At the start

 I am of two heritages, two languages, two different starts in Quebec. My Francophone side, Mount Laurier origins. Large families of 17, 14, 11,  was the norm back then. My birth mum, is the 7^th out 11 children. A true blue Francophone, not a word of English. Very proud of her heritage from French Quebec. Speaks Joual expressions from her region..Her great, great, great, great... grandfather came for Ireland. During the potato famine around 1847. He landed in the region of Mount Laurier and married into a Francophone family. 

I wasn’t raised by my birth mother. I was raised by a French lady from Lac St. Jean.  Who was more concerned in, fitting in, with the Jones's and shedding her lumber jack, hunting, fishing, living in a small community, country life style, with 6 brothers, the only girl, stink off her. She was bilingual, sent away to university, met the man she was to marry. She ran the household, social engagements. 

That being said. From her ambitions, creative talents she opened up the world to us. For that there’s gratitude.

 

 My young years into Quebec’s schooling system, started off in French. Then later, I was sent to school for young ladies. Every where I wandered I was always introduced as the little French Canadienne girl from Quebec. Their contention with me, however, was they could never shed the tom boy out in me. Young lady by day, tom boy by night. That was me. I was even the entertainment for the longest time, constantly asked of me to say certain words, they just loved my accent.

 

 

 By the time I went into public school, in Montreal West ,I was completely bilingual with no trace of an accent in either language. My new neighborhood was not so safe for the French. 

 

 

High school kids, in grade 10-11 listening to their parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends of the family. Kids ear wigging, hearing their parents trash talk the Govt. and blame it on the French Quebec citizens for whatever the conflicts. I’m sure there was plenty to talk about; the bombs, casualties.  A whole Irish community smashing up a French university’s windows in protest of the causalities. Endless back and forth talk in both camps. Retribution, hot headed tempers flaring. Trash talking one another's legacies, beliefs, language, wars, laws, rights. Attitudes picked up by kids who use it as a weapon, transferring hidden agendas of their own. 

 

 But this is where it never ends prejudices, racist comments, ignorant comments on my French heritage. On my English Canadian heritage. It has never been appreciated and it will never will be acceptable by me. Half of me is in both camps, both heritages, both roots. It has always been up to individual to decide what they want to honor and keep sacred. I have chosen to identify to both. French and English Canadian

 

...All I know about my birth father is he was English Canadian, lived with his family in St. Therese. Went off to Ontario to study. He had one sister. Went by the name Vincent Mathews. Anthropology she said. He doesn't exist in any directories.  Made up name I fear.  No matter. The point is; their heritages, they run through our veins, It may take eyes to see it and ears to hear it. But they've always been whispered amongst our trees. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. Or perhaps the one where there are 3 sides to every story, their side and their side and  then there's the truth. For only those victorious spin their tales as does the losing end spin theirs too. I think the combination of Irish, French blood does give a natural cause to rise up to be seen and to be heard, too. Falling down on your sword several times over is to be expected. Staying the course, there in lies the challenge...

  For some French Quebec citizens, they carry the history of the suffering blows, the persecutions, discrimination, the lack of respect, in their hearts and on their shoulders. It’s unhealthy, and it doesn’t open one up to fair & equal change for the future.

Festering ill feelings towards anyone, not cool...

 

 

 It makes the owner bitter, selfish, resentful, righteous, arrogant, superior. A mix or a combo of any of these  ingredients in positions of power, makes them toxic and dangerous. Not great neither the less.  That is a weak soul. in my view...There is no gratitude in it, for the owner of it neither, maybe in the short term. The consequences that fall onto unexpected victims. Countless of ways. Some sit in Government. They have the nerve to feel insulted. When they are called out on their motivation behind that decision making process.

Politicians need to start opening their eyes to the effects on their choice of wording. (they won't)  Still the owner of interpreting their meaning is accountable for executing the attitude, validation came eh...

 

...So we hid we were French in a very Anglophone neighborhood. We hid amongst the English. ‘Survival’ is the key word here. For me, it meant assimilating in a very English environment. Talking, reading, writing. I remember being so delighted when I had to be take history in French, it was mandatory. I felt connected and disconnected all at once.  Even in today's ever evolving history book that teaches our future kids, it isn't at all accurate. Purposely trying to keep kids ignorant, of the facts, the history of Quebec and Canada. They themselves can draw their own conclusions with facts presented. If not in doing so, each child receives an injustice into their heritages, their history, understanding  of conflicts, victories, loses, strengths, weaknesses, alliances, threats, solutions. The  understanding behind the decisions made good or bad. Where their story started and why...

