On Safety

black and white heart with small checkered inside

By: Micah Hobbes-Frazier

“One of the most difficult impacts of trauma can be a split between two essential needs: safety and connection. On the one hand people become the place of danger that you need to protect yourself from, and on the other hand people are exactly who you need to be connected to for contact, relationship and often survival and safety.”
– Generative Somatics

I think about safety a lot, both as a survivor of violence and as someone that is regularly called upon to support transformative justice interventions into violence, and community accountability processes. These are some of the things I find myself thinking about: what does real safety actually mean? what is it exactly? How do we create safety in the midst of ongoing violence? How do we maintain it over time? Especially in a world that is inherently unsafe, where violence happens all the time, and where we often don’t have access to the resources that help create immediate or long-term safety. And most pressing, what does safety actually look like when we don’t believe in throwing people away or locking them up in prisons?

Safety is one of two essential needs for us as human animals, the other being connection, and both are necessary for our continued evolution as a species. If a person giving birth does not feel (or actually isn’t) safe the biological process of labor and birth will stop. And if we are not connected to other people we won’t have the opportunity to procreate and pass on our genes. The need for safety and connection are so strong in us that pretty much everything we do is about navigating and trying to get these two needs met, especially after experiences of trauma/violence. Ideally safety and connection can exist together, meaning we are able to be safe in our connections and relationships, however, so often that is not the case. Most incidents of trauma/violence happen between people that know each other, and have some sort of connection and/or relationship. That very connection and/or relationship can also complicate the need for and attempt to gain safety.

What does safety look like if the person that was abusive/violent to you lives in the same house or same neighbourhood as you do, is in the same movement or organization as you are, or is a respected and active part of a community you are also a part of? The need for safety doesn’t disappear, however, what safety looks like in those circumstances becomes much more complicated. It is easy to think about safety as sending someone that is abusive/violent away, removing and/or banishing them from community, or putting them in prison. That is our current idea and usual practice of creating safety. However, Transformative Justice asks us to imagine what safety might look like without expulsion, without banishment, without prisons, and most importantly, in conjunction with accountability. Most studies show that accountability rarely happens outside of relationship and connection. It’s the relationship and connection that provide the support, leverage, and motivation usually necessary for real accountability. If that is true, how do we hold accountability thru connection while also holding and maintaining safety for victims/survivors? Especially if what they want and need for their safety is to not have any contact or connection with the person that was abusive/violent.

Transformative justice (TJ) and most other community accountability models, hold safety as both a core principle and a core practice of any intervention or response. TJ defines the principle of safety as “liberation from violence, exploitation, and the threat of further acts of violence”.  All Transformative Justice interventions and responses seek to create safety on three mutually reinforcing levels; individual (safety from immediate and/or future violence), community (establishing norms and practices that challenge and prevent violence, and state (shifting power dynamics and systems of oppression to prevent violence).  However, we are also forced to acknowledge that absolute safety on any of these three levels is not a static place, can never be guaranteed, and may not be possible to ever truly achieve. The reality is that given the current state of our world where abuse/violence is at epidemic rates on all three levels, especially in response to challenging power dynamics and resisting abuse/oppression, being completely liberated from the possibility and/or threat of violence may be impossible. I believe, however, that while the possibility of violence may always remain, we can create spaces where the threat of violence does not exist. I believe that safe spaces on all three (individual, community, state) are possible and necessary, although sometimes difficult to create and maintain over time.

Questions around safety force us to practice holding contradictions. However, even though the questions are sometimes complicated and we may not have all the answers, our transformative justice practice must still focus on establishing safety as a main priority for victims/survivors, and additionally for those that have perpetrated abuse/violence. This means that even in our pursuit of safety (and accountability) we will not engage in abuse or violence against those that are perpetrators abuse and violence. How we do this will depend on what is happening and/or has happened, what resources we have access to, our principles and values, and the level of accountability those that have been abusive/violent are willing to engage in. Somatic healing works with safety as being “self-generated”, meaning that our focus is on building the internal capacity for safety instead of looking to the outside world or external forces to create and maintain our own safety. Our typical reactions after trauma/violence are to seek safety by controlling our environment and/or by controlling other people and their actions.  Our survival thinking becomes: “if this person wasn’t allowed to be in this space then I would feel/be safe”, or “if that person would act in this particular way then I would feel/be safe”.  As real as this might feel and as true as it might actually be, the problem is that we don’t actually have control over other people and what they ultimately choose to do, or control over the external environment outside of our own homes (and often we don’t even have complete control over our homes, especially if we live with other people). We can make requests, and sadly those that have been abusive/violent and/or the broader community may ignore or say no to those requests. Unfortunately people that have been abusive/violent to us may continue to be in the same spaces we frequent, and may also continue to behave in ways that make us feel (and actually are) unsafe. Especially if they denied what happened, are still engaging in abusive/violent behavior, and refuse to engage in accountability. If we tie our own safety to other people and external factors that we have no real control over we may never feel and/or actually be safe. Thus we have to build and cultivate the capacity to generate safety for ourselves, or as Somatics would say we have to become “self-responsive”.

