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By: Mia Kibel

In ninth grade my favorite shirt was a grey deep v-neck from American Apparel. If you are currently studying at McMaster, there is a decent chance that at some point, some variation of this shirt featured prominently in your wardrobe. In 2008 and 2009, it was not uncommon to see four or five girls wearing the same shirt in a range of different colours on any given day. In retrospect, two things become striking: one is a disturbing adolescent penchant for uniformity, but the other is the fact that on Oct. 5, American Apparel filed for bankruptcy.

The company is well known for its commitment to “sweatshop-free” clothing. It is one of the only mainstream clothing companies manufacturing its product in North America, specifically in Los Angeles. American Apparel pays its employees minimum wage, and according to their website offers comprehensive healthcare and benefits. This is not to say American Apparel does not have labour rights issues — they have been accused of aggressive anti-union behavior, immigration entanglements, and sexualized hiring practices by the former CEO Dov Charney. But despite this, because they produce in America, the company still has a better human rights record than its counterparts.

In 2013, the Rana Plaza garment factory in Bangladesh made headlines when it collapsed, killing 1,100 workers (mostly women). There were no fire exits, no adequate air supply, and the women were forced to stay and work even when they noticed cracks in the foundation. The Rana Plaza factory and others like it are associated with Zara, H&M, Uniqulo, Forever 21, and many more of the world’s largest brands. Despite the news coverage, we continue to shop exhibiting a profound collective amnesia surrounding garment worker rights. In comparison, American Apparel is looking pretty good.

Unfortunately, it is not a coincidence that American Apparel is the one going bankrupt. Minimum wage for workers in California is $1,440 a month, compared to $68 in Bangladesh. These high production costs mean that American Apparel is not able to compete with “fast-fashion” like H&M, Zara and Forever 21, because producing ethically costs too much money. However little we like to admit it, we as consumers agree. I have walked into American Apparel, looked at a $24 shirt, thought, “this is too expensive” and walked out. The past five years of American Apparel sales show that a whole lot of people are doing the exact same thing. Fast fashion — dependent as it is on the mistreatment of workers — is really cheap. The cheapest plain jeans at American Apparel are $78.00, compared to $9.99 at H&M, $10.90 at Forever 21, and $29.90 at Zara. Human rights are out of my price range.

Theoretically, we have the ability to make consumption choices that protect human rights, but for a lot of people, especially students, those choices aren’t affordable. Not to mention any shopper who wears a size larger than XL lacks even the semblance of a choice, because American Apparel sizes don’t run that high. This exclusivity in socially conscious fashion isn’t unique. If you google “socially conscious clothing” the first hit is a list of 30 brands. There were only four brands that earned a single “$” rating on the website, and they only had “cheap” designations because they sold less expensive items such as underwear and accessories. People with less disposable income are excluded from whatever “socially conscious corporate economy” exists.

Financial critics of American Apparel are taking its bankruptcy as evidence that young people “don’t care where their clothes are made,” but I do not think this is true. Anyone who has ever had to meet a budget knows that sometimes you do not get to spend your money on what you want — the choice is made for you. By connecting cheap clothes to human rights abuses, the fast fashion industry is implicating all of us in the gross mistreatment of thousands of people around the globe. Not enough people would or could pay the price they set on human rights, and American Apparel’s case proves that even an approximation of human rights is not possible or profitable. Within the corporate garment industry, there is no such thing as a socially conscious consumer.

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By: Emily Smith

Coming out as a queer woman was a political experience for me. Intrinsically, our personal identities and experiences are political. When we are able to share our stories and create community, we come together to create social change. Recognizing this, I think it’s time to come out again in a very different way.

In July of 2010, I exercised my legal and inherent human right to choose and had an abortion. I was in my first trimester of pregnancy and my abortion took place around nine weeks. At the time I was in my first long-term relationship, which was both emotionally abusive and sexually coercive. I was struggling significantly with my mental health. My abortion was a painful decision in an unfortunate situation. It is something I have struggled with, though never regretted, for the past five and a half years.

In my four years at McMaster I’ve seen an increasing presence of pro-life propaganda on campus. Although I strongly believe in the right everyone has to an opinion, and by no means seek to eradicate groups on campus, I do think it’s important to recognize the inaccuracies and frankly emotionally manipulative tactics being used to stigmatize and marginalize the people in our community who have had abortions.

