Latest News

Features

When Protection Crumbles: An investigation into Quebec’s youth care system

by Yusur Al-Sharqi on

More in Features:

Quebec’s youth care system is in a state of crisis. This year has seen a record number of children under government protection, with 100, 258 new reports filed—a 114 per cent increase over the past decade. The system is not only overloaded but woefully mismanaged, with countless recent instances of horrific abuse and oversights in the care of children by the government. On Oct. 24, Quebec’s Director of Youth Protection Catherine Lemay stepped down after nine women educators at the Cité-des-Prairies Youth Rehabilitation Centre allegedly sexually abused at least five minors under their care. One of the staff members is allegedly pregnant with the child of one of the youths. Earlier this year, a judge condemned Quebec’s youth services after an Inuk child was placed in 64 different homes before they turned 10, resulting in grave attachment issues and various mental health disorders including PTSD. These problems are just the tip of the iceberg of Quebec’s broken youth care system, and they will persist unless we get to their root: An overreliance on the youth care system, misuse of language, and a shortage of properly trained social workers. 

First, it’s critical to understand why government intervention in families is so harmful. Parent-child separation is one of the most profound and lasting traumas a child can experience in their early life. The bond between a child and their primary caregiver is essential for healthy emotional and psychological development. Severing this connection can lead to serious issues such as attachment disorders, anxiety, depression, and difficulties in forming relationships later in life. In an interview with //The Tribune//, Tonino Esposito, Associate Professor at the University of Montreal’s School of Social Work and Adjunct Professor at McGill, explained how, whenever possible, the goal of government social work should be to address underlying familial issues before they escalate to the point of separation. 

“Family reunification is the primary objective the minute that a child is placed in out-of-home care,” Esposito said. 

While the harm of separation is well-documented, there are situations where removal may be necessary to protect a child’s immediate safety, such as in cases of abuse or severe neglect. However, whenever possible, the goal should be to support families through early intervention services. These include counselling, parenting support, and community resources to address underlying issues before they escalate to the point of separation. In an interview with //The Tribune//, one youth currently in care in Quebec shared how, despite being abused by her parents, being separated from them left equally painful scars of abandonment. The separation led her to believe that her parents simply didn’t want her, and that she was unworthy of their love.

Esposito also shared the chilling statistic that people who experience four or more adverse childhood experiences (ACEs)—such as a guardian struggling with substance abuse or depression, or instability due to parental separation—have a life expectancy 20 years shorter than those who do not. More ACEs are also associated with a 12.2 per cent increase in the likelihood of attempting suicide.

“One in 10 children in the province in Quebec are being intervened, that’s one in 10 kids that have reduced life expectancy of 20 years […] and these are just the cases we know of,” Dr. Esposito noted.

Keeping children with their families, when safe to do so, preserves emotional stability, family bonds, and cultural ties, ultimately offering the best chance for long-term well-being. Experts agree that child removal should always be considered a last resort. 

In a conversation with //The Tribune//, Dr. Sonia Hélie, a professor at the Université de Montréal, emphasized how highly troublesome cases of separation and abuse are not generalizable to all youth in care. The majority of youth in care, even those in placement, are eventually reunited with their families or live in a single, stable, healthy placement. 

 “There are approximately 80 per cent of children for whom we intervene quickly for a few months, we close the file and we never see them again,” she explained. 

This intervention ensures that children are protected while social workers devise a plan to support parents in creating a safer environment for their children to thrive. However, Hélie explains that there is a minority of children who are not reunited with their families or end up in homes with unsafe conditions and abusive staff. These situations can be fatal. 

A look into the 20 per cent: Rare but tragic cases of abuse in the system

“I remember one worker telling me, ‘Maybe your dad is acting the way he’s acting because of you,’” shared one young person currently in care, whose father attempted to take her life. “One time, [workers] locked me in a room for 48 hours.”

These types of experiences are not isolated. For children who have already been through trauma, the environment in many group homes can exacerbate their emotional and psychological struggles. Elijah Olise, a U1 McGill Social Work student and youth advocate, shared one example of a youth home riddled with sexual abuse. He pointed out how, instead of finding healing, the trauma is often passed on. The system grouped children who had experienced sexual assaults in the same home—being negligent toward the fact that children often reenact their sexual trauma. 

 “A lot of the time, if you have a young group home and have one kid who was sexually assaulted, they would end up doing things to other kids, or teaching them, or whatever,” he said. “But the thing is that every single kid in that unit was sexually assaulted.”

“They put all the ‘bad apples’ together and whatever happens, happens. They don’t really care about the consequences, ” Olise continued. “They think, ‘Well, at least this is contained.’” 

Government actively neglects Indigenous children 

From 1876 to 1997, the Canadian government ripped Indigenous children from their homes, tore them away from their families, systematically worked to erase their Indigenous cultures, and subjected them to horrific sexual, physical, and mental abuse—many times, even letting them die in their care. These institutions were residential schools. But Indigenous children are still being taken from their families, still being separated from their communities, and still suffering trauma—only now, it happens under the guise of child protection. While we might instinctively draw a line between the residential schools of the past and the child welfare system today, the numbers and reports from a study published in the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health show that these systems share more similarities than differences. 

