Canadian Issues Vol 43.indd - Conseil international d`études

Transcription

Editorial Board / Comité de rédaction
Editor-in-Chief
Rédacteur en chef
Claude Couture, University of Alberta, Canada
Associate Editors
Rédactrices adjointes
Chantal Maillé, Université Concordia, Canada
Ursula Mathis-Moser, Universität Innsbruck, Autriche
Faye Hammill, University of Strathclyde, United Kingdom
Managing Editor
Secrétaire de rédaction
Maryse Lavigne, Université de l’Alberta / University of Alberta, Canada
Advisory Board / Comité consultatif
Malcolm Alexander, Griffith University, Australia
Alfredo Carpio, Universidad Pedagógica Experimental Libertador, Venezuela
Sarah Feingold, Kibbutzim College of Education and Arts, Israel
Katalin Kurtösi, University of Szeged, Hungary
Francisco Colom, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Spain
Beatriz Diaz, Universidad de la Habana, Cuba
Massimo Rubboli, University of Genoa, Italy
Eurídice Figueiredo, Universidade Federal Fluminense, Brésil
Cécile Vanderpelen-Diagre, Université libre de Bruxelles, Belgique
Naoharu Fujita, Meiji University, Japan
Gudrun Björk Gudsteinsdottir, University of Iceland, Iceland
Leen d’Haenens, University of Nijmegen, The Netherlands
Vadim Koleneko, Russian Academy of Sciences, Russia
Hélène Harter, Université Rennes 2, France
Graciela Martínez-Zalce Sánchez , National Autonomous
University of Mexico, UNAM, Mexico
Elke Nowak, Technische Universität Berlin, Germany
Maeve Conrick, University of Cork, Ireland
Susan Hodgett, University of Ulster at Jordanstown, United Kingdom
Andrew Eungi Kim, Korea University, Korea
Feng Jianwen, Nanjing University, China
R.K. Dhawan, University of Delhi, India
Robert K. Whelan, University of Texas at Dallas, U.S.A.
Ing Lila D. Kowalewski, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Argentina
Krzysztof Jarosz, Univesité de Silésie, Pologne
Lillian Gonzalez, Universidad de la Frontera, Chili
James Harold Connett, Centro Paraguayo de Estudios Canadienses, Paraguay
The International Journal of Canadian
Studies is published twice a year by the
International Council for Canadian Studies.
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the study of Canada. The IJCS publishes thematic issues containing articles (20-30 pages
double-spaced), research notes (10-15 pages
double-spaced) and review essays. It favours
analyses that have a broad perspective and essays that will interest a readership from a wide
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Life; Canadian Periodical Index; Historical
Abstracts; International Political Science Abstracts; Point de repère; and Sociological Abstracts/Worldwide Political Science Abstracts.
© All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the permission of the IJCS. ISSN 1180-3991; ISBN
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The IJCS gratefully acknowledges a grant
from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
Paraissant deux fois l’an, la Revue
internationale d’études canadiennes (RIÉC)
est publiée par le Conseil international
d’études canadiennes. Revue multidisciplinaire, elle rejoint les lecteurs de divers pays intéressés à l’étude du Canada. La RIÉC publie
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(20-30 pages, double interligne), de notes de
recherche (10-15 pages, double interligne) et
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ISSN 1180-3991 ; ISBN 1-896450-37-7
La RIÉC est redevable au Conseil de recherches en sciences humaines du Canada qui lui
accorde une subvention.
Cover / Couverture
The IJCS would like to thank / La RIÉC aimerait remercier
Claude Couture
for the use of the photo / de lui avoir permis d’utiliser la photo
International Journal of Canadian Studies
Revue internationale d’études canadiennes
Miscellaneous: international perspectives on Canada
En vrac : perspectives internationales sur le Canada
43, 2011.1
Table of Contents / Table des matières
Claude Couture / Faye Hammill
Introduction / Présentation .............................................................................5
Angela Buono
Le transculturalisme : de l’origine du mot à
« l’identité de la différence » chez Hédi Bouraoui.........................................7
Muriel Sacco
Une politique de la ville « à la française » à Montréal?................................23
Katrin Urschel
“From the ‘White Lily’ to the ‘King Frog in a puddle’:
A Comparison of Confederation and Multiculturalism
in Irish-Canadian Literature”........................................................................45
Evelyn P. Mayer
Beyond Border Binaries: Borderlines, Borderlands and
In-Betweenness in Thomas King’s Short Story Borders .............................67
Nielan Barnes
Canada-US-Mexico Integration:
Assessing (Im)Migrant Health Policy Convergence.....................................83
Jay Scherer & Lisa McDermott
Playing Promotional Politics: Mythologizing Hockey
and Manufacturing ‘Ordinary’ Canadians .................................................107
Meena Sharify-Funk
Governing the Face Veil: Québec’s Bill 94 and
the Transnational Politics of Women’s Identity..........................................135
Donica Belisle
Virtue and Vice: Consumer Culture
in English Canadian Fiction Before 1940 ..................................................165
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43, 2011
Research Note / Note de recherche
Myreille Pawliez
Narratologie et étude du personnage: un cas de figure.
Caractérisation dans Dis-moi que je vis de Michèle Mailhot.....................189
Review Essay / Essai critique
Christopher G. Anderson
Immigration, Immigrants, and the Rights of
Canadian Citizens in Historical Perspective...............................................207
Authors / Auteurs......................................................................................221
Call for papers / Soumission d’articles...................................................222
Information and Guidelines for Contributors.......................................227
Renseignements et directives aux auteurs..............................................233
Canadian Studies Journals Around the World /
Revues d’études canadiennes dans le monde.........................................239
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Introduction
Présentation
This issue reflects the richness
of international contributions
to the study of Canada. Among
the member associations and
associate member organisations
of the International Council for
Canadian Studies, each three-year
cycle sees 10 annual conferences,
15 biennial conferences and 3
triennial conferences. In all, during
every three-year period, about
6,000 experts on Canada have the
opportunity to present their research
findings at these meetings.
Canadian participation is important,
since these international forums
allow Canadian researchers the
chance to exchange views and
compare results with researchers
from other countries.
Le présent numéro reflète en
quelque sorte la richesse des
contributions internationales à
l’étude du Canada. En effet, parmi
les associations membres et les
associations dites associées ou
partenaires du Conseil international
des études canadiennes, on
compte, pour chaque cycle de 3
ans, 10 conférences annuelles,
15 conférences biennales et 3
conférences triennales. En tout,
pour chaque cycle de trois ans,
environ 6,000 experts du Canada
ont ainsi l’occasion de présenter
dans ces conférences les résultats
de leurs recherches. La participation
canadienne à ces forums
internationaux est importante et
ainsi les chercheurs canadiens
eux-mêmes ont la possibilité
d’échanger leurs points de vue et
de comparer leurs résultats avec
les chercheurs internationaux.
The interdisciplinary richness
of Canadian studies is likewise
revealed through this issue. It brings
together articles by authors working
in literature, cultural studies, urban
studies, and political science,
while Native studies is represented
through the essay on Thomas King
and borderlines. The issue as a
whole offers fresh perspectives
on migration, multiculturalism,
transculturalism, popular and urban
cultures, and narratology.
Eight recent books which take
up the subject of migration are
considered in the review essay
which concludes the issue,
completing the study of an
important theme in international
Canadian studies.
Le présent numéro montre aussi
la richesse interdisciplinaire des
études canadiennes. Ainsi, dans
ce numéro, on retrouve des textes
d’auteurs œuvrant en littérature,
en études culturelles, en études
urbaines, en science politique, enfin
en études autochtones notamment à
travers l’étude de Thomas King et
le thème de la migration. Le numéro
dans son ensemble offre aussi un
regard croisé sur les thèmes de la
migration, du multiculturalisme,
du transculturalisme, de la culture
populaire et urbaine, enfin de
la narratologie.
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Acknowledgments
The editorial committee wishes to
thank Marjolaine Deschênes, Ruth
Bradley-St-Cyr, Maryse Lavigne
and Sylvie Provost for their careful
work on the preparation and
production of this issue.
Claude Couture
Faye Hammil
(On behalf of the Editorial Board)
Finalement, le lecteur trouvera
un essai critique portant sur huit
ouvrages contemporains ayant
trait au thème de la migration qui
complète ainsi l’étude d’un thème
de recherche important au niveau
international en études canadiennes.
Remerciements
Comme il se doit maintenant pour
chaque numéro, le comité éditorial
tient à remercier celles qui ont
patiemment travaillé à la confection
et réalisation de ce numéro :
Marjolaine Deschênes, Ruth
Bradley-St-Cyr, Maryse Lavigne et
Sylvie Provost.
Claude Couture
Faye Hammill
(au nom du comité de rédaction)
Angela Buono
« l’identité de la différence » chez Hédi Bouraoui
Résumé
Cette étude illustre quelques implications de la notion du transculturel, tout
en la situant par rapport aux notions du pluriculturel, de l’interculturel et du
multiculturel. Depuis sa première apparition en 1940 dans le domaine anthropologique, la notion de transculturalisme a élargi son champ d’application
en tant que méthode d’interprétation potentielle de toute réalité métissée.
Cependant, au niveau social et politique, l’approche transculturelle demeure
théorique, voire utopique, ainsi que l’a démontré l’expérience québécoise
du groupe d’intellectuels rassemblés de 1983 à 1997 autour du magazine
Vice Versa. C’est au niveau identitaire et esthétique que le transculturalisme
trouve son plein accomplissement dans l’expérience personnelle et poétique
de l’écrivain franco-ontarien d’origine tunisienne Hédi Bouraoui. En insistant sur l’idée de traversée, de passage et d’échange entre les cultures, il
érige la migrance en valeur identitaire et en principe de création littéraire :
si « l’émigration redéfinit l’ontologie de l’être contemporain », les notions
d’identité et de différence – les deux pivots du transculturalisme tel que
Bouraoui le conçoit – en sont également renouvelées par la démarche
transculturelle et transpoétique que l’auteur applique à son écriture et à sa
conception de la culture. L’identité et la différence sont analysées et redéfinies jusqu’à en renverser la valeur signifiante. La relation d’opposition
entre les deux termes se tourne en identification : « l’identité de la différence »
introduit une perspective nouvelle dans l’évaluation de la diversité, tout en
lui conférant une qualité oxymorique qui demeure au fond de la poétique
bouraouienne et se pose en clé de lecture d’une appartenance identitaire
à même de résoudre les contradictions de la pluralité en unicité originale
et harmonieuse.
Abstract
This study illustrates a few of the implications of our notion of transcultural,
while situating it in relation to notions of pluricultural, intercultural and multicultural. Since it first appeared in 1940 in the field of anthropology, the notion
of transculturalism has expanded its application as a potential interpretive
method of all hybridized realities. However, at the social and political level,
the transcultural approach remains theoretical, utopic even, as demonstrated
by the Québécois experience of a group of intellectuals who were together
from 1983 to 1997 for the magazine Vice Versa. It is in terms of identity and
aesthetics that transculturalism becomes fully accomplished in the personal
and poetic experience of Hédi Bouraoui, a Franco-Ontarian writer originally
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43, 2011
from Tunisia. By insisting on the idea of crossing, of passage, and of exchange
between cultures, he uplifts migrance to a value of identity and a principle of
literary creation: if “emigration redefines the ontology of the contemporary
self”, notions of identity and difference−the two linchpins of transculturalism
as conceived by Bouraoui−are equally renewed by the transcultural and
transpoetic approach that the author applies to his writing and his idea of
culture. Identity and difference are analyzed and redefined to the point of overturning the signifier value. The oppositional relationship between the two terms
becomes one of identification: “the identity of difference” introduces a new
perspective in the evaluation of diversity, gives it an oxymoronic quality which
remains at the depth of Bouraoui’s poetics, and unlocks the reading of identity
belonging while it resolves contradictions of plurality into a uniqueness that is
original and harmonious.
