discrimination

Human rights in sport

Before the 2004 Summer Paralympic Games in Athens, Greece, organizers installed an elevator in the Acropolis. (photo from greecehighdefinition.com)

What does sports have to do with human rights? This was the question posed by Vancouver Jewish community leader Zena Simces as she and her spouse Simon Rabkin launched the seventh annual Simces and Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights Oct. 23 in a national online event.

There is evidence of discrimination and exclusion, racism, sexism, ableism, athlete exploitation and maltreatment, labour rights violations, sex eligibility and gender identity issues and safety concerns in sport, Simces said. There are also funding issues, such as the high cost of participation in sport, including at the community level.

Sport is about more than just an active and healthy lifestyle, Simces noted, though it is about that, too.

“It can help to address social isolation and loneliness, which have been identified as major health concerns, not only for older adults, but also for children and youth,” she said. “Sports can be democratic, as it invites everyone to belong and contribute to strengthening and building community, but there is a dark side.”

The dialogue was moderated by Wendy MacGregor, a consultant, educator and lawyer who is the founder and executive director of Athlete Zone, a nonprofit that provides Canadians with support, guidance and education in the pursuit of healthy sports environments.

“Unfortunately, with all those wonderful attributes that sports brings, it is not accessible to everyone worldwide and not even to all Canadians,” said MacGregor. She cited statistics indicating that youth participation numbers “are dropping off a cliff and especially girls are dropping out of sport.”

Some of the reasons for this include increased costs, travel time, difficulty of access to facilities, discrimination, maltreatment or abuse in sport and the increased commercialization of sport.

Panelist Bryan Heal, the social impact research lead at Maple Leaf Sports and Entertainment, spoke about a program his organization is involved with, called Change the Game, which advances youth access, equity and outcomes through sport.

Change the Game has engaged more than 25,000 young people around Ontario, he said, addressing factors of race, gender, ability, household income, geography and other factors around access and barriers.

More than 80% of young people who have participated in the program, he said, have experienced themselves or are aware of a problem in these areas but do not feel like they have anyone that they can talk to about it.

“There’s a culture and strategy of silence that is employed by default,” said Heal. “In a team environment, it can be incredibly isolating and deflating when you’re harbouring something like that. It draws people away to other sports, sometimes to leaving sports entirely.”

Jeff Adams, a lawyer specializing in labour, employment and human rights issues, is a decorated Paralympian, having won three gold medals in wheelchair races.

Accommodating different needs is fundamental and, too often, he said, excuses are made, such as the argument that sports facilities are often in buildings that are too old to be made fully accessible.

Before the 2004 Summer Paralympic Games in Athens, Greece, organizers installed an elevator in the Acropolis. “You want to talk about the most historically relevant building in the world,” he said. “It’s the cradle of civilization, and they put an elevator in it.”

An attitude exists that basic Canadian laws, embodied in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, do not apply to the playing field, he argued.

“We are not applying the fundamental supreme law of Canada to athletes who are bleeding for their country in competition,” Adams said. “We have laws that work. We have anti-violence and harassment legislation baked into labour and employment laws.”

Amreen Kadwa, founder and executive director of Hijabi Ballers, a Toronto nonprofit creating positive experiences in sport for Muslim girls and women, said her group’s programs provide more than just access to sport.

“They create safe, culturally affirming spaces where women can play without judgment,” she said. “They can learn new skills, they can grow in their confidence and, beyond sport, we nurture leadership. It really is human rights in action.”

Female athletes face far more violence and discrimination in sport than their male counterparts, Kadwa said.

“But this number is even higher for racialized women,” she said. “Muslim women, a lot of them who are hijab-wearing Muslim women, are often seen as outsiders, whether through their outfits, their clothing, the stereotype, a lack of cultural understanding.”

The annual dialogue event is a partnership with the Canadian Museum for Human Rights and Equitas, an international centre for human rights education.

Ageism is everywhere

Panelists Margaret Gillis, left, and Dr. Melanie Doucet were the experts featured at this year’s Simces & Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights, which focused on ageism.

“Ageism is anytime we make an assumption, a judgment, a stereotype, or discriminate based on age. And this can go in any direction. You’ve often heard people say, ‘too young to understand,’ ‘too old to understand.’ It can be directed toward oneself. It manifests in our interrelationships with others. And it is evident in our institutions and organizations. In fact, it is everywhere,” said Zena Simces in her remarks at the sixth annual Simces & Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights, which took place over Zoom on Oct. 28.

Ageism impacts many aspects of life, said Dr. Simon Rabkin. “It affects our health, both physical and mental,” he said. “Studies have shown that psychosocial impacts of ageism include low self-esteem, self-exclusion, lack of self-confidence and loss of autonomy, both for older and younger people. The data indicate that workplace ageism is associated with increased depression and long-term illness. Importantly, studies have found that older persons with more negative self-perceptions of aging have significantly reduced longevity.”

Simces and Rabkin set the stage for the dialogue, which was called Too Old, Too Young: A Conversation on Ageism and Human Rights. It featured Margaret Gillis, founding president of the International Longevity Centre Canada (ILCC) and co-president of the International Longevity Centre Global Alliance, and Dr. Melanie Doucet, an associate with the Centre for Research on Children and Families at McGill University, who is a former youth in care. The discussion was moderated by Andrea Reimer, an adjunct professor at the University of British Columbia’s School of Public Policy and Global Affairs, who herself survived as a street-involved youth.

Gillis focused on the impact of ageism on older persons. She gave examples of human rights violations taking place in Canada, including that Canada’s long-term care homes have been under strain and in need of reform for at least two decades. She said an estimated one in 10 older Canadians experiences some form of elder abuse, adding that such abuse is underreported. She spoke about ageist employment practices and negative media representations of older persons.

“Ageism is toxic to the global economy and to health,” she said. “For instance, a US study showed a massive $63 billion per year impact on the economy as a result of ageism in health care. Perhaps one of the most distressing aspects of ageism is its prevalence, the World Health Organization finding one in every two persons is ageist.”

