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What Grinds Our Gears: People who make conversations about themselves

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ILLUSTRATION: Ponomariova_Maria / iStock

By: Paige Riding, Copy Editor 

Being naturally introverted, the thought of opening up to a friend or loved one about myself already bombards me with anxiety. If I do gather the mental energy to talk to someone about a matter I’ve been struggling with, I do so with the faith that they may help me work through, and maybe even feel better about, that problem.

That idea is great in theory, but it often falls apart faster than me during essay season because some people can’t seem to shut the fuck up about themselves for one measly conversation.

Nothing is more disheartening than finally getting over my inner voice screaming “no!” every time I try to talk about myself — only to have the other person immediately turn the conversation onto themselves. If I’m telling you about my stressful semester and your first response is to point out how you’re doing twice as many courses as me, maybe you should try to shake off that main character hat you’re rocking and come back down to Earth.

If someone trusts you enough to talk to you about their struggles, the least you can do as a decent human being is pause your inner monologue of self-centred responses before you say them. Instead of just waiting for your friend to finish talking so you can immediately respond, actively listen to their concerns, and don’t respond with something about yourself. Not only will this save your conversation from awkward interruptions, but it will also make you less of a jerk.

For matters big or small, your friends notice how you respond, and that response may determine if they feel they can come to you with problems in the future.

Slacktivism is not an effective approach to online activism

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Instagram activism requires more work than sharing and re-posting. PHOTO: Solen Feyissa / Unsplash

By: Nancy La, Staff Writer 

As someone who has organized an online educational resource on the Downtown Eastside overdose crisis, I’m familiar with the pros and cons of using social media as an activism tool. Based on my experience, there are essentially two types of online activism: active content creation and passive transmission. From what I’ve seen, the former, albeit difficult and time-consuming, is effective. The amount of effort put into content creation can be equivalent to (or even greater) than traditional forms of activism. It is passive transmission that gives online activism a bad reputation, earning it the term “slacktivism.

Slacktivism is essentially activism through social media, characterized by its lack of commitment to the cause in question. Activities such as reposting or reblogging are the most commonly seen forms of it. Remember the black squares that flooded the internet last year? That is a prime example of slacktivism — it does nothing to the cause and actually causes problems for the movement it is supposed to help by distracting from other resources in feeds and hashtags. Because slacktivism does not require further effort from the person participating in it, the level of actual work done is only surface deep. Slacktivism is a category of performance activism, where the main goal is to put on an appearance of action when in fact, nothing is done for the cause.

There are exceptions to this, as seen in the justice movement against the occupation of Palestine. When it is explicitly stated that reposting and sharing of knowledge is integral to the movement, then it is important for that to be respected. What is important is the distinction between reposting because it is helpful and that is what the creators of the movements wanted, and reposting because it’s easy, effortless, and helps with a person’s online presence. 

That is not to say that all online activism is worthless. We have to keep in mind that activism, in general, has changed. It is no longer mandatory for participants to march on streets to prove a point. For those unable to physically participate in a protest, or if a pandemic renders it impossible to meet in groups, online protests are the way to go. If trying to garner as many signatures or attention on a certain subject is the goal of a protest or movement, then the convenience of online activism makes it an effective and inclusive way to support the fight against global and local injustices. The problem is — out of the 100 reposts or likes for a particular post, how many people will continue to advocate for it and help make it happen?

There’s no need to look far for an example of online activism being effective. The Black Lives Matter movement, started by Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi, began with a Facebook post back in 2013. The hashtag and the protests associated with it went on to be popular and frequently used on Twitter. The Black Lives Matter movement is an example of how active content creation and engagement with the cause can succeed online. An example of the movement’s success is the ban of chokeholds in certain states such as Colorado. Unlike slacktivism, creating content and encouraging engagement online is extremely difficult.

From the work that I’ve done on social media, I know that consistently creating content within the limits of the specific platforms is time-consuming and at times, exhausting. The statistics for my project were abysmally low, despite working with support from SUCCESS, one of the biggest social service agencies in Canada. The issue was that despite reaching a wide audience, the content itself never received interactions beyond that of a “like” or “thumbs-up.”

Meaningful work cannot happen without effort, and those who believe otherwise are disillusioned by slacktivism’s easy appearance.

Slacktivism alone is not enough to change the systemic issues we are facing today. It is also not representative of the power of online activism. In the end, it all boils down to how much work a person is willing to invest in a cause that they believe in. Whether a person is passive or active in their online activism, it is honestly better than doing nothing at all and looking the other way.

Bright-er Side: Too much free time has led to new hobbies

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ILLUSTRATION: Siloam Yeung / The Peak

By: Meera Eragoda, Editor-in-Chief

This pandemic has undeniably brought isolation, uncertainty, stress, and precarity for many — and still continues to. While none of this should be downplayed, for some of us privileged enough, the extra time we had to fill pushed us to try new hobbies.

People were making sourdough and dalgona coffee, gardening, and biking. I was no different. At first, trying new things was a way to help with the monotony and to take care of my mental health. Then, it helped me become more creative and adventurous.

I hadn’t really ridden a bike since I was a kid and didn’t own one, but like many, I bought one last summer. Riding it around the city helped me feel freer, like there were still new ways to break out of the mundane. Being able to bike down streets lined with chestnut trees on a sunny day or bike to Pacific Spirit, watch the sunset, and then bike back on a warm summer night made me fall in love with biking again. This summer, I have plans to go even further and do some multi-day trips. Without all this time to fill, I might never have discovered this side of myself.

I also got really into cocktails last summer and had a great time experimenting. Those fancy drinks that previously seemed too complicated for anyone other but bartenders turned out to actually be pretty easy. Heck, I’ve now even made a cocktail with bell pepper (thank you, TikTok). 

While this and the embroidery skills I picked up aren’t things I plan on doing every day, they have been new creative outlets that I would not have otherwise attempted and that has been affirming.

Comics

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Humour
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ILLUSTRATION: Sara Brinkac / The Peak

By: Sara Brinkac, Peak Associate

Words are not enough, the NHL needs to invest in Indigenous youth

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Cree hockey player Ethan Bear’s encounter with racism should have been better addressed by the NHL. PHOTO: Derek Leung / Getty Images

By: Harvin Bhathal, Peak Associate

Edmonton Oilers defencemen Ethan Bear, an Ochapowace Nation hockey player in the NHL, was recently subjected to racism by Oilers fans. This news is not surprising given the NHL is a league with racism embedded in its history. Still, it doesn’t make it any better. The NHL must learn from its mistakes in the past and make more of an effort to address the situation. 

This news came to light on May 26, 2021. Bear’s girlfriend made a public statement on her Instagram story about what Bear had been experiencing in the comment sections and DMs of his social media.

Among the thoughts she conveyed, she wrote, “To hide behind a screen is cowardly. But to use stereotypes against him as an Indigenous person is dehumanizing and awful!!”

The racist remarks came after the Oilers’ first-round loss to the Winnipeg Jets. Writing about the loss, editor of Native Hockey News Philip Paul-Martin added, “Just as the way Bear turned over the puck, so too did [Connor] McDavid. But nobody questions his ancestry. Or where he comes from. The core [of] his being. He just made a bad play.”

While Oilers fans and others in the hockey community were quick to show their support for Bear on social media, the responses by the Oilers and the NHL were not as meaningful. As hundred million- and billion-dollar businesses respectively, words are not enough — they must be accompanied with meaningful and monetary action. 

The league and its teams ran into a similar problem at the height of the Black Lives Matter movement after the tragic murder of George Floyd. The NHL launched a grassroots program for young skaters of colour that would be run with the Hockey Diversity Alliance (HDA).

However, according to multiple HDA sources, the alliance was told of the partnership the day before the NHL released a public statement and was denied permission to review the statement’s wording. The HDA’s request for program details, such as how much funding the league was planning to contribute, was also rejected.

In November of 2020, the HDA announced that going forward, they would operate independently from the NHL, citing that “it is clear that the NHL is not prepared to make any measurable commitments to end systemic racism in hockey.” NHL commissioner Gary Bettman has a chance here not to make the same mistake.

Hockey is an increasingly elitist sport to get involved with; between the costs of equipment and the different camps and academies to attend to get into the NHL pipeline, it is expensive. What this means for racialized children, who often come from lower-income backgrounds, is that they cannot afford to play. 

Out of over 700 players in the NHL and AHL today, less than 5% are people of colour. The numbers are even worse for coaches of colour in the NHL’s 102-year existence.

If the NHL and the Oilers believe that Bear and “all people from Indigenous backgrounds deserve to feel empowered and respected on and off the ice,” then they must invest in Indigenous youth and youth of colour.

In the past, the league has funded organizations and instituted programs to assist racialized youth. Through the Edmonton Oilers Community Fund, the team has annually supported Right to Play’s Indigenous programs. 

But the NHL’s failed partnership with the HDA does not instill hope that the league’s initiatives will have a meaningful impact. The NHL must be forthcoming with details regarding their plans and increase their investment in racialized youth.

Considering the lack of diversity in the league among its players, coaches, and staff, there is no such thing as too much of an investment. Since 2005, the NHL’s revenue has increased every year (apart from the pandemic seasons). It is clear that money is not the reason for their failure to act. 

Both the league and the team should also make serious investments into Bear’s hockey school for Indigenous youth, Ochapowace Nation Sports Academy.

Indigenous youth and youth of colour deserve an equitable chance to play Canada’s national sport. The NHL, Oilers, and other Canadian teams should go above and beyond to support them and be the pillars in the community they claim to be.

Note: As Ethan Bear’s girlfriend is a non-public figure, we have left her name out of the story out of respect for her privacy.

It’s okay to be worried about the post-pandemic world

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Many of us may experience post-pandemic anxiety. Photo courtesy of JING.FM

By: Ira Rishi, SFU Student

It’s probably safe to say that, for many of us over the last year, our social skills have been collecting dust. So naturally, there will be a certain amount of reluctance, fear, and anxiety as things reopen. We’ve all been so accustomed to seeing each other through screens that our return to in-person activities might be overwhelming.

Many of us are looking forward to the return to normal. But, it is likely to induce anxiety about being back in public spaces and what that means for our safety and health. It’s completely valid to feel hesitant or worried about engaging in activities that are supposed to be normal but were restricted because of the pandemic. We may exercise some caution in approaching any kind of physical interaction and we might still feel a little out of place as we venture back into the physical world again. We will encounter all kinds of people and social situations again — when people stand too close, those who hug tightly, people who are going to be partying hard, and those who will choose to stay home and binge-watch Schitt’s Creek (I don’t blame them). 

You may ask yourself, “Is it okay to shake hands now? Am I standing too close to this person? Is it okay if our hands accidentally touch?” While these thoughts may seem trivial, they can be pretty overwhelming, and it’s important we try to be mindful of the circumstances we’ve been through.

Some studies emphasize that the traumatic impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic on adults, children, and especially frontline workers, will be reflected even once we’ve returned to normal. Whether we’ve experienced fear over losing a loved one or struggled with general COVID-19 anxiety, our subjective experiences throughout the pandemic have exhausted us all at some point. 

It’s totally okay to feel anxious, overwhelmed, or confused as we combat the discomfort of having to socially readjust. There’s no shame in feeling exhausted after one social interaction or feeling scared of not being able to maintain a safe distance. 

Social and cooperative behaviour is something many of us thrive on. As exciting as the return to the real world may be, it can be just as overwhelming. But there is a good chance that everyone might be just as nervous as you. All your feelings, worries, and thoughts towards the post-pandemic world are valid. Remember: you are not losing your social skills; they’re just the same, but it might take you some time to get back into the same groove that you had before the pandemic.

SFUnexplained: There are aliens among us

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Humour
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Photo by: Chris Ho

By: Kyla Dowling, Humour Editor

The Day The Earth Stood Still, The 6th Day, The Fly II: what do all these movies have in common? 

They all were filmed on SFU’s Burnaby campus, yes. But that’s not all: these movies are also part of a massive conspiracy to hide the existence of a secret base underneath Robert C. Brown Hall that contains alien life. 

Think about it: Actor/heartthrob/immortal being Keanu Reeves starred in the 2008 movie “The Day The Earth Stood Still”. His first name, Keanu, when broken down into a numerical code based on the order of the alphabet, looks like this: 11+5+1+14+21=52. 

That’s right — 52, one number above 51, like Area 51. We all know that Area 51 is a top-secret American military base that shelters aliens. The only reason why the American government refuses to disavow this theory is because they’ve used it to create events like Alienstock, a “music festival” where they systematically wipe the attendees’ brains. Family members of those who went to Alienstock have reported that attendees unironically enjoy wearing neon clothing and dancing to electro-pop music. No normal person would ever admit to this — it has to be brainwashing.

SFU, though, is using a different strategy. By allowing our cold, concrete fortress to be used as a filming location for hit flicks like “Agent Cody Banks”, the school is hiding its secret alien base in plain sight. 

But that’s not all. SFU isn’t just hiding aliens beneath RCB; they’re actively integrating alien lifeforms into our society. Haven’t you ever found it strange that SFU is a commuter school with few, if any, social activities on campus? It’s the perfect first location to release aliens wearing human skin into society. With minimal social interaction and few ways off the mountain, SFU is the ideal place for aliens to learn about humanity and take helpful courses like “Death and Dying” and “Relationship Building”.

If you run into one of these aliens, be not afraid. They’re simply trying to learn about the hallmarks of being human, like watching The Office over and over again despite being unable to pinpoint what’s actually funny about it. The aliens can be identified by their red backpacks (in which they store their tentacles and other inhuman anomalies) and their inability to shut up about Sports (the name of their home planet).

Food for Thought: Arepas

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This Venezuelan dish is a simple and tasty meal. Illustration: Alyssa Marie Umbal / The Peak

By: Michelle Young, News Editor

Arepas y café con leche is a typical Venezuelan breakfast. Arepas are made from pre-cooked corn flour, water, and salt. As a staple food that can substitute for bread, they can be stuffed with almost anything you want. But they’re delicious when accompanied with plain butter, too. 

Making them is extremely easy, and there’s a variety of ways to do so. Plus, they’re gluten-free! For beginners without an arepa machine, I suggest frying them, though you can also bake them. The only thing you’ll probably have to go out and buy is harina pan — the corn flour — which you can find at any Latin grocery store. 

Regular cornmeal will not work, because it won’t absorb the water to make dough. There is white harina pan and yellow harina pan. The one you use typically comes down to personal preference. The white flour is often softer, and the yellow is usually crispier and saltier.  

To make arepas:

For eight arepas, put about two cups of harina pan in a large bowl. The bowl should be large enough to fit both your hands. 

Add around 2½ cups of water. 

Add a pinch of salt.

Mix all ingredients together until it forms a kind of dough (the harina pan will absorb the water fairly quickly). Use your hands to squish it together — once mixed properly, the dough should be somewhat moist but not sticky. 

You should now have a large ball of dough. Break it up into smaller, round pieces, and flatten these. Once flat, grease the pan over medium heat and fry them for about five minutes on each side. Now, you should have crisp dough patties — arepas. 

Let them cool off for a few minutes, and then split the patties horizontally. Now, you have a bundle of arepas made with care! Add whatever fillings you would like inside.

Photo: Michelle Young / The Peak

Typically, my family has arepas for breakfast, but they can also be served for lunch and dinner. My mom usually has her arepas with ham, cheese, and butter, while I have mine with plain butter. If we’re feeling fancy though, we’ll have reina pepiada and fill the arepas with avocado and chicken.

Food is often tied to culture and family, and arepas have definitely shaped my identity. My mom would often fry tiny ones for my elementary school lunches, bringing many stares from fellow classmates who asked me what I was eating. While the attention was unwanted, and at first made me feel out of place, it was a way to share a piece of me with others. 

Some days, I do get tired of eating arepas, but I never tire of watching someone eat it for the first time. Seeing their reaction to something that is so familiar to me, yet new to them, is always gratifying. Having my friends ask me if we were going to eat arepas at my house made me rush to request them from my mom. 

Arepas will always be in my heart as a part of family meals and shared cultural traditions. Though, it extends beyond that. It’s a way to bring my culture with me and to bring memories together with the people I love, regardless of our diverse backgrounds and experiences.

Being an Asian immigrant in Canada

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Features
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Illustrated by Maple Sukontasukkul

by Nancy La, Staff Writer

One of the few memories l have from first immigrating to Canada was my sister teaching me the English alphabet. We had just landed in YVR less than 12 hours before and we were both jet-lagged, yet we still had to work on our English. I felt that being fluent in this language equaled approval and attention, so I continued to practice without complaining. 

Flash forward a couple of months and it seemed that my efforts to learn were not enough when I was still unable to speak more than a few words of English at school. As if that wasn’t disheartening enough, my inability to speak English somehow became an invitation for other kids to pick on me.

For the longest time, I hated recess and lunch. Those were the loneliest times since nobody wanted to hang out with me. 

So I commenced the mass effort of consuming all kinds of cultural productions to learn English. Whenever shows like Hannah Montana and iCarly were airing, I would whip out a notebook and studiously write down my observations on the actors’ accents and how they expressed themselves.

In hindsight, the picture of a younger me sitting in front of the TV taking notes on popular culture is hilarious. But it did make me more comfortable speaking English, so shout-out to Miley Cyrus for that. 

As I was devoting all my time toward learning English, I started to neglect my daily Chinese lessons with my dad. It got to the point where I started detesting the parts of me that made me Asian, because somehow being Asian — speaking the languages, eating the food, watching the shows — meant that I wasn’t trying hard enough to assimilate to Canadian culture.  

I had a hidden fear: I was worried that if I kept learning Chinese or Vietnamese, my English would have an accent. Of course, now that I am older (and a teensy bit wiser), I realize having an accent is not a bad thing, but back then I was 12 years old and still reeling from the immigration experience. 

Losing your language and identity starts slowly at first. Instances where I forgot a word or how to spell a character became more and more frequent until one day, I realized I could no longer communicate my feelings and thoughts coherently to my family. Ironically, though, all I could see was how my English was improving,  not the Vietnamese or Cantonese I was losing. I celebrated this loss, because it meant acceptance from my peers. 

I failed to see that it also meant isolation from my past, my culture, and my family. 

The ever-so-complicated relationship between me and the English language became even more inextricably intertwined as I declared my major in English a year ago. This meant more time spent buried in English texts and even less time keeping up with my Asian heritage, further cementing the idea that my Asian language and culture are separate from my academic life. I didn’t have negative feelings about English since I learned to separate the discrimination I went through from the language itself. The problems that I experienced, from social isolation to having to prove my fluency, stemmed from other people. English is just a language that’s supposed to help us connect with one another, yet to some, it is a tool to pick on others and discriminate against them. 

That still didn’t solve my issue with the other side of my identity problem: the inability to comprehend and understand Vietnamese and Chinese culture. This changed when I found out about SFU’s humanities department.

In the Fall 2020 semester, I took a humanities course on great texts in Asian thought and literature, where we had to read the classic Story of the Stone by Cao Xueqin and research various aspects of Chinese culture. This course made me understand that the Asian part of me is connected to the part of me that is fluent in English, and the two can actually coexist productively. For the first time in more than a decade, I got to use the little scraps of Chinese culture I have left in me! 

Another course, HUM 332, opened the door of possibilities for me to incorporate these different parts of me that I’ve previously separated. Being involved in the humanities meant I could do research on great Vietnamese figures like Bà Triệu or discuss China’s only female emperor, Wu Zetian. My limited knowledge of the culture that gave rise to these figures no longer felt like irrelevant little facts, but something that I could write about and get graded on. Being able to read Vietnamese or Chinese primary sources without translation gave me a little head start on research, something I never thought would come in handy at an English-based university.

I didn’t realize how trapped I’d felt until I realized there is a place for me and my Asian heritage at work and school. 

As I was relearning my languages, I became more and more aware of how knowing more languages placed me in sync with different cultural productions. Asian television, books, and music make for a more interesting version of me. I now have more shows to connect to instead of talking about The Office all the time. 

Recently, my niece and I were going over some Mandarin characters when I noticed she had a worried expression on her face. After some persuading, she finally admitted she was worried that learning Mandarin would mean she’d have a Chinese accent in her English, and that she wouldn’t have any friends if she spoke “bad” English. For a moment, I had a flashback to all the self-hatred and internal struggles that I went through when I was her age. 

I looked down at my niece and began telling her a story about a young girl who once had the same fears that she did. I told her about that little girl’s struggles and what she learned from those experiences.

For the first time in my life, I finally realized that there was value in the struggles that I went through. 

 

“Listen to This” is a great way to both enjoy and support the arts during COVID-19

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Arts
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The Arts Club is re-imagining the theatre experience. Image courtesy of Unsplash

By: Emma Best, SFU Student

The COVID-19 pandemic has impacted more than those visible onstage. Like many other industries, the arts have had to pivot in order to survive. It is through digital performances that theatre companies, such as the Arts Club, have been able to support local creatives working behind the scenes and continue the experience of theatre during these trying times. 

The Arts Club Theatre Company is currently running a collection of four audio plays in a series titled Listen to This. An audio play is exactly what the title suggests: a play told entirely through sound. Relying entirely on dialogue, music, and sound effects, audio plays emulate the feeling of theatre without the visual aspects of it. Each play in Listen to This is written by a local playwright affiliated with the Arts Club’s Emerging Playwrights’ Unit or Silver Commissions Project. They are available to purchase either individually or as a series. Alternatively, you can listen to them for free through weekly Apple or Spotify podcast episodes.

Unexpecting by Bronwyn Carradine follows a married couple: Annie and Josephine (Annie a writer and Jo a painter with a penchant for painting abstract vulvas). I found this play to be both funny and frustrating. A series of misunderstandings highlight the importance of communication in a relationship, and the tension created is released through witty characters and dialogue.

Available now through September 15.

Night Passing by Scott Button is inspired by true stories and takes place in 1950s Ottawa. It follows a young man named Elliot as he escapes his rural hometown in hopes of exploring his burgeoning sexuality. Undoubtedly the most serious play of the three available, Night Passing is a thrilling noir that had me anticipating and mourning each choice the characters were forced to make. It has also been expertly converted from a stage play to the audio format, partially told through the narration of the main character 25 years after the events of the play.

Available now through October 27.

Someone Like You by Christine Quintana is an adaptation of the play Cyrano de Bergerac, set in Vancouver during the COVID-19 pandemic. With so much of the comedy rooted in the shared experience many of us have had over the past year, I found this play to be incredibly relatable. The friendship and relationship at the centre of it highlights the importance of self-love and results in a refreshing and enlightening take on the classic (yet at times problematic) play on which it’s based. And, like Night Passing, the use of narration alongside the events of the play makes for an entertaining and engaging listening experience.

Available now through January 19, 2022.

My Father is the Greatest Man in the World by Tai Amy Grauman follows Rose, a now famous singer in Nashville who returns to her Métis family in Alberta. Pregnant with her first child, Rose goes to her father and looks to his past for answers about her child’s future.

Available September 15.

As someone who not only loves live theatre but has seen several Arts Club productions, I was eager to be transported back to a squeaky theatre seat (in my mind). Despite the lack of visuals, each play is told through well-written and descriptive dialogue, allowing the listener to easily picture each scene as it plays out. Meanwhile, the sound design — sound effects that emulate real movement such as walking, kissing, or birds chirping in the distance — further immerses the listener into each scene they experience. 

Those elements, along with excellent actors and original music, come together to tell compelling stories that are not only entertaining, but also incredibly accessible and easy to listen to. I tidied my room while I listened to each of these, but they also make great soundtracks for walks, drives, or simply laying in bed in the dark. And they are also an easy and enjoyable way to support the arts amidst all this uncertainty.

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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