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Is oral tradition dead?

by Ella Paulin on

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“I can always point out your great uncle Charlie right away. I think he must’ve had a different father,” my grandmother says, only half-joking, as we page through family photos together. 

This conversation was one of many small moments where a piece of family history was passed on to me—usually after a couple of beers. It’s the usual sort of material for an Irish Catholic Wisconsin family: Which cousin drowned in which lake, the farmhouse they used to live in next to Dundee Mountain (which is about 50 metres tall, but still taller than anything around), and the trials and travails of having a sibling in every grade of the local elementary and middle school. 

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to patch these stories together into some kind of cohesive narrative, working against the natural inconsistencies of a few tipsy old women burdened with 70 years of Catholic guilt. My view of the story has deepened and evolved over time, as I’ve heard different versions and gotten let in on more secrets. 

Although I didn’t call it this at the time, this was my first experience of what I’ll (somewhat loosely) refer to as “oral tradition.” An exact definition of oral tradition is a little hard to pin down, but we can think of it as a practice that passes on stories, ideas, and knowledge from one generation to the next via the spoken word. 

“Oral tradition is really tied to living culture and stories that are passed down through generations,” Steven High, a professor in Concordia’s history department and co-founder of Concordia University’s Centre for Oral History and Digital Storytelling explained in an interview with The Tribune. “And it’s often tied to the land […], but I think it’s important to actually think broader than that; like every family has an origin story that gets passed down.”

The oral traditions of different families and cultures have varying degrees of structure and religious meaning and also incorporate writing and technology to different extents. To take the example of my family, the stories were relatively unstructured, told in spontaneous bits and pieces, as opposed to being concentrated in a relatively consistent set of stories, memorized and passed on with the aid of formal structures and mnemonic devices. Our family tale also incorporates some writing—parts of the story are only supported by a handful of journals, typewritten documents, and emails. 

Researchers sometimes make a binary distinction between “oral” cultures, with no writing system, where all stories must be passed down through speech, and “literate” culture, with a written body of literature and an emphasis on the prestige and utility of writing. 

However, this categorization ignores the many ways that written and oral material interact with one another. For this reason, Ruth Finnegan proposed the concept of the oral-literate continuum, with different cultures and texts incorporating different degrees of spoken versus written transmission. As Robert Miller writes in his 2012 paper on the topic, “Oral tradition and written literature are related phenomena, and in fact, writing often supports oral tradition and vice-versa.”

This is perhaps more obvious to our generation than it ever has been before: We wouldn’t blink an eye at watching a TikTok with a caption referencing one trend (possibly displayed in two different languages), narration referencing another, and a video of something else. Or imagine a friend of yours sends you an audio message summarizing a book you were supposed to read for class, told in their own style, and tops it off with a couple of pictures of quotes and some emojis. 

Breaking down this binary distinction between oral and literate begs the question: Where do we fall along the continuum? As students in twenty-first-century Canada, how do we experience and participate in oral traditions? Do we at all? In what ways are those experiences supported, changed, or undermined by writing?

For many students, family history is their first exposure to an oral storytelling tradition, but there are often large gaps, where previous generations either did not or could not pass on their stories. 

“A lot of the students I work with come from diasporic communities, and so in a sense, they’re geographically cut off from their heritages,” Anna Sheftel, a professor in Concordia’s School of Community and Public Affairs, said in an interview with The Tribune. “And those are often the students that are really interested in oral history and oral tradition, because they’re trying to put together pieces of a puzzle where they have missing pieces.”

Additionally, while there is often a strong emphasis on oral tradition in Indigenous cultures, many stories have been lost as a result of the Canadian government’s attempt to break the generational transfer of knowledge in Indigenous communities through measures like residential schools and cultural suppression. 

This is a serious hazard of oral tradition: If the last person to remember dies, the stories and knowledge go with them. 

“In memory studies, we talk a lot about how the other side of memory is forgetting,” Sheftel said. “So you’re never going to have the full story, but you have an obligation to understand the silences and why they’re there and acknowledge them.” 

Similarly, if people’s retellings change over time, either intentionally or as a result of changing memories, the stories shift too, and minor differences can add up. 

I recently asked my great uncle Charlie (yes, the one from before) about a story from his youth, and he began his answer with a warning. 

“I’ll do my best,” he told me. “But you know, I’m Irish, and we love stories—that’s one of our big things. So when we get asked questions, and we have to explain things and this and that, we don’t even know we’re not telling the truth.”

Despite my uncle’s trepidation, he’s actually participating in a pattern that’s widely acknowledged among those who study oral traditions and folklore: There’s often a shared set of relatively consistent stories and ideas, which individuals repeat and rework. Each time a given story circulates, its teller makes modifications, either because their memory has shifted, or to adapt it for their audience, goals, and personal style. 

Lynn Kozak, a professor in McGill’s Classics department who has performed the Iliad before live audiences, noted that while these changes introduce instability, they also add something special to a given tradition.  

“There’s something wonderfully human about it too, right? Because it’s like that game of telephone where everybody gets to put their own spin on it. And when I perform Homer, it comes out in my voice, and the way I translate Homer, it’s my vernacular that’s coming out,” Kozak said in an interview with The Tribune. 

Molly Frost, U3 Arts and Executive Director of Tuesday Night Café Theatre (TNC), described a similar experience in her work with TNC, which often finds creative ways to perform classic plays. 

“It’s really about taking a story that has been told, and breathing new life into it, and finding moments that maybe some of the things that were funny when it was first being performed or first being written, may not be as relevant now, because times have changed and the context has changed, but you can find new things and new moments to bring out,” Frost said.

Since the advent of the internet, folklorists have begun to wonder if this same pattern is at work online, and there is now a growing body of research on “digital folklore.” 

While TikTok is still so new that the academic research on it is thin, Joseph Hewlett-Hall makes the case in his 2023 article “Folklore, Storytelling and Coping with the Internet on TikTok” that trend cycles on TikTok fits the traditional folklore paradigm of “conservative precedent and dynamic transformation,” with each new video both referencing a popular idea and putting a unique spin on it. 

