Exploring the implications of viewing dance as a sport versus an art for McMaster Athletics and Recreation
The recognition dancers receive in the sporting community is contested both organizationally and from the perspective of the general public. Some may view dance as solely an art or form of entertainment. Others might not associate dance with the physical demands sports such as football or basketball demonstrate.
Members on McMaster’s competitive and recreational dance teams often get overlooked in favour of other university athletes. These struggles can be summarized by their classification as a club as opposed to a varsity team under McMaster's athletics and recreation department.
Maddy Arnott, president of the McMaster competitive dance team, acknowledged the artistic components of dance but she also underscored dance’s athletic intensity.
“We encourage all of our dancers and choreographers to be really creative and express your feelings. . . but to an extent, we are very athletic individuals. We train lots during the week and train at a varsity level to an extent, so it definitely has a physical and sport component to it,” explained Arnott.
"We train lots during the week and train at a varsity level to an extent, so it definitely has a physical and sport component to it."
Maddy Arnott, president of the McMaster Competitive Dance Team
Per Arnott, members of the McMaster competitive dance team are expected to undergo at least six hours of training a week, including a one-hour intensive group conditioning class. Dancers also have the option to sign-up and participate in extra dances, which can add up to double this mandatory time.
In preparation for their three competitions in March and end-of-year show in April, extra weekend practices and dress rehearsals contribute an additional layer of responsibility for members.
Even with the difficulty and commitment required by members, neither the McMaster recreational nor the competitive dance team are officially considered varsity teams by the university.
“As a community, it can also be difficult not to have other sports communities or things like that regard you as unathletic or high intensity. . . I do think that it definitely can be discouraging not to have other people view you as an athlete when you do put in that high level of training,” said Arnott.
"As a community, it can also be difficult not to have other sports communities or things like that regard you as unathletic or high intensity. . ."
Maddy Arnott, president of the McMaster Competitive Dance Team
This lack of recognition has significant implications not only for dancers and their identities but also their finances.
The Athletics section on McMaster’s impact donation page allows patrons the opportunity to provide merit-based athletic financial awards for athletes across multiple different sports. Donors may provide one-time or perpetual gifts to various sporting team funds laid out on the website. Neither the McMaster Recreational Dance nor the Mcmaster Competitive Dance Team are among those listed.
According to the McMaster Athletics Eligibility page for student athletes, dance is not officially recognized as either a U Sport or Ontario University Athletics sport. Accordingly, scholarships and financial support for athletes provided by the university are also only offered at the discretion of U Sports and OUA policies.
Within both the OUA model outlining G1, G2 and G3 sports, as well as the Sports Model Framework developed by U Sports, dance fails to match their criteria to be considered a recognized sport.
Currently, both teams primarily raise money through student-led fundraising events to cover their costs. Last year the team organized a Christmas bake sale, a Fun Run, and a sticker sale in support of both Mac Dance and the McMaster Children's Hospital Foundation.
The lack of sponsorship or external backers furthers the funding gap between dance and other McMaster Athletics and Recreation sports. This lack of financial support results in increased payment fees for expenditures such as costumes, competitions and transportation. Alongside impacts to their personal identity, these financial burdens on dancers make their recognition as athletes a critical topic of discussion.
C/O Rodion Kutsaev (Unsplash)
Why our music taste and favourite movie genre say a lot more about our identities than we think
I am a big fan of indie music. Oftentimes, I’ll play my music around someone and expect that they’ll hate this unique style of music. However, sometimes I’m proven wrong, realizing they actually love it and I’ve always wondered why.
Why do some people like certain types of music and others do not? Why are there shy individuals who love loud electronic dance music while some daredevils may despise horror movies?
Music, movies, books and all things art or digital that we consume are a key important factor in many people’s lives. So what is it that makes it so meaningful? Is it our identities that are just attracted to certain styles or do we become modelled by what we consume?
Is it our identities that are just attracted to certain styles or do we become modelled by what we consume?
The latest study comes from a team at the University of Cambridge, led by doctoral candidate David Greenberg and researcher Simon Baron-Cohen whose theory states that brain types can be classified by being empathic — responding more to the emotion of others— or systemizing — analysing rules or patterns in the world around them.
With this information, they completed a study with 4,000 participants and were asked to complete a questionnaire prior to determining their results of empathetic and systemizing thinking. Then, participants listened to 50 mystical pieces from 26 genres and rated the pieces.
