Latest news with #SimonFraserUniversity
Yahoo
10 hours ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Vancouver company celebrates reusable food container success
While there are multiple ways to eschew single-use food takeout containers in favour of reusable ones, a Vancouver company says it has moving toward being a major player in the sector. was founded in 2021 by Jason Hawkins and Anastasia Kiku, then both in their mid-20s, as a way to address the scourge of single-use takeout containers they were seeing piling up in garbage cans, landfills — or even worse — as litter. "We just don't have any more time to sit and not do something," said Kiku at the time about their concept. Reusables finds a home at universities, country club The company provides businesses with reusable containers, which are given to customers at checkout without a deposit. Customers are only charged — between $5 and $10 — if the containers aren't returned to special bins that track them. It's a simple concept, which others are also doing, but comes with hurdles such as getting customers to change their habits to adopt the system. says the company recognized its system, now at places such as University of Victoria and Simon Fraser University, is a good fit for where consumers, such as students and staff, return to the same place over and over again. "It really makes sense as a perfect closed-loop model where everyone is in that location," said Jasper Law, the company's product lead. "It's easy for them to know that they can bring it back to that place." Reusables also has improved its made-in-Vancouver return bins. Users scan their container to open the bin, meaning it's tamper-proof and can only be filled with Reusables containers. Law said a successful reusable-container business has to have a high rate of return to be viable. "What matters in these programs is return rate," he said. "So we are striving to get as close to 100 per cent as possible because every container loss needs to be replaced and that eliminates the value of the program." West Vancouver's Hollyburn Country Club is now using the system for its 8,000 members. Officials say member often received food or drink in single-use containers, but used them and discarded them on site, which created a garbage problem. "So we thought we should look for an alternative solution," said Caitlin Lundy, the club's director of sales and communication. The club says it's now saving between 8,000 and 10,000 units of paper cups, plastic lids and paper takeout containers per month. "So the initial cost of the system, it paid for itself within about two months," Lundy said. Company receives seed funding captured nearly $4 million in seed funding in April to help it expand further. "We're thrilled to be backed by the best tech and climate investors as we scale real impact, not just optics," said Hawkins in a release from the company. "Greenwashing won't solve the waste crisis — technology and execution will." Single-use item waste is a big problem to tackle in a "take, make waste society," said Denise Philippe, Metro Vancouver's National Zero Waste Council's senior policy adviser. Metro Vancouver has ambitious goals to reduce this type of waste and commended companies like for trying to make a difference. "I think there's lots of creativity and innovation that's happening in this space," said Philippe. "So kudos to both the reuse systems [and] system providers that are out there … scratching their heads … and trying to figure out how to make this work and make it work at scale and make it cost efficient."
Time of India
6 days ago
- Politics
- Time of India
Will work to better indigenous rights and knowledge system: Minz
1 2 Ranchi: Sonjharia Minz, who was recently appointed as the 'UNESCO co-chair in Transforming Indigenous Knowledge Research Governance (IKRG) and Rematriation', said she would work to advance indigenous rights and self-determination besides knowledge system through artificial intelligence (AI) to uplift indigenous communities. A member of the Oraon tribe from Jharkhand, the professor in computer science department with the Jawaharlal Nehru University said, "We are on the brink of losing indigenous languages around the world. Indigenous languages are more than mere communication tools. They are repository of culture, knowledge and knowledge system. They are awaiting urgent attention for revitalisation." Stating that her work would cover tribal communities across the country, she said, "I will implement IKRG through artificial intelligence with tribal researchers and knowledge partners." AI would be used for storing, secruring, and disseminating data related to researches on tribal culture, language, history, she added. She met chief minister (CM) Hemant Soren on Saturday. Wishing her on behalf of people of the state, the CM said, "I hope you would strengthen tribal languages, culture, and legacy while working as the UNESCO co-chair." Minz has been appointed as the UNESCO co-chair along with Dr Amy Parent of Simon Fraser University for a period of four years. She served as the vice-chancellor of the Sido Kanho Murmu University (SKMU).