La notion du transculturel fait désormais partie du langage courant, ainsi
qu’en témoigne l’inclusion du terme dans les principaux dictionnaires. Néanmoins, les définitions qu’ils en donnent ne rendent pas tout à fait compte
des implications du mot. Si dans Le Grand Robert l’on indique de façon
générique que transculturel c’est ce « qui concerne les transitions entre
cultures différentes » (ad vocem), dans Le Petit Larousse l’idée même de
mouvement et de passage entre les cultures est ramenée à la simple pluralité
culturelle. Dans l’édition de 2003 on peut lire que transculturel c’est ce
« qui concerne les relations entre plusieurs cultures » (ad vocem), tandis que
dans une édition plus récente du dictionnaire en ligne (2009) on trouve la
définition suivante : « se dit d’un phénomène social qui concerne plusieurs
cultures, plusieurs civilisations différentes » (ad vocem).
Cette dernière formulation n’apporte guère davantage de précisions sur
la spécificité du transculturel et, qui plus est, ces définitions ne permettent
point de bien démarquer le transculturel des notions voisines du pluriculturel,
de l’interculturel et du multiculturel. Pour ce faire, il convient de se rapporter
aux définitions proposées par le Conseil de l’Europe. Dans le Cadre européen
commun de référence pour les langues, la dimension pluriculturelle est définie en ces termes :
Les différentes cultures (nationale, régionale, sociale) auxquelles
quelqu’un a accédé ne coexistent pas simplement côte à côte dans sa
compétence culturelle. Elles se comparent, s’opposent et interagissent
activement pour produire une compétence pluriculturelle enrichie et
intégrée dont la compétence plurilingue est l’une des composantes,
elle-même interagissant avec d’autres composantes. (p. 12)
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Il s’ensuit, ainsi que les commentateurs l’ont bien remarqué, que « le plurilinguisme et le pluriculturalisme correspondent à une spécificité personnelle
mobilisée dans une situation de communication » (Bernaus et al. 12), là où le
multiculturalisme et l’interculturalisme relèvent d’une dimension collective
et sociétale. En ce qui concerne le premier, « il convient [...] de conserver
les termes multilinguisme et multiculturalisme à la description de contextes
mettant en contact différentes langues et cultures » (Bernaus et al. 12), tandis
que « l’interculturalité est un terme qui désigne tout d’abord une situation de
communication dans laquelle les participants mobilisent toutes leurs capacités pour interagir les uns avec les autres » (Bernaus et al. 13).
Les notions de pluriculturel, de multiculturel et d’interculturel font donc
appel de façon respective à l’individu, au groupe et à la situation de communication : le transculturel se pose en point de convergence et dépassement
de ces fondements, en processus dynamique entraînant une transmutation
foncière de ses données de base par le biais de leur profonde interpénétration.
De l’origine du mot transculturel
Afin de bien saisir la prégnance de la notion de transculturel, il convient d’en
retracer l’évolution. On fait remonter sa naissance à la réflexion de l’anthropologue cubain Fernando Ortiz : en 1940, dans son ouvrage Contrapunteo
cubano del tabaco y el azúcar, il introduit le mot « transculturation » en
substitution du terme « acculturation », pour mieux rendre compte de la complexité ethnique et de l’évolution ethnoculturelle dans l’île de Cuba1. Ainsi
que l’a expliqué Jean Lamore :
À cette époque, la notion d’acculturation est très en vogue : chère aux
Nord-Américains, elle débouche sur l’idée d’assimilation [...] : fondée
sur un fait éminemment eurocentriste, elle impliquait que l’indigène,
le « sauvage », le « barbare » devait obligatoirement « s’assimiler », ou
encore « se civiliser ». Or, Ortiz, en étudiant le processus de formation
ethnoculturelle de Cuba, définit un processus totalement différent : la
transculturation, qui se caractérise par le choc. L’« ex-culturation » des
peuples conquis, soumis ou exploités, n’empêche pas certains syncrétismes : le conquérant prend lui aussi une part de sa culture. Il y a aussi
« inculturation », c’est-à-dire une acquisition réciproque d’éléments
culturels. (p. 45)
Tout en dépassant la perspective eurocentrique dominante, le néologisme
imaginé par Ortiz résume les implications multiples des transferts culturels,
comme ce passage, ici rapporté dans la traduction qu’en offre Jean Lamore,
met bien en évidence :
Le vocable « transculturation » exprime mieux les différentes
phases du processus de transition d’une culture à l’autre, car celui-
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ci ne consiste pas seulement à acquérir une culture distincte – ce
qui est en toute rigueur ce qu’exprime le mot anglo-américain d’
« acculturation » – mais que le processus implique aussi nécessairement la perte ou le déracinement d’une culture antérieure, – ce qu’on
pourrait appeler « déculturation », et en outre, signifie la création
consécutive de nouveaux phénomènes culturels que l’on pourrait
dénommer « néo-culturation ». [...] Dans l’ensemble le processus est
une transculturation, et ce vocable renferme toutes les phases de sa
parabole (Lamore 44).
Bronislaw Malinowski, dans son introduction au Contrapunteo d’Ortiz, saisit
toute la valeur innovante de la transculturation, ainsi que sa charge transformationnelle de création :
Es un proceso en el cual emerge una nueva realidad, compuesta y
compleja; una realidad que no es una aglomeración mecánica de
caracteres, ni siquiera un mosaico, sino un fenómeno nuevo, original
e independiente [...] una transición entre dos culturas, ambas activas,
ambas contribuyentes con sendos aportes, y ambas cooperantes al
advenimiento de una nueva realidad de civilización (Ortiz 5).
Depuis, par suite de ce pouvoir de création dont il est porteur, le transculturel a dépassé les limites du domaine d’application d’origine pour élargir
son champ d’action en tant que méthode d’interprétation potentielle de toute
réalité métissée. Nous nous bornerons ici à en examiner les implications
identitaires et littéraires dans l’interprétation toute particulière qu’en donne
l’écrivain franco-ontarien d’origine tunisienne Hédi Bouraoui, qui nous
paraît avoir exploité les potentialités du transculturel jusqu’à leur plein épanouissement. Pour mieux faire ressortir son approche originale, nous nous
arrêterons brièvement sur l’expérience québécoise des fondateurs du magazine transculturel Vice Versa, desquels Bouraoui s’était un temps rapproché2
pour poursuivre ensuite sa réflexion individuelle sur le transculturel en tant
que principe de création poétique.
Du sens politique du transculturel
Au Québec, l’application du transculturel à l’expérience migrante a été le
fait, au cours des années quatre-vingt et quatre-vingt-dix du siècle dernier,
du groupe d’intellectuels d’origine italienne rassemblés autour du magazine
Vice Versa, proposant un projet transculturel dont Fulvio Caccia et Lamberto
Tassinari ont été les porte-parole :
Le terme transculturel a une dimension politique car ce mot implique
la traversée d’une seule culture en même temps que son dépassement.
L’unité qu’il sous-tend n’a pas la même résonance que celle qu’évoquent le termes « inter-culturel » ou « multi-culturel ». Ceux-ci définissent un ensemble et le circonscrivent dans un espace et un temps,
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alors que le transculturel ne possède pas de périmètre. C’est le passage
et l’implication totale à travers et au-delà des cultures (Caccia, Sous
le signe 299).
La dimension transversale au niveau du temps et de l’espace du projet
transculturel tel que le conçoivent les intellectuels italo-québécois confère
à sa portée politique un caractère utopique, se réclamant de cette « utopie
nord-américaine » que Jean-Michel Lacroix et Fulvio Caccia, dans leur
introduction au volume Métamorphoses d’une utopie, définissent comme
l’idéal fondant « [...] une nouvelle humanité. Humanité enfin dépouillée de
son eurocentrisme, débarrassée du carcan de l’Histoire, où il serait possible
de réinventer la culture en saisissant l’absence, l’entre-deux qui conduit à
l’altérité créatrice » (p. 12). Le caractère dichotomique du projet transculturel, partagé entre l’idéal et sa réalisation, émerge des propos de Tassinari, lors
de son entrevue avec Fulvio Caccia (1985) :
Ce projet se manifestera dans sa plénitude lorsqu’il investira la sphère
politique et économique. Le transculturel travaille une gestion de la
société dépourvue de discrimination [...], mais il n’en demeure pas
moins que le discours transculturel est au fond un discours sur le pouvoir. À la limite, il remet en question le fonctionnement de la société.
[...] La transculture possède un ressort utopique qui remet en question
la base traditionnelle de la société (Caccia, Sous le signe 303-304).
Au cours d’un séminaire international qui s’est déroulé à Rome en 2005,
consacré au « Projet transculturel de Vice Versa », Tassinari a tracé le bilan
de cette aventure intellectuelle en soulignant la double dimension, identitaire
et sociale, de la transculture :
le trans [...], proposé par Vice Versa signifiait traversée, passage,
métamorphose continue de l’identité : perte et gain sans arrêt, osmose.
[...] Je ne m’arrêterai ici que sur l’aspect politique de la démarche
transculturelle, cet aspect que justement Vice Versa n’a jamais réussi,
en aucune mesure, à traduire en réalité sociale. Si à la base de la vision
transculturelle il y a, au niveau de l’individu, la poursuite et l’acceptation d’une identité multiple, hybride, en devenir continuel, alors sur
le plan politique, de la cité, à cette identité devrait correspondre une
société libérée des fantasmes du pouvoir [...], enfin l’avènement d’une
vraie démocratie à travers l’autonomie de l’individu. (p. 23)
Profondément enraciné dans la réalité immigrante du Québec des années
quatre-vingt, le projet de Vice Versa a été conditionné dans son parcours par
le contexte sociopolitique où il a pris naissance3. Cependant, son « échec
productif » (p. 67), ainsi que l’a qualifié Régine Robin4, tient sans doute aussi
dans sa dimension utopique5, maintes fois soulignée par Tassinari, concevant
« la transculture [...] comme une forme de substitut soft de l’utopie perdue,
comme sa continuation sous les formes du métissage et de l’impureté » (p. 21).
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En soulignant le but de « fonder un corps politique en dehors de toute
communauté d’esprit, de langue ou de culture » (Vice Versa 33), Fulvio Caccia a formulé « l’hypothèse que la transculture est un projet pour restituer
et rénover le sens originel de “civilisation” telle que la définition initiale de
transculturation l’implique » (Vice Versa 34). Ainsi que l’explique l’auteur :
La civilisation se distingue [...] par le fait qu’elle suppose une hiérarchie, une décision... et renvoie directement à la civitas, la ville tandis que la culture renvoie aux champs et à une acception consensuelle
et non hiérarchique qui institue le peuple en tant qu’acteur de l’histoire
(Vice Versa 34).