This does not in any way mean that victims/survivors are responsible or to blame for the trauma/violence they experienced. Whatever happened is not their fault, and it is crucial that we always understand that fact. Victim/survivor blaming does nothing to ensure future safety, and in fact actually detracts from it making us potentially less safe. If we focus on blaming the victim/survivor we don’t have to think about the very real issue of safety because our thinking becomes: “if the victim/survivor caused or is in some way to blame for their experience of abuse/violence, then as long as I don’t do/say/wear/act like that it can’t/won’t happen to me. Therefore I am safe”.  This type of reaction is completely normal because it provides a protective mechanism that shields us from feeling the fear, uncertainty, and lack of control that trauma and violence bring. It keeps us from having to confront, feel and acknowledge that absolute safety cannot be guaranteed, and may not even exist. Additionally it keeps us from having to accept and be with the fact that no matter what we do or how hard we try to create safety, the very real possibility of trauma and violence still exists.

So then what does it mean to be self-responsive and self-generate safety? It means building the capacity to make centered decisions and take centered actions that are aligned with and promote our own safety on all levels (physical, sexual, emotional, economic, political). It means building the capacity to make centered choices about who and what we allow and bring into in our lives towards creating the safety that we want and need. This of course means that first we have to know what it is we want and need for our own safety. It is this process of self-reflection that brings us deeply in touch with ourselves, which is the core of being self-responsive. Secondly, we have to have the capacity to make decisions, and to take actions that are aligned with our own safety. That capacity is both internal and impacted by the conditions in which we exist, and are making decisions and taking actions within. For example, a person may know that their safety would be best served by leaving an abusive/violent situation whether it is a living, employment, or other situation. However, if they do not have the resources necessary (financial, emotional, legal, etc) to leave or sustain themselves in a safe way once they do, it becomes difficult to actually take that action towards safety. Thus an important part of our Transformative Justice work is to support and increase the capacity of victims/survivors to be able to take actions towards safety, because self-responsive and self-generated doesn’t mean alone. Similarly to accountability, real safety is rarely possible outside of relationship and connection.

So that brings me back to the original question; what does safety look like in a Transformative Justice context? Well, there is no set or single answer because the circumstances and conditions of every situation are different, and every victim/survivor has different wants, needs, and capacities around safety. Instead of focusing on a static destination or single vision TJ works to develop a set of practices that are relevant to the situation (and conditions), and that align with our principle of safety; “liberation from violence, exploitation, and the threat of further acts of violence”. As we develop these practices we prioritize both the immediate and long-term safety of victims/survivors. What safety looks like for me as a part of a TJ intervention or response is supporting the capacity of victims/survivors to end immediate abuse/violence, and live free from the threat of future abuse/violence, always taking my lead from them and what they want and need. It looks like holding the complexity of creating short-term and long-term safety without needed resources (including alternatives to prisons), inside of shifting conditions, and often without accountability from the perpetrator of the abuse/violence. It looks like holding the belief that accountability and transformation of perpetrators is possible, while still being with what is currently happening, real, and true. And it also looks like holding safety in ways that don’t sacrifice connection, while also holding that it is not the victim/survivor’s role or responsibility to do that work (unless they want to). As a survivor of violence safety looks like and means always making decisions and choices, and taking actions that support, create and maintain whatever it is I want and need for my safety. It looks like being supported in those choices, decisions, and actions by people that I am in relationship with and connected to, and choosing to only be in relationship and connection with those that will support my safety. And it looks like accepting that my safety might not always look how I want it to because I can’t control other people. Ultimately it looks like and means remembering that even though others may not respect or agree with what I want and need for my safety, that I still have the right and the capacity to be safe and liberated from abuse, trauma, and violence. For me, that’s what safety looks like.

