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News, SSMU, The Tribune Explains

The Tribune Explains: SSMU and UTILE affordable student housing

by Titouan Le Ster on

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The island of Montreal’s apartment vacancy rate dropped to 1.6 per cent in 2023, with neighbourhoods like Plateau-Mont-Royal plummeting to 0.6 per cent, according to the 2024 report by the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation. In parallel, the average rent price for a two-bedroom has increased by a record-high of 7.9 per cent between 2022 and 2023. The rising costs are inhibiting students’ ability to access affordable housing. To combat this, the Students’ Society of McGill University (SSMU) is working with L’Unité de travail pour l’implantation de logement étudiant (UTILE) to break ground on Le Méridien, an affordable housing development catered to students. //The Tribune// unpacks the development of this partnership and what it means for present and future students.

What is UTILE?

UTILE is a social economy enterprise, a nonprofit dedicated to developing affordable student housing across Quebec. Founded in 2012, they collaborate with student unions to create affordable housing projects specifically designed to meet student needs. As housing costs in Montreal continue to rise and affordable options become scarce, UTILE’s projects present an alternative to for-profit housing for students. UTILE has previously worked with the Concordia Student Union, leading to the construction of the student affordable housing building The Woodnote. The nonprofit has four buildings for rent and nine more projects underway in the province.

How did SSMU get involved?

SSMU began working with UTILE in 2014 when they partnered on a survey about key indicators of student housing, seeking to understand the reality of housing for students. In January 2019, UTILE presented its model and project to the SSMU Legislative Council. SSMU then proposed a question on the 2019 winter referendum, where 77 per cent of participating SSMU members voted “Yes” for the SSMU to “further prioritize affordable housing, including, but not limited to, further actions to explore developing student housing.” In October 2019, SSMU approved the creation of the Affordable Student Housing Committee (ASHC), aimed at exploring ways to secure and promote affordable housing for students and advise developers on students’ housing needs.

The final step in securing SSMU’s involvement with UTILE happened during the 2020 winter referendum when the undergraduate body voted to create an affordable housing fee of $6.53 CAD. The core mission of this fee is to fund about 300 units and create the infrastructure for future projects. The levy allows SSMU to collect $1.5 million CAD that goes to UTILE’s Popular University Student Housing Fund, which itself helps fund the $47 million CAD tower dedicated to McGill undergraduates, Le Méridien.

What is the state of housing for the McGill student population?

The ASHC published its final report in May 2023, presenting the state of housing for students at McGill. The review highlights that McGill’s own residence fees are considerably higher compared to other local universities and the private rental market. With the average cost of McGill’s residence rooms being 23.8 per cent more expensive than that of a room in a three-bedroom in the Plateau-Mont-Royal according to the ASHC report, many students are left struggling to find affordable accommodation.

The report also points to a broader issue of housing affordability, exacerbated by rising rents in Montreal. Many students, especially those with limited financial support, find it difficult to secure affordable housing close to campus, which intensifies the pressure on the private rental market and contributes to issues of gentrification and studentification.

What is Le Méridien?

Le Méridien is an upcoming student housing project, resulting from the collaboration between SSMU and UTILE. Located on Boulevard Saint-Laurent and Rue Ontario Est and scheduled to open for the 2026-2027 academic year, Le Meridien will offer 170 apartments to about 281 residents, primarily SSMU members. 

Thanks to a successful reclassification of the plot in the urban fabric of the Quartier des spectacles, the building will offer a number of units that aligns with the range of 200 to 300 originally contracted. Each new project UTILE completes helps fund future developments, as the organization’s status as a non-profit requires that it reinvest any surplus earnings. While rent prices for the building have not yet been finalized, they will be 15 to 30 per cent below market rates as per the contract between SSMU and UTILE.

Science & Technology

Six must-see items at the Maude Abbott Medical Museum

by Ella Paulin on

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The Maude Abbott Medical Museum is one of the hidden gems of McGill’s downtown campus. Chock-full of real anatomical specimens, tools from bygone eras of medicine, and unnerving 20th-century medical models, the collection is not for the faint of heart, but if you have a strong stomach, it’s worth the trip to the Strathcona Anatomy and Dentistry building to check it out. Here are six items to make sure you see on your visit!

Aviation medicine research helmet

This helmet and control box were part of research carried out by Dr. Geoffrey Melvill-Jones, a physiologist who taught at both McGill and the University of Calgary during his career, and served as a long-time director of McGill’s Aerospace Medical Research Unit (AMRU). During the 1960s and 70s, the AMRU was also involved in early in-orbit experiments and helped to train NASA astronauts to perform experiments during their flights. This particular experiment, which was conducted in 1962, focused on nystagmus—a condition involving uncontrolled eye movements—among pilots. 

Miner’s lung specimens

There are actually two exhibits showing the effect of prolonged exposure to mining conditions in the museum. One displays an actual miner’s lung, preserved in 1910, belonging to a miner who suffered from anthracosis—more commonly known as black lung disease. The other is a series of extremely thin slices of miners’ lungs, collected during the 1950s, which are just four micrometres thick and are mounted to filter paper. These cross-sections show the effects of anthracosis and silicosis—a long-term lung disease caused by inhaling fine dust containing silica over many years. 

