Contributor Sabrina Nelson recaps the top stories of the week in this week’s McGill Minute.
Contributor Sabrina Nelson recaps the top stories of the week in this week’s McGill Minute.

Sepideh Afshar, Opinion Editor
Resistance, to me, is to be vocal about the injustices you see and experience. For about a year, I was part of a sorority at McGill. In this predominantly white space, I found myself silenced concerning the overt racism I was experiencing. I felt that my whole social circle, which was primarily made up of people in Greek life, would ostracize me if I spoke out about the way I was personally experiencing the institutionalized racism I had been so vocal about in the past. I put so much effort into trying to justify my silence to myself, effectively voiding the sorority girls and advisors around me of any responsibility. For months, I was wracked with guilt. I felt personally responsible for the racism any marginalized people joining the sorority might face—because at that point, I had become the token person of colour. I had students telling me they felt safe joining because of my presence and the positive experience I painted sorority life to be. Over time, this guilt wore me down and took a real toll on my mental health. I had joined with a fierce confidence that I could eradicate racism in Alpha Phi, naive to the institutionalized racism I was unprepared to tackle. It was only when I was disciplined, partly for the pro-Palestine content on my Instagram, that I realized the fiery resistance I had in me when I joined the sorority had turned to complicity. So I resisted in the only way I could think of: Speaking out.
I posted about my negative experiences on social media and made sure everybody around me knew of the terrible things I faced while part of Alpha Phi. Silent resistance, especially concerning issues that so many work hard to bury, is not enough. When I finally felt confident enough to speak on my experience, it was not just for myself. My goal was not to receive an apology or to get revenge on an organization that took so much away from me––I just could not recognize the Sepideh who was silent in the face of oppression. Once I left the sorority, I regained that spark. I know the importance that my voice holds and the impact that it can have and for that reason, I continue to be vocal. I talk and post about my experiences and I write articles about issues that matter to me because that is what I know resistance to be.
Aubrey Quinney, Opinion Editor
If I had to sum up my time spent at university, it would be three years of unlearning harmful social constructs and building an identity that I can truly call home. Even as my degree comes to an end, I can confidently say that I am still building that home, brick by brick. McGill threw a whole set of challenges my way, which I only overcame with the help of friends and a partner in crime. Throughout the process of overcoming experiences of gender dysphoria and internalized oppression, I have learnt that resistance comes in more shapes than one.
At first, I believed resistance was only needed in the face of harmful social constructions which marginalized individuals like myself. I learnt of gender fluidity and found a meaningful connection with not only the non-binary label, but a whole set of theories linked to the topic, such as gender performativity. I saw gender everywhere and worked tirelessly to unlearn the wrongs I saw all around me. Throughout my second year of university, my passion for gender and sexuality rights burned and I felt restless to change the world.
Midway through my third year, however, I began to feel a growing pressure in my mind to unlearn all the progressive conceptions I had newly built. It became increasingly hard to not see genders walking down the street. Especially as my classes became more specialized, my understanding of how the problematic world worked took a toll on my optimism. An anger roared inside me; I was constantly having to choose between fight or flight. Only those closest to me would hear society get the better of me when I pondered escaping to Bermuda.
On top of societal expectations chipping away at me, gender dysphoria started to creep back into my life, and this time, in one of the most intimate areas—sex. I have felt dysphoria with my upper body for several years. It was only when I met my partner that I started to experience gender euphoria. In my final year, however, I no longer felt comfortable during sex, often letting the moment die out. It was only thanks to my partner’s creativeness in queering sex, blending so-called male/female boundaries, that I rekindled that side of myself.
So while challenges can come from many places, resistance usually comes from two: Yourself and relationships with those closest to you. As my time at McGill comes to an end, I feel pride in resisting those challenges, and thankful for those who helped me through them.
Matthew Molinaro, Opinion Editor
Resistance has to be real, any potential stakeholder in a collective political uprising will tell you. That means there remains an excess of fake resistance to be disavowed. Much of it rose to the surface in 2020. Take how in the span of four days, and in the height of the Black Lives Matter uprisings, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau paused for 21 seconds in front of journalists and kneeled in front of his workspace—or rather, Parliament Hill. Not real: These actions, performed for happiness-focussed and order-seeking Canadians, symbolize how catering resistance to an audience undermines radical, meaningful measures.
This resistance is performative, self-serving, narrow-minded, superficial, exclusive, static. They tell you if you want to see fake resistance, go to Twitter leftists, or washed up celebrities, policing each other over terms that will be irrelevant in 10 years; look at your radicalized, convoy-supporting high school classmate’s Instagram stories; scroll through your family members’ Facebook. The results jar you, and shortages of fake resistance are yet to be seen in this stage of the pandemic.
