At McGill, many stories begin in a lecture hall, a lab, or a policy document. Ours began 28 years ago on a patch of cold grass, with a handful of determined women carrying lacrosse sticks and creating their own permission.

That spirit-- the one that built this team from nothing, twice-- is what brings us here today.

Here’s what happened:
On November 20, 2025, McGill quietly posted an online announcement listing the teams that would no longer be permitted to compete. Women’s Lacrosse, a fully self-funded and rapidly growing program with a 28-year legacy, was among those cut.

Before we tell you our story, we want to be clear about what we’re asking:

• Pause the elimination of Women’s Lacrosse.
• Provide transparent criteria and data behind this decision.
• Honor McGill’s stated commitments to Indigenous inclusion, equity, and reconciliation.
• Work with us on a viable path forward, i.e. reinstatement or a supported transition through SSMU.

What follows isn’t a complaint — it’s a lived history.

We’re used to being underestimated. And we rise anyway.

Every era of McGill Women’s Lacrosse has been defined by commitment and perseverance. Our team showed up to practice in the early mornings or whenever our schedules allowed, not just for each other, but because we share a genuine love for the game. Lacrosse is a community built from sweat, borrowed cones, duct-taped goals, and a kind of joyful stubbornness.

We showed up even after we lost varsity status.
We showed up when we had no budget.
We showed up when “official support” meant relying on ourselves.

Piece by piece, each season and each team built this program into what it is today.

We rebuilt a team by hand, the way women’s teams often have to.

Five years ago, we were told our varsity program was over.
We didn’t quit.

Students rallied.
Alumni stepped up.
Families chipped in.
Teammates fundraised, cold-called sponsors, organized carpools, and mapped game schedules between exams.

And what we built was remarkable:

• A fully self-funded program.
• An 11-game competitive schedule organized entirely by students.
• Corporate sponsorships in progress, sourced independently.
• Over $20,000 raised this year alone not for extras, but for survival.

This is what universities celebrate: student leadership, initiative, resilience.

But on November 20, 2025, we were told our program would not return next year.

Not because of interest.
Not because of competitiveness.
Not because of finances.
Not because we failed.

But because a restructuring process seeks to end our story without inviting those inside it to speak.

The timing made the loss ache even more.

On October 24, McGill inducted our founder, Abigail Tannebaum-Sharon, into the McGill Sports Hall of Fame.
In 1997, she built this team from scratch and fought for its varsity status.

Less than a month after honouring that legacy, McGill cut the very program she created.

It didn’t feel administrative.
It felt like losing a home in the same moment it was finally recognized.

Lacrosse isn’t just a sport. It is an Indigenous game older than McGill itself, and Canada’s national summer sport.

Lacrosse was created by the Haudenosaunee and other Indigenous nations. It was, and always has been, a ceremonial game, a source of diplomacy, healing, storytelling, and identity. It is known as The Creator’s Game.

Two of our current teammates come from Indigenous communities where lacrosse is not extracurricular, it is lineage, family, and continuity.

Because of them, our practices became more than drills.
They became a way of honouring the stewards of this game, and the cultural heritage McGill publicly commits to upholding.

McGill has formal commitments to:

• Truth and Reconciliation
• Indigenous inclusion
• Embedding Indigenous presence into campus life
• Advancing equity for underrepresented students

Cutting a sport with deep Indigenous roots, a sport played by Indigenous women on our roster, and one that costs the university nothing stands painfully at odds with those commitments.

This is not about legality.
This is about values.
This is about whether institutional actions reflect institutional promises.

What does it mean to honour Indigenous history in ceremony,
but diminish it in practice?

We were given news, not a voice.

No consultation.
No meeting.
No opportunity to share our financials, our growth, our sponsorships, or our self-sustaining model.

A decision about us was made without us.

Real consultation is dialogue, not a notification.

What this decision ends is not a season. It ends access.

Access for:

• Women seeking competitive sport at a university where women’s teams have been disproportionately cut
• Indigenous players carrying forward an ancestral game
• International students searching for belonging
• Young women choosing McGill believing there was a place for them here

With lacrosse returning to the Olympic Games in 2028, McGill had the chance to open a door. Instead, it closed one.

What we are asking for

We’re not asking for special treatment.
We’re asking McGill to live up to its own stated principles: equity, reconciliation, sustainability, and student leadership.

We respectfully ask McGill Athletics and the University’s senior leadership to:

1. Pause the elimination of Women’s Lacrosse and meet with players, alumni (including Hall of Fame inductees), and Indigenous representatives
2. Provide transparent criteria and data used to make this decision
3. Work with us on a viable path forward — reinstatement, or a supported transition through SSMU that preserves both the competitive and cultural legacy of the program

If you believe students deserve access to the sport they built,
If you believe Indigenous heritage in athletics should be honoured through action,
If you believe women’s sport matters,
Please add your name.

A program held together by students, community, and culture deserves the chance to keep writing its story.