mother’s. You are gloriously, majestically, transcendent. Sure. Cool story, bro. But, you are not just out there. You are also right here. You are closer to me Than the fish are to the sea. And I am closer to you Than a child is to a mother in her womb. Your nurturing, enveloping womb sustains me. Ya Rab – you are the gardener and I am the garden. Ar-Rahman. Ar-Rahim. Imagine telling me that I am the child in your womb 113 times in the same book. Imagine what that means…

Imagine Introducing Yourself 113 Times.

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The Ordinary is Tethered to the Divine: “The ordinary is tethered to the divine” (Ellen Barry, “Mortal to Divine” 2016). I had written this piece and realized afterwards that I merged discussions of Jogappas, Kothis, and Hijras into one piece, which is not fair to the experiences of any. Acknowledging this, I have still chosen to include it in this collection as I hope it conveys the beauty that I was exposed to in my journey of exploring religion and sexuality. Individuals belonging to these communities occupy spaces of resistance and non-normative ways of being – especially in societies in the Indian subcontinent that seem to grow more patriarchal with each passing day. In efforts to echo this way of existence that challenges normativity, I have chosen the title of my work to instead appear in the middle of the piece.

The Sexual Body is a Site of Spiritual Battle: “There is an intimate connection between this spirited imagination whereby demons lurk hoping to penetrate bodies... The sexual body is a site of spiritual battle” (Nathanael Homewood, 2019, p. 116). Part I and II of this piece are a response to Homewood 2019, as well as the documentary God Loves Uganda, in which it is evident that gay bodies are often imagined as nothing short of demonic. Religion, and specifically Christianity, in the aforementioned material is the antidote to the ‘evil’ that is being gay, and non-heteronormative sexuality is considered sin in these spaces. Part III was inspired by the words of Dr. Natasha Bissonauth (2021) in a private lecture, who discussed the weaponization of contraception against women of color, and explained how women are denied the rights over their bodies in American courts of law. Scott Kugle (2007) demonstrates through the love of Madho and Shah Husayn that sexuality is the bodily manifestation of love, and love is the manifestation of God. Part IV thus blurs the normative boundaries of spirituality and sexuality.

Ar-Rahman, Ar-Rahim: “We are thinking about systemic inequality, like, whose religion counts as real religion in the courts. I will give you one guess and you don’t need it because you already know that it’s the white men’s religion, and specifically white men’s mainstream Christianity” (Goodwin & Fuerst, p. 6). White men’s mainstream Christianity, and white women’s. Even discussions around the Goddess (in this part of the world) tend to center Christianity. But, this piece is addressed to the feminine Divine discussed (at least) 113 times in the Quran – This is the Divine that is nurturing, sustaining, and enveloping. This is the Divine that never tires of telling us, over and over and over, how loved we are. This is the Divine that surrounds us from the inside and the outside, and who keeps us safe in her womb. This piece was heavily influenced by a session Dr. Omid Safi (2021), who discussed mystical interpretations of the Quran, and particularly, Surah al Fatiha – the opening chapter of the Quran.

God

Was

Single

Mother:

“The simplest and most basic meaning of the symbol of Goddess is the acknowledgment of the legitimacy of female power as a beneficent and independent power” (Christ, 1978 p. 4).

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Photos by Erwin Blumenfield

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youth voices

critical writing challenge

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Issue I: Resistance

Introduction:

Mark Mysak

am a secondary teacher in the Canadian and World Studies department at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in downtown Ottawa. I teach for social change within a provincial education system that is broken. Current education policy tends to perceive students as “sponges” that absorb information passively and which is then regurgitated onto standardized tests. It is in this context that schools are increasingly emphasizing mathematics, the “hard” sciences and technology, while relegating the social sciences, arts and humanities to the margins. Instead of learning how to think for themselves, develop convictions and stand up for their beliefs, students are learning how to pass tests and conform to authority. This is troubling because it upholds the institutionalized status quo, in the process reinforcing the belief that the

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current political-economic system is somehow “natural” and therefore unchangeable. From the perspective of an educator committed to social transformation, this approach is flawed since it presumes that social change occurs by good citizens working within current institutions and systems. Provincial curriculums reflect this view by defining citizenship in terms of personal values and character building. Social justice and sustainability are attainable if each person adopts virtuous character traits, such as empathy, altruism and personal re-

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sponsibility. From this perspective, the world will get better if we all donate to charities, volunteer, and vote at elections – hence, become good citizens in the liberal sense of the term. The good news is that there is a different approach, and that is teaching for social change. A concrete example will help distinguish

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both approaches. The focus on personal responsibility addresses environmental problems through “green” values and individual lifestyle changes, such as using CFL light bulbs, conserving water, and reducing, reusing and recycling. The presupposition is that sustainability is foremost a matter of changing everyday personal habits. The problem, however, is that emphasizing individual “green” behaviours deflects attention from the socioeconomic and political dimensions of ecological problems. In contrast, an approach that teaches for social change stresses that the root causes of environmental problems are structural in origin, in other words, traceable to an economic system, consumer culture, class differentials, systemic power relations, and so on, that intersect to produce environmental problems. From this perspective, solving environmental issues requires that citizens transform the dominant power structures that systematically uphold and perpetuate these problems. I teach for social change. The academic buzzword for what I do is critical pedagogy – in short, the goal of education is not to learn about the world, but rather to change it. I believe in the power of education, but only when it is done correctly. Foremost, students should develop the critical thinking skills needed to question authority and challenge the status quo, identify the root causes of societal problems, and collectively solve problems in the goal of creating a more just, equitable and sus-

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tainable society. In my experience, once students begin asking critical questions they become increasingly politicized. For example, who makes policy decisions and who is excluded? Who benefits and who suffers disproportionate burdens? Are given practices, policies, and decisions fair? Are there better alternatives? What is our responsibility and what can we do? Posing these questions is a political act insofar that students learn about real world problems and their root causes and, most importantly, imagine pragmatic ways of dealing with them. My pedagogical methods have evolved since entering the teaching profession. Instead of perceiving myself as a bearer of knowledge who lectures, I now perceive my role as one of facilitator, which is to say that my academic background provides a reference point for students to develop their own knowledge and understanding, think critically about multiple perspectives, make connections between various issues, and engage with the subject matter in ways that make sense to them. And instead of in-class tests, I provide students with a choice of open-ended assignments that foster critical thinking on a variety of topics. I assigned the PGEP question on political resistance to my Grade 10 History and Grade 12 Politics classes since it is part of the growing base of pedagogical resources available for teaching social change. I believe firmly that it is political resistance that drives