Nonetheless, not much is being done about it, said Gillis.

“I should note that there are protections against ageism in the Canadian Human Rights Code and the provincial human rights codes. But, the problem is, this takes time, money and know-how and our legislation and court process are not well-equipped to remedy complex situations like ageism easily and cost-effectively.”

Gillis encouraged people to join the Canadian Coalition Against Ageism, which she established. It comprises organizations and individuals who are working to confront ageism and bring about changes, based on the WHO global report on ageism.

She advocates for the adoption of a United Nations Convention on the Rights of Older Persons.

“In general, a convention is a method to achieve positive change by combating ageism, guiding policy-making and improving the accountability of governments at all levels, which we most certainly need,” said Gillis. “A convention would also educate and empower, and we’d see older people as rights holders with binding protections under international law.”

Doucet spoke about the human rights of younger persons, specifically youth who age out of the care system. She explained that youth age out of care at the age of majority and that, in British Columbia, about 1,000 youth age out annually.

A video Doucet made as part of her doctoral research included data on the difficulties most young people exiting care experience: 200 times the risk of homelessness, post-traumatic stress disorder rates on par with war veterans, and fewer than 50% finish high school.

Statistics Canada Census data from 2016 indicated that nearly 63% of youth ages 20 to 24 were still living with their parents, with almost 50% staying home until the age of 30. “And I’m sure those statistics have even increased since the pandemic,” said Doucet.

“Youth in care don’t have that luxury. They’re legislated to leave the system at age of majority. So, they’re deemed too old to remain in the child-welfare system after they reach age 18 or 19, depending on where they live in Canada, but, yet, too young to be sitting at the table when policy decisions are being made that impact them, sometimes even at their own intervention planning meetings with social workers.”

Additionally, in the last 20 years or so, a new developmental phase – “emerging adulthood,” which occurs between the ages of 19 and 29 – has been acknowledged in the academic literature, said Doucet. “It’s a phase that encompasses young people who are not necessarily children anymore but they’re not quite adults, and it provides room for identity exploration, trial and error, obtaining post-secondary education, and just figuring out one’s own place in the world. Youth in care aren’t able to experience this crucial developmental phase because of the legislated age cutoffs.”

There are studies that measure the benefits to both the youth affected and society at large of extending the age cutoff: “a return of $1.36 for every $1 spent on extending care up to age 25,” Doucet said.

Meanwhile, the cost of not extending care is high. For example, youth in care lose their lives up to five times the rate of their peers in the general population, she said. Poverty is more prevalent, as is homelessness, as previously noted.

“Out of the 36 countries in the global north, Canada is one of the six that does not have federal legislation to protect the rights of youth in care,” said Doucet. “While Canada has ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child [CRC], it only provides human rights protections for children and youth until the age of 18. So, youth in care who are transitioning into adulthood actually don’t fit within the UN CRC because they’re deemed too old, even though they are a vulnerable population that experiences multiple human rights violations. This highlights that age-based discrimination is very much entrenched into the mainstream child welfare system in Canada.”

In the question-and-answer period, Gillis outlined three recommendations in the UN’s report on ageism: education/awareness campaigns; changes to laws, programs and policies, starting with long-term care and other basic human rights; and intergenerational work. We need to look at what other countries are doing, the evidence, best practices, she said, and pensions and other financial programs must keep up with cost-of-living.

Doucet spoke about initiatives she and her colleagues have undertaken.

“We developed what we’re calling the equitable standards for transitions to adulthood for youth in care. We released those in 2021, myself and the National Council of Youth in Care Advocates, which is comprised of people with lived experience from across the country, youth-in-care networks, and a couple of ally organizations, like Away Home Canada and Child Welfare League of Canada. This was our way to provide a step-by-step rights-based approach that centred on lived expertise, research and best practices, to guide how youth in care need to be supported as they transition to adulthood.”

There are eight pillars: financial, educational and professional development, housing, relationships, culture and spirituality, health and well-being, advocacy and rights, emerging adulthood development. And each pillar has an equitable standards evaluation model. For example, about housing: “Every young person should have a place they can call home, without strict rules and conditions to abide by.”

“The ultimate goal [of] this project for us is, eventually, we are living in a society where the term ‘aging out’ no longer exists for youth in care, that they transition to adulthood based on readiness and developmental capacity instead of an arbitrary age,” said Doucet.

The Simces & Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights was introduced by Angeliki Bogiatji of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, which is a partner of the annual event. Juanita Gonzalez of Equitas – International Centre for Human Rights Education, also a program partner, closed out the proceedings.

Nuance is vital path to empathy

On the morning of Oct. 7, 2023, I was in Vancouver, celebrating the holiday of Simchat Torah with my family. We woke up, my father went to synagogue, and I lay on the couch sipping coffee and reading a book. Four hours later, I was sitting on the couch of the Mizrachi family. Ben Mizrachi z”l was one of my brother’s closest childhood friends, a pillar of joy in our community, and an attendee of the Nova Music Festival in Israel on Friday evening. I watched for two days in helpless disbelief as his parents waited to hear whether their son was alive. On the third day, his body was identified.

By Oct. 9, I had already unfollowed one of my friends on Instagram. By Oct. 19, the number had become too many to count. I opened my friends’ Instagram stories with a pit of dread in my stomach, wishing I could stop looking, but feeling compelled to know where they stood. Ignorance may be bliss, but knowledge is safety. I watched, feeling resentful and hopeless as friends with no lived experience in this conflict posted comparisons between the Israeli government and Nazi Germany, tokenized anti-Zionist Jewish voices, spread demonizing misinformation, labeled Israelis “European settler-colonialists” and justified sexual violence in the name of “resistance” and “liberation.”