But TikTok and other social media platforms are also clearly different from more traditional ways of sharing folklore. For one thing, they’re on hyperdrive. With short-form content, no geographical boundary on how far stories can travel, and a phone in your pocket at all times, there is an unprecedented opportunity for stories to spread and change quickly. 

Walter Ong refers in a 2013 essay to the “hyperactivated oral world of today,” where electronic media connect us to more oral content than ever before. However, he cautions against assuming that, “since [prehistoric] man was highly oral and we are likewise more oral than our immediate ancestors, we are back in the state of preliterate man once more.” 

Rather, Ong proposes distinguishing between “primary orality,” which describes a culture without a formal writing system at all, and “secondary orality,” where a culture does have an oral tradition, but it exists alongside writing, print, and digital technology. While they can look similar, Ong argues that there are several key differences: For example, since we can use writing as a backup for knowledge, we no longer need to rely on easy-to-remember structures and mnemonic devices to remember stories. He also argues that having writing allows us to place more emphasis on creativity and originality, rather than skill in remembering and retelling existing stories.

These differences began to pop up in our culture as soon as print media became widespread, but the internet has further revolutionized how we pass on stories and knowledge. Crucially, you can now orally transmit a story to someone without any in-person conversation or performance. While this is incredibly convenient for connecting people across time and space, it risks bypassing some of the human aspects of storytelling. 

Kozak spoke about the emotional power of live performance, which is impossible to fully replicate online. “The moment when you’re performing, it’s a shared experience. And I can see people’s responses, and I can see how people are feeling, and you know, I can always see that there’s one person asleep or something, but there’s that space that’s created through orality.”

While students have the opportunity to experience this kind of communal, live performance through student theatre and spoken word events like Mcsway’s open mics, it’s worth exploring campus radio as a kind of halfway point between live performance and podcasts. Radio is an interesting edge-case of oral transmission, since the broadcaster is completely disconnected from their audience in space, but is almost always broadcasting in real time.  

“When you’re doing radio, you’re sitting in front of a microphone and you’re talking to the void, and you don’t know who’s listening,” Jack Solar, CKUT’s Spoken Word Coordinator and McGill alum (MA ‘19), said in an interview with The Tribune. “But I do think of radio as a spontaneous and constant co-creation, so everything that we are doing and broadcasting is meant to become part of the fabric of our communities.”

While the number and variety of radio stations have decreased in recent years, campus radio stations have largely managed to hang on, continuing to provide a platform for students to find and share music and stories that matter to them. 

Lastly, one of the oral traditions we engage in most often as students is also one of the least talked about: University classes. Oral classroom instruction in universities goes back hundreds of years in the modern European tradition, and thousands of years more generally. Originally, this was a result of technical constraints: Prior to the printing press and widespread literacy, getting a bunch of students in a classroom and explaining concepts to them was the most efficient way to pass on information quickly. 

But as the printing press caught on and literacy spread to the middle classes in Europe, people began to wonder if lectures still made sense as a teaching method. 18th-century literary critic Samuel Johnson even went so far as to say we should get rid of them altogether: “Lectures were once useful, but now, when all can read, and books are so numerous, lectures are unnecessary.” In other words, he argued that a literate tradition should supersede the old oral tradition of earlier universities.

And yet, here we are three hundred years later, still (mostly) attending oral lectures as a primary means of learning, although it is deeply intertwined with written materials like lecture slides and course texts. We seem to believe that there is something meaningful about a professor’s unique personal explanation of a topic. We intuitively recognize this value when we complain about a professor who reads paragraphs from the textbook off of their 15-year-old PowerPoint slides: A university lecture is not simply a live audiobook. The missed opportunity of this approach is the missed chance to connect over the material on a human level. 

While we have clearly strayed far from Ong’s idea of “primary orality,” I believe that oral traditions are more alive and present in our lives than we generally recognize. Whether through family history, technology like social media and radio, lectures, and performing arts, we all engage with oral storytelling in our own ways, both as speakers and listeners. While these traditions may be fundamentally changed by print and digital media, they are still alive, and they are still deeply human.

Know Your Athlete, Sports

Know Your Athlete: Caroline Crossley

by Zain Ahmed on

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Having recently returned to Canadian soil one Olympic silver medal richer, Caroline Crossley was a prominent member of the Canadian Women’s Rugby Team at the 2024 Paris Olympics. As an incoming student in the Faculty of Law, she has had to balance a demanding curriculum with her international athletic commitments. 

Like many McGill athletes, Crossley’s love for rugby began at a young age. She was encouraged by her friends to join a local team. The lack of girls’ teams at local clubs meant Caroline and her peers had no choice but to play for the boys’ team as her introduction to the sport. As rugby grew in popularity, Crossley played a pivotal role in establishing women’s programs at her local club and high school with the help of her father, David Crossley, who organized the first girls’ team at their local rugby club. Within four years of organizing the team at her club, Crossley’s exceptional talent caught the attention of the Canadian national team, leading to her selection for the Canadian national sevens team at just 16 years old.

“It was really easy to have role models, they definitely helped me find confidence in the sport,” Crossley said in an interview with //The Tribune// on the impact of being surrounded by so many high-performance woman athletes. 

Crossley is excited to transfer her confidence on the field into the classroom. With aspirations to juggle a rigorous law school schedule with international rugby competitions, it will be no small task. Crossley candidly discussed the challenges she faces, including time management, the anticipation of her academic pressures, and the physical demands of both pursuits. However, she remains optimistic about her ability to excel in both realms.

“It’s a constant balancing act, but I’ve learned to prioritize and make the most of every opportunity,” Crossley said. “I think my whole life I’ve been balancing a thousand things, like when I was in high school, I was travelling internationally and trying to keep up with high school. I’ve taken courses all throughout my national team career and had to balance those things.”

Despite the challenges of juggling life off the field with her athletics, Crossley’s dedication and determination are propelling her to new heights. Competing in the Paris Olympics was a dream come true for her. 

“We weren’t sharing the stadium with the men, like we had our full weekend to ourselves, and we had almost 70,000 people watching us [in a] sold-out stadium at our quarterfinal. And I was like ‘Oh, my God, all these people are here to watch us,’” she said. “It was definitely a full circle moment for me, because I honestly never thought that that would be a reality within my lifetime.” 