Black and white portrait of Micha

Micah Hobbes Frazier is a Black queer mixed-gendered facilitator, coach, healer, doula, dj, and magic maker; living, loving, laughing, and building community in Oakland, CA. In June 2012 he founded the living room project, an accessible healing justice & community space serving black & brown queer and trans communities. Micah is a talented and experienced somatic coach/bodyworker working primarily with queer and trans people of color (qtpoc) wanting to heal and transform their histories of trauma/violence. He is a commitment to creating spaces where healing and transformation are possible, and to using his magic to help interrupt, heal, and transform the cycles of trauma and violence in our families and communities.

On Accountability

watercolour of cotton flower

The Role of Choice

By Micah Hobbes- Frazier


“I know change is hard, believe me, I know.  I know transformation is incredibly painful and takes time.  But what about the person who was harmed?  Do we just sit around for the 5, 10, 30 years it takes for someone to change?  Isn’t there action that we want to request and demand of people who cause harm in the moment and shortly after to make amends, be accountable, to take some responsibility for collective healing?  What good is all of our big, lofty, ambitious language and theory about accountability and conflict and showing-up if we can’t even do it with the people we supposedly love?”

Mia Mingus – ‘Nothing left to tell’ posted to The other side of dreamingon January 31st, 2012

What about the person who was harmed? How long do we sit around and wait for accountability and change? Really no one can answer that question but us, the person who was harmed. That is one place where we will have to each choose for ourselves, guided by our own boundaries, and continued assessment. Because the reality is that “our big, lofty, ambitious language and theory about accountability and conflict and showing-up” isn’t really that much good. I mean it’s great in theory, and the reality is that most of the time we can’t actually do it. Not yet. Not even with the people we supposedly and actually do love. Most of the time we just don’t have all of what it takes, all of what we need to hold accountability over time. Not yet. Not for the kind of transformative accountability we are seeking. The kind where real change and transformation happen instead of denial and minimization or punishment and violence.

Leverage: the power to influence a person or situation to achieve a particular outcome

Force: coercion or compulsion, especially with the use of or threat of violence.

I think a lot about what motivates people to be accountable, and the difference between leverage and force. I believe that leverage is useful for motivating someone to choose to be accountable, however, I don’t believe that you can force someone. For real accountability to happen, they have to consciously chooseto be accountable for the harm that they have done. No one else can make that choice for them, and it is a choice. The choice to turn and face all that you have done, and the impact that it had and continues to have. Or the choice not to. It’s really that simple. Wanting to be accountable is not enough; you actually have to choose to be accountable.And you have to keep choosing it, even when it gets hard.

And it will get hard because being accountable and repairing relationships requires hard work over consistent time. It means doing whatever it takes to stop the harm, and keep it from happening again. It means seeing, acknowledging, and feeling that your actions hurt another person. It means being with the reality of the impact, no matter what your intention. It means being with the full depth of the impact, without getting lost in your own shame and guilt. It means taking a hard look at yourself, and being honest about how it is that you were capable of doing what you did. And it means doing whatever is necessary to make amends, and if possible to repair the relationship. It requires hard work, concrete skills, emotional capacity, ability to take risks, vision, and most of all it requires action. That’s part of the difference between wanting and choosing:

Wanting is passive and change is not possible. Choosing is active and change becomes possible.

As I write this I am grieving letting go of someone who loved me, hurt me, and couldn’t choose accountability even though part of them wanted to. For me it took almost a year before the pain and hurt of the waiting became too much to hold. A year spent hoping, wishing, trying. A year spent making it safe and comfortable for them so that they wouldn’t be afraid or think it was too hard to be accountable. A year spent holding my anger because it scared them, and a year spent maintaining the silence around what happened because me speaking my truth made them feel unsafe. Even though they were the ones that did the harm. A year spent sacrificing my own needs, even in trying to get accountability. And my heart breaking every time it didn’t happen, every time they chose denial, blame, minimization, or whatever else instead.

So in the end I chose to stop waiting for them. I chose to stop “just sitting around”. I chose to focus on my own healing, change, and transformation instead of continuing to put so much energy into someone else’s. To move to a place beyond fear that comes for me when I am able to be with what is, even when I want it to be different. And when I am able to let go, even when I wish I could stay connected. Finding ground and resilience through surrender and trust in spirit and the universe, for magic that is bigger than me. Because really, beyond that, there truly is “nothing left to tell”. 


