A Postcard From Quebec
Where language divides us
Photo by Author of the Montreal Skyline
The dog days of summer are supposed to be slow news days and yet they are anything but. The whole world seems to have fallen off its rocker.
In Montreal, we are finally able to gather with friends again and share a meal. Even though there are lots of topics and world events to talk about— including the election in Canada — we are back to discussing language. Heated discussions. And the dinner conversations just got more intense.
In the 30-plus years I have lived in Quebec, it feels like we have had only a few breaks from the usual topic. In the winter of 1998, we had an ice storm, leaving people without electricity for days. How we survived was the topic for at least the following year.
Recently, we got a few more breaks: the election of Donald Trump, the pandemic and the Stanley Cup finals. These events provided plenty of fodder for Zoom gatherings with friends.
Of course, we are also talking about the pandemic chaos caused by the unvaccinated, the devastation of an earthquake in Haiti, and the heartbreak we see on our screens coming from Afghanistan.
But we are also still talking about politics and language.
Why are language issues intense?
A short history lesson is in order.
Starting in the 1960s, the Quiet Revolution was a period of tremendous political and social change in Quebec as the French population began throwing off the yoke of the Catholic church and the dominance of the Anglo business establishment.
In 1969, Quebec began enshrining protections for the French language in legislation. Surrounded by a vast sea of English in North America, the French language should undoubtedly be protected and promoted. Many who didn’t like the election of the separatist Parti Québécois in 1976 and Quebec’s language laws packed up and moved down the 401.
Today French is spoken everywhere; it is the language of business and everyday affairs. Immigrant children go to French schools to ensure integration into French Quebec. French-speaking Quebecers have taken their rightful place in all sectors of the economy, and we have a vibrant French business and cultural community in Quebec.
English-speaking Quebecers, or anglophones as we are known, are for the most part bilingual. We educate our children in both languages and have the same aspirations for them to be fully bilingual and succeed in an interdependent world as our francophone friends. We live interesting lives in some of the most beautiful cities and places in the #1 country for quality of life.
I thought the English and French communities had achieved a sustainable equilibrium.
So why are we still discussing language issues over dinner?
Welcome to the world of language in Quebec
The latest problem is Quebec’s proposed language law: Bill 96. I think it is bad for both English and French-speaking Quebecers.
This is Premier François Legault’s recent salvo to bolster the French language, which French-speaking activists always say is in danger. While I have several issues with the proposed law, I am sad because I was wrong to believe we had finally achieved a calm co-existence — a valued English-speaking minority with constitutional rights and the French language with supremacy.
Bill 96 seeks to unilaterally rewrite the Canadian constitution stating Quebecers form a nation and that French is the only official language of Quebec. While Bill 96 doesn’t specifically say who belongs to the Quebec nation, my sense is there will be those who feel they belong and, well… those who don’t.
The proposed language law would elevate the collective rights of the French-speaking majority over the rights of individuals and minority groups. It does this by preemptively using Section 33 or the “notwithstanding clause” of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms and effectively silences the courts. Bill 96 puts the language of commerce, employment, education, healthcare, the legal system, and many other aspects of Quebecers’ lives in a Charter-free zone.
In addition, for the first time in history, the proposed legislation also preemptively overrides Quebec’s own Charter of Rights.
Why is invoking the notwithstanding clause a big deal?
Another brief history lesson on the notwithstanding clause is in order here. I was in Ottawa on Parliament Hill in 1982 for the signing ceremony with the Queen and the Prime Minister. As a young political assistant working for a cabinet minister, I had a seat in the VIP section just metres away from the dignitaries. The historical significance and privilege of the moment were not lost on me as the daughter of immigrants.
We arrived at that warm spring day in 1982 because the notwithstanding clause was the compromise that got an agreement among all provinces except Quebec and allowed the Charter of Rights to be enshrined in the Constitution when it was patriated from Britain.
Provincial premiers, mindful of any incursion on provincial powers, had agreed to this last-minute compromise because it could exempt their laws from certain Charter rights, at least for a renewable five-year period. Put it this way, the notwithstanding clause gave provincial premiers an override whenever it suited their political interests.
And so here we are. Section 33 got a deal. Now the English-speaking minority in Quebec is left flapping in the breeze, not to put too fine a point on it. I don’t see any federal leaders during this election willing to address this for fear of losing precious votes in some parts of Quebec.
How is it that in an advanced democracy, majority rule is not also tempered by a fundamental obligation to respect the rights of all citizens, particularly minorities?
How it affects me
I worry about a further decline of the English-speaking community and institutions, such as our world-class universities and hospitals.
On an individual level, what will happen to my right to justice in the courts when there will be a requirement to translate all English documents into French and when knowledge of English will no longer be a broadly recognized requirement for judges.
Bill 96 will inevitably curtail my access to healthcare and government services in my language.
Government employees will be discouraged from communicating in English and potentially disciplined if they do.
The OQLF (Office québécois de la langue française) — the language police famous for insisting the word pasta be translated into French on an Italian restaurant menu — will have the ability to search company computers, laptops and smartphones without a warrant if they receive a complaint, even anonymously, that a business is not operating strictly within the language laws.
Sadly, the legislation will also affect francophones by putting a quota on places available in English CEGEPs — closing a popular door for many French-speaking students to learn English at colleges after high school. Many professionals in Quebec are perfectly bilingual because they chose this route.
Will reducing my rights promote and protect the French language in Quebec? I highly doubt this will be an effective remedy.
Rather than bringing communities together, the philosophy behind this legislation will put us at odds with one another.
Sounds dystopian? It is. “It is a complete perversion of the legal order of our democratic society,” says Eric Maldoff, a lawyer and board member of the English-language group, Quebec Community Groups Network.
Never a dull dinner
When we gather to share a meal, which we can finally do once again, we share our anxiety about this legislation and what it means for all Quebecers. Trampling on rights by using the constitutional override clause is one thing. Another is the thought of the OQLF language police conducting warrantless searches and seizures based on an anonymous complaint. Reducing any rights of individuals should concern all Canadians, not just the English-speaking minority in Quebec.
I long for more mundane dinner topics. Sadly, Bill 96 ensures language will remain a topic of discussion and an act of needless division.