En remontant à l’étymologie commune de deux mots, Caccia pose donc en
évidence la parentèle entre la civilisation, dans son sens anthropologique, et
la politique, dans son sens social. Il se rapporte en particulier à la notion dynamique de civilisation impliquée dans la transculturation décrite par Ortiz.
Malinowski en avait bien souligné le pouvoir de création ethnoculturelle, un
pouvoir qui, transposé dans le domaine sociopolitique, confère à la notion de
transculture élaborée par l’équipe de Vice Versa le statut idéal d’un modèle
du devenir humain.
Du sens identitaire du transculturel
Chez Hédi Bouraoui le transculturel accomplit une autre étape de son parcours, en manifestant sa force de création sur le double plan de l’identité et
de l’esthétique. Tunisien de naissance, immigré à Toronto à la fin des années
soixante après ses études en France et aux États-Unis, Hédi Bouraoui a élaboré sa notion du transculturel à partir d’une réflexion tout à fait autonome6,
qu’il a entamée dès les années soixante-dix en puisant directement dans sa
propre expérience de vie : par sa formation pluriculturelle et son itinéraire
tricontinental, chevauchant l’Afrique, l’Europe et l’Amérique, il s’est fait
lui-même carrefour culturel et incarnation vivante du transculturalisme.
Son choix de s’établir au Canada a été déterminé, ainsi qu’il l’a souligné au
cours d’une entrevue, par la présence d’« une société multiculturelle qui se
formait et qui correspondait à [s]on héritage [...] multiple et multiculturel et
multiracial et multireligieux » (Chamberland 185). Poète, écrivain et critique,
Bouraoui a consacré son œuvre entière à la promotion et à la diffusion de
cette notion qu’il pose en valeur humaniste fondamentale :
Nous avons défini le terme transculturalisme après avoir réfléchi
sur la politique canadienne du multiculturalisme qui, d’après nous,
encourageait la constitution de ghettos culturels à l’intérieur de la
mosaïque canadienne. Le transculturalisme est d’abord, et avant tout,
une profonde connaissance de soi et de sa culture originelle afin de
la trans/cender d’une part, et de la trans/vaser d’autre part, donc la
trans/mettre, à l’altérité. Ainsi se créent des ponts de compréhension,
12
d’appréciation, de tolérance, de paix entre moi et les autres, la culture
d’un pays à l’autre dans son intraitable différence (Transpoétique 10).
En observateur attentif de la réalité qui l’entoure et vivant dans sa chair
l’expérience de la migrance dans un pays d’immigration massive, Bouraoui
envisage le transculturalisme comme un développement potentiel du multiculturalisme canadien, apte à en mettre en valeur les enjeux positifs et à
en déjouer l’effet secondaire du repliement des différentes communautés sur
elles-mêmes :
Pour ne pas occulter l’apport positif du multiculturalisme, à savoir la
reconnaissance et la validité d’autres cultures au sein d’une culture nationale, nous avons voulu détourner ce projet vers le transculturalisme
qui a pour but de bâtir des ponts entre les diversités culturelles, de faire
passer les valeurs d’une aire géographique à une autre. Autrement dit,
une nouvelle focalisation pour que les différentes communautés se
penchent sur la culture des uns et des autres (Transpoétique 63-64).
En appliquant à la culture les concepts de traversée, transition, transformation qu’entraîne la notion du transculturel, Bouraoui a élaboré une vision
culturelle dynamique à même de refléter la réalité et traduire les enjeux
du monde actuel. D’après lui, « l’émigration redéfinit l’ontologie de l’être
contemporain » (Dotoli 56) et se pose par conséquent en valeur identitaire
fondamentale – ce que Bouraoui appelle poétiquement l’émigressence7. En
renversant la vision stéréotypée de l’émigration pour en dégager les valeurs
potentielles, Bouraoui a érigé le phénomène migratoire en fondement de
toute interaction humaine et donc de tout échange entre les cultures :
Il ne s’agit pas ici de retracer l’essence des mouvements migratoires,
le déracinement, l’exil, le déchirement, l’aliénation, etc., mais plutôt
d’accentuer l’émigration tacite et implicite, intérieure et actuelle,
littérale et symbolique de nos propres gestes et de notre propre action
: à savoir cet écart, ce déplacement, cette tension de mouvance, entre
désir et réalité, intention et acte, geste et manifestation, en un mot,
entre le moi qui agit sur le monde et le monde qui agit sur le moi
(Pertinence 56).
Cette dynamique est à la base du processus de formation et de transformation
des cultures qui s’accompagne de l’échange transculturel et que Bouraoui
qualifie de « créaculture »8, néologisme de son invention :
Si nous définissons la culture comme une interaction entre l’homme et
son milieu, dans un modus operandi qui secrète les valeurs régissant
une société, une nation, la créaculture met l’accent sur le côté créateur
des valeurs représentant une vision unitaire où le sujet et le monde sont
en perpétuelles tensions et créations vers une éventuelle harmonie.
Cet équilibre précaire est à saisir par une approche interdisciplinaire,
13
éclectique et essentiellement humaniste qui refuse de réduire culture
et civilisation d’un pays à leur contexte purement historique, littéraire
ou artistique (Transpoétique 32).
Le transculturalisme tel que Bouraoui le conçoit propose, d’un côté, une approche positive du choc des cultures, en tant que fondement d’une culture de
niveau supérieur, une transculture profondément enracinée dans l’expérience
migrante, et par là même, apte à en traduire les préoccupations identitaires
et les solutions d’adaptation à un contexte culturel étranger; de l’autre côté,
le transculturalisme se pose en modèle identitaire et en valeur humaniste
traversant et dépassant toute frontière, dans le but de promouvoir un idéal
éthique de tolérance et de paix qui n’est pas la moindre des implications du
message bouraouien.
Pour Bouraoui la paix revêt une valeur non seulement morale, mais aussi
identitaire : il énonce son idéal de tolérance et de communion entre les peuples en affirmant que « la Paix, c’est la véritable rencontre de l’Autre dans sa
vérité, c’est l’acceptation totale de la différence » (Vers et l’Envers 34). Cet
axiome tourne autour de la notion de différence qu’ailleurs Bouraoui formule
en termes d’« identité de la différence » (Dotoli 59), à savoir la différence
érigée en valeur identitaire et en source d’enrichissement culturel.
Quant à ce principe, il dérive essentiellement de son héritage culturel
méditerranéen : la diversité et l’altérité sont des composantes fondamentales
de l’identité méditerranéenne, tout comme les valeurs humanistes traditionnelles de l’ouverture à l’autre, du respect de l’étranger, du sens de l’accueil
et du partage réciproque. La Méditerranée a été le théâtre, déjà au second
millénaire avant Jésus-Christ, d’un exemple de transculturalisme avant la
lettre représenté par les Phéniciens qui, en poussant leurs commerces du
Proche-Orient aux Colonnes d’Hercule, fusionnaient les traditions, les cultes
et les cultures des peuples rencontrés tout au long de leurs traversées de la
mer9. Et plus tard dans la ville punique de Carthage en Tunisie, la terre natale
de Bouraoui, se sont mélangés bon nombre de peuples d’Afrique, d’Europe
et d’Asie – ce qui mène notre auteur à affirmer que pour lui : « Carthage,
c’est au fait la métaphore [...] de ce qu’on appelle aujourd’hui “la mosaïque
canadienne” » (Dotoli 56).
L’identité et la différence demeurent deux concepts-clés du transculturalisme bouraouien. Le rapport d’opposition entre ces deux termes est tourné
en identification par la formulation qu’en donne l’auteur : l’« identité de
la différence » renvoie au caractère oxymorique de toute identité humaine,
dont une composante essentielle est « l’étrangeté inconnue par laquelle nous
sommes tous des êtres étrangers condamnés à l’étrangeté absolue » (Bangkok
blues 14). La découverte de l’autre et de la différence entraîne la prise de
conscience de cette étrangeté propre à tout homme et l’approche de l’autre
n’est qu’une forme particulière de migrance :
14
En effet, en communiquant nous immigrons tous vers et dans les
autres par la parole [...]. Ainsi nous sommes tous des immigrés, ce qui
déclenche un sens d’égalité et de fraternité... Une nouvelle solidarité
dans une communauté qui non seulement accepte la différence, mais
va plus loin en la célébrant (Transpoétique 66).
La perspective transculturelle de Bouraoui implique une participation et une
tension conscientes à l’échange entre les cultures et refuse tout phénomène de
déculturation que la théorie d’Ortiz considérait comme une des étapes du processus de transculturation; de même elle se démarque de la vision du groupe
de Vice Versa, qui envisageait l’identité migrante comme la manifestation
d’une dynamique de « perte et gain » (Tassinari 23) entre la culture d’origine
et la culture d’accueil. D’après Bouraoui, la construction de l’identité ne
comporte pas de perte, mais elle se fait par addition, au fur et à mesure de la
découverte de l’autre et de l’intégration de sa différence :
un poète a proclamé avec insistance qu’il faut s’anéantir pour rencontrer l’autre, différent. Non, pas se soustraire, s’additionner en restant
soi-même pour être sans cesse changé, modulé. [...] Cette poussée
n’est rien d’autre que [...] ce désir virulent et vertigineux de quitter
notre peau, non pour l’inverser ou la masquer, mais pour lui insuffler
d’autres tonalités (Bangkok blues 14).
Appliquée à la réalité canadienne, l’« identité de la différence » trouve son
symbole dans un représentant de la faune du pays, l’orignal, que Bouraoui
pose en illustration vivante de la diversité ethnique et culturelle du Canada. Il
rappelle que « dans son Voyage en Amérique Chateaubriand le décrivait ainsi :
“L’orignal a le mufle d’un chameau, le bois plat du daim, les jambes du cerf.
Son poil est mêlé de gris, de blanc, de rouge, de noir” » (La Francophonie
87). Le caractère composite et mélangé des formes et du poil de l’orignal
l’élève sous la plume de Bouraoui en mythe fondateur de l’identité transculturelle. Orignalitude, c’est le mot que Bouraoui a forgé pour désigner une
« identité de la différence » profondément enracinée dans le terroir canadien :
Une nouvelle création conceptuelle qui retient l’origine pour y additionner les différences. [...] L’orignalitude célèbre chaque infime partie
de ses diverses composantes. [...] Elle tend plutôt à abolir les frontières
culturelles qui cloisonnent, non pas pour les annuler, mais pour les
rendre perméables de part et d’autre, sans pour autant faire perdre ce
qui fait l’originalité de chacune (Le mythe de l’orignalitude 83).
Bouraoui fait encore recours à un oxymoron pour exprimer de façon incisive
le caractère pluriel de l’identité transculturelle : « Je est nôtre » (Transpoétique 42). Cette devise aux échos rimbaldiens pose une relation dialectique
entre le singulier et le pluriel : l’identification des deux termes est immédiatement déjouée par le caractère intrinsèque de leur relation, impliquant
l’ouverture, la transition, la transformation du singulier au pluriel. L’iden-
15
tité même s’identifie à la différence sans perdre pour autant sa spécificité
essentielle, le sujet s’objective tout en gardant son individualité première.