According to their results, an empathizer might gravitate towards unpretentious styles like country or folk and mellower music like soft rock, whereas systemizers might gravitate towards intense music like punk or heavy metal.
Surprise! Researchers have also found a link between your favourite movie genre and one’s personality. For example, those who enjoy comedy tend to be more open. This can be explained by the fact that comedy movies are often more original. They contain humour, their plot lines are unpredictable and they challenge conventional ways of thinking.
With horror for example, they found that individuals were less agreeable, less extroverted and more neurotic. They also found that those who hate horror are actually more agreeable and prefer a movie that displays images of kindness and warmth.
I have always found this information to be immensely fascinating, but I still wondered why? How do we even like something in the very first place? Why do we like things?
Although it is a tricky question to answer as some individuals just like things due to familiarity or just liking it for no reason but liking it, there is some evidence to support one’s preferences. In his book You May Also Like, Tom Vanderbilt looks to answer this exact question.
Vanderbilt finds that there are multiple factors that influence what we like. According to Vanderbilt, our liking for something is not a singular proposition. Instances such as liking certain foods or disliking some people is a result of one’s exposure, culture and personality.
Vanderbilt finds that there are multiple factors that influence what we like. According to Vanderbilt, our liking for something is not a singular proposition. Instances such as liking certain foods or disliking some people is a result of one’s exposure, culture and personality.
What one has to remember is at the end of the day we can only theorise, as the topic being researched is so much deeper than one might assume that we simply cannot answer it in the way we want to.
While psychology can help us understand some of the reasons behind our interests, it cannot definitively characterize every unique factor or experience that makes us all who are. Regardless, I find it extremely interesting and definitely think this field of study — and its application to the music we like — should be talked about more.
C/O Jessica Yang
What embracing identity and finding community has meant in a year of uncertainty for the queer community
This year has been nothing short of challenges and adjustments as we all continue to adapt to the changing circumstances of the COVID-19 pandemic. For students who identify with the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, these experiences can often look quite different.
Emma Zhang, president of the McMaster Queer and Trans Colour Club, said that being in an online space has made personal connections to the queer community more accessible.
“As everyone is shifting into online spaces, it is more accessible for me to reach out to [queer] places and communities in a way that is on my own terms and in a way that will ensure confidentiality, if need be,” said Zhang.
However, though online spaces are accessible, Emily Liang, promotions coordinator of QTCC, said there are caveats. Resources become more accessible online only if you know about these resources already and this may be more challenging especially for those who hadn’t known or explored their queer identity before the pandemic.
Having online-only club activities can also be troubling for folks who are not living in places where they can feel safe about their queer identity.
“A lot of people are not living at a safe home where they can be candid and open about their sexuality, [or] have a meeting within QTCC or join an event [when] their homophobic parents are just behind them. They can't do that,”
Emma Zhang
Although the queer community can be important for 2SLGBTQIA+ folks, every queer person has their own unique experiences with their sexuality. Understanding that there is diversity in the community and that each individual has their own values and their own way of approaching their sexuality is important.
“When you are part of the same community like this, like we're all part of the queer community, I think some people overextend the extent to which your experiences are the same,” said Liang.
At McMaster, the QTCC provides a unique space for racialized queer folks to find community. The intersectionality of race and sexual orientation plays an important role in shaping the different experiences that queer folks face.
Zhang explained that examples of white privilege within the community include a lack of understanding of the barriers that racialized people may live with.
“[W]hen your white queer friend who says ‘Why don't you just tell your parents? I'm sure they’ll listen if you just like talk to them’ . . . That kind of is ignorant to the familial piety that may be present within racialized communities and the general greater stigma associated with sexuality and sex,” said Zhang.
Language and terminology can also place additional barriers to discussing their sexuality with family.
“[P]ersonally, my parents have made really terrible remarks about people within the queer community and they don't even understand what gender identity is, so how do I even bring it up to them if they don't know what it is . . . Also, my parents are immigrants. They immigrated here [and] they don't really speak English to a fluent degree, so how can I really talk to them using English words that they wouldn't even understand in their native tongue?” said Zhang.
For anyone who is looking for ways to better connect with their queer identity, Liang emphasized that there are many ways to do so and she encourages folks to try exploring connections in the community in whatever way they feel comfortable.