Yahoo
11-06-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I was brainwashed into wearing a hijab. But Britain mustn't introduce a burka ban
I can still recall the first tentative day that I stepped outside my home not wearing my usual hijab but with my own pixie-cut hair on display and a breeze on my ears – a completely new feeling to was six years ago when I was 31 and studying for a master's degree in philosophy at the Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, Canada. At the time I was married with a three-year-old son. I had worn the hijab since the age of nine, and had always felt it was part of the package of being a Muslim, but in recent years I had begun to have doubts. Islam has a set of rules which cover various aspects of Muslim life, from religious practices to personal matters. I had always been curious about these laws, and had previously completed a master's degree in Islamic studies. But the more I learnt the more I felt that the methodology of Islamic jurisprudence (the theory and philosophy of its rules) was problematic for women. I couldn't help seeing the laws, including wearing mandatory hijab, as essentially misogynistic. Wearing a hijab was also not common in Vancouver, which made me stand out considerably. For the first time I experienced what it truly meant to be a visible minority and it took a heavy toll on my mental health. One day, my son kept refusing to take my hand as we boarded the bus. The tired driver, concerned about safety, snapped at me that I needed parenting advice. I was deeply upset, but then found myself wondering if such a minor incident would have affected me so deeply if I hadn't been wearing a hijab? I questioned myself. As much as I love Islamic spirituality, did I really want to carry its 'flag' when I no longer believed that flag represented something good?It was a few days later that I wrote a post on social media, relaying this incident to my friends and colleagues and explaining that while I was still explicitly Muslim, I would no longer wear the hijab. The next day, when I walked into the university, I had mixed emotions of uncertainty, excitement and freedom. There were a few awkward encounters with colleagues who didn't recognise me. But most people were understanding, and I have not worn the hijab since. The decision was a key moment for my Muslim identity. For it seems being a Muslim woman today is tiresomely linked to wearing a hijab or burka. There is always a great debate. Should you cover your hair? Your face? Are these items symbols of oppression or merely an expression of faith? Oh, and we know how these topics fire up the public imagination. Sparks flew just recently in the House of Commons when Sarah Pochin, the Reform UK MP for Runcorn and Helsby, called on Sir Keir Starmer to 'ban the burka'.'Will he,' she asked from the back benches. 'In the interest of public safety, follow the lead of France, Belgium, Denmark and others and ban the burka?' Thankfully, the question got rebuffed by both the Prime Minister and Pochin's Reform UK colleagues, who said it was not their policy. But it still left me – now a post-doctoral researcher at the University of Manchester – feeling sad and threatened. I worried I might have been wrong in my perception of Britain as a liberal and tolerant place for different religions. Mainly what I struggle with, however – whenever the issue flares up in Parliament – is how on earth politicians think they can prescribe to women how to deal with such a complex and personal issue. For in my case alone, my perception of being a Muslim has changed considerably over time – and I am only 37. I grew up in Iran's capital, Tehran, a super-crowded city that was beautiful to me in many ways. I was surrounded by a loving, happy family, who were religious, but me especially so. As a child, I donned the hijab (the burka isn't big in Iran), and began fasting and praying. I came to love the three elements of Islam: the spirituality, the practising, and the community. And because I was an anxious child, I found an incomparable comfort from reading passages from the Koran and common prayers, while the rituals and rules calmed my busy mind and gave me a sense of satisfaction. I also benefited from the Muslim community that was shaped around anti-imperialist political ideas in Iran. I studied a chemical engineering degree at Sharif University in Tehran, but then – like so many of my educated friends – got married at 22 and moved to London (we had an almost semi-arranged marriage and are now divorced), and it was here that I first encountered the diversity of religious life. Unlike in Iran, I began to see that being religious could go with all types of lifestyles, and it gave me a new perception of how I could live. When we moved to Vancouver in 2017 (I wanted to study in America but Trump had banned Iranians from entering the US), I still wore my hijab. But my dislike for the misogynistic essence of Islamic laws which shaped the culture of my community began to grow. Politically I was also changing. I came to see the scale of crime and deception from the Islamic Republic in Iran, and I came to detest its version of anti-imperialism and its suppression of women. I did not want to give up on my spirituality but I began to refine my version of being Muslim, starting with removing the hijab. When I moved back to London in 2020, to begin a PhD