The Muse

*This article first appeared in The Muse’s 75th Anniversary Print Supplement magazine, published January 2026.

Feminist journalism at The Muse was once alive and well, but throughout the last decade, since the editorial transitioned to digital publishing in 2017, submissions that once sparked campus-wide conversations have dropped significantly.

This might appear to be a sign that the situation for women has improved, but those who have been paying close attention know what isn’t the case.

This renewed silence is important because we are experiencing one of the most politically volatile moments in recent history, and women are disproportionately impacted by it: globally, reproductive rights are increasingly precarious, violent misogyny flourishes off and online, and emerging technologies from Big Tech threaten to entrench old structural hierarchies in novel ways.

A legacy worth inheriting

Feminist journalism is woven into the 75-year history of The Muse and the political history of Memorial University. Since the paper’s inception, although infrequent at first, students began writing boldly about misogyny, sexual violence, and the patriarchal policies demarking their lives.

This gained steam in the 1970s, and not long after, the Women’s Centre (now Intersections) opened on campus in 1981. In 1983, the Women’s Studies program (now Gender Studies) began, and feminist student journalism grew alongside them.

The 1980s marked a turning point for feminist journalism. Suddenly, submissions from all genders in all formats — news stories, opinion pieces, art, poetry and more — were distributed widely to the student body. And for the first time, Memorial University students were not only learning about how deep women’s oppression truly was, but also drawing attention to topics often deemed controversial.

Print journalism, as it does, became a form of consciousness-raising for students — a process in which strategic communicative organization leads to the sharing of lived experiences, debates over ideas, and organization for change.

By 1982, The Muse published its first special edition for International Women’s Day. Another followed in 1983, this time including contributions from male allies. In 1986, the annual Women’s Supplement began, a publication dedicated to honouring women’s achievements and highlighting the systems that continued to harm them, such as domestic violence, sexual assault, reproductive care access, wage inequality and much more.

Even at the height of this momentum, students wanted more. In 1983, in a letter to the Editor calling for more feminist coverage, Helen P. Croy wrote, “if the student press discontinues to expose the fight for equality, then so will everyone else. Our future generations will be ignorant of the past fights and victories of women toward equality.”

Why the decline?

Unfortunately, 11 years later, in 1994, The Muse discontinued the Women’s Supplement along with all other supplements that focused on a specific issue, such as the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Queer Supplements, the Arts and Expressions Supplements, and the Peace and the Environment Supplement.

The justification for the decision was that “the issues covered in these ‘Supplements’ tend to segregate the topic, preventing them from being received by a larger audience.”

Feminist submissions from students remained, though not as frequently. It wasn’t until the transition to web publishing that feminist writers at The Muse became slim to none. This decline doesn’t necessarily mean today’s students don’t care. Instead, the digital environments transformed how we engage and interact with political content.

Along with other forms of activism, the feminist project has been flattened by algorithmic culture. Long-form political writing has heeded ground to polarizing discourse, misinformation and performative social media activism. Politics still matters to students, but the platforms used to speak are increasingly hostile to nuance, solidarity and vulnerability, aspects fundamental to feminist activism.

New threats, same old patterns

The critical situation of women hasn’t improved much despite the shifting attitudes towards feminist discourse. The issues that affect women around the world are just as harmful, with new challenges emerging.

This isn’t to say that these new issues are more harmful than previous ones, or that previous issues are no longer relevant. History will show women’s liberation lies behind a web of structural dominions along the lines of sex, race, indigeneity, class, sexuality, gender, and ability–none of which can be overlooked.

As we evolve, though, these factors are intertwined with present challenges that affect all women in varying ways. Today, we face Big Tech and the widespread application of Artificial Intelligence (AI), which will further entrench these dominions. This situation makes feminist organization much more urgent.

Feminist student journalism might have a leg in the grave, but the issues themselves are still very pressing, and the line separating online harm from real-life harm is increasingly blurry. Technology-facilitated violence against women impacts approximately 16-58% of women and girls worldwide.

AI is also being used to target women in incredibly insidious ways. For example, abuse often occurs by malicious use of deepfake technology. 2023 research estimates 98% of all deepfake videos are nonconsensual pornography, with 99% of them featuring women. Past issues highlighted by feminists before us are still urgent, except now they have expanded to a digital terrain that is opaque and rapidly shifting.

The value of student journalism

Collective organization is how movements begin. It’s how women in the past organized to secure their rights. But especially important to remember is that naming it is only the first step toward dismantling it. The Muse — despite current digital challenges — remains a key platform in the province where feminist thought can be developed, debated and documented.