Black and white portrait of Micha

Micah Hobbes Frazier is a Black queer mixed-gendered facilitator, coach, healer, doula, dj, and magic maker; living, loving, laughing, and building community in Oakland, CA. In June 2012 he founded the living room project, an accessible healing justice & community space serving black & brown queer and trans communities. Micah is a talented and experienced somatic coach/bodyworker working primarily with queer and trans people of color (qtpoc) wanting to heal and transform their histories of trauma/violence. He is a commitment to creating spaces where healing and transformation are possible, and to using his magic to help interrupt, heal, and transform the cycles of trauma and violence in our families and communities.

This is How the World Keeps Going

Black and white print of woodblock carving. Image is of a lady of liberty in black dress holding a feather and candle. It reads "lady (parts) liberty's ground swells

by Daniella Robinson

Artwork: Lady Liberty by Leigh Brownhill

The impacts of colonization are insurmountable. It is impossible to totally quantify and qualify the damage that brutalizing colonial processes continue to do to Indigenous peoples and communities, both in Canada and around the world. When I close my eyes, I try to imagine what it would feel like to know that Indigenous lives are valued by the Canadian nation…this is a struggle for me.

I am Bigstone Cree and Italian, was raised in an Italian Catholic environment and learned about my Indigenous heritage through work and volunteerism with Indigenous organizations. Prior to beginning my undergraduate degree, I had little knowledge of Indigenous culture. I visited my Cree side of the family in Western Canada yearly, but we never really talked about ‘being Indigenous’ or what this meant. When I started my undergraduate degree, I connected with the Aboriginal Resource Centre on campus and began my journey to learn more about my heritage. I learned about numerous topics: the history of residential school, the 60’s scoop, relationship-building between Indigenous communities and non-Indigenous allies, racism and sexism built into Canada’s Indian Act and its impact on communities, the creation of the reservation system, educational discrepancies between on and off-reserve schools, and Indigenous experiences of poverty, food insecurity and poor housing infrastructure across Canada. I was inundated with information about issues faced by people I was really beginning to think about as kin, and I began to feel a rage and sadness that I wasn’t sure how to navigate. This feeling continued as I got more involved in community-driven work and volunteerism.

How can you possibly be accountable to the First Nations, Métis and Inuit families who were torn apart in the name of ‘progress’? Or to the communities who never saw their children again after the 60’s scoop and residential schools? How do you quantify the effects of linguicide? Cultural genocide? What can we do to protect Mother Earth when we have pipelines being pushed through unceded territories? How can we heal with our communities when we know Indigenous women are overrepresented as victims of sexual violence, human trafficking and homicide?

Still, we persist and we resist.


I am a survivor of sexual violence. I pursued a PhD in Human Sexuality to work through my own experiences of trauma and to hold space for imaginings of a better future. Though I am by no means an expert on healing and recognize that everyone is on their own path, I know that I would be nowhere without my support systems. Even during the darkest parts of my journey, I had safe places to stay, a good education, shoulders to cry on, and friends that lit my cigarettes when I was too shaky to do it myself.

My heart breaks for all the women and girls who have to contend with the awful feelings that come with being violated, abused, and taken advantage of because of their open and trusting hearts. I get angry knowing that when women try to escape this violence, they are often turned away from overcrowded and underfunded shelters that are already full. My heart breaks again when I read about what some of our women have had to do in order to support themselves and their families because the options available are so scarce.

It can be difficult for us to move away from the traumatic narratives we are attached to, but we do. I am inspired by brilliant Indigenous artists who produce beautiful pieces on decolonial love and sexuality (check our RJ Jones. They’re amazing!), producers who spend hundreds of hours creating beautiful messages of affirmation and strength (shout out to Jason Jenkins of Going on Dreams!), and writers who name systems of power and shout them down (The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline).

I want to end this submission with a quote that speaks to the beauty of gratitude and community. Braiding Sweetgrass is a beautiful book and Robin Wall Kimmerer is a phenomenal storyteller.  