in philosophy at the London School of Economics, my own beliefs were strengthened by those I met. In the prayer room at the university, for instance, I was very pleased to find Muslims like me with no hair covering befriending women in the full burka, and bonding over their common interest in Islam's spirituality. Now – six years on since I first removed my hair covering – I feel psychologically better. I have begun to think that although I had a happy childhood, I was perhaps brainwashed in some respects and probably missed out on exploring my feminine side and having a diverse social life. Now, I have chosen a version of being Muslim that is true to me, and to some extent I think I have inspired my own friends to do the same. As for the draining debate about the burka, I believe Muslim women wear it for all sorts of reasons. They may think it is part of a package of rules which is meant to strengthen their willpower and bring about a special type of spirituality. While I may think the rule is misogynistic, it does not imply that those who observe it are misogynists. But I also understand why some find it very offensive or dangerous. It is natural, perhaps evolutionary, to want to see someone's face in order to connect. And obviously, wearing a burka highlights that the person is an immigrant, and we know many in the UK do not like immigration. Still, the decision to wear a burka or not must be decided by the women themselves. It is very paternalistic for a government to decide how a person might practise their religion. Also, should it be banned, the Muslim community would be enraged. This is what happened in Iran in 1936 (before the Islamic Republic took over in 1978). The Shah Reza Khan Pahlavi banned head coverings in a bid to modernise the country. But that violation has remained in people's memories for generations. Despite the current hatred towards the Islamic Republic and mandatory hijab, people still rage for having their choice taken away. You have to remember, a ban does not just affect the one person wearing the burka. A large circle around that person will feel violated, regardless of whether they are Muslim or not. Also, even discussing such a ban can, I fear, cause a rise in Islamophobia. If you have a hidden tendency towards Islamophobia, and something public like this happens, it may only embolden you. Hopefully, however, nothing like this will happen. I have always felt there is something special about Britain – in how it treats Muslims and religions in general, and in how diverse and liberal it is in this regard. I really hope it stays that way. As told to Gwyneth Rees Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Telegraph
11-06-2025
- General
- Telegraph
I was brainwashed into wearing a hijab. But Britain mustn't introduce a burka ban
I can still recall the first tentative day that I stepped outside my home not wearing my usual hijab but with my own pixie-cut hair on display and a breeze on my ears – a completely new feeling to me. This was six years ago when I was 31 and studying for a master's degree in philosophy at the Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, Canada. At the time I was married with a three-year-old son. I had worn the hijab since the age of nine, and had always felt it was part of the package of being a Muslim, but in recent years I had begun to have doubts. Islam has a set of rules which cover various aspects of Muslim life, from religious practices to personal matters. I had always been curious about these laws, and had previously completed a master's degree in Islamic studies. Why I stopped wearing the hijab But the more I learnt the more I felt that the methodology of Islamic jurisprudence (the theory and philosophy of its rules) was problematic for women. I couldn't help seeing the laws, including wearing mandatory hijab, as essentially misogynistic. Wearing a hijab was also not common in Vancouver, which made me stand out considerably. For the first time I experienced what it truly meant to be a visible minority and it took a heavy toll on my mental health. One day, my son kept refusing to take my hand as we boarded the bus. The tired driver, concerned about safety, snapped at me that I needed parenting advice. I was deeply upset, but then found myself wondering if such a minor incident would have affected me so deeply if I hadn't been wearing a hijab? I questioned myself. As much as I love Islamic spirituality, did I really want to carry its 'flag' when I no longer believed that flag represented something good? It was a few days later that I wrote a post on social media, relaying this incident to my friends and colleagues and explaining that while I was still explicitly Muslim, I would no longer wear the hijab. The next day, when I walked into the university, I had mixed emotions of uncertainty, excitement and freedom. There were a few awkward encounters with colleagues who didn't recognise me. But most people were understanding, and I have not worn the hijab since. Banning the burka The decision was a key moment for my Muslim identity. For it seems being a Muslim woman today is tiresomely linked to wearing a hijab or burka. There is always a great debate. Should you cover your hair? Your face? Are these items symbols of oppression or merely an expression of faith? Oh, and we know how these topics fire up the public imagination. Sparks flew just recently in the House of Commons when Sarah Pochin, the Reform UK MP for Runcorn and Helsby, called on Sir Keir Starmer to 'ban the burka'. 