“[T]here are no wrong answers, because years from now, you're still going to be exploring your identity. It doesn't stop. You don't have to make up your mind now [about] how you want to think about your identity, how you might want to present to others,”
Emma Zhang
Moving forward, given the pros and cons to hosting events online, Zhang and Liang said that QTCC will most likely have a hybrid of online and in-person events next year. Importantly, the club looks forward to fostering more continuity within their events so that queer folks can build long-lasting friendships at McMaster.
C/O Muka
Muka celebrates identities and self-love through accessories, enamel pins and apparel
Muka, a Hamilton-based accessory, enamel pin and apparel brand, strives to help their customers feel confident and be unapologetically themselves. Founded in 2018 by two best friends, Lisa Wang and Alexis Fu, and their partners, Tony Song and Anita Tang respectively, the shop offers inclusive products for people of intersectional queer and racialized identities.
Wang and Fu met in high school and graduated from Sheridan College’s applied arts and animation program together. While working in the media industry creating content for children, they took note of the lack of representation of Black, Indigenous and People of Colour, 2SLGBTQIA+ community and intersectional identities in the media and took it upon themselves to fulfill this gap.
“We thought there wasn’t enough genuine representation in the media as well as in the fashion industry in general . . . We really wanted to have a place where artists like us who have intersectional identities, but also other artists, could showcase their work and products and have them made accessible to people,” said Wang.
As the Creative Director of Muka, Wang curates the shop’s products and paints the broader vision for the brand while Fu is charge of operations and logistics of the business. Wang’s husband Song photographs all the products and Fu’s wife Tang is the designer. Together, they built Muka on a foundation of strong friendship, family, love and teamwork.
Muka is also a story of allyship. As a cis, heterosexual couple, Wang and Song learned a lot about allyship through running the business with Fu and Tang. Through open dialogue with each other and the community about what it means to be an ally, they were able to learn, grow and explore complex topics of intersectionality and queer experiences together.
“It’s a journey of constant learning. . .The point [of allyship] is that everybody comes to the table with love for each other,” said Wang.
Wang understands the value of listening in cultivating allyship and community.
“For me, growing up as a straight person, there are a lot of things I take for granted. I grew up in an Asian household and so did Alexis and Anita but their experiences as queer people in an Asian household are very different, so it’s always good to listen to the stories because everyone’s got a different path—everyone’s different. Queer people aren’t monoliths just as how Asian people aren’t monoliths,” explained Wang.
It comes with no surprise their messages of inclusivity, love and community have resonated with many folks. The positive response from the community fuels their motivation to work harder.
“The number one thing that encourages us to keeping going is people’s reaction to us—[from] events or messages customers leave online—because, based on what the customers are telling us, there really isn’t a business that’s quite like ours,” said Wang.
Muka’s next collection will feature themes of fruits, a slur the queer community has been reclaiming, and flowers, particularly peony and chrysanthemum which are connected to Asian culture. The collection is still underway; however, Wang hopes it will be ready by spring or summer.
Muka is personal, intersectional and unique. Whether you are part of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community or learning to become a better ally, the messages about confidence, self-love and love for others promote by Muka are universal.
“The most important ingredient is love for yourself and love for others. . .The other thing I think is pretty important is always learning and trying to understand because the world is always changing and people are complex and so there’s always more to learn about ourselves and each other,” said Wang.
C/O Jessica Yang
Students share how their existence within certain identities have rewired their approaches to romance
With the release of season two of popular HBO teen-romance show Euphoria this January alongside the creeping approach of Valentine's Day, it appears as though romance is on the back of most Marauder’s minds.
While many eager student romantics have been cruising the depths of Hinge and Tinder, or perhaps even decided to try their luck with the relaunched 2022 Aphrodite Project, there remain many cultural barriers in place for queer and racialized students to jump in on the dating apps craze.
For many such students, romance, sex and intimacy are not solely categorized by a binary of being in a relationship, but is instead a radical journey of self-discovery and constantly questioning whether their vision and presentation of romantic love are valid.
If the heteronormative expectations of romance were not enough, marginalized students often feel at a loss for how to navigate the intersections of their identities, which comes with countless cultural complexities surrounding romance which leads to vastly different experiences compared to mainstream portrayals.