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social change as exemplified in the accomplishments of social movements, past and present. Yet, political resistance is not always synonymous with social activism and civil disobedience, such as the Friday’s for Future school climate strikes. Public acts are important but they are only the tip of the iceberg as there are multiple ways to engage in political resistance, with many being invisible. Creating music and art, for example, or sending emails to a city councilor are both acts of political resistance insofar as they concern a social issue, just like affirming and celebrating the identities of marginalized groups can help create inclusive and safe spaces at school and the community at large. The point is that wherever there is power, resistance is possible, and therefore all realms of daily life are important sites of political struggle. It is this realization that fuels my fire to continue teaching in the current neoliberal context. There are cracks in the foundation of the education system, and therein lies the soil from which the rhizome of social change will sprout.

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Elle Abray-Nyman

Brynn Kilger

Harvard Matt

Liza Mavrinskaya

Rayan Ahmed

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Issue I: Resistance

Political Resistance By Rayan Ahmed Hey, my name’s Rayan Ahmed. I’m in the 12th grade at Lisgar Collegiate Institute. I’ve lived in the downtown Ottawa area my whole life.

At the time that I am writing this, trucks from all over Canada assemble in the center of Ottawa. They are calling themselves peaceful protesters, but their Nazi and Confederate flags suggest otherwise. These trucks have forced the citizens of Ottawa who either work or live downtown to be vocal and to share their horrible experience in efforts to cope with the turmoil brought upon their neighborhoods by the truckers. Despite their obvious lack of concern for their impact on Canadian lives, what they are doing qualifies as political resistance. This all begs the question, what exactly are these truckers protesting? The answer here lies in the new COVID-19 mandates. These truckers have no doubt faced difficult times over the last two years, difficulties shared by the rest of Canada due to the pandemic. Does this give them the right to act and have their voice heard? Yes. Does this give them the right to go do what-

ever they want? No, not at all. To me, political resistance is justifiable until the lives of citizens begin to be affected negatively. But what exactly is political resistance? Well, political resistance can take many different forms. A constant among all types of political resistance; the fact that it must be carried out by a group with enough volume to threaten civil order. Never has an act of political resistance (to my knowledge) had success in being carried out by only one person. Political resistance includes both peaceful and violent demonstrations against the government and/or administrative personnel ruling over society. This often includes those who resist tyranny or dictatorship. In responding to extreme levels of oppression, we can see political resistance take radical forms as well, despite my belief that violent movements are unjustifiable and morally reprehensible. There also exist examples of political resistance in which underground libertarian organizations engage in conflict for national liberation in some totalitarian countries. Personally, the only form of po-

litical resistance that I recall participating in is peaceful/non-violent protesting. As recently as this school year, I participated in two different peaceful protests. Both movements were in protest of the ongoing injustices on Ethiopian soil, and the heavily biased news sources reporting on this globally. In both protests we, the Ethiopian people of Canada, drove our cars, waved our flags, and marched through downtown Ottawa for hours to draw the attention of those in power. To be transparent, I found the two experiences rewarding, and would be happy to do it again; being there with my friends made it even better. Further, I felt connected to my culture on a deeper level, whether it was the abundance of people who look just like me all around or the Ethiopian music that played through our speakers as we marched through town. One thing is for certain – I haven’t had many other experiences in my life that have filled me with the same amount of pride for who I am and where I come from. Political resistance need not be as instantaneous as the examples I mentioned previ-

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“Here’s to strong women: May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them.” ~ Unknown “There is no force more powerful than a woman determined to rise.”

“Feminism isn’t about making women strong. Women are already strong. It’s about changing the way the world perceives that strength.” ~ G.D. Anderson

movement – to remember the battle, the sacrifices and the hard work of generations of women, but also to remember that it is not over yet and there is still a lot of work left to do. For centuries, women were neglected, dependent on men, considered incapable of

making their own decisions, and both physically and mentally weak. In short, they were not people. The constant oppression initiated women to become more active and to campaign for change. They wanted to be heard, so they went on the streets and protested, demanding the right

Elle Abray-Nyman

Every year on March 8th, people all over the world celebrate International Women’s Day, one of the celebrations I appreciate the most, because for me, it is a symbol of political resistance of women. It is the celebration of the accomplishments of the feminist

Liza Mavrinskaya is a grade 10 student at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa, Ontario. She enjoys creative writing, playing cello and piano, and learning languages. She is really passionate about women’s rights, and hopes to actively participate in building a more just and equal society.

Brynn Kilger

~ W.E.B. Dubois

By Liza Mavrinskaya

Harvard Matt

International Women’s Day

what he continues doing day by day, he is slowly combating the effects of systemic racism by means of drawing underprivileged youth from less fortunate situations, and gives them something to look forward to. Gerald, and many others like him, are doing their part to resist socioeconomic and political injustices in our society, one step at a time.

Liza Mavrinskaya

been 10 years since I met Gerald, and he has been nothing less than a role model since. He lives his life trying to improve the quality of life of underprivileged youth around him. He does so by providing food for the community, and by organizing meaningful and rewarding activities and programs for youth. His work is truly inspiring. Just by doing

Rayan Ahmed

ously. Certain forms of political resistance can be long and slow journeys made by people every day by simply going about their lives. A specific person that comes to mind is a man by the name of Gerald Dragon. For the last 10 years Gerald has been a youth worker in the Sandy Hill community of Ottawa, the community in which I grew up. It has