“Of all the wise teachers who have come into my life, none are more eloquent than these, who wordlessly in leaf and vine embody the knowledge of relationship. Alone, a bean is just a vine, squash an oversized leaf. Only when standing together with corn does a whole emerge which transcends the individual. The gifts of each are more fully expressed when they are nurtured together than alone. In ripe ears, and swelling fruit, they counsel us that all gifts are multiplied in relationship. This is how the world keeps going” – Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass

I lean into these inspirations in awe and with wonder, as they gently but firmly remind me to be less self-critical and to be the strong kwe I know in my heart that I am.

Black and white selfie of Daniella Robinson. Daniella is smiling with closed lips.

Daniella Robinson is a Bigstone-Cree and Italian sister, daughter, partner and student. She is completing a PhD in Human Sexuality through the California Institute of Integral Studies, and intends to write an intervention-focused dissertation that centers the needs of Indigenous women. This article is an adaptation of a paper she wrote for her program.

Black and white headshot of Leigh Brownhill with a closed lip smile

Leigh Brownhill is a writer, editor and teacher who makes and uses art in her scholarly books, journals and articles. Both art and research have in turn deeply informed her lifelong anti-colonial ecofeminist activism.

Community Spaces

A Conversation with LAL

By Adabu Brownhill

     As a Queer black gender bending person, I live for spaces that center Queer and trans racialized people. Living in Canada those types of spaces are hard to find, sometimes impossible to find, unless you live in a bigger city with a diverse population. I actually moved from Guelph to Toronto just to be able to have access to spaces that are primarily for folks of colour and Queer and Trans people. Unit 2, a well-known community space in Toronto, run by two radical artists, specifically changed my entire perspective on safe and inclusive spaces. My introduction to Rose and Nic/LAL was life changing as they have an incredibly beautiful concept of community and hold their community down in ways I’ve never seen before. I interviewed rose about Unit 2, which is her loft apartment where she lives with her partner Nic. They live there, make music there and open their home to an entire community of Indigenous, Black, POC and Queer and Trans folks. They’re two of the most amazing, badass people I’ve ever met and they’re a huge inspiration for me and many other folks.

First off, the word ‘community’ is really trendy these days. what does community mean to you?

Hmmmm that’s hard.

      I mean our community (Nic and mine aka LAL), is pretty interesting and diverse so it’s kind of all over the place from queer/trans folks to straight folks (and in between) from BIPOC to allies, artists to academics…so my sense of community is always changing or I’m always learning how to make community more meaningful and how to support it.

    Community to me means treating people like family or chosen family. sometimes you don’t like them or they piss you off but you find ways to love, and forgive them (or not), or you love them just cuz.

     I think community means to forgive each other, have compassion and try our best not to come at each other but i to understand if we do from time to time, cuz we are all dealing with so much shit and pain and trauma.

     I believe community means to have each others you back, so if you need something then I’m there for you and I will drop what I got going to support. If you need food or cash or housing then we are here to support, and vice versa.I think lot of people talk about community, but really they are looking out for themselves, this annoys the crap of me but I have to learn not to get upset and allow people their own path.

What are ways that you build community?

    I build community mostly through word of mouth, through other relationships and also just being open to the universe (you def have to pay attention when you do this as well!). I def build through our arts/community space, like Unit 2. A lot of folks contact us and find out about what we are doing through friends and such We end up building community through the space, both performers and community members. We def build through music as well and art and social justice. I mean def have an online community but the community is very much connected to our ‘in life’ community, it’s just a continuation of how we work in the ‘non virtual world’.

    I think I also support a lot of folks, either with their art or lately been trying to be supportive one on one with folks who need some support and help. This is a very different way to build community cuz it’s one relationship at  a time but it’s also super important. I don’t want my job or my arts practice to get so busy that I don’t have room for folks nor do I want my art to be the only thing i really focus on. Life is my Art so community building is def part of this.

You’ve turned your home into a community space. How did that start?

Well, I got tired of the scene in Toronto, not being able to do what we wanted, always bowing down to corporate types (not always of course!) but just wanting to something different. It started off as just us trying to run some parties and provide space, and we slowly realized how there wasn’t enough safer space for Q/BIPOC folks and accessible space in terms of economics, and ability. Again we hadn’t really thought of any of this when we started and luckily (well it’s not really luck!), we got a space that was pretty accessible (the main space), and as we learned more about what folks needed, Unit 2 just began to shape itself. It’s been six years! and we’ve learned a lot and continue to learn and share space. The hope is to make it a full time community/arts space and get more people involved who want to create a DIT (Do It Together) vision. Big ups to Toyin Coker, Ange Loft, Kevin Jones, Juli(e), Ki, Cherish Blood, all the volunteers, and other folks who have lived at Unit 2 and supported and helped shape the vision of Unit 2!

