Winnipeg Free Press

Winnipeg Free Press (Newspaper) - October 30, 2025, Winnipeg, Manitoba THINK TANK COMMENT EDITOR: RUSSELL WANGERSKY 204-697-7269 ● RUSSELL.WANGERSKY@WINNIPEGFREEPRESS.COM A7 THURSDAY OCTOBER 30, 2025 Ideas, Issues, Insights The art of neighbourhood life M OST mornings when I step outside my door at Philips Square, I look across the street and see something that makes me quietly grateful to live where I do. It isn’t just the park or skyline view — it’s the steady rhythm of people coming and going through the doors of the Forum Art Centre at the corner of Eugenie Street and Taché Avenue. Children clutching sketchbooks. Teens bal- ancing portfolios under their arms. Adults with aprons dusted in clay or paint. Seniors greeting one another before class. Newcomers stepping into their first art lesson in Canada. Almost every day, in every season, this little building fills with people ready to make art — and in doing so, they make community. The Forum Art Centre has been part of Winni- peg’s creative landscape for more than 60 years, offering art instruction and inspiration to thou- sands. Founded in 1964 by a group of artists and educators, it has survived relocations, funding challenges and the changing tides of art education. Its mission has remained remarkably consistent: to make art accessible, to foster creativity and to build connections through shared expression. Housed today in a former city library on Cor- onation Park, the centre feels perfectly at home. On warm days, artmaking may spill outside — easels under trees, sketchbooks open on park benches, students painting in the open air. It’s art and nature in easy conversation. Inside, the hum of creativity continues with drawing, painting, sculpture, ceramics, printmaking and mixed me- dia. Many of Winnipeg’s most celebrated artists have taught here, passing along their craft, disci- pline and love of art to the next generation. If someone can’t afford the full cost of a class, the Forum finds a way to help through scholar- ships and bursaries. Outreach programs bring art into schools, seniors’ homes and community cen- tres, extending the Forum’s reach far beyond its walls. Its volunteer board and staff work tireless- ly to keep the lights on and the brushes moving, guided by a simple but powerful belief: that art should be for everyone. But the Forum is more than an art school — it’s a neighbourhood anchor. Step outside and you feel its presence woven into the rhythm of a four- block stretch of Taché between St. Mary’s and Marion. Here, creativity and community inter- mingle in the most Winnipeg way possible. Within steps are Big Sky Run Company, Coronation Lanes, White Lion Strong, Shirley’s Dance Studio, Frenchie’s Records and Coffee, Thyme Café, Le Croissant, Mrs. Mike’s, Nola, Bar Accanto, For- tify, Pasquale’s, The Wood Tavern — plus plenty of services like salons, a barbershop, massage, dentist, florist, attorney and shoe repair. And I’m sure I’ve missed a few! Together they form a pocket of vitality — a reminder that great neighbourhoods aren’t designed from above; they evolve through the daily habits of people who live, work and create there. The Forum Art Centre is the heartbeat of this ecosystem right here in St. Boniface’s Norwood Grove — the place that reminds us that art belongs in everyday life, not only in museums or galleries. Its members, students and staff help sustain the surrounding businesses — grabbing a coffee before class, lunch after a workshop or a celebratory dinner after a show. It’s a cottage industry of creativity, another small but powerful economic driver. Maybe you read the recent Free Press story citing a Probe Research poll, which reported that Manitoba’s creative and cultural industries generated more than 20,000 jobs and $1.75 billion in economic value in 2023. When you peek through the Forum’s front windows, you might see students working on portraits or landscapes, abstract forms taking shape, colours layered and blended, stories form- ing in paint and charcoal. But if you linger a little longer, you see something even more important: people talking, laughing, learning — sometimes struggling — but always connecting. In a world that often feels disconnected and hurried, the centre offers a slower, more meaningful rhythm — one based on attention, curiosity and care. I’ve come to think of the Forum as a kind of civic classroom — not only teaching art, but nur- turing the values that help a community thrive: patience, respect, openness and imagination. Every drawing and painting session is also a quiet act of belonging. And that’s no small thing in a city that needs more spaces where people can feel both safe and inspired. The centre’s story is also a reminder of the pow- er of small organizations. It doesn’t have the scale or budget of a museum, but its impact is profound. Run by volunteers and a few staff and sustained by tuition dollars, grants and donations, it endures because people believe in it — because they’ve seen what happens when art becomes part of ev- eryday