Mymoon Bhuiyan, a third-year material sciences student, is an active member of Engiqueers, the largest queer student-led group within the faculty of engineering. Bhuiyan identifies as a queer activist and draws attention to how queer romance is complicated as they bring forth with them institutional challenges to relationships.
“As a result of added complexity to queer, gay and trans relationships, we see a lot of mental health crises. However, we also see positive attributes such as reduced rates of violence within queer and trans relationships,” said Bhuiyan.
Besides having to navigate adulthood, queer students can often feel uncertain about which individuals and spaces are welcoming of their identities in the first place given the presence of less than five 2SLGBTQIA+ spaces on a campus of more than 25,000 students.
Trans students particularly are disproportionately at risk of facing partner violence for their identities. Being queer while desiring romantic intimacy in the same ways that are accessible for heterosexual couples can therefore quickly become a questioning game of whether a romantic interest is safe to pursue in the first place.
It is increasingly difficult for queer students to identify other queer students to date and have relationships with, especially as many of the ways queer individuals have traditionally used to identify each other with have been assimilated as part of popular trends.
“Queer aesthetics and culture are being co-opted, the same way much of Black culture has been normalized and co-opted by other non-Black audiences. They are using our words, they are talking like us, but they forget about us,” explained Bhuiyan.
The queer community at Mac is far from being heterogeneous, with organizations such as the Queer and Trans Club of Colour acting as an avenue for racialized queer students to form community with one another. However, due to complicated cultural understandings of queerness across different demographics, Bhuiyan expressed much of dating for racialized queer students remains hidden underground on hook up apps.
“There are little to no outlets for queer folks to experience sex in a manner that does not jeopardize their safety. There is a very big difference between celebrating kink positivity and partaking in dangerous acts with strangers. Queer people don’t feel safe being open to dating in the public eye because in the end there is only a notion of acceptability in our culture. If you are a queer brown couple holding hands, you will still likely get ‘the look’,”
Mymoon Bhuiyan
As a Bengali woman, Anisah Ali, a second-year health and society student and the equity, inclusion and diversity officer for the McMaster Bengali Student Association, uses her lived experiences to characterize the perceptions of love within the Bengali community.
“There are certainly fewer open conversations about romance, intimacy and sex within Bengali households relative to Western cultures. Such discussions are considered very private and are not necessarily talked about openly unless it is being talked about in the context of marriage,” explained Ali.
The persisting relevance of marriage within Bengali culture comes as no surprise given the countless multi-day intricate celebrations weaved within traditional Bengali weddings. However, due to this strong emphasis on settling down clashing with more casual approaches adopted by North American dating, Bengalis in the diaspora are usually unable to hold conversations about dating, boyfriends, and girlfriends with parents and other family members. While romantic relationships are slowly becoming a normalized rite of passage among newer generations of Bengalis, such relationships are typically held in secret, and are commonly frowned upon by more conservative older Bengalis.
It is not uncommon for diasporic children of immigrants to learn about sex, romance, and intimacy from other communities, sources, and the internet as it can be uncomfortable to approach parents or older members of a cultural community. Consequently, young adults from communities such as the Bengali community outsource education about intimacy from outside sources to gain knowledge of it.
“I simply wish that more Bengalis, especially our parents’ age, would talk amongst each other about romance. Maybe it will manifest into something beautiful for each and every single one of us to be fulfilled by this understanding of love to a greater degree,” hopes Ali.
Whether it is because of our sexual orientation or culture, our identities shape the communities that we are involved in, and in turn, affect our experiences with intimacy. Though love and romance may seem straightforward, the reality of it is much more complicated than what meets the eye.
C/O Jessica Yang
As understanding of gender increases, nonbinary folks must learn to navigate more than just being misgendered
By: Roya Motazedian, Contributor
Although gender-neutral pronouns have been recognized historically, awareness of pronouns and the many different gender identities has only started to grow substantially recently. Authors from centuries ago, including Jane Austen, 18th century author of Pride and Prejudice, were using they/them pronouns in their work. With that said, if the gender-neutral phenomenon is not a recent one, why is it still so hard to exist as a gender-neutral person? I have realized it is because, while the general population is more aware, it is still not completely educated nor has it properly listened to the voices of 2SLGBTQIA+ folks to fully understand their stories.
