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Making a new world as we go

by Matthew Molinaro on

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In 1960, the Queen of Jazz made a mistake. Performing the song “Mack the Knife” in West Berlin, Ella Fitzgerald forgot the lines. The weight of global expectations stood on her shoulders as one of the first Black women to sing this piece—and in front of a white, international audience, no less. The lyrics failed her––no matter. Error did not create an obstacle, but an opportunity. Mid-tune, she sings, “Oh what’s the next chorus to this song, now?” and carries on with her performance, scatting, putting new words together, and constructing syncopated possibilities from the traces of the song. The show must go on. 

She improvised the rest of the lyrics, belting out her own version with her signature wit, creativity, and self-assurance. At the third-ever Grammy awards ceremony, Fitzgerald would receive two Grammys for Best Vocal Performance Album and Single Record. Interestingly, despite her talent and brilliance in technique, the ceremony categorized her performance as pop, not jazz.

At the end of 2022, the frantic fall semester disappearing from my horizon, I listened to this performance again on Spotify. I wondered how Ella did it and what I could glean from this work. I wanted to dream and improvise my way out of the institutional and individual racism I had faced that semester. The notes and chords of this piece assembled themselves in my hasty composition: Cutting up the constant microaggressions and racist gestures and assumptions, adapting with other people of colour faster than our institutions could erase and exhaust us, and living in unpredictability and inscrutability, beyond our patterns, to evade white supremacy. I asserted this world-making ability of jazz with the Black thinkers I look up to: Toni Morrison, Langston Hughes, and Angela Davis, among many other radicals and jazz artists who move them in tandem. Jazz could move us from the alienation of individual life to the refuge of collective solidarity.

When I spoke with Eric Lewis, a professor of philosophy at McGill and the site lead for the International Institute for Critical Studies in Improvisation (IICSI), he explained that collective jazz improvisation can be thought of as a “listening trust”––a strain of thinking shared by Black feminist theorists like bell hooks.

“When I have trust in my fellow improvisers, that’s the precondition for taking risks. That’s the precondition for making mistakes [….] And for me, what distinguishes an improvising jazz ensemble from being a member of a symphony orchestra is that in the improvising ensemble, I take ethical and moral responsibility for the complete sound structure created,” Lewis said. “I think when I walk off the stage, I am responsible for every sound that was produced, not just my own contribution. I’m not gonna say ‘the oboes: they were off today, right?’ We each are responsible for every sound that was produced. And so there’s a pedagogy of collectivity and trust when it works.”

But I didn’t have the tools––of improvised musical invention. I’m demanding too much on praxis that isn’t actually musical practice, imposing my social imperatives onto a form I not only can’t play but should be approaching with an ethical eye, not an extractive one. I remember my many years playing classical piano, the choice I made for classical over jazz even when jazz aligned more with my interests. I think of the mistakes I made on the small platforms I received, in the competitions I took part in, in Royal Conservatory exams, or when just trying out new pieces. To do what Ella did in 1960 seems, still,  impossible. 

The ethos of jazz could apply to other forms, too: Writing, politics, and resistance. Just as artists can subvert a song that contains white supremacist lyrics (Lewis points me to Nina Simone’s active mash-ups of “My Sweet Lord” and a radical poem by the Last Poets), we could listen, improvise better, and embody resistance in the texts and performances that structure our everyday lives.

Growing up playing classical piano and performing as an improv comedian, these two worlds orbited each other, desperate for contact until my mom, who keeps jazz in my life, told me about Ella’s Berlin performance. This story—that I now frequently think of, repeat, and rework for guidance—reminds me that jazz may serve as a network beyond the limits of our expectations for music and as an insight into what the history of Black (musical) adaptation and improvisation would offer me for the rest of my life. 

If I couldn’t play jazz, then I’d have to actively learn from it. I’d need to model the close listening performed by Black artists in order to foreshadow new political formations, especially across lines of race, gender, class, and sexuality. Discussing Nina Simone’s lyrics and performativity, Bessie Smith’s willingness and vulnerability to talk about Black queer identity, and Jeanne Lee’s experimental efforts to undermine both externally imposed identities and jazz lyrics, Lewis outlined to me how jazz can be a potent site for critical and philosophical work beyond canonical pages. 

“Jazz, particularly collective jazz [and] improvised music is often seen as a crucible for experimentation in new social forms,” Lewis told me. “Because a jazz ensemble, insofar as it’s grounded in community, is a site for coming to discover the other dialogue across various silos or boundaries of difference, and experimenting in new social structures. 

“Music could oppress as well as it can liberate. Jazz can oppress as well as it could liberate. And many vanguard Black women theorists and musicians have done much to critique both of these possibilities, right, and make us aware that it’s not liberatory per se, as much as it has a strong liberatory potential.”

We’re in the city for jazz. Montreal’s internationally-renowned jazz festival brings the best and brightest stars from around the world. But jazz history didn’t just start here with the spectacular—Black people laboured to make their art against the city’s segregation and racial surveillance. The government of Maurice Duplessis revoked the liquor license of Rockhead’s Paradise, founded in 1928 by Rufus Rockhead, a Jamaican-Canadian porter (among other Black, Jewish, and Chinese establishments). This anticipated the passage of the 1937 Padlock Act that allowed the government to close down any establishment––mostly those of Black and racialized proprietors––who promoted and were suspected of communism. We might remember Rockhead’s for how it attracted Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, and Sarah Vaughn, but we can’t separate it from the long history of state intervention in jazz. Jean Drapeau won an election in 1954 on a promise to clean up the city and with it, take down Black-owned nightclubs and modernize, gentrify, and destroy Little Burgundy. Can we be proud of something that could have been erased?

