Category: Articles

By Laura Tait

For many, room 300-A remains a mystery – an enigma hidden away on the third floor of CMU’s North Campus. Most only know it as the entrance to CMU’s obscure art room.  But for alumnus and artist Kristina Blackwood, the door to room 300-A is the gateway to the universities greatest hidden gem – the printing press.

For Blackwood, the press draws on a tradition of intentionality, of working with your hands, where all print decisions took careful deliberation and mindfulness, and not just the click of a computer button.

“I love printmaking; physically setting type with your hands then printing it,” Blackwood says. “When I’m setting type, I’m part of the same tradition that people hundreds of years ago were.”

The only university-owned printing press in operation on the prairies, CMU’s press has been instrumental in providing students and staff with a unique experience and understanding of printmaking.

The press has been used in a number of ways, from student linocut and typography projects, to the 2008 edition of Soul in Paraphrase, an annual student literary journal sponsored by the university’s English department.In keeping with CMU’s emphasis on bringing faith and practice together, the press provides an important space for hands-on learning.

Through the efforts of English Professor Paul Dyck, the 50-year-old printing press was given to CMU from the University of Manitoba in 2004 when the U of M was getting rid of its presses to make room for newer, modern printing technology. Dyck acquired the press at no cost and much of the type was donated to the school.

The press is a hand-operated unit, used traditionally for image printing and proof printing text before it was sent to larger printing units. As such, each print is unique in that it may turn out just a bit different from the last with every turn of the crank.

While other universities were looking forward to faster and more efficient printing methods, Dyck was interested in taking a step back to find out how his favorite historical literature was created.

“I always wanted a printing press because of my interest in book history,” Dyck says. “I’m a hands-on person. I like to try things for myself not just read about them, but actually engage with the material.”

Upon acquiring the printing press, Dyck began incorporating his love for the hands-on into his class History of the Book. In this class, students learn the history of book-making and get to work with the press, creating their own prints at the end of the semester.

It was in Dyck’s class in 2011 that Blackwood was first introduced to the printing press. Like Dyck, she was interested in taking a step back and finding out where the book came from. Through working with the press she was able to exercise her love for working with her hands and her appreciation for detail.

“Every choice you make is very deliberate: how wide your text is, your font, kerning, and leading,” Blackwood says. “There is a lot of planning that goes into it.”

For Blackwood and Dyck, the detail and intentionality that goes into working with the printing press is a response to an age of technology that favours quick, efficient, and fluid writing surfaces.

Word processing programs on computers allow you to switch fonts quickly and adjust images at the click of a button. The printing press, on the other hand, requires careful thought and commitment to the type and images you print. This commitment often results in mistakes that take a lot more time and fussing than on a computer.

This fussing, however, is part of Blackwood’s love for the press. She believes that it is through this fussing that she gets to know her work better. Part of getting to know her work means getting to know more about the history of her medium and typography.

“It’s important to know where things come from. For example, upper case letters are named because in the print room the capital letters were in the upper drawer and the small letters in the lower drawer,” said Blackwood.

The printing press offers a unique perspective for students – a space to slow down in a fast-paced society. A space to work with your hands, create something original, and bring faith and practice together.

For Dyck and Blackwood, the press is a reminder of where we have come from and where we are going.

“Technology is important, but we should never forget where it comes from,” Blackwood says.

For more information about CMU’s printing press, contact Paul Dyck at pdyck@cmu.ca.

Laura Tait is a student at CMU. This article was written as part of her coursework.

By Nolan Kehler

In Dieudonne’s small apartment, there is a colorful menagerie of crocheted animals – elephants, frogs, and cats. He sells them for $15 each. Crocheting is one of the few things Dieudonne can do to make money. He is paralyzed from the waist down.

Dieudonne is a 40-year-old immigrant from Burundi, a small country in central Africa and one of the five poorest nations in the world. He was sponsored to come to the rural community of Altona, Man., by Build a Village, an organization that partners with Mennonite Central Committee in bringing refugees to Canada.

Darlene Enns-Dyck is a member of the organization, and also the pastor of Dieudonne’s home congregation, Seeds Community Church. She recalls the process to bring Dieudonne to Canada was difficult.