Writers before us used their voices to expose misogyny, challenge institutions, and advocate for cultural and political transformation. We inherit a legacy of courage, insistence and refusal. Past and present women strive for a better world for all women, and it is a generational-long battle.

As Helen P. Croy said, “the feminist movement will cease to exist without the support of our future generations.” The torch has been passed down, but it risks being snuffed out.

The aforementioned issues are only the tip of the iceberg of the extent to which global misogyny operates.

If you consider yourself a feminist, write loudly and unapologetically. Write for the women who fought before us and for the girls who will come after. Write for the women in your community and globally. Write for the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. Write for women in Palestine, Sudan, Congo, and Afghanistan. Write for trans women. Write for the millions experiencing homelessness, a lack of reproductive care, child marriage, FGM, marital rape, sex trafficking, domestic violence and femicide.

But don’t stop there, write for all of those who cannot.

In recent days, we’ve seen media coverage and administrative memos on the matter of program supensions and closures at Memorial. I want to provide some context and clarification regarding the reasons for the demise of the MA Program in Religion and Culture. 

The University’s ‘Memorial’s Evolve’ webpage states that the MA was discontinued permanently due to ‘primarily low uptake of the program.’ This is incorrect. The program’s cancellation was a consequence of chronic under-resourcing and governement and administrative decisions, not a lack of student interest.

The core issue, from my perspective, is not ‘market demand’ but the use of austerity and attrition as part of a larger strategy to remake the university by enfolding it thoroughly inside the market; what is lost in the process is the university as an institution of comprehensive education, a site for educating a democratic citizenry, a place for students to explore and inquire, critique and create, a space held apart from, yet in dialogue with, the demands of government, industry, and the economy.

In its place, we are moving to a market-driven institution where entire disciplines are deemed ‘unprofitable’ or ‘irrelevant’ and then dismantled. 

In the fall of 2021, we were forced to suspend admissions to the MA program. Our stated reason was a lack of resources. This situation was years in the making, beginning with the University’s austerity program in 2016.

Consecutive years of hiring freezes meant we could not engage in normal faculty renewal. As colleagues retired or moved on, our departmental faculty dropped from 10 members to just 5. During this time, HSS faculty as a whole saw its complement fall from over 190 to the low 140s. 

When we made the difficult decision to formally dissolve the program last fall, we were transparent: a dramatic fall in our faculty complement, coupled with inadequate graduate funding and pressures for larger classes, made it no longer feasible to run a viable graduate program.

This was a painful decision for a department that once hosted the largest and most respected Religious Studies program east of Montreal.

This situation is not an isolated incident but a symptom of a larger shift in the university’s priorities. While the core mission of providing comprehensive education to the people of this province has suffered, we have seen significant expenditures on non-academic priorities.

The university has spent millions purchasing buildings, over-building the Core Science Facility (which, as the Auditor General’s report notes, operates at 16% capacity and is now being marketed as a wedding venue), expanding a high-paid senior administrative layer, hiring endless rounds of external consultants, and eroding collegial governance.

With the end of the tuition freeze, students are being asked to foot the bill for these choices.

The loss of the Religion and Culture MA is a direct result of these priorities. It is a loss for academic diversity and for students who seek a comprehensive understanding of the world. As this model continues, we can only expect more program offerings to follow the same path.

Dr. Barry Stephenson is Head of the Department of Religion and Culture, and co-director of For a New Earth http://foranewearth.org/

Got an opinion? Send a letter or opinion piece to editor@themuse.ca

There have been rumours in the media and online about the idea of a potential spring snap election, and according to the Globe and Mail, Carney and Ontario Premier Doug Ford have openly discussed the possibility of a snap election this spring and the need for a strong majority government.

This comes after Pierre Poilievre retained his leadership of the Conservative Party a few weeks ago at the party’s national convention, along with the resignations of Christian Freeland, Bill Blair, the impending resignation of Nate Erskine-Smith, which have been setbacks to Carney’s hope of securing a majority government,

With all this in mind, I feel it’s important to say a controversial statement in our current political climate: The other side wants the best for Canada as well.

There’s a growing perception that those on the other side of the political spectrum have nefarious intentions, that they’re not working to help Canadians but instead serving other groups or institutions.

This discourse is prominent online, but it’s also spilled over into real life, where now you will likely meet someone who will claim that those opposed to them politically don’t wish for the betterment of Canada.

There are Liberals and NDP supporters who say that Poilievre and the Conservatives don’t actually care about Canada or the average Canadian and are simply working for their “corporate buddies” or that they are trying to sell out Canada to Donald Trump and the United States.