Humans crave consistency. We naturally gravitate towards narratives with a clear villain and an undeniable victim. Research on cognitive dissonance theory has demonstrated that we experience intense psychological discomfort when faced with information that conflicts with a preconceived belief. In response, we can either change the preconceived belief, which requires us to admit we were previously wrong, or we can discount and discredit the new information to protect our self-image. The dominant narrative in liberal North American circles has become that Jews and Israelis are colonizers in a land stolen from Palestinians. In accordance with cognitive dissonance theory, if Jews and Israelis are oppressors, we cannot also be victims. So, we must not be victims, after all. This narrative feeds into classic stereotypes about Jews as powerful, wealthy, manipulative and, in modern parlance, privileged.

Prejudice and discrimination have psychological benefits. Research shows that the act of derogating a member of a stereotyped group has positive implications for self-esteem. One foundational study by Fein and Spencer (1997) found discriminating against a woman who fit the stereotype of a “Jewish American Princess” dramatically improved participants’ self-esteem after receiving negative feedback. In other words, putting others down makes us feel better. Many in my social circles would balk at the mere thought of discriminating against a marginalized group. Yet, if you can convince yourself that a marginalized group is privileged, you can reap the self-esteem benefits of derogation without suffering cognitive dissonance. If Jews are oppressors and not victims, then discrimination is not only warranted, it feels good.

In the study conducted by Fein and Spencer in 1997, research participants enacted their discrimination in private, by degrading the Jewish subject’s personality and job qualifications. Today, we can perform our discrimination publicly through social media. Public discrimination maintains the self-esteem benefits of private discrimination, with the bonus of entrenching belonging within a social in-group. Humans have a fundamental need to belong. We fulfil this need by affiliating ourselves with social in-groups based on race, ethnicity, disability, music preference and TV-show character fandoms. Posting socio-political stances on social media is not simply about sharing information, it is a means of signalling affiliation with a valued in-group of social justice advocates. The opportunity to simultaneously derive a self-esteem boost from the derogation of Jews is a heady combination.

Despite our pursuit of certainty in the face of cognitive dissonance, certainty is the enemy of knowledge, nuance and, in the context of the Israel-Hamas war and other conflicts or social divisions, empathy. Research in social psychology has shown that the more certain we feel about our socio-political opinions, the less likely we are to seek out information that might challenge our beliefs. Those who feel certain in their characterization of the current Israel-Hamas war as morally unambiguous cannot cave to nuance, lest their psychological well-being suffer. Yet, the embrace of two opposing truths is at the core of seeing each other as human, capable of being both villain and victim in the same breath. Sitting with cognitive dissonance is painful, but it is the only path to true empathy.

Shira Mattuck, MA, is a clinical child psychology doctoral student in the Genetics and Neurobehavioural Systems: Interdisciplinary Studies (GENESIS) Lab at the University of Houston. She was born and raised in Vancouver and is a graduate of Vancouver Hebrew Academy and York House School.

Online dialogue on housing

Alexandra Flynn, left, and Dr. Kaitlin Schwan join Lavern Kelly at this year’s Simces & Rabkin Family Dialogue. (photos from Canadian Museum for Human Rights)

Housing is recognized as a human right in Canada – so why do 25,000+ people sleep on the street, in encampments or in shelters every night? How can we address issues of discrimination, affordability, inadequate housing, insufficient supply and homelessness? Join a Zoom discussion Nov. 29, at noon, with leaders who are breaking new ground to realize the right to housing across Canada.

Housing is a Human Right: New Actions to Solve Canada’s Ongoing Crisis is the topic of this year’s Annual Simces and Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights, which is offered in partnership with the Canadian Museum for Human Rights and Equitas: International Centre for Human Rights Education. It features three panelists.

Alexandra Flynn is an associate professor at Peter A. Allard School of Law at the University of British Columbia. She is currently leading CMHC- and SSHRC-funded projects focused on Canada’s housing and homelessness crisis, including land-use practices and the financialization of housing. She is also working on projects related to human rights and tent encampments.

Dr. Kaitlin Schwan is executive director of the Women’s National Housing and Homelessness Network and a senior researcher at the Canadian Observatory on Homelessness. Her work focuses on homelessness prevention and human rights, particularly for women and youth. Previously, she was a senior researcher for the UN Special Rapporteur on the Right to Adequate Housing and director of research for the Shift.

Lavern Kelly, who runs the Youth Excelling & Attaining Housing (YEAH!) Parenting Program for Watari Counseling and Support Services, brings lived experience working with young people, especially single women and young mothers, in Vancouver’s East Side to advocate for their right to housing.

The dialogue will be moderated by Michael Redhead Champagne, a community leader from Winnipeg’s North End with family roots in Shamattawa First Nation. An author, on-screen personality and public speaker, Champagne is an activist and advocate working to eliminate poverty, end homelessness and increase supports for children, youth and families in pursuit of a more compassionate world.

Zena Simces and Dr. Simon Rabkin are working to enhance understanding and create ongoing dialogue on human rights issues in the Greater Vancouver community. The Canadian Museum for Human Rights, in Winnipeg, is the first museum in the world solely dedicated to the evolution, celebration and future of human rights. Equitas is an international centre for human rights education.

To register for the Nov. 29 Simces and Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights, go to humanrights.ca/housing-human-right.

– Courtesy Simces & Rabkin Family Dialogue on Human Rights

Ageism in medicine

“Studies show that one-third of Canadians admit to having been treated differently due to their age,” said Dr. Samir Sinha, director of geriatrics at Mount Sinai and the University Health Network Hospitals in Toronto.

Sinha, who is also a professor of medicine at the University of Toronto and the director of health policy research at the National Institute on Ageing, spoke on ageism in medicine and strategies for patients to combat this form of discrimination in a webinar presented by the National Council of Jewish Women of Canada (NCJWC) on June 6. He noted that the date of the webinar coincided with the start of Seniors Month in Canada, and shared that he was drawn to collaborate with NCJWC because Mount Sinai Hospital was founded 100 years ago “by a dedicated group of Jewish women.”