We went on a family trip to Montreal in 2010. I reminisce on this trip because we met up with my grandfather, who immigrated from Jamaica to study here, to see the Miles Davis exhibition at the Musée des Beaux-Arts. We stood in this exhibition’s riches of multimedia displays, and I felt the inkling that I’d follow my grandfather’s past in this city, a kinship that only the streams of jazz, of Davis’ quintets, of a Black expression mixing the visual, archival, written, material, and ephemeral could underwrite. 

In this space between choosing classical over jazz and jazz always existing as spectre, opportunity, hope, and life-as-otherwise, there emerges a Black history of Montreal. In the early 20th century, as immigrants from Nova Scotia, the Caribbean, and the United States arrived in the city to work in the docks, industrial sector, and railroads, jazz clubs began popping up. This is a history and archive that DJ, activist, and educator Andy Williams, BEd ‘97, knows well and helps shape through his public writing and teaching. Working to fill the gaps in music’s social history, Williams has penned articles on Ajax Records, the first Black Canadian music label in Montreal, and Montreal as the “Harlem of the North.”

“[Jazz in Montreal] became really popular because of the prohibition. And, so in Montreal, we were able to drink until endless hours,” Williams told me. “A lot of the Black workers, whether they were porters or just musicians, were playing from 9 p.m. onward.” 

In his more than 10 years of experience playing music across the world, Williams finds that listeners tend to be unaware of the full picture of jazz history in the city. For example, it’s one thing to know Oscar Peterson, but many people don’t know his mentor Lou Hooper or the greater influence beyond the “quiet legacies” of Daisy Peterson Sweeney, his sister. 

“We realize a lot of the musicians were taught by the Black women in Burgundy because their husbands were at war,” Williams said. “And two of the women, Daisy Sweeney and Emily Clyke [Viola Desmond’s sister], in particular, were important to this. They ran this through the Union United Church in the 1940s […] what happens is it turns into a Christian-based self-empowerment group and the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA).” 

Williams broke down the history for me. After World War II, community members who couldn’t afford music lessons could pay 25 cents for a course with Sweeney. Borrowing instruments and using donations given to the Negro Community Centre (NCC), she and Clyke in turn relied on the community to foster its next generation of musicians. 

“Sweeney and Clyke would go to the thrift shop and get kids clothes,” Williams said. “It was kind of like finishing school, in a welcoming way.”

The work of Sweeney, the UNIA, and the NCC demonstrates to me that in the face of precarious living conditions for Black Montrealers, mutual aid worked as a practice of community formation. The global connections between Sweeney’s teaching and the pan-Africanism espoused by the UNIA remind us that jazz is a global form. In recording their improvisations over time, artists incorporate African, Indigenous, and European music traditions. Just as Lewis pushes me to think about listening in collective improvisation, jazz as a form asks us to learn from one another, to consider and transcend difference, collectively.

As I thought through the global reach of jazz, I returned to a weekly presence in my life: Café Latino on JazzFM 91. My mom first introduced me to the show, and we would listen together in the car, on the radio at home, captivated and attuned by the music and the selections of host Laura Fernandez. Saturdays from 4 p.m. onward, we would feel transported to a place far from our suburb. When I asked Fernandez about the sense of community her show creates, she spoke to me about approaching the show with reciprocity. Often, she thinks of curation, circulation, and reception itself as a form of art and conversation.

“As a host, I have responsibility for sharing all the different permutations and giving light to new talent, but also to put the music in context of what came […] before it,” Fernandez said. “It’s easy to look back and, and see how salsa and Boogaloo came to be for instance, in Latin music, but if I didn’t relate it to what came before salsa, which was Boogaloo, you [wouldn’t] understand how it kind of merged into salsa […] and how salsa kind of started integrating political lyrics where it had never been done before.” 

Fernandez, a producer and performer who has been immersed in the Latin jazz tradition for over 16 years, told me that the exploratory and improvisatory nature of jazz deeply affected her own bravery as a musician. 

“I sometimes cover some of the songs that I hear and that I play,” she said. “I have tried to play Bebo Valdés’s little licks and his things that he does on the piano and integrate it into my own music [….]  I tend to present [jazz] as a person who is discovering the music. And I’m discovering it not just as a listener, but I’m discovering it as a player and as a writer [….] I try to translate that kind of excitement to the audience because I get excited about it.” 

But Latin jazz and music overall manifest towards different directions in each country and community—from Venezuela to Colombia to Argentina to Brazil and beyond.  

“[A] lot of the Spanish music was influenced by North African and African roots as well,” Fernandez said. “So it just brings everybody together into one big world community [….] So I try to bring that out to the people.”

Having been introduced to various influences and styles by her parents, Fernandez thinks of jazz as a compass, a form that works in relation and in direction with multiple genres. When Fernandez started the show, she says it was more strictly bound by her own imposition of what Latin jazz meant. As she learned more about the genre’s varied historical influences, her broadcasts completely expanded to give audiences “a little bit of a map of how to discover the music.”  

“[I] realize[d] that really, it’s a fusion of many elements, that you just can’t leave the other stuff out. It wouldn’t tell the whole story. So I like to broaden it,” Fernandez said. “You can’t exclude that, because that is the […] progression of the genre [….] I feel that by putting it in context, with the whole trajectory of the form that, it just helps people engage better with it. 

When I listened to Fitzgerald’s live recording a decade after visiting the Davis exhibition, I might have regretted the years of classical piano. The rules, the orders, the grammars of the line where I’m too committed. I have to graft the privileges and the progress that allowed me as a young Black pianist in an upscale, white music academy to choose what my icons such as Nina Simone could not––and against their genre too. I’m wondering if, as I mull over this decision in this city, I can curate a life that works to collaborate with my fellow citizens, past and present, who deserve redress in a global, free world. But I refuse to approach this alone. It’s in solidarity and community with those around me, with jazz artists and thinkers, that I hear a future––where we groove, too. 

Commentary, Opinion

SSMU must tackle its low election turnouts head-on

by Harry North on

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The Students’ Society of McGill University (SSMU) executive elections and Winter referendum took place last week, and I think it’s time we address the elephant in the room: No one gives a toss. 

