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Stanley Park conservationists raise questions over the chopping of old-growth tree

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A very wide, thick part of the 400-year-old tree’s stump lies on the rocky ground to the right, while long shreds of the tree are piled on the left, showing the aftermath of the felling.
PHOTO: Courtesy of Stanley Park Preservation Society

By: Niveja Assalaarachchi, News Writer

In early September, a 400-year-old Douglas fir tree was found cut down in Stanley Park. The tree, measuring 38 meters tall and 30 centimetres wide, caused “significant damage to an adjacent riparian area” when it was chopped down. 

The Stanley Park Preservation Society raised concerns about the felling of the tree. Founded in 2024, the non-profit’s mandate is to preserve the park’s natural environment and advocate for the scientific assessment of its flora and fauna. They alleged that multiple levels of government have failed to take the proper precautions to conduct tree risk assessments, which are needed for a tree to be felled. 

The organization launched an independent inspection of the Douglas fir by sending two independent risk assessors. The assessors found that the stump of the tree was sound, and the “natural decay” at the top of the tree posed no threat.

The City of Vancouver informed the preservation society the tree had died during a rainstorm in August and had overhanging bark, posing a risk to public safety. The risk assessors disagreed. In their report, they documented that the felled tree was “5.5 meters from the trail with no lean,” making the possibility of the tree having overhanging bark unrealistic.

Douglas firs are among a handful of conifer tree species that are found throughout Stanley Park. Some, like the felled tree, are a part of a collection of old-growth trees seen in the park. Old-growth trees “provide unique habitats, structures, and ecological functions not available in younger stands,” and they’re “very important to First Nations and the public, whether for biological, spiritual, aesthetic, economic, or cultural values,” according to the provincial government. The trees “are highly effective at trapping climate-warming greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide from the atmosphere,” and also “act as a water treatment network” to “clean our water and air.” The trees are also difficult to replace, given that they take hundreds of years to grow. 

However, they are being placed under threat due to increases in private logging and mandated felling by the municipal government. The City of Vancouver has stated that trees are only removed from city parks if they pose a major threat to public well-being. 

The Peak spoke with Jillan Maguire, a director of the preservation society, for her thoughts on the felling of the Douglas fir.

“It’s really symptomatic of the City of Vancouver’s lack of proper process in cutting these trees down”

—  Jillan Maguire, director at Stanley Park Preservation Society

Maguire spoke about poor communication between the City and her organization, saying, “We started communicating with the City through email and would go to the Park Board meetings and talk to them about this. But we really weren’t getting anywhere. 

“We weren’t getting any response from the urban parks department or the parks and recreation. Nobody seemed to give us any satisfactory answers,” she continued.

“Stanley Park is world famous for its semi-wild environment. You can just walk down if you live in the city [ . . . ] and you can be in old growth forests,” said Maguire.

“It’s a real wonder, and we feel we have to do everything possible to protect what’s left.”

 

Learning Spanish made my world more expansive

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a photo of a pink Spanish grammar activity book.
PHOTO: Leeloo The First / Pexels

By: Zainab Salam, Opinions Editor

When I was around eight years old, I had a friend who used to take me to her church’s community hall on weekends. Being me, I was always open to learning new things. So I’d attend her afternoon reading circles — it wasn’t anything serious, just a bunch of stories read to children. One notable tale, which I believe many of you would be privy to, is the “Tower of Babel.” The story goes that people once spoke the same language, but in their attempt to build a tower to the heavens, their speech was scattered into many tongues. 

The fascination with that tale never really left me. Years later, I felt compelled to learn Spanish. I had been inspired by the idea that Spanish is the language spoken by over 600 million people worldwide. A statistic that has been achieved through the violent acts of Spanish colonialism. However, my younger self thought of the opportunities that learning a language would help make possible. From travelling to places I’ve never been to speaking with people I would otherwise never have the chance to talk to. 

What had begun as a simpler form of practical curiosity had developed into something far more personal and transformative. Learning Spanish is about immersing oneself in the textures of life that language makes visible. Societies, and their customs, that I hadn’t been brought up in suddenly became accessible through reading and listening. 

