Two songs that played as a soundtrack to my embarrassing life
By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Diva
Dear Diary,
I can’t lie, life has been wild recently. I don’t know what’s going on with the universe — I think Mercury is definitely in retrograde. Either that, or the universe has developed a remarkable sense of comedic timing. These songs played in the most ridiculous situations all this week. I’m hiding inside my home from now on, for real.
“Every Day’s a Lesson in Humility” by Suki Waterhouse & Belle and Sebastian
Every day’s a lesson in futility
Got to take the dogs out
Every day’s a lesson in humility
Got to eat my own words
It’s so embarrassing to be alive, girl. On Sunday, I was at the mall in the food court. I had just done some shopping, and I decided to get a bowl of pho. I sat down with my pho, took a bite, yadayada. Right then, I saw a friend walking through the mall in my direction. I got so excited to see her — we hadn’t seen each other in months! I stood up in the middle of the food court and yelled, “SARAH!” spraying a mouthful of food, EWW. I shocked (and probably disgusted) a bunch of people around me. Oopsie. But then . . . I guess my jacket got caught under the bowl because it spilled. ALL. OVER. ME. Girl. I was MORTIFIED. AND THEN. My “friend” locked eyes with me and pretended to gag. I GASPED. She strutted away, laughing, and I was there, DRENCHED in beef soup and noodles with the ENTIRE FOOD COURT watching as I made a fool of myself. Then, this bitch-ass song played — it was insane timing, evil even. That was the worst way to spend $18 ever.
“Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
OK. Diary, let me set the scene for this one. I’m at H-Mart after a serious and horrible realization. It’s a Tuesday at 10:00 a.m., and I have makeup POURING down my face — I had just realized that being a popstar without having any singing or dancing talent is not a viable career path. Girl, I do NOT need this emotional turmoil before my dentist appointment, and I was literally BANKING on that career path. I am feeling this song so hard, walking through the aisles with my heartbreak in the air, MELTING on the floor while sob-singing this song in the frozen section. Then, girl, security kicks me out. I KNOW. H-mart hates to see a diva like me coming, I guess. So I get my cute butt moving, I go to my dentist appointment with makeup smudged all over my face, and then I get trapped in a sterile room with my dental hygienist scraping metal against my teeth. I am still so distraught that I forget to lie when she asks if I’ve been flossing. And then, I hear:
I took my love, I took it down
GIRLLLL. THEY’RE PLAYING THE SONG AT THE DENTIST’S TOO. What the hell am I supposed to do?? Cry, with my mouth wide open? Why is this acceptable radio music?? Ugh, musicians are so useless anyway.
I literally couldn’t believe it. I’ve gone THROUGH it this week, and these songs are officially ruined for me now. Girllll, whatever. At least my teeth are clean.
With love,
Noeka
My journey infiltrating the country of Islam
By: Zainab Salam, Sand Excavator
Mission report: Desert Day 1
Subject: Bringing Civilization™ to the so-called Orient.
“Girl, we going to Islam?” That is what I asked my adjutant upon dismounting the camel. He nodded gravely. Neither of us knew exactly where the country of Islam was located, but it seemed vast enough to cause me to ponder for about 6 or 7 minutes. I landed on the idea that we would stumble upon it . . . eventually.
Once I entered the tent, I was greeted with suspicious glances from the Bedouins. To calm them down, I then declared my heritage: “Do not fear me, people. I am from Civilization™!” I made sure to place a heavy emphasis on the capital C. It had the desired effect — they incredulously laughed at me. I should note that they laughed at me, due to their cultural teachings that encourage being welcoming towards your superiors by laughing at them. It is their Muslimanity’s teachings.
For efficiency, I requested to speak with their leader. A Bedouin man with warm brown eyes emerged from the back room of the linoleum-floor tent. When I explained to him that his tribe had insulted a person from Civilization™, he replied, “Ma’am, this is a Wendy’s.” Turns out I had been queuing at a Wendy’s the entire time. Ah, my diet was about to be ruined!