life. In many ways, the Forum represents the best of Winnipeg: resilient, welcoming, unpre- tentious, creative and deeply human. Some evenings, when I look across the street and see the lights glowing through its windows, I’m reminded that art is not just something we hang on walls. It’s something we live with — a thread that ties us to our place, our neighbours and ourselves. As Winnipeg continues to evolve, we would do well to cherish and support spaces like the Forum Art Centre. They are not luxuries; they are ne- cessities — the quiet, steady forces that keep our communities alive and connected. Because when a child picks up a paintbrush for the first time, an older adult returns to art after decades or a new neighbour finds their voice through colour and line, something larger hap- pens. It’s not just about making art — it’s about making home. Stephen Borys is president and CEO of Civic Muse, and a former director and CEO of the Winnipeg Art Gallery. Advocacy in the age of Wi-Fi WHEN the internet first arrived in the mid-1990s, it screeched. Literally. It screamed its way into our homes through the telephone lines, a metallic cry that sounded like the future forcing its way through. We waited through the static, convinced that life was about to get easier. People said it would save us time, let us work from home and give us more hours with our families. No one mentioned that it would also move into our bedrooms, our pockets and our dreams. No one could have imagined that it would change how we fight, how we march, how we plead for justice. That the fight for justice itself would become a digital labyrinth where truth moves slowly and attention moves fast. Back then, when a heroine from a popular ear- ly-2000s television show was dumped with nothing but a handwritten note, it became a cultural tragedy. There was nothing noble about writing your cowardice on a Post-it. A few years later, a company fired hundreds by email and it made na- tional news. Today, we “quietly quit” through apps without blinking, edit our grief into reels, add the music the app suggests and call it closure. The future did arrive, just not the one we imag- ined. Somewhere along the way, the glass between us became the new confessional. The clunky computer gave way to a glowing relic that fit in our palms. We campaign, testify and pray to the algorithm. Our devices hum beside us at night, loyal and hungry. I once kept rosary beads on my nightstand. Now, it’s a charger that keeps vigil. The internet promised connection, but deliv- ered spectacle. We have confused visibility with impact. Real advocacy, the kind that changes laws and saves lives, still happens in rooms without Wi- Fi, where no one is filming and no one is trending. From the shy dial-up years to today’s infinite scroll, the internet has shed its politeness and grown teeth. It feeds on boredom, fear and grief until everyone becomes a philosopher, a broad- caster, an activist. We hashtag suffering and perform compassion in high resolution. Advocacy without sweat. But real advocacy, the kind that matters, doesn’t upload well. It happens in waiting rooms and council chambers, in the slow rooms of bu- reaucracy where applause is replaced by silence. Bureaucracy doesn’t respond to hashtags. It answers to persistence, signatures and a certain kind of madness that keeps you writing letters when everyone else has logged off. I know because I live it. Early last year, I was struck by a car while crossing the street. What fol- lowed was not a moment. It was a transformation. I have spent the months since rebuilding body and faith, and now I advocate for road safety, for the crossing guards who stand between danger and our children, for the strangers whose lives are measured in seconds of driver impatience. Most of my work happens off camera, very slowly. No filters. No metrics. Only persistence, heavy as wet rope, pulled again and again through the same hands. You send an email and wait. You follow up. You attend meeting after meeting. Sometimes you wonder if anyone is listening. The internet can amplify voices, but it cannot replace the courage of showing up. Online spaces still matter. They raise awareness, connect strangers across continents and spark the first small fires of collective action. But those sparks fade unless someone carries the torch. Digital advocacy may open the door, but real change still requires feet that cross thresholds, hands that hold signs, voices that don’t fade when the battery dies. When the Wi-Fi cuts out, what remains is the work, the letters, the meetings, the conversations and the remembering of what advocacy was meant to be: not a performance, but a promise. The greater challenge now is truth. Misinfor- mation breeds like fruit flies, clever and sweetly rotten. Facts crawl while lies sprint. Those of us working for change in the physical world find our- selves competing not only with apathy, but with distortion. Videos are edited to deceive. Images are generated from nothing but code and convic- tion. Artificial intelligence