I use they/them pronouns and in all honesty, do not expect anyone to remember. If anyone misgenders me, I just brush it off and move on. However, the way I think and feel is not representative of everyone who uses gender-neutral pronouns. Some people prefer to correct the person who has misgendered them. However, I have a feeling that we — those who use gender-neutral pronouns — all share a unifying discomfort when faced with the long, apologetic rambles we are met with when we are misgendered.
At my friend’s birthday party this past December in which most people were drunk and everyone was trying to catch up with one another, my friends were quick to apologize each time they used the wrong pronouns as they spoke with me. However, their apologies dragged on and I felt increasingly uncomfortable. They were clearly drunk and I blamed the way they apologized on that, but one of my friends actually said something that greatly comforted me.
“Being drunk is not an excuse for me to forget the pronouns you use,” she said.
She was right, I knew she was, but making a scene out of the way she had misgendered me was worsening things. To apologize excessively to the misgendered person is to relieve yourself of the guilt you have. What else do we, the misgendered persons, have to say in response to your apology then but, “It’s okay. You’re forgiven.”?
The reality is these rambling apologies don’t just happen in drunk environments. After being misgendered in my tutorial once, which I can assure you is not a drunken environment, my classmate chased after me once the tutorial ended just to apologize. I was touched, truly, but I was also incredibly uncomfortable. Her apology just wouldn’t stop and to end it, I told her it was fine. I told her it did not matter, even though it did.
Then, if apologizing is the wrong thing to do, how should one act when they misgender someone?
Actually, apologizing is most definitely correct. However, it doesn’t have to be so long-winded. If you pick up on it while you are still talking, then an immediate and quick “I’m sorry” is more than enough.
Apologize, correct yourself by repeating the sentence with the correct pronouns and then move on. In this way, you are avoiding making a spectacle of both misgendering someone and the misgendered person. Folks who use gender-neutral pronouns do not wish to draw attention to their gender as it is just a natural part of them.
Whenever you apologize to the misgendered person, always avoid telling them about how hard you are trying to remember or how difficult their pronouns are to use. This makes us feel as though our gender is a burden and, personally, it has often made me wonder if I even have the right to be nonbinary. If my gender is such a burden to others, is it even worth it? Should I just hide back behind my gender assigned at birth?
If you realize later that you have misgendered a person, personally, I would say to forget about the apology but remember to use the correct pronouns next time. I have received many long texts, days after I was misgendered, asking for my forgiveness. I feel burdened by this but I know other people would appreciate the apology. It is different for every person and in this case, you should act based on your knowledge of that person.
If you take the time to talk to your gender-neutral friends, you can find out what their apology preferences are. Of course, the most preferred thing is for misgendering to never occur but it is something that can happen. Nonetheless, I am sure your friends would be happy to share their thoughts with you. It means the world when someone wants to understand you and your story.
C/O Travis Nguyen
Learning to love myself through research and reflection
By: Anna Samson, Contributor
During my first year at McMaster University, I came out as non-binary to my close friends and sister. As I grew more comfortable, I began to tell more people. Now, aside from some conservative family members, most people in my life know I’m non-binary. However, it took a long time to embrace myself as non-binary in a world that thinks in binaries and cisnormativity.
I was assigned female at birth, always used “she/her” pronouns and stuck to that side of the gender binary. But something always felt off. I would later learn this feeling is called gender dysphoria, a term that refers to the distress one feels if their gender identity differs from their assigned sex.
I remember talking to my older sister about how I did not feel like a girl or boy and worried there was something wrong with me. I asked her if she ever felt this way. I thought it was a normal part of growing up and something everyone experiences at some point. She asked me if I was transgender. Not knowing much about the gender spectrum and growing up in a conservative Christian household, I believed the negative things I had heard about transgender people and the 2SLGBTQIA+ community and immediately replied I was not, quickly changing the topic. But that moment stuck with me. It was one of the first times I acknowledged I do not fit into the gender binary and it was jarring. For many years after, I tried to ignore these feelings.
In first year, I took an introductory gender studies course in which I learned about inequality, intersectionality, 2SLGBTQIA+ identities and more. This course finally gave me names for many of the things I had been experiencing and thinking about my whole life. I learnt about the gender spectrum, which especially piqued my interest because learning about a gender spectrum as a concept told me that others questioned their gender identity like I did. I did some more research and learnt about transgender identities, under which non-binary falls.