Voter turnout came to a meagre 16.7 per cent, a slight rise from 12.9 per cent the year before. Students have also appeared disinterested in the elections on social media, with SSMU’s Instagram posts receiving bot-like engagement. 

But it’s not just student voters showing little interest: SSMU’s interest in driving election engagement has also been neither and nothing, lacking teeth and intent, like a frat boy’s desire to learn basic hygiene. 

This year, every executive position, bar one, ran unopposed. After a couple of hours, the election then restarted because of a “confusing question”—how’s that for effective election preparation? And despite candidates having the ability to spend up to $300 on campaign materials, among other resources, the communication and in-person campaigning in the run-up to the election was scarce. 

Low turnout in student government elections is not a new trend across Canadian universities. Is it the students not caring that causes SSMU to be uninspired, or does SSMU’s lack of election leadership lead to student apathy? I’d argue it’s the latter.

Of course you should want to vote. SSMU collects $2,600,000 from students, after all, and if you’re involved with a club or a regular at Gerts, SSMU is relevant to your student experience. But it’s not your responsibility to care: That responsibility rests with SSMU.

And the problem with SSMU’s approach is it’s surface level; it lacks both incentives and effectiveness. The incentive for students to vote is “the election has opened, check your inbox,” and then an expectation that students vote. It’s a “you come to me” approach, and it doesn’t work. 

Student politics is dull at the best of times; it demands an injection of energy if anyone is to take it seriously. The organizers need to take the campaign to the students. This means better organization, head-turning incentives, and a cohesive drive to persuade students to care. 

For starters, let’s do away with unopposed elections. In this year’s election, all the races were unopposed apart from the vice-president (VP) Internal—and this isn’t a new trend; the VP Finance’s race also ran unopposed in 2022. Having just one candidate run calls into question why voters need to vote in the first place. It reduces the incentive for both voters and election candidates to engage, as the outcome is predetermined. Ensuring choice also gives students different ideas to think about and mull over. And this is the gravy of any election, whether in SSMU or elsewhere: Giving voters something to vote for.

Currently, a candidate needs 100 signatures to get onto the ballot, which is fine, especially relative to the number of Instagram followers everyone has. But mark my words, getting someone to sign your SSMU campaign is a timbit harder than getting them to like a recent picture of you dancing down a Punta Cana beach. 

Let the 100 signatures be the marker to be guaranteed, but take the top two candidates no matter what in order to ensure there’s competition. And if just a single candidate is running, regardless of the 100 signatures, there must be additional time mandated to entice more candidates and ensure that students are given a choice.

Now that we have some choice on the table, let’s get some incentives in place—both during the campaign period and the voting. Simply, let’s make a thing of this and put on a show for voters. 

It starts with more general campaigning around campus, but to make this more effective, SSMU must go beyond tabling: Social events, debates, and, crucially, incorporating an incentive to vote. As the expression goes, provide pizza to the polls. 

Aside from putting in more meaningful drive and creative ideas, this is also when the student media comes in. This could include interviews, hosting election debates, and even general meet and greets for the candidates. 

But these efforts will fall short without ignition from SSMU. And if they don’t provide it, I’m afraid the outcome will be inevitable. Ne’er a student casting a vote.

Arts & Entertainment, Pop Rhetoric

Pop Dialectic: To Ed Sheeran, or not to Ed Sheeran?

by Sarah Farnand, Michelle Siegel on

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In defence of Ed Sheeran – Sarah Farnand

When I was an angsty, emotional teenager, I regularly listened to Ed Sheeran’s music. My entire family found his music to be heartwarming and relatable. I won’t lie, when my grandma passed away, I may or may not have listened to “Visiting Hours” on repeat while sobbing in my bed. Sheeran’s music is basic, sure. But with remarkable accuracy, he can capture feelings that we all experience like grief, love, and joy. Sheeran also regularly authors songs for other artists. And when traditionally attractive artists like One Direction sing songs written by Sheeran, they suddenly receive less criticism. Now, this is not to say that Ed Sheeran is Perfect. I’m sure we are all sick of hearing “Shape of You” or the discourse surrounding the questionable decisions that he’s made in his personal life. But does that really make him deserving of ridicule more than any other celebrity?

When I ask people who are self-proclaimed Ed Sheeran haters what their issues with the English singer are, most bring up, directly or indirectly, his failure to meet conventional beauty standards. The memes about his wide-set eyes or ginger hair are funny, for sure. And a singer making that much money couldn’t likely care less what jokes are made at his expense. But to me, it brings up a deeper issue. If Ed Sheeran was a woman, he would not be famous. Despite having talents in singing, songwriting, and performing, women singers become as much a spectacle for the public to look at as they are to listen to. Ed Sheeran is a talented artist with a catalogue of quality songs. He can take the memes about appearance. But liking and sharing such mockery perpetuates the idea that a singer’s appearance—especially those of women singers—is what matters most.

In defence of memes – Michelle Siegel

If there’s one thing that avocado-toast-loving millennials, technologically hapless baby boomers, and Gen-Zers have in common, it’s this: As much as they try, none of them will ever really know the real Ed Sheeran. Yet as they traverse the chaos of the Metaverse, celebrity memes may be one of the few silver linings that appeal to all users alike. French literary theorist Roland Barthes struck a distinction between a work, the physical space of media, and a text, the metaphysical, social space that carries the more genuine, inherent meaning of a story. Sheeran’s online ridicule can be broken down the same way—his songs and public persona are his work, and the memes about him are a natural public reaction. When you put enough content and music out into the public consciousness, internet reactions gear toward the collective, implied authorship of a persona, not Sheeran or other writers themselves. 