Beyond the riches of literary pages, learning Spanish opens up the opportunity to connect with the diverse array of individuals who speak it. Language learning involves more than learning words; it comes with learning new ways of living life. Whether it’s understanding memes or equipping yourself with learning new gestures to communicate unspoken information. Learning Spanish becomes an exhilarating experience of being reintroduced to the vastness of the world. 

What makes this diversity brilliant is that it resists flattening. Spanish does not belong to one people or one culture. It’s made up of Afro-Caribbean rhythms, Andean myths, urban slang, and centuries of Indigenous traditions that are preserved through defiant acts of resistance. The complexity of Abya Yala (also known as Latin America), invites learners to reflect on the living quality of language; how communication is shaped by migration, politics, memory, and thoughtful embraces of life. 

Learning Spanish, at least to me, isn’t about mastering its grammatical structures or learning thousands of vocabulary words that help me describe things. It’s about gaining a passport to a world of literature, and societies, that would otherwise be accessible through words that get lost in translation.

To learn Spanish is, in a sense, to piece together fragments of a larger human puzzle, where every new phrase is a key to another perspective. 

Now, I reap the benefits of having learned Spanish. I feel connected through the communicative medium of spoken language, where I can listen to speeches given by world leaders (given in Spanish) and understand. I can help a family navigate an unfamiliar city using their language, which I had the pleasure of doing while I was in Turkey last summer. In those moments, I had the opportunity to experience the joys of stepping into common ground with other humans.

Carney’s proposed austerity measures fail working-class Canadians

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a photo of Prime Minister Mark Carney giving a speech. The picture only shows his face and neck from a side angle.
PHOTO: Bank of England / Flickr

By: Mason Mattu, Humour Editor 

The finance minister François-Philippe Champagne says even his mother understands the basic household principle of “spend less, save more.” What Champagne was referring to is austerity — reducing government spending in an effort to promote economic growth. Now, Prime Minister Mark Carney is looking to extend this principle. Make no mistake, austerity measures aren’t analogous to a family cutting down on frivolous expenditure. Government spending cuts wear the mask of fiscal responsibility while families are asked to sacrifice a little more for the greater good. All the while, corporations and billionaires reap the benefits. 

Unfortunately, working-class Canadians are all too familiar with the word “austerity”, even if they’re not aware of it. Former prime ministers Stephen Harper and Paul Martin both delivered sweeping austerity budgets during their respective mandates. In Martin’s infamous 1995 budget, over $7 billion in social services were cut. 

Recently, Carney used the term in French — austerité — to describe the fall economic budget. The Liberals’ economic budget, which will be tabled this fall, will include a 15% reduction in spending heading into the 2028–2029 fiscal year. That isn’t a minor trim — it’s a huge cut that will significantly impact the lives of Canadians. Even the ministers are frantically scrambling to find things to cut. 

Among the potential victims of these budget cuts are Indigenous Services Canada, universities that receive grants from the federal government, Environment and Climate Change Canada, and members of Canada’s public service, who help deliver essential social programs and services to Canadians. Think about that for a second. With job cuts to our public service, people will undoubtedly suffer from even higher wait times for essential services and public programs, causing significant damage.

Austerity measures don’t just mean cuts to existing services and essential spending, but they also block the creation of future necessary services. For example, the victories that the New Democratic Party secured in the last parliament, including free pharmacare and dental care for certain populations, won’t be expanded to a universal level by Carney’s government. 

While Carney is telling us — working-class Canadians — that we have to live in austerity, the ultra-rich and corporations of this country are thriving. In 2024, Canada’s wealthiest had over $682 billion sitting in offshore tax havens (spoiler alert — that’s missed revenue). We’ve handed out $26 million to Costco and Loblaws. The Trans Mountain Pipeline has received $18 billion worth of taxpayer dollars, while we move away from a Green Transition that produces climate-change-proofed jobs for workers. All the while, striking workers are being legislated back to work by the government, exposing that the government is really in bed with greedy capitalists. 