Of Indigenous communities, First Nations children specifically are over 17 times more likely than non-Indigenous children to be removed from their families and placed in care. Even in cases where no maltreatment or behavioural issues are reported, First Nations children are almost five times more likely to be investigated, particularly when concerns about neglect are raised. In Canada as a whole, statistics show that while Indigenous children make up just over 7 per cent of the Canadian child population, they represent more than 50 per cent of children in the child welfare system.

“It’s a very colonial way of childcare, a continuation, directly speaking, of the residential schools,” Olise says. “Foster homes are not any different––they’re just packaged differently.” 

The children and grandchildren of residential school survivors face increased risks for negative health outcomes through several pathways. Beyond the direct trauma linked to residential school attendance, these negative effects are also tied to intergenerational challenges such as discrimination in public services and mental health struggles. Of First Nations youth aged 12-24 who live off reserves, 43 per cent reported heavy drinking. The high rates of parent-child separation within Indigenous communities perpetuate this trauma, and many Indigenous youth advocates argue that this is closely tied to historical colonial interventions that supported and perpetuated child removal practices across generations. 

During an interview with The Tribune, Nico Trocmé, Director of McGill’s School of Social Work, explained that while shifts in Canadian government policies during the late 20th century helped reduce the number of children removed from families, this improvement actively excluded First Nations families. 

“The number of children in care across Canada, by the end of the 80s, had been cut in half,” he said. “The one exception was First Nations families and children because the federal government essentially refused to fund family support services for them.”

In fact, in 2007, the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society of Canada and the Assembly of First Nations filed a complaint under the Canadian Human Rights Act, alleging that the Canadian government discriminated against Indigenous families in child welfare services through underfunding. For years, the case was subject to high scrutiny. In 2016, the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal (CHRT) ruled that the Canadian government was depriving First Nations children of the same resources that other children in the welfare system received. However, for 15 months, the CHRT took this decision under reserve, during which time the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC)—which led reconciliation efforts for any Indigenous person affected by the colonial legacies of the residential school system—released its final report. In their final report, the TRC listed 94 direct calls to action to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. Child welfare equity and reform was number one on this list. 

Caseworkers’ willful disregard for the very children they should protect 

Even more troubling than the systemic overrepresentation of Indigenous children is how some caseworkers in Quebec’s youth protection system often fail to meet basic standards of accountability. Internal documents obtained by //La Presse// revealed disturbing trends in one centre: Caseworkers at the centre routinely, and knowingly, submitted reports to the courts containing significant errors, and in some instances, they requested no-contact orders between children and their parents without providing sufficient justification. In the sample analyzed in the report, over half of the children placed in foster care were removed from their homes without meeting the required legal or procedural standards for removal. The same horrifying report showed that many children were placed for adoption without all the necessary legal criteria being met. 

In one case, the investigator highlights a new mother who had been placed in foster care by the Direction de la Protection de la Jeunesse (DPJ) during her own childhood and aged out of the system. Because of her history with the DPJ, a report was filed just a day after her baby was born. Within two days of being born, the baby was placed under immediate protection measures. 

What’s behind the disturbing cases of abuse?

1. The Overuse and Misuse of Child Protection Terminology

A significant issue contributing to the breakdown of the system is the way the terms abuse and neglect are applied. 

“The language of child abuse and neglect is being stretched way too broadly,” Trocmé said. “Some of the day-to-day crises that any family can face. If you are living in poverty and you don’t have access to other resources, then people misuse terms like neglect or even abuse to describe these situations.”

This overgeneralization leads to families being swept into a system that was not designed to address their real needs. Of course, this is not to undermine actual cases of abuse and neglect. However, in day-to-day family crises that do not involve abuse or neglect, families are often thrust into an investigative process, instead of receiving the support they require—such as parenting resources, community services, or mental health care. 

“For the majority of these families, they’re being served by the child protection system not because of acts of commission, but primarily because of chronic needs associated with an array of problems under this broad nomenclature of ‘neglect,’” Esposito said. 

The child protection system is supposed to be a last-resort intervention for exceptional cases of abuse or neglect, but too often, it becomes an overused tool for more common struggles. 

“One in every 10 kids in the province of Quebec will be intervened by the child protection system before they turn 18. So by no stretch of the imagination is that an exceptional intervention,” Esposito said. 

2. The Impact of Underfunding and Staff Shortages

Another major factor driving the crisis is the severe lack of resources in youth protection systems. 

“They’re so desperate to get workers that some of these workers aren’t even qualified anymore. But if you fire too many, then you have no system,” Olise noted.

This shortage of qualified professionals exacerbates the issues facing children in care and the social workers tasked with protecting them. Social workers are overwhelmed, and in some cases, turnover is so high that the system becomes unstable. The situation is even worse in First Nations communities. 

“It’s a bit of a double whammy: The federal funding system simply didn’t fund family support services, and the provinces never really developed those services tailored to the needs of [First Nations] communities,” Trocmé said.