Cette valeur transculturelle de la devise bouraouienne se double du caractère
humaniste fondamental que l’auteur a assigné à son œuvre : « je est nôtre »
renvoie à la pluralité culturelle, invite à l’approche de l’autre, à l’échange et
à l’acceptation des différences; il souligne le rôle du sujet et son engagement
en première personne, tout en refusant le repliement sur son particularisme et
remarquant, au contraire, son appartenance à un contexte collectif. L’auteur
l’affirme en toutes lettres, lorsqu’il déclare :
Et moi, Hédi Bouraoui, je dis « je est nôtre ». Je ne m’appartiens
pas, j’appartiens à tout le monde [...]. Nous ne sommes plus dans la
« binarité infernale », nous sommes dans la « pluralité ». [...] C’est la
pluralité qui fait notre richesse. Si j’additionne ma culture maghrébine
à ma culture française, à ma culture canadienne, je suis trois personnes
en une, et je ne peux nier aucune partie da ma culture (Binarité s. p.).
La pluralité déjoue le risque qu’implique tout dualisme, ce qu’Hédi Bouraoui
appelle la « binarité infernale », à savoir « le rapport qui s’établit entre deux
pôles culturels [... et] qu’il faut déconstruire [...] parce qu’il instaure des ghettos culturels » (Falcicchio 121). Si la pluralité culturelle instaure plutôt des
relations multilatérales et donc s’adapte bien au monde et à l’époque actuels,
marqués par les chocs des peuples et des cultures, il n’en reste pas moins
que « la pluralité implique deux risques : le risque de perdre son originalité
personnelle et le particularisme d’une culture donnée » (Falcicchio 121).
« Je est nôtre », c’est la formule pour sortir de l’impasse. Le « nôtre »
n’étant qu’un élargissement du « je », tout risque de perte identitaire est
déjoué en faveur d’un épanouissement du particularisme subjectif. C’est
autour du « je » que tourne la pluralité, se déclinant toujours à la première
personne pour remarquer comment l’échange véritable et l’interpénétration
des cultures permettent à chaque sujet de garder son originalité, tout en
s’enrichissant des valeurs de l’autre. Le « je » qui se fait « nôtre » assume la
différence de l’autre et revêt une identité plurielle qui ne laisse pas de place
aux particularismes. Le « je » qui se fait « nôtre » devient l’autre, dans un
échange réciproque qui se pose en emblème de l’idéal humaniste et de la
perspective identitaire dont l’écrivain est promoteur.
Cette devise intègre aussi le côté littéraire de l’identité de Bouraoui,
puisque c’est tout d’abord en poète qu’il a forgé son « je est nôtre ». C’est
un raccourci exemplaire de la démarche transculturelle qu’il applique à son
écriture, l’expression accomplie de la valeur poïétique que le transculturel
acquiert sous sa plume d’écrivain.
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Du sens poétique du transculturel
Il faut remonter à la genèse de la devise pour qu’on puisse saisir toute sa
valeur représentative de la vision transpoétique et transculturelle de l’auteur :
« je est nôtre » semble bien découler, par le biais d’un jeu homophonique, de
« Je est un autre » (Rimbaud 200 et 202), le leitmotiv rimbaldien des Lettres
du voyant.
L’invention verbale, le jeu de mots, la surprise langagière constituent un
caractère marquant de l’écriture de Bouraoui. « Je est nôtre » est un exemple
parfait du mouvement que l’auteur impose à la parole. La référence à un
mot célèbre du passé situe la parole bouraouienne à l’intérieur d’une tradition littéraire – ce qui atteste encore une fois la valeur irremplaçable de
l’héritage dont témoigne l’œuvre entière de Bouraoui, à partir de son tout
premier recueil poétique, Musocktail. Cette Muse qui introduit la poésie bouraouienne n’est pas sans rappeler l’invocation aux Muses des poètes anciens;
néanmoins, moulée dans une robe de cocktail, elle abdique sa fonction inspiratrice coutumière pour suggérer dès le début le caractère transpoétique,
composite et mélangé, de cette poésie qui vient de naître à la croisée de la
tradition et de l’innovation.
Rimbaud aussi exhortait à « demand[er] aux poètes du nouveau, – idées
et formes » (p. 204) – ce qui ne l’empêchait de chanter : « j’allais sous le ciel,
Muse! et j’étais ton féal » (p. 56), et d’adopter une impeccable versification
classique, tout en proclamant qu’« il faut être absolument moderne » (p. 152).
Un courant de sympathie rattache évidemment Hédi Bouraoui à « cet homme
aux sandales de vent » (Struga 105), qu’il a célébré dans ses poèmes Variation Rimbaldienne et Rimbaud revisité (Struga 103-106).
C’est justement une relecture rimbaldienne, ce que Bouraoui a opéré en
lançant sa devise transpoétique. Le passage du « Je est un autre » de Rimbaud
au « je est nôtre » de Bouraoui n’est pas qu’un simple glissement phonétique,
un jeu littéraire se bornant au niveau linguistique, mais il sous-tend une élaboration supplémentaire. Dans sa lettre à Paul Demeny, Rimbaud écrivait :
Car Je est un autre. Si le cuivre s’éveille clairon, il n’y a rien de sa faute.
Cela m’est évident : j’assiste à l’éclosion de ma pensée : je la regarde, je
l’écoute : je lance un coup d’archet : la symphonie fait son remuement
dans les profondeurs, ou vient d’un bond sur la scène. (p. 202)
Le surgissement de la poésie implique donc une prise de distance : le « Je »,
en tant que sujet poétique, « est un autre ». L’accent n’est pas sur la qualité
identitaire du « Je », mais plutôt sur le dédoublement des sujets. En effet, la
relation établie par la copule souligne la superposition plutôt que l’identification du « Je » et d’« un autre ». Une telle interprétation est suggérée aussi par
les mots de Rimbaud à Georges Izambard :
17
[...] je me suis reconnu poète. Ce n’est pas du tout ma faute. C’est faux
de dire : Je pense : on devrait dire on me pense. – Pardon du jeu de mots.
Je est un autre. (p. 200)
Cette dépersonnalisation du « je » vise donc la négation de l’identité subjective en faveur d’une définition du sujet poétique englobant le même et l’autre,
l’identité et la dissemblance, à l’instar d’« un verbe poétique » que Rimbaud
souhaitait « accessible [...] à tous les sens » (p. 139-140). C’est donc la multiplicité qui se dégage du discours rimbaldien comme le caractère essentiel
et particulier du sujet poétique. Cette multiplicité que Rimbaud partage avec
« un autre », Hédi Bouraoui la ramène tout entière au sujet par sa relecture du
mot rimbaldien : « Pour Rimbaud je est autre » (Transpoétique 42).
Une telle réinterprétation, insistant sur « cette équivalence et fusion
fulgurantes du sujet à son altérité » (Transpoétique 70), acquiert une valeur
essentielle pour la formulation du « je est nôtre ». Dans la devise bouraouienne c’est le caractère pluriel du « je » qui est mis en évidence plutôt que son
caractère autre. Par le biais de cette lecture rimbaldienne, l’altérité est assumée dans sa dimension plurielle : « Je est Nôtre. Donc, l’individu incarne la
pluralité d’autrui dans son contexte socio-culturel » (Transpoétique 65), – ce
qui définit l’identité transculturelle du « sujet éclaté et pluriel conscient à la
fois de sa post-modernité et de sa tradition » (Transpoétique 70).
La valeur de la tradition culturelle est une composante moins évidente,
mais tout aussi fondamentale du cogito bouraouien : « je est nôtre » puisque
l’identité du sujet transculturel, plurielle par définition, ne peut pas se passer de ses racines culturelles, qu’elles plongent dans le sol natal ou dans la
terre d’adoption. La réitération de la première personne dans le passage du
singulier au pluriel souligne que le sujet reconnaît son individualité dans la
pluralité de ses héritages. « Je est nôtre » marque le moment où la superposition de cultures multiples, impliquant différences et divergences, devient
transculture, sublimant la diversité en identité plurielle, pleinement assumée
par le sujet.
Conclusion
Au Canada le multiculturalisme, en tant que caractéristique de la société et
en tant que politique gouvernementale, a constitué le terrain fertile pour le
développement d’une pensée transculturelle. Cependant, par rapport au multiculturel, cette réflexion n’a abouti qu’à l’élaboration d’un modèle utopique
de société, tant chez les fondateurs de Vice Versa, avouant qu’« avoir imaginé
qu’une telle société eût pu prendre forme sur les rives du Saint-Laurent fut
une illusion » (Tassinari 23), que chez Bouraoui, d’après lequel « [...] la
notion de multiculturalisme n’est pas opératoire, car elle ne tient pas compte
du transvasement culturel entre les différentes ethnies. C’est pour cette raison
que nous avons créé la notion de “transculturalisme” [...]. Mais là aussi nous
18
avons à faire à une métaphore mythique idéale qui ne se reflète pas dans la
réalité » (Transpoétique 116).
Ainsi que l’expérience personnelle et littéraire de l’auteur le démontre,
c’est plutôt par rapport aux notions du pluriculturel et de l’interculturel que
le transculturel s’épanouit de façon accomplie. Sur le plan individuel, le
caractère pluriculturel de Bouraoui intègre ses appartenances multiples pour
composer une identité transculturelle unique et plurielle, dont témoigne sa
devise, identitaire et poétique à la fois, « je est nôtre ».
Quant au plan littéraire, si l’on considère l’écriture comme une situation
de communication privilégiée où « la connaissance, la conscience et la compréhension des relations (ressemblances et différences distinctives) entre “le
monde d’où l’on vient” et “le monde de la communauté cible” sont à l’origine
d’une prise de conscience interculturelle » (Conseil de l’Europe 83), l’écriture de Bouraoui transcende le simple échange communicationnel entre des
apports culturels différents pour donner naissance à une forme nouvelle d’expression littéraire transmutant la différence en identité cohérente et unitaire.
Ses oxymorons en donnent une illustration parfaite. Le cogito bouraouien
« je est nôtre » est un exemple accompli du métissage poétique : en se posant à
la croisée de plusieurs univers littéraires, cette devise réalise ce que Bouraoui
appelle l’« écriture interstitielle qui émigre / immigre d’une culture à l’autre.
Sans complexe, sans frontière, sans transition » (Livr’errance 7). Tout en
bouclant les vides entre les différents univers culturels, cette écriture édifie
par son caractère fusionnel de nouvelles entités culturelles et de nouvelles
formes à même de les exprimer.
Bien loin de représenter un simple exemple d’intertextualité, le cogito
bouraouien relèverait plutôt de ce que Clément Moisan et Renate Hildebrand
définissent comme transtextualité. Dans le cadre de l’écriture migrante au
Québec, dont ils traitent dans leur essai Ces étrangers du dedans, « la transtextualité serait le transfert d’une culture littéraire à d’autres et son partage
par des écrivains venus d’ailleurs et ceux d’ici » (p. 268) – ce qui implique le
mouvement en tant que principe fondateur du texte littéraire et entraîne une
définition du transculturel comme « [...] une résultante, car l’état d’équilibre
précédent ne peut jamais, dans tout système littéraire, demeurer très longtemps. La littérature dans son ensemble obéit à une évolution » (p. 207).