'Will he,' she asked from the back benches. 'In the interest of public safety, follow the lead of France, Belgium, Denmark and others and ban the burka?' Thankfully, the question got rebuffed by both the Prime Minister and Pochin's Reform UK colleagues, who said it was not their policy. But it still left me – now a post-doctoral researcher at the University of Manchester – feeling sad and threatened. I worried I might have been wrong in my perception of Britain as a liberal and tolerant place for different religions. Mainly what I struggle with, however – whenever the issue flares up in Parliament – is how on earth politicians think they can prescribe to women how to deal with such a complex and personal issue. For in my case alone, my perception of being a Muslim has changed considerably over time – and I am only 37. I grew up in Iran's capital, Tehran, a super-crowded city that was beautiful to me in many ways. I was surrounded by a loving, happy family, who were religious, but me especially so. As a child, I donned the hijab (the burka isn't big in Iran), and began fasting and praying. I came to love the three elements of Islam: the spirituality, the practising, and the community. And because I was an anxious child, I found an incomparable comfort from reading passages from the Koran and common prayers, while the rituals and rules calmed my busy mind and gave me a sense of satisfaction. I also benefited from the Muslim community that was shaped around anti-imperialist political ideas in Iran. 'Misogynistic essence' of Islamic laws I studied a chemical engineering degree at Sharif University in Tehran, but then – like so many of my educated friends – got married at 22 and moved to London (we had an almost semi-arranged marriage and are now divorced), and it was here that I first encountered the diversity of religious life. Unlike in Iran, I began to see that being religious could go with all types of lifestyles, and it gave me a new perception of how I could live. When we moved to Vancouver in 2017 (I wanted to study in America but Trump had banned Iranians from entering the US), I still wore my hijab. But my dislike for the misogynistic essence of Islamic laws which shaped the culture of my community began to grow. Politically I was also changing. I came to see the scale of crime and deception from the Islamic Republic in Iran, and I came to detest its version of anti-imperialism and its suppression of women. I did not want to give up on my spirituality but I began to refine my version of being Muslim, starting with removing the hijab. When I moved back to London in 2020, to begin a PhD in philosophy at the London School of Economics, my own beliefs were strengthened by those I met. In the prayer room at the university, for instance, I was very pleased to find Muslims like me with no hair covering befriending women in the full burka, and bonding over their common interest in Islam's spirituality. 'I understand why some find it offensive' Now – six years on since I first removed my hair covering – I feel psychologically better. I have begun to think that although I had a happy childhood, I was perhaps brainwashed in some respects and probably missed out on exploring my feminine side and having a diverse social life. Now, I have chosen a version of being Muslim that is true to me, and to some extent I think I have inspired my own friends to do the same. As for the draining debate about the burka, I believe Muslim women wear it for all sorts of reasons. They may think it is part of a package of rules which is meant to strengthen their willpower and bring about a special type of spirituality. While I may think the rule is misogynistic, it does not imply that those who observe it are misogynists. But I also understand why some find it very offensive or dangerous. It is natural, perhaps evolutionary, to want to see someone's face in order to connect. And obviously, wearing a burka highlights that the person is an immigrant, and we know many in the UK do not like immigration. Still, the decision to wear a burka or not must be decided by the women themselves. It is very paternalistic for a government to decide how a person might practise their religion. Also, should it be banned, the Muslim community would be enraged. This is what happened in Iran in 1936 (before the Islamic Republic took over in 1978). The Shah Reza Khan Pahlavi banned head coverings in a bid to modernise the country. But that violation has remained in people's memories for generations. Despite the current hatred towards the Islamic Republic and mandatory hijab, people still rage for having their choice taken away. You have to remember, a ban does not just affect the one person wearing the burka. A large circle around that person will feel violated, regardless of whether they are Muslim or not. Also, even discussing such a ban can, I fear, cause a rise in Islamophobia. If you have a hidden tendency towards Islamophobia, and something public like this happens, it may only embolden you. Hopefully, however, nothing like this will happen. I have always felt there is something special about Britain – in how it treats Muslims and religions in general, and in how diverse and liberal it is in this regard. I really hope it stays that way.