This idea is simply not true. The Conservatives believe what they believe because, in their view, their policies are the steps that need to be taken for the betterment of Canada and all Canadians.

On the flip side, there are Conservatives who openly say that Carney and the Liberals don’t care about Canada and are secretly selling us out to outside globalist organizations or working with China to undermine the country.

This too is baseless and disconnected from reality. Liberals value the things they value because they believe it will contribute to the betterment of Canada and all Canadians.

The fact is that every major political party, with the exception of the Bloc Québécois, whose mission is more regional, wants to make Canada the best place it can be. They just have different but valid ideas on how to get there.

The point of this op-ed is not to convince you to become a moderate or make you compromise in the name of bipartisanship.

We should debate policy and question ideas because some policies being proposed by parties have failed or do not work and deserve criticism.

But we must also recognize that the individuals proposing these policies genuinely believe they will help Canadians.

Call me naive or say I don’t understand the game of politics, but in reality the vast majority of politicians are not acting with malicious intent, nor are they controlled by shadowy groups.

Once we begin to accept this truth again, we can return to a healthier political climate, one rooted in civil discussion and mutual respect, with less tribalism and with fewer echo chambers.

As the possibility of a snap election just months from now looms over our heads whether or not an election happens, please remember that no matter what your views are, the one thing we can all agree on is our shared goal for the betterment of Canada.

You want the best for Canada, the other side wants the best for Canada, and we all want what’s best for Canada because at the end of the day we are all Canadians and are all forever thankful to live in this great country.

A near-zombie apocalypse is sweeping the nations in the form of a media literacy crisis. Nowadays, everyone seems to be staring at their screens dead-eyed, and when confronted with critique, symbolism, or allegory — they just groan.

MediaLiteracyNow offers a basic working definition, explaining ‘media literacy’ as “the ability to decode media messages (including the systems in which they exist); assess the influence of those messages on thoughts, feelings, and behaviours; and create media thoughtfully and conscientiously.”

The entire media literacy issue can be summarily described with one phrase: “It’s not that deep.” 

A real ‘maybe the curtains are just blue’ statement, and social media comments sections are rampant with accounts preaching this sentiment on any manner of content, suggesting that people criticizing a media item are being overly sensitive, too ‘woke,’ or looking into things too much. 

However, it is that deep, always.

It’s unclear whether the average ‘media illiterate’ consumer simply does not have the skillset or resources to discern meaning from media, or some consumers are simply wilfully ignorant, turning a blind eye to the sociopolitical power that popular culture possesses.

In both cases, though, it’s an issue of diminishing media to just that; just a film, show, book, or news article that exists in a vacuum, unaffected and uninformed by our current cultural moment, and with net-zero broader implications. 

‘Escapist’ media is a utopian idea

Another common counterpoint to critical engagement is the appeal of media consumption for escapism. 

Sure, seeking escapism in media is a common and completely valid act; many people look for solace in a comfort movie or show to alleviate the monotony of work, school, and general life under late-stage capitalism.

Some people are, understandably, so exhausted by the day-to-day that they want to avoid further mental labour during their only time to rest. 

However, these films and shows, without a doubt, still have some sort of underlying message, and the notion that any art is a purely impartial, escapist entertainment form that does not have anything to say is quite naive.

Namely, Studio Ghibli films are often praised as escapist comfort watches, but many of Miyazaki’s richly illustrated worlds use whimsical elements to emphasize the importance of environmental conservation, interpersonal connection, and slowing down – all subversive acts in our impossibly fast-paced capitalist reality that never seems to stop, and thus, powerful political messages.

Stranger Things 5: A case study on media literacy or lack thereof

A timely example of poor media literacy being an issue might be the fifth and final season of Netflix’s smash-hit Stranger Things. The globally acclaimed series recently released its victory-lap instalment after a record-breaking 10 years, and the show’s conclusion massively divided fans, sparking convoluted theories online. 

The quality of the show’s writing appeared to dip significantly compared to previous seasons, and critical viewers took issue with the final season’s messaging in particular.

At first, Stranger Things lauded ‘outcasts,’ and used interdimensional elements as a layered allegory for childhood trauma, but by contrast, the fifth season appeared vapid in its approach and neglected these narratives. 

Outside of countless plot holes and unfinished storylines the showrunners were criticized for, Stranger Things 5 portrays Eleven, a young woman with psychokinetic powers, hunted by the government, exploited, subjected to MK-Ultra experiments and abuse, sacrificing herself along with the show’s sinister parallel universe, The Upside Down.