But that was yesterday. Today is a new day!
Upon embarking on my new mission today, I met three merchants. One of them does not appear to be of the Muslimanity faith. He was pale and had blue eyes. I believe he might have been a covert Civilization™ personnel. I winked at him, but he was deep undercover and acted confused. That behaviour had me nodding sagely. His faithfulness to our Civilization™ will be reported to my superiors upon my return to base.
Later that evening, I attempted to ride a camel into the sunset for dramatic effect. The camel threw me into the sand. I concluded this was a symbolic gesture of respect. This is an odd land: just yesterday, a local decided to honour me by lifting the entrance cloth off the tent. I had to explain to him that I am but a regular Civilization™ person. He looked at me weirdly and said, “I am literally camping. No — this isn’t my home — can you please leave me alone?” Silly commoner. Camping doesn’t exist outside of Civilization™! This is literally cultural appropriation.
As the sun set, I posed dramatically against the dunes. I am sure history will remember me fondly — I will be remembered as the bridge between our Civilization™ and their tribes. I am the main character!
Mission report ends. Glory begins. I know my work here will grant me a book deal. My life story will be turned into a Hollywood movie, where I will be played by a blonde actress with piercing blue eyes. Naturally, the locals will be played by ethnically ambiguous and amateur actors, but who cares? Huzzah!
The Steve Chronigulls
By: Lucaiah Smith-Miodownik
The Peak recently interviewed Steve C. Gull, a local screenwriter and seagull who lives in the reflecting pond. We decided to check back in with the avian creative and see how he’s been since we last spoke.
Last time we talked, you were working on your screenplay, Romeo and Gulliet. How’s that going?
“Turns out there were some licensing issues with the whole thing. Apparently, the idea is already taken? To be honest, I’m kind of starting to regret telling you guys about the project. I think someone else might have stolen my idea. I looked it up, and it turns out there’s a gnome version, too? C’mon, let’s be realistic here. Anyways, all that to say, Romeo and Gulliet won’t be hitting the big screen anytime soon. Such is the life of an artiste, I suppose.”
Do you have any other projects in the works?
“Yes. But I’m not taking any chances this time. I don’t want you people leaking my work again. Well . . . what the hell, I guess a little sneak-peak couldn’t hurt. So, picture this: A young Canadian seagull has a burning passion for ice hockey. Turns out, though, that he’s much better at golf. He enters a tournament hoping to beat the pros and win enough money to save his grandma’s house. It’s a real David and Gulliath situation (yes, that one’s in the works as well). So far, the working title is Flappy Gullmore. Keep in mind here that we’re still in the rough draft phase. Creativity takes time.
“I’ve also been looking to branch out and diversify my portfolio. I’m working with my agent on securing a role in an upcoming National Geographic documentary. Oh, and I just booked a cameo in a PETA commercial starring my buddy, Daffy.”
Let’s go back to the beginning. How did you first find your passion for the arts?
“I like to think the passion found me, really. I remember it was after a particularly spicy SoulCycle session. I went to pop in to my favourite vegan acai bar like usual, but they were closed. I was devastated. I went home, and the words kind of just flowed out onto the page. It was a healing experience, really. From then on, I just knew I had a gift, and I was obligated to let people hear my voice. What I want anyone seeing my art to take away is that you can get through hard things in life. If I can help one person with their trauma, then I’ve done my job.
“My career hasn’t been without struggle. You know, I actually applied to be the arts editor for The Peak back in my university days. I had the job for a little while until they fired me. Apparently the new cigarette-timbits compote in the dumpster behind the Student Union Building isn’t worth writing about multiple times? Oh well, their loss. Between you and me, I still sometimes shit on the newspaper stands around campus just to spite them.”
Is there anything else you’d like to add?