PGEP

Issue I: Resistance

Elle Abray-Nyman

Brynn Kilger

Harvard Matt

Liza Mavrinskaya

Rayan Ahmed

to vote, a shorter work day and better salaries. The development of this long-standing movement for women to participate equally in society in North America and across Europe led to the idea of an International Women’s Day. In March 1911 the first International Women’s Day was celebrated in Germany, Austria, Denmark and Switzerland, when more than one million people, both men and women, showed their support by participating in various public demonstrations. Since those early years, International Women’s Day has grown to become a global day of celebration where women are recognized for their achievements, and in 1977, the United Nations designated March 8th as International Women’s Day; a global day to recognize the achievements of women, to put pressure

on their demands and resist to the politics of a sexist society. Every year, Canada choses a new theme for International Women’s Day. The 2016 theme is one of my favourites: “Women’s Empowerment Leads to Equality.” For me, empowerment means having the tools to make better choices, being better equipped to fulfill one’s potential and to contribute to society. It includes several components, such as knowing one’s democratic rights, having access to education and becoming financially independent. Women and girls play an essential role in politics, in the business world and at home. Nevertheless, they often confront legal, cultural and social obstacles that prevent them from attaining their full potential and contribute fully to their communities. When they

have the resources and opportunities to be successful, it enriches the whole society. Empowered women make choices that meet their own needs and those of their families, and when this happens, the world becomes a much better place – not only for women, but for everyone. We are all stronger when women and girls are empowered! In 2021, the United Nations chose the theme “Women in Leadership: Achieving an Equal Future in a COVID-19 World” for International Women’s Day. I think this was an excellent choice, because the pandemic risks eradicating 25 years of progress and movement, made by women. Femicide and sexual abuse are particularly worrying subjects – rates increased significantly since the start of the pandemic. Women

Issue I: Resistance

Brynn Kilger

My name is Harvard Matt and I am currently a grade 12 student at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa, Ontario. I will be graduating as part of the class of 2022 and will likely be coming to Queen’s next year as a Political Science major!

Elle Abray-Nyman

By Harvard Matt

Harvard Matt

Political Resistance: An Ontario Reality?

secondary education. I can do any job I want. I can become a doctor, or a prime minister, or a scientist. When I am eighteen, I shall exercise my duty and right to vote. Thank you to all Canadian women who have fought for this. I acknowledge that not everyone has these opportunities and I will fight for the rights of people around the world. Let us celebrate International Women’s Day every year! Let us remember and appreciate everything women have accomplished and all that they are continually striving to achieve to make our world a much better and brighter place. And let us not forget that there is still a lot of work we can do.

Liza Mavrinskaya

remains to be done. Women are still more exposed to verbal and physical harassment and sexual abuse, receive less promotions and smaller salaries; they are less likely to have access to health care and food, especially those in impoverished communities. Therefore, I want to emphasize the importance of International Women’s Day, and raise awareness about this day. Every year on March 8th we remember the accomplishments of women, and renew our engagements to create a world that is more positive, fair and equal. It is the day on which we – as girls – must remember that we can make a difference and change our world. I can go to school. I can choose my post-

Rayan Ahmed

are also performing a lot more domestic work, which has impacted their education and work opportunities. That is why political resistance is particularly important now. In my opinion, International Women’s Day is a perfect opportunity to celebrate, reflect and take action. Political resistance plays a crucial role in the movement, so if we resist the governments and the racist society, little by little, things will start to change. We will not attain complete equality now, nor in ten years; however, what we do today will have a big impact on the results our children will see. In conclusion, despite the successes of women’s political resistance over the years, much

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Elle Abray-Nyman

Brynn Kilger

Harvard Matt

Liza Mavrinskaya

Rayan Ahmed

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Issue I: Resistance

Political resistance is a very interesting idea. There is a fairly accepted and accurate definition: resistance is a type of collective civil disobedience. It involves physical presence and solidarity; it appeals to moral law or human rights; it’s usually illegal, but nonviolent; it’s locally based in a community; its activists are angry citizens and lower-level officials (Walzer, 2017). Really, it’s the idea of a group of citizens marching together in some type of protest against the government, or government statues that are caused by a problem. Personally, I want to question the validity of this definition. To have real resistance, the government must face real problems. I think this is the difference between performative action and real action. I’ll give you an example: The citizen group was the Ontario high school students who wanted to strike over global warming. On September 20, 2019, many of the OCDSB students left school to march in front of Parliament. This is the definition of political resistance. But, there are key details that I did not include in my description of the event. The teachers supported the decision to strike. The school encouraged the strike. The email account that belonged to the schools sent a message to the students encouraging the strike. The same schools that are controlled by the government that the students were protesting against. Nothing to change in the government, nothing to change

in the school and all things went back to normal. With the new details, is this really a social movement? Was the government forced to change to comply with the students’ demands? In my opinion, the answer is no. But why didn’t it work? It was literally the definition of political resistance, but nothing to change. This is not real resistance. So, did I see a real example of political change? To be completely honest, I don’t think I saw a real demonstration of political resistance in Ottawa. It’s hard to say I’ve seen a real example of political resistance in my life, but I think the closest example would be the Black Lives Matter marches in 2020. I wouldn’t entirely say it’s a perfect example of political resistance, but I’ll explain that a bit later. The BLM marches were very interesting to me, not least because it was a fairly global movement, reaching every part of North America and many other parts of the world. Also, there are real victories that are won by the movement. Derek Chauvin’s conviction was one of these big victories. But I don’t think this represents a real change. It’s resistance, and I’m convinced that the government has been under very real pressure, but they have escaped without truly changing much. As the world saw, there was pressure placed upon them, and the government escaped by working to do as little as possible. Chauvin was the scapegoat for the government

and the majority of people who supported the BLM movement simply stopped thinking about it. This is my central problem with saying that this is real political change. It was the closest I’ve seen in my life, but nothing has changed in Canada. It’s real pressure on the government, but hasn’t resulted in big changes. My real conclusion after writing this essay is that political resistance in Ottawa, or in the parts of Canada controlled mostly by white people is not really a thing. That is not to say that it is impossible, because you can see people committed to trying to make changes. There’s a shipment of people coming in cars from Vancouver to try to fight against mandated vaccinations for international truck drivers (Dubinski, 2022). We’ll see what happens with this protest, but I could say with real confidence that the government will probably wait a couple of days, then they’ll do a little message in support of the protesters, slightly change the regulations, and then the trucks will leave, and return to business as usual. It’s hard to make real political change in Canada, but I don’t think it’s impossible, it’s just that the population hasn’t found something unanimous enough to gain the support of at least five percent of the population. I’m looking for the day when we’ll see real change, but at this point in my life, I have nothing that I can say is real political resistance.