I wonder if I’m a fake resistor. Elite university life intentionally separates itself from grassroots organizing. I’m still navigating what it is to exist in all-Black spaces one day, and spaces where I’m the only one the next. The stories of racism and microaggressions I’ve dealt with at McGill and in my lifetime are far too common, too easy to overcome to make me a real resistor—even if they’re wrong, everyone knows questions like ‘what are you,’ ‘where are you really from’; everyone knows that no one, from the state to private business owners, leaves Black men alone, unsupervised, uncontrolled. We begin to have nothing left to do but laugh and indulge in fake resistance. I tell myself it’s natural to think that.
The words of others, the people whose resistance is as real as it comes, give me solace in these doubts. The masterful Toni Morrison reminds us that we should insist on being shocked, on never being immune, on being surprised at the success of racist systems. The fact that fake resistance even becomes common suggests an immunity we ought not to have in the face of injustice. Even as McGill works its way to institutionalizing anti-racism efforts, if we lose our shock—if we give in to fake resistance and how it stymies any effort to mobilize the masses—we lose our power.
I don’t remember when I first learned about the existence of sex work. Certainly, I learned about sex at some point in a middle-school classroom, probably among a group of snickering teens. Yet the idea of sex as a job did not exist in my mind until cinematic depictions introduced me to the stereotypical image of a sex worker: A woman in the night, heavily made up, dressed up in provocative clothing, standing at the corners of dark streets and getting into strangers’ cars. At the time, I didn’t see this as work. I saw what she did as a shameful, criminal act;, almost a threat to society. Because I believed that sex work was not an “admirable” profession, I did not see it as a profession at all. It was incongruent with my perception of how a job should be. It took the longer portion of my life to understand that no matter my opinions on the task itself, sex work is real work.
The moral status of sex work has long been debated, both by a sex-conservative establishment and revolutionary feminists. Is it sex? Is it work? Can it be both? These are questions that have divided feminist circles for the last century. Some feminists, whom critics accuse of participating in “carceral feminism,” advocate for increasing legal penalties. For them, sex work and sex trafficking live on the same spectrum of degradation and exploitation. Many carceral feminists, like the radical feminist Catherine MacKinnon, or the anti-prostitution advocate Julie Bindel, believe that sex work should be outlawed altogether, with the ultimate goal of abolition. Some advocate for harsher prison sentences for those selling sexual services, even if the services are their own, in an effort to completely eliminate sexual labour.
Clearly, there are problems with this framework. But on the other hand, critics of carceral feminism can sometimes veer into a romanticized version of sex work—one in which exploitation is notnever a factor. In the book //Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Workers Rights//, activists and sex workers Juno Mac and Molly Smith argue that this philosophical binary creates two inverse images of sex workers: The “happy hooker,” an empowered, often young, white woman who participates in sex work as a form of liberation and autonomy, versus the young girl, stolen from her bed in the middle of the night and forced into sex trafficking. Ultimately, these two characters form a reductive dichotomy of sexual labour. The first image ignores the realities of migrant women, for instance, who are coerced or threatened into exploitative sexual labour because of their potentially unstable immigration status. The second image paints all sex workers as helpless victims and strips them of their autonomy. The truth of the matter is that there is no one kind of sex work. Safe and well-compensated sex workers exist, as do unsafe and worried sex workers who exist in volatile spaces with poor working conditions.
Sex work is what McGill law professor Angela Campbell calls a “morally ambiguous” profession. As she wrote in her 2013 book, //Sister Wives, Surrogates and Sex Workers: Outlaws by Choice?//, prevailing perceptions of sex work are dominated by a choice-coercion binary.
“I think we think of people as enlightened or as exploited and subject to [societal] pressures,” Campbell said. But, she added, “Any of us can be subject to forces that feel coercive.”
Whether or not something is coercive depends on who you ask. To those with the privilege of a secure, legally unambiguous job, the complex choice to enter sex work can look like a product of exploitation and restriction. But Campbell pointed out that activities deemed degrading by some, like selling services on the street, can be viewed entirely differently by those actually working.
“There are people who appear to be in circumstances that are very limiting, when in fact they exercise incredible resilience and resistance in their own communities,” Campbell said.
At least in some ways, sex work has become more normalized in recent years. Nathan*’s path into sex work began during the pandemic. He explained that returning to his home country of Malaysia with a schedule full of online classes presented him with a newfound amount of free time.