Wax model of vessels and nerves on skull surface

Produced by Maison Tramond, a Paris-based workshop that created anatomical models from wax and bone during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, this skull is one of several jarringly realistic wax models housed in the museum collections. At the time, medical schools were beginning to transition away from using only real specimens and towards more anatomical models, which could be specially produced to illustrate specific maladies and were easier to store and manipulate than organic tissue. This model in particular illustrates what’s going on underneath the skin, highlighting the role of blood vessels and the nervous system.

Aspirated peanut

One of many organs showing medical anomalies and fatal conditions in the museum collections, this preserved specimen shows the trachea and lungs of a young child who breathed in a peanut, which became caught in the airway and ultimately caused their death. This specimen, although morbid, is a well-known holding from the collection and a good illustration of the choking hazard posed by having small objects accessible to young children. 

Anatomy dissecting lab logbook

Tucked to the side of the museum, this logbook lists the actual names and descriptions of the people whose bodies were donated to McGill’s dissecting lab in the 19th century. The patients cataloged had died of complications from tuberculosis in May of 1896. It goes on to list their ages, religion, and the cemetery they were buried in, all in curly Victorian longhand. 

Bonus: Nosce Te Ipsum exhibits

Before you even reach the museum, you may notice that there are several mini-exhibits dotted around the Strathcona Anatomy and Dentistry building, housed inside old fire-extinguisher boxes. It’s hard to miss their bright-red casing, but if you take a closer look, you’ll see that they contain skeletal models, historical drawings of human anatomy, and QR codes if you’re interested in learning more. Each case also sports the motto Nosce Te Ipsum, which means “know yourself” in Latin.

Behind the Bench, Sports

Trying out: The McGill novice men’s rowing team

by Reuben Noam on

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On Sept. 4, the first day of the McGill novice rowing (NR) tryouts, the Jacques Cartier bridge braids across the sky. The sounds of cars passing drive like nails against what’s left of last night. Then sleep begins to dissipate, finally, from your veins; it joins the shadows forming your wake. It’s 5:55 a.m..

Figures on bikes climb the opposite hill without their front lights on, their tires swaying like they might be dancing. But the sun hasn’t risen yet, and you know they’re not.

The boathouse is reminiscent of a factory in the cloudy predawn, like a figure in rain boots might step out of a loading bay and light a cigarette. The sky, red over the trees, strains to illuminate the water. A flock of students wiping the sleep from their eyes form most of a circle looking toward the Olympic basin.

This year marks the 100th anniversary since the founding of the McGill University Rowing Club (MURC) and the club’s 48th consecutive season. Tryouts, held in early September for the past 48 years, emphasize bringing beginners to the sport. MURC invites interested students to utilize its world-class facilities during the 10-day trial period. Coaches begin tryouts by running the crowd around the perimeter of the over 2,000-square-metre basin, which they tell prospective team members is the only one of its kind in North America. The students line up to take turns in the indoor practice boat, a contraption called The Tank. The rest sit down on ergometers, ergs—simulation rowing machines that, in the off-season, sculpt race-winning skills. 

About 80 athletes are vying for 20 spots: 16 novices and four spares. While the first three days are spent on inclusive fun, the news eventually breaks that the shell is going to fill up: On Monday there will be a test, and that will be the end of the lane for some. But MURC is a well-oiled machine of motivation; the promise of Saturday’s late wake-up (9 a.m.) on the mountain for a fun run with the varsity athletes (celebrities) provides some relief. 

The test on Monday morning, 2,000 metres, leaves some in the group less destroyed than others.

Tuesday arrives. The remaining 25 enter the hangar, among varsities for the first time. Getting from the loading bay to the launching dock takes 45 minutes at first—after two tries, it’s done in less than 10.

Three (up from zero last year) coxswains are auditioning for two places on the team, meaning steering is in novice hands as well. Coxies repeat instructions yelled, sometimes rather urgently, by a coach on a bike. Jogging behind are three or four boys, to be swapped into the boat halfway through practice.

The narrower margins of the second half of tryouts bring an air of competition. A crew member who is unsatisfied with his performance on day nine refuses to relinquish his seat for the spare. As the coaches introduce drills to be done in half-boats—stern and bow—unnecessary initiative sometimes tips the boat off its set. Varsities speed out of the mist and past, heads turn and the boat careens toward the basin wall. Everybody is eager to learn, but eagerness can’t replace the two short weeks of work needed before the new MURC novice boats can race, in Ottawa, on Sept. 29.

It’s hard to deny that the NR tryouts feel like an unparalleled opportunity at the end of that first morning. Having a sense of completion about you at 8:00 a.m. is an addictive feeling. It almost tricks you into thinking that there is no other way to live. It seems easy to keep up—until it fades, and you’re dead asleep in a 10 o’clock lecture.