Issue I: Resistance

By Brynn Kilger

Brynn Kilger Elle Abray-Nyman

in Montreal, and the event became the largest demonstration in the history of Quebec with 500,000 people in attendance. Tactics used in political resistance help initiate significant change for many issues, especially movements concerning the environment. Three large movements that helped the political advancement of environmental conservation include the creation of the World Wildlife Fund in 1961. This was a huge advancement in showing just how seriously we are taking the ongoing climate crisis. This organization works to promote the conservation of habitat, biodiversity, and ecological development, as well as scientific research. A second advancement took place on April 22nd, 1970, more widely known as Earth Day. This day was created with the intention of being a “teachin” for only a few universities, but has since attracted the attention of millions, internationally. In my opinion, this day can be credited for igniting several

Harvard Matt

Political resistance has a different significance for each of us, there being varying definitions. In observing the evolution of politics over the last decades, we can see the impact and the importance that environmental political resistance has had in Canada. What does environmental political resistance look like? To me, this looks like resisting change or governmental ignorance regarding social and economic problems. There exists many different forms of and approaches to resistance, some more efficient than others. Blockades are frequently used for environmental resistance movements; they are introduced to interrupt the everyday life of citizens and governments to highlight the problem the group looks to rectify. An example of recent is one in which the members of the Wet’suwet’en Nation

protested the construction of a pipeline through their land. There was fear instilled that this new pipeline would pose concern by means of polluting their fresh water source and environment. The group utilized their mass to make blockades and to prohibit passage and progression of construction. Another form of political resistance is mass demonstration, or rallies. I believe this form of political resistance is most useful for me as a student, because these demonstrations take place throughout my school day. This way, there is a greater chance I could encourage my friends to participate, and my teachers would notice my absence, therefore drawing immediate attention. When gathering, it is very hard to ignore the demands of the protesters, and it is very easy to attract the attention of citizens or government officials using the presence of important figures such as Greta Thunberg. On September 27th, 2019, Thunberg appeared at a rally

Liza Mavrinskaya

My name is Brynn Kilger. I was born in Ottawa and currently am a grade 10 student at Lisgar Collegiate Institute. In my spare time I enjoy being active and playing sports such as hockey and ultimate frisbee.

Rayan Ahmed

Environmental Political Resistance

PGEP

Elle Abray-Nyman

Brynn Kilger

Harvard Matt

Liza Mavrinskaya

Rayan Ahmed

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Issue I: Resistance

other environmental resistance movements. This third and final movement for the advancement of environmental protection took place at a governmental level. In 1989, the Green Party of Canada was founded by Trevor Hancock, and the party works to demonstrate that there would always be a group at the

political level focusing on health and environmental protection. I believe that we must appreciate political resistance, because it is to this act that we owe thanks that our world has progressed. Without resistance our world would be very different, and not necessarily in a good way. Women, members of

What Does Political Resistance in the LGBTQ+ Community Look Like to Me?

the BIPOC and LGBTQ+ communities, the environment, and others would all be ignored and fail to receive the rights and platforms they deserve. Today, change begins with, and counts on young people to act and to stand up for what they believe in.

By Elle Abray-Nyman My name is Elle Abray-Nyman, I am 15 years old and I’m a grade 10 student at Lisgar Collegiate Institute. I am deeply interested in the development of the world in all aspects and the ways in which we can improve as a society. I believe that young people have more power and strength that others often overlook and I aspire to be a part of the change happening around the world in the ways that I can.

In my opinion, political resistance resembles human strength, and thanks to that, personal, social, and governmental progress. Without political resistance, none of the progress that has taken place in society could have happened. Without those who were, and are, strong enough to stand up and fight for what is right, everything would be the same as it was 100 or even 1000 years ago. No matter what form it took, political resistance is the reason we are where we are today. Whether it’s strikes, sit-ins, walkouts, social media posts, or petitions, political resistance is about helping to make the world a better place for everyone, not just those who are most powerful. All of this is relevant in the case of the LGBTQ+ community and their ongoing struggle for visibility, rights and equality. Every year, there is a Pride Parade during Pride Month: a time to celebrate the social and personal acceptance, rights, accomplishments and pride of the LGBTQ+ community. It is an opportunity for LGBTQ+ people to feel comfortable, whether they are new to the community or not. Regardless of wheth-

Issue I: Resistance

Harvard Matt Brynn Kilger Elle Abray-Nyman

ty to grow up as themselves and function safely thereafter. Poor education or lack of education about LGBTQ+ issues in society and our smaller communities can lead to LGBTQ+ teens feeling isolated, confused, and engaging in dangerous behaviors. In these cases and many others, secure social media is a very useful way for young people to learn about the community and develop a better understanding. But, social media can do the opposite and be another source of misinformation. These platforms can plant inaccurate information in young teens’ heads, which can lead to identity crises or the spread of unnecessary information. But finding the right resources on the right platforms can be a huge tool. Some helpful Instagram accounts are @feminist, @lgbt_history, and @lgbt. There are also many role models on all sorts of social media that set a good example for youth in the LGBTQ+ community and share their personal experiences. Some examples are @lavernecox, @alokvmenon. @repdavids, @jvn, @kearagraves and @theebillyporter. In conclusion, there are countless ways in which political resistance emerges. Each has its own benefits and dangers, but each is a step in the direction of social justice. Political resistance shows strength, determination, and change that has been made and can still be made possible in society. Even without the purpose of resistance, these media are extremely useful every day to thousands and even millions of people, and that’s what really matters in the end.