Sinha defined ageism, also known as age discrimination, as the act of imposing stereotypes, prejudice and discrimination on others or oneself based on age. He said the term was coined relatively recently, in the 1960s, even though it had existed in Canadian society long before then. He emphasized that “51% of Canadians agree that ageism is the most tolerated social prejudice, and 80% of Canadians agree that older adults (age 65+) are seen as less important than younger generations.”

This sense of diminished importance is commonly manifested in three forms: feeling ignored or invisible, being treated as devoid of value or contribution, and facing assumptions that seniors are always incompetent. Such experiences can have adverse psychological and emotional impacts, including social isolation, diminished trust in healthcare providers and negative self-perception. Sinha highlighted that although ageism may present itself universally, its impacts differ, and it “does not affect all older adults equally,” he said. Intersectionality, defined as the interconnected nature of social categories such as race, gender, age and more, can enhance the degree of ageism that a person faces, he said. In Canada, certain segments of the population are especially vulnerable, including immigrants or those born outside the country.

Narrowing in on Canada’s healthcare system, Sinha shared that healthcare professionals often hold ageist attitudes, perpetuating stereotypes that seniors lack agency and are frail, depressed or irritable. “This can ultimately manifest in undertreatment or overtreatment,” he said.

Undertreatment involves withholding resources or treatment options that would not be withheld from younger patients, while overtreatment refers to an exaggerated approach to patient care. Sinha said these issues were amplified during the COVID-19 pandemic, citing examples where older adults were denied access to ventilators due to assumptions about their life expectancies. This demonstrated the arbitrary use of age to determine life expectancy, he said, while other important health factors should also be considered.

Undertreatment is a key issue among patients with dementia – “many people in society consider dementia a normal part of ageing, but it is not,” said Sinha. He described the stigmatization faced by individuals living with dementia, which often leads to ageism in healthcare settings and subsequent undertreatment due to their condition. In cases like these, “labels can kill,” he said.

Referring to himself and his fellow geriatricians as a “rare and endangered species of physician,” as described by the New York Times, Sinha stressed the scarcity of geriatricians in Canada – only a few hundred among the country’s approximately 100,000 doctors. Nevertheless, he affirmed that “the few hundred of us have long advocated for older persons to be properly cared for in a health system that often does not adequately address their needs.” Further, he emphasized that “everyone has a role to play” in combatting ageism. This sentiment was echoed by Rochelle Garfinkel, manager of donor relations at NCJWC, who reminded the audience that “the tree planted today provides shade for future generations.”

“Eighty-five percent of the boomer generation wants their ageing experience to be different than their parent or grandparents,” added Sinha. He suggested strategies such as more comprehensive training for healthcare professionals and acknowledging the disproportionate impacts faced by marginalized groups.

In her introduction to the webinar, Linda Steinberg, NCJWC president, noted that defining the impacts of ageism will be central to NCJWC in the coming years. NCJWC is the oldest Jewish women’s organization in Canada, she said, and is currently comprised of five sections across the country’s major cities, including Vancouver.

Alisa Bressler is a fourth-year student at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ont. She is an avid reader and writer, and the online director of the arts and culture publication MUSE Magazine. Bressler is a member of the Vancouver Jewish community, and the inaugural Baila Lazarus Jewish Journalism Intern.

Talking about antisemitism

The administration of U.S. President Joe Biden released its National Strategy to Counter Antisemitism recently. Unveiled by First Gentleman Doug Emhoff, Jewish husband of Vice-President Kamala Harris, the strategy rests on four main pillars: to increase awareness and understanding of antisemitism, including its threat to America, and broadening appreciation of Jewish American heritage; to improve safety and security for Jewish communities; to reverse the normalization of antisemitism and counter antisemitic discrimination; and to build cross-community solidarity and collective action to counter hate.

Canadian officials at the federal and provincial levels have also convened summits on the subject and introduced a range of strategies and programs to confront the problem. This recognition at the highest levels is crucial. As antisemitism has increased in North America and Western Europe, elected officials have overwhelmingly, with some notable exceptions, said and done the right things.

In his remarks at the launch of the U.S. strategy, Emhoff called for a “whole-of-society” approach to the problem. And this short reference is vital. Governments have been grappling with the rising problem of antisemitism and some other allies, organizations, antiracism activists and commentators have addressed it, but there is not a larger societal conversation about it.

We have not seen much discussion of antisemitism beyond the Jewish community the way we have seen contemporary popular engagement with, for example, anti-Black racism, as witnessed through the Black Lives Matter movement; women’s equality, as addressed through many approaches, including #MeToo; and Indigenous issues, most recently in Canada with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice, as Martin Luther King Jr. said. There has been hard-won progress in the six decades since the milestones of the Black Civil Rights Movement. But, sadly, most white people only became more engaged in recent years, as outrage over police-involved shootings and similar injustices became top stories. These spurred conversations at dinner tables, in work lunchrooms, boardrooms and among friends.

We have seen similar leaps forward in awareness and discussion around issues faced by Indigenous peoples in Canada, and those exchanges have likewise taken place at the person-to-person level, involving Indigenous and non-Indigenous people, but also as importantly, between non-Indigenous people themselves.

The #MeToo movement and a greater openness to talking about violence against women and gender equality are other cornerstones of social change in the past few generations.

Perhaps no single example of progress is more stunning than attitudes toward LGBTQ+ people, which has gone from literal criminal prohibition to a level of social acceptance in less than a single average lifetime. This, too, is a result of connecting at the personal level. Legislation and leadership from elected officials, clergy, journalists and commentators and other thought leaders have been important. But the thing that has the most power to change hearts and minds is hearing personal stories from people affected and hashing out moral questions among friends.

While other forms of discrimination and bias have been confronted to varying degrees, antisemitism is on a precarious upswing, but the public dialogue has yet to begin.

There is no single explanation for why this is so, but one undeniable characteristic of antisemitism is the trope of “Jewish power.” In the simplest formulation, if Jews are powerful, why would activists and antiracism advocates devote resources to this cause? This is especially true in the context of the larger discussion on race currently taking place, which emphasizes power versus powerlessness.