Instead of austerity for us, it needs to be austerity for them — Canada’s wealthiest. Rather than decreasing government spending on essentials, the government could be increasing revenue through taxes on the rich. According to estimates by BC Policy Solutions, a wealth tax for the top 1% of Canadians could produce $500 billion in tax revenue over the course of 10 years. The top 1% own 29% of the wealth in our country, way beyond their population share. 78 billionaires in Canada hold $520 billion in wealth. By not implementing a wealth tax, we’re losing so much revenue that could fund social programs and safety nets for years to come. The government is playing a dangerous game by not implementing this revenue-increasing strategy. One that prioritizes the fiscal health of corporations above the health of our working class.

Big Daddy Carney isn’t here to save us. If he were, he wouldn’t be threatening austerity measures against the working class.

Latin music is integral to our playlists

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An Earth globe, with a focus on Latin America. There are floating musical instruments around the globe. With a deep purple background.
ILLUSTRATION: Victoria Lo / The Peak

By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer  

I was first introduced to Latin music in grade nine, when I began studying Spanish. Somewhere between the syncopated percussion, rhythmic guitar strums, and magnetic vocals, I fell in love with the music. Around that time, “Despacito,” by Luis Fonsi featuring Daddy Yankee, became a global number one hit, even though it was entirely in Spanish. Due to its popularity, it was later remixed to include a verse by Justin Bieber, further cementing its presence on the charts. The inclusion of a verse by Bieber had been done through a request made by his team. The original song’s virality broke the older crossover model, where Latin artists were expected to release English versions to achieve global success — this song had become a hit on its own. For me, it was a sign that music in languages other than English could capture the global imagination. 

But Latin music’s influence on American pop culture isn’t new. As early as the 1930s, Latin jazz expanded harmonic and rhythmic possibilities, just as the conga reshaped the sound of disco and funk. Over the decades, its influence was palpable in house music, and by the late 20th century, musicians such as Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, and Shakira were household names. Their success paved the way for Latin pop to eventually become more than a so-called “exotic” addition to mainstream music charting in America, rising above stereotypes of sensuality and spectacle. And this trajectory has only soared. The numbers speak for themselves: in 2024, a record high of $1.4 billion in revenue was made in the US market. It also outpaced the overall US market for nine consecutive years. On Spotify, more than one in five of the Global Top 100 tracks in 2023 were Latin. 

Part of this dominance stems from the way Latin music lends itself to the current media ecosystem. Built on syncopated, body-driven rhythms, genres like reggaetón, salsa, bachata, and cumbia mirror global pop’s emphasis on danceability. The dembow beat, born from Caribbean reggaetón, has become the default rhythm of global hits, from Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” to Nicky Jam and J Balvin’s “X.” The irresistible rhythms, and the vibrant cultures from which they emerge, make them perfectly suited for social media algorithms. On TikTok, snippets of “La Plena” or “Passo Bem Solto” spark dance trends that cross borders, while the visual spectacle of Brazilian Carnivals and Colombian ferias increasingly inform how we experience live music, inspiring music festivals from Coachella to Glastonbury. 

At the same time, the global appetite for freshness in this era of microtrends is satisfied by the novelty of new mediums, genres, rhythms, and the endless possibilities for fusion that Latin music offers. “La Luz,” by Juanes, for instance, preserves folk rhythms with modern dancefloor energy while Tini reimagines cumbia with electronic beats. Each iteration carries the hybridity at the heart of Latin music itself. 

In this sense, Latin music embodies both the beauty and contradictions of our global era. On one hand, it thrives in the circuits of late-stage capitalism, moving through streaming platforms and social media networks that reward constant novelty. But on the other, its existence and reinvention across decades speaks to something deeper: resistance, evolution, and cultural survival. Each beat carries depth — the echoes of colonial histories, the pulse of migration, and the creativity born from sociopolitical constraints. Latin music travels through the worlds of diasporas — for many, it’s a thread that ties them to their home. As such, this music is a tool to preserve identity and help strengthen connection to others. To dance and listen to Latin music is to participate in a story of endurance. Latin music reminds us that joy is empowering. 

To me, Latin music is more than entertainment. It is how I came to learn and love the Spanish language — but more importantly, it is how I came to learn and love the fusion of cultures, people, and experiences that is Latin America. And today, Latin artists aren’t just reshaping what pop sounds like. They’re reminders and pioneers of how music is a map of our entanglements — proof that culture is strongest when it refuses to stay in one place. As borders blur and media travels faster than ever, it is clear that pop’s future is already being written in the rhythms of Latin America. 

