So Westmount resident Elaine Dubow Harris suffered quite a shock. Imagine her anger: for the first time in her long life, a storekeeper from Montreal refused to serve her in English! From a baker of French origin and more, no but, what nerve! It is truly an unspeakable tragedy that in the only French province of Canada, once in 50 years, a merchant decides to affirm the common language of Quebecers…
But it’s odd, when I think regarding it: during all those decades of linguistic tranquility when Miss Dubow Harris paraded her thundering English like a banner throughout Montreal, for my part, my linguistic zeal occasioned me bullying upon linguistic rebuff as much at Montreal than in Ottawa, Moncton or Toronto.
The master’s language
Indeed, the English privilege of Miss Dubow Harris remains out of reach for the French speaker that I am. In cities that nevertheless have significant French-speaking minorities, I have to resign myself to switching to the master’s language three times out of four and, in English-speaking cities, four times out of four. And for the past twenty years, even in downtown Montreal, on each of my visits, I have come up once morest merchants who, at best, refuse to speak French to me or, at worst, perceive it as a foreign language.
They don’t care as much as Tagalog, Swahili or Catalan…
In Ottawa, where 15% of Francophones and more than 22% of bilinguals reside, hoping to be served in French is equivalent to living in the land of rainbows and unicorns. It means exposing yourself to replies such as “Oh, you must be from Quebec”, from an interlocutor who naturally continues in English, in a city and a country where the steamroller of “Anglonormativity” triumphs. Yes, like when we assume that English is the only authorized and valued common language.
In Moncton, the presence of 33% of Francophones does not prevent the desire to be served in French from being an obstacle course. I happened to be called a racist by a waiter for trying to place my order in French. Like in Rhodesia in another era.
In 1995, in a hall of residence at the University of Toronto, a master’s student in history as big as a mirrored wardrobe got worried when he heard me speak French. Threatening, he approached me and shouted, “Are you a separatist? », disgusted. To my assumed yes, he replied (I translate): “If Quebec separates, we will burn all your houses, rape your women and destroy everything”. Pure Poutine.
A privilege!
Decidedly, Miss Dubow Harris, speaking the Great Language gives you notable privileges, such as being able, like the president of Air Canada Michael Rousseau, to live in English all the time, even in Sâinte-Lâmbeurt, Pi Quiou. But I fear that you have ended up getting used to these privileges by dint of having lived in Westmount, where the median income is 3.6 times higher than elsewhere in Quebec…
You should, Madam, bless your privileges instead of complaining with a full stomach: while you are bathed in English unilingualism in a predominantly French city of Montreal, no French-speaking Quebecer can boast of having always been able to be served in French. Outside Quebec, it’s worse: Francophones, a minority everywhere, bow willingly or by force to English as the common language. Anglo-Quebecers, though a minority in Montreal and Quebec, should sometimes consent to French, but do so too little. Thus, Bill 96 will somewhat balance the dynamics from coast to coast.
What do you want: in your contact, we ended up learning to impose ourselves with our clogs.
Jean-Francois ValleeLa Pocatiere