“Everything was up in the air, school became ridiculously easy and all of a sudden I had all this time,” Nathan said. “A pimp in Malaysia reached out through my Instagram […] and asked if I’d be interested in doing this and I thought ‘Why not?’ I had nothing to lose if I tried it out. If I like it, then it’s money.”
For Nathan, sex work tends to be transactional, rather than something sexually fulfilling for the service provider.
“When we have sex with our clients, it’s a service in exchange for something else,” Nathan said. “You’re offering something that you wouldn’t normally do and you’re doing it for the perks, not for the pleasure [….] When you really think about it, what’s the difference between sex work and just giving somebody a regular massage?”
But, of course, the two professions aren’t the same in the eyes of the law. “[By] taking it one step further and making it an erotic massage, suddenly it’s sex work and it’s illegal,” he added.
Despite its history of being stifled and criminalized, sex work remains one of the oldest professions in the world. In Canada, the history of sex work legislation is impressively convoluted and ambiguous. The first recorded sex work laws were introduced in Nova Scotia in 1759, but the legislation was centred on removing “vagrants”—anyone considered undesirable—from the street. The real legislative history began after the Canadian Confederation was formed in 1867, when these vagrancy laws were combined in the Canadian Criminal Code with more sweeping laws that forbade brothels and pimps from employing women. Since then, legislators have expanded the definitions of criminal conduct; by 1985, the Parliament passed a law that barred public communication for the purposes of “prostitution.” Finally, in 2014, after a Supreme Court overruling of previous sex work laws, Canada implemented Bill C-36. This bill followed the lines of the Nordic Model framework, meaning that the purchase—but not the selling—of sex is illegal.
On the surface, the Nordic model seems like the ideal compromise for both sex work critics and advocates: Punish the buyer, but not the seller; protect the woman, arrest the man. But although the Nordic model has been hailed by many as the ultimate fix to sex work legislation, it only increases financial precarity for sex workers. If one half of the transaction is outlawed, how is a sex worker supposed to find the means to live? The Nordic model criminalizes a central the entire goal of sex work—the compensation. Thus, even though the selling of sex is not illegal, sex work falls into a grey category of illegal occupations. Secrecy is incentivized in this model, since a sex worker who exposes an abusive client to arrest risks losing income. The ultimate result is that sex workers are at much higher risks of experiencing labour violations.
More recently, advocates for sex work have moved away from the word “legalization” toward the word “decriminalization.” The distinction is crucial. Legalization typically involves the regulation of certain streams of sex work. However, exactly what kind of sex work is allowed is up to legislators, who can potentially criminalize many categories of sex work. On the flip side, decriminalization implies fully removing sex work from the list of criminal offences and treating sex work just like any other type of work. This would open the doors to labour rights for sex workers, as their form of employment would fall under the Canada Labour Code.
“When sex work is viewed as criminal, sex workers’ clients and other third parties are constantly trying to evade law enforcement, and when you’re evading law enforcement, it means that you’re in isolation, you can’t access services you need,” explained Jenn Clamen. “It means you don’t tell people you’re working in the industry.”
Clamen is the National Coordinator for the Canadian Alliance for Sex Work Law Reform (CASWLR) have been working nonstop to help provide the support and resources that sex workers need. The organization formed in 2012 in the middle of a constitutional challenge called the Bedford case. The case was initiated by Terri Jean Bedford, a Canadian dominatrix, initiated the now historic 2007 lawsuit, who arguinged that Canada’s anti-prostitution laws were unconstitutional in a historic 2007 lawsuit. After a seven-day trial in 2009 and a year of judicial deliberation, Bedford and her two colleagues, Valerie Scott and Amy Lebovitch, won the suit in its entirety, and it was their work that led to the eventual Supreme Court decision to overturn previous sex work laws in 2013.
Since we continue to live in a country where sex work is criminalized, organizations like the Canadian Alliance for Sex Work Law Reform (CASWLR) have been working nonstop to help provide the support and resources that sex workers need. Despite the fact that the selling of sex is not criminalized, sex workers continue to fear the police, and rightly so—over-policing of sex workers remains a critical issue. And uUltimately
As another school year draws to a close, it offers an opportunity to reflect on the areas of the McGill community that have evolved—as well as those that have stayed tragically stagnant. A year marked by the return to in-person classes, sports games, social events, and cycles of relaxed restrictions followed by lockdowns has brought a whirlwind of changes to student life. However, for Divest McGill, the year has looked frustratingly similar to every other: Strong student support and protests backing their fight for change, and those in power refusing to budge.
To make matters worse, this year has also shown that the administration’s refusal to divest is beginning to form cracks across other areas of student life at McGill. Their unwillingness to compromise is having unintended consequences for students, including in areas such as McGill Athletics and Recreation (A&R).