I learned there are many gender identities outside the male-female binary. Non-binary is a broad spectrum covering all gender identities that are neither solely male nor female and exist outside the gender binary. While I felt this applied to me, I also felt it was not specific enough. When I first “came out” I identified as agender, meaning I have no gender and used any pronouns. But that did not feel right either. So, I started identifying as genderflux, meaning my gender identity fluctuates, with the base being agender, and used “she/they” pronouns. This identity felt right for me, but I noticed no one ever used “they” pronouns for me, which was frustrating because it felt like the erasure of my gender identity. So, finally, for brevity’s sake, I have now been identifying as non-binary for years, using “they/she” pronouns. And it feels right.
But my journey to self-acceptance in terms of my gender identity did not stop there. I also had to figure out what sort of gender expression felt most comfortable to me. Being AFAB, my gender expression has been mostly feminine but it felt wrong. Within feminine clothing, I preferred baggy clothing, though my family often scolded me, telling me to wear more form-fitting clothes. I liked wearing sports bras and bralettes that were like chest binders and wearing boy short panties or boxers made me feel more comfortable.
I also never got much into makeup other than wearing lipstick, because it felt very gendered and I felt using it meant I accepted being AFAB. While I know clothes and makeup are not inherently gendered, they do hold gendered connotations in society which make it difficult to embrace one’s unique identity. Ultimately, I have opted for unisex or less form-fitting clothing, as they make me feel more like myself.
While I have come a long way in learning to love myself by embracing my non-binary identity, there is still a lot of work for me to do. I still need to find a hairstyle I feel comfortable with. I also need to accept menstruating is a bodily function outside of the gender binary. There are several other things as well.
Most importantly, any positive steps I have taken towards accepting and loving myself require practice. I still accidentally say the wrong pronouns for myself sometimes or wear gendered clothing that makes me feel uncomfortable before realizing it.
Along with accepting and embracing myself, I also must forgive myself and others for getting it wrong sometimes. This is my lifelong journey of embracing myself and my non-binary identity.
What does it mean to love when you feel lost?
By: Aadhila Nadira, Contributor
In Western movies, the story flows perfectly. The cushioned Caucasian teenager realizes he loves his best friend and they come out happily with outrageous shows of acceptance.
For me, there are three key moments that explain my coming out story. A film critic would give me a 1/5 star for allowing the problem to be drawn out for so long.
The first was at age nine, when my parents took me to New York City. Two men had walked by my family. They were almost exactly like my fathers — age, style of clothing and height. Theoretically, they should’ve been insignificant, two in a crowd of so many. The only difference was their hands were linked, bodies huddled together.
What had stood out to me at age nine though was the unmistakable look my parents gave them. The weight of the stare had felt personal — as if I was being scolded.
That was the first time I’d seen people like me.
The second was at age eleven, in a girl's change room. There were thirty girls scattered around the unusually small room with a constant stream of noise — that is until the words “I’m bisexual” echo through the room. It’s the first time I hear of such a thing. It was also the first time my mom heard of it. My mom had fixed me with a look, one I had seen at age nine, and told me to avoid hanging out with her. Her justification was that the girl may “give it” to me if I did.
That was the first time I had hoped it was only my parent who would look at me like that.
The third was at age thirteen, in science class. My friend told me she’d finally found a boy she liked. But she wouldn’t tell me his name, not until I’d tell her the name of the boy I liked. In a strange moment of bravery, I’d told my friend her name. She pretended as if it was totally normal until she told my classmates. She said it was because “people deserved to know before they like you.”
That was the first time I’d realized that I would always be looked at like that.
Quite honestly, the stare my mom (and classmates) had given me had worked. Back then, I had believed that I was truly a flawed person and that this was all a test. If I could ignore it then I would be loved wholly by those around me. I had fit the rigid mold I told myself I loved.
This need to suppress held me hostage through my teenage years.
I kissed boys I felt indifferent towards and cut out the girl who had kissed me softly. I’d watched her move cities and then schools and thought it was a blessing from God. Once again I had gently applied another bandage on the cracks that had become a gaping hole.
It was a month after my eighteenth birthday when I told my newly made university friends I thought a girl in our cohort was undeniably cute. I’m not entirely sure why I told them, I suspect because at that point they were all pixelated profiles in a group chat. I reasoned that they wouldn’t tell my community about the thoughts I had. What threw me was that they all told me to message her, that I wouldn’t know how it would turn out unless I let myself reach out.
