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Something for everyone: The online learning debate is way more convoluted than it needs to be

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Cup of coffee in front of a zoom meeting
Everyone learns differently. PHOTO: Chris Montgomery / Unsplash

By Meera Eragoda, Features Editor

We’ve all got a take on hybrid learning. Too few options for it. Too much to ask of instructors. Not worth what we pay in tuition. We’re also blowing the problem out of proportion. A fully dual system, offering fully digital and fully in-person versions of the same class, helps us tackle the best and worst aspects of each system. 

In a recent piece about hybrid learning, assistant professor of publishing Hannah McGregor told The Peak, “an ideal hybrid class would have two professors to engage the two groups [in-person and online] of students.” McGregor implemented hybrid learning in her publishing seminar classes and is an overall supporter of the accessibility hybrid learning provides. If hybrid instruction has already been likened to teaching two classes, then why don’t we just offer two classes? One remote and one in-person. This seems like an easier way for students and instructors to get the best of both worlds without stressing out one group for the benefit of the other. 

Accessibility and flexibility seem to be the primary reasons why people support hybrid: it’s a format that allows students to choose what format they’re most comfortable with. However, given the critiques from instructors and students alike that a hybrid system leads to instructors being overextended and being unable to give students their full attention, why are we insisting on hybrid being the new gold standard for learning?

Instead, why not consider easier alternatives such as just increasing the number of remote classes available? It would mean SFU would have to increase its teaching staff but their constant tuition increases and the surplus profit they gained during the pandemic should make this feasible. What’s the purpose of our tuition if it can’t go towards improving options for students?  

Remote options are generally lacking so it makes sense why people see hybrid learning as the best of both worlds. However, not only has the pandemic shown that remote learning can be done more creatively than before, but it also offers the flexibility and accessibility that students are fighting for. 

Additionally, the pandemic forcing all instructors to teach remotely means that some may have discovered they prefer it and others might have discovered they absolutely loathe it. Just like students can learn in the way that best suits them, adding more remote options should theoretically also allow instructors to teach in a style that best fits them.

The blended learning style SFU started offering in 2021 as a compromise to hybrid learning, reduces but does not eliminate the number of in-person sessions students have in a course. Blended learning alternates between remote and in-person classes on a “set schedule”. However, if a class is remote, all students are expected to attend remotely and if a class is in-person, all students are expected to attend in person. While this is a helpful option, it is an imperfect one for immunocompromised students who may prefer not to come in, even at a reduced rate. Increasing remote options, when the pandemic has ensured the infrastructure is available, is the most obvious solution.

Political Corner: The thin blue line patch is a betrayal of public trust

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Peak Web
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A thin blue line patch
The “thin blue line” patch is a symbol of social division in policing. Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons

By: Olivia Visser

Content warning: police brutality, racism, and anti-Indigenous violence

Amid calls for police accountability, the thin blue line patch has emerged as the subject of heated debate. Police, even those in Vancouver, argue the symbol represents innocent camaraderie among police officers, but a growing number recognize the badge for what it is: a symbol for a dynamic that pits officers against their communities. 

The thin blue line patch represents the role some officers feel they play in society. The line, representing the police, is intended to serve as a bulwark between order and chaos. It’s a manifestation of a problematic type of policing — one in which cops view themselves as soldiers fighting a war, and where attempts at holding police accountable are seen as impediments to the “war” effort. 

The Vancouver Police Department (VPD) is, sadly, still mired in thin blue line-type narratives. In a recent Vancouver Police Board meeting, police chief Adam Palmer responded to a complaint about an on-duty officer wearing the thin blue line patch, saying the “patch has a deep-rooted meaning with police officers.” Palmer explained many officers view the patch as a way to connect with their community and respect coworkers who died in the line of duty. 

Except it’s not that. Others — even other officers — disagree with Palmer. In March, the Calgary Police Commission (CPC) issued a directive to discontinue the use of the thin blue line patch while on duty. Their statement acknowledged the symbol “has a contentious history with roots in division, colonialism, and racism.” The CPC is right. 