Recently I’ve seen some chalk writing on campus tarmac. One stated “your mother chose life.” I don’t know if my mother is pro-life, pro-choice, or somewhere in between, but I do know that I was a pregnancy that was planned, wanted, and prepared for. Had I been a pregnancy that was unwanted or unplanned would my mother have chosen differently? Would it have mattered? Her path would have been different, as would those around her. This tactic is frequently harnessed by pro-life groups and does not reflect the reality of choosing to have children. Pro-choice people have children on a regular basis, choosing choice.

Another quote stated that “the first inalienable human right is to life.” Many justice groups are rightfully up in arms from the moment a child is born about bodily autonomy. We protest the circumcision, cosmetic or surgical alteration, and piercing of infants. In all of these situations, we recognize that a basic human right all children should have is the right to choose what they will do with their bodies, and modifications should only be made when the individual is capable of making that decision. Yet somehow the importance of bodily autonomy diminishes when we start talking about abortion. When we allow women the ability to pierce their own ears but not to terminate a pregnancy, what are we telling women? That their bodies are their own but only to an extent. Women’s bodies are not public property. They are not walking incubators, and no one should have a say in what one person does with their own body.

Finally, a chalk message said “adoption is a loving alternative.” Adoption is a beautiful option for women who choose to carry their pregnancies but do not want to parent children, but it is an alternative to parenthood, not pregnancy. When we talk about adoption in the context of a substitute for abortion, adoption becomes a weapon in a misogynistic political agenda against women. Adoption should not be disrespected and used as a guilt tactic or presented a last ditch effort against abortion.

Every moment that this pro-life propaganda exists on our campus, more and more people are shamed, silenced and provided with false and manipulative information. Perhaps if accurate quotes were shared on sidewalks, accurate signs displayed in our student centre, or accurate pamphlets handed out on corners, we might see a marked change in how women who have had abortions navigate their university experience. If well-intentioned and productive information was being disseminated on campus our pro-life organizations would cease to exist.

When these quotes are publicly displayed the intention is clear. To silence, shame, and deny women spaces to talk openly about their abortions. When we fail to talk about abortion as a valuable and viable option for an unwanted or unplanned pregnancy we force women to see themselves as having shameful secrets. Most people can imagine what it’s like to carry with you a secret you cannot share without fear of disgust, rejection, or humiliation. There is a simple fix to this one: accept abortions.

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By: Steven Chen/News Writer

We never really outgrow our childhood dreams of walking alongside extinct creatures. This fantasy has been vividly imagined in popular literary works, television shows and movies. The only thing left is for scientists to undertake the daunting task of bringing it to reality.

On Oct. 27, the compelling question of whether extinct species can truly be revived was discussed in the talk, “Reviving Extinct Species — Fiction or Fact”, featuring Prof. Hendrick Poinar, current director of the Ancient DNA Centre at McMaster University.

Prof. Poinar’s public lecture at the David Braley Health Sciences Centre marked the launch of the “Research in the City” series. The series, which was established by McMaster University in partnership with The Hamilton Spectator, aims to revitalize community interest in research done in Hamilton.

As an evolutionary biologist specializing in the genome of ancient species, Prof. Poinar offered a passionate recount of the work currently being done in the field. His team at McMaster has been investigating the DNA present in fossil remains for more than two decades — notably pushing research frontiers by using novel methods to sequence the genome of the extinct woolly mammoth.

The allure in uncovering the mystery to these extinct species has propelled Poinar to a life-long quest. “These are extinct creatures that once roamed the earth and then [simply] vanished. Why and what drives species to extinctions when they have managed well for so long?” Poinar asked.

The public lecture supported the prospect of reviving recently extinct species, such as the passenger pigeon and the Tasmanian wolf. It is reassuring that in the grand scheme of biological evolution, these species have only vanished in recent memory. Remarkably, specimens of the woolly mammoth, who last trudged the earth 10,000 years ago, are still preserved intact in the Siberian tundra. This offers immense potential for scientists to extract the genetic information to make clones of extinct creatures in the future.

With the rapid development of genome sequencing technologies, Prof. Poinar offers foresight on the possibilities and dangers. “We can expect genome analysis [to occur] in minutes,” he said . . . “Should gene therapy become a reality, I hope mostly for the better, but the changes surrounding the ethics need to occur now.”