Despite all the comfort, I had been conditioned to think it was all a big test, that if I indulged then I would once again lose the little friends I had. So, with all the shame I held within myself for voicing my true thoughts, I had begun talking to a boy who likely regarded me poorly. I told all my friends back home and in Hamilton, desperate to prove that I was in fact keeping to my mold. I didn't want to break.
It was when my friends began to show subtle waves of support, trying their best to show their love without overwhelming me, that I let myself hope that maybe I could be myself. Until the age of nineteen, I had truly believed the entire world hated people that loved beyond the binary.
The way in which I was raised has, and will always, define a part of me. It’s the way I choose to wield it that defines what I can become. I’m still trying to understand the power of it all, taking it one day at a time. Sometimes not every story starts with understanding identity. Sometimes stories are started by letting yourself truly feel openly.
C/O McMaster Hillel
When Jewish students need support, McMaster Hillel provides
By: Hannah Silverman, Contributor
McMaster Hillel, our campus’ only club for Jewish students, focuses on creating meaningful connections and experiences for Jewish students while they are studying at university. I believe that McMaster Hillel is extremely important in helping Jewish students feel welcomed and represented on campus. We provide invaluable resources to Jewish and non-Jewish students alike — creating a home away from home, providing Shabbat meals and holiday experiences, opportunities to engage with Jewish theology and learning and chances to connect with others with similar interests.
Without Hillel, myself and many other Jewish students would not have access to such opportunities that are critical to our wellbeing and identity. There are between 500-700 Jewish students at McMaster University and Hillel serves as a conduit for anything from fielding questions around finding kosher food in Hamilton, to providing holiday programming or to hanging out with newly made friends.
While many Jewish people share cultural and religious beliefs that unite us, there are a variety of individual opinions and Jewish practices that represent the diversity within our community. Hillel aims to meet the needs of as many Jewish students on campus as possible; as the current President of McMaster Hillel, I am committed to ensuring that all Jewish students feel safe, respected and valued at McMaster.
When asked about the way in which McMaster Hillel supports students, Gal Armon, a fourth-year student expressed the utter importance of the club in the experience of Jewish students.
“As many Jewish students will tell you, being Jewish is a different experience for everyone and we all require different things in order to feel connected. For me, it is keeping up with traditions such as weekly Shabbat dinners. Having a club on campus that supports me in my desire to keep up with tradition is not just important, it is essential for my own mental and spiritual well-being," explained Armon.
“As many Jewish students will tell you, being Jewish is a different experience for everyone and we all require different things in order to feel connected. For me, it is keeping up with traditions such as weekly Shabbat dinners. Having a club on campus that supports me in my desire to keep up with tradition is not just important, it is essential for my own mental and spiritual well-being."
GAL ARMON, FOURTH-YEAR STUDENT
McMaster Hillel staff and students have collaborated with university partners and clubs, including the Equity and Inclusion Office, on various programs. We recently joined the newly formed Spiritual Care and Learning Community in hosting joint Interfaith weekly lunches. Additionally, in 2018, we were showcased on McMaster University’s website in recognition of being a welcoming and inclusive environment on campus.
The Jewish community at McMaster has existed on campus since at least the 1950s and it is imperative that there is a space on campus where those from our community can gather. Like many other cultural, ethnic and religious groups, there are times we need to lean on one another for support. Hillel provides the guidance and support that my peers and I rely on.
In 2019, it was reported that Jewish people account for the highest number of religious-based hate crimes in Canada and this number has continued to rise throughout the COVID-19 pandemic. Jewish students often mention that they need designated spaces to help them process antisemitic experiences. This is what McMaster Hillel aims to achieve for Jewish students.
“To me, Hillel is a safe space on campus for students like myself to come together as a Jewish community and it acts as a support system,” explained Rachel Altman, a fourth-year student “I feel like Hillel is a way for me to connect to my Judaism and my Jewish peers while I’m on campus.”
Our community’s connection to Israel is varied and multi-faceted, though the vast majority of the Canadian Jewish community feels a strong connection to Israel. McMaster Hillel aims to give students the option to explore these connections while also being a place for education and conversations around a complicated geo-political conflict.
We are committed to holding space for all students who want to have conversations critically and respectfully with each other. Most importantly, I and the rest of McMaster Hillel pray for peace in the region so that all Israelis and Palestinians can live their lives without fear or war.