The Northwest Mounted Police was created to control Indigenous Peoples and establish colonial rule over Western Canada. This is a history we should be acknowledging, and policing is a a strain of law enforcement that should be actively held accountable. The CPC’s acknowledgment of policing’s colonial history is only a small starting point for adequately policing all Canadians, but it’s still ahead of Vancouver’s weak stance on the problematic patch. 

The thin blue line upholds an “us versus them” dichotomy between police and community members. It tells citizens that officers are serving their own interests when they should be acting within the best interests of those they work to protect. It’s a violation of an already volatile power dynamic. 

When the thin blue line appears as a response to activism supporting historically marginalized groups, it suggests that officers don’t view themselves on the same side as social justice. Case in point is the police response to Indigenous activists. Last June, RCMP officers were seen wearing the patch at old-growth logging protests despite official orders not to. In July, Saint John police officers were criticized for wearing it at a demonstration against residential schools. How are you supposed to trust someone with your life when they display on-duty support for an ideology that dismisses the violence committed by its subscribers?

It’s not just in response to marginalized communities standing up for themselves. Police abuse is an everyday issue. Adjusted for population, a CTV News analysis found that 1.5 out of every 100,000 Indigenous people had been killed by the police since 2017, compared to 0.13 out of every 100,000 white Canadians. Indigenous people are also grossly overrepresented in Canada’s prison population, which pokes a hole in the country’s peacekeeping façade. 

The thin blue line is not simply an ideological slogan — it’s representative of real systemic corruption. With incredibly strong unions that often act against public interests, police officers have the freedom to abuse their power. One study from York University found that Canadian police unions are contradictory because they “contribute to entrenching police as a (relatively) privileged sector of the working class.” Because police already have elevated rights and responsibilities compared to other labourers, allowing them to unionize only upholds their inflated privilege by giving them a legal advantage over regular citizens. 

A CBC News investigation found that of 461 fatal police encounters over 18 years, only two ended with an officer being convicted. Attorney and past police officer James Lowry said that as an internal investigator, most officers were reluctant to disclose any information that would put a coworker at risk of criminal charges. This suggests a huge problem in the way officers are situated within the criminal justice system. It’s also emblematic of the way the “thin blue line” mentality manifests itself in concrete policy: police are protected because of the nature of their jobs; fighting a “domestic war.”

The thin blue line underlines a disconnect between community values and policing agendas. To visibly marginalized groups, the symbol is an affront to the historical and continued victimization that their communities live with. If the police want to improve public trust, they should begin by abandoning the thin blue line.

Food for Thought: Seaweed Soup

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Peak Web
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Bowl of seaweed soup served on a brown table with a bowl of rice
South Koreans honour our mothers on our birthdays with this ancient tradition. Photo Credit: Republic of Korea / Flickr

By: Yelin Gemma Lee, Arts & Culture Editor

On your birthday, your friends and family often celebrate you for coming into this world and continuing to age well. The older I grew, the less this made sense to me. I didn’t really do much to be born, whereas my mother went through being pregnant for nine months, giving birth to me, and raising me selflessly. In South Korea, there is a historical food practice we’ve integrated into our culture to recognize this and honour our mothers on our own birthdays. This is seaweed soup. You may have seen it being served in Korean dramas, during someone’s birthday. 

The origins of seaweed soup began in the Goryeo dynasty when people noticed that after giving birth, whales would eat lots of seaweed. Seaweed is rich in vitamins and minerals and has properties ideal for postnatal mothers. They began serving mothers seaweed soup after giving birth to strengthen both the mother and baby.

It became customary to put seaweed soup “next to a pregnant woman’s pillow on the week before birth.” This was an offering to Samsin Halmoni, “the three goddesses of childbirth and destiny in Korean mythology who assist in childbirth and blesses newborns.” 