Whether or not we will be able to witness the marvel of the woolly mammoth or glimpse the ferocity of the saber-toothed cat remains a question. What is more important to consider is how our aspirations for the future are invested in the research being done on a local and global scale.

The “Research in the City” series hopes to continue engaging the public with upcoming talks, ranging from topics on the life and death of hitchBOT to the Atacama Large Millimeter Array Radio Telescope.

Poinar mused, “Fascinating research is going on in Hamilton and the people have a right to know about what we do. The great thing about McMaster is that research is portrayed without the attitude, for the public to engage with at all levels.”

Photo Credit: Jason Lau/Photo Reporter

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Readers should be advised that this article contains mentions of sexual assault.

There is a pervasive cultural image of “The Good Survivor.”

The Good Survivor can be seen on television, in Lifetime movies and in those real-life stories of sexual violence which we choose to highlight.

The Good Survivor is white, middle class and was attacked by a stranger. She fought back. She wasn’t drunk, she wasn’t on drugs and she wasn’t in a relationship with her rapist.

She is straight, and young, and articulate. She immediately goes to the police, who believe her, and her rapist is prosecuted. He goes to jail, and she moves on. The movie ends there, with the implication that she has been changed but not traumatised, and that her rape was a mechanism by which she became “strong”. She forgives her attacker. She’s not a victim, you see. She’s a survivor.

I loathe her.

Philosopher and Holocaust survivor Jean Améry wrote, “man has the right and the privilege to declare himself in disagreement with every natural occurrence, including the biological healing that time brings about. What happened, happened. This sentence is as true as it is hostile to morals and intellects.”

Améry felt that when forgiveness is made a virtue, unforgivingness becomes the victim’s vice. The desire that victims forgive their abusers comes not from any wish for the victim to find closure, but to show that the victim was not irrevocably damaged. It absolves not only the attacker but those who allowed it.

When I was three-years- old, I trustingly followed my favourite uncle down to the basement. We were going to play a game.

The “game” didn’t end until he died five years later. In time, he started taking pictures.

I never told anyone. I didn’t fight it. There was a part of me, an isolated child with few friends her own age, that relished in the attention. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t right. But you can reconcile many things. I thought that I was special.

In a movie, one of the Good Survivor kinds, my mother would have noticed, or I would have told her, and we would have gone to the police. They would have used my testimony to take down my uncle and the men he shared my images with. I would have emerged triumphant.

In reality, I dissociate completely when anyone touches my neck.

It is popular to refer to rape victims only as “survivors.” I understand that this gives many of those people strength, and I would never condemn anyone’s methods of understanding their own trauma.

I didn’t “survive” my rape as one might a forest fire. It was not an act of God. It was a crime, and I was the victim.

I was once given a workbook that subtitled itself “From surviving to thriving!”.

I hated it. I hated it more when it became apparent that the book and others like it were focused on helping return people their identity and sense of self that they had before their rape.

I was raped before I knew how to read. The background of my early childhood is one of profound trauma, but one which was my normality. There is no returning to some previous whole. If I was broken, I was broken so early and so often that there is no me without this brokenness.

If this seems to you to be clinging to victimhood, understand that I cling to it in a context which so desperately wants me to forget. A culture which so desperately wants me to stop talking about it, to stop feeling its effects — the emphasis on survivorship in feminist communities has often struck me as being terribly insensitive to those of us who have to remind ourselves that what happened was a crime. If we are traumatised, if we are broken, it is because we have experienced something that was designed to break us.

I take my strength from being broken, from these proofs I have that I was hurt by someone’s deliberate choice rather than an amorphous inevitability.

I refuse to forget. I refuse to forgive. I refuse to rationalise.

I was the victim of a crime. This sentence is as true as it is hostile to morals and intellects.

It’s been a month since a leaked recording of Hulk Hogan’s sex tape lawsuit, which revealed that the once wholesome “real American” went on a racist and homophobic tirade after having sex with his best friend’s wife.

Hulk Hogan was appropriately fired by the organization, and any traces of his likeness have been erased from the Hall of Fame and WWE online store.

His attempted erasure from the WWE history books should come with a re-evaluation of some of the practices that still undermine an already lowbrow form of “sports entertainment”. Hogan is a morally starved racist asshole, but the industry is made up of wrestlers, writers and managers that are just as despicable.

