The event sparked backlash over the weekend after observers from Trans Patient Union and RadLaw McGill noted that the title echoes anti-trans sentiments expressed by alt-right politicians, specifically the “Drop the T’’ campaign, aimed to estrange the Transgender community from the larger Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual community. They decried Wintemute’s formal ties with LGB Alliance, a UK-based organization with a history of lobbying for trans-exclusionary legislation. In Canada, the LGB Alliance opposed the federal criminalization of conversion therapy in 2020 and argued that gender identity should not be included within the protective scope of the ban. The non-profit is identified as a hate group and is accused of rubbing shoulders with anti-LGBTQ+ actors, including the US religious right and the Heritage Foundation, an influential conservative think tank. Wintemute is registered as a trustee of the non-profit and has previously published opinion pieces in line with the views espoused by this organization.

In response to the backlash, the two event organizers, Law professors Frédéric Mégret and Nandini Ramanujam expressed in a statement obtained by the Daily that the event was originally suggested by Wintemute and faculty members subsequently determined that “this would be a conversation worth having at the Centre, especially in light of the disagreement such views may provoke.” The response further explains that Wintemute does not come as a spokesperson of the LGB Alliance and hosting this event does not mean that the Centre endorses the speaker’s views on the issue. Robert Leckey, Dean of the Faculty of Law, also expressed that the CHRLP is an “inclusive place where people of many identities and experiences can learn together and flourish as well as one where we can hear and criticize views with which we disagree,” according to an email obtained by the Daily. 

Protesters have since submitted an open letter to denounce lending McGill’s institutional and academic platform to a deceitful organization and giving a voice to harmful views. The letter calls out the University’s neutral position as an attempt to “absolve itself from blame by claiming its right to academic liberty,” and it was signed by over 500 individuals as well as multiple organizations, including RadLaw McGill and Queer McGill. 

“The tolerance of intolerance ultimately results in the wiping out of tolerance,” writes Celeste Trianon, a trans rights activist and organizer of the protest, in the open letter. “As anti-trans violence becomes increasingly prevalent across the world, and legal gender recognition is threatened in the UK, in the US, and here in Quebec itself, every extra minute of airtime given to an anti-trans activist may result in further rollback. Every such minute will contribute to the premature deaths of trans people worldwide.”

This struggle happens in the midst of a vehement debate in the United Kingdom after Scotland passed a bill allowing youth aged 16 and above to obtain legal recognition for their self-identified gender and facilitating the process by removing the requirement of gender dysphoria diagnosis, which can take years to obtain. Human rights activists and commissions welcome this reform whereas the UK government refuses to acknowledge this bill and may attempt to block it. In the United States, transgender individuals brace for another year of legislative assaults: since the new year began, 14 states have already filed 23 bills restricting both transgender children and adults’ access to healthcare and facilities, criminalizing unconventional forms of gender expression, and rolling back anti-discrimination rulings based on gender identity. 

On Tuesday, protesters began assembling before noon, before the debate was scheduled to take place at 12:40. Flying an assortment of Pride flags, the crowd fully occupied the first floor of the Chancellor Day Hall and welcomed Wintemute with hostility as he entered the debate room. Loud chanting ensued to disrupt the talk and to demand that the speaker leave. The pressure mounted until the crowd forced the door open; the faculty then surrendered and staff accompanied Wintemute away from the facility as the talk was aborted. Protest organizers then celebrated by opening a free drop-in legal name/gender marker change clinic to assist people in transition with the very process that Wintemute attempted to debate.

Wintemute has expressed in a separate interview that he believes this protest occurred because “this generation has a tendency to confuse disagreement with hatred, that the person who disagrees with you, I don’t know, is hostile towards you, and that we should not hear this person out. This is not how I grew up.” He further reiterated his belief that there exists an inherent conflict between trans-affirming policies and women’s rights, but did not acknowledge that this viewpoint may harm or incite violence against transgender individuals.

Other Montreal-based LGBTQ+ organizations have condemned the Law faculty’s lack of wisdom in managing the event and its lukewarm response to multiple warnings. FEMTL, a signatory organization that supports the trans women community in Montreal, writes in an email obtained by the Daily to the event’s organizers: “What message is McGill sending to the trans community and larger queer community by hosting such a person? […] When you platform a speaker such as Robert Wintemute, you invite fresh questions on what McGill really stands for.” 

In a written statement to the Daily, Jacob Williams from Trans Patient Union, one of the student organizations responsible for organizing the protest,  notes that “it is not an easy time to be trans or non-binary, but all hope is not lost. Despite all our differences, […] trans and NB people have so much powerful love for each other.” Giving advice on how to navigate anti-trans hostility, he encourages transgender and non-binary individuals to seek out support and friendship from fellow LGBTQ members. “This community has learned that we must provide for each other”, he says. “If you are a trans or NB person and you don’t have trans and NB loved ones you deeply trust to care about you, you should consider doing everything you can to get some. It may save your life.” The student association offers one-on-one consultations with transgender and non-binary individuals to navigate transition-related issues in Montreal.

The post McGill’s Faculty of Law Hosts Anti-Trans Speaker appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Alaa is a pro-democracy activist and software developer, and has been a prominent voice since the 2011 Egyptian revolution. In 2015, under Al-Sisi’s new regime, he was sentenced to five years in prison for “violating protest laws.” He was released in March 2019 only to be arrested again six months later.  He was detained for two years before being sentenced to a five-year term in December 2021 for “spreading false news undermining national security.” Amnesty International called the verdict a “travesty of justice.”  

Alaa, who is a dual Egyptian-British citizen, decided to go on a hunger strike on April 2 to protest the conditions in which he was being detained and to demand a consular visit. Over the next seven months, Alaa consumed only honey, milk, and tea. Prior to COP27, some of these conditions were yet to be met, which led Alaa to decide to go on a full hunger strike.

Alaa’s case is a tragedy. Very few can fathom the extent to which being falsely imprisoned, tortured, and deprived of one’s basic human needs can affect a person’s morale and spirit. Alaa has been through it all, yet he is still fighting the forces that wronged him. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of breaking him. In the first week of COP27, Al-Sisi’s authoritarian regime came under scrutiny, mostly due to the international coverage that Alaa’s case has received. Likely in line with the regime’s hope that hosting COP27 would better its international image, the government released hundreds of political prisoners in the weeks leading to the conference. But Alaa, from the confines of his prison cell, casts a long shadow on the image Al-Sisi has spent millions trying to build. 

I’m not claiming that this was Alaa’s goal. Understandably, Alaa’s family is more interested in getting him out of prison than they are in making a grand political statement. They simply want Alaa to spend the rest of his life with his family, and they are willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. 

On November 8, Sanaa Seif, Alaa’s sister, held a conference alongside the UN where she spoke about her brother’s case in front of international journalists. The conference was interrupted by Amr Darwish, a member of the Egyptian parliament, who berated Sanaa for “summoning foreign governments to pressure Egypt.” Darwish was removed by UN forces shortly after, while he argued that he is “Egyptian parliament” and that “[they are] here in Egyptian land.” Agnès Callamard, Amnesty International Secretary General, who was present during the conference, pointed out that Darwish’s outburst showed “a small sense of the regime of fears and silencing in the country right now.” A couple of days later, several groups of so-called protestors were seen in different Egyptian cities standing in support of the Egyptian MP.

This wasn’t the only time the Egyptian regime came under scrutiny during COP27. Cybersecurity experts have accused the Egyptian government of using the conference’s official app to surveil the attendees after noting that it asks users for access to their location, photos, and emails upon installation. The Egyptian government also arrested hundreds of people allegedly suspected of supporting a call for protest prior to COP27. Amnesty International called this move “a reminder of the grim reality of Egypt’s policy of mass arbitrary detention to crush dissent.”