There are other reasons. Canada’s Jewish community is comparatively tiny and overwhelmingly concentrated in Toronto and Montreal. People in other parts of the country might not know many Jews – and knowing members of a minority community has been shown to be the likeliest prerequisite to overcoming prejudice (though it is by no means foolproof, of course).

Another factor is that, even for non-Jews who know Jewish people, those Jews may not be comfortable opening up about discrimination and oppression they have faced. Too often, Jews have been told, implicitly or explicitly, that they are not disadvantaged but privileged, that the Jewish people’s time as the victim du jour is passed. Complicating the discussion is the chasm of miscommunication and misunderstanding between Jewish and non-Jewish Canadians on issues relating to Israel and the centrality of the cradle of Jewish peoplehood in the hearts of nearly all Jews, regardless of affiliation, ideology or other differences.

As is the case with other minority groups, it should not be left to Jewish people to fight the discrimination against them and its associated manifestations. But it is, for the most part. Jews need to be prepared to start these conversations, and this involves educating ourselves, so that we can better articulate what are often painful and vulnerable personal relationships with discrimination.

Governments and Jewish agencies are doing what they can to confront antisemitism. Ordinary people, chatting with friends and colleagues, need to help bring this work to an interpersonal level. In an environment where Jewish experiences with discrimination are often actively mocked, this is a tall order. But it is even more reason we need to share our experiences and ideas more broadly – to start more discussions.

Form forces Jews to be white

A friend of mine was recently angry and anxious about a university human resources form. The form reflected how people self-identified. In other words, how diverse was this Canadian university’s workforce?

The form’s questions asked about race. On that form, it said that Jewish people should mark on their forms “white.”

The person who told me about this wrote on the form that this was racist and wrong. In fact, Jews come in every single colour and are from all over the world. Jews aren’t defined by only the (Ashkenazim) European “white” category. If we’re identified as an ethnicity, that doesn’t define our race.

Also, Judaism isn’t solely a religion. We’re still considered Jewish even if one converts to another religion, or isn’t practising or is a descendant of a Jewish person. In Canada, First Nations, Inuit and Métis are Indigenous. Historically, Jews are also considered indigenous – to Israel.

Non-Jews have racialized us as “other” for thousands of years. This othering isn’t a new thing. It’s a core component of antisemitism. In Hitler’s Germany, categorizing Jews as a different race and subhuman made it easier for genocide to take place.

This historic narrative around antisemitism parallels that of many other oppressed people. Yet, the antisemitic misinformation campaign is powerful. Even though there are only about 14 million Jews in the world, antisemites consider us to have an outsized influence and power that somehow overpowers and dominates others. As an example: even as hate crimes against Jews have increased, they are poorly covered by mainstream news. Yet, we are also allegedly controlling the media at the same time. Huh?

These tropes aren’t logical or rational. Prejudice, discrimination and hate are often fueled by emotion. Leaders then use these strong feelings to gain power, control and wealth and to scapegoat minorities like Jews.

What are ways to counter this in a 21st-century context? There are social media activists who speak out daily, raising awareness and fighting against this misinformation. Many Jewish families open their home and Shabbat tables up to enable non-Jews, one at a time, to learn about who we are. Others write books and conduct interviews on radio and TV. Yet not all of us are public figures, or want to be.

Even as “regular” people, we can be proud owners of our Jewish identities. We can continue to learn, think and reflect on who we are, what we believe and our place in the world. We can stand together, recognizing that, as Jews, we are all responsible for one another – kol Yisrael arevim zeh le zeh. We can attempt, through pride and knowledge, to control our own narrative.

I, too, was frustrated by that human resources form. Now, I’m puzzled whenever I see a form that asks me what my identity is. Since a bit after the Second World War, light-skinned Jews in North America have been encouraged to tick off the “white” box on these “self-identity” forms. The horrors of the Holocaust were put aside by governments and non-Jews, in an effort to help European, “white” Jews integrate into society, but simply checking “white” erases us. It erases Jewish ethnicity and it erases Jews of colour. Jews from the Middle East, India, Asia, Africa and South America – Jews from anywhere we’ve lived where skin colour might not have been deemed Caucasian, white or European.

This North American erasure is so deep that Jews of colour often describe the discrimination they face when attending synagogue – there are many instances in which a member of the Ashkenazi “white” majority questions if they are full-fledged congregants. They’re asked if they are converts, or guests. Imagine the alienation Jewish people with darker skin face when asked, “Are you really Jewish?” or “Where are you really from?” every time they walk into a service.

Israel’s Jewish population is much more diverse in terms of skin tone than what one finds in the United States or Canada but, historically, it’s been hard for Mizrahi Jews to gain leadership roles in Israel, too. So many Israeli Ashkenazi Jews have bought into this whiteness identity, too.

In the United States, when Jews “became” white, they no longer were excluded from country clubs, university quotas, etc. There was an advantage to accepting this new categorization, even as it still created terrible, completely unethical inequities among people, including Jews, based on skin colour.

As a result of this “becoming white” transition, some oppressed minorities and the political left now may see Jewish people as part of an oppressive white majority. In this view, white Jews have no legitimate complaints about how we are treated, because, suddenly, we’re just part of the privileged majority. So, in addition to hate from the political right, there’s also abuse from the left if Jewish people speak out about antisemitism.

Navigating this landscape is difficult. We all have bias. No one is completely free of it. We’re raised with it and must each work to do better. Yet, in a time when Canadians are watching hate crimes rise against Jewish and Muslim communities, it’s our obligation to do more. Confronting Canada’s residential school history, the deaths of Indigenous children, and Canada’s treatment of Indigenous people overall forces us to think further about what it means to uphold certain “historic” narratives – narratives that don’t reflect what really happened.

Manitoba now wants to collect data about race, ethnicity and indigeneity on its COVID vaccine consent forms. This would allow the province to learn more about vaccination rates and virus rates in various populations.

