For our special 50th anniversary issue, Canada’s brightest, boldest, and most rebellious thinkers, doers, and creators share their best big ideas. Through ideas macro and micro, radical and everyday, we present 50 essays, think pieces, and calls to action. Picture: plans for sustainable food systems, radical legislation, revolutionary health care, a greener planet, Indigenous self-government, vibrant cities, safe spaces, peaceful collaboration, and more—we encouraged our writers to dream big, to hope, and to courageously share their ideas and wish lists for our collective better future. Here’s to another 50 years!

Jostling academics, lawyers, reporters, coalitions, and religious groups who identify as anti-poverty fighters have not come up with anything substantive or evolutionary in decades. We are treated to the same tired approaches: demonstrations and denunciations; op-eds that vault the writer’s ego but quickly disappear from public consciousness; political parties that “own” the issue castigating their rivals; and obligatory feature articles on sympathetic poor people, but not too poor, not too facially marred by their lived reality—it must be inoffensive and calculated to spark pity, if not action.

And those who work at agencies that “serve” those in need? They feel good at intervening in the latest crisis, unaware that their clients experience a 24/7 crisis, impacting their health and hearts as their lives are wasting away or brutally ending. Staff police crowded spaces, dirty, chaotic, and grim, where hope and change never enter. They need to feel they do right by their clients, postponing evictions or handing out TTC tokens, although, at the end of the day, only they have their lives enhanced by salaries and offices and cars to whisk them out of bleak communities to more middle-class living.

Staff and experts don’t really know the entrenched poor. They certainly don’t socialize or spend any time with them outside work hours. We can see this in their asks: a bit more food, a few more dollars, and more and more social supports that infantilize, control, and maintain people in poverty. To justify this usurpation of voice it is often said that the poor have no time or energy to spend on their own liberation.

But in the end the question is: Whose poverty is it? It belongs to those who live it, know it, and struggle to survive it.

We have stumbled on a way to eliminate the class ceiling, and have found support from foundations and government to do so. But experts seem never to have thought about actually paying people to participate—relieving them of the burden of poverty for the time they spend learning from each other. Experts haven’t thought about letting them get used to having more, being more than simply a problem.

Those of us with lived experience of poverty, mental illness, single parents, refugees, homeless folks, people with addictions or physical disabilities are stepping out of our separate silos, re-integrating ourselves, telling each other our stories, and understanding through the process that poverty is the overriding issue—but poverty can be fought. The separate labels we carry serve only to keep us apart and in thrall to agencies. Yet once people start talking to each other about their experience of poverty, its shattering effects, how hard it is to escape, they can see how the agencies set them up to fail, and how they don’t see their potential, their ability. It’s not simply about complaining; it’s about identifying systemic issues and proposing solutions. It’s learning to speak in ways that those in power can hear and respond to. It’s recognizing that change has to start in our own lives, and that taking responsibility for mistakes made is part of that change. It’s about caring for the communities we come from, and working for all our benefit.

We need to start doing this in ways that are constructive in tone and substance. Let’s start fighting for ourselves and for lives that are worth living—a hearts-and-minds approach that takes us to tables around the city and circumvents both the experts and external advocates who would rather we simply attend and validate their events, cynically offering lures of watery soup, T-shirts, and stale sandwiches.

We must speak for ourselves and to policy makers, politicians, businesspeople, police, doctors, and funders—people who are affected by our presence, who have to revise their view of who the poor are, what they want, and how effectively they self-represent. We must ensure we take a holistic view of those living in poverty, no longer dividing them up according to funding mechanisms, but bringing people together so that we can support each other moving forward.

In my future Canada, we will talk about opportunity, whether in education, or employment; we will talk about wanting to work side-by-side with those with paper credentials to improve what is a failing system; and we will be welcomed. Already, we are building allies, people outside systems, who ensure we have doors opened that previously were closed. We are believing again in our own potential.

This is seismic change, not welcome everywhere, but change that will revolutionize how we see and treat the poor. Maybe, within the next decades, we can show that the poor will not always be with us, but will move up and out of what was thought to be forever.

The article goes in depth, examining jury absence rates and penalties by province. Only three of the provinces and territories track jury attendance, but those who do have relatively low penalties.

There are many reasons to avoid jury duty: it’s long, often unpleasant, and “sucks so bad.” The internet is abound with suggestions on how to get out of jury duty, with everything from feigning racism to being gay. Even if you do serve on a jury, you could cause a mistrial by being “dumb”.

In Canada, it is a civic duty to respond to a jury summons, either by showing up for the jury selection panel or providing a sufficient reason not to partake as a juror.

While some of the commentators on the Star article gladly participated in a lawyer hate-on, many spoke out about the very real barriers to participating as a juror.

Employers are legally obligated to grant employees leave for jury duty. Although jury duty remuneration vary by country and jurisdiction — in Phoenix you get free wi-fi, in L.A., free art gallery admission — it’s almost universal that employers have no requirement to pay salaries while you do your civic duty.

