Category: The Conversation – Canada

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Amy Anderson, PHD Student in Art History & Visual Studies, University of Victoria

I was lucky to encounter The Rocky Horror Picture Show early in life, when my mother tracked the DVD down at our local video store so we could watch it together from the comfort of our apartment.

My initial experience lacked some of the context and traditions which, over the last 50 years, have cemented Rocky Horror’s status as the quintessential cult film.

Ironically, in my mother’s case, introducing her child to Rocky Horror required her to remove it from the very setting which gave the film its social significance in the first place: the movie theatre.

While “cult cinema” remains a somewhat nebulous categorization, scholarship consistently ties the term directly to the social situation of audiences receiving films. For cult cinema studies vanguards like Danny Peary, a movie doesn’t achieve cult status by simply inspiring a collective fan base. A cult film is born through ritualistic traditions of audience attendance that must occur in a public, social screening setting like a movie theatre.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show — the Hollywood-funded screen adaptation of Jim Sharman and Richard O’Brien’s successful British stage musical — owes its cult success to independent, repertory cinemas.

Second life after box office flop

Considered a box office flop upon its 1975 release, the film soon found its second life as a midnight movie at New York City’s Waverly Theatre the following year.

At late night screenings, Rocky Horror drew audiences who were attracted to the film’s eclectic use of pastiche and radical depictions of queer sexuality.

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Read more:
At 50, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is ‘imperfectly’ good (and queer) as ever

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Marking its 50th anniversary this year, the film continues to inspire a loyal following. Costumed fans still flock to local theatres, props in hand, to participate in performed traditions of audience participation, some of which have now been passed down for half a century.

Cult films and independent cinemas

One might argue that Rocky Horror’s expansion beyond the raucous, rice-strewn aisles of midnight movie screenings into personal, domestic settings (for example, my childhood living room) signals the precarious existence of both cult cinema and independent theatres.

Indeed, the two phenomena have become increasingly codependent. On the one hand, the Rocky Horror experience cannot be authentically replicated at home, since the exciting novelty of cult film screenings lies in the somewhat unpredictable nature of public, collective viewing practices.

The survival of Rocky Horror as we’ve come to know it hinges on the continued existence of independent cinemas, which provide settings for inclusive self expression and queer celebration that corporate cinema chains are less hospitable to.

In turn, cult cinema’s ephemeral quality makes it resistant to the allure of private, individualized entertainment, hailed by technological developments like VHS and DVD and of course, most recently, online streaming services.

Movie-viewing changes

Throughout my time as the programmer for a non-profit repertory cinema in Victoria, B.C. in the face of post-pandemic attendance declines and online streaming competitors — not to mention Cineplex’s continued monopoly over the Canadian theatrical exhibition landscape — I saw first-hand the economic necessity of screening Rocky Horror.

When independent cinemas are looking for consistent sources of revenue, cult films like Rocky Horror are top of the list.

In my past cinema experience, the only other films that regularly had comparative popularity are now also considered cult titles: the early-aughts favourite The Room and more recently the Twilight movies.

Human experiences, together

Programming The Rocky Horror Picture Show for five years also revealed for me cult cinema’s important relationship to chance. One of the more embarrassing moments of my programming career came when a projectionist unknowingly screened an unappetizingly sepia-toned version of Rocky Horror to a sold-out theatre audience. What remains a mortifying mistake still, I think, captures the essential element of humanness that remains integral to public moviegoing traditions.

Cult cinema exemplifies the adventurous nature of collective viewing. While Rocky Horror screenings traditionally encourage the audience’s self-expression, as with all cinema, each showing is a unique occurrence. This reminds us that it’s sometimes beneficial to suspend our expectations (colour grading aside) of how a film is meant to be seen.

Cult cinema: a paradox of time

In my doctoral research, I examine how moving images continually influence our lived relationship to time. Cinema is, at its heart, a medium of time, since its signature illusion of lifelike movement is created by displaying a collection of still images (or pixels) in a process of successive duration. Film theorist Mary Ann Doane observes that cinema’s unique ties to temporality have profoundly structured many essential aspects of modern human experience.

Cult cinema poses an intriguing paradox with regards to time. At cinemas, we typically aspire to give films our undivided attention. We derive meaning — and hopefully, pleasure — through a concentrated and cohesive understanding of what is occurring on the screen in front of us.

Conversely, showings of Rocky Horror and other cult films require different levels of presence and engagement. The average theatrical Rocky Horror viewer’s focus is divided dramatically between virtual, onscreen space and the physical environment of the theatre, including the audience’s expressions.

Consequently, the spectator’s perception vacillates between the film as an unchanging record of time passed (what Doane calls “cinematic time”) and the more contingent, unpredictable nature of “real” time perceived from and within our physical bodies.

The audience’s movie

Perhaps the magic of cult cinema is formed where these two temporal frequencies meet: when Rocky Horror’s cinematic time occurs in tandem with the delightful unpredictability of a live audience.

This sentiment was maybe best articulated by the actor Barry Bostwick, who played the role of Brad Majors in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, in a documentary interview:

“The reason people think [Rocky Horror is] the greatest cult movie of all time is because it’s their movie, they own it. It’s as if they make it every time they go to the theatre.”

Amy Anderson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’ reveals the magic of cult cinema – https://theconversation.com/how-the-rocky-horror-picture-show-reveals-the-magic-of-cult-cinema-267712

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Farinaz Basmechi, Doctoral researcher, Feminist and Gender Studies, L’Université d’Ottawa/University of Ottawa

Last month marked the third anniversary of the Woman, Life, Freedom movement in Iran, an uprising that has been described as the country’s most significant movement since the establishment of the Islamic Republic.

Though authoritarian powers and patriarchal systems continue to oppress, women journalists in the Middle East have combined reporting and activism. Many of these professionals operate under regimes that criminalize dissent. For them, reporting isn’t just a profession, it merges with acts of resistance.

Across the region, journalists like Egypt’s Lina Attalah, who continues to publish investigative reports despite state repression, and Yemen’s Afrah Nasser, whose exile hasn’t silenced her voice, act as catalysts for change, using their platforms to amplify marginalized voices, challenge oppressive systems and mobilize communities in liberation-focused movements.

Through the years, their work has gone far beyond reporting news and has become a vital force for truth, justice and social transformation in the region.

Telling the truth under threat

Ever since social media and blogs became widely accessible, women journalists have stood at the forefront, playing a crucial role in raising awareness of inequality, often in competition with predominantly male-dominated mainstream news outlets that are heavily censored or operate under tight government influence.