While her fate is left ambiguous, an unfortunately real line of dialogue from the show says that self-sacrifice is “the only way to break the cycle,” not-so-subtly implying that the only way to end the cycle of abuse is suicide.

Another character, Will, a young gay teenager, is forced out of the closet by his abuser, the main antagonist of the show. This is framed as an empowering act, and accompanied by a surface-level-at-best speech that reads like a performative allyship slogan, ‘gay people are just like you,’ delivered to a room full of people, in the 1980s, no less. 

Then, when viewers are getting glimpses into the main characters’ lives during the epilogue, and each character is pictured at college or achieving their dreams, this character is plopped into a gay bar and given an implied, nameless, epilogue boyfriend with no dialogue.

This character is coincidentally the only one in the show that does not have an established on-screen romance, and the show’s only other queer couple was both developed and broken up off-screen.

This does not even mention the fact that every racialized character was either killed off, reduced to simple comic relief, or used as a plot device for another (white) character’s development.

These are just a few select plot points of many. Following the conclusion of the season, people criticized the show for its irresponsible and frankly disempowering treatment of suicide, abuse, female characters, BIPOC characters, and queerness.

Some viewers thought this spoke to a broader culture of misogyny, thinly-veiled homophobia, and rising levels of conservatism seeping through popular culture, which frames minority characters as disposable.

A common conclusion echoed online was that the show positioned itself only ‘for outcasts’ who are white, heterosexual, male ‘nerds.’ These critical responses might illustrate a media-literate consumer.

I’m honestly appalled at how bad the stranger things finale was like imagine having your protagonist who never got to have a normal childhood and was abused and used as a weapon her entire life sacrifice herself because “her friends need to have a normal life”

— tea 🌈 (@horrifichymns) January 1, 2026

However, an absolutely staggering portion of the show’s audience failed to see through the nostalgia bait to glaring pitfalls indicative of pressing societal problems.

Berating those disappointed in the final season’s messaging, some fans incessantly prompted ‘why can’t you just enjoy it?’ ‘Just have fun,’ ‘Why do you have to make everything political?’ and ‘It’s not that deep,’ even though the gravity of these offensive portrayals carries significant weight, especially on the biggest television show in the world. 

This is far from the only example of this happening, either.

Stranger Things series finale was the I think the best it possibly could have been and I am very pleased. I can’t wait for my algorithm to show me nothing but people complaining about it for the next month

— Steven Sullivan ❤️‍🔥 (@Stevensully99) January 1, 2026

A learned skill

Declining media literacy works both ways. As the above definition says, part of media literacy is conscientious creation.

A large amount of contemporary media is made with the expectation that audiences will be doomscrolling on their phones while watching passively.

Some production companies are getting lazy, spoon-feeding viewers the plot and churning out surface-level ‘slop’ as fast as possible to make a quick buck, unconcerned about potentially harmful effects, and impacting viewers to become more passive. 

This has, and will continue to make people more susceptible to harmful propaganda and mis/disinformation.

Passivity is a dangerous thing.

It leads to the establishment of damaging stereotypes or cultural myths, and it can pave the way for creating an uncritical, zombie-fied general population, which is counterproductive to social progress. 

Media literacy is a learned skill. 

In the first year of my undergrad, I took all assigned class readings as gospel, all narrators as reliable, until I showed up to class discussions and my professors went “Oh, this guy? He’s controversial for [insert reason]!” which was initially lost on me. 

I often see people saying we need to be taught media literacy in school. I can only speak for folks who went through the Newfoundland public education system, but that was the primary purpose of high school English. 

Though curricula could stand to be modernized, the books you were forced to read in high school and those Robert Frost poems you begrudgingly picked out metaphors from were meant to teach you skills about deciphering deeper meanings and subtext. 

To ‘have media literacy’ is often equated to ‘having intelligence,’ and to suggest someone lacks it is perceived as an insult.

This is by no means suggesting that anyone is unintelligent or aiming to invoke shame over missed allegories, just that close analysis and impassivity are small acts of resistance against total zombification that you can partake in as a media consumer. 

Put down your phone when you’re watching that show or movie, be critical, engage meaningfully, question things, watch/read/play things that challenge you, and really take the time to sit with them – because it truly is that deep.

Before we begin, yes, I am single. Not ‘taking a break,’ not ’emotionally unavailable,’ not ‘focused on myself’ (though I can and will catch feelings over minimal effort). Just single.

And somehow, for reasons I can’t fully defend, I remain wildly optimistic about finding that someone.

So yes, I have thoughts. Actually…comments, questions, and a whole lot of concerns. Unfortunately for you all, I am writing them down… for you to enjoy in this dating column.