Other international actors have also expressed their disagreement with the current Egyptian political climate. Activist Greta Thunberg decided not to attend COP27 because she saw it as an opportunity for “greenwashing, lying, and cheating.” In May, a group of 10 British MPs signed a letter to then-Foreign Secretary Liz Truss that urged her to fight for the release of Alaa. A letter from Downing Street addressed to Alaa’s sister claimed that “the Government is deeply committed to doing everything we can to resolve Alaa’s case as soon as possible.” 

I am not suggesting that those Western leaders are the arbiters of morality. One can’t help but shudder at the fact that some of the attention that Alaa’s case has received is due to the fact that he has British citizenship. We also can’t overlook the hypocrisy of some Western leaders who condemn Al-Sisi’s actions in public but continue to grant him yearly aid. For example, in 2020, Joe Biden claimed that there will be “no more blank checks for Trump’s ‘favourite dictator.’” Biden did indeed withhold $130 million of foreign aid to Egypt due to its “failure to fulfil human rights conditions.” This sum, however, made up only 10 per cent of the money annually allocated for Egypt, and although the remaining $1.17 billion is technically not a “blank check,” it’s still a relatively hefty one.

On November 17, Alaa’s family was able to visit him for the first time since October 24. They knew that he had stopped drinking water for two weeks, and they had no idea whether he was still alive. Alaa informed them that he had collapsed on November 11, and that he was given medical attention. He thought about going straight back to his hunger strike, but he decided not to, in order to give his body a break. Prison authorities allowed him to listen to music again for the first time in three years–“he felt alive again.”

The post Alaa Abd El-Fatah’s Fight for Survival appeared first on The McGill Daily.

On September 28, 2021, in response to an article about systemic sexism and misogyny within the Students’ Society of McGill University (SSMU), Vice-President (Internal Affairs) Sarah Paulin published a statement that included the following promise:  “As an Executive team, we have made a pact to not be afraid to change the system and call out toxic behavior. It is difficult to change a system so deeply rooted in problematic behavior, but we have already enacted change within the Society and hope that this will soon be reflected not only in the work that we do, but the environment that we contribute to.”

More recently, on February 17 of this year, executives at a Legislative Council meeting were asked whether they would resign if allegations of toxic behaviour were made against them. Vice-President (External Affairs) Sacha Delouvrier responded that he would “absolutely” resign in the event of “scandalous allegations.” He added: “if […] people directly stepped up and spoke up, saying that my presence made them feel uncomfortable and unsafe, I would want to retract myself from the [executive] position I’m in.”

In the five months which separated these two statements, I can testify that little has changed at SSMU. If anything, the working climate has become significantly more “toxic.” For a start, SSMU executives have all too often engaged in public displays of discriminatory or otherwise inappropriate behaviour. On January 10, former SSMU President Bryan Buraga spoke publicly regarding his treatment by two SSMU executives who subjected him to “insinuations, putdowns, and character attacks” during a Legislative Council debate. On January 20, Vice-President (Finance) Eric Sader made a public apology to Arts Representatives Yara Coussa and Ghania Javed, two women of colour, for making “unprofessional” comments against them in the same meeting.

Racism, worker mistreatment, and impunity

However, far from public scrutiny, hidden behind the shroud of “confidentiality,” oppressive and discriminatory behavior by SSMU executives continues with much more impunity. One white executive has become notorious for his racist statements. In one instance, after which this executive faced an equity complaint and a seven-month-long investigation for alleged racist behavior, he reportedly defended himself by stating: “My [partner] is Brown, so I am obviously not racist.” In another instance, the executive joked to colleagues of colour that they should take pictures with him in order to “prove” that he was not racist. In yet another “joke,” the executive claimed that sunny weather made him “look Asian” since it forced him to squint his eyes. In the course of the investigation, a fellow white executive, speaking as a witness, merely acknowledged that the former “can say things that aren’t super OK.”  The executive has so far been let off with little more than a slap on the wrist, in the form of “equity training.”

In another instance, the executive joked to colleagues of colour that they should take pictures with him, in order to “prove” that he was not racist.

Furthermore, the same executive has built himself a reputation for mistreating his employees and co-workers. Within the past four months, no less than six separate “Equity complaints” or “Human Resources complaints” were filed against the executive in question, either by staff members or by fellow elected SSMU members. In addition to racist or sexist comments, the various complaints also raised grievances about the executive’s chronic incompetence, his disrespectful attitude, his intimidation of employees, and his tendency to steal credit for the work of his staff. Although these complaints were sent to the Board of Directors in accordance with SSMU Human Resources procedures, the Board has still not taken any action to discipline the executive in question. Instead, the executive’s employees have been forced to continue working under an abusive supervisor who now knows that they have attempted to speak out through institutional channels.

In addition to racist or sexist comments, the various complaints also raised grievances about the executive’s chronic incompetence, his disrespectful attitude, his intimidation of employees, and his tendency to steal credit for the work of his staff.

Behind closed doors

I cannot understand why SSMU executives claimed they would “call out toxic behavior” since they have systematically failed to confront such behaviour from within their own ranks. If an investigation into racist behaviour or the systematic mistreatment of employees by an executive merely results in extra “training” behind closed doors, without any form of public accountability, why waste students’ money on expensive investigations? In the past seven months, SSMU has hired five independent investigators to look into complaints against SSMU executives, representatives, and staff.

According to the SSMU Constitution (Section 10.6), the Board of Directors has a very straightforward, transparent way to deal with SSMU executives accused of wrongdoing: “The Board of Directors may present an Officer for removal before the Members” if they suspect the Officer of “impropriety, violation of the provisions of this Constitution or its Internal Regulations, delinquency of duties or misappropriation of Society funds.” With the next General Assembly scheduled for February 21, there is ample time for the Board of Directors to present any SSMU executive it deems fit for removal.

While many Directors may object to such impunity, or other unjust decisions, it is extremely difficult for dissenters to make their voices heard on the Board, where discussions are too often overshadowed by groupthink and the omnipresent fear of being ostracized. I would only be the latest Director who has chosen to appeal to the student body through the press rather than risk expressing myself in such a hostile SSMU environment.

I, for one, have had enough of SSMU silencing the student press, conducting secret meetings, and covering up toxic behavior. The SSMU Executive Committee and Board of Directors should stop hiding everything from our constituents and should start respecting the student body’s right to decide how their elected representatives are held accountable for their actions.

If an investigation into racist behaviour, or the systematic mistreatment of employees by an executive merely results in extra “training” behind closed doors, without any form of public accountability, why waste students’ money on expensive investigations?

The post Racism and Worker Oppression Run Rampant in SSMU appeared first on The McGill Daily.

However, when looking into the referee forms and evaluation criteria for some of these grants, one begins to see something strange: students are being evaluated on their interpersonal skills. This first came to my attention when a professor told me that the referee form for my Canada Graduate Scholarship application (offered by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, or SSHRC) included a question about interpersonal skills. Obviously, I don’t have access to this form, but the webpage about Canada Graduate Scholarships for Master’s students includes a breakdown of the selection criteria, in which “Personal Characteristics and Interpersonal Skills” (e.g. leadership experience, project management, and involvement in academic life) is weighted at 20 per cent. After doing some research, I also found that the University of Waterloo weighs “Communication and Leadership Abilities” at 10 to 20 per cent (depending on the faculty) in making decisions about the Ontario Graduate Scholarship. Similar criteria are reported by other Ontario universities, including the University of Guelph, Carleton University, Ontario Tech University, and Trent University.

Maybe this sounds reasonable to you. However, as an autistic student, this is worrying. As long as I have been in school, I have heard people say that we need more neurodivergent and disabled people in academia, especially in studies about their own experiences. However, I’ve been finding out more and more that despite claiming to want us at the table, universities don’t want to make the effort to actually include us. 

