Bonjour-Hi

A few weeks ago I made a telephone call to a courthouse here in Quebec. It was an important matter, involving questions I rarely have to think about in English, let alone in French. I asked the Clerk whether we could speak in English. This led to a series of questions since, with the recent passage of Bill 96, there are more restrictions on those entitled to receive services in English. She asked:

“Are you an Indigenous person? Have you arrived in Quebec within the last six months? Have you already communicated with the court on this subject, in English? Do you have eligibility to attend an English-language school in Quebec?”

Ah, there was my opening. Yes! I have my official “certificate of eligibility,” which means that I and my children have the right to attend elementary and high school in English in Quebec (this is because I had my own elementary school education in English, in Canada). On this basis, the Clerk was legally permitted to continue our conversation in English.

Most anglophones long ago reconciled themselves to the fact of French in Quebec. If you want to be meaningfully engaged here, then speaking French is required – I say this as someone whose French is, at best, passable. But I also say this as someone whose kids attended elementary and high school in the French school system, notwithstanding that “certificate of eligibility.” My wife and I saw a French-language education as a way to fully equip our kids for life in this province.

Becky and I are relative newcomers to Quebec, having lived here since 1999. We didn’t live through the FLQ crisis (1970) or through the challenging transition implied by Bill 101 (1977), or through the first referendum of 1980. I’m a latter-day Anglo, you might say, living in the wake of the tumult, and am relatively comfortable with the new status quo that was largely established by Bill 101 – the language of business and government and education is, by default, French.

That isn’t to say I’m naïve about the ways that laws and policies are sometimes implemented for political reasons (to “shore up the base”), rather than because they are necessary, helpful or relevant. When it comes to the changes implemented in June, it is difficult to see these as anything other than a bureaucratization of relationships. I cannot speak with you in English, unless you can answer one of these questions with a “yes.”

Before June 2023, these conversations would invariably have been more open and more fluid – more human. If there was some scenario in which I thought it important to speak in English, the reply from the other might be “I’m sorry I’m not able to,” or “Yes, I can try in English,” or “I’ll transfer you to my colleague who is better in English.” Sometimes I would speak in English and the responses would be in French. (I don’t know whether the new regulations permit a government employee to listen to English!!)

To bureaucratize a relationship is to prevent a person from assessing her own competencies and adaptability and willingness in any given moment or conversation. But every genuine conversation is one in which we make such assessments on the fly. There is rarely anything lost by trusting and equipping one another with an open approach to conversation. It may mean I don’t get the service I think I need in English, but at least there could be honest interaction and engagement before I responded: Non ça va. Je vais essayer en français.

__________

This was original published in the Christian Courier.