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Why You Should Care about the SNC Lavalin Scandal News 

Why You Should Care about the SNC Lavalin Scandal

One can hardly be shocked by the SNC-Lavalin affair, if one has been paying attention. And yet, a great number of people have found themselves shocked. Why is that so? This is far from the first time that the Trudeau administration has been caught with its pants around its ankles. After all, this is their fifth time being investigated by the ethics committee. The fact that this story is so surprising to some can only mean one of two things, either fewer people have been paying attention than we would…

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The Origins of Women’s Studies at Vanier Campus 

The Origins of Women’s Studies at Vanier

2019 marks the fortieth anniversary of the founding of the Women’s Studies program (now Women’s and Gender Studies). Vanier College was the first post-secondary educational institution to doctor such a program in Quebec. Its creation is owed to the hard work of Vanier’s faculty members. Maggie Kathwaroon who is the current coordinator of the program, explained the benefits of the major. “[the classes and events give] the opportunity to talk about how society views masculine and feminine, male and female, and its impact on how safe we feel” said Maggie….

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Nothing’s Sweeter Than Picket Signs: the March of March 15th News 

Nothing’s Sweeter Than Picket Signs: the March of March 15th

My brother and I didn’t prepare any poster or costume or poetry for Montreal’s last big climate strike. We just got off at Place-Des-Arts and listened to speeches in a December cold and shouted our voices dry with 50,000 other voices. We strode to Mount Royal. Protestors were beating the drum, dancing and shouting their way up to the mountain. Women yelled praises out their house windows, clapping their pots and pans with wooden spoons to us down in the street. It was a real gay delight and the peoples…

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Normalizing War Arts 

Normalizing War

When war has become the norm, And sending soldiers off to protect the vulnerable, Those born among the bombs and bloodshed, Who only know of fear and death, Unaware of the peace existing elsewhere, Has become a habit of the government, An expense, rather than a concern, We must question the future of our planet, And wonder if humanity really has its place Among the innocence of nature.   Poem by: Sophie Dufresne

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Marino Vanier Alumni 

Marino

Dear fish, You don’t bark, you don’t talk you have no voice you cannot hurt you swim and eat and that’s all you do.   But guess what humans do, hurt and cheat judge and lie stab you in the back and run   Fishes follow your finger they do not bite they will never make your heart bleed they do nothing nothing, nothing, nothing   They’re colorful fun to look at relaxing   How different are they from humans, huh?   Poem by: Lara Kaafarani

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Nostalgia Arts 

Nostalgia

We sported messy hair and scuffed knees From learning to do cartwheels at recess, Where grubby hands exchanged playing cards And wide eyes squinted When they looked at the sun. Remember how we used to play With those dolls? How we found their pouty red lips, And rosy cheeks so pretty? As I make eye contact with you Through the bathroom mirror, Your lashes are caked with mascara And black kohl liner, I notice a colouring book blankness To your cheeks. So, I lend you my blush in exchange For…

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Naturally Driven Arts 

Naturally Driven

I feel at ease, When I hear you sing, With the refreshing feel that you always bring.   Your seldom cool touch, That I love so much, That brings life to my very skin.   Your petty coat is not of gold But it’s crystal clear, That is better than a drop of tear That we ourselves may over stare.   You shaped our lives There before we arrived, In our midst you always seem to exist.   When you walk, you whisper a lot, for being seen It is…

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The love behind all of my poetry Arts 

The love behind all of my poetry

If I wanted to write something important, I would write about my grandmother, About how she is more mountain than woman, and how the “I love you” that lingers in the back of my throat belongs to her. Her voice is the only melody I will never grow tired of hearing; she sounds like a choir in the heart of a church. I turn her chest into a home, wrap my skin around her bones. I memorize the rhythm of her ribcage constantly collapsing with her lungs like waves crashing…

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