You might be lost right now. “How does the inclusion of interpersonal skills in scholarship criteria have anything to do with autistic people?” you might ask. Autism is characterized by “persistent deficits in social communication and social interaction.” This definition is highly situated in the medical model of disability, and I don’t necessarily agree with calling them “deficits,” but my point stands – autistic people have difficulty socializing and communicating in the way that allistic (non-autistic) people expect us to. This can lead to our professors seeing us as having poor interpersonal skills, resulting in fewer opportunities to participate in student organizations and leadership roles.  Therefore, it’s much more difficult for us to get grant money that will allow us to pursue graduate studies. When put this way, it becomes clear that the inclusion of interpersonal skills in funding application criteria leads to the exclusion of autistic people from academia. On the other hand, expectations to have good interpersonal skills often cause autistic people to mask. In this context, masking refers to how autistic people hide their autistic traits and mimick their allistic peers to better fit into neurotypical society. Masking is very difficult and draining for autistic people, and can lead to burnout and mental health issues.

One response to this may be that students should self-identify as autistic in their applications. This may be a safe and reasonable choice for some, but considering the widespread ableism that still exists against autistic people in our society, this can be risky as well. This is especially true for autistic people of colour, who face more discrimination and stereotyping than white autistic people. Further, both people of colour and those who were assigned female at birth often receive autism diagnoses much later than their cisgender white male peers, if they receive them at all. These systems might be posing barriers for people who don’t even know they’re autistic – and they deserve to be included too.

I believe improving autism inclusivity in graduate school and funding applications involves changing the evaluation criteria altogether. What value does including interpersonal skills in  research grant applications have, anyway? I vote for taking it out completely to focus on the important thing: doing meaningful research. 

That being said, autism inclusion does not stop at the application process. While reducing the barriers to entry is important, schools also need to commit to supporting students and researchers once they arrive. Students at McGill have consistently reported barriers to accessing academic accommodations through the Office for Students with Disabilities. Students at McGill have also reported facing discrimination based on their autistic traits. These problems are not unique to our school, and addressing them is an important part of making academia more accessible to autistic people (as well as all neurodivergent and disabled people).

Overall, universities need to do more to make academia accessible for neurodivergent students. Taking interpersonal skills out of the application is a start, but there is much more to do. And it’s important to remember, as Kala Allen Omeiza said in The Mighty, neurodiversity inclusion like this does not just help autistic students – it can help everyone.

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Records indicate that McGill Security has been patrolling the men’s bathrooms in McConnell to stop gay cruising since at least 2015. This was brought up by an anonymous source who communicated that all these records were publicly released, and that they wanted the criminalization of cruising to be public knowledge at the university. These include reports and descriptions of how security has responded to reports of sex occurring in the bathrooms, as well as emails from students and professors asking Security to stop cruising occurring, and implying stings should occur. This discovery of how McGill Security has been patrolling the bathrooms recalls the historical arrests of gay men for having sex in Canada, the US, and the UK. For centuries, governments have been criminalizing gay men for hooking up, especially by weaponizing terminology such as indecency, connected to the illegality of “gross indecency,” which was used to criminalize gay male sex. Indecent exposure and indecent acts are both current legal charges, while “gross indecency” is a repealed term that was used to refer to gay men having sex. As such, using the term “indecent” without a qualifier, to describe attempts to arrest gay men, continues legal practices of homophobia. Cruising, or casual sex in public spaces, occurs due to a lack of safe spaces for gay men to have sex. Historically, to criminalize the gay community, police have raided cruising locations such as bathhouses, bathrooms, and parks.   

The decades-old criminalization and plainclothes checks of bathrooms to prevent gay cruising culture continues to occur across Canada. While the Montreal Police did apologize for historical raids on the queer community in a 2017 statement, it did not specifically include bathrooms in that apology. Even if it had, that would not change the fact that the practice still unofficially continues. As such, the consistent focus on the bathrooms used for cruising by gay men at McGill, while excluding other bathrooms on campus that are used for casual sex by students in general, is a concerning practice that connects directly to institutionalized violence against the queer community. 

McGill Security’s use of gay websites and forums to check when meetups in the bathrooms will take place also echoes the infiltration of queer spaces by officials in order to arrest those who participated in them. Gay Reddit forums, Grindr, and websites for cruising in Montreal are spaces meant for the gay community, and when those spaces are infiltrated with the intent of criminalizing queerness, it undermines the safe space that many individuals greatly need. This extends to the language and screenshots that security staff have used to communicate potential meetings in the bathrooms to each other – forwarding screenshots of Sqirt, a gay crusing website, and being supportive of whose reporting incidents recording and sharing media of the men cruising. However, the problem does not only lie with security staff  – complaints made to security often have a homophobic tone. They focus not on the discomfort of overhearing sex, but instead on the bathroom’s status as a queer space: one report describes the bathrooms as “the biggest gay sex bathroom at McGill University and it’s all over the internet.” As cruising is a consensual sexual practice, the focus of the concern in this complaint stems from the bathroom being known for “gay sex […] all over the internet,” and implies that the cruising is worse than the public sex that occurs in other university bathrooms. Instead of acting in the interest of student safety, McGill Security is specifically targeting queer students engaging in consensual sex and perpetuating the criminalization of gay sex.

McGill Security also seems to support complainants who have attempted to identify gay men having sex or masturbating in the bathroom by filming, photographing, or recording them. Complaints about sex in bathrooms is understandable, but recording, and in one reported instance, confining the individual in a bathroom stall until police arrived, indicates a level of community support for the criminalization of casual gay sex in public spaces. If security were interacting with these bathrooms in the same way as other bathrooms on campus, where people are told to leave the space if having sex, the situation would not be coming across as homophobic. However, the usage of recordings of sex taken with malicious intent against the participants is unethical, especially in the context of arresting queer members of the McGill community, who have had to fear police since the creation of a police force on Turtle Island. 

The reports and emails of Security about the need to patrol the men’s bathroom in McConnell go back to at least 2015, and continued until the start of the pandemic – and will presumably restart with the re-opening of campus. The patrols of McConnell have already resulted in gay men being arrested by callings escalating and the SPVM being contacted. Concerns of passersby being unwillingly exposed to sexual practices are inconsistent with the singular focus on McConnell’s bathrooms on campus, and that no other bathrooms on campus have been retro-fitted to prevent cruising. The usage of media intended to be a safe online space for queer men is a continuation of systems of authority infiltrating gay spaces to then criminalize them. The queer community in Montreal and at McGill already must engage with instituionalized transphobia and homophobia. Continuing to threaten legal action against gay men, that is not threatened at other bathrooms on campus where cis and straight couples have sex, is another system of criminalizing the actions of a marginalized community. 

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As an avid viewer of Drag Race, I loved this inaugural edition’s return to the structure of earlier seasons. Back in 2009, when the show had fewer viewers and a smaller cash prize, there was much less pressure on the queens. This made the competition more fun to watch; it all felt more uninhibited and less high stakes. 

Fans of the original series seem to have seen it all after 12 seasons of the American version, so Canada’s Drag Race is a breath of fresh air – the Canadian queens are bringing something brand new to Drag Race. Mainly, they’re nicer. But they’re also proud to show how their identity is reflected through their art and drag. The result is a joyful and passionate celebration of queer identities and of drag culture’s complex history. 

The participants: The 12 queens on this season of Rupaul’s Drag Race hail from different regions of Canada, though most of them are from Ontario, especially  The Greater Toronto Area. The “Toronto” queens are reminiscent of the “New York ” queens in the American version; these contestants often know each other beforehand, and they consider themselves superior to the small town queens. Picking up on that attitude, the Québécoise contestant Rita Baga comments, “Oh, Toronto, Toronto. So self-centered,” adding that “this is not Toronto’s Drag Race.”

Rita’s remarks tie in with an interesting dynamic that comes up this season: the language divide between the majority of the cast and the two Montreal queens, Kiara and Rita Baga, who are francophone. The contestants’ French Canadian identity is a great source of pride for them – Rita was even intent on being the first francophone queen to bring the crown to Montreal. Both use their knowledge of French to their advantage during certain challenges to make their performances funnier, or to give them a personal touch, and they bond over their mutual hometown in the same way that the Toronto queens celebrate theirs. 