Liza Mavrinskaya

as those who were in trouble. Artists like Elton John, Freddie Mercury, David Bowie, George Michael, and many others were inspirations who helped many people feel comfortable with their identities. Even though the government said that gay people could not express love in public or “promote” homosexuality, these musicians resisted; they did it anyway, and did good for this community along the way. Today, music is still a big resource for people of all ages in the LGBTQ+ community to find their identity, and to feel heard and comfortable with themselves. Music has not only helped individuals, but has also helped associations and groups at large. An album was made in 1990 called Red Hot & Blue which featured contemporary pop musicians performing music by Cole Porter. All the money raised from the album went to varying pioneering AIDS organizations, which placed pressure on the government and pharmaceutical companies to release the drugs that allow people today to live with HIV, and move toward its destigmatization. Finally, social media is a very important medium for political resistance in the young LGBTQ+ community. Many people in Generation Z have, and continue to grow up in homophobic or non-supportive environments, which leads to poor education, ignorance, and even more homophobia. Schools also do not teach enough about the history of sex and health education of LGBTQ+ people. Such situations are dangerous for members of the LGBTQ+ communi-

Rayan Ahmed

er some people don’t like it, or think it’s wrong, the LGTBQ+ community can show that being part of this community is something to celebrate, not hide. I went to the Pride Parade in 2016 when I didn’t know I was bisexual yet. I think now that having the chance to see such a strong community has helped me become comfortable with my sexuality. These parades exist for exactly that reason: to show people that they can be safe and loved just the way they are, no matter what people say. Additionally, during Pride Month the community has the opportunity to share their stories and experiences to those who can learn from them; it is a time to reflect on LGBTQ+ history, and their efforts for rights and equality. However, political resistance is not only about protests and marches. It can also happen in art, specifically, music. Music is a perfect medium for resistance and education (especially in the 1970s) because everyone had access to it in one way or another. In the 70s, not everyone was lucky enough to have a television, or let alone a house, so the only other ways to keep up with the world was through radio, newspapers, or music. At that time, homosexuality had just been decriminalized, but many people in the LGBTQ+ community still felt obligated, or wanted to keep their identities hidden, and it was very lonely and confusing. So who was going to help these people feel safe? Not the government or the newspaper owners, but the musicians who were in the same position

PGEP

the shapes Opening the afterword to a political journal with the slogan “the personal is political” is perhaps too on the nose. But throughout this inaugural publication of Perspectives on Gender, Equity, and Politics the space has been made where this rings true. The ways in which resistance shows up in the pieces throughout this journal act to bear witness to the fractal legacies of resistance — from the personal to collective. What gets lost in neutrality or objectivity? The ways in which emotion and personal influence are seen as a detriment to logic and knowledge, this journal has created a space here and now of witnessing how politics has become entangled with personhood. PGEP, as space and a collection, is resistance itself to the expectations of acceptable knowledge; resistance to the ways in which as resisters we present our realities. By resisting the expectation and fallacy of neutrality within academic and institutional knowledge an opening is created to question

of resistance not just within the context of this journal, but within the current paradigm of politics. Confronting the privilege of the illusion/delusion of neutrality. To witness is to pay attention—to give space in time and psyche—to the stories and knowledge of each other. To receive what is resonant and to resonate with one another. The resonance reverberates through community, through generations, through mass action, organization, and individual reflection and research. In resistance and witnessing, we create new shapes. We hold open a door and forge paths for those who come after us. Leaving trails through devastation and flourishing, creating cracks through which future generations can flow through without the stress of resistance. Allowing for the work of reinforcing, and expanding that which we create together through shared spaces and times. afterword by: jacquie shaw

Future Ancestors Services

to rest, to resist, This is a somatic (integrating the mind and body) practice. Prompting and guiding you-us-one as a moment of rest and connection. Acting as a respite to transition from witnessing the resistance of others to witnessing and returning to the self. [Begin] What is it to resist, to feel the resistance of the many, of ourselves? Here is a place to rest, to reflect, to self-witness, feel the body, be present at the individual level of resistance. Pausing, close the eyes or soften the gaze. Take a beat to observe your state, with gentle compassion and curiosity; what does this body hold within and against, through, and from resistance? [pause] [prompt] What is the shape of your resistance? (Explore the dimensionality) [pause] In this reflective stillness, we witness our individual shapes of resistance. Trace our physical shape; as if laying down on a large sheet of paper as a friend traces around us to create an outline — playfully, gently, friendly, and attentively. [Begin again] A small ball of light sprouts atop your head, as if it were the sprouts of seeds emerging from fertile soil in the warmth of spring. Follow the light as it traces your shape. Moving from the crown of your head leftwards and down along the temple, following past the place of ears and down the jaw, the neck, the shoulder. Around the arm, to the wrist, around each finger, rounding the thumb, and once again up the arm. To where arms meet torso. Against the side of the torso past ribs and waist.

to hold our shape. To hips, along outer thighs, around knees, down calves. Ankles. Feet. Toes. Inner foot. Ankle. Calves. Knees, continuing up one leg, completing half of the body. Beginning the journey back to the top of the head. Once again along the legs, around the feet. Ankles, calves, thighs, Right hip — Returning through the torso, through the waist, along the side. Meeting the right arm, throughout the fingers, to close the arm, to trace the shoulder. Returning to the neck. Returning to the temples. Returning, and completing this current shape of self. This moment of tracing. [pause] Making space here for a moment to feel the container of this form. To witness a personal shape. [prompt] What does this form withstand? [prompt] What are the boundaries of his form? [prompt] Within this space, what is created. With this form, what is created? [Return to as needed]

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Issue I: Resistance

bibliography “Maybe We’ll Make Something”: Feminist Theory Production in Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” and “Talkin’ ‘bout A Revolution” Darby Babin Browne, S. (2015). Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness. Durham: Duke University Press. Chapman, T. (1988). Fast Car [Song]. On Tracy Chapman [Album]. Elektra. Chapman, T. (1988). Talkin’ ‘bout a Revolution [Song]. On Tracy Chapman [Album]. Elektra. The Combahee River Collective. (1995). A Black Feminist Statement. In Beverly Guy-Sheftall (Ed.), Words of Fire: An Anthology of African-American Feminist Thought (pp. 232-239). New York: The New Press. Kaba, M. (2021). We Do This ‘Till We Free Us: Abolitionist Organizing and Transforming Justice. Chicago, IL: Haymarket Books. Maynard, R. 2017. Policing Black Lives: State Violence in Canada from Slavery to Present. Halifax & Winnipeg: Fernwood Publishing. McKittrick, K. 2006. Demonic Grounds: Black Women and the Cartographies of Struggle. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Million, D. (2014). There is a River in Me: Theory from Life. In Audra Simpson and Andrea Smith (Eds.), Theorizing Native Studies (pp. 31-42). Duke University Press. Walia, H. (2020). Border & Rule: Global Migration, Capitalism, and the Rise of Racist Nationalism. Halifax & Winnipeg: Fernwood Publishing.