 

Brighter Side: Dough-eyed

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Half of a bread loaf, with two slices already cut-up next to it. There are three peaches and a tea mug in the scene. The picture is lit up with natural light.
PHOTO: Helen Oreshchenko / Unsplash

By: Sofia Chassomeris, Peak Associate

There are few practices I hold in reverence the way I do the art of bread-making. The smell of yeast, flour, water, and olive oil fills the room like the presence of a loved one — someone I’ve known since childhood, on the counters of my grandmother’s kitchen or dining room table. It’s with pride that I invite it into my home each week. My hands work to caress and knead the ingredients into something greater, which can sustain me and others.

The wide, south-facing window in my living room gets the perfect amount of sunlight. It warms the windowsill where I rest my dough for its first rise — where I wait for it to bask, to live, and grow under the damp cloth I’ve tucked it in. Later, floured hands pull the dough from rest and place it into the oven. The dough is transformed from being into bread; fresh and steaming. The crust burns my fingers and stings my palm, but the heat settles lovingly in my stomach. And yet, this satisfaction is not enough. I cannot wait to share bread with others, the same way my grandmother did with me.

SFYou: Dr. María Ignacia Barraza

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A collage of four photos: Maria Marraza’s professional headshot, a cut-out photo of Barazza in her grad uniform holding flowers after graduating SFU, a photo of Barraza holding her degree in front of the university of Salamanca, and a photo of author Gabriel García Márquez
IMAGES: Courtesy of Kia Porter, Courtesy of Maria Ignacia Barraza, Courtesy of Maria Ignacia Barraza, and Gorup de Besanez / Wikimedia Commons

By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Writer

María Ignacia Barraza is an assistant professor in the department of world languages and literatures in the faculty of arts and social sciences at SFU. This semester, she’s teaching “Modern World Literatures 104W” and “World Literature 410,” with the special topic of Latin American Literature. Her research involves “the Spanish literary generations of 1898 and 1927, 19th and 20th century Latin American poetry and prose, as well as film and the visual arts.” 

In an interview with The Peak, she tells us where it all began. Born and raised in Argentina, Barraza always held close to her upbringing surrounded by Latin American culture and literature. “I’m very proud of my Argentinian roots,” she says. When she moved to BC at 11, she was the kid with her “nose in a book.” She adds, “I always knew my vocation would have something to do with Spanish language and Hispanic cultures and literature.”

After getting her bachelor’s degree in English literature at SFU, Barraza decided to apply to the University of Salamanca in Spain, longing for adventure.

“That little girl in me said, ‘You’ve got to do something to continue this search for knowledge in Latin American history and culture and literature.’”

Barraza recalls how surprised she was when she was accepted into “one of the most prestigious universities” specializing in the subject.

Moving away from home at the age of 25 to pursue her education was not easy, but the immersion in Salamanca was an unforgettable experience. “I was very family-oriented, very Latin American in that sense, but I moved away on my own.” She never regretted taking that leap of faith for her education, either: “I encourage anybody who has that little voice in their head or heart that is telling them, ‘This is what I think I want to study’ — follow it.” 

While Latin American literature wasn’t offered as a course when she studied here, Barraza now highlights Latin American literature for SFU students. “The Latin American ‘boom,’ perhaps, is the most exciting for me,” she says. “That’s when the world started to pay attention” to Latin American authors. This period began in the 1960s, in the aftermath of the Cuban Revolution of 1959, and lasted until the 1970s. Barraza explains this was a period characterized by political themes, which included many “writers who were very much on the side of the Cuban Revolution” and efforts to uplift marginalized voices. Authors of the “boom,” which was notably dominated by men, began experimenting with writing techniques and produced many great works. 

The literature as a whole was highly imaginative, often exploring time as non-linear, incorporating multiple narrative perspectives, and using magical realism, the defining genre of this time and another of Barraza’s favourites. First used by Cuban author Alejo Carpentier in the 1940s, magical realism employs elements of surrealism and otherworldliness within realistic settings. When authors such as Mario Vargas Llosa (Peru), Gabriel García Márquez (Colombia), Carlos Fuentes (Mexico), and Julio Cortázar (Argentina) became global celebrities (“wearing cool sunglasses,” Barraza quips), it marked a period of expansion of the literature and culture of the time. 