My Stealthy Freedom (MSF), for example, one of the most prominent social movements in Iran, was launched in 2014 by exiled Iranian journalist Masih Alinejad. What started as a Facebook page supporting Iranian women’s autonomy in making personal choices about their dress quickly gained more than one million followers.

In May 2017, MSF launched the #WhiteWednesdays campaign, encouraging participants to wear white headscarves or other symbols on Wednesdays as a visible form of protest against the mandatory hijab law. The campaign later expanded through tactical hashtags like #MarchingWithoutHijab and #OurCameraIsOurWeapon.

While Alinejad was working abroad, the government arrested her brother to pressure her to end her activism. In addition, New York police arrested two men involved in a murder-for-hire plot against her.

In Lebanon, independent journalist Luna Safwan, who covers corruption, gender-based violence and protest movements, has experienced co-ordinated online harassment for her critical reporting on Hezbollah and gender inequality. She faced two defamation SLAPP suits from her harasser and his lawyer after she and six other women publicly accused activist Jaafar al-Attar of sexual misconduct in 2021.

Lina Attalah, editor-in-chief of Mada Masr, one of the few remaining independent media outlets in Egypt, has been detained several times for publishing investigative reports on government corruption and women’s rights. She continues to advocate for press freedom and digital security for journalists under authoritarian regimes.

Award-winning Yemeni journalist and blogger Afrah Nasser was forced to flee into exile after documenting human rights violations and gender-based violence during Yemen’s civil war. As a researcher with Human Rights Watch, she continues to advocate for accountability, freedom of expression and justice for victims of war crimes in Yemen.

Yara Bader, a Syrian Journalist and human rights advocate who leads the Syrian Center for Media and Freedom of Expression, has exposed state-led detentions, torture and media suppression. Despite facing arrest and exile, she continues to advocate for press freedom and the protection of detained journalists in Syria.

In Tunisia, Lina Ben Mhenni — a blogger, digital activist and journalist — used her blog, A Tunisian Girl, during the Arab Spring to report on rural and under-covered regions. She documented police brutality and government repression and helped expose injustices to both the Tunisian public and the international community. She later became an advocate for human rights and freedom of expression in Tunisia.

Al Jazeera Palestinian journalist Bisan Owda has used her Instagram account to issue calls for global solidarity since 2023. The reporting of Owda and others from Gaza, like Hind Khoudary and Youmna ElSayed, have led to worldwide demonstrations, including a global strike on university campuses in 2024 and, more recently, the global strike in August 2025.

Middle Eastern women journalists like these have been crucial in documenting on-the-ground realities and mobilizing resistance against colonial, authoritarian and patriarchal violence.

Reclaiming the narrative digitally

The truth is that Middle Eastern women journalists have been actively reporting in places like Palestine and covering other conflict zones, often under dangerous conditions, for a long time.

While on the job, for example, veteran Al Jazeera reporter Shireen Abu Akleh was fatally shot by an Israeli soldier during a military operation in Jenin despite wearing a clearly marked “press” flak jacket.

Social media and blogging sites have given women journalists the platforms needed to spread messages of resistance.

And although Middle Eastern women journalists face a dual struggle — against patriarchal state structures and lingering colonial forces — they persist, fighting for a more equitable world and to mobilize others toward that goal.

In today’s world, where human rights seem increasingly fragile, Middle Eastern women journalists demonstrate determination and resilience. They advocate for human rights and fight against gender-based violence while shaping narratives and striving for social transformation within their geopolitical contexts and beyond.

In many Middle Eastern countries, access to official news channels is often reserved for reinforcing authoritarian narratives, while feminist journalists act as agents of change, using widely accessible platforms — particularly social media — to create spaces for awareness and reform.

Women journalists resist oversimplified portrayals of women as oppressed by family, state or colonial power. They reveal women’s role as active agents of change, exposing injustice and advancing movements for equality.

Farinaz Basmechi does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. In the Middle East, women journalists and activists have been driving crucial change – https://theconversation.com/in-the-middle-east-women-journalists-and-activists-have-been-driving-crucial-change-265273

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Laura Doering, Associate Professor of Strategic Management, University of Toronto

Return-to-office mandates are spreading across North America, with Canada’s major banks, the Ontario government, Amazon and Facebook calling employees back into the office.

These moves reverse the flexibility that became widespread during the COVID-19 pandemic, when remote work became the new norm as public health measures emphasized staying home and avoiding large gatherings.

Supporters of these policies often cite collaboration, innovation and mentorship as reasons to bring workers together in person.

But our research shows that these mandates don’t affect everyone equally. For many women, returning to the office means stepping back into environments where gender bias is more pronounced.

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Read more:
As back-to-school season approaches, Canadian employers are making a mistake by mandating workers back to the office

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Everyday discrimination at work

When people think about gender discrimination, many imagine pay gaps or barriers to promotion. But discrimination also plays out in routine interactions — what we refer to as “everyday gender discrimination” in our study.

These are regular slights and offences that can chip away at women’s confidence and sense of belonging over time. They might include being ignored in meetings, being asked to perform administrative tasks outside one’s role, receiving inappropriate comments or having one’s ideas credited to others.

While each single incident might seem trivial, their cumulative effect can make women feel frustrated, dissatisfied with their jobs and more likely to leave their organizations.

As organizations reassess where and how people work in the wake of the pandemic, we decided to examine whether everyday discrimination looks different in remote versus in-person settings.

Clear differences by location

To investigate how location shapes everyday gender discrimination, we surveyed 1,091 professional women in the United States with hybrid jobs, or roles that involved both in-person and remote work. Our design allowed us to compare the same person’s experiences across work locations and pinpoint the impact of location itself.

The results were striking. Women were significantly more likely to experience everyday gender discrimination when working on-site than when working remotely.

In a typical month, 29 per cent of respondents reported experiencing discrimination in the office, compared to just 18 per cent when working from home. These patterns held across types of discrimination, from being underestimated to being excluded from social activities and experiencing sexual harassment.

The contrast was especially sharp for two groups: younger women (under 30) and women who worked mostly with men. Among younger women, the likelihood of experiencing discrimination dropped from 31 per cent on site to just 14 per cent when remote.

Similarly, women who interacted primarily with men saw their likelihood of experiencing discrimination fall from 58 per cent on site to 26 per cent remotely. For these groups, remote work provides a meaningful reduction in exposure to everyday gender discrimination.

The trade-offs of remote work

Still, remote work is no silver bullet for gender inequality. Our findings highlight a key advantage — reduced exposure to everyday discrimination — but there are important trade-offs that need to be considered.