“To anyone reading, you better not get any ideas about stealing my project. I hired the best lawyers to sue people, including your seagull-phobic newspaper. I further demand that The Peak rename itself to The Beak. Oh, and follow me on Instagram: @whatsteveseesgull.”
Nepal’s Gen Z protests have led to an uncertain political transformation
By: Niveja Assalaarachchi, News Writer
On September 4, the government of Nepal, headed by then-prime minister K. P. Sharma Oli, banned 26 social media platforms from being accessed within the country. The government introduced the ban for platforms that did not register themselves with the country’s Ministry of Communication and Information Technology, such as WhatsApp, Instagram, and Facebook. However, the ban was seen as more than a registration issue as it sparked widespread outrage over deeper socioeconomic issues in the country, such as corruption.
The Peak interviewed Dr. Rupak Shrestha, an assistant professor at SFU’s school of international studies, on the situation in Nepal. Shrestha, born in Nepal, is a political geographer whose research explores topics such as sovereignty, security, and surveillance.
On one level, “Nepal has one of the highest rates of social media users per capita in South Asia.” Shrestha discussed how daily communication, business relations, remittances from abroad, and other activities are all carried out through social media, meaning the ban would disrupt these aspects of everyday life for Nepalis.
Shrestha also pointed out how the ban was the breaking point in large-scale dissatisfaction: “Citizens were angered by a state that appeared to criminalize everyday life. For many, the ban was not [seen] as a regulatory measure but a direct attack on their ability to speak, connect, and survive in the midst of increased unemployment and deepening distrust of the state and its elite ruling class.” He noted these socioeconomic pressures, which either force many to move abroad or find work in the informal sectors, were acutely felt among the youth due to their more active role in the economy.
In the weeks leading up to the social media ban, activists launched campaigns to highlight the wealth accumulated through corruption by political elites. Corruption is deeply rooted in Nepal’s political structure, affecting most aspects of daily life. Transparency International, an anti-corruption organization, ranked Nepal 107th out of 180 countries on a scale of “very clean” to “highly corrupt.” A nepotistic political culture of appointments, combined with poor accountability for government spending, has led to scandals relating to the misuse of funds, bribery, offshore financial accounts, and money laundering.
The protestors had “non-negotiable” demands, including “the dissolution of the parliament, mass resignation of parliamentarians, immediate suspension of officials who issued the order to fire on protesters, and new elections.”
Protesters targeted key government institutions, such as the parliamentary complex, Supreme Court premises, and homes of famous politicians, setting them on fire. The violence permeated throughout the protest movement, which saw 74 protesters dead and more than 2,100 injured.
Facing mass discontent, prime minister K. P. Sharma Oli resigned from his post, citing the need for a new “political solution.” With the blessing of protesters, Shushila Karki was eventually appointed by President Ramchandra Paudel as the interim prime minister. Nepal has both a president and a prime minister. Karki is a former chief justice and has been popular among the population for her “stance against government corruption” and financial mismanagement. In her first few days, she dissolved parliament, setting the stage for federal elections by March 2026.
Shrestha highlighted how stability will come from “rethinking power itself. In Nepal, military and police power often operate as if they are distinct from the state, yet they shape its legitimacy and citizens’ everyday lives,” he continued.
“Without reforming, and in some cases dismantling/abolishing, the cohesive arm of the state, democratic futures will remain fragile.” — Dr. Rupak Shrestha, assistant professor at SFU’s school of international studies
Throughout the Lower Mainland, housing struggles persist
By: Lucaiah Smith-Miodownik, News Writer
Content warning: mentions of systemic violence, overdose, and death
From Vancouver to Kelowna, community members are uniting in solidarity for those affected by ongoing tent city policies. In late March, residents along the Okanagan rail trail were forced to leave as officials capped the number of tents at 60. Additionally, some areas of the encampment are now reserved for overnight use only.