Looking ahead, Caroline expressed her desire to continue playing rugby while pursuing her law degree. She emphasized the importance of exploring various career paths and building a well-rounded identity beyond her athletic achievements, to develop herself in a more holistic and professional manner. 

“I think for me, I [am] actually kind of excited to shed my athlete identity a little bit coming into law school, because it’s just something so different,” Crossley said. “I am very ready in my life to pursue other passions. I love rugby, but I’m not one of those athletes that’s like, this is my be-all, end-all, and I’m going to stay in the sport as long as I can.” 

Crossley is a strong advocate for gender equality in rugby and within the sporting world, having witnessed firsthand the strides made in recent years. However, she acknowledges that challenges persist, emphasizing the need for continued support and investment in women’s athletics. 

“It’s incredibly inspiring to see the growth of women’s sports, but we still have a long way to go to ensure that young girls have equal opportunities to pursue their athletic dreams,” she said.

Crossley’s journey from grassroots rugby to the global stage is a testament to her unwavering dedication and exceptional talent. As a woman athlete navigating a sport dominated by men, she has faced unique barriers. Despite these challenges, her perseverance and leadership have been instrumental in fostering a more inclusive and equitable environment for women in rugby.

Beyond her athletic achievements, Crossley’s commitment to academic excellence and personal growth is equally inspiring. Her ability to balance demanding law school coursework with international competitions demonstrates her remarkable determination and resilience. As she continues to break down barriers and inspire the next generation of woman athletes, Caroline Crossley’s future is undoubtedly bright.

Arts & Entertainment, Books

‘A Way to Be Happy’ book review: Short stories for a rainy day

by Isobel Bray on

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A Way to Be Happy is the latest work of short stories by Canadian author Caroline Adderson. Adderson, who currently lives in Vancouver, B.C., has published five novels and several popular children’s books. 

The eight stories in this collection range from mundane to fantastical, showcasing the benefits of the short story as a form; without reading an entire novel, you get to experience a variety of tales. Adderson weaves between stories without losing her artistic voice, delivering compelling narratives throughout. Each story in A Way to Be Happy exists within its own world, shaped by the unique characters within it. Whether dealing with a routine colonoscopy, a string of holiday robberies, or moving to a new town, the stories’ uniting factor is, as the title suggests, a consideration of what happiness is—and what it means to find it. 

Adderson’s prose is straightforward but doesn’t flatline;  every word choice feels intentional. When she goes into detail, it is perfectly placed to highlight her characters’ idiosyncrasies, making the reader empathize with their struggles. The beauty of a short story collection is the narrative diversity which means that, hopefully, there can be something for everyone. Here are some of my favourites.

“From the Archives of the Hospital for the Insane” is a poignant depiction of a group of women attempting to help a young girl escape from the hospital they have been admitted to. While the women’s names are fictionalized, their experiences are not. In the acknowledgments, Adderson reveals that she took inspiration from British Columbia’s Provincial Hospital for the Insane in the early 20th century, using records from the BC Archives to shape her story. She incorporated quotes from real patient files to highlight the historical attitudes towards women’s mental health. Adderson shows the tenderness and solidarity the women develop through their shared circumstances and explores their agency, even in a marginalized position.

“Yolki-Palki” is the story of Varlam, a Russian hitman with a mysterious lung disease who begins to recall past events, some of which he has a hard time placing. Though they are fuzzy, Varlam keeps returning to visions revolving around an older woman and the forest. He struggles to understand the source of his distress and isn’t sure if he’s dreaming, but as the story progresses, his visions solidify in his mind. When Varlam finally understands his illness, so do the readers, and we see how the natural imagery within the story comes to symbolize Varlam’s lost innocence and unresolved guilt in a dream-like ending. 

In “All Our Auld Acquaintances Are Gone,” Adderson follows a couple, Corey and Taryn, on New Year’s Eve in Vancouver. After losing their friend Kayla to an overdose, the pair infiltrate a holiday party to rob it so they can make a new life somewhere else. We follow Taryn throughout the night, who struggles with her confidence more than Cory, creating internal conflict. Adderson explores the difficult experience of grief in relation to the glimpses she gets of the partygoers’ lives. Despite being the shortest story of the collection, Adderson skillfully balances character-building and narrative tension. Her stories also incorporate Canadian locations and brands, making this story and others more familiar to Canadian readers.

These humorous and touching stories are perfect for a rainy day this upcoming fall, whether you’re an avid reader or someone looking to get into it.

A Way to Be Happy by Caroline Adderson will be available at local bookstores on Sept. 10.

Out on the Town, Student Life

The best thrift stores for fashion and sustainability

by Yasmine Mkaddam on

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We all share a responsibility as consumers to seek the most ethical and practical options—the best way to do this is to thrift. Thrifting consists of shopping at second-hand clothing stores that offer other options than fast-fashion outlets, which contribute to modern slavery, countless human rights violations, and environmental issues worldwide. Turning towards this alternative to expand your wardrobe is both a conscientious and affordable choice—perfect for students on a budget! After all, shopping ethically is the key to being truly fashionable. 

Here are some stores you can visit for good finds.

La Boutique Les Petits Frères 

Boutique Mont-Royal, 1284 avenue du Mont-Royal Est

Boutique Gilford, 1380 rue Gilford 

Located in the Plateau Mont-Royal since the 1980s, La Boutique Les Petits Frères presents thrift clothing, vintage items, jewelry, books, toys, and furniture. There are currently two Petits Frères boutiques in the Plateau, situated a short walk away from each other, both restocking well-curated items daily. All revenue generated goes towards the Little Brothers Foundation, which funds programs to support Quebec seniors and counteract isolation among the elderly. La Boutique Les Petits Frères welcomes volunteers from various backgrounds and prides itself on providing excellent customer service. 