One challenge is that working remotely can limit informal interactions that are crucial for building relationships. It can also reduce access to mentors and feedback and make it harder for women to be considered for high-profile assignments.

Remote work can also make it harder to tell where the office ends and home begins, pulling family duties into the workday and intensifying family obligations even during work hours.

These factors are crucial for career advancement, especially for women. While remote work offers an environment with less everyday gender discrimination, working off-site may also limit women’s professional opportunities.

Understanding these trade-offs is essential as organizations craft return-to-office policies. Rather than treating remote work as inherently good or bad, leaders need nuanced strategies that combine the benefits of both in-person and remote work.

What employers and policymakers can do

As companies and governments push employees to return to the office, they risk overlooking how much location matters for women’s workplace experiences. Here are three steps organizations can take to address this issue:

1. Offer flexibility where possible.

Giving employees the option to work remotely empowers women to choose the environment where they feel most respected and productive. Some companies have adopted remote-first policies, framing them as tools for talent retention. Such policies allow employees to make decisions about the work location that suits them best.

2. Import best practices from remote meetings.

While virtual meetings tend to be less engaging, they are also more efficient and focused, with fewer opportunities for offhand comments or interruptions. Applying that same structure to in-person meetings could reduce discrimination while improving productivity.

Companies should consider formal agendas, structured turn-taking and asynchronous feedback to create fairer, more professional discussions. Amazon, for example, applied this principle by centring in-person meetings around “six-page memos” rather than open-ended discussions.

3. Acknowledge the trade-offs.

Leaders should recognize that, while on-site work can accelerate skill development, it can also magnify gender bias. A frank acknowledgement of this tension is the first step toward creating systems that minimize harm while maximizing opportunity.

One bank we studied in separate research, which hasn’t been published yet, overcame this challenge by pairing junior staff with senior mentors and implementing a project-tracking system to ensure equitable assignment of opportunities.

Location, location, location

Workplace discrimination is not only an ethical problem — it also undermines performance, fuels turnover and exposes firms to legal risks.

Our study shows that where work happens — remotely or on site — plays a central role in shaping women’s exposure to everyday gender discrimination.

As organizations roll back the remote work practices adopted during the pandemic, it’s important to recognize that decisions about location can powerfully shape employees’ experiences and professional opportunities at work.

Thoughtful policies that balance the benefits of in-person interaction with the protections afforded by remote work can help ensure that women face less everyday discrimination and experience greater equality at work.

Laura Doering receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Institute for Gender and the Economy at Rotman, and the Lee-Chin Institute.

András Tilcsik has received research funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the University of Toronto’s Institute for Pandemics, and the Institute for Gender and the Economy at the Rotman School of Management.

– ref. Remote work reduced gender discrimination — returning to the office may change that – https://theconversation.com/remote-work-reduced-gender-discrimination-returning-to-the-office-may-change-that-265945

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Sylvain Amoros, Adjunct Professor, Department of Marketing, HEC Montréal

In early 2025, some of Canada’s largest banks — including those with the highest digital emissions and greatest responsibility — withdrew from the Net Zero Asset Managers Initiative.

These major institutions, with digital carbon footprints that are disproportionately large, cited regulatory complexity and competitive pressures for their departure. This move has intensified questions from investors, policymakers and the public about their commitment to sustainability.

At the same time, Bill C-59, adopted in late 2024, introduced new provisions under the Competition Act to strengthen accountability for greenwashing and misleading environmental claims.

The timing is striking: as Ottawa tightens disclosure rules, the same large banks that dominate digital emissions are stepping away from voluntary climate commitments. This tension between voluntary pledges and federal accountability underscores the growing pressure on financial institutions to prove — rather than simply promote — their environmental performance.

Digital carbon footprint

For decades, banks have presented themselves as leaders in sustainability through renewable energy financing and ambitious environmental, social and governance commitments. Yet their recent departure from climate coalitions — coupled with their outsized digital carbon footprints — represents an alarming reversal.

We recently conducted a study of the environmental impact of nine Canadian banks including the big five: CIBC, TD Bank, Scotiabank, Royal Bank of Canada and BMO. Our recent study sought to quantify banks’ environmental impact through their digital carbon footprint.

Banks are pillars of our economy and society, possessing both the power and responsibility to lead the transition toward a more sustainable economy. However, their recent withdrawal from the Net Zero Asset Managers Initiative, coupled with ongoing concerns about greenwashing, raises legitimate questions about their true commitment to sustainability.

In this context, our goal as researchers is to provide both bank clients and financial institutions with crucial information about their environmental impact. Understanding the environmental footprint of banks’ digital operations is essential, as this often-overlooked aspect constitutes a significant portion of their overall carbon footprint.

We analyzed public data from 2024 to measure the carbon impact of Canadian banks’ digital practices. Our study examined two main dimensions:

1) Website usage (the energy consumed by website loading, data transfers and hosting) and;

2) Traffic acquisition, which includes all marketing activities that bring visitors to these sites, such as email marketing, paid advertising search engine optimization and social media campaigns.

The objective was to compare carbon emissions among different banks, assess their efficiency per visit and provide transparent information to the public. By identifying the most polluting areas in digital operations, we provide recommendations for improvement.

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Read more:
Canadian financial institutions are fuelling the climate change crisis

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Social media activity

Our study uncovered significant findings about Canadian banks’ digital environmental impact. Most strikingly, we found a performance gap where the worst bank emits twice as much carbon per visitor as the best; just three banks account for two-thirds of total emissions.

To clarify, “traffic acquisition” refers to the process of attracting visitors to a website — whether through paid ads, organic search results, or social media content. Organic traffic comes from users who find a bank’s site naturally through search engines, social media or content marketing, while paid traffic is generated through advertising placements.

The data reveals that 77 per cent of digital emissions come from traffic acquisition versus only 23 per cent from website usage. Paid traffic drives 95 per cent of traffic emissions despite being a small fraction of total traffic, while organic traffic accounts for just five per cent of emissions.

Paid social media is particularly problematic — responsible for 58 per cent of emissions while generating only one per cent of total traffic.

In other words, social media ads are highly inefficient from a carbon perspective: a visitor coming from online advertising emits 418 times more carbon dioxide than one coming from organic sources.

These results expose online advertising — especially social media campaigns — as major hidden pollution sources.

A hidden source of pollution

These findings highlight how online advertising — particularly social media campaigns — can become a major source of digital pollution. The reality is clear: every click has a carbon cost.