Cette définition convient tout à fait au transculturalisme bouraouien en
tant qu’évolution de l’individualité pluriculturelle et de la communication
interculturelle. La notion d’évolution demeure aussi à la base de la perspective anthropologique d’Ortiz, puisque « la transculturation [...] n’est pas un
moment, n’est pas un facteur isolé, mais bien un processus séculaire, constant,
permanent » (Lamore 45). Dans le processus de formation ethnique l’évolution transculturelle revêt un caractère objectif et nécessaire, tandis que dans
19
l’élaboration de Bouraoui elle acquiert une dimension subjective, axée autour
d’une tension volontaire de l’individu. Entièrement joué sur le mode de la
conciliation des contrastes, le transculturalisme bouraouien se révèle une
approche efficace pour l’évolution du conflit engendré par le choc culturel,
tant sur le plan de l’identité individuelle que sur ceux de la communication
interculturelle et de l’expression littéraire.
Au contraire, si l’évolution transculturelle du multiculturalisme est
demeurée à l’état d’utopie, c’est que le transculturalisme échappe à ce que
Tassinari appelle « [...] la dictature du territoire. Le territoire transculturel
embrasse l’ensemble de la terre » (Caccia, Sous le signe 301). La dimension
sociopolitique du multiculturel implique un ancrage incontournable dans
un territoire défini – ce qui pose une contradiction patente avec la dimension transversale de l’espace transculturel. Sa place de choix, ainsi que le
démontre Bouraoui, c’est l’individu, en tant que sujet évolutif et sujet de
communication, à même de tourner ses différentes identités en « identité de
la différence ».
Notes
« Por aculturación se quiere significar el proceso de tránsito de una cultura a otra
y sus repercusiones sociales de todo género. Pero transculturación es vocablo
más apropriado. Hemos escogido el vocablo transculturación para expresar
los variadísimos fenómenos que se originan en Cuba por las complejísimas
transmutaciones de culturas que aquí se verifican, sin conocer las cuales es
imposible entender la evolución del pueblo cubano [...] » (Ortiz 93).
2. Hédi Bouraoui a été parmi les collaborateurs du volume édité en 1992 par J.-M.
Lacroix et F. Caccia, Métamorphoses d’une utopie, où figure son article intitulé
« La troisième solitude ». Cet article a été ensuite repris par l’auteur dans son
recueil d’essais Transpoétique (p. 113-120).
3. Régine Robin a bien remarqué que le projet transculturel, tout en étant politique
dans son essence, ne l’était pas pour autant sur le plan de l’engagement
politique : « il faut croire que les intellectuels du Québec n’étaient pas prêts à
recevoir une pensée qui, prenant en écharpe le nationalisme traditionnel des
intellectuels québécois, allait à l’encontre de leurs visées sans proposer quelque
chose de précis. Nous n’étions pas un groupe politique, notre visée n’avait
jamais été de choisir un camp politique. Notre force à nous était précisément
de changer de terrain, de poser les problèmes autrement » (Robin 77). Pour une
analyse détaillée de l’évolution du projet transculturel de Vice Versa par rapport
au contexte québécois et canadien, cf. Tassinari p. 22-29.
4. « Dans cette quête, notre échec fut très productif. Même si nous n’avons pas été
compris [...], nous avons développé une pensée qui a l’avenir pour elle dans tous
les pays qui sont devenus peu ou prou des pays d’immigration » (Robin 77).
5. Il est opportun de rappeler ici la récurrence du mot utopie dans les titres
des publications des fondateurs de Vice Versa, dont l’ouvrage collectif
Métamorphoses d’une utopie, cité plus haut, et le recueil d’articles de L.
Tassinari, Utopies par le hublot (Montréal: Carte Blanche, 1999).
1.
20
6.
7.
8.
9.
Dans son recueil d’essais publié en 2005, Bouraoui précise que « nous n’avons
jamais lu Fernando Ortiz dont le nom nous a été mentionné en 2005. À sa
lecture, la transcultura est un concept traitant l’anthropologie culturelle,
l’hybridité de l’imposition pré-coloniale [...]. La transculturalité se définit
comme le phénomène du passage d’une culture à l’autre. C’est la passerelle
esthétique et culturelle qui facilite la communication d’une culture à l’autre.
Encore une fois, rien à voir avec la problématique du colonialisme chez
Fernando Ortiz » (Transpoétique 10-11).
Émigressence est le titre d’un des recueils poétiques de Bouraoui (Ottawa:
Vermillon, 1992). C’est un mot-clé de la poétique bouraouienne qui pose
l’essence de l’émigration en principe fondamental de création formelle et en
thème majeur de l’œuvre.
Hédi Bouraoui a introduit ce néologisme dans son essai de civilisation
comparée française et américaine, Créaculture I et II (Philadelphia/Montréal:
CCD/Didier Canada, 1971).
Pour un approfondissement de ces thématiques, cf. Fernand Braudel, La
Méditerranée. L’espace et l’histoire. Paris: Flammarion, 1985.
Bibliographie
Bernaus, Mercè, Ana Isabel Andrade, Martine Kervran, Anna Murkowska et
Fernando Trujillo Sáez. La dimension plurilingue et pluriculturelle dans la
formation des enseignants de langues. Strasbourg : Conseil de l’Europe, 2007.
Bouraoui, Hédi. Vers et l’Envers. Toronto : ECW Press, 1982.
« La troisième solitude. » Métamorphoses d’une utopie. Éd. Jean-Michel Lacroix
et Fulvio Caccia. Paris-Montréal : Presses de la Sorbonne Nouvelle/Éditions
Triptyque, 1992. p.175-183.
« Pertinence esthétique et éthique dans l’ensemble du champ poétique? » Carrefour
de cultures. Mélanges offerts à Jacqueline Leiner. Éd. Régis Antoine. Tübingen :
Gunter Narr Verlag, 1993. 49-56.
Bangkok blues. Ottawa : Vermillon, 1994.
La Francophonie à l’estomac. Paris : Nouvelles du Sud, 1995.
—— « Le mythe de l’orignalitude dans la praxis réelle d’une francophonie
excentrée. » Francophonies d’Amérique. 10 (2000). 79-86.
—— « Binarité infernale et transculturalisme. » Troisième Civilisation. 507 (2003). s. p.
—— Struga suivi de Margelle d’un festival. Montréal : Mémoire d’encrier, 2003.
Livr’errance. Mareuil sur Ourcq (France) : Éditions D’Ici et D’Ailleurs, 2005.
—— Transpoétique. Éloge du nomadisme. Montréal : Mémoire d’encrier, 2005.
Caccia, Fulvio. Sous le signe du Phénix. Montréal : Guernica, 1985.
« Vice Versa, le Québec et le projet d’une république transculturelle. » Le projet
transculturel de Vice Versa. Actes du Séminaire international du CISQ, Rome,
25 novembre 2005. Éd. Anna Paola Mossetto. Bologna : Pendragon, 2006. 31-41.
Chamberland, François-Xavier. « Hédi Bouraoui. » L’Ontario se raconte. De A à X.
Entrevues radiophoniques. Toronto : Éditions du Gref, 1999. 183-188.
Conseil de l’Europe. Cadre européen commun de référence pour les langues.
Strasbourg-Paris : Conseil de l’Europe/Éditions Didier, 2001.
Dotoli, Giovanni. « Entretien avec Hédi Bouraoui. » Culture et littérature canadiennes
de langue française. Éd. Giovanni Dotoli. Fasano (Italie) : Schena, 2003. 49-64.
21
Falcicchio, Adriana. « Entretien avec Hédi Bouraoui. » Rivista di Studi Canadesi. 17
(2004) : 117-137.
Grand Robert de la langue française. Éd. Alain Rey. Paris : Le Robert, 2011.
Lamore, Jean. « Transculturation : Naissance d’un mot. » Métamorphoses d’une
utopie. Éd. Jean-Michel Lacroix et Fulvio Caccia. Paris-Montréal : Presses de
la Sorbonne Nouvelle/Éditions Triptyque, 1992. 43-48.
Lacroix, Jean-Michel, Caccia, Fulvio, Éd. Métamorphoses d’une utopie. ParisMontréal : Presses de la Sorbonne Nouvelle/Éditions Triptyque, 1992.
Moisan, Clément, Hildebrand, Renate. Ces étrangers du dedans. Une histoire de
l’écriture migrante au Québec (1937-1997). Québec : Éditions Nota bene, 2001.
Ortiz, Fernando. Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar. Caracas : Biblioteca
Ayacucho, 1978 [1940].
Petit Larousse. Éd. Philippe Merlet et Anémone Berès. Paris : Éditions Larousse, 2003.
Petit Larousse en ligne. Éd. Isabelle Jeuge-Maynart. www.larousse.fr. Paris :
Éditions Larousse, 2009.
Rimbaud, Arthur. Poésies. Une saison en enfer. Illuminations. Éd. Louis Forestier.
Paris : Gallimard, 1984.
Robin, Régine. « Vice Versa, un échec productif. » Le projet transculturel de Vice
Versa. Actes du Séminaire international du CISQ, Rome, 25 novembre 2005.
Éd. Anna Paola Mossetto. Bologna : Pendragon, 2006. 67-80.
Tassinari, Lamberto. « Sens de la transculture. » Le projet transculturel de Vice
Versa. Actes du Séminaire international du CISQ, Rome, 25 novembre 2005.
Éd. Anna Paola Mossetto. Bologna : Pendragon, 2006. 17-29.
22
Muriel Sacco
Une politique de la ville
« à la française » à Montréal?
Résumé
La circulation des idées et l’augmentation des espaces de rencontre entre les
acteurs de l’action publique, induites par la mondialisation et la supranationalisation, incitent à entrevoir le spectre d’une homogénéisation des recettes
de politique publique malgré la très grande diversité et la complexification
des systèmes institutionnels. Selon de nombreux témoignages, les politiques
publiques de lutte contre la ségrégation sociospatiale introduites à Montréal
en 1999 auraient beaucoup emprunté à la politique de la ville française. Cet
article vise à déterminer l’ampleur de cet emprunt et des convergences de ces
politiques publiques avec la politique de la ville française à travers l’analyse
du processus qui a guidé ce transfert. Loin de souscrire à une uniformisation
de l’action publique, l’adoption et la gestion de ces politiques publiques, ainsi
que l’élaboration du programme local d’action de Parc-Extension, montrent
l’articulation entre le contexte politique et institutionnel montréalais et cet
élément exogène dans la fabrique de ces politiques publiques.
Abstract
Globalization, through the circulation of ideas and increased meeting spaces
between individuals, prompts a homogenization of formulas for public action,
despite the great diversity of institutional systems. According to numerous
accounts, public policies introduced in Montréal in 1999 that were aimed
at fighting socio-spatial segregation borrowed largely from the policy of the
French city. This article aims to analyze the process that guided this transfer
and the convergence of these public policies with the French model of city
policy. Far from subscribing to the uniformization of public action, the goal
is to grasp the articulation between Montréal’s political and institutional
context and the exogenous element in the making of these public policies.
Drawing attention to the implementation of these policies in Parc-Extension
will help us understand the potential role of local actors in the transfer of
foreign public policy models.
Introduction
À la fin des années 1990, les questions de la dégradation et de la paupérisation
des quartiers péricentraux sont apparues dans les préoccupations politiques
montréalaises. Cette tendance se retrouvait dans d’autres pays occidentaux
dès la fin des années 1980. Les transformations du système économique
international ont fragilisé la cohésion sociale urbaine. C’est pourquoi de
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
nombreux pays occidentaux ont adopté des politiques de lutte contre la ségrégation sociospatiale. En Grande-Bretagne, on retrouve Equal Opportunity
Policies et Urban Regeneration Policies dans le cadre du programme Action
for Cities, l’Allemagne adopte Soziale Stadt, la France crée la politique de
la ville, la Commission européenne met en place les programmes Urban et
Objectif 2, etc. Outre l’attention nouvelle pour les quartiers défavorisés, ces
politiques publiques instituent de nouveaux modes d’intervention publique
en introduisant notamment le ciblage territorial et l’approche intégrée.