However, Barraza cautions against the tendency for the “boom” to be presented as the “peak” of Latin literature. The periods that came before are just as fascinating, and not representing them is “misleading.”

The seeds of the “boom” and magical realism started long before. As a pushback against colonial narratives, modernismo was born. Modernismo was a 19th century movement that emerged from the desire of Indigenous Latin Americans to have a distinct artistic voice, free from Spanish colonizers and “colonial literary legacy.” Inspired by European literary movements of romanticism, parnassianism, and symbolism, modernismo highlighted the Latin American perspective. 

Teaching Hispanic literature in the world literature and languages department requires translating the texts to English. In the classroom, Barraza highlights “the way that texts travel and change and are accepted.” Sometimes, she will place the Spanish and English texts side by side and discuss the implications of the translation.

In personal reading, Barraza always goes back to the original text.

“There’s something about the musicality of Spanish, especially in poetry” 

The 19th century Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío, considered the father of modernismo, is an author whose work she reads aloud to her students in the original Spanish. She tells them to close their eyes and listen to the ornate language. “Most of them don’t speak Spanish, actually. But it’s about the emotional impact of poetry and literature that students feel,” she says. 

Barraza also reflects, “I think it would be wonderful if, moving forward, SFU could continue expanding options for students — for instance, creating opportunities for interdisciplinary work across different units. That way, students can gain a broader understanding of the region in all its richness.”

Barraza takes care to note that Latin Americans are “a mixed culture, mixed people, both racially, but culturally, linguistically, even religiously.” She adds that she tries “to give students an idea of the complexity of it all.”

One of Barraza’s joys of teaching is “highlighting obscure, unknown authors.” She mentions Oliverio Girondo, a 20th century Argentinian poet who published seven books in his lifetime, using surrealism and “weird” imagery tied to the ultraism movement. He was a vanguardist, one of the avant-garde innovators who broke away from artistic traditions of the time. “Highlighting him and bringing him to my students, I see them get excited about authors that they’ve never heard about. And that makes me super happy,” she gushes. 

The Peak made sure to ask Barraza for her recommendations:

Magical realism

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez is canonical for a reason, as it’s “hands down” Barraza’s favourite in this genre. The story follows a town’s turbulent history, told through the lives of seven generations of the Buendia family who have been there through it all.

Latin classic work

The poetry of Rubén Darío, who Barraza vows “every student should read.” Specifically, she recommends his poem “To Roosevelt,” written in 1904. The poem marks the time when the Panama Canal was being built in the US. “It’s so relevant today with the whole Trump and the US and expansionism. It’s as if he wrote it two weeks ago,” she says.

Underrepresented authors

Barraza adores the Cuban Juana Borrero and the Uruguayan Delmira Agustini, who brought themes of sensuality into the modernismo movement. 

Oliverio Girondo’s early 20th century poetry collection Scarecrow and Other Anomalies “is guaranteed to make you feel less alone,” according to Barraza. “He is one of my favourite poets, yet remains little known beyond the Hispanophone world. You won’t regret reading him!”

Contemporary authors

Laia Jufresa, and her book Umami: a story of private griefs in a Mexico City neighbourhood. The Argentine Samanta Schweblin’s short stories are also a favourite.

Classic films

Diarios de Motocicleta / The Motorcycle Diaries (2004): A road trip takes a young man, Che, and his friend across South America and changes him forever.

Nueve Reinas / Nine Queens (2000): Two con artists attempt to swindle a stamp collector through the trade of falsified rare stamps.

Son of the Bride (2001): In this comedy, a 40-year-old single man is pushed to reconsider his own life when his mother and father finally decide to marry.

The Exterminating Angel (1962): a classic of Mexican Golden Age cinema, directed by the Spanish surrealist master Luis Buñuel.

While she won’t be teaching the selected topic on Latin American literature next semester, Barraza always includes Latin American texts in her courses. In Spring, she’ll continue teaching Modern World Literature 104W, as well as World Literature 400: Early Literary Cultures.