Towards a Pedagogy of Care: Re-imagining academia for graduate-international students in the post-pandemic era Fairuz Sharif and Sohini Ganguly Bailey, M., and Miller, J. S. (2015). When Margins Become Centered:Black Queer Women in Front andOutside of the Classroom. Feminist Formations, 27(3), 168–188. https://muse.jhu.edu/article/607298 Bilge,S.(2013). Intersectionality undone:saving intersectionality from feminist intersectionality Studies.DuBois Review 10(2), 405-24.https://doi.org/10.1017/S1742058X13000283 Birk, M. (2017). Things That Make You Go Hmmm: Unmaking of the Racialized Self in a Graduate School Classroom. Atlantis, 38(1), 7-15.https://journals.msvu.ca/index.php/atlantis/article/view/4768/7-15 PDF Cantwell, B. (2015). Are international students cash cows? examining the relationship between new international undergraduate enrollments and institutional revenue at public colleges and universities in the US. Journal of International Students, 5(4), 512-525. https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/EJ1066279.pdf Charania, G. (2011). Grounding the global: A Call for More Situated Practices of Pedagogical and Political Engagement. ACME: An International Journal for Critical Geographies, 10(3), 351-371. https://acme-journal.org/index.php/acme/article/view/902/758 Corbera, E., Anguelovski, I., Honey-Rosés, J., &Mallén, R. I. (2020). Academia in the Time of COVID-19: Towards an Ethics of Care. Planning Theory & Practice, 21 (2), 191-199. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/14649357.2020.1757891 Coulton, M. (2020, November 9). How the pandemic has disrupted the lives of international students in Canada. Maclean’s. https://www.macleans.ca/education/how-the-pandemic-has-disrupted-the-lives-of-international-students-in-canada/ Cutrara, S. (2021). Beyond Pandemic Pedagogy: Thoughts on deconstruction, structure, and justice post-pandemic. The Councilor:A Journal of the Social Studies, 82(1), Article1.https://thekeep.eiu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1195&context=the_councilor Dolmage, T. J. (2017). Introduction: Academic Ableism; Disability and Higher Education. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Egan-Shelly, C. (2020). Testing the obligations of presence in academia in the COVID-19 era. Sustainability, 12(16), Article 6350. https://doi.org/10.3390/su12166350 Greely, T. H. (2020). Pandemic fairness and academia. Journal of Law and Biosciences, 7(1), 1-3. https://doi.org/10.1093/jlb/lsaa030 Griffin, G. (2012). The Compromised Researcher: Issues in Feminist Research Methodologies. SverigesSociologförbund, 49(4),333-347. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24393263 Hooks, B. (1994). Teaching to Transgress. New York: Routledge. Mehrotra, R. G. (2021). Centering a pedagogy of care in the pandemic. Qualitative Social Work, 21(1-2), 537–543.https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1473325020981079 Motta, C. S. (2020). F***professionalism: or why we cannot return to ‘normal’. Gender, Work and Organization, 27, 868-871. https://doi.org/10.3390/su12166350 Noh, E. J. (2019). Negotiating positions through reflexivity in international fieldwork. International Social Work, 62(1), 330-336. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0020872817725140 Rosso, D. G. (2021). How loss teaches: beyond “pandemic pedagogy”. Humanity and Society, 45(3), 423-434. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0160597620987008 Usher, A. (2016, December 12). How international tuition fees keep Canadian universities afloat. Higher Education Strategy Associates. https://higheredstrategy.com/how-international-tuition-fees-keep-canadian-universities-afloat/ Varughese, A., & Schwartz, S. (2022, January 24). The pandemic exposed the vulnerability of international students in Canada. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/the-pandemic-exposed-the-vulnerability-of-international-students-in-canada-174105

Toward a Decolonial Feminism and Ecological Applications: Examining Barriers and Possibilities in Canada Sofia Pennacchietti Bingham, B., Leo, D., Zhang, R., Montaner, J., & Shannon, K. (2014). Generational Sex Work and HIV Risk Among Indigenous Women in a Street-Based Urban Canadian Setting. Culture, health & sexuality, 16(4), 440-452. Holmes, C., Hunt, S., & Piedalue, A. (2015). Violence, Colonialism and Space: Towards a Decolonizing Dialogue. ACME: An International Journal for Critical Geographies, 14(2), 539-570. Koutouki, K., Lofts, K., & Davidian, G. (2018). A Rights‐Based Approach to Indigenous Women and Gender Inequities in Resource Development in Northern Canada. Review of European, Comparative & International Environmental Law, 27(1), 63-74. Kuokkanen, R. (2018). Gendered Environmental Assessments in the Canadian North: Marginalization of Indigenous Women and Traditional Economies. Gendered Environmental Assessments in the Canadian North.” Co-authored with Sheena Kennedy Dalseg, Suzanne Mills and Deborah Simmons. Northern Review (2018), 47, 135-166. Lugones, M. (2008). Coloniality and Gender. Tabula rasa, (9), 73-102. Lugones, M. (2006). On Complex Communication. Hypatia, 21(3), 75-85. Lugones, M. (2003). Pilgrimages/peregrinajes: Theorizing Coalition Against Multiple Oppressions. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Lugones, M. (2010). Toward a Decolonial Feminism. Hypatia, 25(4), 742-759. O’Faircheallaigh, C. (2013). Women’s Absence, Women’s Power: Indigenous Women and Negotiations with Mining Companies in Australia and Canada. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 36(11), 1789-1807. Whyte, K. P. (2014). Indigenous Women, Climate Change Impacts, and Collective Action. Hypatia, 29(3), 599-616.