 

 

 I left home at 151/2 yrs old. Far too complex in the why for's, to explain the reasoning behind closing that chapter, leaving it behind me. Let’s just say I was saving my life.

 

I was in trade school, working, living at the YWCA. 16 yrs old. On Crescent street, corner of, then Dorchester street. An exciting time to be living downtown Montreal. There was so much to observe, lessons laid out without even taking part. Everyone, had their own style, artists, musicians, writers, hidden in all corners of downtown Montreal. Everyone was embraced some what, no closeting was necessary in various places, person's were coming out proudly as they were.  Drag shows, dinner theaters, dinning all hours, after hour places. Navigating the adult world, when I wasn’t one yet myself, was like watching a live show every minute of the day. I pulled out my own tools at being sneaky, gutsy, and fearless.

 

 I’d sneak into the little downstairs’ bar on Crescent street the Bicyclette and dance all night at least once a week.  Sir Winston’s ended up buying it and Carol’s snack bar that was underneath Sir Winston’s. You could get the best bacon cheese burger @3 in the morning. A little Italian guy ran it and his Italian mother who would came around at times to give him time off.

 

 

The further East you went in downtown Montreal, the more the French culture was displayed and heard. Fiddle music, Accordion music, the words in song of sorrow, joy, victory. The sweetest accents when they spoke to tourists in English. We’re so beautiful, I was captivated, as I’d sit at a table outside to listen to each musician play every time I walked that direction. Some with their signature jackets of squares black and red. I was often invited in somewhere to some apartment gathering, as I listened to their debates, their stories, their discontentment with decisions being made by Federal Govt. or provincial. I’d get uncomfortable when they’d trash talk the English Canadians for some it has became their staple. I’d excuse myself and leave. I'd only been listening anyway, I knew nothing about politics. I just love story tellers. 

 

 For me when I turned 18 yrs old. My world felt like it had spun off it’s axle for a second.  I walked into the same place I’d eat at almost every morning. I looked up and around, It didn’t contain any English words, signs, anymore. It was all French. Even my menus, the service.

 I wasn’t mature enough to understand politics, laws, bills. I was too busy surviving. But I was shocked. 

 

I can see the point of view of the French Quebec Canadians, that they live amongst a sea of English.

Their culture and language should be preserved, cultivated, and respected. I completely agree.

 Here’s where we disagree. Was it truly necessary to do it at the expense of every other living soul in Quebec? Disregarding their history, their voyage, their contributions, their heritages. Yes, French Quebec has gone through lots of turmoil to remain in the Quebec region, of Canada. To be considered "Special, distinct'. as French descendants from New France. They did it in spite of obstacles… However, other regions in Canadian have mapped out a spot of distinct society without afflicting it on the remaining Canadians in the same province.

 

 

 It was a selfish, self serving beginning, with King Louis X1V of France rivalry with the British. Louis X1V is said to be a 'brilliant era' expanding their territories. The 7 year war  between the two countries, one upping the other. Two spoiled entitled brats trying to out do the other. Trading regions they conquered like playing cards. Soulless asses. We are the consequences to this pride before the fall. 

 

 

When the British decided they wanted what France had cultivated with their New France settlers as a French colony on First Nations land.

With France losing the war over New France to the British. It should be noted that, France tried a few times to get Quebec back. In the end though, France decided Quebec wasn’t profitable enough to continue trying to get it back.

Facts are Facts.

 

 I am constantly reminded of the cruelty done by the British, displayed toward various Aboriginal communities and New France settlers. I have to agree some tactics were down right cruel, racist, the bullying, the fear mongering is all a part of our history.

This is where I draw the line.

 I’ve written this statement in French quite often. I will not carry the sins of others’ nor atone for them. It isn’t my cross to bear. 

One way or another it was destined that that region, that land was going to be a colony whether it be a French one, or be it English one. 

Mankind has only themselves to blame, for wanting and taking what others' have.

 If it wasn’t the British doing their best to transform everyone into their image of acceptability and control. It was the church. Dripping poison into the fearful easily fooled. With warnings to stay clear of the English. Which was passed down from generation to generation. Each interrupted by their capacity in its understanding when it was repeated to them.  What did they know better they were tending fields and land. They gave their trust in those who sincerely didn't deserve it.