En 1999, Montréal obtient du gouvernement québécois la mise en œuvre
de politiques de lutte contre la ségrégation sociospatiale, les Quartiers sensibles et les Quartiers ciblés. Selon les témoignages, ces politiques ont été
influencées par la politique de la ville française. Plusieurs traces montrent
cette influence, notamment à travers les multiples missions d’études réalisées
en France ou les intitulés des politiques. Or, en dépit de la proximité linguistique, les contextes politiques et institutionnels français et québécois sont
à priori très différents. Alors que la structure institutionnelle française est
décentralisée; au Canada, les villes relèvent de la compétence provinciale et
ont une faible autonomie. En outre, Montréal présente une structure spatiale
assez différente de celles des villes françaises. En effet, les quartiers défavorisés montréalais jouxtent le centre-ville, tandis que les quartiers défavorisés
français se situent principalement en périphérie. Dès lors, il semble important
de comprendre comment le contexte montréalais et la politique de la ville
française ont façonné ces nouvelles politiques de lutte contre la ségrégation
sociospatiale mises en œuvre à Montréal. Cette question permet de déterminer la place de la dimension exogène de la fabrique des politiques publiques.
Cette analyse du processus de transfert repère l’émergence du problème des
quartiers défavorisés à Montréal, la traduction réglementaire et la gestion
au niveau de la Ville de Montréal des politiques publiques adoptées, ainsi
qu’une étude de cas permettant de comprendre comment les projets locaux
ont été élaborés. Les données utilisées sont des entretiens semi-directifs avec
les principaux acteurs de ces politiques publiques à Montréal, dans le cadre
d’une enquête empirique de nature qualitative et inductive, et de façon secondaire1, une recherche documentaire. Nous défendrons l’hypothèse d’une articulation entre le contexte préexistant et les principes de la politique française
de la ville.
Dans une première partie, nous examinerons les différents types de
transferts de politiques publiques, ainsi que les effets de ces imports. Ensuite,
nous dresserons un bref portrait de la politique de la ville française. Dans une
troisième partie, nous analyserons le contexte du transfert de la politique de
la ville à Montréal et les convergences qui en découlent. Enfin, étant donné
les spécificités de ces politiques publiques, nous évoquerons une étude de cas
centrée sur le quartier de Parc-Extension.
24
Une politique de la ville « à la française » à Montréal?
De la circulation des modèles de politiques publiques
En science politique et, plus particulièrement, dans l’analyse des politiques
publiques, le rayonnement politique français renvoie de façon plus générale
aux questions de la diffusion, du transfert et de la convergence des modèles
de politiques publiques. Avant d’envisager la profondeur de l’influence du
modèle français dans les politiques montréalaises, il convient de s’attarder
sur le traitement scientifique de la circulation des idées et des recettes de
politiques publiques, ainsi que sur les transformations de l’action publique
qui en résultent.
Circulation des modèles de politiques publiques, transfert et convergence
La comparaison est une méthode scientifique, mais également une pratique
politique. « La comparaison est en vogue et alimente de plus en plus fortement la décision publique » (Hassenteufel 113). La comparaison, la référence
et l’analyse d’expériences étrangères fructueuses ou innovantes sont des pratiques politiques courantes. Selon Bennet (215), les États ont naturellement
tendance à regarder ailleurs pour voir comment d’autres ont répondu à des
pressions similaires, à partager des idées, à importer des éléments étrangers
et à les adapter. La circulation du modèle de la démocratie et de régime parlementaire illustre la longue histoire du phénomène (Mény 9). Loin d’être nées
avec la mondialisation ou la supranationalisation, ces différentes pratiques
d’emprunt et d’import d’un modèle étranger de politique publique correspondent à des transferts. « Sont rassemblés, sous l’expression transfert, les
processus de développement au sein de systèmes politiques et/ou sociaux
existants, de programmes d’action, de politiques ou encore d’institutions
dont les cadres d’action relèvent d’idées ou proviennent d’institutions ou de
programmes d’action de systèmes politiques ou sociaux autres (en général
étrangers) » (Russeil 444).
De façon plus générale, les phénomènes de circulation, d’accélération de
la diffusion et de transfert des pratiques, des idées et des modèles politiques
publiques favorisés par l’inflation des espaces de rencontre à l’échelle internationale et la constitution de réseaux d’acteurs transnationaux suscitent un
grand intérêt, du fait qu’ils seraient les révélateurs de l’influence de la mondialisation sur les politiques publiques nationales et de l’homogénéisation et
de la standardisation de l’action publique. C’est pourquoi ils réactualisent
ainsi la question de la convergence de l’action publique (Knill 765), entendue
comme « the tendency of societies to grow more alike, to develop similarities
in structures, processes and performances » (Kerr, cité par Bennett 215). La
convergence signifie le passage de positions différentes vers un point commun au cours du temps (Bennet 219). Ces convergences ne supposent pas
forcément l’existence d’un transfert (Knill 765). Certains considèrent que
la convergence peut résulter de réponses intérieures similaires, mais indépendantes à des problèmes similaires (Busch et Jorgens 862). De même, le
25
transfert ne mène pas nécessairement à la convergence. Ainsi, le transfert
est un processus, alors que la convergence est l’un des effets possibles du
transfert (Knill 766).
Les causes du recours au transfert de politique publique sont assez
diverses. Certains tels que Dolowitz et Marsh (11) placent la source des
transferts dans les transformations économiques et politiques du contexte
international dans le sillage de la mondialisation et dans l’interdépendance
accrue des entités politiques qui en résulte. Ces transformations ont engendré
des mouvements de recomposition politique sur la scène internationale, qui
conduisent soit à une supranationalisation des institutions et à la multiplication des institutions internationales (ONU, Union européenne, Banque mondiale, Fonds Monétaire International…) participant à la construction d’un
cadre réglementaire à l’échelle internationale, soit à une concurrence accrue
entre les entités politiques (État, région, ville, administration) impliquant
de mettre en œuvre des mesures perçues comme étant les plus avancées ou
les plus valorisées et promues, notamment à travers des stratégies de benchmarking et de promotion des best practices. Ainsi, Delpeuch (13) constate
que certains transferts sont essentiellement motivés par la volonté de ne pas
apparaître comme retardataire. D’autres, en revanche, associent ces transferts
à des causes internes, telles que l’inefficacité des politiques en vigueur (Rose
5), l’insatisfaction engendrée par des protestations des usagers ou les effets
pervers produits, l’émergence ou la croissance d’une expertise, la tentative
de dissimulation du caractère arbitraire, contingent, partisan ou injuste de
certains choix (Delpeuch 14) ou encore la nécessité, dans la compétition électorale, de se démarquer par rapport aux autres partis politiques ou aux autres
candidats (Maillard et Le Goff 665-66). Tant dans sa version fonctionnaliste
et adaptative de lesson drawing2 (Rose 17) que dans une optique plus stratégique, le transfert est associé à un besoin de donner des garanties – que ce soit
sur la scène politique nationale et interne, ou internationale –, en recourant à
des solutions déjà éprouvées et dont le succès serait de ce fait implicitement
assuré. Ces différentes causes justifiant le recours au transfert ne sont pas
exclusives : elles réfèrent aux différents contextes dans lesquels des transferts sont effectués. Chacune à leur manière, elles façonnent le transfert parce
qu’elles impliquent une autonomie assez différente des individus et des institutions engagés dans ces processus. Ainsi, elles exercent une influence sur le
caractère volontaire ou non du transfert. Dolowitz et Marsh (11) déterminent
un continuum allant du transfert coercitif au transfert volontaire. Ils distinguent donc les processus verticaux d’imposition et de conditionnalité des
processus horizontaux d’imitation, d’émulation et de convergence culturelle.
À côté du degré d’autonomie des acteurs, ces causes déterminent également le degré de connaissance du modèle importé. Les organisations ont
tendance à imiter ce qui est perçu comme une bonne pratique, même si elles
n’ont qu’une image mythifiée et une compréhension très superficielle de la
26
pratique prise pour modèle (Delpeuch 13). En d’autres termes, il y a souvent un écart entre le modèle de politique publique observé et ce qui est
effectivement transféré, qui provient du degré de connaissance du modèle
importé (Maillard et Le Goff 669). Lorsque le transfert répond à des exigences de conformité aux principes socialement valorisés ou affublés d’un prestige élevé, et qu’il revêt un aspect essentiellement formel et symbolique, le
transfert consiste essentiellement en une reprise des slogans et des leitmotivs
liés au modèle importé (Maillard et Le Goff 677), et produit principalement
des changements d’ordre discursif. L’utilité de ce type de transferts réside
généralement dans les coûts, parfois élevés, de la non-conformité aux normes collectives dominantes et légitimes, et conduit certains gouvernements
à adopter certaines normes en dépit de leur inapplicabilité, de leur inutilité
ou des résistances qu’elles produisent. C’est pourquoi le transfert est opéré
de manière purement rituelle et cérémonielle. D’une part, ces cas de figure
montrent que le degré d’autonomie des acteurs et le degré de connaissance
du modèle transféré sont étroitement liés entre eux et dépendent du contexte
dans lequel le transfert s’effectue. D’autre part, ils montrent que l’écart entre
le modèle de politique publique importé et le contenu du transfert dépend
assez étroitement du degré d’autonomie des acteurs opérant le transfert et de
leurs connaissances du modèle initial.
Pour saisir cet écart et ces différences par rapport au modèle initial,
certains auteurs (Bennett 220-227; Dolowitz et Marsh 13; Rose 81-82) ont
distingué le contenu des transferts en fonction de leur degré de similarité avec
le modèle initial. Selon Marsh et Dolowitz (13), il y a 4 degrés de transfert :
1) le copiage, qui consiste en un transfert direct et complet, 2) l’émulation,
qui est le transfert d’idées derrière un programme ou une politique, 3) la
combinaison, qui implique un mélange de plusieurs politiques publiques, et
4) l’inspiration, qui produit un changement politique sans pourtant que le
contenu et les effets de ce changement soient tirés de l’original. Ces typologies aident à comprendre les raisons pour lesquelles le transfert ne mène
pas de façon automatique à la convergence, en mettant en lumière les degrés
de transfert et donc le caractère partiel de la convergence. Ce survol de
l’essence du transfert et de ses causes nous laisse entrevoir l’autonomie des
acteurs qui le réalisent et nous mène à considérer son rôle dans la fabrique des
politiques publiques.