RuPaul’s Drag Race has long been criticized for its exclusion of trans performers, who have perfected the art of drag, paving the way for the success of the series. So far, only two contestants have ever competed while being out as trans women. The Canadian edition takes a step in the right direction by including the first Two-Spirit queen, the iconic Ilona Verley. In an interview with Vogue, Verley states that she’s found in drag a “means to express herself as a Two-Spirit person,” and that being on the show has helped her “fully accept her identity as a proud, Indigenous, trans woman.” In her final runway look, Verley celebrates both her culture and her identity. The outfit consists of a ribbon skirt and jingle dress, two traditional garments worn during powwow ceremonies. It’s one of the best looks of the season because of what it represents – and because it’s flawlessly executed. 

The judges: The panel of judges has been the subject of much controversy this season because what some viewers consider as criticism often comes off as mean-spiritedness for others. The series’ judges are Brooke Lynn Hytes, a drag queen and the runner-up of Season 11 of RuPaul’s Drag Race, along with model Stacey Mckenzie and actor Jeffrey Bowyer Chapman. Notably absent from this edition is RuPaul herself. Like most viewers, I quickly became accustomed to her absence, but the new judges weren’t as easy to get used to. Jeffrey Bowyer Chapman was, for instance, the target of online harassment by fans who opposed his critiques and judging delivery. This prompted producers to release a public statement to the fans who have “let their passion cross the boundary into harassment by posting hateful comments about [the] queens and judges online.”

One particular instance of this harsh judgment happens in episode three, and it’s directed at Jimbo, one of the most beloved queens of the season. During a challenge, Jimbo only applies white makeup to her face, rather than to her entire body, which prompts judge Bowyer Chapman to snap at her: “Everyone gets the same amount of time. Use it better, maybe.” But Jimbo’s makeup is Marie-Antoinette inspired – it would have been customary for people to only place powder on their face. This kind of snide remark might have gone unnoticed coming from RuPaul, but many fans – like myself – were not pleased to see this newcomer to the world of drag be so mean to a queen. 

This interaction raises an important question: who gets to judge drag? Perhaps a fellow queen like Brooke Lynn Hytes is best positioned for that role – whenever a judge oversteps in an area beyond their expertise, or rudely delivers a critique, their feedback doesn’t seem to carry as much weight with the fans. Though Drag Race brings in guest judges from all over the entertainment industry, they tend to only criticize the thing that they’re known for. Maybe the audience considers itself a better judge than the panel. Journalist Rebecca Alter suggests that the judging on Canada’s Drag Race “feels weirdly like gaslighting the audience, so convinced the judges are of their own opinion, despite not resonating at all with the footage the audience sees.” 

Much of the backlash ultimately comes from the viewers’ lack of confidence in the panel. None of these judges have had a significant impact on drag culture, so while they are charismatic and entertaining, they just haven’t earned the audience’s trust. The issue may also lie with the show’s editing. Drama makes for good television, and as a genre, reality TV tends to centre the dramatic.  The queens, like the series’ producers, have claimed that the judges were only “doing their job, which was to critique.” But the audience doesn’t get to see them do their entire job; no matter what well-intentioned and thoughtful critiques the judges actually give competitors, only the most incendiary comments are included in the show, and this is what significantly backfires on the first season of Canada’s Drag Race. 

The Canadian theme: This season showcases the fact that this version of Drag Race is “Canadian” first and foremost. Like in the UK edition, many challenges try to incorporate “Canadian themes,” although many of these are the usual stereotypes, which aim to present Canada in an overly idealistic light. While Canada is often seen as more “accepting” than the United States, this erases the many prejudices and systematic challenges that queer and trans people of colour face here.

Perhaps the most obvious example of this whitewashing of Canada’s violent history is the Rainbow Railroad episode, in which queens make-over refugees. One of my least favorite things on RuPaul’s Drag Race, but also in any reality show, is the milking of tragic stories and of contestants’ trauma simply for the spectacle. I find it cringe-worthy and insincere. While the refugees seem to have fun becoming drag queens, it’s uncomfortable to watch them recount their stories of being violently persecuted for their sexualities, only to praise Canada as a haven for queer and Black and Brown people, which many of them are. I doubt Drag Race will ever stop making its contestants lay their trauma bare, but the series should not erase Canada’s oppression of marginalized folks. 

The fan favourite: The undeniable fan favourite this season is the irreverent Jimbo. A self-confessed “clown,” she offers not only the best comedic moments, but also some of the juiciest drama. Jimbo won the hearts of fans everywhere – and my own – from the moment she entered the workroom in her black-and-white mime look. She stands out in almost every challenge, notably in the classic “Snatch Game,” where she performed a spot-on impersonation of Joan Rivers. She also gives fans some priceless “Untucked” moments: she rips apart Rita Baga’s wig, and “throws shade” at Bowyer-Chapman’s “knowledge of the English language” when he tells her that she doesn’t look glamorous. Twitter went up in arms whenever she received a negative critique, or whenever she risked getting eliminated. Her mass appeal can be explained by her mix of campy charm and playful wits. Despite not being the winner, Jimbo is the most memorable queen which, to me, is worth just as much as that final victory. 

The winner: Unanimously loved by fans and judges, Toronto queen Priyanka was crowned “Canada’s Next Drag Superstar.” She is the franchise’s first Indo-Caribbean winner, a victory that follows the success of Jaida Essence Hall and Shea Coulee, two other queens of colour, on season 12 of RuPaul’s Drag Race and on All Stars. Priyanka flawlessly incorporates elements of her culture within two of her runway looks, particularly in the bridal-inspired outfit she wears in the finale. Her name is also a nod to her Indian descent – her catchphrase “What’s my name?” aims to “make you remember a girl named Priyanka can be successful.” I was personally struck by that catchphrase; it conveys a meaningful message to viewers who, like me, have a non-European name. And I found it most refreshing to see a person of colour win, especially when there is such a lack of representation in Canadian media. 

The verdict: This first season of Canada’s Drag Race is ultimately successful in establishing a new tone for Drag Race that is distinctly Canadian. Although it sometimes falters in its own self-aggrandizing nationalism, and despite its inexperienced judging panel, I see great potential in the later seasons. I would be interested in seeing the show move away from Canadian stereotypes. Canada’s Drag Race would benefit from having more small-town contestants, and from allowing more queens to express their “Canadianness” in different ways, like Ilona Verley and Priyanka have done. This inaugural season is definitely promising, and I can’t wait to see more of Canada’s best drag queens.

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Around a year ago, I was sexually assaulted by a McGill student. Since then, this student has been reprimanded by the Arts Undergraduate Society (AUS) and has been prohibited from holding any official leadership roles in the Faculty of Arts. However, there is a gap between the AUS and the rest of the McGill community. The gap, specific to my case, between the Faculty of Arts and fraternities on campus reveals that there are loopholes and grey zones prevalent within the university community making the day-to-day much more difficult for survivors on campus. 

A few weeks ago, an account that I follow on Instagram that provides workshops on consent to McGill’s fraternities posted a picture of my assaulter’s fraternity. The irony of associating someone who so blatantly disregarded my consent as the face of a pro-consent workshop was not lost on me. The final nail in the coffin for me, however, was learning, through this, that my personal account had been blocked from this fraternity’s Instagram page, despite the fact that I had had no interactions with anyone from the fraternity other than my assaulter. While being blocked in itself is not particularly harmful, the fact that I was blacklisted for speaking out against a man who sexually assaulted me and who has the potential to violate others as he did me is harmful.