Banks can improve their inbound marketing, meaning strategies that attract users organically through relevant content, search optimization and user experience improvements rather than through paid ads.

Transparency and sustainable digital practices are essential for greener banking — practices that reduce emissions without sacrificing innovation or competitiveness.

After withdrawing from the Net Zero Asset Managers Initiative and maintaining public net-zero commitments, many banks continue to generate significant emissions through their digital operations.

This raises a critical question for regulators, investors and consumers alike: will banks leverage their considerable resources to lead on sustainability, or continue to delay meaningful action?

Our next study will assess whether these institutions uphold their commitments or persist in their current practices, despite the escalating climate urgency.

Victor Prouteau, who at the time of this study was an M. Sc. student at HEC Montréal, co-authored this article.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Major Canadian banks’ digital emissions stay massive while they disclose less and less – https://theconversation.com/major-canadian-banks-digital-emissions-stay-massive-while-they-disclose-less-and-less-260768

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Mira Sucharov, Professor of Political Science, Carleton University

With antisemitism on the rise while Israeli-Palestinian relations remain at an historic low, one question that continues to dog public discourse is whether anti-Zionism is a form of antisemitism.

The stakes within the Jewish community have recently increased, with the issuing of a letter signed by more than 850 American rabbis and cantors opposing New York City mayoral frontrunner Zohran Mamdani due to his opposition to Zionism. The letter argues that anti-Zionism “encourage[s] and exacerbate[s] hostility toward Judaism and Jews.”

Why does the distinction matter?

If anti-Zionism is understood to be antisemitism, then those protesting or otherwise articulating deep opposition to the governing ideology of the state of Israel could find themselves on the receiving end of public opprobrium — harsh criticism and disgrace.

A global debate with deep roots

People in Canada and the United States have lost employment offers and jobs for seeming anti-Zionist.

This debate is not new, however. In 2022, Jonathan Greenblatt, head of the Anti-Defamation League, stated that “anti-Zionism is antisemitism” and that anti-Zionism is “an ideology rooted in rage.” A year later, the U.S. House of Representatives passed a resolution stating that “anti-Zionism is antisemitism.”

In 2017, French President Emmanuel Macron called anti-Zionism a “reinvented form of antisemitism.” And perhaps most importantly, against this backdrop is the definition of antisemitism adopted by many countries, including the U.S. and Canada, which brings the two concepts very close together, if not outright equating them.

Specifically, the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance defines antisemitism, among other things, as “denying the Jewish people their right to self-determination (e.g., by claiming that the existence of a State of Israel is a racist endeavour).”

What data reveals about Zionism

But is anti-Zionism really antisemitism?

To determine whether anti-Zionism is antisemitic, we first need to think about how we define Zionism. As a Canadian Jewish political scientist, my own research has found that the term Zionism is understood in wildly different ways.

In 2022, I surveyed American Jews with a weighted sample to account for various demographics. I found that while 58 per cent identified as Zionist, 70 per cent identified as such when I defined Zionism as “a feeling of attachment to Israel.” When I defined Zionism as a “belief in a Jewish and democratic state,” the number rose slightly, to 72 per cent.

But a very different picture emerged when I presented a vastly alternate definition of Zionism. If Zionism, I offered, “means the belief in privileging Jewish rights over non-Jewish rights in Israel, are you a Zionist?” Here, respondents’ support for the kind of Zionism experienced by Palestinians plummeted: only 10 per cent of respondents said they were “definitely” (three per cent) or “probably” (seven per cent) Zionist, according to this definition, with a full 69 per cent saying they were “probably not” or “definitely not.”

A lifetime of analysis of Zionism, and adopting various labels at different phases of life for myself — I have at times identified as progressive Zionist, liberal Zionist, anti-Zionist, non-Zionist and none of the above — leads me to conclude that anti-Zionism and antisemitism should be considered distinct concepts.

Identity, nationalism and belonging

Those who see anti-Zionism as antisemitic deploy various arguments.

One is that self-determination is a right, and denying that right to Jews — and sometimes seemingly only to Jews — is discriminatory and prejudicial. But while everyone has the right to self-determination, no one has the right to determine themselves by denying the rights of others to do the same.

Another is that given that the majority of Jews by most accounts embrace some form of Zionism, denying a part of their identity is hateful. But unlike most other markers and symbols of ethnic or religious identity, Zionism has historically, and continues to, directly affect another ethnic group: namely, Palestinians.

Contrast this kind of identity with dietary laws, clothing restrictions, modes of prayer and one’s relationship to sacred texts: none of these aspects of identity necessarily affect another group. By contrast, the historical record of how Zionism has affected Palestinians is vast.

A third argument concerns antisemitism in general — that every other group gets to define the terminology around their own oppression, and therefore so should Jews. But again, when a state — which by definition interacts with others within and outside its borders — is brought into the equation, the debate about antisemitism ceases to be about only Jews.

At its core, Zionism is a political ideology. A cornerstone of liberal society is political debate, including subjecting ideologies to the stress test of critique. These ideologies include capitalism, socialism, social democracy, communism, ethno-nationalism, settler colonialism, theocracy, Islamism, Hindu nationalism and so on.

In the right of others to support, oppose, analyze or criticize it, Zionism is — or at least should be — be no different.

The personal and the political

I understand why many Jews feel that anti-Zionist actions or statements are hateful to their identity. Most Jews have grown up believing that to be Jewish is to feel a deep connection to the state of Israel.

I grew up singing Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem, every evening at Hebrew summer camp in Manitoba as we lowered the two flags hanging from the flagpole: one the flag of Canada, the other, of course, of Israel.

And in many synagogues across Canada, it is typical to hear the Prayer for Israel recited, and it is not uncommon for the Israeli flag to be displayed prominently. At one synagogue I attended last year for a family celebration, there were even depictions of Israel Defense Forces soldiers etched into the stained-glass windows above the sanctuary.

But to feel connected to Israel — the land, the people, the safe refuge it has served for Jews in crisis, especially but not only after the Holocaust — one doesn’t necessarily need to embrace its governing ideology.

One can seek to understand the harm Zionism has caused to Palestinians. One can try to consider alternative framings, ideologies or governing structures that would enable Israelis to thrive along with Palestinians.

As Zionist founder Theodor Herzl famously said, “If you will it, it is no dream.”

Mira Sucharov has received funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. She is on the Advisory Council of New Israel Fund-Canada, sits on the task force of the Nexus Project, and is a founding signatory of the Jerusalem Declaration on Antisemitism.