3. Structural Failures and Centralization of Services

Quebec’s previous Liberal government decided to centralize health and social services, integrating many community-based social service agencies into larger healthcare systems. This centralization has made accountability difficult. Previously, a local director would oversee daily operations at group homes and be held accountable for the care provided. 

“Now, the person who’s responsible for a group home might also be responsible for a major teaching hospital, all services for the elderly, and people with disabilities. That structural change was very problematic in Quebec,” Trocmé explained.

Another critical issue is the level of training and support for social workers. Hélie points out that many social workers lack foundational training in the legal aspects of child intervention, while the lawyers and judges lack an understanding of child development, attachment theory, and trauma-sensitive approaches, which are essential when dealing with vulnerable children and families. Social work is an inherently interdisciplinary field, and the lack of adequate training and specialized knowledge has led to missteps in practice. 

Not all hope is lost

To be clear, the majority of social workers aren’t the villains in this story; they are the heroes. They work tirelessly, often under impossible conditions, doing their best to support children and families who need help the most. These professionals are navigating a deeply flawed, underfunded, and overstretched system—one that often leaves them with few options, no matter how hard they work. 

But my deepest empathy is reserved for the children—the ones whose voices are so often drowned out in the noise of bureaucracy and policy. The numbers may be overwhelming, and the problems deeply rooted in policy and structure, but at the heart of it all are children who never asked to be part of this broken system. And in the end, it’s their voices that must be heard the loudest. 

This crisis may seem insurmountable, but it can be overcome. The solution lies not in sweeping reform alone, but in our collective commitment to putting children and their futures first. It’s about understanding that youth protection isn’t just a system for the few—it’s a service for the many, and when it fails, it affects us all. We all have a role to play—whether it’s by advocating for policy change, supporting organizations working on the ground, or simply amplifying the voices of those who are too often ignored. 

Off the Board, Opinion

Through love, we can protect the heart of democracy

by Jenna Durante on

More in Off the Board:

The first time I saw democracy in action, it was not through a cast vote, but a love letter to the future. 

Before I was old enough to vote, my mom and dad would bring me to the polling stations in my hometown of Barrie, Ontario to watch the events unfold. People lined up patiently, one by one, to cast their vision of our country’s future. At a young age, I found it thrilling to see everyone united by a shared purpose: To make their voices heard. In my small, passionate community, voting was more than just a routine—it was a tradition treated with reverence and care. 

On one of those days, my parents explained how people had fought for this right, and how others around the world still dreamed of having it. They taught me that democracy is a gift we should never take for granted. But as I’ve grown older, my perspective has changed, coloured by the weight of the system’s fragility. 

After the Nov. 6 US election, I question what we must do to truly protect the gift of democracy. 

At its core, democracy is built on the voices of the people. It’s a system that hinges on participation, accountability, and respect for the will of the community. Yet, democracy is not a fixed system—it evolves with those who uphold it. Today, its foundation is under threat, with political polarization, misinformation, and attacks on the electoral process sowing seeds of doubt and division. 

It’s okay to feel discouraged––I know I am. I worry that the world is slipping out of our hands, burdened by the challenges that feel too heavy to hold. We may believe our efforts are too small, or that the change we need is too far out of reach. But these feelings—of uncertainty, frustration, and even fear—are part of the process, challenging traditional notions of democracy and reshaping them for the future. 

In a recent Philosophy of Race lecture (PHIL 327), we explored the ideas of democracy in the face of adversity. Feeling lost, my professor offered a powerful insight: Every effort to protect and redefine democracy must come from the heart. 

The teachings of American author bell hooks describe love as the foundation for justice. Her words—both gentle and bold—redefined love not as a mere sentiment but as something fierce and transformative at the core of democracy. To build and sustain the system, hooks reminds us, we must nurture it with love; with compassion, humility, and a commitment to the well-being of all. Conflict, she suggested, is the true test of trust—it’s in these moments that we learn how to make amends, listen deeply, and rebuild what has been wounded.

When we look to the future, may we act not only with conviction, but with the courage to love as a force that seeks the truth. 

The future of democracy feels uncertain, making it easy to fear the unthinkable. But through caring for one another and standing together, we can protect it. Democracy isn’t just a system; it reflects our shared hopes and commitments to something we believe so deeply in. We can’t take it for granted, but we don’t have to defend it alone. 

Looking back on my visits to the polls with my parents, I remember the reverence they instilled in me—their belief that casting a vote wasn’t just a civic duty, but a powerful act of faith in democracy. Today, that faith faces unprecedented challenges, but the essence persists: Democracy endures through every protest we attend, every truth we speak to power, and every right we stand to protect.

At the heart of it all lies love—the force that compels us to stand for something greater than ourselves. It is through love, not just for the values we cherish, but for each other, that we fulfill democracy’s promise. By fighting for the principles that define us, we can keep the tradition alive—not as a relic of the past, but as a force to shape a more resilient future.

Arts & Entertainment, Film and TV, Poetry

Inaugural Palestinian Film Festival celebrates art, heritage, and hope

by Monique Kasonga, Yusur Al-Sharqi on

More in Arts & Entertainment:

“I’m nothing without Palestine. Palestine is my everything, all my values are based on being Palestinian.”