Divest McGill and McGill Athletics are, on the surface, two organizations few would guess are interconnected. But due to student tactics to get the administration to divest, compounded by the McGill administration’s unwavering stance, A&R is getting hit where it hurts: The balance sheet.
In Winter 2019, the Students’ Society of McGill University (SSMU) Legislative Council put the renewal of the Athletics Facility Improvement Fee to referendum. The 10-dollar fee created in 2004 went toward maintaining and improving the facilities, and the renewal would have funded air conditioning for the fieldhouse and locker rooms. However, since the fee renewal came amidst the #ChangeTheName movement, a counter ‘No’ campaign was heavily supported by students, including Indigenous students, who pointed out that approving this fee would allow McGill to continue to fund their programs under a racist team name and mascot. The referendum question ultimately failed with 58 per cent voting ‘No,’ and the Athletics Facility Improvement fee was removed from student fees for the next five years.
“This means that there is a loss of $500,000 per semester for the Athletics department,” Evelyn Silverson-Tokatlidis, Varsity Council president, said in an interview with The McGill Tribune.
As the administration dragged their feet on changing the varsity team name, the loss was compounded by SSMU identifying blocking ancillary fees as an effective way to apply pressure on the university to divest. As a result, the Legislative Council passed a Policy on Moratorium on McGill fees until Fossil Fuel Divestment. This meant that for the next five years, no new ancillary fees—which serve programs such as the McGill Writing Centre and the World University Services Canada Refugee Program, as well as A&R—could be added to student’s bills until McGill divests, with the Athletics Facility Improvement fee locked on the outside.
A total of $1,200,000 would be withheld from Athletics and Recreation over the next five semesters.
Since the university does not provide funding for the facilities of A&R, the implications of this moratorium has wide-ranging impacts. Facility upgrades such as air conditioning in the fieldhouse and gym that would benefit all students, not just athletes, have been pushed back. Longer-term projects, such as the renovation of the locker rooms, fieldhouse resurfacing, and turf improvements all have uncertain timelines because of inadequate funds.
“Almost a quarter of the student body uses McGill athletics facilities,” Silverson-Tokatlidis said. “The refusal to divest by McGill is impacting the quality of these facilities for a huge amount of the student population.”
In an interview with the Tribune, Joseph,* a representative from Divest McGill and a varsity athlete, explained how the facilities are in dire need of improvement, making it harder for them to train and enjoy their time as a student athlete.
“We understand that there are updates to the Athletics facilities that are urgent. My coach talks about them and how much money needs to be put into it,” they said. “Being an athlete has created my identity, it has made me who I am. But the fact that McGill is refusing to divest means they are refusing to provide the services the athlete community needs. Everyone needs to get behind divestment.”
On Feb. 17, 2022, the Legislative Council met to discuss, amongst other things, putting the Athletics Facility Improvement fee back up to vote in the Winter 2022 referendum. The motion was postponed indefinitely. The current SSMU representative for Athletics, Sêdami-Habib Djossou, went into the meeting with the goal of getting the fee reinstated.
“My main aim was to make an amendment to the moratorium, not remove it,” he said. “The amendment would make an exception to the Athletics Facilities Fee because of the intense impact the moratorium is having on Athletics and Recreation. The renovations are essential, and we may have to discontinue some services in order to afford them.”
The amendment argued that the self-funded A&R program is being financially targeted due to McGill’s refusal to divest, a decision that they have no control over.
“If I am honest, the question period was really tense,” Djossou continued. “There was a huge concern about what the amendment would do. A member of Divest McGill said that if we allow the amendment to go through it will push the message that we don’t care that much. It will undermine all the efforts made so far.”
Joseph, who also attended the meeting, was frustrated that a student group and Athletics were positioned on opposite sides of the issue.
“It felt as though the discussion was being framed as Athletics against Divest,” they said. “It was very difficult for me, being attached to both. Ultimately, the Divest [argument] was that it would ruin the momentum of the campaign.”
With the issue yet again at a standstill, it is easy for both sides in the Legislative Council debate to point fingers at one another—and this would certainly be convenient for the McGill administration. The administration’s refusal to divest is pitting students against each other, when energies should be focussed on holding those with power to account. The more energy spent by students fighting amongst themselves, the less is spent on collective action.
However, both groups are keen to show that the issue is not with each other. The moratorium does not represent one group of students seeking to worsen the university experience for another group. Instead, it represents a blatant refusal from the administration to ethically invest its money, with students ultimately shouldering the cost. Universities all over the country, including Concordia, UQAM, University of Toronto, uOttawa, University of British Columbia, and many more, have divested, or at least pledged to—. What, then, is McGill’s excuse?