– ref. The conflation problem: Why anti-Zionism and anti-semitism are not the same – https://theconversation.com/the-conflation-problem-why-anti-zionism-and-anti-semitism-are-not-the-same-267676

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Chantal M. Boucher, Assistant Professor, Clinical Psychologist, University of Windsor

We all want closure. A breakup, a sudden job loss, or the death of someone we love can leave us desperate for answers. Wars, natural disasters and shared tragedies stir the same kind of longing.

Our need for closure runs so deep, it’s echoed everywhere — in movies, novels, songs about heartbreak and loss, even in everyday phrases like “moving on” or “getting over” something.

However, closure is easier said than done. Sometimes it never fully arrives. When it doesn’t, unfinished business can weigh on us, affecting our mood, our health, our identity and our relationships. In a world of growing uncertainties, learning how to cope with what’s “open” or unresolved is essential.

As a psychologist, I am interested in studying why closure matters, why it’s hard to find and how we can begin to heal when life fails to provide clear answers.

What is closure, and why does it matter?

Closure is the psychological sense of resolution felt when a painful or confusing experience is settled enough that it no longer demands constant mental and emotional energy.

It’s a sense that an event is understood, settled and no longer bothersome. Without it, old memories intrude like uninvited guests, resurfacing with regret, anger or confusion, even years later.

Trauma research shows unresolved memories can feel as though they’re happening right now until they’re reframed as part of the distant past. Everyday hurts work the same way.

Resolution frees the mind to focus on what matters now — our goals, our emotional needs and the people around us — with calm and clarity. This is why so many turn to therapy, self-help resources and other tools to make sense of, find peace with or otherwise close open parts of their lives.

Measuring closure: A step forward

Despite its popularity and adaptive value, closure has been hard to study because it has been hard to measure. A new tool colleagues and I have developed, the Closure and Resolution Scale, is changing that.

This self-report measure captures multiple facets of resolution — finality, understanding, distance, emotional relief, mental release, even behavioural shifts — offering a comprehensive picture of what closure looks and feels like for people.

Clinicians and researchers can use the CRS to track progress, test interventions and identify what helps or hinders resolution.

Our preliminary work, aided by research assistant, Meaghan Tome, suggests that beliefs about finding closure are as rich and nuanced as the construct itself.

Some see it as self-driven, others as dependent on someone else. Some treat it as active problem-solving, others as quiet acceptance. Some lean on internal change, others on external action. These personal theories shape how we seek — or avoid — closure in our own lives.

Why we struggle to find closure

Why does closure often feel out of reach? Research suggests several reasons.

Ambiguity: When stories feel unfinished, like when we’re ghosted, the mind scrambles to fill in the blanks. We crave coherent explanations, but life doesn’t always provide them.

Avoidance: Pain hurts. Memories can spark guilt, shame, fear or grief, and our natural inclination is to push these feelings away. Avoidance offers short-term relief but delays real healing. What we resist persists.

Barriers: Open memories are often interpersonal. People who lack closure may feel like they need an apology, explanation or conversation that never comes. Limited time, money or unsupportive environments can make getting closure feel impossible.

Working toward closure

If you or someone in your life is struggling with closure, here are a few things you can try:

Talk it through. Therapy can help name the experience, examine thoughts, manage emotions and identify steps toward resolution.

Write it out. Expressive writing and journaling can ease intrusive memories and facilitate new meaning. Try writing an unsent letter when direct dialogue isn’t possible.

Shift perspective. Reframe the story from an outside view or focus on the broader significance to gain clarity and distance.

Lean on others. Friends, peers or people who’ve “been there” can offer comfort and validation.

Rethink closure. Some endings remain unresolved. For ambiguous losses, rituals, meaning-making and flexibility can help to live with uncertainty.

Act on values. When change is possible, take purposeful steps that align with your values — have the conversation, set boundaries, leave harmful situations. When it isn’t, let go, treat it as a lesson rather than a weight and redirect your energy.

Beware the closure trap

Not every experience is “closable” in the way we might hope. Some losses are ambiguous. Some events remain unclear. And rigid ideas about what closure should look like can keep us stuck.

A healthier aim is to make space for what can’t be answered, create meaning where we can and live our values alongside the unknown — freeing attention and energy, with acceptance and compassion, for what matters now.

Closure isn’t always possible, but new meaning and movement forward always are.

Looking ahead

Closure isn’t about forgetting the past. It’s about learning to live with it, answers or no answers. What we know so far is that closure is deeply personal, impacting our health, our relationships and our views of ourselves and others.

While therapy, writing, social support or values-guided actions can help, the path to resolution is rarely one-size-fits-all. Tools like the Closure and Resolution Scale can help us to better understand the idiosyncrasies of this journey.

In the end, what often hurts most is not an event itself, but the silence and questions it leaves behind. The good news? Closure doesn’t have to be given by others. It can be chosen.

Sometimes the most powerful ending is the one we write ourselves.

Chantal M. Boucher does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Struggling with closure? Here are some things you can try – https://theconversation.com/struggling-with-closure-here-are-some-things-you-can-try-264856

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Maneesha Deckha, Professor and Lansdowne Chair in law, University of Victoria

Most people think countries like Canada have strong animal protection laws, but it doesn’t. A case in point is the unfolding tragedy-in-the-making at Marineland.

Facing economic ruin amid waning public acceptance of whale captivity, Marineland has threatened it will euthanize its remaining 30 beluga whales unless the government provides emergency funding for their care.

This ultimatum follows the federal government’s recent denial of Marineland’s request for an export permit to ship the belugas to a large theme park in China. Fisheries Minister Joanne Thompson denied the permit due to concerns that the belugas would be used for entertainment — a fate now illegal in Canada since the 2019 ban on capturing cetaceans for display.

The 2019 federal legislation banned bringing new cetaceans into captivity, subject to a few exceptions. Ontario passed a similar law in 2015. However, the cetaceans who were already in captivity were not included, effectively preserving Marineland’s property rights over its remaining animals.

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Read more:
Marineland’s decline raises questions about the future of zoo tourism

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But with changing public attitudes, Marineland now has a deteriorating facility and expensive care on its hands for animals it can no longer use to turn a profit.

The threat to kill the belugas as a solution to its economic woes, while shocking, reflects the ethical emptiness of the Canadian legal system when it comes to animals. Simply put, Canadian law still allows human and corporate owners to kill their animals because animals are legally treated as “property.”

The weakness of Canada’s animal cruelty laws

Marineland can carry out its “euthanasia” so long as it doesn’t run afoul of tepid anti-cruelty laws, which are poorly enforced, as demonstrated by Marineland’s history.