These words, spoken by a member who wished to remain anonymous of the Palestinian Cultural Club (PCC) at McGill, resonated deeply across the university’s campus on Friday, Nov. 8. That evening, the PCC hosted its much-anticipated Palestinian Film Festival, If I Must Die, transforming the Leacock Building into a breathtaking celebration of Palestinian culture. 

In a conversation with The Tribune, another PCC organizer who wished to remain anonymous expressed the club’s motivation for organizing the festival.

“A lot of people, especially in Montreal, only knew Palestine after October 7. We want to show people that it did not start on October 7, and it did not start in 1948,” they explained. “Palestine is not all about war.”

The building buzzed with energy as upwards of 300 people gathered to enjoy a carefully curated program of three short films, a full-length feature, and artistic performances highlighting the beauty and resilience of Palestinian culture. An array of Palestinian vendors offering handmade goods lined the halls, while an art exhibit, shown in collaboration with the Palestinian Museum in Palestine, captivated viewers with stunning works by Palestinian artists throughout history. Attendees enveloped themselves in the warmth of traditional thobes and keffiyehs; Palestinian flags proudly hung from the staircases, creating a powerful atmosphere of unity, pride, and remembrance. This event was, in a way, an act of protest against the ongoing injustices in Palestine; as one organizer said, “Art is a form of resistance.”

Once settled into Leacock 132 for the screenings, guests stood for the Palestinian and Lebanese national anthems, followed by a land acknowledgement. The PCC executive team then outlined their organization’s goals, announcing plans to make this film festival an annual tradition. They highlighted recent projects, such as their collaboration with SSMU to offer Dabke classes and their partnership with Concordia’s Palestinian Cultural Club to establish a Palestinian library.

In the beautifully animated short film Checkpoint, British-Palestinian filmmaker Jana Kattan explained the symbolism of the Jaffa orange in a voice-over. Representing strength and resistance, the fruit’s ties to the loss of agricultural land and displacement reflect themes central to the festival.

Before the screening of the 2024 feature film Where Olive Trees Weep, a Palestinian singer performed a musical rendition of the poem If I Must Die by Refaat Alareer. The poignant performance set the tone for the film, evoking a shared sense of dispossession—and resilience—that touched everyone in the audience. 

The occasion was more than a simple film festival; it was a tribute to Palestinian identity, a celebration of heritage, and a powerful act of solidarity with those enduring the ongoing struggles of occupation and displacement. Each film and performance served not only as a display of artistry but as a form of resistance, a reclaiming of narratives, and a reminder of the enduring spirit of the Palestinian people. The evening showcased the strength that has defined generations, connecting the audience to a shared history and identity that transcends borders and unites Palestinian communities, from Gaza to the diaspora.

“I want people to know that we exist,” the organizer said. “We exist on campus, we go to class, we are active members in clubs. It’s really hard—exhausting—to prove to everyone that we exist. But we do exist on campus. We have a history, we have a rich heritage, a rich culture.”

As the screenings came to an end, the event’s lasting impact was undeniable. For many, this was not just a demonstration of Palestinian culture, but a call to understand and support the rights and history of a people whose stories are too often overshadowed by violence. The PCC’s selection of moving and relevant films offered a lens into the realities of Palestinian life, stressing that Palestinian identity is more than a reaction to loss—it is a legacy of beauty, fortitude, and an unbreakable connection to the land, traditions, and future of Palestine. Through events like these, the PCC at McGill sends a powerful message: Palestinian culture is alive, vibrant, and will not be erased. 

Behind the Bench, Soccer, Sports

Professional soccer continues to prioritize commercial interests over safety and ethics

by Zoe Laxton on

More in Behind the Bench:

Content warning: Mentions of sexual violence, assault, and rape.

The narrative that rape accusations ruin the lives of the accused is dangerous, untrue, and often not the case, especially with high-profile alleged abusers. Athletes, managers, and coaches across the sporting world have faced allegations of sexual violence and face minimal consequences due to their skill level and status. It has become a particularly significant issue in professional soccer, given the sport’s international popularity. 

This is apparent when looking at Arsenal midfielder Thomas Partey, whose career is thriving despite three separate sexual assault allegations. He was arrested for rape in July 2022—which is the second time allegations had reached Arsenal—but has had his bail extended multiple times. Ultimately, the case was not pursued because of a technicality in legislation that prevented prosecution for an offence that happened overseas. Despite the controversy, Partey’s reputation in the media has been protected: UK privacy law determines that he remains anonymous unless charged, disconnecting any news reports related to his arrest with his name. 

Any threats facing his career have been purely performance-based. Last year, Arsenal put Partey’s contract under review because of his level of play. Head Coach of the Ghanaian Black Stars Otto Addo axed Partey from the national team on Nov. 7. While the reasoning was confidential, it is likely unrelated to the sexual assault allegations. He missed the previous games for Ghana due to illness, and, according to Addo, his exclusion is temporary. The decision might even benefit Partey’s ability to contribute to Arsenal, given that all his attention will now be focused on their next fixtures. On Nov. 5, the Gunners nominated Partey for Arsenal’s Player of the Month, featured him on the graphic for their recent match against Newcastle, and have consistently continued to publicly celebrate his performance. 