The Athletics Facility Improvement fee will not be reinstated this year after the motion was postponed, and it will take nothing less than divestment for the student group to lift the moratorium. At this point, any amendment to the moratorium will be seen as a victory for the administration. With the clock ticking for both the Athletics and Recreation budget as well as our planet, McGill needs to make the smart choice to divest from fossil fuels, and invest in the future of our athletes.
*Joseph’s name has been changed to preserve their anonymity.
On Feb. 25, the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), the governing agency of Formula 1, announced its decision to cancel the Russian Grand Prix. The decision came after concern from both stakeholders and drivers following the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The FIA also announced that Russian and Belarusian drivers would only be allowed to compete under a neutral flag, while Russian and Belarusian members of FIA commissions would have to temporarily step down from their positions.
Formula 1’s response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is not an isolated case, but rather a reflection of a broader movement observed across the sports world. A number of international organizations either cancelled events to be hosted in Russia or prohibited Russian and Belarusian athletes from competing. For example, FIFA and UEFA have announced that they were suspending all Russian international and club teams, preventing them from playing in the 2022 World Cup, which Russia hosted in 2018. The International Volleyball Federation also cancelled Russia’s hosting of the men’s 2022 Volleyball World Championship.
This universal condemnation of Russia’s war crimes by the sports world is honourable. It reflects a willingness to publicly oppose the Russian government, and it demonstrates to fans across the world that there are tangible, even financial, consequences when a state violates human rights. From this, a new question arises: Why is the sports world denouncing Russia’s actions while they overlook human rights abuses in other countries?
The sports world’s complicity in human rights violations are not only errors of the past. On the contrary, sports organizations often ignore the atrocities of various states to maintain lucrative contracts. FIFA is set to hold the World Cup in Qatar, despite numerous reports of human rights abuses linked to the construction of both the arenas and stands needed to host the tournament. Migrant workers have reported working without pay, having their passports stolen by officers, and being denied the right to leave the premises. Noah Edmunds, a U2 student studying political science and an avid soccer fan, told The McGill Tribune that he believes that FIFA’s decision to host the World Cup in Qatar is motivated by financial reasons only.
“I think that by holding the World Cup in Qatar, FIFA is blatantly ignoring the signs that Qatar has a poor human rights record,” Edmunds said. “I think that there are a lot of countries that are more appropriate to host the World Cup [….] I think that this is an attempt by both parties to increase their profits. If FIFA really cared to promote a fair and equal society for the game of football, it would be wise to avoid these […] countries.”
It is crucial to underline that FIFA is not only actively supporting these labour abuses but is also creating a demand for it. FIFA’s lack of concern truly shows that in the world of sports, money trumps morality.
Another recent case of blatant disregard for human rights has been the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) maintained the location of the event, despite the country’s ongoing genocide targeting the Uyghur Muslim population. The genocide has been publicly recognized by countries including the U.S., Canada, and France. Despite global knowledge of the horrors happening in Xinjiang at the hands of the Chinese government, the Winter Olympics carried on. Elliott Rozental, U0 Engineering, believes that the IOC’s refusal to acknowledge the gravity of China’s actions makes them complicit in human rights abuses.
“I think we should stop holding the biggest sports competition in countries that violate human rights. I think that doing nothing is like allowing these acts,” Rozental said. “I agree that it may not stop them directly, but it is something we have the power to do and it’s already a first step toward progress. I think that the organizers and leaders of sport events like the Olympics should stop turning a blind eye to their horrible acts, and sanction the countries at fault. ”
Similarly, the FIA was one of the first organizations to denounce Russia’s actions and remove the Russian Grand Prix. Yet, Western sports organizations seem to only be concerned about human rights violations when white or European people are suffering, while simultaneously exploiting what value they can from Middle Eastern countries and ignoring the abuses faced by the population.
The Formula 1 calendar routinely hosts races in countries whose governments have perpetrated human rights abuses against their own citizens, such as Bahrain and Qatar. However, what is considered a human rights violation in one country, such as suppression of freedom, is often observed across other countries without particular concern. For example, the U.S. failed to respect its domestic human rights agenda, but there has been no controversy regarding their hosting of the Austin Grand Prix. The U.S. also backs the Saudi-led coalition that has killed hundreds of thousands of Yemeni civilians—and the FIA continues to host races in both countries.
The FIA’s lack of concern for some of these atrocities demonstrates their hypocrisy: They only seem to care about this issue when it benefits them. Juliette Barlier, U1 Arts, explained how the publicity surrounding Formula 1 is almost always only positive.