Animal advocates have long argued that captive and socially deprived animals at Marineland have suffered for decades. A 2012 Toronto Star investigation series brought overdue and much-needed public and prosecutorial attention to the park, resulting in more than 200 visits by provincial inspectors since 2000.

Even so, since 2019, 20 whales have died in Marineland’s care. The park has only been charged with animal cruelty a handful of times, and all of those charges were eventually dropped. Other complaints to Animal Welfare Services, the provincial body responsible for the enforcement of anti-cruelty legislation, have largely gone nowhere.

In fact, anti-cruelty charges against Marineland have only gone ahead twice: once in 2021 regarding water quality for the cetaceans and once in relation to its care of black bears in 2024.

The dearth of legal sanctions for Marineland, and its ability to hold the lives of its belugas as a bargaining chip, highlights the need for a legal paradigm shift.

But it’s not just the interests and needs of whales that are at stake here. Other animals matter, too, not least the non-cetaceans still at Marineland and the animals trapped in farms, labs and zoos.

Challenging human exceptionalism

As I’ve written at length in my book Animals as Legal Beings, we need to displace the human exceptionalism that characterizes our laws and shapes our relationships with all animals — even dogs, cats and other companion animals.

This means rejecting the idea that humans are superior and animals are merely “property.” It also means valuing and respecting animals enough to stop their immense suffering in captive industries.

Eliminating human exceptionalism would dramatically reshape society by calling for structural changes to our economy, laws and daily practices. But it would benefit all of us.

Now, more than ever, we need to see the links between the dismal legal treatment of animals and other social issues. As I have also written about, human exceptionalism in the law undermines efforts to surmount sexism and racism because all of these systems depend on devaluing animals.

Human exceptionalism is also incompatible with reconciliation and decolonization, which require respect for Indigenous worldviews and laws. Many Indigenous legal orders view animals as equals, kin and beings with their own intentions, families and life purposes.

Keeping belugas and other animals in captivity disavows animal autonomy and devastates animal families. The suffering of captive animals is part of a broader failure to see animals as fellow beings with their own rights.

Protecting animal lives

Human exceptionalism is at the heart of climate change, biodiversity loss, ocean warming and other planetary health crises. The same extractive logic that drives industrial pollution, deforestation and climate destruction also governs how we treat animals.

While whales in the ocean have it better than the belugas still enduring captivity at Marineland, all animals — no matter where they live — are unjustly harmed by a social and legal system that privileges human and corporate interests and runs roughshod over the interests of non-humans.

The belugas and other animals at Marineland deserve to live. A legal system that allows them to be killed because it is economically convenient is one that needs to change. It’s not the belugas that should be euthanized, but rather the human exceptionalism that continues to drive Canadian law and policy.

We can transition away from this outdated and harmful worldview toward a future that views justice and compassion from an interspecies lens and will uplift us all.

Maneesha Deckha is a monthly supporter of the advocacy group Animal Justice.

– ref. The fate of Marineland’s belugas expose the ethical cracks in Canadian animal law – https://theconversation.com/the-fate-of-marinelands-belugas-expose-the-ethical-cracks-in-canadian-animal-law-267500

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Russell Field, Associate Professor, Sport and Physical Activity, University of Manitoba

Late on an October Monday night, George Springer smashed a three-run homer to send nearly 45,000 fans in Toronto’s Rogers Centre — and a record national television audience — into a frenzy.

Six outs later, the Blue Jays had qualified for the 2025 World Series against the defending champion Los Angeles Dodgers.

It had the feeling of a denouement. Yet, like other famed home runs in Blue Jays history, Springer’s blast was just one step in the long journey through baseball’s three playoff rounds.

Edwin Encarnacion’s extra-inning walk-off homer against the Baltimore Orioles in 2016 only won an elimination wildcard game.

A year earlier, Jose Bautista’s then-audacious bat flip followed a dramatic home run — also like Springer’s hit in the seventh inning — that moved the Blue Jays onto the same championship series round that they had not won since 1993. Until this year.

The enduring legacy of 1993

Invoking 1993 holds special resonance for Blue Jays fans. It’s the last time the team won, let alone reached, the World Series.

That year produced the most dramatic home run in team history. Joe Carter’s Game 6, ninth-inning, three-run blast to left field was only the second time a World Series had ended with a walk-off home run. It clinched the team’s second straight championship.

It is easy to tell the story of the Blue Jays through the lens of dramatic game-winning home runs. However, the context of the team’s championships —and near misses — offers a more nuanced tale.

Building a contending team

Toronto, thanks to funding from Labatt Breweries, was granted an American League expansion franchise in 1977, alongside the Seattle Mariners — the team Toronto just vanquished in the championship series this year. The Mariners remain the only current franchise never to have played in a World Series.

Following a handful of dire losing seasons, Blue Jays management earned a reputation for talent development. The first crop of stars — Dave Stieb, George Bell and Tony Fernandez — won a division championship in the team’s ninth season. They fell one game short of qualifying for the World Series, losing the only seventh game in a post-season series in franchise history prior to this year.

That team played in an open-air, refurbished football stadium. Fans chilled by the cool breezes off Lake Ontario did not enjoy the irony of cheering on their brewery-owned team in a venue where beer sales were prohibited by provincial edict.

Modernity came to Toronto in 1989 when the team moved into SkyDome, a then-state-of the-art domed stadium complete with retractable roof (and by then, beer vendors) that was funded and operated by a public-private partnership.

After playoff disappointments in 1989 and 1991, that generation of Blue Jays stars broke through in 1992 to reach the World Series for the first time. Prior to the second game at Atlanta’s Fulton County Stadium, the U.S. Marine Corps colour guard walked onto the field with the Canadian flag flying upside down.

The controversy was integrated into circulating narratives that Americans did not respect Canadian teams. It is a still-perpetuated trope: the Toronto Star has spent this playoff run reporting on “what the U.S. media said” about Blue Jays’ victories, as though that matters.

The Blue Jays 2025 success — realizing the promise of a new generation of star prospects headlined by Vladimir Guererro Jr. and Bo Bichette — has rekindled memories of these past glories: the first winning teams of the 1980s, the back-to-back champions in 1992-93 and the bravado of the Bautista-Encarnacion-Josh Donaldson teams from a decade ago.

Lost in this pantheon of star players and dramatic moments, however, is the two decades of mediocrity that followed the heights of the Carter home run.

Changes in corporate ownership

The Blue Jays core aged or moved on and Labatt’s was purchased by the Belgian conglomerate, Interbrew SA.