Du transfert à la réappropriation locale du modèle importé
Depuis plusieurs années, la littérature sur les transferts s’oriente vers leur
appréhension en tant qu’innovations et décisions politiques parmi d’autres
(Maillard et Le Goff; Delpeuch 59; Hassenteufel; Stone; Hassenteufel et
Palier 19). En conséquence, les transferts font l’objet de processus de traduction, de réappropriation et d’hybridation qui entravent la production de
convergence et qui témoignent également de l’existence de prismes politi-
27
ques, institutionnels ou encore cognitifs (Maillard et Le Goff 677). Ainsi, il y
a un intérêt de plus en plus marqué, tant dans les recherches sur les transferts
que sur la convergence, pour l’explicitation des processus par lesquels les
modèles et les modes opératoires venus d’ailleurs sont réappropriés nationalement ou plus localement, et par lesquels les convergences sont produites
ou non. Cette direction revient à prendre en compte le contexte dans lequel
le transfert vient s’insérer. Selon Radaelli (930), le contexte politique compte
dans les processus de diffusion et de transfert parce que les autres conditions
ne sont pas égales. Les institutions jouent un rôle au regard de la façon dont
le transfert est ancré dans le policy process. Si le contexte dans lequel le
transfert s’insère compte, il peut entraîner tant des ruptures que la persistance
de styles de politique publique. La prise en compte du contexte initial ne
génère pas forcément l’hypothèse d’un déterminisme institutionnel. Comme
le rappelle Pierson (252) : « Previous events in a sequence influence outcomes and trajectories but not necessarily inducing further movement in the
same direction. Indeed, the path may matter precisely because it tends to
provoke a reaction in some other direction ».
Outre l’attention au contexte initial pour comprendre les degrés de
transfert et de convergence, notre article s’attache également à montrer l’importance des acteurs de la phase dite d’implémentation. Plus précisément,
il s’agit de considérer les acteurs de la mise en œuvre quotidienne de ces
politiques publiques comme faisant partie des acteurs effectuant le transfert,
et de prendre en compte des réalités microsociologiques. En effet, l’implémentation des politiques publiques fait partie intégrante de la définition d’une
politique; elle est également porteuse de sens (Lima 435). Cette facette de
la production des politiques publiques révèle souvent des phénomènes de
résistance, des effets pervers ou encore des glissements de sens par rapport au
cadre initial qui modifient chacun à leur façon la portée d’une politique publique (Hassenteufel 89). La trajectoire (personnelle, éducationnelle, militante
ou encore professionnelle) et son corollaire, les compétences de ces acteurs
mobilisés, influencent le contenu des politiques et des transferts. Les acteurs
impliqués dans la définition des projets locaux ne sont pas de simples exécutants du cadre normatif, mais ils donnent un sens ou une interprétation, et
sont susceptibles par ce biais de façonner les objectifs initiaux de la politique.
La politique de la ville française
Depuis sa création à la fin des années 1970, la politique de la ville française a
subi des transformations. Elle a débuté avec Habitat et vie sociale (HVS) en
1977. Ce dispositif comportait essentiellement une action sur l’urbain pour
rendre les quartiers d’habitats sociaux à nouveau attractifs aux yeux des classes moyennes qui les avaient quittés. Mais c’est surtout dans les années 1980,
même si elle n’en prend pas formellement le nom à cette époque (Maillard
12), que la politique de la ville française prend son envol. À la suite des
28
émeutes de 1981 aux Minguettes, à Vénissieux et à Vaulx-en-Velin, la gauche
à peine arrivée au gouvernement introduisait le Développement social des
quartiers (DSQ).
Le DSQ et les transformations de l’action publique française
Le DSQ amorçait deux grandes transformations dans l’action publique :
la territorialisation et l’approche intégrée. La territorialisation de l’action
publique, à son tour, impliquait plusieurs transformations. Premièrement,
elle traduisait l’incapacité des politiques sociales à faire face aux problèmes
d’exclusion et de ségrégation urbaine. Ce changement dans les formes d’intervention publique recelait des implications majeures sur le sens de l’action
publique. En renforçant les moyens attribués aux quartiers défavorisés, cette
politique ambitionnait de s’attaquer à la concentration de la pauvreté. Cette
concentration n’étant pas neuve, cette politique publique mettait ainsi en
forme de nouvelles interprétations des causes et effets de la concentration
de la pauvreté (Tissot 10-11). Le DSQ opérait déjà un ciblage de populations
spécifiques, les « vrais désavantagés», par delà les logiques catégorielles
(Avenel 99). Deuxièmement, le quartier était non seulement la cible de ces
politiques, mais devenait aussi un acteur clé. De ce fait, la territorialisation
constituait une décentralisation de l’action publique en raison de la contestation grandissante de l’État planificateur. Le DSQ visait le développement
local endogène en valorisant l’initiative des élus, des associations et des
habitants. Il subordonnait l’attribution d’une aide financière à la constitution
d’une mobilisation et à la définition d’un programme d’action à l’échelle du
quartier, dans le sens d’une logique ascendante et de développement communautaire assez proche de l’empowerment (Donzelot et al. 108). Le DSQ était
donc une politique processuelle, c’est-à-dire une politique définissant « des
cadres d’interprétation des problèmes, des ensembles de ressources et procédures pour y répondre, plus qu’elle ne définit a priori les objectifs et les rôles
respectifs des acteurs mobilisés » (Maillard 14). Comme l’ouvrage de Donzelot et Estèbe le suggérait, le DSQ marquait le passage de l’État commandeur
à l’État animateur. Par le biais de cette coproduction et cette négociation de
l’action publique par l’État et le quartier, il s’agissait d’améliorer l’efficacité
de l’action publique et la prise en compte des spécificités des territoires, en
diversifiant les types d’expertise et en incluant une expertise provenant du
vécu quotidien des résidents.
Sur le plan du contenu, l’approche intégrée permettait d’allier des interventions ciblant les gens et les lieux – les logiques people et place dans le
langage de Donzelot (et al. 102-103) –, le social et l’urbain. Cette approche
visait à toucher les multiples causes et effets de la concentration de la pauvreté et de l’exclusion sociale et à susciter la mobilisation et le sentiment
d’appartenance des habitants de ces quartiers en les faisant participer aux
transformations physiques de leur quartier. Malgré cette nouvelle approche
29
de la pauvreté à la fois en termes de contenu et d’ingénierie institutionnelle,
de nouvelles émeutes ont éclaté au début des années 1990, invitant à revoir
quelques-uns des fondements du DSQ.
Institutionnalisation et évolutions successives de la politique de la ville
De 1988 à nos jours, la politique de la ville a été réformée à de multiples
reprises. Les changements de majorité politique d’envergure ont engendré
une redéfinition des moyens et des objectifs de cette politique publique (Estèbe 47), la droite mettant plus l’accent sur la répression et le développement
économique et la gauche sur le développement d’actions de proximité (Tissot 7;
Blanc 77). Malgré les multiples réformes de la politique de la ville depuis
sa phase expérimentale, des tendances se dégagent sur le long terme. Cette
politique, essentiellement symbolique, a connu de nombreuses transformations, attestant de la grande politisation dont elle a fait l’objet. D’abord, son
caractère descendant, ou top down, s’est imposé au détriment de la démarche
ascendante originale, par une codification et une contractualisation de plus en
plus précises des projets attendus – qui nuiront à la spontanéité des mobilisations locale. Ensuite, l’orientation place a gagné du terrain au détriment de
l’orientation people (Donzelot et al. 103) en accordant une importance accrue
à la réhabilitation de l’environnement physique et aux investissements dans
les infrastructures. Enfin, le ciblage des lieux a mené à l’élargissement des
limites spatiales de l’intervention sur les zones urbaines sensibles, au point
de les faire coïncider avec la ville tout entière (Donzelot et al. 141). Ces
bouleversements dans les échelles d’action participent d’une relecture de ces
territoires et de leurs significations dans laquelle les quartiers ne sont plus
porteurs d’un certain renouveau, mais symptômes de la nouvelle question
sociale engendrée par les mutations économiques (Estèbe 51). Ainsi se sont
progressivement imposés des impératifs de mixité sociale (Tissot 44) et d’un
urbanisme sécuritaire et affinitaire. « Par la logique de discrimination positive
territoriale, on aide plus les lieux que les gens, parce que les lieux souffrent
d’une dépréciation consécutive à la concentration de pauvres et d’immigrés
qui entraîne une perte d’efficacité des services et une fuite des rares emplois. »
(Donzelot et al. 128). Il s’agissait de plus en plus d’enrayer les défectuosités
du territoire.
La suite de cet article sera consacrée au processus d’importation de
ce style français à Montréal et à la détermination du contenu du transfert
effectué et des convergences existant entre la politique de la ville française
et les politiques implémentées à Montréal. Comme le montre le cas de ParcExtension, les acteurs locaux participent également au transfert.
La lutte contre la ségrégation sociospatiale à Montréal
La création et l’implémentation des programmes pilotes Quartiers sensibles
et Quartiers ciblés se sont accompagnées de missions d’études en France afin
30
de prendre connaissance de la politique de la ville. Le transfert de ce mode
d’intervention publique à Montréal s’apparente au processus d’émulation mis
en lumière par Dolowitz et Marsh.
Histoire et formes d’un transfert
Le projet « Triangle Montréal-Lyon-Santiago » relatif aux échanges de
pratiques et d’expériences sur le développement économique local entre ces
trois villes a été à l’origine du développement des relations privilégiées entre
Montréal et Lyon sur les matières sociales et urbaines. À partir de 1994, les
partenaires de ce triangle ont organisé des visites annuelles. Au départ, pour
Montréal, le but était de promouvoir l’expérience des Corporations de développement économique communautaire (CDEC) dans le domaine de l’employabilité des personnes très défavorisées. Par la suite, nous nous centrerons
essentiellement sur l’examen de l’apport français. D’une part, nos différentes
sources évoquent peu l’apport des visites et expériences menées à Santiago.
D’autre part, parallèlement à ces missions, les programmes de soutien aux
relations bilatérales entre la France et le Québec, et les Entretiens Jacques
Cartier ont surtout permis la consolidation des relations entre Montréal et
Lyon, en débordant du cadre strict du développement économique local.
La chef de file de la mission d’études montréalaise s’est intéressée au
cadre plus large dans lequel s’inscrivait le développement économique local
en France, c’est-à-dire la politique de la ville. Seuls certains éléments de cette
politique ont marqué cette « passeuse »3, elle s’intéressait moins aux instruments tels que la contractualisation ou l’homogénéisation des projets locaux
ou de projets précis. Elle s’intéressait surtout aux grands principes. Elle était
convaincue par l’approche intégrée, qui permettait un traitement nouveau
de la pauvreté en considérant celle-ci dans toute sa complexité. À l’époque,
cette approche était novatrice, car les cadres institutionnels (essentiellement
municipal et provincial) en vigueur à Montréal empêchaient les coordinations intersectorielles. Les politiques et programmes étaient donc menés « en
silos » à Montréal. Elle appréciait également la relation plus directe entre les
élus locaux et les habitants instaurée par la politique de la ville, car la relation
entre les élus et les résidents en vigueur à Montréal était médiatisée par les
groupes communautaires. Le ciblage des quartiers pauvres, ainsi que le travail sur la proximité et le quotidien par des actions d’entretien et d’animation
avaient également retenu son attention. Ainsi, les différentes missions d’études ont permis à cette intermédiaire d’élargir les horizons possibles du registre d’intervention publique. Dès le départ, il n’était pas question de copier en
tous points l’expérience lyonnaise, mais seulement d’en reprendre certains
éléments, d’autant plus que la ségrégation sociospatiale se posait différemment dans les deux villes. D’une part, elle n’était pas aussi inquiétante et
troublante à Montréal qu’à Lyon ou dans d’autres villes françaises, Montréal
n’ayant pas connu à cette date d’émeutes dans ces quartiers. D’autre part, les
31
quartiers défavorisés de Montréal jouxtaient le centre-ville, et concernaient
des quartiers composés d’édifices relativement modestes du point de vue de
leur taille (deux ou trois étages), alors qu’en France, et à Lyon en particulier, il
s’agissait plutôt d’une problématique concernant les grands ensembles HLM
localisés en périphérie des grandes villes. Ainsi, le diagnostic montréalais
n’était pas tout à fait similaire à celui posé en France. Le transfert se heurtait
donc aux différences de contexte institutionnel, politique, spatial et social.