Features

Carrying the Weight of Two Worlds

by Aliya Singh on

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Content warning: Mentions of depression, eating disorders

Since I turned 13, I’ve had a persistent sense that I’m a burden to the people I love. I don’t say this to seek sympathy. Honestly, when people sympathize with the idea of me being a burden, it only amplifies that feeling. Natasha Zaeem, a recent graduate from the University of Waterloo, captured this sentiment perfectly when she told me, “I don’t like being a burden on others, which is why I tell them not to worry about me, even though there are so many people around me who are always willing to be there for me.” Her words struck a chord because we share common ground. As eldest daughters in immigrant families, we both feel like our struggles are ours to carry alone. This burden isn’t just about the tangible tasks or responsibilities; it’s the mental load I’ve been shouldering for years. I didn’t even realize the weight until I hit my breaking point. My inability to care for myself while simultaneously pushing others away turned into a vicious cycle of isolation, one that’s hard to break when you’ve convinced yourself that being a burden is the worst thing you can be.

On the surface, I had a privileged upbringing—my parents provided everything I needed. But beneath that, I was pushed into a role demanding more emotional labour than most kids are ready for. It distanced me from the typical “child” role, forcing me to see my parents as flawed individuals, not the infallible figures I once believed they were before I turned 13.

Between our emotional distance and vastly different life experiences, it often felt like my parents and I were worlds apart. They couldn’t understand why I spent hours on the phone with my friends. They disapproved of me watching Disney Channel, fearing it was a “Westernizing force” that replaced “mama” with “mom.” Looking back, I can sympathize with their concerns—the fear that I was chasing external validation, or that I’d lose the nuances of my culture, or even grow distant from their family history. Hejal Kriplani, a fourth-year at Western University, and the eldest daughter in an Indian household, echoed this feeling, saying, “I feel like there is a barrier between how my parents are and how I am.” 

But these tensions didn’t stop at petty grievances. They bled into deeper issues: Fighting in front of me and my brother, dragging us into their conflicts, and creating a disconnect about what a healthy parent-child relationship should look like. Immigrant parents often sacrifice everything to create a better life for their children. My parents left India—the place they grew up, where their parents and friends still are—to build a future for me and my brother. Purva Vyas, from the Geneva Graduate Institute, said, “Growing up with a younger sibling and two full-time working parents made me very independent from a young age, as my parents had less time to devote attention to both of us.” As eldest daughters, we are often left to bridge the emotional and practical gaps caused by parents focused on building a better future, which strains family dynamics.

The weight of my parents’ sacrifices cast a long shadow over our relationship. They expected me to understand the enormity of what they’d given up by the time I was 13. But at that age, my mind was more occupied with Superwoman YouTube videos, Vines, and sneaking onto Games2win. This created a disconnect between the world they lived in—a world shaped by sacrifice and tradition—and the one I was growing up in, with all its modern distractions and differences. 

As the eldest daughter, I found myself balancing a dual role. On one hand, I felt a duty to protect my younger brother from the shortcomings of our upbringing. On the other, I took on the task of reparenting our parents. While they showed their care for me in tangible ways—staying up late while I studied so I wouldn’t be alone, cutting fruit and leaving it by my bedroom door, stocking the pantry with my favorite snacks—I cared for them in intangible ones. I became the mediator, teaching my parents that yelling or using physical discipline wasn’t the best way to build a nurturing relationship with their children. I became the emotional buffer, responsible for maintaining peace, and guiding my parents through the more nuanced aspects of parenting—all while still growing up myself. This sense of responsibility distanced me from my family in ways that felt deeper and more isolating with time. I found myself teaching my parents seemingly simple things like, “Dad, you can help Mom set the table too,” while at other times, I was shutting my brother and myself in our bedroom, turning up the volume on the Wii to drown out the arguments and obscenities flying in the next room. 

With age came increasing responsibility, and I consistently felt emotionally responsible for the three other members of my family. I had to put aside much of my child-like nature to support my family in the only way I knew how. But that didn’t mean I was free from typical teenage struggles. In sixth grade, my best friend—practically a sister—moved to Nigeria. We had known each other since we were three, and when she left, it felt like my whole world had been uprooted. We tried to stay in touch through Skype and Google Chat, but slowly, her replies dwindled, and I watched as she made new friends. My jealousy was unrelenting. She was living her life in a new country with new experiences, while I stayed behind, stagnant, with the same responsibilities. Instead of dealing with my feelings, I pushed her away. I didn’t want to hear about her new iPod or her friends with pink streaks in their hair. Losing her, the one person who truly understood me at the time, made me retreat further into myself. By seventh grade, I was facing relentless bullying for being underdeveloped. While my peers grew taller, stronger, and more mature, I stayed small and thin. Classmates I had hoped to befriend called me names like “door” and “boy.” 

The bullying, paired with losing my best friend, increased my sense that I had to rely on myself. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my pain and to be honest, I wasn’t sure who to turn to. My dad was always working, my mom and I were probably in the middle of one of our endless fights, I was avoiding my best friend, and my little brother was glued to “Doc McStuffins.” Between the ages of 13 and 17, I decided it was easier to handle life and all its shortcomings on my own. 

Things started to change around 16. I switched schools and met what would become my new best friend. She became my lifeline. We shared everything—parent troubles, crushes, the latest teen angst. For the first time, I had someone I could rely on. I opened up about everything: My fear of not being good enough, how I played therapist every time my parents fought. She knew my family; I knew hers. Our birthdays were even merely a day apart. Meeting her felt like an answered prayer.