It’s simply incorrect to say that people only make fun of Sheeran for his appearance—not only is he far from the only ginger to face immature taunting, but looking at his album covers forces consumers to confront a difficult subject—mathematics. The basis of these jokes may not be deep, but the logic of the quips still stands: From his negative impact on tattoo artists to cringy Game of Thrones cameos to Dennis The Menace-esque property disputes with his neighbours, Sheeran’s public presentation has rightfully rubbed people the wrong way. These jokes, however, ultimately do not aim to genuinely tear Sheeran down a peg—they serve as comfort to the envious witnesses of Sheeran’s expanding wealth and influence.

Even if the Ed Sheeran discourse was actually rooted in appearance shaming, it still could never offset his lavish lifestyle. When one has seven BRIT Awards, four Grammys, three People’s Choice Awards, and a net worth of around $200 million, isn’t Sheeran always the one getting the last laugh?

Sports

McGill figure skating celebrates comeback year with end of season show

by Jack Armstrong on

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On March 17, McGill’s Figure Skating Club hosted its end-of-season show at McConnell Arena in front of a lively crowd. The performance was a fitting finale to the season, with each teammate showcasing their individual and synchronized skills. 

“I think we just enjoy skating with no pressure and sharing what we’ve been working on and how we’ve improved with all those who come to watch,” first-year Arts student Elisia Wong told The McGill Tribune. “[The] show definitely lived up to expectations for us and we’re hoping that everyone in the audience enjoyed it as much as we did.” 

Like many other McGill teams, varsity and otherwise, the figure skating program took a hit during the COVID-19 pandemic—their 2020-21 and 2021-22 seasons were cancelled, leaving the team without any competition. Despite the disappointment, the club rallied for the 2022-23 season, competing in the Ontario University Athletics (OUA) Fall and Winter Invitationals. The team performed well for their first competitive season in two years, and won gold in the Fall Invitational women’s freeskate as well as silver in the star 10 women’s event during the Winter Invitational. 

Unfortunately, the figure skating team’s lack of varsity status prevented them from competing in the OUA championships, so the skaters decided to host an exhibition performance at McGill to showcase their achievements. Although the show was not a competition, the team felt it was a fun and entertaining way to end their comeback season. 

“The mood amongst the skaters was very light and fun,” said third-year biochemistry student Jessamine Mattson in an interview with the Tribune. “There was no pressure to be perfect and we were able to cheer for each other in a way that can’t be done on practice ice.” 

The show got off to an energetic start with a number of synchronized and individual performances, each one more daring than the last. The low stakes allowed the skaters to fearlessly attempt their best skills and the crowd was rewarded with a number of jumps and spins, with a few axels mixed in. Each performance was met with boisterous ovations from the crowd and applause from the team, who all stayed rink-side after their performances to cheer on their teammates. 

Halfway through the show, there was an emotional moment when the graduating skaters were celebrated at centre ice, marking a new era for the team. 

“All the team members are different now, and after the graduating members leave, there won’t be anyone on the team who was on the last team before COVID,” Wong said. “We want to focus on building the team and showing up as strong competitors to each competition.” 

The second half of the performance proceeded much like the first: The team continued to showcase their skills as individuals, pairs, and even quartets. When the show concluded, the skaters received a final thunderous round of applause from the crowd as they made their way to the stands, officially bringing the season to a close. In the aftermath, the figure skating team is already setting their sights on improving their competitive edge for next year. 

“Next season, we hope to continue to foster an inclusive and fun environment where team members can continue to work and train in the sport they love,” Mattson said. “We hope that these efforts will show at competitions as we strive to work our way up the rankings.”

Wong echoed her teammate’s statement. “We want to recruit more skaters and hopefully regain varsity status from McGill,” she added. “We’re definitely looking to take home more medals and higher placements, so we’ll be working hard and doing our best to improve in the coming season.”

While the McGill community will have to wait and see if the team can live up to expectations, it is clear that a new era in McGill figure skating has arrived.

Artistic Swimming, Know Your Athlete, Sports

Know Your Athlete: Catherine McGee

by Julie Ferreyra on

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Growing up, Catherine McGee’s interest in anything aquatic, combined with their dance background, ignited their love for artistic swimming. She held her passion close throughout her school years and eventually, it landed her at McGill. 

“[Being in the water] just felt so calming for me, almost therapeutic, if that makes any sense,” McGee explained in an interview with The McGill Tribune. “When you go under there, everything just kind of goes still and you’re really just able to ground yourself and be a lot calmer.” 

Through artistic swimming, McGee pushes herself to her physical limits by learning and mastering new techniques. 

“When I’m swimming, it’s the physical part and the athleticism that I appreciate [more],” McGee said. “As a spectator, […] you have a greater degree of appreciation for the craftsmanship that goes into making the routines and performing them as well.” 

McGee joined the McGill team that was revived after a two-year, COVID-19-induced hiatus. The Martlet squad is composed overwhelmingly of first-years, with only four returning swimmers for the 2022-23 season. When preparing routines, the team’s young core was a source of creativity, but also required added attention to bring cohesion and unity to the routines. 

“Everyone brought a different perspective on the sport based on their own experience,” McGee explained. “We had to take a lot of time learning how to swim with each other because we’re new at it […] Before you can even focus on polishing the routine, you need to finalize that kind of degree of comfort within a team. We have to take time to learn how to be a team.” 

Community is central to artistic swimming: Coordinating choreography with eight individuals requires a great deal of confidence and cohesion. According to McGee, the kindness of  Lindsay Duncan, the team’s coach and associate professor of kinesiology, has been crucial to creating a welcoming environment at the pool.

As strong as McGee’s passion for artistic swimming is, the pitfalls of the sport remain in the back of their mind. 

“I don’t think the sport inherently promotes any sort of disordered behaviour and when I say that, I mean the construction of the sport itself,” McGee explained. “I do think that the way that we’ve presented artistic swimming, or some of the standards that artistic swimmers are held to, particularly regarding your body and eating habits, are just not sustainable and they’re not fair.”  