This form of censorship brings up a systemic issue that I find most disturbing: the gaps in policies governing Greek Life at McGill University enable those involved to silence survivors, avoid accountability, and, potentially, put others at risk. Although fraternities and sororities on campus are governed by a constitution, this policy has no measures to ensure that sexual violence is a disqualifier when occupying leadership positions within these organizations. Further, there are no outlines for responsibly responding to allegations of sexual violence. Policies like these, and their separation from other university policies aimed at curtailing sexual violence, leave survivors to continue to be mistreated by their perpetrators. This is made worse by the fact that perpetrators may continue to be campus leaders by choosing to work with  organizations that are left untouched by the governing body they were investigated by. 

This form of censorship brings up a systemic issue that I find most disturbing: the gaps in policies governing Greek Life at McGill University enable those involved to silence survivors, avoid accountability, and, potentially, put others at risk.

I chose to go through the relevant process within the Faculty of Arts in order to disclose my experience and protect myself on campus. Yet, my assaulter continues to be a prevalent figure on campus. It is important that McGill now has a Policy Against Sexual Violence and it is important that many other faculties, services, and organizations at McGill develop their own policies and processes for responding to sexual violence. However, this has illuminated yet another way in which making a report as a survivor becomes more work than it often seems worth. For a survivor to avoid their aggressor to the extent that would ensure their safety and comfort on campus, they would have to file several reports and take on the burden of mapping out every separate jurisdiction existing at McGill. Further, as it is written now, my ability to seek recourse with the Fraternity itself seems low. Impeachment of an executive is decided on by fellow executives. There is little reason for me to believe that, as an outsider, my word and experience would be understood and considered important by those that are incentivized to protect their own. As sexual violence policies continue to develop, and as changes are made to them after witnessing the ways in which they impact the experiences of survivors, what I believe will become more and more apparent is the need to bridge them in ways that leave fewer holes and fractures that benefit perpetrators. 

For a survivor to avoid their aggressor to the extent that would ensure their safety and comfort on campus, they would have to file several reports and take on the burden of mapping out every separate jurisdiction existing at McGill.

This is not merely a complaint based on stereotypes or reputations of these types of Greek Life organizations, but on the experiences of myself and other survivors at McGill University who continue to watch their perpetrators hold important positions in highly visible organizations on campus. The man who assaulted me holds an executive position in his fraternity, giving him additional power over other potential victims, as well as the ability to blacklist them from his fraternity’s social media. Though the exposure of such an abuse of power is a cultural shift that has likely vastly improved the lives and conditions of survivors, there has not yet been enough work to prevent these abuses of power in the first place. One of those preventative measures includes exposing the frameworks that allow them to occur and considering sexual violence as one would other acts that ought to threaten one’s position in an organization. What is exposed by my experience is the need not only for organizational structures to support survivors but for this support to take the shape of a cohesive network rather than a segmented web to be navigated by someone only in the aftermath of a traumatic event.

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual violence and are seeking support or resources, the Sexual Assault Centre of the McGill Students’ Society (SACOMSS) recommends contacting the Montreal Sexual Assault Centre at +1 888-933-9007, Tel-Aide at 514-935-1101, or texting the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 686868, as SACOMSS has suspended drop-in and phone line services until further notice due to COVID-19. SACOMSS can also be reached at main@sacomss.org if you have any questions or concerns.

Additionally, the Office for Sexual Violence Response, Support and Education (OSVRSE) at McGill is maintaining reduced services by phone or virtually for McGill members, whether in Montreal, across Canada, or abroad. To request assistance and inquire about adapted services, you can contact them by email or by phone at 514-398-3954. Please allow for a 24hr response time during regular business hours (Monday to Friday, 9am-5pm). Drop-in hours, group activities, and volunteering activities are suspended until further notice.

The post Silencing Survivors: The Grey Area within the McGill Community appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Speaking on behalf of a survivor, an anonymous source notified the Daily of allegations of sexual violence that have been diclosed against SSMU VP Internal-elect Declan McCool.

The source informed the Daily that, because of the nature of SSMU’s Gendered and Sexual Violence Policy (GSVP), the ability for restrictions imposed as a result of investigations to prevent an incoming SSMU Executive from taking office remains unclear.

Newly-elected SSMU Executives begin their term on June 1, as per the SSMU Constitution. On May 1, they will become employees of SSMU and begin training, becoming official officers on June 1. Incoming executives are not considered SSMU employees until May 1; they are only considered officers after June 1 and thus, not subject to the processes for removal until after that time.

In a statement provided to the Daily, the survivor calls on McCool to step down from his incoming position and calls on the SSMU to condemn McCool’s actions, and to “acknowledge the continued prevalence of gendered and sexual violence at McGill.”

The VP Internal portfolio includes working closely with the IRPs of various faculties, coordinating inclusive campus events, and collaborating with committees that deal with gendered and sexual violence on campus. McCool’s election platform explicitly referenced these aspects of the portfolio.

The incoming VP Internal, while not yet in office, has been reported to currently hold a leadership position at the McGill Fraternity Sigma Chi and sat on the committee for Science Games.

In addition to calling on SSMU to take action, the survivor’s statement also references the difficulty of navigating McGill’s processes of disclosure, due to both their disorganization and nature as “non-survivor centric and trauma-informed” spaces.

The survivor’s statement, which was requested to be published on their behalf, can be read in full below.

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual violence and are seeking support or resources, the Sexual Assault Centre of the McGill Students’ Society (SACOMSS) recommends contacting the Montreal Sexual Assault Centre at +1 888-933-9007, Tel-Aide at 514-935-1101, or texting the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 686868, as SACOMSS has suspended drop-in and phone line services until further notice due to COVID-19. SACOMSS can also be reached at main@sacomss.org if you have any questions or concerns.

Additionally, the Office for Sexual Violence Response, Support and Education (OSVRSE) at McGill is maintaining reduced services by phone or virtually for McGill members, whether in Montreal, across Canada, or abroad. To request assistance and inquire about adapted services, you can contact them by email or by phone at 514-398-3954. Please allow for a 24hr response time during regular business hours (Monday to Friday, 9am-5pm). Drop-in hours, group activities, and volunteering activities are suspended until further notice.

Content Warning: The following statement discusses instances of sexual violence by an individual who occupies, and will soon occupy positions of power and authority within the SSMU and SSMU-affiliated communities.

I call upon Declan McCool to resign from his position as SSMU VP Internal-elect. Furthermore, I call on SSMU to release a statement that condemns Declan McCool’s actions and acknowledges the continued prevalence of sexual and gendered violence at McGill.

Despite many recent initiatives to raise awareness of and combat sexual violence at McGill through programs like It Takes All of Us and policies like the IRP, many still struggle with their own battles against their abusers. It is undeniable that rape culture and stigmas surrounding violence remain prevalent on this campus. Although avenues for reporting exist, they remain inaccessible and ineffective, as I have come to realize when I tried reporting through the McGill Policy Against Sexual Violence and the SSMU Gendered and Sexual Violence Policy. Due to the ambiguous nature of an incoming SSMU Executive within the structure of the SSMU, it is unclear if these processes would be able to remove him from his upcoming position of power, pointing to a glaring failure in our systems. The fact that I even have to write this statement is a testament to these failures. No Survivor should have to publicly retell their story in order to prevent their abuser from holding one of the highest positions of power on campus, and it hurts me to have to struggle through writing this statement. I believe that in order to truly combat the issue, we must all be cognizant of sexual violence happening to those closest to us, to those on campus, and especially from those in positions of power.

Finally, I wish to recognize other survivors on this campus and the difficulties we face in trying to navigate our own healing processes in addition to other aspects of our daily life. I commend the bravery of all survivors who made and continue to make the hard choice of seeking disciplinary action against their abusers despite the difficulties of navigating non-survivor centric and trauma-informed reporting processes. Without these courageous decisions, we wouldn’t make progress towards a safer, more inclusive community.

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Eggshells

It’s a good thing that I used to do ballet, because living with him was being forced to crack a dozen eggs,
Then tiptoe over the shells.

Sometimes, though,
Shards of “it’s your fault” snuck into the soles of my feet,
Pointed fingers and flinches,
Silent treatments turned into roars.