If approved at a jury panel, jurors in Ontario aren’t compensated until after 10 days of service (day 11 to 49: $40.00 per day, day 50 onwards: $100.00). This scheme is replicated across the country. In our (maybe post-)recession economy, many have less job security. With little to no stipend for lost work days, especially for the rising number of self-employed and those in precarious work, it’s no wonder many opt out.

There’s also the issue of transportation. When called to jury, citizens in most provinces have to get to the trial — or a jury panel, where they might be declined — on their own dime. A daily travel expense is issued to those approved for jury service living outside the city where the courthouse is.

As the Ontario government says, “parking facilities vary from courthouse to courthouse, and public transportation is strongly recommended if available. If you attend the courthouse as a member of the jury panel, you will be responsible for paying your own parking fees.” Nice.

While justice systems make allowances for certain hardships — medical conditions, school, vacations — being among the working poor isn’t one of them. In Ontario, there is no allowance issued for childcare expenses, so if you have to take time off from your minimum-wage hourly-paid job to attend jury duty, you’re left holding the bag for daycare or babysitting costs, without any income to offset it. The increasing number of people in that situation literally cannot afford to serve on a jury.

What results is a socially unrepresentative pool of potential jurors who are likely to be more economically privileged than the defendants they sit in judgment on. Much research has been published on jury biases based on economic background.

It’s reasonable to hypothesize that socio-economic status shapes verdicts. A jury’s perspective is shaped by the jurors themselves. If only those of a certain class or salary are able to afford the luxury of jury duty, they will deliberate on a very specific set of principles—especially in cases where poverty or race is involved.

Justice is costly. Fair trials require time, professionals, and lots of documentation. But just as underpaying prosecutors threatens the pursuit of justice, perpetuating barriers to jury duty compromises the integrity of a fair trial.

Canada's women's Olympic hockey team pose with their gold medals after the winning game.

Guest blogger Canice Leung recently wrote in this space that Canada’s “national sport,” our beloved ice hockey, has became too elitist, too expensive and too inaccessible to maintain its position near to the top of the Canadian cultural hierarchy. Sparked by a fiery debate on Twitter the day before, her words were thought-provoking and insightful and her column provided an valuable perspective—one that those of us closely connected with the game often forget. And though I agree with the spirit of Leung’s argument, I have have to take issue with her conclusion, that hockey does not and should not represent this country.

She is right to point out that sport in Canada is a multimillion-dollar industry and that in certain respects it has become increasingly elitist and inaccessible. As Leung notes, higher-end ice skates alone can cost upwards of $600 and that’s just one piece of the bounty of expensive gear required to the play the sport at any level. Also, rinks are expensive to maintain, so ice-time is scarce and registration fees for youth hockey leagues are exorbitant. Just last week, the Greater Toronto Hockey League, the minor hockey association for the city that is supposed to the most diverse on earth, announced it would be doubling its fees next year. All the GTHL’s 512 teams will now pay $2000 to register a 16-player squad in order to cover the $500,000 hit the league expects to take with the introduction of the Harmonized Sales Tax in Ontario in July.

As Leung argued, circumstances like these make any sport—or any endeavour, for that matter—self-stratifying. Sure, there are bursaries, hand-me-downs and other equalizing measures out there. But with decreased accessibility comes increased elitism. More immigrants and second-generation Canadians may be filling roster spots in the game’s professional ranks. Yet there are also fewer opportunities for the less affluent to have a shot at playing the game at its highest level. For Leung, that means that when hockey is “put on a cultural pedestal, it demands a fairness and accessibility that befits the morals of the country it represents.”

But, for me, it’s still the national game.

The reason hockey needs to be more a more accessible and more equitable sport is precisely because it’s so deeply interwoven in our collective identity. Opening the sport to a wider, more diverse sample of Canadians will not only increase its already massive audience—10.3 million Canadians tuned in to the Olympic quarter-final against Russia; 21.5 million, nearly two-thirds of the country, for the gold medal match-up with the United States—and support other values we hold close, but also deepen the talent pool and make us that much better at, that much more connected, to our cherished national pastime.

When Leung writes that “in modern-day Canada, the idea that the sport represents us all seems anachronistic,” I think she may be missing the point. In today’s world, there is nothing that is going to perfectly represent us all. Hockey is for some, not for others. But the shared experience of sport can unite us and hockey is that shared experience for Canadians. The beauty of sport is that you don’t have to play it to take part in it—the Olympics final the perfect example of just that. It’s the overwhelming emotion and excitement coupled with hockey’s rich folklore that brings people together in one collective act. The fact that so many of us tune it on a nightly basis is what makes it ours.