A more dispassionate, bottom-line ownership led to teams that failed to reap the talents of Hall of Famers like Roy Halladay and major stars like Carlos Delgado and Shawn Green.

Rogers Communications purchased 80 per cent of the Blue Jays in 2000, with Interbrew retaining 20 per cent. The on-field performance changed little, but the business model evolved significantly.

Rogers acquired the remaining 20 per cent of the team in July 2004. Before the year was out, it had gained control of SkyDome for $25 million, a fraction of the $600 million that the stadium has cost to build only 15 years earlier. Now fully privately owned, it was renamed the Rogers Centre.

Today, the Blue Jays reflect the vertical integration of modern commercial sports. The team is the primary tenant in a stadium operated by their owners. Their games are broadcast on television channels, radio stations and streaming services owned and operated by Rogers Communications. These channels market other Rogers-owned content during Blue Jays games.

Meanwhile, fans consume this content on cable subscriptions and internet services that are Rogers’ core businesses. The newest extension of this revenue-generation model is the increasing prominence of sports betting, which is integrated fully into broadcasts by on-screen commentators providing odds as though delivering sports “news,” not paid advertising

Canada’s team

The production and circulation of dominant narratives is a consequence of such a structure, what sociologist David Whitson termed “circuits of promotion.”

One of the most powerful is that the support for the Blue Jays is nationwide. They are Canada’s team. There is an element of truth to this. The Blue Jays’ fan base is considerable, particularly when they are winning.

But this is also a marketing construct — one that benefits from the Blue Jays being the only remaining Canadian-based team in a U.S.-operated professional sports league. This would be a much harder narrative to sell if the Montreal Expos were not now the Washington Nationals, and it is not entirely novel.

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Read more:
Toronto Blue Jays: Amid Canada-U.S. tensions, ‘Canada’s team’ is excelling at America’s pastime

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Basketball’s Toronto Raptors, themselves the beneficiaries of the relocation of the Vancouver Grizzlies, capitalized on both the team’s appeal as well as its monopoly on Canadian markets with its wildly popular 2019 marketing campaign, “We The North.”

Come Friday night, when Trey Yesavage throws the first pitch of the 2025 World Series, the absence of other Canadian-based teams and the centralization of media outlets in Toronto will ensure there will be a ready (and passionate) audience across the country all ready to chant: “Let’s go, Blue Jays!”

Russell Field does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Blue Jays fever sets in as Canada readies for the World Series for the first time in 32 years – https://theconversation.com/blue-jays-fever-sets-in-as-canada-readies-for-the-world-series-for-the-first-time-in-32-years-267943

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Carolyn Yule, Associate Professor of Sociology, University of Guelph

The Liberal government has introduced bail reform legislation to expand “reverse-onus” provisions in the Criminal Code, stipulating that someone accused of a crime, rather than the Crown, must demonstrate why they should be released before trial.

Bill C-14 also proposes tougher sentencing laws for serious and violent crimes.

The goal, according to Prime Minister Mark Carney, is to “keep violent and repeat offenders out of our communities.”

But will these changes effectively address concerns from some politicians, police and the public that bail is too easily granted and contributes to rising crime? Probably not. They are symbolic responses unlikely to satisfy critics or address the root causes of crime.

Bail decisions are challenging

Bail laws are designed to strike a balance between protecting public safety and upholding the rights of people who are supposed to be presumed innocent until proven guilty.

Under the Criminal Code, there is a presumption that an accused person should be released with as few conditions as necessary. But bail can be denied if the person is unlikely to attend trial, poses a threat to public safety or if their release would undermine confidence in the legal system.

The law provides some limited guidance, requiring courts to consider factors such as an accused’s past convictions for violence and the circumstances of Indigenous or otherwise vulnerable or marginalized people. Appellate court decisions provide further direction.

Bail decisions are inherently discretionary. Judges and justices of the peace must already weigh factors like risk, criminal history and the nature of the offence to determine if an accused can be safely released. Given the nature of bail decisions, more reverse-onus provisions are unlikely to substantively change bail outcomes.

A dearth of reliable information

Bail reform should be driven by evidence to ensure policy changes are effective and accountable. Yet the biggest barrier to evaluating the bail system is a lack of reliable information. We know little about:

1. How many people are released;

2. Under what conditions they are released;

3. How often accused who are released on bail reoffend.

The few studies available suggest bail courts are handling more cases and are doing so more slowly, but relatively few people are denied bail.

Little data exists that explain what factors shape bail outcomes. Information that is available suggests those charged with a prior criminal history, and a history of failing to appear in court or comply with release conditions, are more likely to be denied bail.

A review of bail decisions for 2022-23 by the BC Prosecution Service in British Columbia revealed that detention rates were slightly higher than average when there was a violent offence involved (between 10 to 13 per cent) and notably higher where there was a violent offence and breach of conditions (between 17 and 24 per cent).

According to a report from the Toronto Police Service, seven out of the of 44 gun-related homicides in 2022 (16 per cent) were allegedly committed by people on bail. The Alberta government reported that 27.9 per cent of adults under bail supervision between 2021 and 2022 were admitted to remand custody at least once due to violating bail conditions and/or incurring new charges; however, no other contextual data is provided.

A 2013 study prepared for Canada’s justice department found that 51 of 291 people from two locations violated the terms of their bail release — and the vast majority were for breaching conditions or failing to attend court rather than new offences.

Balancing enforcement with support

While the scant data available do not support the belief that the current system releases all offenders who then go on to commit serious crime, it’s also clear that some accused released on bail subsequently do in fact reoffend — a fact acknowledged by bail supervisors.

But Canada cannot arrest its way to safer communities. A recent report, Finding Common Ground, found that police, lawyers and service providers are aligned on the need for both better supervision of high-risk individuals and greater investment in social supports as top priorities for improving bail.

A recent poll also suggests many Canadians are open to balanced, long-term solutions that combine accountability with social investment, recognizing that real safety comes not from quick fixes but from a more responsive and supportive system.

The Liberal government has also acknowledged the need to invest in community-based supports as part of broader bail reform efforts.

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Read more:
Race is closely tied to who gets bail — that’s why we must tread carefully on bail reform

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5 ways to strengthen the bail system

We offer concrete solutions that will enhance fairness, public safety and democratic accountability:

1. A more detailed set of guidelines in the Criminal Code — passed by elected parliamentarians — to make bail determinations. These changes may largely codify existing considerations but could be used to adjust the bail calculus, including de-emphasizing more minor breaches and emphasizing the need to address repeat offending.