For some, the procedure is all too familiar. “It’s a coordinated strategy that cities are using. It’s intentional and thought out, and the rhetoric is identical,” advocate Fiona York told the Unhoused Solidarity Collective Okanagan (USCO), which focuses on elevating unhoused voices. The collective noted that officials used similar language in the case of CRAB Park in Vancouver, where a “clean-up” last March ultimately led to a forced closure in November.
The Peak corresponded with USCO and spoke with two community members who have spent time living in encampments about their experiences, their solidarity with those in similar situations, and what they would like to see change.
“One of my best friends actually died because of them cleaning up all the stores, or all the camps that were on Hastings Street. There was nobody on Hastings that night, and he overdosed right on the corner,” Kirstine Fuhrman said, herself also having experienced street sweeps. “If they hadn’t done that, then he’d still be alive,” she said. Using substances alone increases the risk of overdose, as no one is available to help during an emergency. A recent study also indicated that street sweeps “negatively affected respondents’ access to services,” like supervised consumption sites.
USCO reported that in Kelowna, “deaths among the unhoused have spiked since the City’s recent violent decampment of tent city.”
Despite the reduction in its size, the encampment “remains only 75% full.” The shortfall stems from the fact that the “vast majority” of residents refuse to sign a required Good Neighbour Agreement to stay.
One unhoused Kelowna community member, Timothy Freeman, explained to USCO that the agreement forces residents to surrender privacy and control over their own homes. The agreement also prohibits residents from having visitors. Bylaw officers can visit the site, but must do so on a set schedule to avoid any surprise inspections or confiscations.
The alternative, Fuhrman explained, isn’t always sufficient either. “They don’t want to offer you any actual housing; they just want to offer you things that are inadequate,” she said.
“I’d like to see some of these politicians actually stay in some of these places they’re offering us.” — Kirstine Fuhrman, unhoused community member
“It’s sad, it’s disheartening that they’re still getting away with these things against people, and it shouldn’t be happening,” said Athena Pranteau, a community advocate who spent time living in CRAB Park. Pranteau shared that she has been unhoused on two separate occasions, both “due to clerical issues from BC housing staff.” She may face the prospect of being unhoused with her two kids again, expressing a sense of “impending doom.”
USCO hopes to “gain some momentum with regards to resources for the unhoused that will significantly impact the ability for people to gain shelter and income in a way that’s sustainable,” the organization told The Peak. “How can any government make improvements without hearing from the very people they’re claiming to be helping? USCO wants to bridge the current disconnect and hopefully gain some community understanding during the process.”
It’s time to rethink our hockey obsession
By: Lucaiah Smith-Miodownik, News Writer
Multiculturalism and hockey are often portrayed as encapsulating the Canadian identity; however, the two don’t seem to intersect. This sentiment is shared in an article from the University of Toronto Press, written on sportscaster Harnarayan Singh, the first Sikh person to commentate an NHL game in English. He was also the first person to commentate in Punjabi. This is a reminder that Canada’s most celebrated sport doesn’t reflect its praised diversity.
The NHL consistently ranks as the whitest professional sports league in North America, illustrating a stark contrast between the country’s supposed values and its beloved national game. This juxtaposition is not simply a standalone outlier, but rather a visible manifestation of the Canadian project itself. Growing up south of the border, Canada was always shrouded in an ethos of quiet pacifism, especially in comparison to the US as a whole. But what does it mean when so many NHL players are white, and when those who are not are subjected to racism?
It might be easy to say that there’s nothing stopping minority players from reaching the highest level — while, at the same time, celebrating those who do as shining stories of success amongst a backdrop of Canadian liberalism and supposed inclusivity.
It’s clear, both from history and current events, that legal protections against discrimination don’t translate to equitable treatment.
The entrenched colonial institutions are designed to be more difficult to navigate by people of colour.