The diet of judgments on to others has not escaped our society today either. But in some it can be harsh and cruel in their formed opinions, ideas. For some  others’ it’s just a case of easily  influenced, manipulated sheep. We are all guilty of playing that role in some form or another.

 When I was 18 yrs old. I was set myself on a challenge in finding my birth mother. I was determined to know what were my roots were from.  I had spent six month transition into a group home run by Somerled group homes. Mr. Hirshback was the founder. An incident had occurred in a school I had attended and a social worker was assigned to me. I got caught being sneaky. Survival Instincts. So after a revealing conversation, options were opened up to me. 

 

 

 I, after a few weeks went by, chose an option. I found myself only 8 blocks away. After 6 months I was emancipated as a young adult. Off I went. 

 

 

 I got a call from Ville Marie social services. They wanted to give me my file. I was now 18. In that file, contained information that set my course into the hunt for my birth family. I got myself on a list. And the call came. They found her. She wants to connect. Once we connected, the history of my roots enfolded and stories were told. Several years of phone calls since discussing it, debating it, bleeding over it, empathizing. In her mind its set, this is French Quebec, we let the English have their rights to services. That's all they get in Quebec.  I explain... they don't have those rights. She isn't living it, she doesn't see it...She doesn't understand the meaning of the words I am saying to her. The news papers she reads, the news she follows say nothing. Except the English Canadians whine in Quebec.

 

There is amongst us, those who feel selfish, righteous, and vindicated. Since it’s at the expense of others’ I object to it feverishly. It’s like we haven’t learnt a thing from history. It’s more like getting your boot in. Sneakily like a child. Behind the backs of the intended. That human behavior, that brat like attitude, bully mentality. Their way or the highway narcissism. Well that rebel in me says ‘Fuck you’..

 I will not…Comply to days transformation of Quebec. It’s a complete slap in the face to Canadians history in Quebec. Immigrants that started coming here since 1649. Bringing in their own money, their own ideas on how to make Quebec their home as new settlers. They built their schools, their hospitals, their services, their trades, their banks. They learnt their neighbor’s language to fit into their community.

But learnered Francophones say it was all done in exploitation of them. Other than the distasteful attitudes on communication, downgrading tones to one another in their uppity manners. Hard not to take offense to it. I get that.

It did offer employment, got the wheels turning for progress. Brought trade and customs. Gave fruit to families to grow and labour on. That is not at all taken into account.

 

 

 We have never seem to find the balance in Quebec. Rights have been stripped back and forth in Quebec. Language is the biggest fight, and who belongs here in Quebec. This issues were not amongst the people growing up. We talked by mixing in each other’s language half way through sentences. Asking one another words, expressions explained. Everyone seemed comfortable within their own skin. Laughing, socializing, helping each other.

Today the attitudes have changed. It’s the mindset of ‘our space’ Francophones only. You hear citizens being told, 'this is Quebec, we speak French only, here'! Or don’t you know where you are? In French Quebec'. 'Don’t be speaking your English here'! 

 

 'What' ? how shameful you are behaving. Representing us Francophones like that. We can't seem to shut this down.

Papa Legault likes to preach a whole lot of bull crap eh?! Thanks to his cabinet, giving cause to the rise of rude, superior attitudes amongst some us... I feel the need to remind everyone to 'Remember' we all bleed the same way, we all pay our taxes, we are all entitled to an equal say, equal rights, equal constitutional rights. Equal language rights. French Quebec time to clue in...We cannot live in a bubble. This is still Canada...

 

The younger generation, are speaking what Legault (CAQ Govt.) would call  ‘Franglais’. But the younger generation only throw in a word here or there when they speak, using an occasional English word to express a point. 'Ce film était vraiment cool. Or ce genre de musique est vraiment hardcore... It is hardly 'Franglais'

 

 

 I believe Myrtis Fossey of the Canadian Party of Quebec said it in one of her speeches. Which resonated with me. She is Franglais. She identifies with French and English. She is capable of adapting too both in her daily life simultaneously.

I see that as someone honoring and respecting her environment, her community, her heritages, her languages, her province, her country Canada.

 

Until next time stay steadfast and true to you

Self care 

Li