“We were asked many times, ‘Are you sure? Do you have the community support?’, but we really needed to step into this,” Enns-Dyck says.

She points to a Bible verse from Matthew that guides the organization: “’Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

“Dieudonne is the least of these,” Enns-Dyck says. “We were sure God would come alongside him.”

Dieudonne grew up in Burundi, living on his parents’ farm and never going to school. After he left home at the age of 18, the government imprisoned him during ethnic violence in the early 1990s.

Dieudonne, however, felt fortunate to be in jail.

“If you were in jail and you didn’t do anything wrong, you were fine,” he says of his time there.

He was there for eight years, and still managed to work.

“I washed clothes for the rich. Rich people can’t wash their clothes themselves,” he chuckles.

He was released from prison in 2002, but he didn’t return to his family.

“I haven’t seen my parents since I left home,” he says. “They don’t think about me.”

He does not tell the story of his father. But Dieudonne’s friend, Marlous Fehr, goes into more detail, describing how Dieudonne’s father was murdered when his neighbour poisoned him last year.

Dieudonne was in a refugee camp in Tanzania when he was paralyzed. He climbed a tree to get firewood but fell out of the tree, landing on his neck. He was rushed to a hospital, which became his home for six years.

“I wanted to do something,” he says. “I decided to find a way to use my hands.”

This was when he learned to crochet.

It was as a result of his paralysis that he came to Canada.

“The doctor asked me if I want to go to Canada, and I said, ‘Yeah, sure.’ I didn’t plan anything.”

Fehr explains that the doctors said, “Go to Canada, they can help”.

Dieudonne soon learned how important it is to stay warm in a Manitoba winter. He remembers receiving his first winter clothing when he arrived in Canada from the refugee camp in Tanzania.

“They gave me a big jacket and a big hat,” he chuckles. “They tried to put boots on, but my feet didn’t work.”

He has been here now for almost five years, and the doctors have told him that they can’t do anything about his paralysis.

“All he wanted was to fix his back,” Fehr says. “We can just bring him food and play games. We’re not doctors.”

“He’s had to deal with some dashed hopes,” Enns-Dyck adds.

But Dieudonne hasn’t given up on a cure. During an interview, he displays a new business card that he acquired for a spine specialist in Germany.

“I am going to walk soon,” he says with a big grin on his face.

Dieudonne has had a positive impact on those around him since he arrived in Altona.

“It’s been fun to watch him experience new things,” Enns-Dyck says. “He likes to eat with people and throw parties. He has been an incredible blessing to the community. I’m glad we took the plunge.”

Nolan Kehler is a student at CMU. This article was written as part of his coursework.

By Michael Wiebe

Conversation within the walls of the Great Hall once fell on deaf ears, as what is now Canadian Mennonite University was originally built as a school for the hearing-impaired. Today, students from a variety of disciplines sit in what is now called the Blaurock Café talking academics and theology over fresh, fair-trade coffee.

CMU’s mission statement is unapologetically Christian. But as a liberal arts university, the institution does not require a Christian commitment of its students. This seemingly contradictory philosophical stance stimulates debate among students with diverse convictions who enter the school community.

Some students find their faith at CMU. Others, such as 21-year-old Matt Mayers, lose it as well. He argues, however, that CMU provides a comfortable home for an atheist such as him.

His comfort level at CMU may have something to do with his Mennonite upbringing.

“I grew up Mennonite and my mom is Mennonite,” Mayers says. “My dad is kind of Jewish, but he doesn’t really care, and he went to church with us all the time. Because I was raised Mennonite, I kind of know the Christian language, you know? If someone says, ‘the love of God,’ I can translate that in my head to ‘people’s love’ or something; you know, just humanize it.”

Seated in a plush armchair in a corner of the café, the history major recounts his questions about faith in middle school, and describes his religious status in his first year at CMU as “agnostic, but wanting to be Christian.”

“After taking the classes, talking to people, praying, and talking to professors, and the essays and what not . . . during the summer I thought, well, this doesn’t make sense to me,” he says.

Mayers’s journey towards a compassionate atheism had begun.

In a first-year Exploring Christian Spirituality class, Mayers’s final essay challenged him to grapple with the question, “What is Christian spirituality?” He was able to describe what he wanted Christianity to be, but discovered that his views did not fit with what Christianity is.

“What I wanted my life to be wasn’t Christian,” he acknowledges.

At the same time, Mayers embraced values of social justice and pacifism similar to those found in Christianity. He describes the similarities and differences between atheism and Christianity in an inspiring manner.

“The goal is to love people,” he says. “Social justice, pacifism: those are identical, I feel. But then the sort of underlying beliefs that inform that are completely different. There is no God in any of that, and, from a Mennonite perspective, God is in all of that.”

Mayers explains that many students at CMU are convinced that there is neither social justice nor pacifism without the presence of God. These students tell him that he is spiritual but doesn’t recognize it.

“They take their faith and put it over me,” he says. “It’s like, ‘You’re loving and you’re this and that, you have the love of Jesus in you, but you don’t realize it.’ . . . It’s a little condescending, but I’m OK with it, and I’m good friends with people who think that way.”

Mayers clearly values relationships, another benefit, perhaps, of a Mennonite upbringing steeped in community.

Despite the occasional condescension of his peers, Mayers gracefully accepts that the community is Christian, and reflects that it need not go out of its way to accommodate him.

“It’s called Canadian Mennonite University for a reason,” he says. “It’s not that big of a deal. They’re not deliberately inclusive, like, there isn’t an atheist club or something, but they aren’t exclusive with anything either. I can go to chapel and get something out of it, or I can go to Wednesday night worship and get something different out of it than everyone else there.”

This is not to say that any atheist would be content studying theology at CMU. After making the choice to be an atheist, theology courses did less to define Mayers’s beliefs and did more to test his patience.

“Coming to CMU last year, which was my second year, the religious courses just frustrated me so much,” he says. “They were amazing in the first year, but second-year I just didn’t get anything out of them.”

These sentiments explain why Mayers, currently in his third academic year, lives on the CMU campus but is a student at the University of Winnipeg. He plans to live on campus again next year.

There is no mystery as to what is keeping him coming back. Currently dating a Christian woman, Mayers says the CMU population is home, a place to strengthen his beliefs and the beliefs of others through engagement.

“I love it here because of the community, and because of the people, and I think that you can get that no matter what faith you are.”

Michael Wiebe is a second-year communications student at CMU. This article was written as part of his coursework.

By Julia Sisler

Upon entering the doors of CMU, it quickly becomes evident that the student body is culturally diverse.

With students arriving everywhere from the United States, to Kenya, to Paraguay, it raises the question: What drives students to travel such a great distance to move to Winnipeg, and more specifically, to attend CMU?

The majority of CMU students come from the Canadian prairies. Since they are just a few hours away from their hometown, they usually have the chance to visit home at least a few times during the year.

For many international students however, returning home more than once to visit family is unrealistic.

There are many sacrifices international students make in order to leave home and move to a new country, but perhaps the sacrifice is worth the overall gain.

Thinkgrace Ndlovu, a third-year social sciences student, knows exactly what it means to leave one’s family, life, and community behind in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe and travel over 14,000 km. to start a new life in Winnipeg at CMU.

Ndlovu originally moved to England upon graduating high school, where she initially planned to go to school. These plans changed in August of 2010 when her father, the president of the Mennonite World Conference, visited CMU as part of his travels.

He was impressed with the university and suggested it to Ndlovu. She adamantly refused.

However, over several days she re-thought the idea.

“My dad told me if I came to Canada, there would be more opportunities,” Ndlovu says.

Relying on God for guidance, she realized that CMU was where she needed to be.

Moving to Winnipeg for more opportunities has had its downfalls for Ndlovu. She has not been able to visit her home or family in nearly four years. However, she plans to do so upon graduating in April 2014.

The holidays are an especially difficult time for Ndlovu and other international students, who get to watch a majority of students return to their families.

“If only my family was here, I could just go home,” Ndlovu says.

But through similar experiences, Ndlovu describes the family that she has formed with her fellow international students since joining the CMU community. They spend holidays and summers. It’s a bond that few people will experience in their lives.