Of course, if things had stayed that way, I wouldn’t be writing this. After a very public high school breakup, I found out my best friend was dating my ex. It felt like my heart was being torn in 15 different directions. I felt stupid for ever letting anyone into my world—I’d been internalizing that people are unreliable since I was 13. 

After the schism, I began to retreat inwards, developing unhealthy coping mechanisms. I stopped eating as a way to regain control over my life, which felt increasingly out of my hands. This spiraled into a full-blown eating disorder, one that I still battle with today. I embraced a kind of emotional detachment, trying to forgive those who hurt me from afar, convincing myself it was the “right” thing to do. Not that I ever really truly forgave anyone; I was too hurt, too angry, too let down. Let’s be real—forgiveness without true reconciliation isn’t the answer. Abruptly deciding to ‘move on’ is not as cathartic as social media wellness gurus make it out to be. Sometimes, being angry is okay. 

Eventually, the cracks in my armor became visible. I started losing weight, shrinking physically just as I had emotionally. I became a smaller, angrier, lonelier version of myself. I wasn’t just angry at the world—I was furious with myself. Why couldn’t I get it right? I fixed everything on my own, took care of my brother, handled my parents—why couldn’t I just make myself okay?

In my last year of high school, my cousin Ambika called me. In the middle of our conversation, she asked me a question that has haunted me ever since: “Are we allowed to care about you?” At first, I thought, ‘no.’ No one is allowed to care about me. If they do, they might help—and I’d seen how that turned out. My life had felt like a montage of pushing through rock-bottom moments alone, only to emerge victorious on the other side. 

Regardless, Ambika’s question wouldn’t leave me. It stuck with me, gnawing at the foundation of the worldview I had constructed for myself. Should people be allowed to care about me?

At first, I couldn’t answer that. For years, I had prided myself on being self-reliant. It felt like I had always been my own lifeline. Sharzhad Islami, a fourth-year student from the University of Waterloo told me, “It’s kind of my brand at this point that I have to be okay, like I have to turn out fine because I set an example for my siblings and for myself.” That resonated deeply with me. I had spent so much time cultivating an image of resilience that I couldn’t imagine asking for help without dismantling that persona.

But here’s the thing—I didn’t have to dismantle that resilient persona I’d built. People, whether you let them or not, are going to care about you. My roommates now sit with me while I rant about my latest frustrations regarding professors or the midterm I swear I didn’t have enough time to study for. My boyfriend meets me after my morning classes with breakfast because he knows I likely skipped it. My best friends drag me outside when my depression hits hard, making sure I get some sunlight. My mom sends me care packages from Dubai, knowing that even a small gesture like a new hair straightener for my unruly curls can make a big difference. My dad texts me pictures of our cat hiding on top of the refrigerator because he knows it’ll make me smile. These moments of care have helped me far more than I ever realized. Somewhere along the way, I let people in—even if it was done reluctantly.

Pretending that everything is fine when your world feels like it’s on fire isn’t heroic. It’s self-sabotage. It’s like running a marathon while ignoring a sprained ankle—it only makes the injury worse. This self-reliance reflex is something I still wrestle with. But when I feel it creeping up, I remember Ambika’s question: “Are we allowed to care about you?” The more I reflect on it, I realize that letting people in doesn’t mean I’ve failed—it means I’m human. It’s the recognition that, while I’ve faced many challenges alone, I don’t have to do so forever.

So, maybe, I’m not the burden I feared I am. While I still grapple with that nagging feeling of being an inconvenience, I’m beginning to understand that the people who love me want to be there. They want to listen, just as much as I want to be cared for.  That’s not to say it doesn’t hurt to admit when I need help—it still does. And I’m not saying you can’t do everything on your own; you probably could, at least for a while. Accepting help isn’t about giving up my independence or relying on others for everything—it’s about finding balance. 

I’ve had to learn to trust that I can be strong enough to have my own back, even if people disappoint me or if I end up right back at square one. Locking myself away from sympathy or help has often made me feel worse, but in a twisted way, it felt safer. Safer because it meant no one could let me down, and safer because I wouldn’t be burdening anyone with problems that I believe I should be able to handle. Keeping people at arm’s length, though, only keeps the help out of reach too. The reality is, life is full of imperfect people. People will let you down eventually, and sometimes, the person letting you down will be you. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t let my trust issues and my fear of being vulnerable stop me from living fully. I’ve come to understand that allowing others in doesn’t make me weak. It allows me to face my struggles with a little more ease, knowing that I don’t have to carry the burden all by myself. Life isn’t meant to be lived in isolation, and neither are we meant to face it alone.

Science & Technology

Laws of thought: Investigating factors that lead to transphobia

by Gregor McCall on

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In recent years, both the United States and Canada have borne witness to rapid social progression and conservative backlash, especially regarding attitudes toward transgender individuals. In the U.S., legislators have passed 170 anti-trans bills, of which 125 are already active.  In Canada, both Saskatchewan and New Brunswick have passed legislation preventing educators from using a child’s preferred name or pronouns without explicit consent from the child’s parents. 

A recent study conducted by Eliane Roy, PhD student in McGill’s Psychology Department, and her team investigated the relationship between local anti-trans legislation in the US and anti-trans sentiment. More specifically, the paper compared participants’ biases towards transgender individuals and their local legislation affecting transgender individuals. 