Mala MTL 

Rosemont, 5425 rue de Bordeaux suite 101-F 

Mala MTL is a Latinx-owned and operated plus-size thrift store offering sizes from L to 6X. Founded by Sandra Munoz Diaz in 2018, this independent business aims to promote body positivity through affordable clothes, vintage items, accessories, jewelry, and commissions for custom pieces. Shopping for plus-size clothing has been and continues to be especially challenging, with most stores putting little to no effort into offering fitting and stylish size-inclusive clothes. Diaz displays her passion for fashion by creating a safe place for the plus-size community and hand-selecting various quality pieces. You can catch the frequent promos of the store on its Instagram account @malamtl, with “2 for 1” deals and items going for $10 CAD and below!

Salvation Army Thrift Store

Côte-des-Neiges/Notre-Dame-de-Grâce 1620, rue Notre-Dame ouest Montréal ― Centre, 7066, rue St-Hubert 

Montréal ― Sud, 4025, rue Wellington, Verdun 

The Salvation Army is a Christian Protestant church and international charitable organization serving more than 130 countries worldwide. They offer a wide range of clothing, shoes, fashion accessories, books, toys, antiques, and more. The stores provide accessible shopping for people with disabilities by ensuring access for wheelchair users and people with mobility aids. It also participates in a program to help reduce waste production in Canada and the profits finance its services.

Renaissance 

Saint-Léonard, 4127, rue Jean-Talon Est 

Outremont, 1085 avenue Bernard 

The renowned and go-to thrift store Renaissance is a non-profit organization. You can find one at almost every corner of Montréal, offering exceptionally affordable selections—most clothing items cost less than $10 CAD, and you can find many pieces from well-known and trendy brands by browsing through the racks. Renaissance has welcomed volunteers with mental and physical disabilities for more than twenty years. Plus, if you’re looking for a day of thrifting, you can pass by the two Les Petits Frères boutiques in Plateau Mont-Royal, conveniently located beside Renaissance Plateau.

Eva B 

Ville-Marie, 2015 Boulevard St-Laurent

Eva B is a Montréal-based vintage boutique decorated with an 80s flair and a vegan café inside. The store has shoes, jewelry, books, paintings, artsy pieces like modified mannequin torsos, and furniture making the place unique. While the bottom floor is reserved for selected vintage items predating the era of fast fashion—with prices over $25 CAD—the top floor offers more modern and affordable clothes starting at only $3 CAD. Eva B’s bistro/bar presents a selection of drinks, sandwiches, and sweets you can enjoy inside, including a $1 CAD espresso! Eva B preserves the authentic thrifting experience of hunting for good finds and also has a second boutique called Eva D just a minute’s walk away. You can donate or sell clothes and receive store credit for your next purchases! 

McGill, News

TAs urge McGill to uphold contract at back-to-school rally

by Mairin Burke on

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Call-and-response chants of “Union! Power!” punctuated the Association of Graduate Students Employed at McGill (AGSEM)’s back-to-school rally on Sept. 4. AGSEM, the union representing teaching assistants (TAs), exam invigilators, and Academic Casuals such as graders and tutors at McGill, held the event to mark their full return to instruction after a lengthy TA strike in the spring. 

The strike, which lasted three weeks, came to an end on April 15 when AGSEM and the university formed a new collective agreement (CA) dictating pay and working conditions for graduate employees. Although the CA ensured a pay raise for TAs—six per cent retroactively and three per cent in future years—McGill has not yet met the deadlines for remittance established by the back-to-work protocol agreed upon. 

The university agreed to compensate TAs for any unpaid hours worked before the strike. They additionally agreed to retroactively compensate TAs by paying the difference in the hours paid at the pay raise level established by the new CA versus the original pay level. According to rally organisers, McGill committed to paying AGSEM members for all hours worked at the base pay level by June 20 and then with retroactive effect by July 19; however, McGill has yet to finish making these payments. 

AGSEM delegate and McGill Physics TA Nick Vieira expressed the need for pressure against the university to receive the benefits of the CA in a speech at the rally.

“This contract doesn’t mean a whole lot unless we work with each other to defend and follow it, and unfortunately, at every turn, McGill has not followed that […] contract,” Vieira said. 

In a written statement to The Tribune, McGill’s Media Relations Office (MRO) reported that the university has been “in a transition period” since reaching the CA with AGSEM in the spring. The MRO maintained that they continue to collaborate with the union on any outstanding issues.

AGSEM organisers also reintroduced their No More Free Hours campaign at the rally, urging attendees to keep careful track of their time worked this school year. Vieira explained in his speech that 48 per cent of TAs at McGill work an average of 13 hours over their contract, which amounts to $470 CAD of unpaid labour per semester.

Vieira also spoke to the importance of continuing to advocate for the union and its members’ rights.

“We went on strike, we worked hard to get it, we owe it to those who came before us, and we owe it to ourselves to defend our contract,” Vieira said.

Speakers at the rally additionally addressed the labour negotiations that have begun between AGSEM’s invigilator unit and the university in advance of the expiration of the current, invigilator-specific CA. Magnus L’Argent, President of AGSEM, reported that the union hopes to raise the current invigilator wage of $18 CAD an hour due to understaffing and the physically demanding nature of the role. 

In a statement to The Tribune, the MRO expressed optimism about future negotiation with AGSEM’s invigilator unit.

“As for negotiations with AGSEM’s invigilators’ unit, the collective agreement expires in December 2025 and we expect the negotiations will go well,” the MRO wrote.

Several other McGill unions showed their support at the rally, including the Association of McGill Professors of the Faculty of Arts and the Association of McGill Professors of Law (AMPL), who are currently on strike.

Evan Fox-Decent, the President of AMPL, addressed the crowd—including many fellow Law professors associated with the union—outside the Bronfman Building.

“Only by working and fighting together will you make your working conditions and our students’ learning conditions better for all, and keep us together as a community and not […] splintered […] as McGill would otherwise [want],” Fox-Decent said. 

Similarly, Dallas Jokic, an AGSEM member involved with CA negotiations during the winter 2024 term, affirmed the importance of inter-union support.

“The employer has a lot of advantages against us […] access to the fanciest union-busting lawyers that money can buy, [and] they have connections [among] politicians and in the media,” Jokic said. “But the advantage that we unambiguously have over the employer is that McGill works because we do.”

Arts & Entertainment, Film and TV

Misogynistic tropes in ‘Strange Darling’ overshadow its thrills

by Siena Torres on

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Content warning for sexual violence and violent content. Contains Spoilers for Strange Darling.