In modern society, children often grow up with their mothers making seaweed soup for them on their birthdays as a token of thanks for being born safe and healthy. When the child grows up, this is done for them by their close friends, family members, or partners. 

When I became an adult, I began to make my mother the seaweed soup on my birthday to signify my thanks for her giving me life and raising me. In the west, it’s common to celebrate mothers on Mother’s Day but I feel that special connection to her most on my birthday. I treat it as such by setting a Korean breakfast for her featuring seaweed soup. The historical and cultural origins of the soup represent honour for the mother.

I’ve found it difficult to find seaweed soup being sold at Korean restaurants here in Vancouver, but luckily it is so simple to make at home. The more obscure ingredients like dried seaweed or bonito soup stock can be found at Korean supermarkets like Hannam, H-Mart, or Assi Market. I usually make a simple bachelor version of it with instant dried seaweed, the way my father taught me.

Monday Music: Black women artists to crush mental barriers

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Peak Web
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“Monday Music” in orange block text on a yellow rectangular background with rounded corners and an orange border.
Monday Music: your weekly themed playlist. Image courtesy of The Peak.

By: Nercya Kalino, Staff Writer

Summer is a time when many of us do our best to come out of our shells and enjoy the sun. We have a need to be closer to the light before mentally preparing ourselves for the cold and gloom of the fall. To me, summer is about living and movement, to bring in the light of who you are. These songs hold so much weight for me that my fear of being seen evaporates and I’m reminded to take up space, prioritize joy, and live my purpose. I hope they do the same for you.

 

“Forever” by Sa-Roc


Image credit: Rhymesayers Entertainment

Make this your morning song. It will help you stay grounded and exhale the anxiety that comes with facing the world each day. Sa-Roc has an edge and this is why I love her music — sometimes the soul needs a strong and powerful voice to affirm its human flaws. Her raps draw on her own life and this song particularly reminds me that I am good enough. The line, “And mom told me ‘Stay woke’ ’cause all gold ain’t glistening,” reminds me of my mom telling me how the world will hurt me but I need to keep faith in myself and my purpose. 

 

“Energy” By Sampa the Great


Image credit: Rahki & Silent Jay

Have you ever felt nervous about hanging out in the sun? I sometimes find myself feeling like my presence in certain spaces is disjointed. This song breaks me free from that fearful mentality. Sampa the Great’s poetic writing focuses on tuning into the mind and soul to cultivate your own identity. She often vocalizes these thoughts with heavy instrumentals that amplify the impact of her words. She says, “Feminine energy almost mathematical, you can’t really sum up what is infinite and valuable.” This is your call to embrace femininity in its pure form and take as much space as you need, especially this summer. 

 

“FEMALE” By Sampa the Great


Image credit: Godriguez

I dedicate this song to all the Black women that sometimes forget to put on their crowns; summer is creeping up on us and the last thing we want is to see a queen without her tiara on. Let this song remind us of “big bold women.” As we walk into summer, let that crown stay on. Let’s not underestimate our own abilities and avoid getting in our own way because of doubt and fear. 

 

“3AM” Baauer, AJ Tracey, Jae Stephens


Image credit: Baauer

This song screams summer sunset drives and parties with its mix of hip-hop and Caribbean and UK grime undertones. Jae Stephens collaborated with musician AJ Tracey and producer Baauer. This song is a good listen on bright days at the beach surrounded by good friends who know how to vibe to good music. What drives the song is how well AJ Tracey’s rapping complements Baauer’s instrumentals and Jae Stephens’ mellow voice, achieving a balance in the song. This collaboration has attracted a lot more much-deserved attention to Jae Stephens’ soulful music. I suggest that if you like this song you might want to listen to “got it like that,” where we get to experience her approach to R&B.

 

“Blessings on Blessings” By Oshun


Image credit: OSHUN

We have to maintain our pace in the summer. The party life is nice but we do not want to get carried away. What better way to get things done on a summer work day than to listen to music that reminds you that you are awesome? Oshun sings, “Everything will manifest because I wrote it / I’m hella sweet because I spoke it, notice I / am the sugar, honey, ice tea.” This is the part when you realize blessings on blessings come to those who stay in their lane, even in summer. Yes, we want to have fun, but let’s not forget our responsibilities and kickstart the summer with the right attitude.