2. More social service provisions are needed, particularly in terms of housing. Allowing people to remain in the community and possibly maintain familial and employment connections is more cost-effective and better for public safety than jail time.

3. Better tracking and monitoring of people on bail — including electronic monitoring and improved information processing and communication — can help ensure compliance with conditions and reduce the risk of reoffending.

4. Better data collection on the bail process and outcomes can inform policy reforms and support more effective judicial decisions.

5. Improving bail court efficiency and decision-making through increased resources, information sharing and a shift in courthouse culture can help reduce delays and support more timely and effective hearings.

To build safer communities, the federal government should follow through on its commitment to invest in support services while also helping provinces better monitor and enforce bail conditions. Doing so will ease pressure on the legal system while improving outcomes for people and communities.

Carolyn Yule receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC).

Laura MacDiarmid receives funding from Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC).

Troy Riddell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. The federal government tables bail reform bill: 5 ways to strengthen Canada’s bail system – https://theconversation.com/the-federal-government-tables-bail-reform-bill-5-ways-to-strengthen-canadas-bail-system-267832

Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Julien Bousquet, Full Marketing Professor, Department of Economic and Administrative Sciences, Université du Québec à Chicoutimi (UQAC)

When people travel, they aren’t just looking for historic sights — they’re also looking for new flavours that captivate and connect them to the place they’re visiting.

In Québec, for example, it’s poutine. The comfort food mix of crispy fries, squeaky cheese curds and rich brown gravy was first served in 1950s-era rural snack bars before becoming a national symbol.

In Spain, paella — a saffron-infused rice dish brimming with seafood, chicken and vegetables and born in Valencia’s farmlands as a shared workers’ meal — is a must-have.

In Japan, ramen — steaming bowls of wheat noodles in a fragrant broth layered with soy, miso or pork bones — tells the story of post-Second World War solace and culinary innovation.

But beyond the flavours of food, can gastronomy become a language of identity and cultural diplomacy? That question is at the heart of Canada’s growing culinary movement.

Gastronomy as a form of diplomacy

Across Canada, food is fast becoming a marker of identity and regional pride. From the Okanagan Valley vineyards to Québec’s sugar shacks, cuisine is emerging as a language that defines who Canadians are — and how the world perceives them.

This movement is gaining traction as Kelowna, British Columbia recently accepted the invitation to apply for the designation of UNESCO City of Gastronomy
— a title that celebrates places where food culture drives creativity, sustainability and community.

Created in 2004, UNESCO’s Creative Cities Network recognizes and honours cities where food culture drives innovation and community well-being. Today, 57 cities hold the designation, from Parma, Italy and Chengdu, China, to Tucson, Arizona, in the United States.

Canada has yet to join their ranks, which is why Kelowna’s candidacy matters: it would be the country’s first City of Gastronomy, reflecting its mix of Indigenous heritage, wine culture and farm-to-table creativity.

As tourism continues to recover and regions compete for distinctiveness, gastronomy has become a form of soft power — a country’s ability to influence others through culture, values and attraction rather than force, shaping how nations are perceived and how travellers connect emotionally with a place.

Studies show that food tourism has become a key driver of regional development and destination appeal. The signature dish — an emblematic creation tied to a chef, region or tradition — offers a concrete way to translate culinary creativity into cultural identity.

How food turns travel into brand

Some dishes function like culinary logos, expressing the personality of a place or a chef while creating lasting memories. Research reveals that for travellers, food becomes participation rather than consumption — a way to experience a place rather than just observe it.

A memorable meal merges creativity, heritage and place. In Canada, such dishes also act as experiential anchors that link ingredients, landscapes and emotion — from a buttery Halifax lobster roll that tastes of the Atlantic coast to a sweet, purple Saskatoon berry pie that evokes the Prairie harvest.

Yet some critics warn that the growing wave of gastronomic branding risks slipping into what they call culinary gentrification — when local traditions are polished and packaged for tourists, sometimes at the expense of the communities that created them.

The challenge for cities like Kelowna will be to celebrate their culinary identity without turning authenticity into a marketing slogan.

Canada’s regions tell their stories through food

Research on food, culture and sustainability shows how such connections help regions build distinctive, resilient identities.

In Québec, for example, food is deeply woven with cultural pride. From sugar shacks in the Laurentians and Beauce countryside to Montréal’s multicultural fine dining scene, tradition and innovation intermingle — but Québec is far from the only province where culinary identity thrives.

On Prince Edward Island, the Fall Flavours Food and Drink Festival — running from early September to mid-October — brings together chefs, farmers and fishers to celebrate the island’s harvest. Events take place in small towns and coastal villages, turning the island into one big dining room. The festival strengthens local pride, supports producers and extends the tourist season beyond summer.

In Alberta, Alberta Food Tours invite travellers to discover rural producers, Indigenous culinary traditions and farmers markets across the province, from Calgary to Jasper. These guided experiences highlight the province’s agricultural roots while promoting sustainability and community connection.

In B.C., the Okanagan Valley, where Kelowna is located, has become a leading example of farm-to-table and wine tourism in Canada. Stretching from Vernon to Osoyoos, its vineyards and orchards supply local chefs who turn seasonal produce into creative menus. Culinary trails and wine festivals connect visitors with growers and winemakers, while Kelowna’s bid to become a UNESCO City of Gastronomy reflects the region’s growing reputation for sustainable, community-driven gastronomy.

As food tourism continues to grow, however, authentic experiences become harder to find. In 2024, it was valued at roughly US$1.8 billion globally. By 2033, that figure is expected to reach almost US$8 billion, growing at an average rate of about 18 per cent a year.

Tourists crave “the real deal,” yet their expectations often reshape what’s served. For example, traditional dishes may be simplified, sweetened or made less spicy to suit visitors’ palates. Authenticity, it appears, is less a fixed ideal than a dialogue between chefs, consumers and the media.

Why does the heritage of gastronomy matter?

Signature dishes remind us that identity isn’t inherited — it’s created and shared. Local cuisine connects people to place, turns ingredients into stories and makes culture tangible.

When cities launch food festivals, culinary routes or UNESCO designation bids, they’re not just promoting restaurants, they’re defining who they are as a country.

In a world often divided, food remains a universal language. Local gastronomy reminds us that what’s on our plate is never just about flavour, it’s about belonging.

Julien Bousquet does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How gastronomy tourism evolved into international identity and cultural diplomacy – https://theconversation.com/how-gastronomy-tourism-evolved-into-international-identity-and-cultural-diplomacy-267188