What I find most remarkable about the work our club does on campus is that it has not diminished in the wake of the last year and half, when a large majority of students were not located on campus.
Our Hillel Director, Judith Dworkin, wrote in a recent article about our virtual programming, shedding light on the creative ways we have approached building community.
“We are in the business of community so we need to think creatively about what it feels like to be a part of this community,” said Dworkin.
Like many other clubs, we found ways to adjust our programming and foster connections even from afar. Knowing that Jewish students were able to bring their authentic selves to Hillel, even in the midst of the past year, has been one of the things that staff and students alike are most proud of.
Gender? I hardly know ‘er!
By: Fran O’Donnell, Contributor
A few months ago I came out as nonbinary, changed my name and started using they/them pronouns. Let’s talk about it. This piece is fragmented and confusing and deliberately so, because boy, oh boy, gender is confusing.
I came out as bisexual many, many years ago and I (mostly, kind of) have my sexuality figured out. It never occurred to me to question my gender. I’ve always been most comfortable when I looked gender-nonconforming, but I just didn’t think about it too much. My discomfort with my body was probably just unrelated, right?
I’ve always been most comfortable when I looked gender-nonconforming, but I just didn’t think about it too much. My discomfort with my body was probably just unrelated, right?
It’s completely normal to want to hide your body away under a mountain of oversized sweaters. It’s absolutely normal to feel uncomfortable seeing your body. It’s perfectly normal to feel like the person you see in the mirror isn’t really you. To feel like your body isn’t yours.
Right?
Image description of a meme I used to have saved on my phone that I can’t find anywhere: A brave warrior has just defeated their foe. The warrior is labelled “Me” and their vanquished foe is “Finally figuring out my sexuality.” But then, behind the warrior, there is an ominous, looming figure labelled “My gender identity”.
Coming out as nonbinary, for me, was a bit like wearing really tight, uncomfortable clothes. You don’t really notice how uncomfortable you were until you take them off. Like “wow, I can breathe again! I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing”. And once you’ve taken them off, you realize that these clothes haven’t fit you for a long time or maybe they never fit you at all.
Coming out as nonbinary, for me, was a bit like wearing really tight, uncomfortable clothes. You don’t really notice how uncomfortable you were until you take them off. Like “wow, I can breathe again! I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing”.
Before I get too far ahead of myself, let’s talk a bit about what nonbinary means. A binary is made up of two parts. In this case, male and female. We live in a very binary society, with everything divided up into two. You’re a man or you’re a woman.
If you’ve ever worked in retail, you’ll know that you have to address everyone as ma’am, miss or sir, depending on your judgment of how they look. But what happens when someone doesn’t quite fit into one of these categories?
Nonbinary is an umbrella term that covers a variety of identities and experiences. Some folks switch between masculine and feminine depending on the day, some are both and others prefer to be funky little cryptids that mere mortals cannot identify.
Gender is an intensely personal experience and it varies from person to person. We’re all having gender trouble. For me, I’m most at home outside of the gender binary and I don’t want to be perceived as male or female. So I’m not binary.
When I first came out as nonbinary, I wanted to dress as androgynously as possible. I wanted everyone that saw me to immediately know that I was nonbinary. I had a vague vision of “nonbinary” in my head and I wanted to match it. Should I cut my hair? Should I throw out all the skirts I love so much?
I didn’t do that. First, I really like skirts. They’re so comfortable and they make me feel like a forest fairy. Second, this was just another box that I was needlessly forcing myself into. Kind of the opposite of what I wanted, you know? There’s no one “right” way to be nonbinary. Gender is a spectrum, not a paint-by-numbers.
Why am I writing this now? Because I wish I'd read something like this when I was younger. Seeing myself represented and being understood is the most important thing in the world to me. So if like me, you’re questioning your gender, I just want to let you know that it’s okay. Not only is it okay, it’s rad as heck and I’m super happy for you!
Seeing myself represented and being understood is the most important thing in the world to me. So if like me, you’re questioning your gender, I just want to let you know that it’s okay.
As Abigail Thorn said, “I look inside myself and ask: “Do I feel like a man, or a woman?” And the answer is . . . I feel happy.”
Here are just a few of the resources that helped me out, and I hope they’ll help you out too:
