In March 2017, I started a fight in the Facebook comments section for an article in The Varsity called “In Search of a Safe Space”. In this article, “a safe space” was used to refer to “a comfortable study area for finals season”. I was young, and mad, and it felt like the right thing to do.
“Safe space” is a term that, especially two years ago, was gaining traction on campus. It refers to a physical space that prioritizes the comfort, safety, and voices of the marginalized, most often for LBGT+ people.
A “safe space” is different from an accessible space. Often for safe spaces to be effective, they must be accessibility-forward, but unlike accessible spaces, there are no concrete physical specifications that their accessibility can be measured against. The goal of a “safe space” is to be a place where people feel safe. A “safe space” needs maintenance and an infallible structure. It is not something that I believe can exist in an ideal form.
Another term gaining traction is “safer space”, which is a space that strives towards the ideals of a “safe space” but acknowledges its own possible failings. You’ll also hear about “brave spaces”, where inhabitants are asked to acknowledge their discomfort and approach difficult topics with courage and responsibility.
The terminology is splintered because we’re constantly trying to riff on or improve our past ideas. I don’t believe that student spaces are “unsafe” for any purposeful reason, but my point is that they are, indeed, unsafe. By “safe”, I mean a physical area where an individual can reasonably expect to be accommodated, treated with respect, and protected from violence or harassment.
Hence why I’m embarrassed by my reaction to that article, even if I still think it was justified. That title made it feel like my experience was not worth considering, like it was alright to co-opt a term invented and used by marginalized communities and use it as a cute buzzword. At the time, and even now, I don’t think I’d say I feel safe on this campus.
How could I, when this university’s institutions and groups refuse to condemn white supremacy, refuse to have any meaningful discussion on de-gendering public structures, and have extremely lacking university policies on sexual assault? How could I, on this campus completely devoid of mental health resources during what has been recognized as a crisis? I think these areas of focus reveal enough about me to show why I’m mad, because I’m personally impacted by all these failures.
Not everyone is like this.
It’s easy for some people to exist and feel safe and well-represented by the groups that steer important aspects of their lives. However, goodwill isn’t enough to make that true.
Let’s consider Victoria College, specifically Caffiends, the student cafe in Old Vic and a mentioned location in “In Search of a Safe Space”.
Caffiends is a student volunteer-run cafe. The volunteers are trained to use the equipment, maintain safety regulations, and use any additional tools they may need for their job. As well, Caffiends has a considerable sustainability initiative and uses sustainable practices and hosts events to promote more earth-friendly ways of living.
Despite interacting with the public, however, Caffiends volunteers are not asked to do any form of equity training.
It is assumed that all the equity screening and training that needs to be done with volunteers is part of the hiring process or maintained by the Caffiends Co-Managers who are obligated to attend some manner of equity training. This isn’t enough.
If I don’t personally know the people on shift, I will not be gendered correctly. It’s an easy mistake in a stressful environment, I know, but even if I am visibly wearing a pin with my pronouns on it, I will inevitably be reminded that my identity in this space isn’t mine, but to be decided by any stranger who looks at me.
I think that, combined with some of the invasive and discriminatory questions I’ve been asked in Caffiends (not by volunteers, but without any degree of intervention) is what really set me off. This is not to say this was a justifiable reason to start an argument on Facebook, but what I want to note is that the argument was never about me specifically asking Caffiends for reparations.
This isn’t just about Caffiends, it’s about governing bodies at Victoria College, or even UofT. Any long-standing structure has had something like this fall through the cracks. People have stories about The Cat’s Eye, The Strand, VUSAC, the Dean’s Office, VCDS—all of these structures have often, without meaning to, harmed someone.
It can be deliberate and malicious, but most of the time, I’d guess it’s because incidents were not discussed in an open, honest way. There are no easily accessed records of how any campus group, especially UofT admin groups, approach accountability.
Back then, two years ago, I remember these feelings as a conversation I felt uncomfortable continuing but obligated to start.
Whenever I raise these sorts of issues, people ask me what I think we should do because they don’t want to assume my needs, but in asking me for a full solution they expect me to completely anticipate and accommodate their preferences and needs. They’re asking me to do the work before they will recognize that I need help. It’s on me to do all the empathic thinking to bridge the gap. Why is it always on the people harmed by structures to provide a better way of life?
Why do I have to have a complete solution in order to start a conversation? Why isn’t it enough for me to just say “this makes me feel uncomfortable and unsafe”? Will a discussion fix anything? Would you have considered this point if it impacted you, and not me? What if I was more like you? This is not a solution. This is not a concrete step towards action.
A safe space needs to be maintained to stay safe, and it can’t fully be safe for you unless you have power in maintaining it. If you hold power in a space, including the ability to hold people accountable for their wrongdoings and to change the environment to suit your needs, you can guarantee your own safety. You can guarantee you will be comfortable, accommodated, and heard. If you do not have power, you can’t ensure this, and even if you do, you can’t guarantee it for other people. You can’t know what they need, or what makes them comfortable.
Safe spaces only truly exist as you yourself create and curate them.
We can always look to make spaces safer, more accommodating, and more aware. Most importantly, we need to be publicly facilitating discussions about the safety of the people within the space. But to assume safe spaces exist implies that the work is over, instead of constantly ongoing.
Photo by Hana Nikcevic