It seems all too easy for professional soccer players to get off scot-free when they are accused of sexual violence, particularly due to the huge fanbase and international following of European competitions like the Premier League. One only has to look at the infamous ex-Manchester United forward, Mason Greenwood, and the sexual assault and domestic violence case he faced in early 2022 to realize that rape allegations against professional soccer players are significantly understated among the clubs and leagues. 

Greenwood’s girlfriend, Harriet Robson, accused him of rape and physical assault after leaking incriminating photos and recordings. The Premier League suspended Greenwood during the investigation. The prosecutor withdrew the case, and Manchester United debated his return to the club right until the last minute because they felt a “duty of care” towards him. However, after discussions with key club stakeholders—including members of the women’s team—ultimately, the club cut ties. 

Many women’s rights organizations heavily criticized United’s leadership for this, citing the team made the decision only when met with increased pressure from the media. However, his skill and reputation as a promising young talent means that he can continue progressing in his career; Greenwood now plays for Ligue 1 club Marseille after being on loan to Getafe for the 2023-2024 season, and is still celebrated for his talent. Soccer journalists like Fabrizio Romano have frequently promoted his performances. 

Partey and Greenwood’s cases highlight the extent to which status, aptitude, and celebrity can exempt a person from the supposed “life-ruining” consequences of rape allegations. These allegations are typically only disregarded because of trivial bureaucratic details, meaning that prosecution is often nigh-impossible. A Google search into these players’ names only yields results related to their soccer careers, while their histories of sexual assault are buried under hundreds of articles praising their performances and discussing their futures. 

This doesn’t stop with Partey or Greenwood. Time after time, professional soccer players go unpunished for sexual assault because of their athletic prowess. Some of the biggest names in soccer, like Cristiano Ronaldo or Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior, have faced similar cases with few repercussions on their ability to continue playing professionally. 

Players are large investments for clubs that make up their brand and image. Hero-like worship and enormous support from their fans diminish athletes’ misconduct on the grounds of skill. The harmful reality is that clubs and organizations seldom take sexual violence cases seriously due to the focus on on-field excellence.

Out on the Town, Student Life

Halloweekend unmasked: How McGill students celebrated

by Jeanne Le Roux, Simona Culotta on

More in Out on the Town:

This year, Halloween fell on a Thursday, which set the tone for a thrilling and festive weekend to follow. For McGill students—especially those recovering from midterms—Halloweekend served as a reward, with festivities ranging between frat events, parties, club outings, and other fun gatherings. With the large range of options to celebrate, and Montreal’s vivacious nightlife, students ended up with packed schedules for the holiday, making the most of their weekend. 

The Tribune compared and contrasted students from different years’ plans for the weekend. When we asked a group of first-years to give us the rundown, it seemed that they were leaving the weekend open to many different possibilities. For example, Nava Menon, U0 Music, shared her indecisiveness.

“There’s a couple things floating around—maybe we’re going to try to get into one of the frats because we know one of the people, but we don’t know if they’ll let us in because we don’t have tickets—so maybe we’ll stand in line for a club, or just end up at a bar,” she said.  

On a similar note, Emma Edwards, U0 Arts, who had Halloweekend plans with Menon, expressed how easy it would be to find something to do. 

“It’s such a clubbing area—there’s not much else to do,” Edwards stressed. “We always end up going to Café Campus anyway.”

Yet, Halloweekend also seemed to be a series of events difficult to coordinate, especially for those living in dorm residences, unable to throw their own party. However, while the first years may not have their own places to host a house party or something else for the holiday, Montreal doesn’t make it difficult to find other exciting activities. With Boul. Saint-Laurent expected to be packed with Halloween revellers, the celebration extends far beyond McGill’s campus.

While going to clubs or bars is a first-year rite of passage, for upper-year students, hosting or attending house parties is an integral aspect of Halloween festivities. Dylan Jacques, U3 Desautels, said he and his friends are “hosting a party on Friday and going to a friend’s party on Saturday.” 

As most students live in their own apartments, more casual and homely functions seem to have a bigger appeal. Dania Corbeil, U4 Arts, expressed that feeling in an interview with The Tribune. 

“House parties allow you not to worry about how much effort to put into costumes or what you are supposed to look like, since they create an environment where everyone feels comfortable,” she said.

Even though some upper-year McGillians still enjoy clubbing as it is a considerable part of Montreal’s vibrant nightlife, the consensus remains that house parties are the best way to celebrate this spooky season. Others, such as Charlotte Sovka, U1 Arts, decided that getting the best out of both worlds was also an option.

“[I plan on going] clubbing on Thursday since it’s the actual Halloween day and attending a house party on Friday and Saturday,” she noted. 

In addition to going out, students also enjoy partaking in the Halloween tradition of giving out candy to the trick-or-treaters of their neighbourhood. Corbeil mentioned how she bought candy but is “not sure that kids are going to stop by.” Although student neighbourhoods like Milton Parc or the Plateau may not be ideally suited for welcoming younger children—since they are mostly populated by university students—McGillians still take pleasure in being ready for the possibility.  