Despite this, racialized athletes have left their mark on the game. The Coloured Hockey League, founded in Nova Scotia in 1895, featured Black players who were innovators in the game — introducing techniques like the slapshot decades before they were popularized in the NHL. Despite their contributions, these players and the league were systematically erased from mainstream hockey narratives. In retellings of the game’s history, we see an apparent oversight that continues to shape the image of the game through the exclusion of Black, Indigenous, and other racialized people from its focal portrayal.
Hockey shapes its legends and lore around idealized violence as well. So much so that there is a historic player archetype, the enforcer or goon, whose role on the team revolves around fighting, often to the detriment of their own health. The NHL’s relative laxness on fighting compared to other professional leagues is evidently tied to the organization’s whiteness — the two cannot be separated. Beyond the world of sports, the culture on the ice illuminates a greater societal double standard — Black Canadians are dehumanized for simple existence, while pulls and punches pave the path to the Stanley Cup for many white players.
Sports should be a place where we can express collective pride and individual identity. They provide an opportunity to recognize the uniqueness of a diverse nation united by emotional investment in the game. But in order to reach a point where that is truly the case, we need to invest in other aspects of life that enable players to flourish on the ice. This means investing in equity across society, and relentlessly pursuing racial justice. It also means tearing down the imagery, language, and ideals associated with Canadian hockey — of a hegemonic visual of white masculinity.
As long as the sport’s culture reinforces such imagery, veiled as a celebrated illustration of culture, we must reimagine our connection to it.
Hobbies are integral to combating toxic productivity
By: Heidi Kwok, Staff Writer
Capitalist societies program us to believe it’s unproductive to set time aside for leisure activities. I’ve countlessly fallen victim to this mindset myself. If I choose to turn my attention to creating art or reading the latest sci-fi novel from my favourite author, I feel guilty thinking those minutes and hours could’ve been spent on school assignments or work. This form of productivity guilt is certainly not helped by social media accounts that glorify hustle culture. This is evident in the daily routines of content creators who appear to wake up at 5:00 a.m., go to the gym, attend classes, run marathons, and serendipitously find the cure for cancer, all the while running a multi-million-dollar Fortune 500 business in their spare time.
I’ve come to realize that hobbies are more than just ways to fill one’s time — they’re acts of resistance against toxic productivity culture, helping us protect our health, build connections, and nurture our sense of self. This shift in perspective didn’t come easily; it came only after I experienced the harm of overworking myself and the relief that hobbies offered.
Over time, I’ve realized that toxic productivity is extremely unhealthy and detrimental to my sense of self-worth — having been burnt out in the past due to the constant pressure I’ve experienced from overworking myself. The unrelenting feeling of having to overachieve has made me neglect relationships, skip meals, and driven me into a chronic state of stress. Hobbies made me realize there was more to life than dedicating your soul to the grind culture. There’s immense joy to be found in checking out shows that everyone’s been praising, going on a hike, leveling up my piano skills, and doing touristy things in my own city. Yes, my long-term career goals are important to me, but I’ve also come to appreciate the value of a healthy work-life balance. In this way, hobbies directly push back against the narrative that constant productivity defines worth, proving instead that rest and joy are vital for resilience — which is ultimately integral to living a balanced life.
Moreover, hobbies foster social connections, closely knitting together like-minded people who often share the same values and goals. For instance, when I jumped into rock climbing, I was emotionally overwhelmed by the multitude of warm welcomes and constant encouragement I received as an awfully incompetent beginner. Watching seasoned climbers gracefully conquer a towering 20m route dotted with crimps and slippery slopers was awe-inspiring, leaving me with a surge of determination to one day achieve a similar feat. This newfound persistence eventually materialized in my personal and work/school life, allowing me to find motivation when faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges. These connections reinforce the importance of community in sustaining resilience — while highlighting that hobbies are deeply social experiences as much as they’re personal.