My words were so easily melted and moulded into a knife that I had apparently stuck into my own back.

Sometimes I would try and take the knife out,
Scrape up the yolks and whites off our apartment floor,
And make an omelette for him.

He would say, “That’s not what I’m hungry for”.

Today, I know.

Had I just:
Tried harder,
Shut up harder,
Gave harder,

I would still be dancing on eggshells,
Choreographing my life around him.

If this situation sounds familiar to you, here’s where you can access support:

Head and hands
Peer Support Center SSMU
CVASM
SACOMSS
Chez Doris
SOS violence Conjugal

The post Poetry: Eggshells appeared first on The McGill Daily.

In the span of 36 hours, I found out that my anti-anxiety medication had interfered with my hormonal birth control, that there was a possibility that I could be pregnant, and that I immediately needed to get a copper intrauterine device (IUD) inserted in my uterus in order to prevent pregnancy. 

To say that I was overwhelmed would be an understatement – nothing could have prepared me for the leaps and hurdles I would encounter while trying to get a copper IUD inserted in the next 36 hours with McGill international student health insurance offered with International Student Services (ISS). I write this guide hoping that no one else finds themselves in a similar situation without any knowledge of what to expect. 

I was, and am, immensely privileged in that I had the funds necessary to pursue this route, as well as a good support network around me. Between the doctor consultation, the IUD itself, antibiotics, probiotics, and the gynecologist visit: it cost $435, $300 of which had to be provided in cash. (The $20 probiotics that I decided to buy were not prescribed by a doctor, and therefore not under the purview of Blue Cross.) A portion of this is reimbursable with Medavie Blue Cross international student insurance, but I had to pay the full amount up front. For many, I know this is not possible, and the fact that our health insurance is shit (more on that later) is unacceptable.

Nothing could have prepared me for the leaps and hurdles I would encounter while trying to get a copper IUD inserted in the next 36 hours with McGill international student health insurance offered with International Student Services (ISS).

How it started.

Those who have been medicated for a mental illness understand the absolute shit show that is tapering off medications. Antidepressants, which I’d been on since the fall of 2019, never fully worked for me. Yes, they reduced the chance of me having an anxiety attack, but they never addressed the all-consuming compulsions that have characterized my OCD since I was in middle school (or my skin-peeled thumbs – another common characteristic of the illness). So, when my psychiatrist in the United States prescribed me a mood stabilizer that she thought would improve my condition – without the side effects I dealt with on antidepressants – I was hopeful.

I followed her instructions, lowering my dosage of the antidepressant fluvoxamine. I began taking the mood stabilizer oxcarbazepine late Friday night. I took it again Saturday night. On Sunday morning, when I decided to search up the medication online, just for the heck of it, my heart fucking flipped – oxcarbazepine was known to interfere with hormonal birth control pills.

For many reasons, the burden of preventing pregnancy usually falls on the person with a uterus in sexual relationships where semen is also involved. Yes, people with penises can wear condoms, but they aren’t completely foolproof. And while clinical trials for hormonal contraceptives made for people with penises are ongoing, they are not yet available to the public. So, many people with uteruses take on the responsibility of using a form of hormonal birth control, all of which come with numerous side effects. The pill can cause depression, migraines, and increase your risk of blood clotting (while the pill was in its early stages of development, the dosage of estrogen within the pills was much too high, and 11 people taking it died from blood clots). The implant can cause users to experience long-term bleeding; the shot can also cause long-term bleeding, as well as depression and nausea; and the IUD, though extremely effective, is fucking painful to insert.

The best type of birth control for me had been the pill – I hadn’t experienced the worst of its side effects, and I was good at taking it on time every day. In the past, I had thought about getting a hormonal IUD but decided against it, as I was scared and uncomfortable at the thought of the insertion procedure. But once I found out that there was a possibility I could be pregnant, my comfort was the least of my worries. I was willing to sacrifice anything to ensure I wasn’t pregnant, and honestly, I’ve always been pretty open about the fact that I would definitely get an abortion if I found out I was.

Making a next-day appointment.

I spent that Sunday talking to pharmacists, first at the Jean Coutu on Parc Ave. at 8 a.m. to make sure there definitely was an interaction (there was), then calling the CVS back home to confirm at 9 a.m., and finally at the Jean Coutu on Saint Catherine Street West around 10 a.m. where I tried to buy Plan B.

The pharmacist there recommended I didn’t buy an emergency contraceptive pill, and I think they were right to do so. I had had sex twice in the past seven days, once on the Monday prior, and once that Wednesday. Although I had been absolutely protected by the pill at that time, it was unclear if it would still protect me, given the fact I’d taken interfering medication twice in the past 48 hours, and that condoms are not always effective. To be completely sure I had not conceived, they recommended that I get the copper IUD. 

Some may not know that the copper IUD is the most effective method of emergency contraception out there, lowering one’s chances of getting pregnant by 99.9 per cent if inserted within five days of unprotected sex. While oral emergency contraceptives may be preferable due to their non-invasive nature, they only work well up to three or five days after unprotected sex, depending on whether you take the pill with levonorgestrel, also known as “Plan B,” “the morning after pill,” etc., or the one with ulipristal acetate, also known as “ella,” respectively. Meanwhile, a copper IUD can prevent pregnancy up to seven days after unprotected sex (though Planned Parenthood’s website says up to five days).

However, a barrier against getting the copper IUD is that it’s more expensive than oral emergency contraceptives, which cost around $20-$30 (at least in Quebec) when your insurance doesn’t cover them. And it’s important to note that emergency oral contraceptives are not covered under ISS, while IUDs are – albeit only up to $50. Once I get reimbursed from Blue Cross, I will have, in effect, paid $35 for the IUD, as it cost $85 upfront, which is still more expensive than Plan B, but only by $5-$15. The copper IUD can then be used as contraception for up to five years, which can save you money in the long run – Blue Cross only covered 80 per cent of my roughly $25 monthly pack of pills.

I was undoubtedly scared of getting an IUD. But the idea of being pregnant was scarier.

Trying to find a place that could insert it on Monday, the next day, I made calls to at least 10 different clinics. I was on hold with 811, trying to talk to an English-speaking nurse, for more than 45 minutes. I spent almost an hour and a half in total on the phone, trying to find a clinic that could schedule me in for a same-day appointment.

When I finally did get off hold and talk to a nurse at 811, they were actually pretty helpful. I was given a list of clinics nearby that offered same- or next-day copper IUD insertion, and I called one asking for an appointment on Monday morning. Tuesday was not an option – I had had sex the Monday night prior. Although the first place I called was full, I asked for a recommendation for another clinic offering same-day insertion, and I was able to schedule an appointment at Clinique Médicale Maisonneuve-Rosemont for Monday morning at 9 a.m. I could finally breathe.

Clinique Médicale Maisonneuve-Rosemont is an interesting place. Located in a building with multiple medical offices and a Familiprix, the clinic takes requests for same-day and next-day appointments both online and via phone. Since I did not have a RAMQ (Quebec health insurance card), I could not register for a walk-in appointment online, but I was able to book an appointment by calling the front desk at 514-257-7000. 

This clinic – as well as many other clinics shown online through the Quebec government’s website – do not display a great deal of information regarding their services online, and calling them to confirm what they offer is often necessary. The clinics shown online via the Quebec government’s website are in French, and Google Translate is, of course, not always the best. I made do with Google and my (limited) French, but if there is someone you trust who knows French well, ask them for help. It will make the whole process so much easier. 

Other clinics I was recommended in Montreal include Clinique angus (they take calls for walk-in appointments the next day beginning at 5 p.m., but if you’re an international student like me, call their regular number at 514-807-2333); Clinique en route – gare centrale (the nurse informed me that they would take calls for walk-ins beginning at 7 a.m. on Monday, 514-954-1444); and Clinique médicale des 2 tours (which you can call for a walk-in appointment the next day beginning at 6 p.m., 514-954-4444).