Revisiting the Subjects of Dialectics of Isolation: An Exhibition of Third World Women Artists of the United States Cicely Haggerty Beckwith, Naomi. “Body Optics, or Howardena Pindell’s Ways of Seeing.” In What Remains To Be Seen, edited by Naomi Beckwith and Valerie Cassel Oliver, 87-108. Chicago: Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago in association with Delmonico Books, Prestel, 2018. Buchanan, Beverly. “Artist’s Statement.” In We Wanted a Revolution, Black Radical Women, 1965-85: A Sourcebook, edited by Catherine Morris and Rujeko Hockley, 216-217. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 2017. Lovelace, Carey. “Aloft in Mid A.I.R.” Accessed November 10, 2021. https://www.airgallery.org/essays-2/2016/6/2/aloft-in-mid-air. Mendieta, Ana. “Introduction,” “Dialectics of Isolation: An Exhibition of Third World Women Artists of the United States, Excerpts.” In We Wanted a Revolution, Black Radical Women, 1965-85: A Sourcebook, edited by Catherine Morris and Rujeko Hockley, 214. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 2017. Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Beverly Buchanan, Wall Column.” Accessed December 1, 2021. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/482410. Mohanty, Chandra. “Cartographies of Struggle: Third World women and the Politics of Feminism.” In Feminism Without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity, 43-84. Durham: Duke University Press, 2003. Morris, Catherine. “Struggling for Diversity in Heresies.” In We Wanted a Revolution, Black Radical Women, 1965-85: A Sourcebook, edited by Catherine Morris and Rujeko Hockley, 184-187. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 2017. Pindell, Howardena. “Artist’s Statement.” In We Wanted a Revolution, Black Radical Women, 1965-85: A Sourcebook, edited by Catherine Morris and Rujeko Hockley, 222-223. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 2017. Pindell, Howardena. “Art (world) & Racism: Testimony, Documentation and Statistics.” Third text 2, no. 3-4 (1988): 157–190. Pindell, Howardena. “Free, White and 21.” Third text 6, no. 19 (1992): 31–40. Pindell, Howardena. “Free, White and 21.” 1980. 12:15. Accessed through UbuWeb Film & Video. https://www.ubu.com/film/pindell_free.html. Pindell, Howardena. “Making a Space for Ourselves.” Art in America (1939) 106, no. 1 (2018): 41. Shirazi, Sadia. “Returning to Dialectics of Isolation: The Non-Aligned Movement, Imperial Feminism, and a Third Way.” Panorama: Journal of the Association of Historians of American Art 7, no. 1 (Spring 2021): 1-17. Weissberg, Stephanie. “Ana Mendieta’s Dialectics of Isolation.” In We Wanted a Revolution, Black Radical Women, 1965-85: A Sourcebook, edited by Catherine Morris and Rujeko Hockley, 210-213. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 2017. Zucker, Barbara. “Making A.I.R.” Heresies 2, no. 3 (1972): 80-82.

Issue I: Resistance

PGEP

bibliography La Belle Province An Analysis of Why Quebec’s Abortion Acsess Came to Be Carolyn Svonkin Beauregard, K., O’Neill, B., & Gidengil, E. (2020). Women, support for sovereignty, and feminism: the case of Québec. Politics, Groups and Identities, 1-22. https://doi.org/10.1080/21565503.2020.1748070 Brown, A. (1992). Unhiding the Hidden: Writing during the Quiet Revolution. In Currie, D. (Ed.), Anatomy of Gender: Women's Struggle for the Body (pp. 222-231). McGill-Queen’s Press. Chew, D. (2009). Feminism and Multiculturalism in Québec: An/Other Perspective. Canadian Woman Studies, 27(3), 84-92. Connolly, L. (2005). Comparing Ireland and Québec: The Case of Feminism. The Canadian Journal of Irish Studies, 31(1), 76-85. Gavreau, M. (2005). Catholic Origins of Québec's Quiet Revolution, 1931-1970. McGill-Queen’s Press. Gervais, C.L.M. (2012). Canadian Women Religious' Negotiation of Feminism and Catholicism. Sociology of Religion, 73(4), 384-410. https://doi.org/10.1903/socrel/srs039 Johnstone, R. (2018). After Morgentaler. UBC Press. Kozlowska, I., Béland, D., & Lecours, A. (2016). Nationalism, religion, and abortion policy in four Catholic societies. Nations and Nationalism, 22(1), 824-844. https://doi.org/10.1111/nana.12157 Price, K. (2010). What is Reproductive Justice? How Women of Color Activists Are Redefining the Pro-Choice Paradigm. Meridians: Feminism, Race, & Transnationalism, 10(2), 42-65. Riga, A. (2019, May 11). Religion in Québec: The bigger picture. Montreal Gazette. https://montrealgazette.com/news/local-news/since-Québecs-early-days-religion-has-been-a-burning-issue Stettner, S. A Brief History of Abortion in Canada. In S. Stettner (Ed.), Without Apology (pp. 31-74). Vogel, L. (2015). Abortion access grim in English Canada. CMAJ, 187(1). https://doi.org/10.1503/cmaj

“Unmasking Racism”: A Critical Analysis of Burka Ban Law in France Farinaz Basmechi BBC news. (2018). The Islamic veil across Europe. Retrieved from: https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-13038095 Bouteldja, N. (2013). After the Ban: The experiences of 35 women of the full-face veil in France. Open Society Foundations: New York, New York, USA. Browne, S. (2015). Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness. Duke University Press: Durham, North Carolina, USA. CBS News. (2020). France will still ban Islamic face coverings even after making masks mandatory. Retrieved from: https://www.cbsnews.com/news/france-burqa-ban-islamic-face-coverings-masks-mandatory/ Du Bois, W. E. B. (1903). The talented tenth. James Pott and Company: New York, New York, USA. Heider, J. (2012). Unveiling the truth behind the French burqa ban: The unwarranted restriction of the right to freedom of religion and the European court of human rights. Ind. Int'l & COMP. L. Rev., 22, 93. Legifrance. (2010). LOI n° 2010-1192 du 11 octobre 2010 interdisant la dissimulation du visage dans l'espace public (1), Retrived from https://www.legifrance.gouv.fr/jorf/id/JORFTEXT000022911670 Mahmood, S. (2005). Politics of piety: The Islamic revival and the feminist subject. Princeton University Press: New Jersey, New York, USA. Mason, C. L. (2017). Manufacturing urgency: The development industry and violence against women. University of Regina Press. Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada. McCrea, R. (2013). The ban on the veil and European law. Human Rights Law Review, 13(1), 57-97.Chicago Nanwani, S. (2011). The burqa ban: An unreasonable limitation on religious freedom or a justifiable restriction. Emory Int'l L. Rev., 25, 1431. Narayan, D. (2000). Voices of the poor: Can anyone hear us? World Bank Publications: Washington, D.C., USA. Razack, S. (2008). Casting out: The eviction of Muslims from Western law and politics. University of Toronto Press: Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Russo, A. (2019). Resisting the "Savior" Complex. Feminist Accountability: Disrupting Violence and Transforming Power. New York: New York University Press: New York, New York, USA. Spohn, U. (2013). Sisters in disagreement: The dispute among French feminists about the “Burqa Ban” and the causes of their disunity. Journal of Human Rights, 12(2), 145-164. Theguardian, (2011). Muslim women protest on first day of France's face veil ban. Retrieved from: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2011/apr/11/france-bans-burqa-and-niqab Time. (2021). Who Gets to Wear a Headscarf? The Complicated History Behind France's Latest Hijab Controversy. Retrieved from: https://time.com/6049226/france-hijab-ban/