Honor Thy Mother documentary screens at SFU

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IMAGE: Courtesy of Stourwater Pictures

By: Jonah Lazar, SFU Student

Content warning: Mention of residential schools

“When they asked what my race was, I had no idea.” These are the words of Colleen Almojuela, an Indipino Elder and panellist at the Honor Thy Mother documentary screening at SFU Burnaby’s Leslie & Gordon Diamond Family Auditorium. Almojuela is one of the children of the 36 Indigenous women who sought out work on Japanese-owned berry farms on Bainbridge Island in Washington state in the early 1940s. 

These women, many of whom were survivors of residential schools in Canada, all ended up marrying and having children with Filipino immigrants who were also working on these farms. Marriage had dire consequences for them, as marrying a non-Indigenous man meant they lost their Indigenous status due to Canada’s Indian Act of 1876. This law isolated them from their communities by only allowing them to return to Canada for brief family visits and restricting them from participating in ceremonies and cultural events. The children of these marriages, referred to as Indipinos, have now gathered together to share their story in Honor Thy Mother. 

This documentary, with a runtime of just over half an hour, managed to deliver a valuable introductory insight into the residential school system of Canada, before delving into personal accounts of the Indipinos of Bainbridge Island.

Many of the stories told in the documentary were deeply personal, with several of the children of this community — now Elders — recounting their struggle with identity, racism, and belonging due to their mixed-race heritage.

While I believe there could have been room for further contextualization of the Indipino community in the broader Filipino and Indigenous diasporas, as well as a deeper exploration of the place this identity holds in future generations, Honor Thy Mother still offers a unique, untold story of a marginalized group. 

After the screening, Indipino Elders Colleen Almojuela and Gina Corpuz, along with Indipino Community of Bainbridge Island’s board chair Lanessa Cerrillo, and 2024–25 Jack and Doris Shadbolt Fellow (and son of Almojuela) Justin Neal, participated in a panel discussion about the film and what it means to identify as Indipino.

A noteworthy project that was highlighted at the screening was the 100% Project, a digital archive of the experiences and recipes of “multiethnic Filipinos,” supported by the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Center. The project, led by the Corpuz family, deals with Indipino self-identification as both entirely Indigenous and entirely Filipino.  

The panel also proudly announced that Bainbridge Island’s school system has since made Honor Thy Mother a key part of their eighth-grade curriculum, highlighting the importance of this story to the history of the island and cementing Indipino experiences as ones which future generations will retell. 

As Truth and Reconciliation Day passed us by, many of us will have taken a moment to remember the impacts of residential schools and the cultural genocide implemented on Indigenous Peoples on Turtle Island. While these tragedies often take centre stage, and rightfully so, it is also crucial for us to consider lesser-known, intersectional stories such as that of Bainbridge Island’s Indipino community.

The Handmaiden offers resistance and love

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Sook-hee and Lady Hideko getting ready together.
Courtesy of Moho Film and Yong Film

By: Michelle Young, Co-Editor-in-Chief

Content warning: Japanese imperialism, grooming 

Park Chan-Wook’s filmography is filled with critical acclaim: he recently released No Other Choice (2025) and is also known for works such as Decision to Leave (2022) and Oldboy (2003). However, my favourite will always be the psychological thriller The Handmaiden (2016). Under heavy rain, the Imperial Japanese Army marches into a small alleyway in colonial Korea. Korean children sing behind them, and the Japanese army draws their weapons — the children scream and scatter. This is the film’s opening and sets the tone for the rest of the movie. 

We are soon introduced to Sook-hee (Kim Tae-ri), who has been hired to trick the Japanese heiress, Lady Hideko (Kim Min-hee), into giving away her fortune. The Handmaiden rapidly unravels itself like an onion. Everyone has their own plans, and the film beautifully layers itself with various plots and secrets. As Sook-hee and Lady Hideko fall in love, the complexities of these plans and their relationship are slowly revealed to the audience over the span of the film. 

Both Sook-hee and Lady Hideko are trapped: literally and figuratively. Literally, inside a colonial-style manor, which they can’t leave, and figuratively by a society shaped by patriarchy and colonialism — two oppressive ideologies. The men, the manor, and the influence of colonialism are far more sinister than the beginning of the film lets on.