Despite WWE’s strong response to Hogan’s racist comments, it should not be forgotten that this is the same company that cannot depict a black wrestler unless he’s some kind of tribal warrior, convict, ex-convict, pimp, servant, witch doctor or dancing comic relief. These culturally insensitive characterizations are made all too real when current fan favourite stables like The New Day are still made to be on-stage laughing stocks compared to their white superstar counterparts.

For instance, when then-rising-star Booker T lost a racially charged feud between him and Triple H, the latter looked down on what would have become a rare success story for a black wrestler and said “Booker I think you’re a little bit confused about your role in life here. Somebody like you…doesn’t get to be a world champion.” Highly scripted and over the top? Yes, but when a setup like that resulted in Booker ultimately losing, it cannot help but feel like an all too appropriate metaphor for the larger issues embedded in the organization as a whole.

The writing team, all controlled by in CEO Vince McMahon, produces storylines that are laughable at best, and cringe-inducing at their worst. McMahon is responsible for so many awful on-screen and off-screen moments and is more than happy to walk the line between fictional and real life harassment and abuse.

In 2005, McMahon had his infamously scripted “n-word” drop on camera with John Cena, an angry Booker T and Sharmell. Although the clip was supposed to be an “outlandish and satirical skit involving fictional characters, similar to that of many scripted television shows and movies” according to a WWE rep during an in-character feud with the Undertaker leading up to the 2003 survivor series, McMahon threatened to have the wrestler’s house set on fire and have his wife “raped by a motorcycle gang, right in front of the Undertaker.” An adulterer in reality, McMahon used his “creative” powers in the WWE to make out with superstar diva Trish Stratus, Tory Wilson, and several other of his employee while the character of Vince McMahon drugged his actual wife (who was somehow roped in to becoming another WWE character) until she was comatose and wheelchair bound. McMahon proceeded to subject his life-long partner and viewers at home to his sexual escapades with employees young enough to be his daughter. This included Sable, wife of Brock Lesnar, who filed sexual harassment and unsafe working condition allegations against the organization just a few years beforehand.

It doesn’t take much digging to discover a disturbingly long list of sexual assault allegations against McMahon and other WWE and WCW officials. In 2006, McMahon was accused of groping and sexually harassing a tanning salon employee. A 2002 transatlantic flight carrying a variety of WWE superstars ended with a lawsuit by the airline, in which it was revealed that wrestlers sexually harassed the flight attendants. The list included Ric Flair, who flashed his penis and forced himself onto one of the attendants.

Professional wrestling is big, loud and stupid. It has always been hyper machismo to a fault, and has rightfully struggled to garner a consistent mainstream audience ever since the steroid induced 80’s and the graphic 90’s era. No matter how much the organization tries to rewrite their history books, it’s unlikely that the executives and celebrities participating in a disgusting and violent culture are going to change their ways.

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In Canada, a person can now be arrested, jailed, and forced to testify in court without ever being charged with a crime or knowing the evidence against them. This is the legacy of Bill S-7, a bill introduced in 2013, that offers unusual power to authorities to jail and force people into secret investigative hearings. There is also Bill C-51 that introduced as law in June 2015. This bill gives the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS), our C.I.A., the ability to act as a secret police force with little oversight, a considerable shift from its initial purpose to gather intelligence and pass it to the RCMP.

There is also the infamous practice of carding: also known as street checks, police checks or stop-and-frisk.

Carding occurs when police officers detain law-abiding civilians—people who are not suspects, under investigation or who are not criminals or in the act of committing a crime—in order to question, I.D. and record their information. Its purpose is to find something of an incriminating nature on civilians, such as persons breaching a court condition, or for leads on a number of criminal offences. The collected information is then stored in a police data bank indefinitely.

Carding is unconstitutional because by law the police are only allowed to detain a person when they have reasonable grounds to suspect that this person is engaged in criminal activity, has committed a crime or is linked to an ongoing investigation. If there are no such grounds, the detention is illegal and any evidence obtained during this detention must be excluded at trail. Carding violates our Charter of Rights and Freedoms, particularly the right to be free from arbitrary detention, and the right to be secure against unreasonable search and seizure.