Their personal experiences in the sport have made them critical of how artistic swimming is promoted, especially compared to other sports with an emphasis on aesthetics over skills.

“Artistic swimming is very much a performance sport, right, similar to that like ballet or dance,” she admitted. “I think the way that artistic swimming has been marketed, even from the get-go, has made us lose out on a lot of global awareness that we could have gained.”

Looking toward the future, McGee is excited by the increasing inclusivity of artistic swimming, both when it comes to gender and to financial and outreach programs that connect low-income communities to artistic swimming and swimming in general. 

“I think that we’re definitely moving in the right direction, especially in terms of inclusivity with men in the sport,” McGee said. “It would be a great idea to continue some outreach programs with artistic swimming.” 

As the McGill team is entirely self-funded, McGee is acutely aware of the costs of the sport, between the costumes and bathing suits, as well as transportation when the Eastern Championships or Nationals are held out of province. 

“It’s really important for us to raise as much money as possible to minimize the cost for the students because we want to make artistic swimming at McGill as much of an economically inclusive environment as possible,” McGee said. “It’s just such a shame to think about the fact that finances or cost of the sport [are] what’s in the way of people who might be really interested in the sport from trying it.” The McGill artistic swimming team will head to the University of Toronto for the Canadian University Artistic Swim League National Championship on March 24.

Arts & Entertainment, Theatre

TNC Theatre’s ‘The Suicide’ goes out with a bang

by Kellie Elrick on

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Content Warning: Depictions and mentions of suicide

It’s 1928 in Soviet Russia. Semyon Semyonovitch Podsekalnikov is poor, unemployed, and about to commit suicide. As he puts the gun to his head, the audience erupts with laughter. 

Tuesday Night Café Theatre’s production of Nikolai Erdman’s Russian Farce: The Suicide, directed by Carmen Mancuso (U2 Arts), begins with a domestic scene: Semyon (Henry Kemeny-Wodlinger, U0 Arts) and his wife Masha (Tessa Lupkowski) live with Masha’s overbearing mother Serafima (Molly McKenzie, U3 Arts). Masha is trying desperately to sleep, but Semyon lies awake, unable to think of anything but sausage.

They begin to argue, and during the ensuing kerfuffle, Semyon casually mentions that he ought to kill himself, an idea with which Masha casually agrees. 

Semyon struggles to justify his life in the ensuing scenes until he finally finds something worth living for: The tuba. He believes that becoming a professional tubist will solve his marital woes, lift him out of poverty, and give his life purpose. But after realizing he can’t actually play the tuba, Semyon spirals back into thoughts of ending it all. His smarmy “comrade,” Alexander Petrovich (Matthew Erskine, BA‘22), rushes to profit from the imminent suicide, selling the rights to Semyon’s suicide note to a host of deliciously mercenary characters, all of whom want to use the suicide for their own personal and political gain. Pompous Aristarkh (Max Grosskopf, U3 Arts) wants to claim he died for the Intelligentsia. Vodka-loving Mother Yelpidy (Ava Picquart, U1 Arts) wants to use his death for religious legitimacy and influence. 

Although the play is very funny (at one point, Semyon wakes up at home and, thinking he has died, assumes he must be in hell because his mother-in-law is there), it does not trivialize suicide. Rather, the show’s comedic nature makes the moments where the laughter falls silent all the more chilling.

“The play’s never making fun of suicide, it’s never thinking that suicide is this light and easy thing,” Mancuso said in an interview with The McGill Tribune. “It becomes so much heavier, you just become so much more invested.” 

From the endearing Semyon’s dopey expressions, the libidinous Alexander having to zip up his fly every time he walked on stage, and the shrillness of Masha’s outbursts, you could tell that everyone involved cared deeply about bringing the story to life. The host of characters trying to exploit Semyon nail the art of acting genuinely ungenuine. 

The live band was a definite highlight, performing on stage inches away from the audience. The ensemble’s ability to move in and out of the story itself blurred the lines between performance and production. In one scene, the characters throw a party and the band plays for and interacts with the characters (including a hysterical interaction between Semyon and the play’s actual tubist). 

“I think what’s so brilliant about the play is that it’s very clever in the way it uses comedy, it uses farce, it uses all the jokes and comic moments,” Mancuso said. “[I]t brings the audience to empathize, and connect with, and feel with these characters in a way that you wouldn’t normally have the opportunity to.” 

In contrast to the lighthearted approach to the play’s contents, the backstory of the play is not as funny. Erdman was arrested in 1933 for his inflammatory work, then exiled to Siberia. Vsevolod Meyerhold, the play’s original director, was eventually tortured and executed during the Great Terror, along with his wife. The play was never even performed until after Erdman’s death. 

During the ongoing war in Ukraine, performing Russian plays has become a subject of controversy. But the decision to perform The Suicide is very intentional. 

“It gives the opportunity to give a voice to people, and to make you empathize with them, and laugh with them, and have fun with them and have two hours of your evening with people, with characters, in a world that you would never otherwise experience,” Mancuso said. 

Nikolai Erdman’s Russian Farce: The Suicide ran from March 8-17 in Morrice Hall.

Arts & Entertainment, Theatre

‘What Rough Beast’ explores the power and pitfalls of political discourse

by Sofia Gobin on

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Universities often reflect our broader society in terms of both shared values and differences, creating a privileged microcosm of the world. By setting her newest play, What Rough Beast, on a college campus, playwright Alice Abracen condenses complex political dynamics into a conversation between seven characters. Her script examines the contrast between encouraging open discourse versus censorship when addressing dangerous extremist rhetoric.  

The play, which debuted at Centaur Theatre on March 2, follows the conflict between university students after a controversial right-wing speaker is invited to speak at their campus. Audiences watch as characters both dehumanize each other and attempt to “reach across the gap.” Abracen initially began writing the play in college, intending for the script to be written “by and for students,” with no adult characters ever actually appearing on stage.