Roy measured individuals’ explicit and implicit attitudes towards transgender people, state-level legislation affecting transgender people, participants’ demographics (including race, gender identity, sexual orientation, sex assigned at birth, country of residence, and political orientation), individual-level conservatism, and state-level conservatism. 

To measure implicit attitudes, researchers used the Implicit Association Test, which measures individuals’ reaction times when associating a label like “transgender” with a positive or negative valuation. The researchers used self-reporting metrics to measure participants’ explicit attitudes towards transgender people and individual levels of conservatism. They calculated state-level conservatism using the state’s total vote count towards the Republican candidate, Donald Trump, in the 2020 election. 

The study found a strong correlation between anti-transgender legislation and individuals’ explicit and implicit prejudice against transgender people. This correlation held stable when controlling for demographic factors. 

“Somehow, either the attitudes were shaped by the normative dictating nature of these policies, or the opposite, that people’s mindsets or associations really changed the policy and landscape. For me, that was really interesting,” Roy said in an interview with The Tribune. 

While the study makes no causal claim as to whether individuals’ attitudes influenced state legislation or the reverse, it speculated that the relationship could be bidirectional. 

Existing research has noted that implicit biases against other minorities have begun to move from more negative attitudes towards neutrality in recent years. Researchers have also pointed out that attitudes towards gay men and lesbian women became positive at a faster rate after the legalization of same-sex marriage in the United States. Roy is optimistic about the same trajectory being possible with public opinion towards transgender individuals. 

“If there’s another way of enacting change by just saying, ‘Hey, as a society right now, we’re just not accepting this behaviour, and we’re not accepting you not respecting people’s rights,’ […] I think it would be helpful,” Roy said.

Ultimately, Roy’s research speaks to the importance of institutional policy and how closely entangled it is with individual attitudes. As members of the McGill community, it is our responsibility to question whether policy decisions at the university-level match our social convictions. In 2023 McGill hosted a talk by Robert Wintemute, a man whose work inspired the foundation of the LGB Alliance, an organization which lobbies against transgender civil rights. In an open letter amid the AGSEM strike of March 2024, transgender Teaching Assistants and allies criticized the AGSEM-McGill deal for dropping protections against misgendering and dead-naming as a part of their agreement. Roy believes that people’s minds have the capacity to shape or be shaped by an institution’s decisions.  

“It’s important, when you’re looking at the documents that you receive from McGill, the emails you receive from McGill, or anything that’s put out by McGill, to pause yourself, read it, and then think, ‘Okay, is this representative of how I feel, how I think about these things?’ and if not, ‘Is there something that I can do myself to actually say, ‘You’re putting this out there, but I don’t believe that’s correct?’”  Roy added. 

Being both critical and aware of our individual biases and how they interact with wide-reaching policy allows us to actively work against the correlations Roy found, and take a critical approach to anti-transgender legislation. Injustice and hate have the power to permeate our socio-political landscapes unless we, as a community, challenge them.

Science & Technology

Demystifying sports injuries for effective prevention and treatment

by Daniel Pyo on

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Sports and physical activity are vital for health, offering benefits such as reduced risk of chronic diseases, lower morbidity, and better mental health. However, excessive exercise can lead to injuries and affect the musculoskeletal system, resulting in prolonged recovery, increased risk of further injury, and stress. 

A recent review published by Chinchin Wang, a PhD graduate in epidemiology, and her team under the supervision of Ian Shrier, an associate professor in McGill’s School of Population and Global Health, aimed to provide epidemiologists with a concise introduction to musculoskeletal (MSK) sport injuries. Wang, who also currently works as an epidemiologist at the Public Health Agency of Canada, focused her research on gaps in how epidemiological standards of injuries describe MSK injuries. 

“I spend a considerable amount of time doing endurance training for myself, and I am aware that injuries often occur when you push yourself too hard. I think that’s how my pursuit of knowledge in studying MSK injuries and their preventive measures began,” Wang said in an interview with The Tribune. 

The definition of “injury” varies widely. From a biological perspective, an injury is broadly defined as tissue damage resulting from forces that exceed the tissue’s load capacity, causing deformation and stress. However, researchers in sport injury epidemiology take a different approach. They instead define an injury based on its impact on a patient’s ability to participate in sports while undergoing treatment and rehabilitation for the injury. These injuries are typically categorized as any “complaint” injuries, “medical attention” injuries, or “time-loss” injuries. This categorization emphasizes the functional consequences of the injury and the necessity for medical intervention or time away from sports. 

“Ideally, we aim to enhance our understanding of how epidemiologists categorize injuries and their severity in subject groups by incorporating more scientific background into the classification process,” Wang elaborated. 

While acute injuries are commonly associated with MSK injuries, the accumulation of microtraumas—microscopic tears on muscle cell surfaces—can also significantly contribute to prolonged recovery periods following intense physical activities. 

Microtrauma injuries represent early stages of tissue injury that can accumulate over time, potentially leading to more significant injuries if not properly managed. Understanding these processes can help individuals better identify risk factors and develop strategies to prevent sports injuries. 