A barrier against getting the copper IUD is that it’s more expensive than oral emergency contraceptives, which cost around $20-$30 […] when your insurance doesn’t cover them.

The insertion procedure.

I woke up early Monday morning, nerves racing in anticipation of the procedure (It was probably also a result of not having taken any medication for my anxiety the night before). Unmedicated and scared, my boyfriend drove me 25 minutes from the McGill area to the clinic, located near the Olympic stadium. We parked, he held my hand, and we found the clinic inside the medical complex. Like the receptionist had said, it was located at the end of the hallway, on the right – bureau 60.

I brought with me everything I could possibly think of needing – Advil, a water bottle, my passport and IDs, a printed out copy of my insurance card, my debit card, and $200. Because of the type of insurance I had, the receptionist told me on the phone earlier that I’d need to pay upfront in cash, and get reimbursed by Blue Cross later. I stumbled in at the front desk, speaking a mix of English and (extremely) limited French. Sitting with my boyfriend in the clinic, we waited about 10 minutes until a nurse called us in.

This was probably the most confusing part – although the clinic says online that they offer services in both French and English, some who work there do not speak the latter. With the help of my boyfriend (who knows more French than I do), and another nurse, we were fortunately able to convey the reason I was there and the situation I was in, and they sent me to a different room in the clinic where we waited for a doctor.

After relaying the days I had had sex and when I began oxcarbazepine, the doctor agreed that a copper IUD would work for me as emergency contraception. I was lucky, they said, because the gynecologist that performed insertions was in today. After giving me a prescription for the Mona Lisa copper IUD, a receipt for my insurance company, and a card displaying the location of the gynecologistís office – just upstairs in the same medical complex – they sent me along to Familiprix to buy the contraceptive itself (which was about $85). This hadn’t been a part of my initial calculations, and when I used my Canadian debit card to pay for it, I couldn’t purchase it – most likely due to the daily purchase limit on my account. (So if you’re ever in my position, it’d be a good idea to check your account limits – I ended up needing to use my American card.)

We took the elevator to the third floor, and I explained my situation, once again, to the receptionist. They had to confirm with the clinic downstairs, but after they did, they penciled me in for an appointment. It was a small room, filled with families waiting to see the doctor. About 30 minutes after I sat down, the gynecologist called me in.

My boyfriend and I sat in the two chairs in front of their desk. The gynecologist unwrapped the box and explained the different parts of the IUD to me, telling me that before the procedure, I would have to be swabbed and tested for gonorrhea and chlamydia – apparently if you insert an IUD and have those STIs, it’s not good. I would also have to take antibiotics to treat gonorrhea and chlamydia, regardless of what the test results were, just in case. 

I felt lucky; the gynecologist said they’d never performed an insertion that resulted in infection, and that they’d done this procedure for awhile. Before I knew it, I was lying down on the table, my feet in stirrups, tightly squeezing my boyfriend’s hand. I’m not going to lie, it hurt pretty bad. Apparently if you’ve never given birth before it hurts more, and I certainly hadn’t. The worst moment was when they pinched my cervix, which is necessary in order to insert the IUD into my uterus. It felt like an instant, intense period cramp, and I was in pain. I’d told myself I’d try not to scream during the procedure, but it fucking hurt at that point.

Fortunately, it’s a pretty short procedure, all done in about two minutes (though it felt like forever in the moment). I lay on the bed for a minute or two, trying to gather my sense of self. A bit of blood had stained the bed I was laying on. I’ve always had low iron, and for the whole hour after the procedure, I felt extremely nauseous. I ended up sitting outside the office on the ground with my head between my knees while my boyfriend paid – antibiotics for gonorrhea and chlamydia ($30), and, as my boyfriend recommended, we bought some probiotics ($20). That turned out to be a really good decision; the antibiotics absolutely destroyed my digestive system. I can’t tell you how much I shit the following days.

I don’t want my story to make you think everyone will have a terrible experience getting an IUD. People’s bodies react in different ways; for some it’s easier, for some it’s more difficult. I’ve heard that some can even go back to work right afterwards.

Needless to say, that was not the case for me. While my experience wasn’t completely terrible, it was more painful than I expected. I had to stay home for the next two days, and the cramps and shits got intense. I won’t go into detail, but I’m sure you can imagine. What helped me most was the probiotics, taking two Advil every eight hours, and a hot water bottle. If you don’t have one, take an old, clean sock and fill it with rice. Then heat it up in the microwave for 30 seconds; it will feel – and work – the same as the hot water bottle you buy at the pharmacy. 

I made calls to at least 10 different clinics. I was on hold with 811, trying to talk to an English-speaking nurse, for more than 45 minutes. I spent almost an hour and a half in total on the phone.

The aftermath.

I stopped spotting and experiencing cramps roughly a week after the procedure. I’m supposed to take a pregnancy test approximately two to three weeks after the IUD insertion to make sure I didnít conceive. (If you don’t want to wait until your next scheduled period to take a pregnancy test, you can take one 7-14 days after having sex – but it may not be as accurate as if you wait until the week your period is supposed to start.) And in two months, I have an appointment back at the gynecologist for them to check up on my IUD. The cramps have subsided for the moment, but we’ll see how my first period with a copper IUD goes; many people using this form of birth control report heavy cramps and bleeding, as well as irregular periods. 

When I tried to have my expenses reimbursed, the Medavie Blue Cross office on McGill College Avenue informed me that they do reimbursements online and via their mobile app now – not in person. I used to be able to walk to their location next to Dormez-Vous on Sherbrooke and get my birth control prescriptions reimbursed there, but that location closed in November 2019. As it takes five to seven business days for the claim to be processed, I found out five days after I submitted my claim exactly how much I would be reimbursed.

The approximately $415 in prescriptions and doctors visits that I submitted to Blue Cross, as I suspected, was not entirely reimbursable. While the visit to the gynecologist ($100) was completely covered, the initial doctor consultation was not – I paid $200 in cash for it, and Blue Cross says they will cover $106.20 of it. As I mentioned earlier, for the copper IUD itself, they only cover $50 in IUD purchases (meaning I will have paid $35 for it). While $35 for a copper IUD is not as expensive as the hormonal alternatives – one hormonal intrauterine system (IUS) in Quebec costs around $325, meaning that an international student who purchases one may still have to pay around $275 for it after getting reimburse – it is still a barrier, and even more so if one wishes to purchase the hormonal IUS. (And especially considering the fact that these costs had to be paid upfront.)

Because of the type of insurance I had, the receptionist told me on the phone earlier that I’d need to pay [$200] upfront in cash, and get reimbursed by Blue Cross later.

As for the gonorrhea and chlamydia antibiotics, they were each reimbursed by 80 per cent. Together, they cost approximately $30, and Blue Cross says they will pay $25 for it. All in all, Blue Cross will pay $280 out of the $415 total expenses (excluding the probiotics).

According to VP Finance Samuel Haward, both he and the SSMU Mental Health Commissioner have met with the directors of ISS and Student Services to discuss the review of international student health insurance and negotiate a new plan with Blue Cross. Haward stated that student associations have little control over the plan, and that it is under the purview of Senate and Procurement Services. Fortunately, this review may be happening sooner rather than later – it is set to occur in 2020-2021.

As international student insurance is set to be reviewed, I implore both Senate and Procurement Services to consider the extensive barriers that international students face under this current plan. Upfront costs, especially unexpected ones paid in times of emergency, disproportionately affect lower-income students. If someone who is in my position is not able to pay these costs, there is the possibility that they could become pregnant, and that is unacceptable.

I implore both Senate and Procurement Services to consider the extensive barriers that international students face under this current plan. Upfront costs, especially unexpected ones paid in times of emergency,  disproportionately affect lower-income students.