Hobbies are a safe haven where you can discover and pursue your passions without external judgment. While the rest of Metro Vancouver obsesses over their love of extreme outdoor sports, I’ve since opted for less thrill-seeking activities in a bid to match my more cautious lifestyle. I love time spent alone at home mastering a new piece of music — whether it’s on my piano, guitars, ukulele, or trumpet (albeit, at the unfortunate expense of my neighbours). Wandering around the city on weekends has also led to some impromptu photography sessions, which then inspired me to recreate my snapshots into abstract paintings. These creative activities create space free from the need for validation.
At the end of the day, hobbies are more than pastimes — they are acts of resistance against a culture that equates worth with productivity.
You don’t need to pour your heart and soul into what society deems to be productive to feel sufficient. Your life’s quality, which includes your health and well-being, is what matters most!
A letter of challenge from a recovering perfectionist
By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Writer
Are you a perfectionist? Start with this short checklist:
- Do you set big goals for yourself, yet feel no sense of accomplishment if you reach them?
- Are you highly critical of yourself and/or others?
- Do you struggle to experiment or adapt to changing situations?
- Do you find it hard to accept that you will make mistakes?
If you answered yes to all or most of the situations above, welcome. This is a safe space. As a fellow perfectionist, I understand you, and I empathize with your state of mind. Constantly comparing yourself to a perfect version of yourself takes its toll. Perfectionists are more at risk for anxiety, depression, and eating disorders.
Perfectionism can often be a result of complex trauma. It can come from a place of compulsion to assert your worth, or a fear of failure or disappointing others. If you were unfairly criticized or undervalued during your upbringing, you didn’t deserve it. It’s not your fault for coping the way you do.
All-or-nothing thinking will lead you to believe there is a perfect state of existence to which you are not yet measuring up. Don’t you wish, though, that you could sleep a little better at night? Or not be bombarded with self-criticism every time you make a slight error in judgment, or even make mistakes due to situations out of your control? Let me take you through some arguments you may have, where I challenge the perfectionist’s point of view with a more holistic way of thinking: one rooted in acceptance, realism, and self-love.
Aiming for perfection makes me a great [student/worker/family member/friend]. Why should I change if that’s what pushes me?
It’s a common argument: if I’m functioning at an excellent level and everyone is benefitting, why should I change? But here’s the problem. Tying your self-worth to your productivity is a shortcut to some damn disappointing times and some serious mental struggles. You’ve likely experienced some brutal moments that felt like crushing failure, and thought, “I just need to work harder.” When has it ever been enough? It’s a thirst that can’t be satisfied. The only real solution is to accept yourself.
Aiming for perfection might provide you enough validation to get by: grades, connections, work, hobbies. But sooner or later, your mind and body will tire of this attitude. Mental health is a serious aspect of life that deserves your attention. Your body needs rest and relaxation. You deserve to be well. You deserve to love yourself.
I’m doing fine, I don’t need self-care.
Tell that to your upcoming (or current) burnout. I am a firm believer that:
How your life feels is much more important than how it looks.
Sure, you’re holding it together, and you might be very good at managing a hectic schedule. Still, do you like your life? Do you feel good? If not, ask yourself: who are you working so hard for? What are you trying to prove?
I want to be successful. How am I supposed to do that without having high expectations for myself?
Let’s distinguish some things. Being a perfectionist is not the only way to be motivated. In fact, perfectionist traits tend to impede success, as they often result in higher stress levels and overthinking. Indulging your inner critic isn’t the best way forward, despite what your intuition may tell you. Have you ever stopped something before you started because you didn’t believe you could do it? The way that I see it, fear and hostility are not long-term strategies for success. And let’s face it — you’re going to be on Earth for a while. There’s nothing wrong with taking your own time, and figuring out how you best function.
But I’m behind! I need to work hard to catch up.
You are not behind, darling. Life is happening every second of every day. Breathe it in. Living out of fear is no way to live at all. We are all on our own journey — don’t get caught up in the comparison game. And besides, there are many people who experienced success later in life. Laura Ingalls Wilder, author of Little House on the Prairie, started writing the series in her 40s and only became a published author at 65. The famous Vivienne Westwood only began pursuing design in her 30s — before that, she was a schoolteacher. It’s cheesy, but it illustrates the point: it’s never too late to find your own version of success.