I’ve printed out the paperwork for my second jab and I’m looking forward to celebrating this chance to be fully vaccinated. Even so, I’m wondering what box to tick off. Choosing “Other” reinforces that antisemitic tradition of negative identity politics. I’d like to avoid that. I’m proud to be Jewish – but it’s not one of the options on the form.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

On autism and being Jewish

My Jewish identity is something I have always grappled with. Attending Jewish day school, I felt not only like the outcast of my entire class, but of the entire school, and it took an enormous toll on my mental health.

My peers would always pose the question, “Why are you so weird?” or “Why are you so different?” and, at the time, I didn’t have the answers for them. When I bravely confronted them as adults, they wrote it off as “we were just kids” instead of sincerely apologizing.

As an adult, I still suffer from the effects that these words and actions had on my young, developing brain, though I realize that expecting those apologies is unrealistic. The ironic part of it all is that many of these people have gone into professions where they actively work with children. I sincerely hope that they have learned from their past and consider imparting the kindness and acceptance that I didn’t receive from them to the impressionable youth they are teaching.

Getting my autism diagnosis in 2018 was the catalyst for me to understand myself and make sense of my traumatic past and commit to creating the change I wished I had experienced when I was younger. I still hearken back to my youth, though – where, every single day, I was reminded of the biblical teachings that were supposed to impart good values. I didn’t experience that and that’s why I oftentimes grapple with my Jewish identity.

I identify as being a Jewish atheist, ethnically Jewish or a humanistic Jew. These terms prove challenging when I am attempting to express myself to other people and explain how being part of a minority group echoes a lot of the same sentiments and barriers that being openly autistic has had for me.

As part of the activism and outreach I have engaged in, I continually see harmful images being used. I also regularly experience how dismissive people – not just within the Jewish community, but everyone – are when I tell them these images remind me of the important work that still needs to be done.

For example, Autism Speaks is a nonprofit organization that describes itself as being “dedicated to promoting solutions across the spectrum and along a life span for needs of people with autism spectrum disorder and their families.” It has, in collaboration with Google, a genome database called MSSNG. While their stated aim is to “speed the development of more effective and personalized interventions for autism and its associated health conditions,” there are many ethical issues with the collection of genetic material. And that a group like Autism Speaks (not to mention Google) is collecting these data concerns me, especially, because Autism Speaks has at least one video that personifies autism as an evil force – and only recently has the group stopped using the term “cure.” The change in language notwithstanding, their goal remains the same, and that is to eradicate autism. While this may seem laudable to some people, to me, the only way to reach that goal is to ensure that autistic people are not born. Autism should not be considered a disease, but rather as a neurotype.

A blue puzzle piece, with a little pink at the bottom, is part of the Autism Speaks logo. It is mostly blue because it was initially thought that only boys could be autistic, but a lot of women and gender-diverse individuals like myself are autistic. Colour aside, the puzzle piece symbolizes that something is broken or needs fixing, or that something is missing. I consider this narrative harmful, which is why I speak out against it.

I also find myself trying to correct those who attempt to dictate what is a “proper” way to communicate. To choose a communication style for someone else, when you don’t have the lived experience of being neurodiverse – and being frequently berated for the way you speak to others – is not acceptable. Unless you have experienced the hardships that come along with communication, then you should take the opportunity to learn before you speak. Knowing that not all disabilities are visible is an important thing to consider.

Within the autistic community, I have also had challenges when speaking my mind. For instance, I was accused of silencing the voices of Jewish people of colour when I expressed the opinion that being Jewish does not necessarily equate to being part of white privilege, a concept that is heavily debated in our community. I don’t profess to have all the answers, I am constantly learning and adapting to all the information that I am exposed to. But, to give an example of what I’m grappling with, I recently responded to an apology put forth by a prominent autistic activist, Lydia X.Y. Brown, who writes the Autistic Hoya Facebook page. They apologized for including “white Ashkenazi Jews” in a publication that was to centre on “racialized autism.” They specifically said, “We published a few people who are white Ashkenazi Jews and not Jews of colour or otherwise people of colour at all.”

I often wonder, as a Jew, where my place is, what I should be identifying as. For me, a big part of it is that I have faced antisemitism in my life and people have told me they can tell I am Jewish by my physical appearance. So, when someone makes a comment like Brown did – singling Jews out and making it seem like we are less than, while trying to simultaneously positively amplify the diversity of autistic people, it is hurtful.

My response to the post was a suggestion as to how the apology could have been worded more respectfully: “We included ethnic groups that some folks did not feel were appropriate for our publication. Moving forward, we will be more perceptive to the suggestions of others and pivot to be more inclusive and considerate to those we have overlooked.” This would have been more appropriate, rather than focusing on an ethnic group that already faces enough discrimination. I believe that singling out a marginalized group, no matter what the perceived colour of one’s skin, is inherently wrong.

In another situation, because of the controversy surrounding Judaism and whiteness, I felt I had to sever ties with an organization and some individuals who, instead of accepting my voice and agreeing to disagree with me, pointed out the hardships I had created due to my own personal struggles and attempt to grapple with my identity.

Being autistic is hard. Being Jewish is hard. Being both is even more difficult, and trying to navigate this world while being both is honestly not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. But, what I can do is use my voice and do as much good as possible with the cards I have been dealt.

I have been the recipient of two arts grants through the B.C. Arts Council and I actively create art, run an Etsy store (retrophiliac.etsy.com), have a website (navigatingjourney.com) and am all over social media. I strive to create a very open dialogue and provide a lot of free emotional labour, trying to have the conversation about being autistic. Parents of autistic children and those who purport to be our advocates need to support autistic adults, instead of co-opting our voices and acting like they know better. As far as autism is concerned, acceptance is more important than awareness, because the acceptance narrative is not one over which autistic people have control.

Margaux Wosk is a small business owner, content creator and artist living in the Greater Vancouver area. April was Autism Acceptance Month.