In a unique chance for young people to access theatre, Centaur Theatre hosted a mid-afternoon matinee in addition to evening performances, allowing groups of high school students to experience the power of live performance. The students sat on the edge of their seats, deeply engrossed as they whispered to their friends, gasping and laughing at outrageous lines. In a talk-back panel after the show, the director noted a personal interaction she had with a 13-year-old student after the show, claiming he related strongly to the white, privileged characters and expressed frustration over the play, annoyed that there was “no right answer” or character. 

What Rough Beast provokes difficult conversations, delving into the challenges of creating dialogue and empathy within a small, polarized community. Despite the weighty subject matter, the plot is surprisingly dynamic and colourful. According to Abracen, the script’s tone is “a marriage of humour and humanity with political horror,” and this is evident in its bold and raunchy style that manages to make up for any awkward dialogue. 

Charlotte Dennis delivers a particularly poignant and heart-breaking performance as Alyssa, capturing the anguish of a sister watching her brother’s rapid descent into right-wing extremism and critical mental health issues. Her portrayal of Alyssa’s struggles is both nuanced and raw, conveying the complexity of emotions—guilt, helplessness, and fear—that comes with watching a loved one slip away. Dennis’s performance highlights the devastating impact of radicalization and mental illness on families and communities, leaving a strong, lasting impression on audiences.

The immersive experience of live theatre allows audiences to connect in a more authentic way, especially in an era where screens mediate much of our communication and dialogue across differences. By investing in younger audiences and creating spaces for them, Centaur Theatre is helping to cultivate a new generation of theatre-goers who are eager to engage in meaningful conversation.

The plot and conflict of the play exhibit haunting parallels with the demonstrations that took place on  McGill’s campus against the  “Sex vs. Gender (Identity)” debate and anti-trans speakers in early January. Much like the right-wing professor invited to speak in the play, the debate in Chancellor Day Hall sparked discourse about the difference between encouraging open dialogue and platforming hatred and intolerance. Abracen’s script is perfectly geared toward McGill students, providing an enlightening and sobering social commentary on the current state of political tensions and vulnerabilities on campus.

“It was very important to me that the students are central characters,” Abracen said in an interview with The McGill Tribune. “Each of [them], in some way, feels that they are carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. They are making decisions that are going to have major ramifications. The stakes are no less high because they are students.” 

What Rough Beast asks the question many college campuses are currently grappling with: Does fostering genuine discussion have to mean legitimizing bigoted views, and if so, how can we achieve consensus and unity? This thought-provoking and nuanced conversation is sure to have a lasting impact on audiences, sparking discussions about politics and ideological differences long after they leave the theatre.

What Rough Beast ran at Centaur Theatre from March 2 to 11.

Baseball, Sports

MLB’s new rule changes: Should we be excited?

by Tillie Burlock on

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Baseball fans, it’s finally here––a new era of the sport is on the horizon. With the average game length coming in at three hours and four minutes, a plummeting fanbase, and offensive output on a steady decline since the juiced ball of 2020, Major League Baseball (MLB) finally recognized its dire position and took action last September, when its competition committee voted to implement a slew of rule changes for the 2023 season. 

“I think we’re gonna see a more exciting brand of baseball,” Mike Wilner, former play-by-play announcer for the Toronto Blue Jays and current columnist for the Toronto Star, told The McGill Tribune. “There will be more action more often.”

The new rule changes are set to alter critical aspects of the game, with a pitch timer, bigger bases, shift bans, and pickoff restrictions implemented at the start of Spring Training. Fans got a sneak peek of the impacts in Minor League Baseball (MiLB) games in 2022 during the rules’ testing period. And with average game length dropping from three hours and three minutes in 2021 to two hours and 38 minutes in the 2022 season, it’s safe to say that MLB made the right call. 

With the new pitch timer in place, pitchers will have 15 seconds to deliver their pitch with the bases empty and 20 seconds with a runner on base. Hitters will have to be in the batter’s box, ready to hit with eight seconds left on the timer. If the pitcher fails to initiate their motion to deliver the pitch before the expiration of the timer, they will be charged with a ball, and if the batter is not ready to hit at eight seconds, they will be charged with a strike. 

“[The pitch timer] is something that is absolutely brand-new that people have never had to deal with before,” Wilner said. “Baseball has always been this game without a clock but [the timer] sort of gets it back to where it was 30-40 years ago.”

Outside of the pitch timer, the shift––a situational defensive realignment where infielders and outfielders shift from their traditional positioning if the hitter has a tendency to hit the ball to a specific part of the field––will no longer be allowed. The shift saw a major increase in use after its employment by the Houston Astros and the Tampa Bay Rays with usage rates skyrocketing league-wide from 6.2 per cent of the time in 2016 to 33.6 per cent in 2022. 

“It’s going to open up the infield for ground balls,” Wilner said.“Teams will find ways around it but I do think batting averages are going to go up as a result and especially the left-handed pull hitters.” 

The remaining rule changes––outside of restricting instances when position players can pitch, to when a team is winning by 10 or more runs in the ninth inning or losing by eight or more at any time––all hope to revive a crucial element of baseball: Base stealing, an art that has largely been lost over the years.  

Bases will increase in size from 15 to 18 inches squared, but the home plate will remain unchanged, giving players more room to maneuver around tags and avoid collisions. Pickoffs—when the pitcher attempts to throw the runner out before delivering the pitch—will be limited to two attempts per plate appearance, and the count will reset if the runner advances. If a third attempt is made, the pitcher will be charged with a balk—when a pitcher makes an illegal motion on the mound with runners on base that the umpire deems to be deceitful to the runners—and the runner will automatically advance. The league announced that it will also crack down on the enforcement of balks, a move that forced a number of pitchers to completely restructure their deliveries. 

