By Brett Mazliach
Early Lessons from my Internship
I never imagined I’d say this: I just ate arctic char soup with a Canadian Supreme Court Justice!
I’m now eight weeks into my internship in Iqaluit, Nunavut, spending my summer with the incredible Qajuqturvik Community Food Centre (QCFC). I am infinitely thankful for the opportunity to work with such a meaningful organization. The QCFC is more than just a place to grab a meal, it is a vibrant community hub. They offer dine-in and take-out service, food skills programs, community events, and even operate a small shop selling frozen country food. This country food, including tuktu (caribou), allanngua (narwhal), iqaluk (arctic char), qilalugak (beluga), and natsik (seal), is sourced from paid hunters across Nunavut who sell their harvests to the community through the centre.
On one of my first few days here, I turned to my mentor Joseph Murdoch-Flowers—an Inuk McGill-Law graduate, who is now the executive director of the QCFC—and expressed to him my discomfort with the pressure I feel to make tangible contributions during my internship. While I cannot discount my education and care for social justice and humanitarian work, as a visitor, I recognize that I lack the intricate understandings of Inuit culture, hunting, fishing, history, and lived experience necessary to fully participate in many conversations. To impose myself, given my knowledge and background as a white law student from Southern Canada would be insensitive, unmeaningful, and unfulfilling.
Joey then responded to me: “this won’t be your typical law internship, Brett”. Throughout my placement, Joey has shown me that simply being a helping hand at the organization (whether in the kitchen or providing meals), is bolstering the circulation of country food and sharing meals within the community, an expression of Inuit legal tradition. I’ve come to realize that this is where the true magic lies in this human rights and legal pluralism internship. In opening up to this, coworkers, friends, and community members graciously teach me about Inuit culture and values, and even some Inuktitut words. This has been the most touching part of my time here.
I recently attended a luncheon hosted by the Law Society of Nunavut, where Justice Karakatsanis invited each guest to share ideas on how we may improve civilian access to justice in Nunavut. I felt hesitant answering, given my limited legal experience and the fact that I am a visitor from the South. Still, I pieced together a thought exchanged in a conversation with Joey on my first day here: Justice starts with what’s on the plate. I spoke about the intricate connection between food and justice, which goes far beyond food access as a basic human right. Access to nutritious, and culturally relevant food touches each facet of life, impacting mental health, substance abuse, crime, and health outcomes. I then shared a core philosophy rooted in the QCFC’s work: the right to food is about eating healthy and tasty food with your community. I suggested that ensuring regular availability to these experiences will reduce social isolation, decrease Nunavut’s world-leading suicide rates, and more broadly improve what may be referred to as the social determinants of health. If we want real access to justice, we must start where justice truly begins, which is in the everyday realities of people’s lives.
I have let go of the self-doubt that I can’t make a tangible contribution here. In supporting the organization’s services, gaining insight on nonprofit operations from an executive standpoint, and engaging with community members, I am supporting the QCFC’s mission to foster community engagement each day over a warm, healthy meal. The learning that comes along with this is invaluable.
Along the way, I’ve participated in several meetings with other Canadian food security organizations, advocacy programs, and even an architect. I am thankful that my work here is diverse; I am not only exposed to the legal/rights related angle, but an executive level perspective on how nonprofits are operated, funded, and developed.
This is filleted arctic char laid out to dry, soon to become pitsiiq (dried arctic char).
On Nunavut Day, we handed out over 600 pieces of pitsiiq to the community!
Paralleling the QCFC to Restaurants
The kitchen, dining room, and fast-paced energy that kicks in the moment the room begins to fill with guests, all feel deeply familiar to me. Since the age of 17, I’ve collected my fondest memories working in restaurants across Montreal, from brunch to fine dining dinner service. Coming to this internship with diverse hospitality experience, I observe that growth in restaurants is measured by profitability and prestige, whereas in non-profit food centres, growth is celebrated through expanding the capacity to serve and support the community. Both models strive for excellence, but are in pursuit of quite different goals. They are rewarding in very different ways. In some restaurants, however, those welcome into the dining room quietly depends on who is worthy enough. This is where the contrast cuts the deepest.
Even 86 years later, Christie v York remains unsettlingly relevant today, as subtle forms of discrimination determine the demographics of certain public spaces. This Supreme Court of Canada case arose from an event in 1939 in which Fred Christie, a black man, was denied service at Montreal’s York Tavern because of his race. This decision reveals how racism can be legally justified under the guise of private rights. Article 15 of the Quebec Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms, implemented in 1976, states “no one may, through discrimination, inhibit the access of another to public transportation or a public place, such as a commercial establishment, hotel, restaurant, theatre, cinema, park, camping ground or trailer park, or his obtaining the goods and services available there.” Yet even in 2025, while the law prohibits overt discrimination, the gate remains open for discrimination in covert ways.
In the fine-dining world, managers will often instruct their employees not to permit entry to those who “look like a bimbo” or appear “even slightly poor”. This informal code of exclusion reflects more than simple restaurant management. Max Weber’s social stratification theory suggests that class, status, and power are the three axes that each member of society falls on, determining our social placement, and the privileges and opportunities that arise from such placement. In pondering about the most luxurious spaces to dine, I place emphasis on status. What makes a person look like a “bimbo” or slightly poor-looking? What is the threshold? Will hostesses deny entry to someone they deem unattractive, or god forbid dressed off-trend? Although I appreciate that companies seek allure, demand and exclusivity surrounding their products, and they want the ambiance of their dining room and guests to be viewed as high quality, I think an emphasis on appearance opens a can of worms. Notions of racism, classism, and xenophobia, are necessarily baked into what we are taught is attractive and desirable.
This insight suggests that in certain contexts, the experience of sharing a meal prepared with love and care, and enjoyed with a community, remain available only to members of the class that can afford it, and who embody a particular status necessarily shaped by their ethnicity, culture, religion, etc. With discretion left in the hands of the hostesses, access may be quietly denied, regardless of one’s ability to pay.
At the Qajuqturvik Community Food Centre, everyone is welcome to either pick up or dine in. Each dish is prepared by a team of loving staff committed to serving the community. Any sense of food elitism surfacing in the centre is rooted in the mere desire to ensure that all guests have a high-quality meal made with love and care surrounded by community members. While this is treated by some as a luxury, the QCFC insists it is a human right.
I applaud the QCFC for their mission, and thank the team for welcoming me into their space to participate this summer.