Each year, as housing situations, friend groups, and personal preferences change, Halloweekend plans look a little different for every student. From freshmen going to bars, clubs, or frats, to upper-year students organizing personal Halloween house parties, this year’s Halloween was characterized by diversity in options. Regardless of your Halloweekend itinerary, nothing compares to Montreal during the spooky season.

Campus Spotlight, Student Life

SLASA’s role in building community ties at McGill

by Malika Logossou on

More in Campus Spotlight:

McGill is home to various identity-based clubs that enrich its student life. One of the largest is the Spanish and Latin American Students’ Association (SLASA), which boasts over 1,900 members. SLASA offers a vibrant community-driven space for Hispanic and Latinx students on campus. 

Since the academic year began, SLASA has hosted a wide array of events to unite Hispanic and Latinx communities. The longest-running one is “Coffee and Spanish,” a bi-monthly event where students can practice their Spanish in a social, stress-free, and fun environment. Each session attracts 25 to 30 students looking to meet new people and reconnect with their culture through language.

Eugenie Renaudo, U3 Arts, told The Tribune that “Coffee and Spanish” is her favourite SLASA activity. 

“I love it because I found a lot of my Latino best friends [there]. You get to speak in Spanish, which I didn’t do during my highschool in France,” she said.

October was a busy month for SLASA, with activities stacked one after the other. On Oct. 4, the club launched a mentorship program that pairs students based on their interests and cultural backgrounds. They hosted a Latin America-themed Trivia Night with free food and drinks on Oct. 9. Then, on Oct. 25, the club organized the Latin American Consulate Panel in honour of Latin American and Hispanic Heritage Month. For this popular event, which attracted over 100 students, SLASA invited four Latin American consular representatives to discuss how youth can integrate themselves into Canadian professions.

Finally, SLASA celebrated Día de los Muertos on Oct. 30 with a get-together at Tacos Lakalaka, offering members a chance to connect and honour the holiday in a fun, non-academic setting. 

Attendee Alejandro Sotelo Tapias, U1 Management, highlighted the appeal of participating in the club’s events.

 “SLASA’s activities are fun to be at. It can help people from the Latino community like me to meet other people who are Latino,” Tapias explained.  

Through its events, SLASA aims to create a home away from home for students, understanding how challenging it can be to stay connected to one’s culture while being abroad.

Co-President Uma Le Daca Jolicoeur, U3 Arts, shared the executive team’s vision for SLASA, emphasizing the unique sense of belonging that comes from connecting with peers from similar backgrounds. 

“Part of our goal or mission is to make people at home and have more of a cultural base in terms of language and social interactions,” she declared. “[There are] certain things that you cannot talk about with friends that are not from the same cultural background as you.”

Going forward, SLASA is working to make events more inclusive for Portuguese-speaking Latinx. 

Co-President Júlia de Oliveira Lima Gaspar, a U3 Arts student from Brazil, is helping organize a Brazilian party and a “Coffee and Portuguese” event to increase representation for the community. “A big part of Latin America is South America, and which Brazil is such a big part of,” she emphasized, referencing Brazil’s over 214 million Portuguese speakers.

Non-Latin-American and Hispanic students are invited to attend SLASA events as well. 

“It’s not just for Latinos, it’s for people that are interested in Latin American culture and learning Spanish,” Susana Baquero Salah, U3 Arts and SLASA’s Vice President Events, shared. “Going to SLASA is important for me to reconnect with my peers, with my people, and preserving the culture. And it’s also a lot of fun.” 

For some, like Emmanuel Menacho Tardieu, U4 Engineering, SLASA provides a break from academic stress. 

“My major is pretty stressful, with a lot of homework, a lot of work to do but having this is the other side of the coin at McGill,” he stated.

Others, as Júlia de Oliveira Lima Gaspar puts it, “Join for the culture but stay for the community.” 

To keep up with SLASA’s upcoming events, follow them on Instagram.

​

Behind the Bench, Sports

Removing the mask: Uncovering the importance of mental health in men’s sports

by Zain Ahmed on

More in Behind the Bench:

Professional sport is a bastion of prowess and unwavering determination. In times where mental health and introspection are evermore pertinent, society is starting to recognize the importance of mental health advocacy, especially for high-level athletes. While recent years have seen a surge in discussions surrounding mental health, particularly among women athletes such as Simone Biles and Jordan Chiles, the discourse around men athletes’ mental health is still often epitomized by silence.

Traditional images of men athletes are one of stoicism, resilience, and unwavering toughness. This stereotype, perpetuated by patriarchal expectations, creates a toxic environment where men athletes feel compelled to suppress their emotions and mental health struggles. The “boys don’t cry” mentality, deeply ingrained in society, often leads men athletes to suffer in silence. Expectations to suppress emotions can lead to a buildup of stress, anxiety, and depression. The pressure to perform and the fear of being perceived as weak or vulnerable can exacerbate these issues. The toxic masculinity standards upheld by misconceptions about men athletes can lead to self-destructive behaviours, substance abuse, and even suicide. Misguided and problematic standards stifle open discourse surrounding mental health, making it difficult for athletes to acknowledge their own humanity. 