With an endorsement from The Haunting of Hill House creator Mike Flanagan on its poster, JT Mollner’s latest film, Strange Darling, is receiving high praise from Stephen King and critics as a shocking and brilliant new thriller. It follows two characters named in the opening sequence as “The Lady” (Willa Fitzgerald) and “The Demon” (Kyle Gallner) who play a cat-and-mouse game after a one-night stand turns into an unidentified serial killer’s latest spree. While the film has unique stylistic elements and strong acting by the leads, the twist left a feeling of discomfort as it played out to the end. 

Strange Darling begins by announcing that it was shot entirely on 35mm film. Its most notable stylistic aspect is that the story is broken up into six parts, shown non-linearly. It starts with Part 3: We see “The Lady” running through a field for her life as a cover of “Love Hurts” by Z Berg plays, clearly referencing the deadly turn their potential relationship has taken. The fragmented storytelling purposely confuses the audience as the first two parts immediately follow, starting violently with no build-up. As evidenced by the name “The Demon” and the loud, ominous score that accompanies his onscreen appearances, the audience is led to believe that he is the serial killer. 

Despite the promise of a shocking twist, it was no shock to me that Fitzgerald’s character was the serial killer instead. By watching the one-night stand unfold, we see their kinky dynamic progress as her sexual desires turn darker. A shot from the film’s opening of “The Demon” choking her is recontextualized when it is revealed that she requested and encouraged this violent act. The film could have delved deeper into the kink aspect of a budding relationship like the films Secretary and Sanctuary. Instead, in a typical femme-fatale act, “The Lady” uses “The Demon’s” sexual desire for her to incapacitate him with drugs and attempts to murder him after finding out he is a cop. The cat-and-mouse game ensues as he gets away and then hunts her down. 

My distaste for Strange Darling was strongly shaped by the final parts of the film and the dangerous message they convey. As “The Lady” finally kills her target, the cops show up and a troubling scene emerges. She pulls down her pants and falsely claims that “The Demon” raped her in an attempt to get away. The female cop immediately believes her claims while the male cop has doubts despite the violent scene she shows. After the revelation that Fitzgerald is the serial killer “The Electric Lady,” the cop’s initial disbelief of a self-proclaimed sexual assault survivor is proven right. 

However, only a small percentage of rape allegations are false, which raises the question of why this was included if not to be used as a fearmongering example of a vindictive woman. In what could have been a compelling film about a female serial killer, the film chooses instead to play on unfounded fears of men who feel unease about the #MeToo movement. This male fantasy of a lying woman being punished is clear when the film ends with her apparent death.

While Strange Darling stands out among recent horror films for its inventive structure and gorgeous cinematography, the misogynistic tones of the ending sequence left me feeling troubled. “The Electric Lady” is not given enough backstory to make her a compelling character—though Willa Fitzgerald does much heavy lifting with her powerful acting skills, especially when she realizes that she has truly been caught. In 2024, a film’s final message should not translate to “women can lie, too”—especially when concerning sexual violence. 

 Strange Darling is now playing at Cinema du Parc. 

Features

In Search of Silence

by Amalia Mairet on

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Who ever sits in silence anymore? 

Imagine me in my bed. It is past midnight, dark but never perfectly dark. The curtains glow ghostly white in the columnar light of my phone screen. Streetlight pours over my static body. I am lulled by the sound of Seinfeld, the sitcom dialogue running like a current through my headphones, the laugh track looping until I lose consciousness. This is how I sleep.

Imagine me in the shower. Any time of the day or night, the bathroom is transformed by warm LEDs into a pseudo golden hour. My phone rests upside down on the metal grate of a shower caddy, sprayed with droplets from the busted showerhead. YouTube videos play on shuffle. I am only half listening; waterfall drowns everything into a murmur. This is how I shower.

Imagine me making dinner. I cut onions, grate garlic, open cans of beans with firm twists of the wrist and hand. Vegetables sweat and simmer on the stove. My eardrums thrum with the rhythm of a reality television argument. A woman decides she hates her boyfriend. Someone says someone else is “really fake, right?” I smile at the cutting board and shake my head, detached, tethered to the present moment only by the smell of toasting spices and the slicing knife’s haunting sharpness. This is how I cook.

Imagine me on the sidewalk. There is a hat over my ears or a scarf against my cheeks, protecting me from the wind, cupping the frozen mist of breath against my face. The muffle of headphones softens my footfalls. Between my ears, two women dissect Canadian politics, a mortician deadpans an unsolved murder case, a twenty-five-year-old reads his old tweets and laughs aloud. This is how I walk.

I have rarely felt silence in almost three years.

My need for constant entertainment began in high school. While applying for university, the pressure of GPAs, admission averages, and potential rejection caused me to have what my doctor called ‘a bit of an episode.’ As I started to spiral, I adopted some ironclad coping habits. I struggled to get out of bed in the morning, so I let myself watch Netflix once I left my room. I struggled to shower, so I played podcasts or YouTube videos from my phone speaker. I struggled to sleep, so I stayed up watching Family Guy reruns until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The common theme was noise. For months, I worked diligently to ensure that I didn’t spend a single waking moment in the terrifying emptiness of quiet. I was never fully feeling, never fully living, always distracted.

During that time, thinking was a risky ordeal because I suffered badly from intrusive thoughts. Silence posed an opportunity for my brain to fill in the blanks—even innocuous moments, like waiting for class to begin or riding the bus or shaving my legs, were an opening for some devious mental popup. Chain-smoking endless streams of content felt like the best form of protection. Being constantly entertained didn’t come without costs: These practices alienated me from myself and the tertiary experiences of my life. But the habits allowed me to go through the motions and maintain my sanity. After a few months, I got a diagnosis, started on meds, and became less miserable. Still, my need for noise stayed. 

Constant entertainment was not just my personal depression life hack—it’s a scientifically vetted strategy. Experiencing occasional intrusive thoughts is not uncommon, but when intense and frequent, they quickly become distressing. If you’ve ever sat in a quiet meeting and felt you might start yelling uncontrollably or gotten the overwhelming sense that you might hit someone while driving, you have had an intrusive thought. They only become dysfunctional when you can’t turn them off.