While some mourn the loss of a game slowed down by the adjusting of velcro, the tossing of the rosin bag, and the rubbing of hands in the dirt, the baseball of 2023 will be a welcome change for the majority of fans. No more dozing off as a 1-0 game on July 15 heads into hour three in the seventh inning. No more yelling at your TV for the batter to get in the goddamn box. A new brand of baseball is upon us and it’s time to get excited. 

News, SSMU

Students vote to increase Midnight Kitchen fees, usher in 2023-24 SSMU executive

by Shani Laskin on

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The results of the Students’ Society of McGill University’s (SSMU) Winter referendum and executive elections were finalized on March 17. Alexandre Ashkir clinched the SSMU presidency and all but two referendum questions passed. 

Of the 23,550 undergraduate students eligible to vote in the referendum, 3,944 cast their ballots. Students voted on 20 referendum questions, some of which had multiple parts, and for seven executive positions. The referendum questions concerned the fee renewals and increases for clubs and services.

Student Support—which offers Grammarly, Calm, and Udemy to students—was up for a fee renewal and increase following its pilot program this year. The question passed with 68 per cent voting “yes”, meaning that the service will remain available until it is up for renewal in 2024. Fee increases for the Muslim Students’ Association (MSA), the Referral Services fee, the Mental Health fee, and Safety Services, which encompasses MSERT, WALKSAFE, and DriveSafe, all also passed.

The Midnight Kitchen Collective successfully passed two questions in the referendum, asking first for a fee renewal—meaning they will continue to receive their fee until 2028—as well as a fee increase from $3.35 to $8.00.

The Daily Publications Society (DPS), which provides funding for The McGill Daily and Le Délit, failed to pass a fee increase with 57.6 per cent of people voting “no”. The Société de Publication de la Tribune (SPT), which runs The McGill Tribune, also ran two questions in the referendum: Students voted yes to a fee renewal and no to a fee increase of $1.50.

Other questions that passed include the creation of fees for the Legal Essentials Plan Fee, the SSMU Grocery program, and the International Relations Students’ Association of McGill (IRSAM). Students also voted to renew the fees for the Arab Student Network (ASN), Plate Club, Student Space Fund, Black Students’ Network (BSN), Environment Fee, and ECOLE. 

Aside from questions about club fees, the referendum results determined the new SSMU executive team for the 2023-2024 academic year. Newly-elected SSMU President, Alexandre Ashkir, who is currently Speaker of SSMU’s Legislative Council and Chair of the SSMU Board of Directors, told the Tribune that he is excited to step into his new role but acknowledged that his unopposed campaign reflects underlying issues.

“I’m happy that the students trusted in me and voted for me. I promise to do all I can to accomplish the platform I presented and to support the SSMU in providing the best possible services and representation to the student body,” Ashkir said. “I must also recognize that while they could’ve voted no, the lack of other presidential candidates made my election less than ideal in terms of democratic values, and I hope to rectify the situation that caused this by the time of the next elections.”

Lalia Katchelewa, vice-president (VP)-elect University Affairs, is also excited about her new responsibilities and hopes to build on the work done this year by her predecessor, Kerry Yang, especially on pressing issues such as food accessibility and menstrual health equity.

“My head is buzzing with a million ideas and plans for next year,” Katchelewa told the //Tribune// in a post-election interview. “I can’t wait to sit down with this year’s VP University Affairs and discuss, evaluate, and strategize for next year [….] I want students to feel safe on campus regardless of who they are and I want them to have access to basic necessities.”

The other executives elected are Alice Fang for VP Finance, Nadia Dakdouki for VP Student Life, Jon Barlas for VP Internal, Liam Gaither for VP External, and Hassanatou Koulibaly, who currently serves as VP Student Life, for VP Operations and Sustainability. 

Each elected executive ran unopposed except for Barlas, who won his two-way race with 55.2 per cent of the vote. Barlas told the Tribune that while he looks forward to his tenure, the lack of candidates for all executive positions was disappointing.

“Winning feels good, but this year’s executive elections season was definitely a huge letdown,” Barlas said. “The lack of interest in running for a SSMU executive position might be due to a number of things, but whatever the reasons may be, the fact that six of the seven positions ran uncontested, including the president, marks a real dent in student democracy. I don’t think many students saw any reason to vote at all, given their lack of options.”

McGill, News

Former student goes to court over alleged toxic culture and discrimination within Faculty of Dentistry

by Lily Cason on

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A former McGill dentistry student has sued McGill and three professors who were part of the Faculty of Dentistry while he was at the university over alleged discrimination. Adam*, the complainant, says his experiences at McGill were marked by targeted threats, a toxic atmosphere, and efforts to limit his ability to continue his studies.

Adam, who is Muslim and of North African heritage, is now 42 years old. He came to McGill as a mature student in 2012, entrance scholarship in hand, having graduated from the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) at the top of his class. Entering McGill, Adam hoped to ultimately become an oral and maxillofacial surgeon.

“At UCLA, I felt it wasn’t based on how you look […], [your] origins,” Adam told The McGill Tribune. “It was just based on merit, you know,  if you’re serious about your work, if you are professional, if you are interacting with others in a polite and nice way […] that’s how it should be, not based on how you look. But at McGill, it was different [….] I felt like I was entering politics. It was who you knew […] how much you [are] willing to give up.”

During conversations with the Tribune, Adam alleged that he was subject to verbal abuse, had grades manipulated maliciously, and had negative feedback added to his Dean’s letter—a reference letter required to apply for a specialization in oral and maxillofacial surgery—without due cause. He believes that both his race and willingness to voice his opinions about unjust structures and practices within the institution precipitated this treatment.

Ashraf Azar has been an advocate for students for over a decade and has his own experience going to court against Concordia University. He has helped Adam navigate his experiences with McGill and advocate for himself.

In an interview with the Tribune, Azar explained that listening to students and giving them the tools to challenge large institutions is crucial for holding power to account and helping students recognize their worth.