“In regards to Formula 1, I’ve only ever heard good things about it,” Barlier said. “But the fact that I have no idea that it’s being held in countries with very serious human rights violations just shows how little it’s talked about and how much these violations are covered up, while the sport is being praised.”
The sports world’s recent sanctions against Russia have completely upset the narrative regarding the usual response to questions of human rights in sports. A widely accepted take among stakeholders in pro sports is that sports are for entertainment, not politics. Proponents of this view often argue that sports organizations should not be arbiters of justice and that it is not their duty to punish human rights violations. Some also say that expecting organizations to make decisions of this magnitude reflects a Manichean worldview, whereby all actions are labelled as either “good” or “bad.”
However, the lightning speed with which sports organizations worldwide have sanctioned Russia is indicative that there is a possibility for change. Organizations have shown that they can impart a judgment on what is right and what is wrong. It is now of crucial importance that sports fans look to the world’s reaction to Russia to continue advocating for better attention to human rights in sports.
When sports organizations publicly make a profit by condoning abuse in the countries where they choose to hold events, they are telling their fans that they prioritize money over the lives and freedoms of others. Fans should also hold themselves accountable—people should not have their fundamental human rights violated just for a fan to see their country win the World Cup. It may be too hopeful to expect professional sports to change entirely, but the worldwide reaction to the Russian war shows that it can be done.
Sampson McFerrin, Montreal-based visual artist and Print Media student, opened his Checarré exhibition the first weekend of April, issuing a display of his artistic adroitness in all its blossoming splendour. Providing a candid presentation of his maturing technique, Checarré features a multiplicity of art forms, ranging from oil to acrylic, inkjet to photopolymer, photography to sketch work—all arranged in a striking visual concoction embellishing the brick-walls of McFerrin’s Montreal apartment.

In an interview with The McGill Tribune, McFerrin acknowledged the lack of uniformity in his artwork, noting that his aesthetic is still evolving. His aim with Checarré is to open his work to public opinion by taking a creative backseat. McFerrin engages with this goal through the exhibition’s name, a witty triple-entendre itself.
“Checarré is a mix of two words,” McFerrin said. “Firstly, it is ‘checking-in’ to see where my art is at right now, where it has been, and where it is headed to in the future. The second word, carrée, is French for square. A lot of my works have ended up in squares, despite having initially framed them differently. My brother added a further note to that—chez moi. Because the exhibition is at my apartment.”
McFerrin does not cite any single individual for inspiring this creative enterprise. Instead, he credits his experiences abroad over the years as a major driver behind his work.
“I have spent over three years of my life on a bike, sleeping in a tent, in almost 30 countries around the world,” McFerrin said. “That experience has made me who I am, given me the belief systems that I have, along with the flexible mindset I approach every day with.”

McFerrin places value on a piece of art by following a unique code, wherein an artwork’s worth is extracted from a quartet of interconnected sources—the aesthetic value the artist derives from it, the aesthetic value the audience derives from it, whether it has a personal connection with the artist, and whether it has a personal connection with the audience. In creating a piece, he tries to achieve all four, as he believes them all to be of equal importance.
“To spark dialogue or conversation is [an] inspiration for me,” McFerrin said. “Discussing my pieces with others, so that it’s not just me in the process, is what’s important. A piece can just grow by others’ involvement in it.”

Rain Pants Party, a 36×36-inch acrylic made by McFerrin, is not only his personal favourite, but also a piece he believes fulfills all four sources of value.
“When my brother, my best friend, and I were biking across Canada, there was a particular day when it was raining heavily outside, and we were wearing our rain pants,” McFerrin explained. “The farmers we were staying with said that we can cook our meal and stay dry in their barn. So, we took off our raincoats, sitting there in the barn in our rain pants, listening to tunes and having fun. That’s when we said, it’s a rain pants party.”
While McFerrin has no galas or exhibits planned for the near future, he is optimistic about spreading his work and message as his artistic vision progresses.
The second opening of Checarré will occur on April 10 at 3546 Avenue Lorne, Apartment #6, from 1 p.m. to 8 p.m.
On Feb. 24, Russian troops launched an illegal invasion of Ukraine that rapidly escalated into full-blown war. On televisions and on the front pages of newspapers, the world watched as families were split apart on crowded train platforms and cities were leveled by bomb blasts. Ukrainian civilians faced the harrowing decision of whether to flee or fight.
But while the political and social aspects of Ukraine’s humanitarian crisis have garnered the lion’s share of media attention over the past two months, there is a less obvious, but no less insidious, threat to Eastern Europe that few are talking about: Irreparable environmental damage.
Too often, pollution, destruction of infrastructure, and biodiversity loss are seen as unfortunate, but inevitable, costs of warfare whose alleviation should come secondary to humanitarian aid. However, no understanding of the human costs of war is complete without also considering the environmental costs.
“People still view the protection of civilians and the protection of the environment as somehow separate from one another, when instead they are two sides of the same coin,” wrote Doug Weir, founder of the Conflict and Environment Observatory, in an email to The McGill Tribune. Weir’s observatory is a not-for-profit research organization that has been reporting on the intersection of warfare and environmental damage since 2018.
Weir described how Putin’s army has indiscriminately bombed industrial zones in Ukraine, releasing toxic fuels and waste into the air, water, and soil. This contamination will present health threats for decades to come. Coal, for example, is produced across Ukraine, and the subsequent release of fly ash from damaged production facilities can cause asthma, cancer, and neurological disorders in humans under direct exposure or consumption.
Even more troubling is Russia’s occupation of nuclear sites such as Chernobyl and Zaporizhzhia. In the days following Russia’s occupation of Chernobyl, public monitors showed spikes in radiation readings around the site’s buildings before Russian soldiers cut off access to the plant’s information systems. Some speculate that controlling potentially lethal nuclear sites is part of a long-term Russian military strategy.
Unfortunately, Russia’s tactics are nothing new. As long as there has been human conflict, the environment has been both a victim and a weapon of war. Ancient Assyrian texts reference victors salting the fields of their enemies to prevent future crops from ever taking root even after the conflict has ended.
Political scientists have long studied these tactics, but not always through a purely environmental lens. Daniel Douek, a professor in McGill’s Department of Political Science, teaches courses on African politics and Middle Eastern foreign policy. In an interview with the Tribune, he detailed examples of devastating environmental damage in other wars. In Iraq, for instance, Saddam Hussein responded to dissent from Marsh Arabs by cutting off their water supply, forcing 85 per cent of the population to flee their homes and migrate elsewhere.
“That wasn’t a strategy of conquest or subjugation so much, it’s just a strategy of spitefulness,” Douek said.
He sees similarities between Hussein’s actions in Iraq and Putin’s occupation of nuclear zones.
“[Putin is] kind of intimating that he’s willing to target Chernobyl or target some of the other nuclear power plants, and thus release catastrophic radiation,” Douek said.
It is not only despotic dictators who resort to catastrophic environmental measures in times of conflict. During the Vietnam War, the U.S. military used Agent Orange, a chemical herbicide, around roads, cities, and agricultural areas in Vietnam, despite knowing that it causes physical disability and damage to the nervous, muscular, and cardiovascular systems. Thousands of civilians and U.S. soldiers are still dealing with the fallout today.
Though Russia has not, and hopefully will not, use chemical weapons, the destruction of coal mines and nuclear power plants is likely to have long-lasting health effects, the likes of which are becoming apparent as reports surface of Russian soldiers suffering radiation poisoning due to the mismanagement of occupied nuclear plants.
Then, there’s the question of climate change, burning hot on everyone’s mind as the world edges closer to the UN’s 2050 deadline for net-zero emissions.
Beyond the toxins released from jet fuel, explosions, and chemical weapons, armed conflict also contributes enormously to fossil fuel emissions. Since 2001, the U.S. military alone has emitted more than 1.2 billion tons of CO2, the same as entire countries such as Portugal or Denmark. And that’s just at the domestic level—the U.S. does not record or publish data on the emissions they produce overseas or on air missions, so the true number is much higher.
Despite the noted effects of war on the environment, some, including Chris Ragan, director of McGill’s Max Bell School of Public Policy, believe those effects should be understood in the context of broader societal structures.
“Climate change is a long-run problem,” Ragan said. “It is not fundamentally about war—it is not fundamentally about peace, for that matter. It is fundamentally about how our economies are structured, and in particular, the massive use of fossil fuels.”
Though the emissions generated by war may not make or break the long-term environmental damage we’ve done to the planet, the resulting disruption to energy markets caused by sanctions against Russia could lead to new innovations in the energy sector.
“I actually think this moment, and hopefully it isn’t much longer than a moment, […] is going to spark a very serious rethink about our reliance on Russian oil and gas,” Ragan said.
No matter what the future holds for Ukraine, policy makers will need to decide what role the West will play in helping Ukrainians in their recovery. Ragan cited the need for a new kind of Marshall Plan, a reference to the U.S.-led financial and infrastructural rebuilding program that helped Europe recover from World War II. Though there’s a dearth of academic research surrounding war’s impact on the environment, there are few clear strategies for repairing urban or rural environments damaged during conflict.