It is also dangerous because officers regularly write moralistic statements and judgments of character on their ‘carding notes’ that influence other officers. This happened to Osgoode Hall Law School Juris Doctor candidate, Knia Singh. He was reported as “not police friendly” (along with being incorrectly identified as Jamaican though Mr. Singh was born in Canada), as if being not police friendly is unlawful or even an objective interpretation.

A working group under OPIRG McMaster called Black, Brown, and Red Lives Matter (BBRLM) has uncovered that this unconstitutional practice is enforced by the Hamilton Police Services (HPS). What was unearthed was that between 2010 and 2014 the HPS conducted more than 9000 street checks, despite having repeatedly told BBRLM that they do not engage in carding.

While in theory it may appear unbiased, in practice carding is rampant with racial and class bias. For instance, while only 3.2 percent of Hamilton’s population identifies as black, black people account for 12 percent of people carded. Likewise, Indigenous persons are two percent of the population but five percent of people carded. White persons on the other hand are 84.3 percent of the Hamilton population but 75 percent of the people carded. This data is additionally surprising as the HPS has repeatedly told the public that they do not collect racial identifiers during street checks. It turns out they do, and that they misled us. This is unacceptable.

In response to carding, which until recently also occurred in New York as “stop-and-frisk,” Alicia Garza, co-founder of the Black Lives Matter movement in the USA, is coming to McMaster again to speak on the topic.

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If you read the last issue of IO, you already know the world has ended.

Human civilization has shattered, overcome by a legion of the walking dead. Pockets of survivors live miserably, scavenging for food and water, desecrating undead brains and avoiding the ever-present threat of a deadly bite from a set of decaying teeth. As despondently as the remaining humans live, this scenario creates the perfect storm for a whole new crop of ethical dilemmas to grow.

Before we continue, let me make it clear that I’m a pretty big fan of The Walking Dead. It’s a prime example of a zombie apocalypse television series that focuses on the moral consequences of the cataclysmic event and not just on the mindless muscle of re-killing shambling brain-hungry humans.

Picture this: you’re a country sheriff who miraculously survived the initial outbreak. After a couple days, you are reunited with your wife. After chopping off some zombie heads and ensuring you’re safe, you settle down and, in a wave of passion, get down and dirty with your wife. A couple of weeks later, she notices irregularities in her menstrual cycle. You raid the local abandoned pharmacy and find a pregnancy test. She’s pregnant. You’re happy, of course. But then you and your wife start talking. You also found some abortion medication at the pharmacy. Do you really want to bring a baby into this harsh life? What kind of existence is your baby looking forward to? A painful experience of constantly looking for the next meal, all the while dodging roaming hordes of zombies? Being eaten alive, organ by organ, in the hands of a crazed once-human? Never mind the lack of operational hospital equipment and conditions to deliver the baby (your wife would be giving birth like she was in the medieval times – in other words, a fairly hazardous experience). Never mind your existing views on abortion vs. pro-life. The world has changed. Your family and friends started eating each other and your old perspectives are not as relevant. Look into the eyes of your wife. What will the two of you decide?

It’s fairly easy to say that most of us currently have a moral code. We don’t kill. Would that still hold if the world went to hell and 95 per cent of us became zombies? Desperate times call for desperate measures. While many of us would understandably try to survive – regardless of the price – others would rise to the occasion and try to keep us all in line with a basic moral code and respect for other humans. After all, whoever is left would really be all that’s left of humanity. What if you found someone stealing from your camp of survivors? You decide to let him or her live, and weeks later they come back to steal again, mad from hunger. In the ensuring struggle, one of the members of your survivor camp is killed. Do you regret your original decision to let them go free? What if instead of stealing, they had accidentally killed someone in an accident? Would you still let them go free?

Clearly, there are no easy answers – even in a zombie apocalypse. It’s troubling, isn’t it? Not only do you have to worry about basic survival and cannibalistic dead humans, you also have to grapple with an ever-persistent moral code. Ah, C’est La Vie! (Even after La Vie.)

While activists call for investment in more sustainable industries, Mac's own practices are unclear

It’s no secret that universities deal with a lot of money. Between tuition, research funding and corporate sponsorships, cash is often on the minds of McMaster administrators. But what people may not know is where the school spends its money.

Elysia Petrone is hoping to change that.