There are currently 18 international students at CMU. That being said, Sandra Loeppky, the coordinator for international students explains that there is some grey area in terms of defining an “international student.”

According to CMU, an international student is defined as a student who is on a study visa and who pays international fees.

Loeppky explains that there is a whole other group of students who are not international students by CMU’s definition, but are either Canadian citizens who grew up in a different country, or students who have received their Canadian citizenship upon arriving to Winnipeg. These students are also in need of the resources that CMU has to offer.

Ndlovu is looking forward to the day when she will finally return to Bulawoya and visit her family.

Until then, she remains content to be in Winnipeg with her friends, who have given her a second definition for the word family.

Julia Sisler is a student at CMU. This article was written as part of her coursework.

by Tyler Voth

Most people wait until summer to work on their diving skills, but not Scott. The University of Winnipeg student recently joined a local dumpster diving initiative that harvests food from the dumpsters of mid-level supermarkets.

The group – which, due to the controversial nature of its activities, will remain anonymous – focuses on a social understanding of dumpster diving, saying on its Facebook page that “it can be intimidating or hard to motivate one’s self to go on your own, so why not get together with other divers in this group?”

People post pictures of their findings, and set up outings that anyone can join. Through their efforts to “divert waste,” members of the group band together to resist the conventional economic system and make use of wasted products.

According to Statistics Canada, the average Canadian spent 15 per cent of their annual income on food in 2005. Some veteran dumpster divers boast a $0.00 grocery bill, living entirely off of what they find.

Dumpster divers are drawn in by the prospect of free groceries and the excitement of trying something completely ‘fresh’ in a society where convention can blind you from seeing a rewarding opportunity.

On a cool night, I join Scott on a dive. After the 45-minute bike ride to Winnipeg’s North End, we wait for the supermarket to close. Divers have a bad reputation at this location due to an inexperienced diver throwing garbage outside the dumpster.

Once the lights in the supermarket go off, we make our way to the bin and cannot believe the amount of food inside. We cautiously scale its walls, stepping on boxes and food items, trying our best not to damage anything.

“This is more than we can carry,” Scott says with a smile as he begins filling a box with pre-cooked frozen dinners.

“Diving is definitely a team sport,” he adds. “People get hooked on diving when they find something they love – something they can’t believe would be thrown away.”

As we continue packing food, a man pops his head over the side of the dumpster and begins to chastise us for “making a mess.”

After explaining ourselves, we quickly find out that the man, whose name we learn is Uriah, has been reprimanded for diving at this location because another diver had been throwing trash outside the dumpster, rather than into the dumpster right beside the one we are in.

Uriah’s large build makes him intimidating.

But as we talk, he shares that he is on “disability” and that he dives to “save a few bucks.” He explains he’s been treated poorly in the past, which explains his initial anger at our presence. He also talks about his injured leg, which prevents him from getting in and out of the dumpster.

In response, Scott offers to load some boxes for Uriah.

Uriah gets a shopping cart, and we fill it with 24 frozen dinners, a few containers of ice cream, yogurt, orange juice, canned peaches, and rice pudding.

As we pass Uriah the food, he informs us of other diving locations.

“We need to stick together,” he says.

Once the dumpster is empty, he asks for a still-packaged baby bottle to give to his roommate “as a joke.”

As Scott and I bike back to his apartment with full backpacks, we reflect on Uriah’s needs versus our own.

“He probably has a lot more problems than we do,” Scott says.

It is 11:30 PM by the time we get to Scott’s apartment, where we wash the “dumpster dirt” off the packages and lay out the food for a picture to post on the group’s Facebook page.

Some of the food is expired, but Scott’s philosophy of best-by dates is that “you should just trust your senses.” Having worked with Scott at a grocery store in Steinbach, I agree, and distinctly recall the obligation to throw out merchandise that is perfectly edible.

Dumpster diving is a lucrative, rewarding activity that changes your perception of the food industry. You’ll find yourself both upset and thankful someone threw out your favourite dish, and you’ll be reminded that each dumpster contains only a fraction of the food wasted throughout the city.

But most of all, you will be shown the importance of a strong community to feed those who can’t feed themselves due to circumstances beyond their control.

Tyler Voth is a student at CMU. This article was written as part of his coursework.