Threads of Thought Sara-Maya Kaba Bissonauth, N. (2021, February 4). “Week 4 Lecture”. RELS 301. Zoom. Christ, C. P. (1979). “Why Women Need the Goddess.” in Carol P. Christ and Judith Plaskow (Eds), Womanspirit Rising. A Feminist Reader in Religion. San Francisco: Harper and Row, p. 273- 287. Goodwin, M. & Fuerst, I. M. (n.d.) “Intersectionality.” Keeping it 101: A Killjoy’s Introduction to Religion. [Podcast] https://keepingit101.com/e202 Homewood, N. (2019). "Leaky anuses, loose vaginas, and large penises: a hierarchy of sexualized bodies in Pentecostal imaginary." In S. N. Nyeck (Eds.), Routledge handbook of Queer African studies London: Routledge, pp.113-128. Kugle, S. (2007). “The lips of Shah Hussayn” in Sufis and Saint’s Bodies: Mysticism, Corporeality, and Sacred Power in Islam. North Carolina: University of North Carolina Press, p. 1-37 Safi, O. (2021, April 14). “Heart of the Quran.” Duke University Center for Muslim Life Ramadan Series. Lecture. Zoom. Williams, R. R. (2013). God loves Uganda [Film]. First Run Features. Also see: Devanampattinam Journal. (2016, July 24). “Mortal to divine and back: India’s transgender goddesses” in New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/25/world/asia/india-transgender.html Sitlhou, M. (2016, December 1) “Jogappas, the men who marry a goddess to become women.” in The Wire. https://thewire.in/gender/jogappas-goddess-gender. Walker, A. (1972). “In search of our mother’s gardens” in Angelyn Mitchell (Eds.) Within the Circle: An Anthology of African American Literary Criticism from the Harlem Renaissance to the Present. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1994 p. 401-409.

Youth Voices “Background | International Women’s Day.” United Nations, 12 janvier 2022, https://www.un.org/en/observances/womens-day/background. Domingo, Zaytoen. “How Does Women’s Empowerment Contribute to Gender Equality?” GVI, 10 janvier 2022, https://www.gvicanada.ca/blog/how-does-womens-empowerment-contribute-to-gender-equality/. “Government of Canada celebrates International Women’s Day 2018 – #MyFeminism.” Government of Canada, 8 mars 2018, https://www.canada.ca/en/women-gender-equality/news/2018/03/government-of-canada-celebrates-international-womens-day-2018--myfeminism.html. “History of International Women’s Day.” International Women’s Day, 3 janvier 2022, https://www.internationalwomensday.com/Activity/15586/The-history-of-IWD. “International Women’s Day.” Government of Canada, 4 avril 2021, https://women-gender-equality.canada.ca/en/commemorations-celebrations/international-womens-day.html. “International Women’s Day 2021: History, marches and celebrations.” BBC News, 5 mars 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-56169219. “Statement by the Prime Minister of Canada on International Women’s Day.” Prime Minister of Canada, 8 mars 2017, https://pm.gc.ca/en/news/statements/2017/03/08/statement-prime-minister-canada-international-womens-day. Shingler, Benjamin. “We are changing the world”: Greta Thunberg addresses hundreds of thousands at Montreal climate march. CBC, 27 Septembre 2019, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/montreal-climate-march-greta-thunberg-1.5298549. Inconnu, “Red Hot & Blue”, Red Hot, Red Hot, Inconnu, https://redhot.org/project/red-hot-blue/ Dubinski, K. (2022, January 27). Trucker convoy against vaccine mandates rolls through Ontario en route to Ottawa | CBC News. CBCnews. Retrieved January 28, 2022, from https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/london/trucker-protest-convoy-southwestern-ontario-1.6329118 Walzer, M. (2017, March 1). The Politics of Resistance. Dissent Magazine. Retrieved January 31, 2022, from https://www.dissentmagazine.org/online_articles/the-politics-of-resistance-michael-walzer

PGEP

Issue I: Resistance

t h a n k yo u t o o u r s p o n s o r s

Department of Political Studies Department of Fine Art Department of Global Development Studies Department of Philosophy School of Policy Studies Department of Gender Studies Department of English

RESISTANCE

Perspectives on Gender, Equity, and Politics: Issue 1

Articles inside

Threads of Thought

Afterword

Youth Voices - Critical Writing Challenge

“Unmasking Racism”: A Critical Analysis of the Burka Ban Law in France

La Belle Province: An analysis of why Quebec’s abortion access came to be

What Were They Wearing?

“Maybe We’ll Make Something”: Feminist Theory Production in Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” and “Talkin’ ‘bout A Revolution”

Towards a Pedagogy of Care: Re-imagining academia for graduate-international students in the post-pandemic era

In the Classroom

The Brothers Band

Academic Resistance: Perspectives From a Former Gifted Kid

My Dad

Toward a Decolonial Feminism and Ecological Applications: Examining Barriers and Possibilities in Canada

Letter from Directors