Need to Know, Need to Go: June 12–18

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Peak Web
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Illustration of a blue calendar, with "Need to Know, Need to Go" written on top
Arts & Culture events to catch around the city. Image courtesy of Brianna Quan

By: Yelin Gemma Lee, Arts & Culture Editor

Summer Repertory Festival / Ensemble Theatre Company

From June 15–July 2, come enjoy Ensemble Theatre Company’s (ETC) Summer Repertory Festival on Granville Island! They feature two thrilling productions: Marjorie Prime and Pass Over. Marjorie Prime follows an 85 year old woman living out her final days with her late husband — the computerized version of him, that is. The chilling and thought-provoking drama “explores poignant issues of memory, grief, aging, depression, and our relationship with technology.” Pass Over is perfect for those who love existential storylines and dark humour. It follows two young Black men who navigate a night of danger in Chicago. Pass Over “unflinchingly confronts racism and police violence, but does so with a deft and witty hand.” Single tickets for shows are $25 for students and $35 for adults, with a pay-what-you-will showing (door sales only) on June 27 at 7:30 p.m. Masks are mandatory and ETC asks that audience members be fully vaccinated, though vaccine cards will not be checked.

When: June 15–July 2, various showtimes 

Where: Waterfront Theatre, Granville Island (1412 Cartwright Street, Vancouver)

 

True to Place: stímetstexw tel xéltel / Bill Reid Gallery 

Bill Reid Gallery is crossing a milestone by presenting their largest exhibition of Northwest Coast Indigenous artists this month! This exhibition features the creative processes of 10 Northwest Coast Indigenous artists “who merge contemporary expression with traditional narratives.” At this exhibit you will see many different mediums, such as “canvas, wood, paper, sculpture, traditional basketry, and digital.” There are no capacity limits but masks are required.

Where: Bill Reid Gallery of Northwest Coast Art (639 Hornby Street, Vancouver)

When: June 15, 2022–March 19, 2023, 11 a.m.–5 p.m. Sunday, Wednesday–Saturday 

 

Vancouver Greek Film Festival / The Cinematheque

Are you a big film buff but having a difficult time finding new things to watch? Does Cineplex not have anything interesting going on right now? If yes, this film festival might be the remedy to get  you out of that funk. The Hellenic Canadian Congress of BC and The Cinematheque are co-presenting the first Vancouver Greek Film Festival. Whether it is new films or classic films you’re interested in, this film festival has it all including silent films, debut film features, documentaries, and Weird Wave films. This festival “aims to introduce a more contemporary experience of Hellenic culture, and share the contributions that Greek filmmakers have made to film history and culture.” Single tickets are $10 for students and $14 for adults. 

 

Where: The Cinematheque (1131 Howe Street, Vancouver)

When: June 16–19, various showtimes

Yellow Fever brings old school detective films back to Firehall Arts Centre

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Peak Web
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Darkened stage set with warm spotlights cast on a checkered floor decal with 5 stools set up for a Q&A. Behind them is a glowing projection of a pink cherry blossom branch extending out horizontally.
A murder mystery unfolds for detective Sam Shikaze. Photo Credit: Photo Courtesy of Kelly Chia / The Peak

By: Kelly Chia, Humour Editor

Content warning: anti-Asian racism

Yellow Fever is Firehall Arts Centre’s dedication to the film noir era and Japanese Canadian experiences on Powell Street. It stars Hiro Kanagawa as the cynical but charming private eye, Sam Shikaze, investigating the disappearance of the Cherry Blossom Queen. Narrating the story, Shikaze contends with racism post-World War II. The play stayed generally true to the original version written by playwright Rick Shiomi but deviated in the beginning, connecting racism facing Asian Canadians then and now.

Set in the 1970s, director Donna Spencer writes in the program that this play was first put on 34 years ago. When it was performed again as a radio play in 2020, the cast found themselves grappling with anti-Asian sentiment due to the pandemic, paralleling the play’s backdrop which was set against the anti-Asian attitudes of 1970s Vancouver.

This tension remained in Spencer’s iteration. The play starts with a CBC news clip of Dr. Bonnie Henry instating lockdown procedures in March 2020. Soon after, another clip plays, discussing a 92 year old Asian man’s assault in April 2020. For many people in the Asian Canadian community, including myself, this incident weighed heavily as one of many news incidents of anti-Asian hate crime in Vancouver 2020. 

This more contemporary section of the play comes in the form of a flashback to 2020. Nancy Wing (Agnes Tong) hurries onto the stage, lamenting that she was verbally assaulted on a SkyTrain ride, an experience that resonated with my fears when riding the SkyTrain two years ago. The other cast members comfort Tong, talking about similar experiences. While I sympathized with Tong’s experiences, I found this section abrupt. I wished it had been more fleshed out so we could hear more about how the systemic racism featured in the play also translates to issues of the model minority myth and anti-Asian sentiments, today. 

The play then moves onto Kanagawa narrating the beginning as Sam, stroking his brimmed hat thoughtfully monologuing about Japanese Canadians dispersing from Powell Street after World War II. Sam is every bit the gruff, life-hardened detective that you’d expect from an old-school film noir. He is witty, charming, and carries several chips on his shoulders, but he cares deeply for his community. 

Sam navigates the deep-seated racism and corruption within the police force as he investigates the disappearance of the Cherry Blossom Queen. This is where Yellow Fever delves into model minority attitudes, like the tensions between the independent Sam and the rule-abiding police captain Kenji Kadota (Jay Ono), as well as their challenges navigating racism from white officers.

Although the set of the play is only a set of chairs, a window, and sound equipment, the play was so vivid. On the left of the set of chairs, sound foley, Evan Rein, was creating the bubbling woks, door chimes, and the sound of chopped vegetables. I delighted at every auditory clink of the glass, every cup of tea poured. You could close your eyes and picture the world of a film noir set in 1970’s Powell Street: Sam’s dingy office, the warmth of the set’s cafe, and the rounds fired off at smoky late night stand-offs. Rein’s sound brought the world to life, and what an intriguing world it was. 

The play blends film noir with the larger theme of tackling the nuances of racism well, especially in the case of Kenji whose unquestioning loyalty inadvertently traps him in a white supremacist conspiracy. One thing’s for sure: the cast and crew of the show are immensely talented. Come see the show, and immerse yourself in this aloof murder mystery.

Yellow Fever is in theatres May 28–June 12, 2022. Tickets are sold online at firehallartscentre.ca.

Djanet Sears’ Harlem Duet is a fresh look for Bard on the Beach

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Peak Web
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Harlem Duet poster: a promotional poster of two people standing next to each other from behind a table of various vials and fruits. The person on the left is shrouded in darker blue light and the right person is in warm orange light. Tents: White carnival tents with red flags on top of the points pictured on a sunny day with a blue sky and mountains in the background. The sign at the gated entrance reads “bard on the beach,” and an adult and child are walking through the open gate
Bard on the Beach, an annual Shakespeare festival, started to expand beyond putting on Shakespeare productions in 2005. Emily Cooper (Harlem Duet poster) and (tents entrance)

By: Isabella Urbani, Staff Writer

This year’s 33rd Bard on the Beach will include Canadian playwright Djanet Sears’ 1997 play Harlem Duet. The festival was initially created with a focus on Shakespeare but has since branched out. Sears’ dramatization of Othello, directed by Cherissa Richards, will be performed alongside productions of Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. 

According to the event description, Harlem Duet “explores the complicated relationship of a Black couple in three key periods in the American Black experience: 1860, before the US Emancipation Proclamation; 1928, during New York’s Harlem Renaissance; and in post-civil rights 1997.” This journey through time aims to examine race, privilege, and relationships. 

These characters were created by Sears, “exploring what it meant to be of African descent,” said associate artistic director of Bard on the Beach Dean Paul Gibson. He added, “Being exposed to Shakespeare and other great writers influenced [Sears] to tell stories about Black people and Black environments.” Harlem Duet, Gibson said, does this through an “evocative, sensual, challenging world.”

The decision to bring Harlem Duet to the stage came to fruition during the pandemic and after the death of George Floyd, which sparked weeks of protest across North America in June  2020. “It was important to put focus and spotlight on Black excellence and develop new relationships,” said Gibson. When a colleague shared their experience watching Sears’ play in Toronto, Gibson knew he had to take a look at the script. 

“I was smitten; I was blown away by its beauty, poetry, and structure. In my mind, it reminded me about the reasons why we stepped outside of Shakespeare.” In 2005, Bard on the Beach made a commitment to feature other playwrights and more contemporary works. He added that despite taking small leaps in featuring more inclusive productions, they still mainly featured white writers and directors. In 2019, Bard on the Beach put on All’s Well That Ends Well but set in British India to explore the occupation and partition of India and Pakistan in 1947. Harlem Duet continues Bard on the Beach’s commitment to culturally relevant content. 

Gibson referred to the play as a sort of prequel to Othello as it sheds light on Othello’s life with his first wife. “[Sears] is fleshing out a character that was woefully underwritten because it wasn’t written by a Black man,” he explained. According to Gibson, Sears does this through “her perspective as a Black writer, delving into ‘what if?,’ ‘what does that mean?’ and examining the different time periods and the history of Black people on this continent.” 

Harlem Duet is directed by Cherissa Richards, who was greatly influenced by Sears’ work as a playwright. The play features a supporting crew and cast made almost entirely of people of colour. Gibson said Sears has been very clear about the direction of the play and Bard on the Beach has worked in collaboration with her to ensure her vision is brought to life.

Gibson shared that this will be a change not only felt by the cast, but by the entire audience. “When I am a young person going to the theatre for the first time, and I see someone who identifies in a similar way to me, and I see that reflection on stage [ . . . ] then the possibilities seem endless.” 

On the festival’s progress in showing plays written and directed by people of colour, Gibson admitted progress has been slow. However, he emphasized the need, responsibility, and commitment to showing more art from people of colour going forward. “As we build bridges and forge new relationships to new audience members and communities, we have an obligation to reflect the beautiful diversity of this city and the cultural richness of the country.” 

Harlem Duet is on from June 15–July 17 at the Howard Family Stage. Tickets range from $27–69 depending on seat for adults over 22 and $27–34.50 for youth 22 and under. Masks are encouraged.

Labour studies program discusses anti-Asian racism

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Peak Web
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The photo is of three speakers sitting on stage, while the moderator stands next to them by the podium. Behind them is a screen with a slideshow playing.
The speakers recall growing up being subjected to Evangelical and patriarchal biases. PHOTO: Pranjali J Mann / The Peak

By: Pranjali J Mann, News Writer

On May 30, SFU David Lam Center and labour studies program, in collaboration with the BC chapter of the Asian Canadian Labour Alliance (ACLA) hosted a panel. The discussion was moderated by Dr. Anushay Malik, SFU history and labour studies professor. The panel included Dr. Sharanjit Kaur Sandhra, karine ng 吴珏颖, and Rohini Arora ਰੋਹਿਨੀ ਅਰੋੜਾ. The event opened with discussion on how identity and community shaped the panelists’ work and life.

The event focused on the “global rise in anti-Asian racism by speaking to some of the activists who have been organizing and building solidarities against it.” Sandhra noted as a child in Abbotsford, she was exposed to Evangelical ideals in public school. 

ng had a similar experience. She said since her mother went to an all girls school, gender was a large part of their households. “As a child, you really absorb these [biases] and you internalize them. And I didn’t have a language to articulate what that meant. But I knew that there was a hierarchy. I knew what it meant to be a woman or girl, and I knew what it meant to be a boy or man,” ng explained.

Arora spoke about being a child of immigrants from another country. “My mom’s words will always stick with me [ . . . ] She said, ‘make your own white.’ And so that’s been an undertone and part of my identity, really, was coming from a community where self determination was a reality.” She added this is not limited to the Sikh community. “It’s anyone that’s not part of the white majority.”

The last discussion question asked the speakers to share a piece of poetry or artwork for what community means to them today. ng chose a quote from the book Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning by Cathy Park Hong:

“We [Asians] were reputed to be so accomplished, and so law abiding, we will disappear into this country’s amnesiac fog, we will not be the power but become absorbed by power, not share the power of whites, but the stooges to a white ideology that exploited our ancestors. This country insists that our racial identity is beside the point. That it has nothing to do with being bullied or passed over for promotion or cut off every time we talk. Our race has nothing to do with this country even, which is why we’re often listed as ‘Other’ in polls.”

Sandhra quoted bell hooks. “There can be no love without justice.” She reiterated, “When we talk about our rights. It’s very easy to talk and couch it in a comfortable language around love. But if we have no justice, we can’t even talk about love. Give us justice first, then we’ll talk about that.”

To make this equality and justice a reality, Sandhra emphasized the need to hold conversations like this. She noted, “You actually need to teach children about issues of race and anti-racism, and systems of discrimination and systemic structure.” 

She further explained “It’s not political to talk about race, it’s our life and our lived experience.”

Cancellation 2.0: We need an addendum to cancel culture

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Peak Web
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row houses under a blue sky, with an “everything is canceled” banner above the homes.
Perpetual cancellation doesn’t help anyone. Credits: Jeffrey Czum, Pexels

By: Yasmin Vejs Simsek, Staff Writer

Content warning: mention of suicide

Cancel culture at its core is a beautiful concept: if you’re found to be behaving in a way that hurts others, people stop supporting you. But what the cancel culture era needs now is a way of accounting for personal growth. 

The last half-decade has been vital for our collective learning. I cringe at stuff I said just five years ago when I wasn’t as aware of ableist language. I’ve come a long way in unlearning things I used to think nothing of, but I still have ways to go. I never made public, less-than-woke comments — partly because of my socio-economic position — so I haven’t ventured close to cancellation. I’ve been able to learn and adjust my language without it affecting my reputation. As a result, I improved my speech and moved on. 

It’s that desire to learn and change that cancel culture needs to start identifying.

Now, it’s important to say here that it’s often privileged people who get cancelled. When celebrities have a big enough platform, people feel they merit cancellation when that platform is misused. Right-wingers thrive in spreading the idea that lower-income folks will be afraid of being “cancelled.” They decry cancel culture as a way to make us believe that we’re going to be axed from society. However, if someone makes a mistake, it’s important that we offer the “cancelled” a chance back, because they’re human, too.

Regret, and a sincere desire to learn, are fairly easy to identify. Let’s compare the cancellation of author JK Rowling to the cancellation of model Chrissy Teigan. Rowling has doubled down, time and time again, on transphobic remarks. That she continues to do so, in spite of widespread condemnation, even from the cast of the Harry Potter movies, justifies a continuous campaign. It also shows a lack of desire on Rowling’s part to learn from her mistakes. On the other hand, Teigan, who told media personality Courtney Stodden to kill themselves a decade ago, issued what seemed like a sincere apology. Despite Stodden accepting the apology, Teigen’s products were dropped by three department store giants in the US What helped Teigan come back, it seems, was that her apology suggested a sincere desire to learn, rather than just attempting to excuse her comments. 

By creating a perpetual cancel culture, we don’t allow for learning. And what are we as humans if we are not learning? YouTuber Jenna Marbles made some extremely problematic content in the early 2010s, where she did blackface (allegedly unintentionally) and removed that content as soon as she grew wiser. After apologizing, she held herself accountable by giving up her platform of 10 years. Does she deserve a second chance?