This may seem ironic. Or brave. Or mildly unhinged, depending on your perspective. But being single doesn’t mean being unacquainted with love. It doesn’t mean cynical, bitter, or being emotionally barricaded behind three layers of sarcasm.

If anything, it has made me a better observer of it. I notice it everywhere: strangers sharing an umbrella, the person walking out of the grocery store with a bouquet and hope, and even the most dramatic ‘I’m done with dating’ rant (said unconvincingly, right before double texting).

I write about romance not because I’ve mastered it, but because I’m deeply curious about how it works; it keeps me inspired… It’s my muse. I love watching how people move through attraction like it’s a game with secret rules no one actually explains.

I’m intrigued by the way people lie on the first date and call it ‘putting our best foot forward,’ only to have the truth come out six months later.

By how we confuse chemistry for compatibility and potential for commitment.

By the insane confidence we have when giving friends dating advice, we would never, under any circumstances, take ourselves.

By how love can make us incredibly generous and wildly delusional in equal measure.

I’m inspired by my own mess, too. The almost-relationships. The slow fades. Being the ghoster and the ghostee (character development). The situationships where I’d say “I don’t think it’s going anywhere” but squeal when he finally texts back… seven hours later. Growth is not linear.

This column isn’t about how to ‘win’ at dating, because I’m not convinced that’s the point.

It’s about the stories we tell ourselves while we’re in it; the narratives we cling to, the red flags we paint beige (and occasionally green if they’re taller than 6 feet), and the fantasies we project onto people who haven’t earned them.

If you’re lovingly partnered, painfully single (self-imposed or not), freshly heartbroken, or emotionally unattached, this space is for you.

We’ll discuss attraction and avoidance, intimacy and independence, why we desire what we do, and why we sometimes sprint away from it the moment we finally get it.

Question the how-tos, how-not-tos, and the ‘why does this keep happening to me’s?’ We’ll revisit the should’ve, could’ve, would’ve scenarios…probably more than once.

But for now, I’ll be right here, observing, questioning, and writing as someone inspired, open, still single, and convinced that those three things can absolutely coexist.

Got love-related topics you want us to talk about? Let us know here or on social media @themuseyyt!

Access is a right, not a favour. When I first tried to access accommodations as a student, I quickly realized how complicated the process could be.

I found myself moving from one office to another, each one asking me to re-tell my story, re-explain my disability, and justify my needs.

What should have been a supportive process became exhausting and retraumatizing. 

This experience isn’t unique. Many disabled students face the same cycle, bouncing between departments that don’t communicate and being asked to “prove” their disability over and over again.

It’s not just frustrating, it’s harmful. It sends the message that our needs are burdens rather than rights. 

These barriers don’t stop at classrooms or paperwork. They show up in everyday infrastructure decisions, like snow clearing.

When clearing accessible routes, ramps, or entrances are not prioritized or not cleared at all, disabled students are effectively locked out of campus.

Access is treated as an afterthought, something to be addressed only after complaints are made rather than a core responsibility. This puts the burden once again on disabled people to advocate for basic inclusion, often in unsafe or undignified ways. 

Disabled students are disproportionately affected because the system isn’t built with accessibility at its core. When support depends on persistence rather than equity, those already facing barriers are left behind. 

Student disability groups often try to fill these gaps. These groups play an essential role in building community, offering peer support, and advocating for change.

But they are typically run by students who are already navigating disability, academics, financial stress, and burnout. As the number of disabled students increases and as needs become more complex, these groups are becoming overextended and under resourced.

They are asked to educate institutions, support peers in crisis, and push for systemic change, all without formal authority, staffing, or compensation. 

A standalone accessibility advocate or office within Memorial could change that.

Unlike student groups, a standalone advocate would have dedicated time, training, and institutional independence.

This advocate could help students navigate processes without retraumatization, coordinate between departments, and ensure accountability when access fails, whether that’s in accommodation approvals, campus policies, or physical access like elevators or snow clearing.

Importantly, this role would support student disability groups, not replace them, by connecting them to resources, amplifying their concerns, and reducing the pressure on students to carry the full  weight of advocacy alone. 

But this need extends beyond education. There should also be a standalone disability advocate within government, a dedicated office focused solely on disability rights, accessibility, and inclusion across all sectors.

This advocate could bridge gaps between departments, ensure policies are informed by lived experience, and hold systems accountable for accessibility and  equity in housing, transportation, education, and public spaces.

This is more than an administrative fix. It’s a matter of disability justice. True justice means recognizing that access, representation, and inclusion must be built into every level of society, not negotiated case by case.