The Handmaiden is filled with both the subtle and the grotesque, juxtaposing tenderness against violence.

There are subtle lies and outright violence of men who seek to take — they feel entitled to money and pleasure, only using women as a means to their desires. This is important, as the sexual relationships between men and women are always either violent, one-sided, or for an underhanded purpose. In contrast, the sex between women builds their trust and relationship. 

A common critique of the film is that it pertains to the male gaze by including multiple scenes of lesbian sex. While the male gaze brings attention to how women are sexualized and objectified in film, this is the most misguided critique of The Handmaiden. Lesbian sex shouldn’t be stripped away from queer film for it to be acknowledged as legitimate representation — lesbians have sex. The way in which these sex scenes are portrayed and shot is important to the film’s plot and themes. Further, they defy typical conventions used when pandering to the male gaze. As the audience learns of Lady Hideko’s forced erotic readings, it is clear she holds these readings without ever enjoying them — and understandably so, as she was groomed to do them. She is forced to read about sex in such a repulsive and distorted view that her discovery of love and pleasure with Sook-hee is of genuine importance to her character. In using the same sex objects she was forced to read about, she reclaims herself — when for so long, she was made to perform for others. While some have complained of the lengthiness of the explicit scenes in the film, they are unapologetic and beautiful, with little focus on the body and emphasis on the women building intimacy. 

The Handmaiden is cinematically stunning, carefully shot, and skillful in its timing: each scene is a portrait. The score is a masterful collection of strings, perfectly suited to the film’s suspense. While the film can be difficult and visceral, it is a testament to the power of intimacy and ambition, and empowers the audience to fight against the same structures it critiques. 

 

Gwangju Uprising explores the quest for democracy

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Schlarpi / Wikimedia Commons

By: Phone Min Thant, Arts & Culture Editor

Content warning: Brief mention of military brutality 

Beyond Death, Beyond the Darkness of the Age — a poetic name for a book that has so much suffering, death, and destruction. While the book’s first revised, English-language publication did not carry its original name, it carried the painful experiences of ordinary South Koreans in their struggle for freedom and democracy. 

Gwangju Uprising: The Rebellion for Democracy in South Korea is a hefty book that details the movement for democracy espoused by citizens of Gwangju against the authoritarian military dictatorship of Chun Doo-hwan. Written by activists with input from the acclaimed novelist Hwang Sok-yong, the original publication in the 1980s — although discreetly distributed and read throughout South Korea — faced numerous efforts at censorship, landing the authors in jail. 

In a style dissimilar to many other history books that I have read, Gwangju Uprising can best be seen as a testimony from a courtroom extrapolated into over 500 pages of reading. The book takes the reader through every detail of the protests (later uprising), from the formations used by the riot police and soldiers to the types of injuries sustained by victims of military brutality. Accompanying each chapter (each of which roughly represents a day during the ten days of the uprising) are maps which chart all the routes taken by security forces as well as the protestors at critical moments of the movement. 

Also complementing these observations are the first-hand testimonies of those involved in the uprising. Many of these quotes reflected the real emotions of those seeing horrific events unfold right in front of their eyes, but also give insight into the inhumane mentality of the soldiers assigned to suppress the protests — many parallels could be drawn from these quotes to contemporary protests happening around the world, and how the oppressed can remain hopeful in the face of unbelievable oppression. The juxtaposition between quotes from soldiers describing their experiences beating up protestors with their batons and those from activists asking, “Don’t you remember which country you are sworn to defend?” painfully highlights the usual power imbalance between authoritarianism and its victims. 

Another noticeable feature I also enjoyed about the book is that the authors did not forgo important geopolitical analyses in their quest for first-hand record-keeping. There are many references to issues such as the US’ implicit consent to South Korea’s military government, or the negligence of its military and diplomatic officials regarding the situation in Gwangju. This was something I found particularly useful to me as someone who is both interested in history but also wanted to learn more about how the Cold War’s diplomatic and security environment negatively affected democracy in countries like South Korea. 