A new Hamilton resident and recent graduate of Lakehead University, Petrone has put forward a petition to Maclean’s Magazine to offer a ranking of schools based on “ethical investment” in their annual University Rankings issue. Together with Kyuwon Kim and Yasmin Parodi, also recent graduates, she hopes to promote divestment across Canada.

“Canadian Universities are proud to claim they are on the cutting edge of sustainability education and research to solve global problems,” reads their online petition, run through Change.com.

“However, together Canadian Universities are investing billions of dollars in unsustainable and unethical industries that we think students would have a problem with.”

The petition lists examples of these “unethical” industries, which includes fossil fuels, weapons manufacturing and tobacco companies.

The three young women thought Maclean’s was a suitable way to promote their commitment to divestment.

“We were thinking [the petition] would be an easier way to create effective change, because it’s going to be a challenge to go to these universities that have vested interests,” Petrone explained in an interview.

“We thought that instead of working with one university, [Maclean’s] could do a lot of the groundwork and find this information.”

She described Maclean’s University Rankings, now in their 22nd year, as the “be-all, end-all of rankings” in Canada.

Although the goal of the petition is focused on the magazine, Petrone hopes to encourage students to pressure their own universities towards divestment.

“I’ve been able to raise this issue with people in my circles here [in Hamilton], and I [thought we should] start something at Mac,” she explained.

“Right now our goal is to find local activists on campus and people who can get on board and invest their time in this project … I don’t go to McMaster, so I want to inject this idea and help it get founded.”

No Canadian universities have yet agreed to divest from fossil fuels, though campaigns exist at McGill, University of Ottawa, University of British Columbia and University of Toronto. Activists at U of T also found success with a 2007 campaign against investment in tobacco companies. The university eventually agreed to divest from tobacco and tobacco-related stocks.

While divestment hasn’t been an institutional priority at McMaster, students supported a 2005 referendum to end the university’s exclusive contract with Coca-Cola due to the company’s alleged human rights violations.

“McMaster’s a big institution, so it’s time to get this thing going here,” said Petrone.

The focus is to avoid investment in any companies that could be deemed unethical or unsustainable, but at McMaster, it is unclear whether or not such investment exists.

Details of investments made by the McMaster Department of Treasury Operations, which manages the school’s endowment funds, are not available to the public. As of 2011, McMaster had a total endowment of $519 million.

“[The investments are] managed on McMaster’s behalf by private investment managers, and these investment managers are guided by the policy, and we’re working with them to make them aware of the policy and ensure they’re directed by it,” explained Gord Arbeau, Director of Public Relations at McMaster.

“With the nature of the investment, it’s impossible to keep up-to-date information or lists as this is frequently changing.”

However, other large universities across Canada, including University of Victoria, Western University, Queen’s University, York University and many others, have such data available online. This has resulted in McMaster being ranked behind most major Canadian universities in terms of endowment transparency, according to the US-based College Sustainability Report Card.

McMaster’s policy on social responsibility in investment, last updated in 1980, states that “the primary social responsibility of the University is to fulfill its role as a centre of learning and free inquiry,” noting also that “the Finance Committee ... does have a serious obligation to consider matters of social responsibility that may arise in connection with its investment decisions.”

The policy stipulates that moral judgments of an industry are to be made based on the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights as a guideline.

Despite their enthusiasm, Petrone, Kim and Parodi have not been met with much support from Maclean’s for their proposed ranking.

“We believe this is an issue best explored in an article,” the magazine wrote in a press release. “At this point we are not considering introducing a ranking indicator on ethical investment of university endowment funds.”

The Change.com petition was set up to send one email to Mary Dwyer, Senior University Rankings editor at Maclean’s, for each signature it received. Petrone and her colleagues agreed to disable this function, but she acknowledged the initial series of emails might have strained relations. Dwyer was unavailable for further comment on the matter.

Maclean’s did respond to the petition with two articles posted on Maclean’s onCampus, a subset of the magazine’s main website. One article argued in favour of investment in divestment; the other made a case that ethical investments are not so simple.

“We want more than just two articles on this website that no one ever goes to,” insisted Petrone. “The petition has [almost ten thousand] people and we want publishing; we want [Maclean’s] to actually publish in [their] print paper every year.”

“I just feel that if there’s a will, there’s a way,” she said. “Hopefully things will spin, and pretty soon all universities will be on the divestment train.”

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