Recognizing microtraumas also allows for the assessment of injury mechanisms and the impact of repetitive loading—applying a force repeatedly to a tissue over days or weeks, which is crucial for designing interventions to enhance athletes’ safety and performance.

“Neglecting little problems often leads to more stress in life afterwards. That’s how it works with muscles too,” Wang said. 

The review also provides a precise outline of muscle, tendon, and ligament injuries, the most damaging of which are joint injuries—problems that arise in parts of the body that connect bones together. 

Joint injuries are common because joints are complex structures that endure significant stress during physical activities, especially in sports that involve high-impact movements, twisting, or sudden directional changes. These stresses can lead to acute injuries, such as anterior cruciate ligament tears in the knee that often need surgery for repair. 

Adding further obfuscation, pain is often attributable to nerve impingements and damage rather than being solely related to muscle injuries. As a result, clinical studies often struggle to predict the outcomes of individuals who report similar damage from sports injuries but have different causes of trauma. 

Wang’s contributions establish the necessary foundation for applying epidemiological methods to identify the most efficient strategies for preventing and treating sports injuries and their related health consequences. Further research in this field may shed light on the possibility of developing targeted interventions and tailored rehabilitation programs that can minimize the risk of injury, optimize recovery, and enhance long-term health outcomes. A stitch in time saves nine.

Commentary, Opinion

The people-pleasing is not pleasing the people

by Yusur Al-Sharqi on

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For many students, university marks the first leap into adulthood—living with strangers, taking on leadership roles, and meeting people from all walks of life. In these situations, conflict is not just a possibility; it’s a certainty. 

Just last week, my colleague and I were discussing how to resolve an issue of poor communication when he shrugged and said, “It only becomes a problem if we talk about it.” I couldn’t help but think, “But it’s already a problem for me!” The reality is that issues don’t disappear when we stop talking about them; they fester and grow beneath the surface instead. 

Somewhere along the way, Gen Z developed the belief that pretending everything is fine makes everything fine. In reality, conflict avoidance is not a virtue; in fact, it becomes more damaging than facing conflicts head-on. We’ve created a generation of people-pleasers who think that staying neutral and avoiding disagreement keeps everyone happy. But, under pressure, this shallow contentment is quick to fall apart. The truth is, if a relationship can’t withstand honest communication, then it probably wasn’t built on solid ground to begin with. Healthy relationships are strengthened by addressing disagreements, not by pretending they don’t exist.

Whether it’s through changing the subject, delaying important conversations, or ghosting, conflict-avoidant behaviours are not only ineffective but downright harmful—especially for a generation already struggling with high rates of anxiety and depression. A 2021 study revealed that individuals who confront and resolve daily conflicts tend to experience lower stress levels and a more stable emotional state. Conversely, suppressing emotions has been linked to an increased risk of serious health issues, including premature death. Additionally, relying on nervous laughter or fake smiles rather than addressing distress can exacerbate feelings of loneliness and depression.

Conflict avoidance can also have detrimental effects on interpersonal relationships. It can lead to gunny sacking, a term used by psychologists to describe the unhealthy practice of storing up unresolved grievances and negative feelings about someone or something instead of addressing them as they arise. Over time, this buildup creates a metaphorical “gunny sack” filled with complaints, which can lead to explosive confrontations when the person finally reaches a breaking point. 

Worse, avoiding conflict often leads to passive-aggressive behaviour—where people express their frustration indirectly, through sarcasm or subtle digs—because they don’t know how to confront it directly and lack effective conflict-management skills. The discomfort of long-term, underlying resentment has much more dire effects than the uncomfortable experience of direct communication. 

There is a prevailing notion—especially in Canada—that being “nice” means never taking a stance that might upset someone else. But niceness is not the same thing as kindness. Niceness is surface-level, often driven by fear of judgment or rejection, while kindness involves deeper understanding, honesty, and sometimes difficult conversations. Direct communication is a genuine act of care; these conversations imply that someone is willing to embrace the discomfort of vulnerability and open dialogue to strengthen the relationship because they want it to work. In doing this, we offer others the chance to change their behaviour and extend them grace. We need to recognize this kind of communication as an expression of love. I would choose this kind of kindness over mere “niceness” any day.

Of course, this doesn’t mean every minor inconvenience requires a major discussion, nor should we jump to criticize someone for every small misunderstanding. In some cases, if someone is particularly unreceptive, it’s healthier to step back rather than push for a conversation. However, more often than not, people are more open to communication than anticipated. If an issue can be resolved through dialogue, we should engage in that conversation.

For a generation that has the capacity to turn anything into a joke, it’s time to get serious. The key lies in learning how to approach conflict constructively without making it personal or hurtful. This means being honest, maintaining a solution-focused mindset, using “I” statements rather than “you” statements, and leading with compassion and empathy. This direct communication, as opposed to avoidance, is what truly pleases people.