How do you cope with a stream of distressing thoughts you can’t seem to stop? A 2014 study on OCD found that using “distraction as coping behaviour is an effective technique for managing clinically significant intrusive thoughts.” Scientists determined that people’s ability to distract themselves from intrusive thoughts was essential to their ability to function. Instead of enduring the cycle of becoming upset and calming themselves down, patients could shift their attention before they had begun processing an emotional situation. While they couldn’t fully work through whatever had upset them in the moment, the strategy was adaptive, allowing participants to continue operating without becoming inconsolable. 

Luckily for stressed-out people craving distraction, there is an endless variety of options to choose from, ranging from a minor auditory earworm to a fully immersive virtual world where no real-life concerns can intrude. We all know intuitively that music is pleasant, and television and podcasts are engaging, but nothing shuts your brain off completely like a TikTok or a Reel—they are a perfect trifecta of sound and image and text. Even better is combining multiple kinds of distraction at once, scrolling TikTok while you watch a show and online shop in a second tab. There are a million jokes on X (previously known as Twitter) about consuming five different types of content to eliminate the possibility of a single thought, but they are only half-joking. Distraction can feel more silent than actual silence, because it may be the only time that you get peace from your internal monologue. 

“Not only do I have music playing at all times, but playing it out loud feels too far away […]  so I keep my headphones on […] I usually fall asleep to TV if not music,” said Gianna Mountroukas, U3 Arts. When I asked why, she admitted she’s “tired of thinking” constantly—she feels like she’s “never in silence” even when the music is off. Like me, she is hungry not just for physical quiet but moments of internal peace, respite from a tireless stream of consciousness. These can be difficult to achieve without the aid of distraction. 

Although the studies I discussed deal with mental illnesses, this process can exist with any kind of stress for any kind of brain. Even if you’re predisposed to mental wellness, just checking the news is enough to send anyone into a spiral. There is an endless list of things that you might want to avoid thinking about. Accordingly, many of my peers reported complicated relationships with silence. 

Several of the people interviewed for this article described a love for background noise. Rowina Debalkew, U3 Arts, said that silence “can be both comforting and disturbing” depending on the circumstance, but she “can’t walk anywhere without music.” Theo Shouse, U2 Arts, said “Silence [is] only for sleep. Otherwise, I require constant podcasts and music.” Alvise Ceolato, U2 Arts, explained he only enjoys silence while smoking, as he’s forced to “listen to the pace of [his] breath.” Otherwise, he says silence “makes me feel like I need to judge myself and try to look at my own true colours.”

These reports indicate a widespread use of distraction as a coping mechanism. Dismissing our collective obsession with entertainment as stupidity or sloth is an incomplete conclusion—clearly, something deeper is going on. Still, recognizing that we distract ourselves for a good reason does not mean the practice is beyond reproach. 

Personally, I began to wonder just how much I was blocking out. It had been too long since I sat with myself and puzzled through any big questions because I’d learned to avoid mental pathways that could end in anxiety. But over the summer I decided I wanted to reconnect with myself, with that internal monologue I had been blockading. I needed to reflect: What am I like when nobody else is around? Am I happy with how I’m spending my time? What are my dreams? 

You can’t work these questions out with yourself in a 15-minute rap session. They require time and deep attention, the cumulation of many little ideas and realizations during the passing moments of your life. I got worried that I had robbed myself of many such moments because I was scared of what I’d feel along the way. The more time I spent in quiet, growing less and less afraid of what awaited me there, the more I felt the floodgates open. Instead of coping by preventing the upset before it began, I tried to complete the emotional cycle. I let myself fully experience my thoughts, fretting and crying and whatever else I needed to do to process them. Once I learned to sit with the discomfort, my brain became more peaceful. Silence became soothing. Being deeply connected to my surroundings allowed me to ground myself in times of stress and refocus on what was happening in the world outside my head. 

I’ve seen promising signs of others reconnecting with their ability to exist without digital distraction. There was that New York Times article about the Neo-Luddite teens, who meet up to paint watercolours in the park instead of going on their phones. There’s the You Don’t Need a Smartphone pamphlet  by New York indie writer August Lamm, who is trying to help others reclaim their attention and time. And there are the people ‘raw-dogging’ long flights, braving 19 hours with no entertainment. A BBC news article published in Aug. 2024 identifies the trend as a result of “collective yearning for balance as people seek to reclaim mental space and foster a deep connection with their inner selves.” McGill student Gaby Godfrey, U4 Arts, described this practice on a smaller scale—whenever they fly home they “have to sit alone with [their] thoughts for a minimum of 45 minutes,” if only to prove they can. Instead of using quiet moments as opportunities for distraction or productivity, I see a growing respect for the ability to unplug. Granted, it’s strange that doing nothing is not just a normal part of everyday life, but a bizarre enough practice to warrant a ‘trend’ and a place in the news cycle. Still, I’m glad the idea is coming to the fore.

I heard many other heartening accounts of my peers taking back their quiet time too. Sam Batson, U3 Arts, used to feel the urge to “consume media at every given moment,” before she concluded that this habit “increases stress rather than soothes it.” Now, she loves “just chilling in all the natural noises of life.” Instead of constantly listening to music, Celia O’Hara, U3 Arts, has begun taking silent walks—she finds them better for reflecting and reconnecting with her sensory environment. And when I asked Johnny Carter, U3 Education, about quiet, he said it makes up a significant portion of his normal day. He missed it badly at summer camp, where the kids preferred constant music blasting. 

I’ve been rejoining the world in this same way, a little at a time. I took a month away from Instagram. I have downloaded countless social media time-saving apps from the webstore. I own a physical notebook and a dusty typewriter. I’m learning to fall asleep in silence again, to shower with only the sound of the water running. These steps might sound small, but the habits are deeply ingrained and shockingly hard to kick. Being bored can be scary and uncomfortable, especially when the feeling has grown foreign—sitting in silence has become a skill which must be cultivated. 