This is in no way chalking cancel culture up to sensitivity. A little fear of consequence that improves behaviour towards marginalized communities is important. It’s also important on the part of the cancelled to acknowledge the privilege of being forgiven. But having a version of cancel culture that doesn’t account for growth on the part of the cancelled is problematic. To be clear, this encompasses growth on learning about communities outside your own, and not things like blatantly violent sexism, racism, or homophobia. People should largely know better than that. However, by reflecting on whether post-cancellation apologies and comments show a sincere desire to learn about how people were hurt, we can start to provide a path back for the people who’re earnestly trying. I am all for cancelling the bad folks — let’s just make sure we don’t take some of the learning folks down with them.

Milk-like: SFU’s explanation for the pandemic-era tuition hike hasn’t aged well

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Canadian currency
So, why raise tuition then? PHOTO: Piggybank / Unsplash

By Nercya Kalino, Staff Writer

Two years ago, SFU announced they’d be increasing tuition by 2% and 4% for domestic and international students, respectively. I felt stung. Apparently, so did others. And others still. At that point, in-person learning had been replaced for months by a patchwork of virtual classes. And looking back, the decision hurts even more. Thanks to SFU’s consistent surpluses, attempts by the university to explain away the tuition hike haven’t aged well. 

As The Peak reported in 2020, SFU stated they “expect a decrease in income, resulting in $26 million less income than anticipated.” At the time, the school cited inflation as part of the justification for tuition increases. The SFSS contested this raise, arguing that students were finding personal finances and work a strain on their studies — issues exacerbated by COVID-19. 

Both SFU and the SFSS’ arguments had some validity. Post-secondary institutions have been struggling in BC. While operating costs have been on the rise for years, the amount of money the government provides schools has been in relative decline. In 1997, government funds consisted of 80% of BC schools’ revenue. In 2017, that figure had dropped to 44.5%. The result of our government’s failure to keep pace with the needs of post-secondary institutions resulted, predictably, in overall revenue from tuition increasing from 15% in 1997 to 36.8% in 2017. 

In a 2018 article from The Peak on the tuition freeze movement, Matt McDonald, an SFU PhD student in economics, claimed SFU has always maintained that “tuition and fee hikes are necessary to maintain a balanced budget.” Interestingly enough, however, McDonald also said the school had posted surpluses for the last three years, which a review of SFU’s finances found to be true.  

Now, that 2018 Peak article is before the pandemic forced a shift to virtual learning. 

Maybe COVID-19 precautions wiped out SFU’s annual surplus? Not so. During the 2020/21 fiscal year, the school enjoyed a $41 million annual operating surplus. During 2021/22, the first full pandemic fiscal year, the school recorded a $27 million surplus. The factors behind the 2021 surplus were reportedly more funds than expected from the provincial and federal governments, as well as more revenue from tuition than projected. 

There are ways to reduce the financial burden on SFU students — extravagances that can be cut. Take, for instance, the fact that president and vice-chancellor Joy Johnson makes more than the Canadian prime minister — $385,000 versus Justin Trudeau’s $379,500. Or the fact that we can’t opt out of things like the SFSS membership; the SFSS, whose annual budgeted expenditures have ballooned from $2.5 million in 2017/18 to $3.5 million in 2021/22. 

The school can’t keep hiding behind a fall in funding for higher education as the justification for increasing tuition. Announcing, year after year, increases in tuition and chalking them up to systemic factors is dishonest to its students. We have consistent surpluses that number in the tens of millions. We have extravagant salaries and a multi-million dollar student government. What we don’t have is a sensible reason to keep raising tuition on SFU students. 

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Simon Fraser University’s independent student newspaper since 1965.

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For promotional inquiries: [email protected]

© The Peak Publications Society

Simon Fraser University’s independent student newspaper since 1965.

For advertising inquiries: [email protected]
For promotional inquiries: [email protected]

© The Peak Publications Society