“A lot of the students, whenever they get involved in these things, they kind of feel isolated and secluded,” Azar said. “Some of these targeted events and some of these situations almost make you feel like you’re undeserving of continuing this program, or you’re not worthy, or, you know, ‘why is this happening to you?’ You’ll see a lot of these [instances], they’re almost psychological, [they’re] extremely dramatic events for people.”

Azar noted that Adam was not the only student in the Faculty of Dentistry concerned about the culture and practices ingrained at the school.  

“Just in his graduate cohort alone, I had spoken to at least five to 10 people who told me that it was complete abuse in that faculty,” Azar said. 

Adam explained that pre-clinic, which some faculty members referred to as “boot camp,” is meant to help students prepare for a mandatory summer clinic between their third and fourth years. This, however, was when his experience at McGill took a turn for the worse. According to Adam, the director of pre-clinic at the time would curse at students and put them on his so-called “shit list,” creating a hostile environment. The director also allegedly told Adam—who was on this “shit list”—to “get used to it” and that he would encounter patients in his clinic that were hard to work on.

Another professor allegedly made inappropriate and derogatory comments about Muslims, referring to them as “fucking Muslims,” and asking Adam what was “wrong with [his] kind.”

In 2016, Adam was told he was being held back from entering his fourth year of Dentistry because he failed a summer clinic course led by former assistant professor Nareg Apélian. After appealing the failing grade, the decision was rendered null, and Adam was reinstated with the rest of his cohort in the fourth year. 

Though he ultimately graduated on time, Adam felt that his experience in the program was hindered by the extreme stress of the barriers and discrimination he faced, along with the time and practice he lost. When he began his fourth year, Adam was behind and excluded from the listserv and Facebook group where important information was disseminated to Dentistry students in his year.

Another student from Adam’s year, Gregory Gareau, was also held back but not reinstated. In 2016, Gareau, who is Indigenous, recounted his story of alleged discrimination and ableism within the Faculty of Dentistry to The McGill Daily, explaining that he was denied necessary accommodations and felt unwelcome and unvalued in the Faculty.

When Adam requested a Dean’s reference letter in 2016 to apply to get an MDCM (Medicinæ Doctorem et Chirurgiæ Magistrum) at McGill, the then-Dean, Paul Allison, provided him with a document that stated Adam was “below expectations” in three categories. Adam vehemently argued that this was an inaccurate reflection of his performance and pointed out that the letter was based on the overturned summer clinic evaluation. 

Apélian, who taught the summer class, was one of the subjects of Adam’s complaints and was deemed to have carried out “psychological harassment” against him by a McGill assessor. The dean’s letter also stated that Adam repeated a year in 2012-2013, when in fact he took a leave of absence, after which he resumed his studies. The Dean’s letter was later amended to say that Adam “met expectations” and the error regarding his leave of absence was corrected. 

Documents shared with the Tribune show that two other instructors believed that Adam “exceeded expectations” across the board in their evaluations.

Azar helped Adam reach out to the administration and eventually file an official grievance over his experiences.

“All the channels were accessed, the Dean of Students was contacted, the Associate Dean was contacted, the Provost was contacted throughout this process,” Azar said. “And everybody just kept giving [Adam] the runaround, like nobody addressed anything, all the way up to when the grievance was reached. After the grievance was reached […] nobody did anything. I think the only thing that they did, which says a lot for what was going on internally, was that they found Nareg Apélian guilty of psychological harassment.”

In his written statement to the Senate Committee on Student Grievances, which compiles a systematic list of his complaints against the school, Adam quotes an assessor at the university as having determined that “the situation in the Faculty of Dentistry is clearly troubling” and that “there is sufficient evidence to indicate management and governance issues.” The assessor also wrote, “the charge of psychological harassment [against Nareg Apélian] is deemed founded [….] Given the nature of the transgression, I believe discipline is warranted in this case.”

Apélian was later at the centre of a sexual assault scandal and removed from his position in 2019.

Unsatisfied with the university’s handling of his case, Adam decided to sue for damages in March 2018. In September 2022, he was unable to attend a hearing because he had contracted COVID-19. As a result, his case was dismissed and Adam was mandated to pay McGill’s legal fees. He is in the midst of fighting this decision by requesting a revocation of judgment.

When the Tribune reached out to the Faculty of Dental Medicine and Oral Health Sciences for comment, the university’s Media Relations Office replied that the university “does not comment on cases involving former students.”

A representative from the Dental Students’ Society of McGill University (DSS) wrote to the Tribune on behalf of the Society. They noted that the makeup of the senior faculty has changed significantly since 2017. 

“Since 2020, there has been an [Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (EDI)] committee established and implemented to the 2021-2026 strategic plan; [and] in 2021, as part of our accreditation visit by the [Commission on Dental Accreditation of Canada (CDAC)], the student body was surveyed,” the representative wrote. 

They went on to quote some of the internal survey’s findings about Dentistry students’ feelings toward the Faculty as of 2021:

“Most students felt that faculty members exhibit professionalism and/or ethical behaviour (85 per cent) [….] A great number of students felt respected by their faculty (75 per cent) and themselves respect the faculty (85 per cent). Half the students felt that their time and needs are valued by the faculty (53 per cent) and that the faculty has adequate policies in place to deal with harassment or abuse (physical and mental) (43 per cent).”

The report also states: “Students’ comments voiced concerns over the faculty not taking student feedback and making changes regarding timing and coordination of the different aspects of the curriculum and elements of the curriculum itself [….] Some students share the view of ‘us vs. them’ in regards to the faculty and commented on the lack of [a] formal process to hold professors and faculty accountable.”

Adam, who is now a practicing dentist in the U.S. but never got to specialize in oral and maxillofacial surgery, hopes to create a non-profit where he can platform and advocate for students. Although plans have not yet been solidified, he believes in the need for a “ contre pouvoir to make a difference.”

*Adam’s name has been changed to preserve their confidentiality.

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