The Tribune

At first glance, there may be much to applaud in the “Charter of Values.” Its claims to reinforce gender equality and religious state neutrality are commendable. In such a culturally diverse society, remaining neutral prevents the state from favouring any particular group over others, allowing it to view all faith groups and communities on equal footing. In this sense, the state upholds its principle of freedom of religion, protecting and preserving the beliefs and rights of expression of its citizens regardless of faith or lack thereof. In addition, providing equal job opportunities for both men and women, with equal pay and benefits, will improve social justice and bolster the economic well being of Quebec families and individuals.

A Protestant colleague of mine recently noted that the proposed charter seems to fly in the face of a crucial lesson we hope all children learn: thou shalt not judge by one’s appearance. Hopefully one doesn’t judge others at all, but especially not by what they look like. This is precisely what the proposed charter asks us to do. We are called to look at a Muslim woman wearing a hijab, a Jewish man wearing a kippah, and think “I know you; I know that you are not smart enough or moral enough to be able to serve me the same as your fellow co-religionists. Therefore I fear that you, without knowing you, are secretly working against the cohesion of society.” In Christianity, we are reminded to avoid such actions: “Judge not, lest you be judged.” In secular society the same idea takes a different form: “innocent until proven guilty.”

At the beginning of the semester, my roommate found herself without access to a personal computer for seven days. She managed to juggle switching classes and registering for conferences by running to the library between lectures or borrowing a laptop from a friend for a few hours. If this had happened last year, she could have avoided this hassle by participating in the library’s Laptop Lending Program (LLP).

In my final year of high school, I took a course on current affairs. My teacher was very enthusiastic about instilling an interest in being informed, but recognized our unwillingness to spend hours reading and writing during the dog-days of spring before graduation. Thus we spent most of our time debating social issues about which we were already relatively knowledgeable, and stayed away from discussing international issues that would require more in-depth background research to truly understand.

Living in Montreal, there’s a lot to be proud of, even more to be healthily suspicious of, and sometimes, quite a bit to complain about. Construction blocking your path for the fifth time this week? Narrowly avoided getting sideswiped by a rampaging cabbie yet again? Tuition fees continuing to rise while your wallet only gets lighter and lighter? These are all valid concerns, and are all felt by many of us here at McGill. Sometimes, however, people get up-in-arms about something so trivial that it begs the question of why anyone cares in the first place.

“I don’t oppose all wars. What I am opposed to is a dumb war.”

Last Wednesday, Sept. 4, the Parti Québécois (PQ) marked its one-year anniversary of minority governance. Over the past year the government has had various troubles, including, most prominently for this editorial board, the party’s complete duplicity on university tuition, first freezing tuition increases and then enacting harsh budget cuts. However, it seems as if the PQ has found itself a distraction from the year’s political missteps.

For the three years that I’ve been at McGill, the academic decline of our school has been a constant topic of discussion around campus. A semester hasn’t passed in which budget cuts, professor and teaching assistant (TA) contracts, student experience, declining global reputation, or general financial woes are not at the forefront of campus discussion.