While organizations like Movember have made significant strides in raising awareness about men’s mental health, the conversation is rarely centred around specific challenges faced by men athletes. Constant public scrutiny and the high demands placed on athletes can strain their mental well-being. The shortage of adequate mental health resources for men athletes at the professional and collegiate levels, albeit decreasing, compounds the problem. Although progress has been made, many athletes still hesitate to seek the necessary support and treatment they might need.

The media plays a crucial role in reshaping public perceptions of mental health and challenging stereotypes that prevent open dialogue. While there has been increased coverage of men athletes’ mental health struggles, societal expectations still place elite athletes on a pedestal, perceiving them as unstoppable. Women athletes face immense media backlash for challenging mental health stereotypes. Take, for example, Simone Biles removing herself from the Olympics for her mental health, and being dubbed a “national embarrassment.” For men athletes, the challenge is distinct yet similarly painful; the idea of traditional powerful masculinity is what drives men athletes to hide their emotions from the world to maintain their image. To ignite meaningful change, media and cultural leaders must exemplify a standard of openness, dismantling the façade of perfection expected from athletes.

In recent years, a growing number of men athletes have begun to challenge the traditional norms of masculinity and openly discuss their mental health struggles. Kevin Love, a star NBA player for the Miami Heat, has been a vocal advocate for mental health awareness, sharing his experiences with anxiety and depression. Former NFL player Brandon Marshall has also been a prominent voice, using his platform to raise awareness and reduce stigma. 

To address these challenges, sports organizations, coaches, and athletes themselves must create a more supportive and understanding environment not only for men, but for all athletes. This involves breaking down the stigma surrounding mental health, encouraging open dialogue, and providing accessible mental health resources. 

By normalizing conversations about mental health, we can empower athletes to seek help without fear of judgment or repercussions. Encouraging athletes to share their experiences can inspire others to do the same, creating a ripple effect of positive change. Additionally, all sporting institutions making the effort to provide adequate mental health resources, such as therapists and counsellors, can ensure that athletes are supported to overcome these challenges. 

By sharing their stories, athletes like Love and Marshall inspire others to seek help and break the silence, demonstrating that it is okay to be vulnerable and that mental health is just as important as physical health. Just as women athletes like Biles and Chiles have bravely spoken out about their mental health struggles, it is time for men athletes to feel as though they can follow suit. By sharing their stories, they can not only inspire others, but can also help to dismantle the harmful stereotypes that perpetuate the silence surrounding men’s mental health in sports. It is only by addressing these issues head-on that we will be able to create a truly inclusive and supportive environment for all athletes to thrive both on and off the field.

Murals of Montreal, Student Life

If walls could talk, what would they say? 

by Bianca Tri on

More in Murals of Montreal:

In my first year of university, I stumbled upon a poster calling for research subjects for McGill’s Translational Research in Affect & Cognition (TRAC) Lab. They were running a study on U0 students’ emotions, by having me wear a strange helmet to measure my brain activity while I played some mental games. I participated, got $20 CAD in cash, and immediately spent it on a burger right outside the building. 

Evidently, posters can open the pathway to many opportunities—like a free lunch—and let you know what people care about in the world. The Tribune took a walk around campus, hitting major billboards and seeing what initiatives are vying for your attention.

AUS Billboards

As we began our tour in the Leacock lobby, the sheer number of publications was overwhelming. With various SSMU votes coming up, many of these boards were taken up by posters asking for student support. Importantly, SSMU was asking for the creation of a fee to support francophone affairs and CKUT was seeking a fee increase to sustain their operations as McGill’s student-run radio station. Given that CKUT’s referendum passed, postering paired with other methods of outreach can be a great way to assure services receive the support they need!

On the non-referendum side of things, the Arts boards boast various events such as film festivals and graduate school fairs. If you’re creative, you’ll also find many calls for submissions. Artists, writers, and musicians are always needed for various clubs under the Arts Undergraduate Society (AUS) portfolio, so if you want to share your genius with the world, just take a walk through the Arts building!

McConnell Billboards

The McConnell Engineering Building has many billboards in its lobby, all promoting interesting upcoming initiatives. Notable events include a physics hackathon happening from Nov. 15 to 17 and PhD Discovery Day on Nov. 21. The most prominent type of communication you’ll find on Engineering boards calls for participants and networking events. Studies typically offer compensation for participation, so if you want an extra $30 CAD for just an hour of your time, stop by for a quick look! It’s double the minimum wage, which is a pretty good deal.

MUS Billboards

The billboards in Bronfman’s basement looked barren on our visit. However, we noticed that Dave’s Store—a student-run snack shop—is now open! Their poster advertised that all items are between $1-$5 CAD. With Couche-Tard upstairs, Dave’s Store is a great alternative for students looking for a cheap energy boost from 10 AM to 6 PM Monday through Thursday. In general, Management Undergraduate Society (MUS) boards showcase career resources for management students, contact links for their 2024 Peer Advisors, and information about upcoming case competitions. Rest assured, there is no shortage of guidance available on Bronfman’s walls!

