“Very often, the archives don't give you answers to the questions that you wish they did ... and you have to learn how to excavate history on its own terms.”
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Instead of Portland trying hard to live up to expectations, I found a city trying exactly hard enough to be itself.
“That is why open is really exciting because it’s not just the expert who is writing, it’s everybody who is writing and who has a voice.”
Canadian universities are generating more and more information of public interest — but they’re becoming less and less willing to share it.
When Korenberg was first appointed to the Board in February 2016, the university’s highest governance body was still reeling from the aftermath of former President Arvind Gupta’s resignation and intense criticisms about a lack of transparency in its practices.
In her role advising the provost on matters concerning racialized faculty, Mahtani is charged with a university whose faculty of colour are paid less on average than their white counterparts, underrepresented in leadership and disproportionately in precarious positions to begin with.
It’s a familiar sight at the root of food insecurity: between paying ever-increasing tuition and rent, students have little money left to buy food — a situation that is reality across Canadian universities.
As food insecurity looms large at UBC, campus groups are actively trying to create a safety net for those falling through the hunger gap.
Food insecurity — defined broadly as unreliable access to sufficiently nutritious food — impacts students at UBC in deeper ways than eating cup ramen. It is also hardly rare.
“We spend so much money preserving old buildings.… Why not also spend some money documenting the extraordinary linguistic diversity of our species — that thing that makes us human?”
I am not screaming, I am the scream.
By the time I turned 18, I had lived in 3 different provinces, 6 different cities, gone to 6 different schools, and occupied more than 7 houses.
The other day, I was asked for directions on campus twice and I knew the answer both times.
I hold my home in my turtle shell.
The whir of a tattoo machine is a homecoming, now — and each tattoo is a pillar of what makes me, me.