Given the intensity and detail of the book, you might be wondering if it is suitable for someone who doesn’t know anything about the protests or even about South Korean politics. While most of the content focuses on the protests, the first few chapters significantly (and concisely) lay down the domestic political situation leading to the uprising, beginning with the assassination of president Park Chung-hee and the rise of Chung Doo-hwan in the military — and later political — echelons. There is enough information — without unnecessary jargon — to get the layreader going!

Coming from a country whose citizens have stood up to military authoritarianism, many of the scenes in the book spoke to me dearly, sometimes painfully, sometimes with hope. Gwangju Uprising is not only a history book, but also a homage to ordinary people fighting for democracy, in South Korea back then, and around the world today. 

Latin American Heritage Month events

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By:  Lucaiah Smith-Miodownik, News Writer

October marks Latin American Heritage Month in Canada — a time to honour the ongoing impact and future influence of Latin Americans on the country. Both Canada and Latin America are steeped in rich Indigenous cultures that are foundational to their existences, and Latin American Heritage Month also provides an opportunity to reflect on the colonial history that both share.

For intriguing opportunities to celebrate and learn about Latinx culture just outside your door, read on!

What: Fire Never Dies: The Tina Modotti Project  

Where: The Cultch Historic Theatre, 1895 Venables St., Vancouver

When: October 15–26, 2:00 or 7:30 p.m.

Chilean Canadian playwright Carmen Aguirre brings her latest work to the Vancouver stage for its world premiere. Fire Never Dies: The Tina Modotti Project is a play that tells the story of Tina Modotti, a photographer turned activist during the Spanish Civil War. The play will preview on October 15, before debuting the following evening. Those interested can also purchase special talkback tickets on October 19 and 21, which provide the opportunity for audience members to ask any questions they may have.

What: Brazilian Live Experience

Where: Latin Plaza Hub, 68 Water St., Unit 301, Vancouver

When: October 24, 7:00 p.m.

Come experience Brazilian song and dance on a night out in Gastown. This event will feature live performances honouring both Brazilian and Afro-Brazilian culture. Experience samba, a dance style that originated in Salvador de Bahia, where it was developed primarily by enslaved people trafficked from Portuguese Angola. Forró, another popular style of Brazilian music and dance to enjoy, was born from “a fusion of African, Indigenous, and European musical influences.”

What: La Feria del Libro en Español (“the book fair” in Spanish)

Where: Ocean Artworks Pavilion, 1531 Johnston Street, Vancouver

When: October 25, 11:00 a.m. – October 26, 5:00 p.m.

Immerse yourself in literature at the book fair! This event “highlights the diversity of Latin America through books, storytelling, art, and family-friendly activities.” There will be book exchanges including Spanish and Portuguese collections, talks by authors, and art displays exhibiting Latin-inspired works.

What: Cut & Create: Paper Flowers Workshop

Where: Ocean Artworks Pavilion, 1531 Johnston Street, Vancouver

When: November 1, 5:00–6:00 p.m.

If you are interested in crafting your own paper cempasúchil (marigold), this event is the perfect opportunity. The cempasúchil is rooted in Mexican culture as the flower of the dead, and is often used in ofrendas as a part of Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). In addition to crafting flowers from crepe and tissue paper, participants will learn about the cultural significance of the holiday. Día de los Muertos is a celebratory opportunity to reunite families with their deceased loved ones, and in doing so, reframes the concept of death itself as something not to be feared.

What: Catrina Party

Where: Old Bridge St., Vancouver 

When: November 1, 7:00–11:00 p.m.

La Catrina, also known as the elegant lady, is another image distinctly tied to Día de los Muertos. Created by artist José Guadalupe Posada, the illustrations are rooted in a sense of satire and serve to remind us that we all die in the end, regardless of our social status. This event will feature a La Catrina costume parade, best-dressed La Catrina contest, live music, and Día de los Muertos-inspired cocktails.

There will also be a closing ceremony on November 2 from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. at Granville Island’s Day of the Dead Market. For more  Latin American Heritage Month events, visit latincouver.ca/lahm and vlacc.ca/latin-expressions.

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Simon Fraser University’s independent student newspaper since 1965.

Contact us: [email protected]

© The Peak Publications Society 1965-2024

Simon Fraser University’s independent student newspaper since 1965.

Contact us:
[email protected]

© The Peak Publications Society 1965-2024