 What do you find challenging when it comes to community/community spaces?

      It’s a lot of work. Wow so much work (laughing) and though we love it we def need some help for sure. We are reaching out more and more cuz we are burning out and we got a new album coming out so we can’t always run things for like nine hours plus set up and cleanup!

     It’s also a lot of energy work, cuz I’m basically keeping track of the room and the energy and vibes. From the outside it may look like we are (Nic, the volunteers, promoters and I) partying but really we are very much aware of what’s going on, in order to keep things safer.

     I used to be worried about all different communities coming together but now I’m feeling like this a great way to build trust, eat, dance, smoke, whatever before we start to do political-based work. 

    It’s also challenging to get folks to believe in DIT spaces, but people are craving for it. Just getting people to work together can be challenging but thus far it’s been pretty easy, just a lot of time and energy goes into this shit.

What are some cool QPOC (queer people of colour) community spaces that you know of in Toronto? Can you mention some outside of Toronto?

Blocko for sure, not a physical space but def Block (Black contingent of Pride) have been creating space for years!

There’s Double Double land for concerts, though I’m not that familiar with them and are building with them slowly now, but April is mad cool. 88 days has been building space/shows for years within Black queer shit. Outside of Toronto there’s loads, QPOC in Winnipeg, who we just connected with are doing amazing things and we are just beginning to find more Q/BIPOC space throughout Canada. Yes Yes Y’all has been doing parties for a while and d’bi young’s Watah school as well. In the US there’s tonnes from Allied Media conference in Detroit to DIY spaces in Oakland. we are planning a tour in the US are reaching out to folks. In Seattle there’s folks like Moni Tep and Black Constellation folks and My Parade has a DIY Q/BIPOC concert space in their home. There’s a lot in the US for sure and we are just beginning to build with folks. Brooklyn boihood in NY as well have been doing some wicked things. Just found out about Boys of Bangladesh but haven’t been able to connect yet (out of Dhaka). Black Lives Matter is doing a whole lot and in Toronto is working on a Freedom school for Black youth. Il nana is creating dance spaces for QBIPOC folks in Toronto, Crafty Queers is also doing some amazing work. The Drag musical creates space for BIPOC youth create Drag performances, and Native Youth Sexual Health Network is doing some amazing work, oh there’s also Children’s Peace Theatre! Gosh, there’s a bunch!

What advice can you give to people who are interested in organizing some sort of community space ?

Be patient, work with people who you trust and want to build with. Don’t get too ego’d out and allow things to unfold and build organically.Get people involved to support and do what you love. If you don’t love it, then don’t do it cuz it will burn you out. Ask for help when you need it and be open to feedback and making changes! don’t get into this power ego shit. work from a place of community and try your best not to let personal biases get in the way. Listen to people and don’t be afraid to try new shit. Try to make stuff accessible in all ways and reach out to communities, build bridges not walls! Take breaks when you need and be honest about what you can and cannot do! Be transparent or learn to be transparent, and share information and money!


Adabu Brownhill
Adabu Brownhill (DurtyDabz) is a Black/Mixed, Queer, FemmeBro dedicated to fighting for Mother Earth and the Liberation of Black & Indigenous Peoples and All People Of Colour. She is a badass DJ as well as a passionate gardener. She strives to decolonize agriculture in Ontario and create farming/gardening spaces that are fun and kool for racialized folks. She dreams of a farm where People Of Colour be chillin’, bumpin hella beats, planting seeds, harvesting herbs and eating gourmet meals while making jokes and enjoying each others company. She draws inspiration from radical underground artists such as Junglepussy, Destiny Frasqueri (Princess Nokia), Jay Boogie and Le1f. Her favorite foods are spicy meat and fresh fruits and vegetables.

LAL
In the late 1990s, LAL introduced a political edge to the electronic underground, bridging the gap between art and social justice. They have carved out a strong diasporavoice in the Canadian music scene, which remains largely unexplored by mainstream media. They are queer / straight, black / brown, Asian and West-Indian and they are a mix of hiphop, techno, downtempo and international sounds. Unit 2 is their home and DIT (do it together) art and community space they run out of Toronto with friends. The space is mandated to support Q/BIPOC communities and our allies.