CTV News
10-06-2025
- Science
- CTV News
B.C. professor given prestigious award for tireless efforts protecting Borneo's orangutans
Dr Birute Mary Galdikas is a recipient of a prestigious award recognizing those working in the field of exploration and scientific research. Biruté Mary Galdikas remembers the first time she laid eyes upon an orangutan. It wasn't in the flesh but via a photograph – one of a subadult male Sumatran, captured peering straight down the barrel of the camera – yet it still stirred something within. 'It was the eyes,' she recalls. 'From the upper lip up, when you looked at him, it was like you were looking at a human being. That's what intrigued me, the eyes of an orangutan are mesmerizing.' Few people feel compelled to dedicate their life to caring for an entire species after merely looking upon a photograph, but going against the grain is typical for 79-year-old Galdikas. An iconic explorers award In April, the Simon Fraser University professor, scientist and conservationist was bestowed a prestigious award for her unprecedented work researching and protecting orangutans in the dense rainforests of Borneo. Dedicated to the field of research and scientific exploration, the Explorer's Club medal for Explorer of the Year is widely regarded as the highest honour of its kind. Past recipients include the likes of Neil Armstrong, James Cameron, and Jane Goodall. 'I was actually surprised… I never thought that I would be nominated for it, or that I would get it,' says the Lithuanian-born, Canadian-raised Galdikas, describing how she is well versed on the club's array of awards but had never envisioned taking one home, let alone the highest honour. Biruté Mary Galdikas wins Explorers Club Award Biruté Mary Galdikas receives The Explorers Medal from The Explorers Club in April. (Courtesy: Peter Domorak / The Explorers Club) In an attempt to explain the momentousness of the occasion, Galdikas references a comment Cameron once made about his Explorers Club nod meaning more to him than winning an Oscar. Galdikas' collection of awards is equally as impressive, they include both an Order of Canada and a PETA humanitarian award, and yet, much like Cameron, she considers her latest trophy to be in a league of its own. 'Virtually everybody who has one is an inspiration,' she says. 'To be in their company, to me, feels like a great honour.' Over five decades dedicated to the Borneo rainforest Galdikas first arrived in Indonesia's Borneo in 1971 as a University of British Columbia and University of California alumna, armed with joint degrees in both psychology and zoology. It was during such studies that Galdikas had convinced Louis Leakey, mentor to both Diane Fossey and Jane Goodall, to fund and help orchestrate her longed-for excursion. The famed paleoanthropologist had been hesitant, she recalls. The prospect certainly looked bleak: In the 70s, orangutans in Borneo were largely unknown to the scientific community, and the habitat in which they lived was considered borderline uninhabitable as one of the last wild places on earth. 'Louis gave me 10 years,' says Galdikas with a chuckle. 'He said other people had said it can't be done, because people had tried to actually locate orangutans down in the wild and couldn't find them.' The conservationist didn't need 10 years. The first orangutan she encountered was in the very first month. Galdikas worked from her camp in the tropical heath and swamp forests of Borneo's Tanjung Puting National Park in the years that would follow, eventually setting up the research site and conservation organization, Orangutan Foundation International, in 1986. Biruté Mary Galdikas Galdikas has spent over 55 years racking, monitoring and protecting the orangutan population in Borneo. (Courtesy: Orangutan Foundation International) She considers the foundation her greatest accomplishment to date, and the reason why the park is now home to one of the two largest wild orangutan populations in the world. Locals in the Central Kalimantan province, especially the older population, still talk of how Tanjung Puting would not exist if it wasn't for her work, she says. 