OK, I want to implement strategies to address this. Where do I start?
That is amazing! You’re halfway there already. Letting go of your image as a perfect person can be arduous. The good thing is, you are not alone. You can start in many different places, such as practicing mindfulness to interrupt negative thought cycles, clearing your schedule to get some well-deserved rest, and actively practicing self-love. Even if you need to make money or keep up your grades for a scholarship, there might be some work you can delegate or remove from your life.
Professional guidance, like a therapist, is crucial, especially when perfectionism is pathological. Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) is the most common type of clinically-informed intervention, which involves identifying and understanding unhealthy behaviours and patterns, and working to change them. Individual workbooks written by psychotherapists, like the CBT Workbook for Perfectionism by Sharon Martin, provide accessible options for reflecting and adopting healthier coping strategies.
Part of CBT is taking time to separate your inner critic from your identity. Your thoughts, although personal, are not objectively true. Treating thoughts as separate from yourself, instead of advice you must listen to, is a good first step to cultivating acceptance of yourself. For example, instead of berating yourself for resting, recognize that you are thinking that resting isn’t worthwhile but that’s not necessarily true. This practice is an essential component of mindfulness.
I would recommend practicing daily journaling: spend time getting to know your likes and dislikes. It makes scheduling easier: if you know your priorities, you know where to put your energy. Beyond that, it’s a great place to express yourself, safely and free from external judgment.
Nurture yourself. Spend quality time with someone you feel comfortable with. Take yourself on a date. These small acts of self-nurturing and self-discovery might feel silly at first, but they build up and become an excellent body of evidence as to why you should love yourself. Do it enraged, do it grumpy, do it disbelieving. Just as long as you do it.
I hope I challenged some notions you have about your world and provided you with tools to grow and heal. As a recovering perfectionist myself, I do not pretend to know all the answers. All I can confirm is that my life is leaps and bounds more fulfilling now than when I strived for perfection, and I am now at peace with myself. I believe in you, and I wish you the very best.
SFYou: Sarah Law
By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer
A recent SFU graduate with a master’s of arts in sociology, Sarah Law currently works as the director of community engagement of the feminist science and technology lab Doing STS. She is also an organizing member of the research society Asian Indigenous Relations. She has been organizing for social and climate justice for the last eight years. The Peak sat down with Law to learn more about her work.
The following interview has been edited for concision.
What drew you to studying sociology at graduate school?
My advisor, Dr. Kyle Willmott. I wrote an undergraduate honours thesis in my last semester, also in sociology. My second reader was Kyle. I had been kind of resistant to grad school because I had a lot of anti-institutional angst in me. In my last semester, Kyle basically spent a lot of time mentoring me and cultivating my research interests. He’s the one who convinced me to do grad school with him as my advisor.
Do you think your understanding of the discipline of sociology has changed in the process of doing this master’s?
A lot of things have changed — my writing style, my relationship to my discipline. I feel quite attached to my discipline, which is not something I would ever say as an undergrad, ever. I’ve recently been finding myself in defence of what the university can do. There’s really not a lot of spaces where you’re able to do research and have that be a part of your labour, right? I still have that angst inside of me. But through this master’s program, I really came to develop immense gratitude for what grad school gave me. Like the luxury to be able to read and write, and be curious, and ask questions.
In what ways does this anti-institutional angst still stay with you?
The university has also been malleable to hyper-neoliberalization, putting profit over quality and humanity. I feel really upset that TAs and RAs are underpaid, and that the people who do the most amount of work to keep this university running — like contract workers, student workers, precariously-employed professors — face all of these structural barriers to keep the university running as a profit-centred enterprise.