Granted, it’s a shame the women’s game doesn’t get the attention it deserves—but that is true of all female sports and Canadian women’s hockey is probably in a better state than most. Plus, that culture is rapidly changing, particularly at the amateur level where more young and talented female athletes are playing competitive sports than ever before. They, too, share in the collective hockey experience and are increasingly becoming an active part in shaping it.

Of course, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t apply a critical lens to our national game, giving it a free pass simply because we love it. More access and more representation will only make our game bigger, better and more of a positive force in shaping Canada’s culture. Leung’s point is an important one and very well taken. But there’s still something distinctly Canadian about that good ol’ hockey game.

Hockey players at McGill University, Montreal, 1901.

I grew up in the Greater Toronto Area, home to the most diverse region in all of Canada, perhaps the world, in a Hong Kong immigrant household (caveat: my Man U-loving dad raised me on soccer). I’m intensely proud of that fact. So it ruffles my feathers that, hockey so often precludes all other events — a men’s hockey semi-final quarter-final win over Russia (at that big sporting event that shall not be named) garnered more media and spectator attention on a day in which four medals were won in non-hockey events.

Hockey, Wikipedia tells me, is the national winter sport of Canada and has a well-known history that predates European arrival. But in modern-day Canada, the idea that the sport represents us all seems anachronistic.

I tweeted as much yesterday, saying “Heres the thing about hockey: its a rich cdn’s sport. It irks me to no end one of the least accessible games somehow represents my nat’l ID. … That, and up until recently, it was (and arguably still is) a boy’s game. It just doesn’t represent us all.” The debate that ensued seemed to strike a nerve, which you can read in its entirety here and here.

The Canada-Russia game averaged 10.3 million viewers—a third of Canada’s population. I don’t doubt the popularity of hockey, but it’s the modern incarnation of the sport that irks me.

As I tweeted earlier, it doesn’t take much to figure out that hockey runs hundreds, maybe even thousands, beyond what more “democratic” sports cost: high-performing soccer cleats run about $200, plus another $100 for jersey, shorts, socks, shin guards. Basketball: $40 ball, $150 shoes. Hockey: high-end skates can run $600 — never mind the cost of pads, sticks, helmets, pants, jerseys, neck guards and everything else.

My boyfriend, a lifelong hockey fanatic and a player in his adolescence, took umbrage with my assessment. He says in his small town in New Brunswick, almost every kid, boy or girl, played the game. If they couldn’t afford it, coaches supplied hand-me-downs, freebies or communal team gear.

True, you can still enjoy a game of outdoor shinny on hand-me-down skates and sticks. And the game itself is still a rush to watch. But we don’t live in a Tim Hortons commercial — even a rec league requires all that equipment, and from it, the hockey industry — from the $300 Leafs tickets to Bauer and Nike — generates billions of dollars from it.

For a disadvantaged Toronto kid, charity, waived fees and mentoring seems to be the only way into the game these days, the Toronto Star found, quoting NHL goaltender Kevin Weekes: “The pricing is such that our sport is becoming an elitist sport.”

Playing at a rep level and up requires several thousand in registration fees, cost for travel, and that’s not even counting the gear. All totalled? $10,000 a kid. As the Star pointed out, this leads to kids—talented ones—dropping out because of the financial burden.

Any sport that requires such a money sink is self-stratifying. It’s a terrible social phenomenon happening not just in amateur sports, but also in skyrocketing university tuition, extra fees required even in public school, laptops and other technological gadgets that are now virtually mandatory in academic and professional spheres. It also means at the highest level, the NHL, as in many other places in life, those that succeed are the ones that can afford it. It’s disheartening that all these opportunities are moving further and further out of reach of low-earning Canadians families.

In recent years, more leagues, presumably aware of this problem, have started offering bursaries to players—but I’m sure the effects are analogous to university bursaries vs. tuition freezes and reductions.

@bmo, a gentleman I was talking with on Twitter, mentioned how sports such as football institutionalize the outfitting of players—high schools supply all the equipment. An online search turned up nothing on socioeconomic statistics of incoming players in any major leagues, but I’d be interested to see if there’s any correlation between how sports are funded and who ends up succeeding. For a country whose diversity will only increase, not to mention an NHL looking for a wider audience, this isn’t a passing concern.

The costs associated with modern youth activity isn’t just hockey, obviously. It’s just as wrong that serious coin must be spent for extracurriculars such as soccer, basketball, dance, gymnastics, horseriding, ballet, skiing or swimming.

The difference is, no one’s calling these the national sports of Canada. When it’s put on a cultural pedestal, it demands a fairness and accessibility that befits the morals of the country it represents. I think most Canadians believe we are a fair, free and equal country. Hockey, if it ever did represent that, doesn’t anymore.

The spirit of a nation comes from its people, emblematic of their shared experience, ethnicity, history or culture. Our spirit is that we lack all these, and instead take polite pride in them all. We are not one dish, one national dress, one language, one music (I would defect if Anne Murray or Celine Dion were our national chanteuses). How, then, can Canada reduce its sport to just one?