'There would be no trees there. It would all be logged. It would all be a palm oil plantation. We protected that park.' Galdikas says there was 'blood, sweat and tears' shed while protecting Tanjung Puting, and she could share stories that would leave even the most seasoned traveller in shock, but she chooses not to linger on those. 'It wasn't easy,' she remarks, instead. The first of many life-changing trips Besides, Galdikas hadn't been naive to the unforgiving quality of conservation work prior to embarking on her project. Nor the unforgiving quality of the lowland rainforests – Mother Nature had held no cards to her chest during that first ever trip in 1971. 'It rained and it rained and it rained,' she recalls of those first few months. 'There I am, two degrees south of the equator, sitting under an orange tree, pre-dawn, and it's raining, and I don't think I've ever been quite as cold in my life.' She remembers the 'really horrific' leeches that would wriggle out of her jeans, at one point infecting her legs and hands to such a degree that she was unable to close either of her palms. She remembers the diet of those first few weeks, and the years that came after, consisting of nothing but rice and sardines. Yet there was a certain serenity to being in the forest that would ultimately will Galdikas' return, and even now, despite the 4 a.m. rising times, meagre meals and parasitic infections, she describes the rugged island as 'basically paradise.' 'I feel very blessed that I've had those experiences,' she says now. Biruté Mary Galdikas Galdikas established the Orangutan Foundation International in 1986, 15 years after her first trip to Borneo. (Courtesy: OFI) When asked whether she had ever considered giving up, trading in her life in the bush for a standard nine-to-five and a return to creature comforts, she doesn't hesitate before uttering a response. 'There's never been a moment where I felt discouraged enough to stop,' she says. She acknowledges it as the reason why her marriage to former husband Rod Brindamour, who had accompanied her to Borneo during that first trip in 1971, would ultimately dissolve eight years into the research project. '[He] left because he wanted to go back to school, he wanted to finish college, he wanted to have a normal life. He didn't quite understand that when I said, 'I'm going to study orangutans as long as I could,' that I actually intended to do that,' she says. The justification for prioritizing the great apes is clear, she says. Orangutans – the creatures with eyes that can 'look into your soul' – need 'all the help they can get.' Looking to the future The war is not over but after over half a century of successful conservation efforts, Galdikas says she is starting to feel positive about what the future could hold for the endangered primate. Earlier this year Indonesia's Minister of Forestry thanked the conservationist for her service during an intimate encounter that was televised and projected across the country. She describes it as 'such an accolade,' and a step towards better collaboration and aid from the Indonesian government. Developments in methodology and technology are spurring improvements in wildlife monitoring and data collection, she adds, nodding to the work of an SFU student currently observing orangutan populations while studying for her PhD. 'She uses ultraviolet, infrared drones, and so she's counting orangutans while they're sleeping in their nests during the night,' she says. 'She's actually able to count the number of orangutans from the sky, so she's getting more precise numbers. Before this technology, that was impossible.' Galdikas, who still splits her time between Canada and Borneo, says she feels optimistic because it 'seems like the world is beginning to wake up a little bit' to the fact that if change isn't made now regarding the way the planet and its inhabitants are treated, 'we are going to be in a crisis.' Avoiding the 'path to disaster' is possible, she says, but efforts to raise awareness of the world's dwindling animal populations need to be ramped up to do so. It's the reason why Galdikas has no plans to retire any time soon – despite having achieved the highest honour in her field. 'A lot of work still needs to be done,' she says.