The idea that you feel better when you’re not constantly entertained is well-documented and intuitively obvious. But to address this pervasive issue, I think we must first give ourselves more credit, recognizing that we do these things for a reason: To make ourselves more comfortable and our lives more livable moment-to-moment. Understanding this behaviour for what it is—a coping mechanism—helped me unburden myself of guilt for what I thought was laziness or a character flaw or me wasting my own time. Once we correctly identify the problem, we can start to regard coping strategies like distraction with appropriate criticism, and effectively weigh the short-term comfort against the long-term costs.

I’m not suggesting we all throw away our headphones and embrace a monk-like reticence. That would be hypocritical—I’m listening to music as I type this. But I think that the ability to sit with your thoughts, to be bored, to endure the joy and discomfort of every tedious and terrifying and wonderful moment of your life, is an undervalued skill. If you, like me, crave distraction, don’t just slap yourself on the wrist when you see your screen time report—try to identify what you’re avoiding. If you want to nurture this skill, start small. Sit on the bus or an airplane or the curb and look around, notice everything you can, listen to what happens when you aren’t wearing headphones. 

Imagine me walking through my neighbourhood at night. It’s twilight and the sidewalks are abandoned; the sky is all grey clouds, the power lines and houses darkly contrasted, the yellow windows lit from within. My pant legs swish past each other at the knees as I walk. The wind makes a shushing noise as it moves through the trees. 

It’s quiet. My thoughts are no longer too large for my body. I bet yours aren’t either— but you should see for yourself. 

Editorial, Opinion

Military spending fuels oppression, not peace

by The Tribune Editorial Board on

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Canada’s military spending has recently faced increased scrutiny, with the United States urging the Trudeau government to meet the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO)’s defence spending target of two per cent of their GDP. As one of the lowest spenders on defence among NATO allies, Canada has continuously faced criticism from U.S. officials for its perceived lack of commitment to military investment. In the context of Canada’s pervasive ties to the colonization of Palestine, increased military spending directly furthers Canada’s involvement in violence that contradicts its values of protecting human rights and promoting peace. Paralleling McGill University’s private investments, Canada’s federal budget allocations directly contribute to the ongoing genocide of Palestinians. Without divestment from the Israeli state and its enterprises, Canada and its complicit institutions—including McGill—will remain bloody-handed. 

Canada’s complicity in Israel’s terror reflects a broader issue of military expenditures supporting systems of oppression and colonialism. Meeting the spending target would place a large strain on Canada’s budget, especially while the country faces pressing issues such as high living costs and underfunded social programs including healthcare and education. The choice to spend an already exhausted fiscal budget on the deployment of special officers to support Israel’s killing of Palestinians, rather than prioritizing domestic needs, reflects an interest in the propagation of violence abroad over the wellbeing of its own people. 

In only three months, Canada exported more military goods to Israel than it has in the past 30 years—and Canadians are calling for their country to stop this funding. This is evident in its colonial military expenditures, its extensive history of genocide against Indigenous peoples, and its legacy of slavery.

Historically, Canada has often relied on the U.S. as a shield from international scrutiny. In return, Canada has supported U.S. interests in the Middle East by endorsing Israel as a key ally. As Canada faces a critical decision now, it must confront its historical shortcomings and decide whether to act in line with its so-called “peacekeeping” reputation, even if that means differentiating itself from its neighbours and allies. This decision is pivotal in defining what Canada truly stands for, as well as encouraging its institutions, such as McGill, to act accordingly. By not succumbing to pressures in meeting the two per cent NATO target, Canada will be taking an active step towards ending its complicity in violence. 

Students worldwide have frequently been at the forefront of protests against military funding. In 1985, McGill became the first Canadian institution to divest from South African apartheid—a decision that was monumental in the movement against imperialism in South Africa, with a major impact on federal funding towards the apartheid. Decades later, McGill refuses to do the same with respect to the genocide of Palestinians. The contrast between the university’s explicit condemnation of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and its refusal to recognize the war on Gaza as genocide by Israel—instead referring to the humanitarian crisis as a “geopolitical conflict half a world away”—demonstrates its commitment to upholding structures of white supremacy. With the International Criminal Court convicting Israel of their genocidal operations in Palestine and people worldwide criticizing the actions of the state, Canada and McGill continuing to fund genocidal investments cannot be justified by NATO obligations or other external excuses.

Considering recent events like the forceful dismantling of McGill’s Palestine Solidarity Encampment and the administration’s violence against students, it is evident that student action towards divestment is imperative. Given that student tuition funds enforce McGill’s ties to Israel, the university’s decision to solely focus on tuition hikes as a student issue, while ignoring transparency about investment allocations, further illustrates McGill’s disingenuous approach. Universities such as McGill have increasingly been operating as businesses, prioritizing lucrative investments in sectors like weapons manufacturing over the values and welfare of their students.

To implement meaningful change, McGill’s leadership must align their investment practices with ethical standards and engage with student movements, not just in promise but in practice. This will not only compel the Canadian government to acknowledge that one of its leading institutions rejects genocide, but it will also forge a transformative new legacy for the university. Students, particularly incoming freshmen, have a vital role in this process. They should educate themselves about ongoing campus issues, join activism efforts, and ensure their voices are heard in shaping the future of their institution. By staying informed and engaged, students have the power to guide our surrounding institutions toward a future where spending reflects a prioritization of morality over exploitation.

Art, Arts & Entertainment

Saints, Sinners, Lovers and Fools subverts time

by Annabella Lawlor on

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Standing in the final room of Saints, Sinners, Lovers, and Fools, I find myself transported into an era abundantly different from my own. My eyes glance over the drapery of richly pigmented paint layers, taking in the synthesis of colour, subject, and function. On the walls hang over 20 paintings, with sculpted borders of golden wood and gilded frames just inches apart. I stand in a recreation of a 16th-century “Cabinet of Curiosities,” a private collection of artifacts used to convey a vast knowledge of the universe. The show recaptures a time when paintings like these were hung in private homes, plainly tacked onto wooden walls, only glanced at casually while walking from room to room. We stand in the art cabinet as if beings from the past, in swooping historical silhouettes, assuming the role of a 16th-century noble to shoulder the fears, desires, and cultural anxieties of this early modern Flemish population.