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Turkish Academy of Sciences (TÜBA)
TÜBA was founded in 1993 as an independent academic institution. However, in 2011, the government tied itself to the organization by amending the Decree Law on the Establishment of Turkish Academy of Sciences. These changes allowed the government to interfere with the functioning and structure of the scientific institution. Article 11 of the decree states that “the President of the academy will be appointed to serve for three years by the Prime Minister* among the three candidates to be determined by the General Assembly of the academy.” In addition to this, in the event of the failure of the selection process for the President, the Prime Minister gets to appoint the President.

The Motion
The McGill Faculty of Arts sent out an email on November 20, 2019, in which the Turkish Academy of Sciences award was advertised. The email indicated that it would be “presented by the Turkish President Erdogan at a ceremony in Ankara on December 30.” WIMESSA’s motion condemns the faculty’s careless promotion of such a problematic award. Not only was the award presented by Erdogan, who has been accused of a number of human rights abuses, but it was also given by an institution that has lost its credibility in the international scientific community. The normalization of Erdogan’s actions, and the implicit support of the McGill administration through the promotion of the award, are unacceptable. Are these the kind of actions McGill wants to be associated with?

The WIMESSA motion takes into account other atrocities committed by the Turkish government, including the denial of the genocide committed against Armenians, Assyrians, and Greeks. It highlights the diverse group of students on our campus that may feel uncomfortable with this event. It is not just these groups who have been historically targeted, and continue to be persecuted in Turkey. Alawites, Jews, Kurds, and Circassians have also been discriminated against and are receiving differentiated treatment by the Turkish government under Erdogan. Through this motion, students of the Faculty of Arts aim to disassociate themselves from this unacceptable award, and to stand in solidarity with our friends on campus as well as Turkish academics fighting for human rights in Turkey and abroad.

How can McGill advertise one of its professors being honoured by such an illegitimate institution? How can an academic uncritically accept this award, and the money it comes with, while his colleagues are being imprisoned by the very same people presenting it?

When will Turkey leave obscurantism behind? Will we ever come to the point where I could have written this article without being anonymous?

I invite professors at McGill to be more conscious regarding from where and from whom they receive an award.

* The office of Prime Minister was abolished after a referendum in 2017.

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I don’t know how to deal with reality sometimes. How do you cope with pain you’ve never experienced? How do you heal the trauma that was given from your grandparents to your dad down to you? My dad feels lost in America, watching from far away as the tide edges closer and closer and washes over his home.

Pain has always clouded his judgement, and his biting words hit me like a slap to the face at the restaurant. I excuse myself to the bathroom, just as I’ve learned to do ever since I was a child, sitting myself down on the dirty bathroom floor. It’s still the place I go to when I need to cry in peace, without him telling me to stop. I could never bottle up my emotions the way he wanted me to. Maybe that’s what his father taught him to do too.

I play with my fingers in the bathroom, peeling the skin off of them as my breath quickens and my heart races. As I pull the skin off, my finger starts to bleed and my thumb aches, but my mind compels me to continue anyway. I feel the pain but I can’t stop. As my anxiety reaches its peak, random thoughts about things I can’t control sink into my brain, threatening to overwhelm me. I tap my toes and click my heels just the right number of times so that no one I love gets hit in a car crash. If they did and I hadn’t done that, it would be my fault. You might laugh, but this is my brain. I feel my head spinning and I just want to lie on the floor.

I can’t handle it, but I eventually have to come back to dinner. It would be far worse if they found me.

The rest of dinner seems bearable as I sit down again, drinking glass after glass of water so that my face is hidden from view. I blame my red eyes and stuffy nose on the spicy food. I hide my emotions well, until my father presses me on my quietness. And then the pain that has been bubbling under my skin finally erupts. Why the fuck do I wear my heart on my sleeve all the time?

“Because you called them f*ggots,” I cry out. “Please don’t do that again.”

I guess I’ve always subconsciously known this about myself. Maybe it was Hermione Granger’s gorgeous pink dress and curly, done-up hair at the Yule Ball that led me to realize I don’t only like boys. I don’t know, I just think boys and girls are fucking beautiful.

My dad tells me I need to not be so sensitive about these things.

No matter how many times he pulls this shit, though, I’m so much like him. We both check if the stove is off many more times than necessary. We both double back to pull on the front door handle to make sure it’s fully locked so the house can’t be broken into. We both circle back around the house three times to check if the gate is actually closed so the dogs don’t run out and get lost. I don’t know how to trust my brain, when all it does is lie to me and play tricks on me. It makes me imagine a shooter in my closet at two in the morning, a bomb on the side of the street as I walk home, a fire in the living room as I turn the lights off at night. When I’m sitting at home, the last one awake (who’s supposed to turn off all the lights), I feel so alone, and scared to move. I’m frozen on the couch, stuck with these hypothetical images in my head.

Sometimes when it gets really bad – usually when I’m lying in bed – I feel so completely fucking alone, like I’m the only person in the world whose mind works this way. I really want to talk with my dad, to just sit with him at the dining room table and have a discussion that doesn’t end in tears. I try to bring up more personal conversations with him, but they always end (at best) with a weak smile offered on his part and a mumble that he’s going to bed. Our actual conversations are limited to a few subjects – talks about school, debates with each other, and arguments that end with me crying in the upstairs bathroom.

But I sit there, in silence, offering up weak smiles as I let my dad off the hook once again. Because it’s easier to bury my anger inside rather than deal with his response to it.

I want him to ask me about my mental health. I want to talk to him about OCD. I want to ask him about his childhood. But I’m afraid there’s so much I’ll never understand about him. There’s so much pain that I’m scared to bring up, scared that it will end with him going downstairs to watch TV while I peel the skin off my fingers in silence.

How did I become so ill-equipped to deal with pain? Who taught me to hate myself so much? Was it the people staring, not knowing what to say to my bleeding thumbs? Or the thick hair that grew on my body?

My dad used to drop me off at school every day. Sometimes I’d hide the outfits I wore to school, changing when I got there so that he wouldn’t shame me for what I wore. He’d ask me about my grades, giving me a nod when I told him they were As, saying he was so proud of me. But the things he’d praise me for were things that didn’t really matter. When we got into heated conversations in the car about the things that really mattered, like his careless, racist comments, I was always wrong. I was too sensitive. I was a disappointment. So I went into the school bathroom and cried some more.

He says sometimes that I should agree with him on everything. When I press him on it, my dad says he’s joking, but I think that’s ultimately what he wants. I know that if I just let him say whatever he wants without criticism, my life would be a lot easier. But sitting there at that restaurant, my food getting cold, I’m honestly just in shock that this is happening right now.

With tears dripping down my face, and another family eating two feet away from me, I say, “I like boys and girls.”

It’s quiet.

My mom breaks the silence, “well it’s good that we’re all talking with each other, right?” My dad joins in, saying, “of course, we’re one family, and we should know everything about each other.”

“We love you.”

Maybe if he was taught by his parents that it’s okay to have personal boundaries he would understand mine, like don’t force your daughter to come out in an Indian restaurant on a Saturday night. Maybe if he knew anything about me, he’d remember I came out to him and my mom two years prior. Maybe if he knew anything about me he’d know I just want an apology. I don’t want an excuse about how his outbursts are just products of his past, and that I should just accept his racist, nationalist ideology as a part of who he is. I just want him to let go of all the anger and hate and racism he was taught — hate that he is convinced is central to his identity. I don’t want to debate my and other people’s humanity. I just want an apology for his racism and for him to change his actions. I just want an apology for saying “f*ggot” in front of his bisexual daughter.

But that would be too much emotion for one night.

I don’t want my mom to make excuses for him either. But I sit there, in silence, offering up weak smiles as I let my dad off the hook once again. Because it’s easier to bury my anger inside rather than deal with his response to it. Maybe my instinct is to protect everyone’s feelings except my own, and smooth things over as women are supposed to do – because only men are allowed to get angry. Or maybe it’s been taught to me that if I tell someone they made me uncomfortable, they leave. Maybe that’s why I’ve let myself be used.

And maybe that’s what my mother’s father taught her too.

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