Jon Unruh, a geography professor at McGill, specializes in migration, resettlement, and environmental change during times of conflict. Unruh is also one of few researchers who tackle the subject of conflict recovery through an explicitly environmental lens. It’s given him insight into the ways that human behaviour changes to inadvertently harm the environment during times of war.
“When very large numbers of people switch into a crisis livelihood, they do things that tend toward a very short-term decision making horizon [….] That’s a problem, because very short-term decision making in terms of one’s livelihood is always […] extracting from the environment,” Unruh said.
Changing one’s fuel source from ordinary gasoline to wood is one example that, along with off-cycle crop harvesting, offers a short-term solution at the expense of the environment. For example, in temporary refugee camps, it’s common to use wood burning stoves using local materials because they are more accessible than natural gas or propane. However, this can deplete the surrounding area of resources.
In a world where 40 per cent of wars result from failed peace agreements, and where climate change will increase the risk of violent conflict, any recovery strategy that does not consider environmental recovery is doomed to fail.
It’s unlikely that the damaging tactics of war will change anytime soon, but the way we respond to them can. Right now, world leaders face a challenge of daunting scale, but they also face an opportunity to chart a new course forward and to pioneer new strategies for conflict recovery that will allow humans and the environment to work in tandem.
A previous version of this article incorrectly stated that Russian forces had bombed over 500 industrial zones. In fact, there exist over 500 industrial zones in Ukraine, but not all of them have been bombed.

Stephanie Desjardins (Martlets hockey, fifth-year)
“The season was challenging with the pandemic coming back at full swing right after the Christmas break. We fought adversity throughout the entire season with restrictions, practicing, and playing with masks. The girls fought hard physically and mentally for the last eight months and showed tremendous character and grit. I think my greatest memory this year is just being at the rink and being surrounded with amazing people every day who push you to become a better hockey player and person.”
Matthew Beaudet (Redbirds track runner, second-year)
“My favourite moment this year was competing at the U Sports Cross Country championships. The atmosphere was great, with people cheering all along the course, and I was excited to run at this high level meet for the first time. The race itself was very difficult due to the hilly course, cold weather, and fast pace. I was aiming to finish top 10 at this race and I knew I could do it, but at the same time, a lot can go wrong in cross-country races. I started struggling and lost contact with the leaders at about 6.5 kilometres (out of eight kilometres) and started worrying that I was going to start dropping places rapidly, but then I heard one of my teammates’ dad tell me to relax and that no one was close behind me. That helped me regain composure and finish with a strong last kilometre to finish seventh.”


Karl Hunger (Redbirds rugby captain, fourth-year)
“I think my most memorable varsity moment was the first game of the season where I got to share the field with my brother Brad. He scored the first try in McGill Redbirds history. We embraced almost halfway down the field. I vividly remember telling him I couldn’t let him go, or else I might burst into tears. As an older brother who couldn’t be outdone by his younger sibling, I scored two tries of my own that very same game. I remember my mom and dad being so proud of us both after the game. That is truly one of the greatest moments of my McGill rugby career.”

Charlene Robitaille (Martlets volleyball captain, fourth-year)
“I know I won’t be very original, but my favourite moment is when we won the provincial at home, and when the whole team ran to hug our coach. [It was] the first time she won provincials in 30 years! It was 25-14 on the fourth set for us. I was already starting to cry a little bit on the court because I knew we were going to win […] We will for sure have the same objective to win another provincial championship and go back to the Canadians. We had the advantage of playing against really good teams last week, the girls from Canada West were extremely good, so we now know what we have to improve and focus on next year.”
Mika Chang (Martlets hockey forward, first-year)
“Getting to go to nationals was an incredible experience and what made it even more special was getting to go with the group we had. Having gone through so much adversity this year, with COVID outbreaks and general obstacles, [it] was something that […] brought us closer together. I think both on and off the ice, I’ve been able to step out of my comfort zone, which is something I’m proud of. It’s intimidating as a first year to join an incredibly talented group of new faces, but coming out of this year having developed on the ice and having created lifelong friendships is a huge win in itself.”


Jamal Mayali (Redbirds basketball guard, fifth-year)
“My favourite moment was when we won the Quebec championship. It really was special to see all of us happy to achieve that and in the fashion we did it in [….] Adversity definitely was felt when the season was put to a halt earlier this year. It was really challenging because as a team we had a really good first semester and, at the time, that break may have put our momentum to a halt. However, we hit the ground running once the season was back up.”