The exhibition Saints, Sinners, Lovers, and Fools has been on view at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts since June 8. Organized in collaboration with The Phoebus Foundation, the curators include Chloé M. Pelletier, known for her focus on pre-1800s European art, and Phoebus’s own Katharina Van Cauteren. It is a pictorial navigation through the cultural foundation of the Low Countries and a glimpse into the Flemish psyche, one of anxious consternation of the looming afterlife ahead.

Upon entering the first room, entitled “God is in the Details,” we are greeted with an extension of diverse visual mediums: A wooden statue of a saint, an ornately decorated illuminated manuscript, two triptychs, and several paintings, all of religious sentiment. The divinity of these images is accentuated by the use of gold leaf and rather surrealist imagery. Following the toils of the Black Death, the Low Countries found salvation in contemplating the world that follows life; art became a medium of cultural exploration, both for use in spiritual practices and an examination of anxieties surrounding death. 

The room’s highlight comes in the form of a painting, a surrealist representation of a fiery afterlife: 1540’s “Hell,” painted by a follower of Hieronymus Bosch. The imagery is all-consuming, engulfing the viewer in its rabid eccentricities to convey the overarching presence of religious fear in the Southern Netherlands. In one corner, a beaked creature devours a human; in another, dogs gnaw hungrily at the stomach of a knight while a flying fish impales five souls right beside. These depictions of anguish and suffering exhibit themselves in this surreal landscape as a manifestation of the nation’s restless uncertainty about what accompanies death. Its inclusion is a masterclass in curation, elevating a placated religious apprehension that, after its viewing, accompanies all other artworks in the room.

The symbiotic flow of galleries continues as subject matter ebbs and flows, highlighting noble portrait art, the sins of societal “fools,” scientific discoveries, and the ever-changing progression of the Flemish spirit in times of war and struggle. Notable works of Anthony van Dyck and Peter Paul Rubens adorn the walls alongside works from the MMFA’s own art collection. 

The Montreal leg of this exhibition contains several pieces owned by the museum, including Lucas van Valckenborch’s astounding 1595 scene, A Meat and Fish Market (Winter). While it typically hangs in the Pavilion for Peace’s third floor, the work is brought to life amongst these complementary Flemish works. These selected paintings are exceptional additions to the show, contextualizing many pieces seen regularly by the Montreal community in a culturally congruent space.

The selected works of Saints, Sinners, Lovers, and Fools solidify curation as an art form in itself. Every room, every wall, and every painting holds resonance in defining a Flemish identity. Immersing oneself in this culture and exploring the emotions of the period allows for seeing a rendered beauty in its fear and trepidation. It redefines art as cultural remedy and illuminates emotions long forgotten.

Saints, Sinners, Lovers, and Fools runs until October 20, 2024. Tickets are available online or in person at the MMFA.

Ask Ainsley, Student Life

Ask The Trib: Your guide to thriving socially in your first semester at McGill

by Malika Logossou on

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Dear Tribune,

I’m starting my first year at McGill and am struggling to figure out how to connect with people and make friends, whether in my program or elsewhere on campus. I feel lost socially and worry that this might prevent me from fully enjoying and making the most of my first year.

Do you have any tips on how I can navigate this new environment?

Sincerely,

Socially Overwhelmed Student (SOS)

Dear SOS,

Your feelings and concerns are completely valid and resonate with many incoming students (we’ve all been there). Making new friends and meeting people in a large environment like McGill can be overwhelming. Whether you’re a newcomer or a returning student, navigating campus life and building connections can feel daunting. However, there are many ways to form long-lasting connections at McGill without getting stressed.

Making friends in your program
The first few weeks can be a bit tricky. Many students might be dropping or switching classes, which can make it harder to find a steady group on campus. However, don’t let this discourage you. In the meantime, try sitting near someone alone in your classes. Fellow students are often in the same position as you—feeling a bit lost and looking to make new friends. Starting a conversation can be as simple as asking questions about the course material or the professor. This approach not only breaks the ice but also helps you find common ground with your peers. 

When it comes to meeting people in your program, try not to stress too much. You have the entire year to connect with classmates, and it’s natural for friendships to develop over time. Even if you don’t chat with people on the first day, it is never too late to do so. Sometimes, your closest friendships may form just weeks before the semester ends. Stay open to meeting new people and avoid putting pressure on yourself or comparing your social progress to others.

Attend campus events

If you’re part of a faculty, make sure to follow their official social media page, as well as the page for their undergraduate student association. Faculties at McGill organize tons of events on and off campus year-round, and sometimes even host meet-ups in local pubs and bars. What better way to meet people and be more involved on campus than by embracing opportunities offered by your own faculty? These events provide valuable opportunities to connect with faculty members and students in your field of study. 

Another way to meet new people on campus is by attending events hosted by McGill. The school often hosts intramural and varsity football, soccer, hockey, and basketball games where university teams compete against each other and other schools. Keeping up with the latest updates from //The Tribune’s// Sports section is a great way to stay informed about athletic events.

Explore clubs and volunteer opportunities

While it may sound cliché, one of the best ways to make friends on campus is to step out of your comfort zone. With over 250 clubs, there’s undoubtedly a match for everyone’s interests at McGill. Whether you’re into fashion, writing, social activism, or sports, there’s a club waiting for you. Explore club listings on Instagram to connect with student groups and organizations, enriching your McGill experience. Don’t miss out on the Students’ Society of McGill University’s (SSMU) Activities Night on September 11-12, where many SSMU groups showcase their offerings, providing a chance to interact with executive members and sign up. You could also find community in identity-based organizations like the Black Student Network, the Spanish and Latin American Students Association, and the Arab Students Association, among many others. 

Additionally, searching for volunteering opportunities at Activities Night or through the McGill website is a fantastic way to engage with the campus community and meet like-minded students. Not only will it strengthen your academic CV, but it will help you make friends.

Don’t forget to be yourself

At the end of the day, the best way to meet new people and make the most out of your academic year is by being yourself. By remaining authentic, you will attract the right connections and opportunities. Trying to fit a mould or certain expectations can be exhausting, so take a deep breath, relax, and enjoy your new year at McGill.

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