Rounding this exploration off, we looked at digital methods of postering, namely through faculty newsletters. If you don’t have the time to print and post advertisements in-person, or if you generally want to reach a wider audience, sending your initiatives to AUS, EUS, and MUS listservs is a great way to raise awareness.

In the city

Off-campus, posters are less school-related and take on various characters. Montreal used to have an anti-postering bylaw, but thanks to local activist Jaggi Singh, citizens can poster on street furniture without fearing fines. Walking on Boul. Saint-Laurent, you may notice advertisements for clubs—either for themed nights or special performances. You may also see community initiatives calling for action, such as protest announcements and posters that raise awareness about local issues. Public art and postering serve as a method of informal dissemination that can be classified as informative in one moment and vandalistic in the next. When you see a paper ripped off of public property, it’s necessary to inquire why some posters last longer than others in the wild. 

Postering is a call for people to notice the world around them. When we are inquisitive and take time to notice, we engage with the movements, messages, and events happening in our community.

Editorial, Opinion

Quebec’s healthcare system needs a prescription for change

by The Tribune Editorial Board on

More in Editorial:

Quebec Health Minister Christian Dubé recently announced reform plans for Quebec’s healthcare system, which include restricting new doctors to the public sector and potentially invoking the notwithstanding clause to enforce compliance. The provincial doctor shortage is a pressing issue: Quebec has seen a 70 per cent increase in physicians moving to the private sector since 2020. Contributing factors like difficult working conditions, excessive paperwork, and restrictive policies have driven doctors out of the public sector, yet the minister’s plans do not adequately address or offer solutions to these underlying issues. As a result, public healthcare accessibility has worsened, with increasing wait times for essential treatments and over two million Quebecers lacking access to a family doctor. This situation reveals systemic failures in supporting public-sector doctors and exposes a troubling pattern of neglect toward marginalized communities.

Due to being understaffed and overwhelmed, Quebec doctors struggle to provide adequate time or empathy to their patients—a deficiency whose effects particularly impact BIPOC and 2SLGBTQIA+ groups, who face discrimination and inappropriate medical questioning. The Canadian healthcare system still predominantly serves a white, cisgender, patriarchal model, contributing to widespread misdiagnoses for those who do not fit this profile. As such, non-white individuals are more likely to experience medical discrimination; women of colour are often dismissed by doctors who fail to take their symptoms seriously, while dermatological medical conditions are often misinterpreted on darker skin. 

The detrimental impact of this crisis disproportionately affects Indigenous populations who face life-threatening discrimination within healthcare settings. Inuit patients from Nunavik, for example, must often travel to Montreal for medical care, as their region lacks sufficient healthcare resources. Ullivik Lodge, intended as a supportive space for these patients, has faced serious issues—unsanitary conditions, staff disrespect, and mismanagement—compromising patient well-being. Furthermore, the provincial government’s oversimplified and superficial 90-minute online sensitivity training course for healthcare professionals fails to meaningfully engage Indigenous voices or ensure cultural safety for the large Indigenous populations it serves. This broader issue of disrespect and trauma faced by Indigenous patients is clear all over Canada, as was made clear in Saskatoon when doctors cut off Métis elder Ruben St. Charles’ long ponytail—a symbol of his heritage—without consent during a hospital stay. 

Indigenous health needs, which are deeply influenced by cultural values, go mostly unrecognized in Quebec’s healthcare system, which was designed without Indigenous input. This maltreatment has led to severe consequences for Indigenous communities, who already experience reduced life expectancy, insufficient or even harmful medical care, and cultural insensitivity, exacerbating historical trauma. 

One major obstacle to overcoming this crisis is Quebec’s recent tuition hikes, which restrict access to medical education and discourage aspiring healthcare professionals. These financial changes not only limit McGill’s ability to foster new talent in the healthcare field but also exacerbate the existing shortages in Quebec’s public health sector. Still, it is not completely out of the university’s hands: As a leading research institution, McGill has a responsibility to drive progress in Canada’s healthcare system through education and innovation and a duty to support other essential public sectors, such as healthcare, that serve the broader community—a commitment that is more critical than ever in light of the current crisis.

To address these structural issues, healthcare leaders need to proactively work to dismantle systemic racism. This involves more than short sensitivity courses; it requires integrating Indigenous and marginalized perspectives into healthcare education. Universities, especially those like McGill which have significant influence, must implement comprehensive cultural competency training in their medical programs. This training must centre unlearning ingrained biases, not simply learning new concepts. Incorporating Indigenous health perspectives as mandatory components of the curriculum, as seen in Manitoba’s Indigenous studies prerequisite for medical school, could pave the way for a more inclusive healthcare system. McGill can further support these efforts by encouraging inclusive innovation and the inclusion of cultural lifeways within the medical field. This would foster a new generation of healthcare providers who approach medicine with a culturally-informed perspective, not only to better serve Indigenous communities and communities of colour, but to enrich Canada’s healthcare system as a whole.

1 … 106 107 108 109 110 … 1,363

Read the latest issue

Read the latest issue