Complex issues up for debate – IHRA definition

I met my husband long ago at Cornell University Hillel events. One event celebrated what looked like the success of the Israel-Palestinian peace process. It was part of the Oslo Accords and, in October 1994, the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Yasser Arafat, Yitzhak Rabin and Shimon Peres. It was a sunny, warm day, but things have shifted often since then. These are thorny political issues, but one can hope.

I recently completed studying the talmudic tractate of Pesachim. When finishing a tractate, one says a prayer called Hadran. It ends with Kaddish, much like what’s said at any Jewish service. It ends with praying for peace. We have lots of prayers for peace.

Meanwhile, my husband, now a biology professor, asked me to look at a motion from his faculty union. It claimed a deep concern with academic freedom. The motion proposed rejecting the IHRA’s definition of antisemitism. (The IHRA stands for International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance.) This motion theoretically responded to a student union motion that supported the IHRA’s definition. Many countries, including Canada, have adopted the IHRA’s working definition.

The politics behind this are tangled. Many on the political left suggest that to truly support truth and reconciliation and BIPOC (Black and Indigenous People of Colour), one must support all Indigenous movements worldwide. According to this argument, Palestinians must be supported as the sole true Indigenous people – against the colonial-settler narrative of Israel. There are issues with this position. One is that Britain is the colonial power whose actions helped lead to the creation of Israel. Also, Jews have been indigenous to, or lived in what is now, Israel for thousands of years.

There are practical consequences when universities debate these topics. North American Jews are a minority. This vote, which affects us, is one where we have no majority voting power. We rely on non-Jews to advocate for us and support anti-discrimination guidelines. We often must confront those who feel these definitions threaten them intellectually – while we’re feeling threatened in reality.

Jewish students on campus feel attacked. Jewish academics are forced to step up and speak out. In some cases, Jewish professors and students face discrimination as a result of this advocacy.

Just before Passover this year, at a special meeting, the faculty union put forth its agenda. The meeting agenda was to consider this motion that opposes the IHRA’s working definition of antisemitism. Those attending the meeting wouldn’t approve the agenda. (Note that approving the agenda is usually not a big deal.) Without an agenda, the motion couldn’t go forward. There was no vote.

Some attendees suggested that the entire union membership should vote. First though, they said, this motion should be considered by the cultural diversity and academic freedom committees. In the end? This meeting’s outcome just puts off the problem for the Jewish community.

Multiple professors in relevant fields spoke out against this motion, which opposed using a working definition of antisemitism. Behind the scenes, the local Jewish federation got involved. The motion was problematic – and it’s still out there. It could be voted on at another meeting, potentially one with even less notice or publicity.

It’s particularly troublesome that those voting on whether one can use the IHRA definition at this university in teaching or research aren’t all relevant experts. Most aren’t professors in religious studies, Jewish studies, Holocaust studies, Near Eastern studies. Most of the voting representatives won’t be Jewish. In their argument to maintain “academic freedom,” they’re proposing to limit the freedoms of colleagues. This limits others’ right to use whatever definitions they prefer when they speak about anti-Jewish discrimination.

There’s a bigger argument here. If Canadian universities want to show ally-ship with Indigenous communities and to be partners in truth and reconciliation, the way is clear. It starts much closer to home. Stand with Canada’s Indigenous peoples on the issues that matter to them. For instance, pressure the government to provide all Canadians with clean drinking water. Support Indigenous students at universities. Hire and appoint Indigenous peoples (First Nations, Inuit and Métis) to academic positions. The list is long. To start, read the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada’s 94 calls to action.

None of these feuds are new. My husband and several other Jewish professor friends spent a lot of time on how to address this motion. This is “their” problem because they’re Jewish, but not because this is in their fields of research.

This gut-wrenching position is familiar. Does supporting academic freedom mean that antisemitism is up for discussion? It shouldn’t mean this, but antisemitic incidents are on the rise. Freedom of speech shouldn’t mean danger to minority students and professors.

Complexity isn’t resolved easily. Delving into these issues without lots of prior knowledge reflects badly on this faculty union and, by extension, the university. Smart people know there aren’t easy answers to entrenched political problems. Motions such as this one show a lack of rigour.

Canadian university professors should be sophisticated enough to know that complex issues aren’t resolved by simply opposing a working definition. It’s useless virtue signaling. Just as it shouldn’t be up to Black people or Indigenous people to fight every battle without allies, we, as Jewish people, shouldn’t have to keep fighting these battles alone over how to define antisemitism.

My husband and I met with a hope for peace. We care about human rights, but this union issue just seems to be wasting time during a pandemic. Opposing this working definition that protects a minority population, because it could possibly affect free speech? This really isn’t what a biology professor wants to be doing at work – even if he’s Jewish.

If Canadians care about peace, truth and reconciliation, and about the well-being of all people, we shouldn’t be attacking one group to elevate others. We shouldn’t have to keep fighting over definitions about discrimination against minorities.

Perhaps, we can leave the global political issues and their definitions up to the relevant experts. For us, it might be simple: we should show up to care for one another with respect instead. Advocate for better conditions close to home: safety without discrimination, fresh food, clean water, housing security, and economic and social supports. Even at their preschool, my children learned about key Jewish concepts like “Shalom Ba-bayit.” In other words, peace and tolerance start at home.

IHRA definition stifles speech

On June 25, 2019, the Liberal government of Justin Trudeau adopted the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism, as part of Canada’s anti-racism strategy. Widely proposed around the world, the definition has evoked fierce debate.

In Canada, the NDP will consider a resolution against the definition at its national convention this month, one penned by B.C. former MPs Libby Davies and Svend Robinson. Meanwhile, a coalition of 100 Canadian Jewish organizations has objected to the NDP resolution.

Wherein lies the controversy with the IHRA definition?

The definition, though vague, is not, in itself, controversial: “Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.” IHRA has promoted it as a “non-legally binding working definition.”