My concerns have also laid in the context of what is ethical knowledge production. The university structurally is an institution of settler colonialism and capitalism, and upholds patriarchy. If you don’t have a good advisor, and even if you have a good advisor,
“Nobody can be absolved of the way that power makes you subject to it. So, I wonder, what does it mean to produce ethical knowledge in the context of an unethical institution?”
— Sarah Law, SFU alum and climate researcher
Can you walk us through some of the central ideas and questions behind your research?
In my thesis, “Futures on FIRE: The Moral Politics of Hard Economic Sensibilities,” I wrote about how people come to understand the moral weight of their economic conduct through a financial self-help movement called Financial Independence, Retire Early (FIRE). People are worried about fascism all around the world, and we are seeing unprecedented overlapping crises unfolding at the same time. The questions of my thesis were really about, how do people talk about financial independence in this context? How do people come to understand what independence means? And how do people talk about hard work under neoliberalism?
Were there any moments during your research that deeply impacted you?
In my first term, I was in Dr. Coleman Nye’s graduate feminist theory course, and I would go to Nye’s office and be like, “I don’t want to be here.” And then we would have a conversation. I would read something from class, like the work of Indigenous and Black feminist theorists who are already doing this work, whose relationship to the university and the way that the university produces knowledge is really different from mine. And they have found alternative ways to produce knowledge otherwise that I found really inspiring.
You’ve received numerous accolades for your work, including the Dean’s convocation medal, SSHRC Master’s award, the Laurine Harrison Graduate Thesis Award, and the Canadian Sociological Association Graduate Merit Award, among others. What do these honours mean to you?
These awards are the only way I can sustain my life and make my work possible. Grad students need money. So, I am grateful for these awards. But I also think that everybody should get them. Everybody who does this work should not have to worry about their rent and groceries. With that being said, my gratitude for awards like this mainly comes from my gratitude for the people who make it possible for me to do this work. So, my advisors, and also, my friends, my comrades.
I think the real marker of legitimacy for my master’s is that I got to answer the questions that I’ve been asking my whole life. The institutional accolades are good in terms of where it gets me career-wise, I guess, but the way that I want to be legitimized, ultimately, is that my work needs to be meaningful to people who I think really matter.
How do you hold space for both critical rigour and emotional resilience in doing this work?
What this Empire ultimately does emotionally, and this is what I argue in my thesis, is that it makes subjects who desire to become unaffected by crisis, and become cold and void, so that you don’t have to deal. It’s ultimately trying to sever our ability to feel and have empathy.
I’ve cried a lot. I read Audre Lorde and I cry. I read Leanne Simpson and I cry. What we don’t talk about in organizing work is that it’s grieving work. It’s grieving work because we are witnessing the constant ending of so many worlds and the deaths of so many people.
I would say, lean into the feeling, even if it is hard and feels like it’s distracting you from your work. Bring it into the work, because it’s what we need. We cannot produce work that is empty of the writer, especially in moments like this.
How do you personally imagine a just or liberated future?
My vision for a just future — it is both really sad and really wonderful in that it is really simple. And it comes with grief. Ultimately, it is: my loved ones live nearby. There are kids riding their bikes outside. I’m sitting on the porch with my closest friends. We don’t have to worry about our housing. We don’t have to worry about food. We know our neighbours. They know us. The water is clean. The land is governed by people who really care for it and know it. Land is returned. Native species are thriving, and people are happy.
I feel lucky that I have glimpses of those moments when I’m with the people who I love, and that’s how I know that I can remain hopeful, because in those moments, I see it is possible.
If you could give advice to future sociology graduate students or aspiring researchers, what would it be?
The future seems really scary. Nothing is promised. I can’t promise if you do the right things, you’ll get the dream job in academia.
“Nothing is promised or secure except for our love and commitment to worlds otherwise. When everything else seems fraught, turn to the thing that is promised, that is, each other.” — Sarah Law, SFU alum and climate researcher
Find out more about Law’s research, including her thesis, at her website, linktr.ee/sarahlaw.