Editorial, Opinion

Voting is vital to combat regressive politics   

by The Tribune Editorial Board on

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The United States is anticipating its presidential election on Nov. 5, and national polls overwhelmingly suggest a tight race between Democratic candidate Kamala Harris and Republican candidate Donald Trump. There are  about 600,000 voting-age U.S. citizens residing in Canada, more than 2000 of whom attend McGill. The election’s outcome intertwines heavily with Canadian politics, through ever-contentious issues such as immigration and trade, and because of the current downward spiral of the Canadian liberal party and the rise of Canadian nationalism. The outcome of the U.S. election will affect all Canadians, and the overlooked force in this race is the American overseas population, of which McGill houses an important fraction. 

The race between Harris and Trump represents a stark ideological divide that echoes across our borders. Historically, U.S. elections have wielded considerable influence over Canadian politics, economics, and social dynamics. After the 2016 U.S. presidential election, there was a surge in far-right rhetoric and extremism in Canada, exemplified by the rise of groups like the Proud Boys and increased incidents of hate speech targeting minority communities. As Trump emboldens the far right’s extremism, there is potential to further radicalize a population already swayed by anti-democratic sentiments, as seen in the establishment populist parties like the People’s Party of Canada, which promote exclusionary policies and rhetoric.

The two-party system in the U.S. leaves many voters feeling disillusioned, particularly when faced with candidates whose values may not align with their own. Some eligible voters are opting to abstain from voting as a form of protest in this context, but choosing not to vote undermines democracy and increases the public’s distrust in government. Furthermore, abstaining from voting is rooted in privilege, since it involves overlooking the stakes at play for marginalized communities—immigrants, LGBTQ+ individuals, women seeking abortion access—who have to rely on electoral outcomes to safeguard their fundamental rights of safety, security, and bodily autonomy. While both parties are deserving of criticism, not voting undermines opportunities for meaningful change and fuels indifference towards critical issues. It ignores the reality that many Americans, particularly those disenfranchised by systemic racism and restrictive laws, lack the privilege to opt out. 

The rise of polarized political systems threatens democracy and equality. In Quebec, Islamophobia is particularly destructive, with xenophobic policies often disguised as ‘French nationalism‘ and ‘language preservation.’ When exclusionary, hateful discourse is embraced at a national level in the U.S., it sets a dangerous precedent for governments like Quebec’s, which use ‘self-defence’ and ‘religious neutrality’ arguments to justify xenophobia. 

A recent example of this dangerous trend is former President Trump’s dehumanizing remarks about Haitian immigrants. These comments fueled divisive rhetoric that alienates minorities. Haitian immigration has largely shaped Montreal’s cultural landscape, yet Haitians continue to face discrimination and underrepresentation in the workforce. Mobilizing American students in Montreal means helping them understand the historical context of Haitian immigration to the city and how their votes can directly impact those communities. Encouraging students to reflect on their responsibility as voters in the U.S. can help them recognize that the consequences of their choices transcend borders, impacting not just policy but the lives of individuals in already marginalized communities both at home and abroad.

In the digital age, media plays a crucial role in mobilizing younger populations, especially American students abroad. At McGill, these platforms can serve as powerful tools for information accessibility and civic engagement, but they must be used responsibly. Student journalists and community members can offer unbiased, factual content to inform and inspire action, avoiding the sensationalism that pervades media narratives. By focusing on the facts—such as voter registration processes and important political events—McGill students can effectively empower action by encouraging their peers to engage with the electoral process and address concerns about voting relevance or participation.

While the discourse may be fraught, advocating for informed participation must be at the forefront of our efforts. In this critical moment, it is everyone’s duty to engage and advocate for an inclusive, democratic future. 

Arts & Entertainment, Film and TV

‘The Substance’ is difficult to stomach

by Amelia McCluskey on

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I’d never been to a movie by myself before, so when I discovered that the Québec premiere of The Substance at Cinéma Du Parc sold out before my friends had bought their tickets, I listened to their encouragement about the “peaceful” nature of solo movie-watching and decided to go alone. Midway through the movie, as I witnessed no less than five walk-outs and heard the man behind me whisper, “I think I’m going to pass out,” I realized this might not be the cozy viewing experience that I’d had in mind. 

Director Coralie Fargeat’s sophomore film is disgusting to the point of absurdity. After Hollywood studio executives fire Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) from her long-term aerobics show on her 50th birthday, she is forced to reckon with her middle age. This is when she learns about “The Substance:” A black-market drug that promises to unlock a younger, better version of its user. After following the concerningly vague instructions that accompany the drug, Elisabeth spawns Sue (Margaret Qualley), her younger, shinier counterpart, who takes her place every other week through a gruesome spinal tap. At first, both women seem satisfied with this arrangement, but as Sue bends the rules of their symbiotic relationship, Elisabeth begins to undergo a monstrous transformation that rivals David Cronenberg’s The Fly or Julia Ducournau’s Titane. 

Fargeat’s visceral gore is elevated almost to the level of camp. Extreme close-ups snap in on bloody stitches, sagging skin, or two mutated eyes battling for dominance inside one socket, while ASMR-like sound effects punctuate every moment. In one scene, as a man masticates a pile of shrimp, I could only imagine that the Foley artist was slapping a plate of jello to produce such revolting sounds. 

This penchant towards excess extends beyond the film’s gore. When Sue steps into a dazzling reality, Fargeat’s visuals magnify her sexy, glamorous lifestyle so that it, too, becomes hard to look at. Through oversaturated colour, Sue’s bubblegum-pink lip gloss appears sickly sweet, and zoomed-in shots chop up her spandex-clad curves into pieces. As Sue’s youthful qualities are made uncanny and strange, both women’s lives are imagined as a double-edged sword of dissatisfaction and self-hatred. 