As is so often the case, the devil is in the details, and the details here are found in the 11 examples of what the definition considers actionable antisemitism: seven of them concern the state of Israel.

Those who defend the definition argue that Israel is treated unfairly in the media and in international political discourse and see antisemitism as the root of this discriminatory treatment. Yet Israel is a country whose founding wars and subsequent military occupation of the West Bank and Gaza have meant displacement of millions of Palestinians followed by the occupation and policing of that same population. The circumstances of the displacement and occupation are such that even the most generous interpretation of Israeli actions should recognize that an ongoing critical scrutiny of the Israeli state is a moral duty. Voices within and without Israel – and especially the voices of Palestinians and their allies – must be free to speak their experience and, yes, their accusations.

This is exactly the freedom that the IHRA definition would curtail. The burden should not be on those who criticize the Israeli state to prove that their statements are not antisemitic. Rather, the Israeli state, like any other, should bear the burden of demonstrating that criticisms of it are discriminatory, made in bad faith and nonfactual.

The definition’s history

The International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance was initiated in 1998. In 2016, it adopted a definition drafted by Kenneth Stern, director of the Bard Centre for the Study of Hate, to aid in the collection and sorting of possible instances of antisemitism. Stern has acknowledged that the definition has been misappropriated and is being “weaponized” against critics of Israel and has warned against the definition “being employed in an attempt to restrict academic freedom and punish political speech.”

In Canada, the adoption of the definition has been opposed by the B.C. Civil Liberties Association and the Ontario Civil Liberties Association. More than 450 Canadian academics have signed on to an open letter opposing its adoption by governing bodies. In 2021, the New Israel Fund Canada, which had previously urged Ontario to adopt the definition, reversed its position, citing concerns over free speech and academic freedom.

There have already been unjust consequences. Lives, livelihoods and reputations have been damaged, particularly in universities where academics have been harassed, censured and dismissed for teaching about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict or scheduling speakers on that topic – instances where the definition is acknowledged to be in play. The definition also has created what some argue is a limiting of speech critical of the Israeli state on social media platforms like Zoom or Facebook.

In one example, law professor Faisal Bhabha was accused of antisemitism by B’nai Brith Canada for his remarks in a debate that was sponsored by the Centre for Free Expression at Ryerson University. A petition was launched using the IHRA definition, calling for Bhabha to no longer teach human rights classes. The professor’s allegedly antisemitic act was to argue that Zionism as practised today in Israel amounts to “Jewish supremacy,” an opinion shared not only by many human rights organizations and Palestinian activists, but also by many Jews. Yet for those wielders of the definition the question cannot even be debated.

Similar incidents have been reported in the United States. To get a sense of the extreme rhetoric involved, consider that, in 2020, the U.S. State Department announced its intentions to declare the advocacy groups Oxfam, Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch antisemitic and to withdraw U.S. support for these groups. If only advocacy groups in Canada and the United States could find a way to declare criticism of the genocidal actions of the Burmese state to be merely anti-Asian prejudice, what a coup for Myanmar’s military junta that would be.

Not only is the speech of Jews not immune to these accusations, but even Jewish Holocaust survivors are not immune. When survivor Marika Sherwood attempted to give a talk at Manchester University called You’re Doing to the Palestinians What the Nazis Did to Me, Mark Regev, Israeli ambassador to the United Kingdom, intervened. The embassy claimed the title breached the definition and accused the Holocaust survivor of hate speech towards Jews.

Incredibly, the Simon Wiesenthal Centre listed the European Union’s insistence that products made in Israeli settlements must be so labeled as the third most serious antisemitic incident in 2015.

These examples, which are only a sample of many more, should be enough to convince anyone that there are few limits to the measures that Israel’s absolute defenders will take to use the IHRA definition to silence criticism of the Israeli state.

Opinions in Canada

Can the centuries-old hatred of Jews be redefined as criticism of the state of Israel or is this an unacceptable slippage of meaning? A recent (2020) poll indicated that a strong majority of Canadians believe that criticism of Israel is not antisemitic. Considering the importance of holding the state of Israel up to criticism, it must be demonstrated that said criticism is rooted in antisemitism, not assumed.

One of the examples in the IHRA definition states that referring to Israel as a “racist endeavour” is antisemitic, because it denies the Jewish people their right to self-determination. But surely there are methods of national self-determination that can be judged to be racist.

The definition claims that holding Israel to a higher moral standard than other countries is antisemitic. Considering the fact that every government on the planet receives vitriolic criticism, together with the previous claim that calling Israel a “racist endeavour” is antisemitic, one gets the sense that what is sought for Israel is a higher level of exemption from criticism than any other nation receives. We are perfectly free to call Canada a “racist endeavour,” after all. This happens frequently, often by the main victims of Canada’s very real history of racism, Indigenous peoples. Would we want to criminalize such speech in Canada as somehow a form of racism against Anglo-Saxons, or the French? Obviously not, yet our prime minister is willing to penalize the speech of Palestinians calling out Israel’s structural racism.

Most Jews live outside of Israel. Some are not Zionists or do not identify with the Israeli state as part of their Jewish identity. Yet, since Israel was founded as a reclamation of the ancient Jewish homeland and seeks to identify itself as “the Jewish state,” obviously those who hate Jews may hate the Israeli state and attempt to attack it. Yet states are prone, by their very nature, to all kinds of ethical challenges and must be held open to free and vociferous criticism. Again, the burden should be on the Israeli state to demonstrate that criticism of its actions is unfair and rooted in antisemitism. The claim that criticism of Israel is antisemitic should not be the first assumption but rather the last, after the criticisms – or, in the case of the recent investigation of Israel launched by the International Criminal Court, the legal allegations – have been fairly assessed.

Matthew Gindin is an independent journalist, writer and teacher of Jewish studies. You can follow his writing at matthewgindin.substack.com. Marty Roth is a retired professor of American literature and film studies, a freelance writer and member of Independent Jewish Voices.