now sits in the crowd, speaking in familiar tones, mimicking empathy, reshaping reality one pixel at a time. It flatters us into believing it understands. For those who wish to deceive, it has become the perfect accomplice. Advocacy today means learning to fight on two fronts: one against injustice, the other against the fog of misinformation that keeps people from seeing it. I don’t know what will break the spell, or how we move from reaction to real advocacy. May- be we only awaken when something touches us directly. Maybe compassion has to hurt before it becomes useful. But if being a voice for change begins with a post on your feed, it cannot end there. It doesn’t grow there either. Change still needs hands, not hashtags. Bella Luna Zuniga is a Winnipeg writer. Why the rule of law matters HOW do you defend something most people rarely see, but rely on every single day? It’s called the rule of law — the principle that lets us speak freely, breathe clean air and live without fear of unchecked power. It’s the foundation of our democracy: an invisible framework that ensure disputes are judged impartially and that our rights will be protected. Right now, it’s under threat. Released this week, the latest World Justice Project Rule of Law Index, pro- duced by a non-partisan, multi-disciplinary organization that independently evaluates 143 countries and jurisdictions worldwide, marks the eighth consecutive year of global decline for the rule of law — including in Canada. Around the world, limits on government power are eroding, corruption is rising and human rights are in retreat. In Canada, currently ranked 13 on the index, down from 12 last year, findings indicate that the integrity of checks and balances are being weakened, freedom of expression has declined and civic participa- tion is down. Our own research shows nearly half of Canadians (46 per cent) fear the erosion of the rule of law happening here that they see happening south of the border. In that same national study, conducted by Navigator’s Discover team, fewer than half (44 per cent) of Canadians said they trust our justice system to work as intended. People expressed real concerns about corruption, delay and political interference. They told us they see courtrooms back- logged for years along with a legal system that feels slow, opaque and uneven. In this context, the solution is not to turn our backs on the rule of law, the very principle that has delivered our rights and freedoms and serves as a cornerstone of Canadian democracy. The remedy is to make it more visible, more tangible and more resilient — to bring the rule of law back into focus as something Canadians can see and feel every day. The rule of law can be a nebulous con- cept. Most Canadians admit to having only a surface-level sense of how the justice system works or how it affects their lives. Fewer than one in three can identify real examples of the rule of law in action, and many can’t recall hearing recent news on this topic. Understanding, then, cannot and should not be assumed. Closing this gap is more than an exercise in civic education, it’s a matter of national resilience. When citizens understand how laws are made, how rights are enforced and how accountability functions, they are far better equipped to defend those systems when they come under strain. That responsibility does not rest with ev- eryday Canadians alone. For this commit- ment to endure, our institutions must also step up. That includes law societies and extends across every corner of the justice system — from governments and courts to legal educators, advocates and policymakers. In our conversations with Canadians, one message came through clearly: they want a justice system that works more efficient- ly, transparently and fairly. They worry that those with power or influence have an advantage. These concerns cannot be brushed aside. Correcting them will require both trans- parency and collaboration, between govern- ments, the legal profession, educators and the public itself. Around the world, the rule of law is being tested — by corruption, conflict and the politics of division. Canada is not immune to those pressures, but we are in a rare position: to show that trust in justice can be rebuilt, that institu- tions can be strengthened and that democ- racy can still deliver fairness and freedom. In a time when cynicism is easy and confidence is hard, perhaps the most patri- otic act we can take is to protect what still works — and strengthen it for the genera- tions to come. The time to act is now, before we lose what took generations to build. Leah Kosokowsky is CEO of the Law Society of Manitoba. Anik Bossé is president of the Law Society of New Brunswick. Together, they’re helping lead “Ours to Protect,” a national campaign initiated by a coalition of Canadian law societies to champion the rule of law and keep Canada’s democracy strong. LEAH KOSOKOWSKY AND ANIK BOSSÉ BELLA LUNA ZUNIGA STEPHEN BORYS STEPHEN BORYS The Forum Art Centre — an anchor in St. Boniface’s Norwood Grove. ;