The Substance’s final 30 minutes are made to be seen in a packed theatre. While the film’s horror is pushed to shocking extremes through slimy prosthetics and practical effects, Moore simultaneously injects each scene with sardonic humour. Culminating in a spectacular, blood-soaked, reverse Carrie sequence, the entire audience around me was laughing in shock. 

Although its sci-fi-ish premise reads like a Black Mirror episode, The Substance is not the nuanced satire on anti-aging that it presents itself to be. The film opens with several clear—yet somewhat unimaginative—examples of sexism in Hollywood: Casting calls for women are marked with strict age limits, while panels of casting agents ruthlessly scrutinize their bodies. In one scene, a patronizing producer spouts phrases like “pretty girls should always smile!” as he ignores the tears in Sue’s eyes, while in another, he refers to the ticking biological clock of women over 25. 

Instead of building on these examples, however, Fargeat leaves them behind in favour of focusing on the film’s body horror. Despite continuously identifying Hollywood’s obsession with youth and its impossible beauty standards, Fargeat ultimately positions Elisabeth as the character that we are cringing and laughing at by the film’s conclusion, witnessing her transformation into a monster as she suffers the consequences of her own self-hatred. In this sense, The Substance can’t seem to decide whether the subject of its critique is the patriarchal beauty industry, or the women who buy into it. 

The Substance’s commentary may be somewhat simplistic, but Fargeat uses it as a provocative jumping-off point for the rest of the film, which transforms—like its protagonist—into something nauseating and deranged, yet entirely singular. 


The Substance is now playing in theatres.

Arts & Entertainment, Film and TV, Pop Rhetoric

Applause for representation, but can we get an encore? 

by Carmen Faria on

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Criticism rained down on the 76th Primetime Emmy Awards this past weekend. Only six months after the previous Emmys in January, the ceremony felt repetitive. However, the Emmys have increasingly devoted airtime to recognizing marginalized communities; the Sept. 15 ceremony marked historic wins for Shōgun’s Hiroyuki Sanada and Anna Sawai, the first Japanese actors to win in their respective categories, and The Bear’s Liza Colón-Zayas, who became the first Latina to win Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy. These wins lead to a wider variety of voices being shared within a competitive industry. Yet, as this continues, we must raise a critical question: Is representation enough to truly celebrate and uplift marginalized communities?

There is no doubt that representation at awards shows matters. It provides visibility and recognition to historically underrepresented groups such as racialized people, the LGBTQ+ community, and disabled individuals, giving audiences role models to look up to. Coming from a high school in Malaysia, Michelle Yeoh’s historic Oscar win for her role in Everything Everywhere All At Once filled me with hope and pride. 

However, representation is often seen as the final goal, rather than the starting point for deeper structural change within the industry. The risk behind heaping praise on this recent—and deserved—rise in representation at award ceremonies is that it becomes tokenistic. If we don’t continue fighting for more meaningful ways to represent marginalized communities, the status quo could become a superficial medium for the industry to appear diverse without addressing the power dynamics that continue to marginalize voices behind the scenes.

While it is exciting to see talents like Sanada, Sawai, and Colón-Zayas gain recognition, the industry frequently prioritizes celebrating individual achievements over systemic change. Award wins don’t address the deeper inequalities that marginalized groups face within the industry such as the hidden difficulties of being a woman or BIPOC director. As a result, representation, while essential, often feels like a checkbox rather than a meaningful step toward greater inclusivity. It seems absurd that audiences should applaud award shows for “making history” while overlooking systemic issues that persist within the industry. 

While representation takes centre stage, not nearly enough attention is being brought to the more explicitly political acts and statements at the Emmys. For instance, Oji-Cree actor D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai of Reservation Dogs arrived on the red carpet with a red handprint painted over his mouth: A symbol for the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement across the U.S and Canada. Pro-Palestinian protestors gathered outside the awards ceremony, not unlike those who delayed the Academy Awards in March, to protest the ongoing siege on Gaza. These examples of outcry against horrifying violence are only some of many. Amongst the glitz and glamour of the evening, these political acts are muffled and difficult to find in the media unless explicitly searched for. 

The media also often highlights marginalized artists’ achievements over their political activism. This selective enthusiasm highlights the industry’s ongoing struggle to engage sensibly with marginalized communities. Colón-Zayas’ acting in The Bear is rightly celebrated, but when she used her platform to speak out on injustice, ending her speech with “vote, vote for your rights,” she received far less attention. The Emmys’ focus on representation without engaging with broader social issues limits the industry’s potential to truly amplify marginalized voices.

The sheer amount of power and influence the television and film industry has is astounding. To say that it should not be used as a platform for promoting diversity and equity is missing the beauty of the art in the first place. The industry should recognize more political activism and aim to highlight actors from marginalized communities who fight for justice and challenge power structures. However, to lead this change beyond representation, the industry must be willing to embrace the full spectrum of what it means to create a more inclusive, transformative celebration of marginalized identities.

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