Cet engouement pour la politique française de la ville a mis un certain
temps à se concrétiser. Un intervalle, estimé à trois ans, a été nécessaire pour
coucher sur papier les différentes leçons tirées de cette politique française
et les adapter au contexte montréalais. Avant d’aboutir dans le programme
politique du maire de Montréal, Pierre Bourque, cette proposition d’intervention intitulée « Quartiers sensibles » – du nom des quartiers ciblés par la
politique de la ville française – avait fait l’objet de diverses conversations
entre le maire et cette intermédiaire, lors d’événements sur le développement
économique local à Montréal, et d’une validation de sa pertinence par le
maire au cours d’une mission d’études en France. L’inscription à l’agenda
de cette proposition de politique publique fut publicisée lors du début de la
campagne électorale municipale. Le maire sortant de la Ville de Montréal,
considéré comme très populiste, aimait beaucoup les contacts avec les résidents. Il a ainsi séjourné pendant une fin de semaine chez une famille de
Côte-des-neiges, un des quartiers pauvres de Montréal. Effectué sous les
feux des projecteurs médiatiques, ce séjour lui permit d’axer sa campagne
électorale sur les thèmes de la lutte contre la pauvreté et de la nécessité d’une
intervention spécifique dans les quartiers défavorisés de Montréal. Le ciblage
territorial sur les quartiers défavorisés se justifiait du fait du long désinvestissement des services municipaux en matière de services et d’équipements
collectifs dans ces quartiers et du retour de la croissance économique. Sans la
mentionner explicitement4, la référence aux principes guidant la politique de
la ville française a servi de ressource politique pour se distinguer des autres
candidats ayant pris part à la compétition électorale et introduire une nouvelle
priorité aux projets politiques urbains montréalais.
Fort de sa réélection de 1998 et sur les conseils de la promotrice de cette
proposition, Pierre Bourque interpela en 1999 le premier ministre, Lucien
Bouchard, du gouvernement provincial mené par le Parti Québécois (PQ),
sur la question des quartiers défavorisés et sur le fait qu’à cet égard, Montréal présentait des spécificités par rapport aux autres villes québécoises en
raison de son statut de grande métropole. Ainsi, en tant que principal centre
économique québécois, la désindustrialisation et la suburbanisation des classes moyennes avaient conduit à une plus forte concentration des personnes
défavorisées sur son territoire. En outre, Montréal attirait la majorité des
nouveaux migrants arrivant au Québec. En effet, les nouveaux immigrants,
qui se concentraient depuis longtemps dans les quartiers centraux, étaient
32
discriminés sur le marché de l’emploi et, de ce fait, connaissaient une plus
grande pauvreté. Ici, la référence à la politique française a visiblement facilité
l’adhésion et l’intérêt porté par le gouvernement provincial à ce nouveau programme d’intervention publique. Dépassant la simple rhétorique politique,
cette référence à une politique existante et ayant fait ses preuves constituait
une ressource pour plaider l’intérêt de ce type d’intervention publique et écartait certains doutes sur la validité de l’approche proposée. Cette interpellation
aboutit à la conclusion d’une entente-cadre entre le gouvernement provincial
et la Ville de Montréal, intitulée « Partenaires dans le développement de la
ville de Montréal. Concernant l’établissement d’un partenariat pour la mise
en œuvre d’initiatives stratégiques à l’occasion d’un plan d’action conjoint »
de 1999.
S’il ne s’achève pas ici, le processus de transfert montre que la politique
n’est importée que partiellement, dans ces grands principes, en fonction des
réalités et des contraintes montréalaises. Cette émulation a nécessité une
certaine configuration, vu son inscription dans la campagne électorale et une
volonté politique certaine. Il n’est pas certain que cet import aurait pris cette
forme précise en d’autres circonstances.
La traduction réglementaire du transfert
L’entente visait notamment à articuler les interventions des parties autour de
trois axes de développement : économique et urbain, social et culturel afin
d’assurer la cohérence de la combinaison des initiatives ayant un effet intégrateur et présentant des effets structurants et des retombées, nécessitant le
recours à un large éventail de leviers, ayant des impacts positifs sur les recettes de la ville et ne nécessitant pas de nouveaux programmes permanents.
Cette entente prévoyait la conclusion de protocoles particuliers à chacun des
axes et la mise en place d’un comité de suivi du plan d’action conjoint. En
matière de développement social, elle prévoyait notamment de soutenir des «
quartiers particulièrement sensibles » et reconnaissait donc le principe d’une
géographie prioritaire. Elle assignait également la responsabilité de ce protocole au ministre de la Solidarité sociale, en collaboration avec la ministre
d’État aux Affaires municipales et à la Métropole. Elle suggérait ainsi une
plus grande collaboration entre les deux ministères. En matière de développement urbain, l’entente fixait les grandes orientations des interventions dans
ces quartiers défavorisés. Ces deux programmes avaient la particularité d’être
financés par deux ministères différents et régis par des protocoles d’entente
différents. Les Quartiers ciblés étaient financés par le ministère des Affaires
municipales et de la Métropole (MAMM)5 et les Quartiers sensibles par le
ministère de la Solidarité sociale (MSS). En raison de son incompatibilité
avec la logique sectorielle des administrations provinciale et municipale,
l’idée de gérer de façon conjointe des actions sur le bâti et en direction des
personnes résidant dans ces quartiers défavorisés n’était pas clairement
33
énoncée. Le cadre réglementaire était donc adapté aux réalités et contraintes
institutionnelles québécoises.
Les quartiers avaient été sélectionnés grâce à la combinaison de données portant notamment sur la dégradation du bâti et des logements, le taux
d’occupation des logements, le taux de chômage provenant du recensement
de 1996, d’études similaires conduites par le Conseil scolaire de l’île de Montréal, de l’Agence régionale de la santé et des services sociaux, ainsi que de
l’INRS-Habitation, et visées dans le cadre des Quartiers ciblés et sensibles.
L’évaluation6 de ces politiques suggère qu’ils ont été nommés une fois les
actions réalisées, donc a posteriori.
En outre, les objectifs et les publics cibles de ces politiques étaient très
larges. Les orientations définies octroyaient une large autonomie aux agents
chargés de leur mise en œuvre. Cette imprécision a permis non seulement de
consulter les acteurs du milieu et les conseillers des districts concernés, ainsi
que les priorités du maire, mais aussi d’identifier les priorités et de proposer
les moyens d’intervention les plus appropriés aux besoins de ces quartiers.
Comme la politique de la ville française à ses débuts, les projets pilotes appliqués à Montréal étaient processuels (Maillard). C’est pourquoi il convient de
s’intéresser à la gestion concrète de ces deux programmes à l’échelle de la
ville pour déterminer dans quelle mesure l’approche intégrée tant valorisée
par notre passeuse a été effective.
De l’approche intégrée à Montréal
Au-delà de la mise en scène entourant leur entrée dans l’agenda politique et
l’adoption de ces programmes qui visaient tant à démontrer le volontarisme
politique du maire que la création d’un terrain plus favorable à l’octroi d’un
financement par Québec, ces nouveaux programmes engageaient un tournant
dans les modes d’intervention montréalais. Ce virage divergeait sur plusieurs
points au regard de celui engagé par la politique de la ville en France.
D’abord, à l’échelle de la Ville de Montréal, le mode de gestion de ces
politiques avait beaucoup contribué à leur politisation. Les deux programmes
étaient gérés par un des comités7 du maire dédié aux Quartiers sensibles et
aux Quartiers ciblés. Ce comité était composé de quelques fonctionnaires de
la Ville de Montréal, détachés de leur service respectif. Ces fonctionnaires
agissaient à titre de chargés de projets et supervisaient l’élaboration des programmes d’action dans les zones sélectionnées. Initié en 1999 et placé sous
la direction directe du maire de Montréal, ce comité représentait à la fois une
façon de souligner les priorités politiques du maire et un « contournement » de
l’administration municipale. De fait, cette position lui conférait une certaine
primauté sur les services administratifs de la Ville de Montréal, ce qui représentait une certaine révolution institutionnelle – surtout de la part d’un maire
qui avait une carrière de fonctionnaire –, et l’associait au pouvoir discrétion-
34
naire et autoritaire du maire. Ce contournement visait à garantir la rapidité, la
visibilité et l’efficacité des interventions, la réalisation de l’approche intégrée
et une certaine reprise en main politique de l’orientation des politiques publiques menées à Montréal. Il n’avait pas donné lieu à une bureaucratisation de
la coordination de la politique publique comme en France.
À la différence de la politique de la ville, les projets pilotes n’ont pas
survécu à l’alternance politique, en 2002, au palier municipal et, en 2003,
au provincial – bien qu’au départ ils aient été conçus comme des dispositifs temporaires et, de ce fait, limités dans le temps pour tester et pérenniser
les approches territoriale et intégrée. Les dispositifs qui les ont remplacés
s’inscrivent dans le prolongement d’une approche plus sectorielle. Malgré
la reconnaissance de la pertinence des Quartiers sensibles et ciblés lors du
sommet de Montréal de 2002, ils n’ont pas été reconduits par la nouvelle
administration du maire Gérald Tremblay et par le gouvernement provincial
libéral de Jean Charest, en 2003. Si le Programme de renouveau urbain et
villageois8, adopté par le gouvernement péquiste de Bernard Landry en 2003,
reprenait cette approche ciblée et intégrée mêlant actions sur le bâti et développement social, il dépendait du service d’urbanisme de la Ville de Montréal
et s’est arrêté en 2005. Quant à l’entente sur la lutte contre la pauvreté et
l’exclusion sociale qui dépendait du service de développement social, elle a
conservé l’approche territoriale avec une systématisation des critères et une
augmentation des zones ciblées, mais elle ne reposait plus sur une approche
intégrée. En revanche, ces nouveaux programmes renvoyaient la coordination de ces politiques à l’échelon de l’arrondissement et aux arrangements
politiques en vigueur dans ceux-ci. La survie de l’approche intégrée dépendait donc d’une configuration politique et institutionnelle et d’un mode de
gestion spécifiques.
En conclusion, le transfert de la politique française de la ville a essentiellement consisté en une adaptation des grands principes du style français
pris comme référence. De ce fait, il ne peut être assimilé à la simple reprise
de slogans inspirés par la politique de la ville. Si le cadre réglementaire était
relativement peu éloquent, les Quartiers sensibles et ciblés reprenaient assez
explicitement les approches territoriale et intégrée, ainsi que le caractère processuel caractérisant la politique de la ville française des débuts. Comme en
France, l’introduction de politiques territorialisées avait contribué à la politisation de l’action publique locale, en ce sens que les décisions prises par les
responsables municipaux pesaient sur l’organisation de la politique publique.
Les éléments importés sont adaptés aux réalités politiques et institutionnelles
locales, créant des écarts entre le modèle transféré et le transfert.
La dernière partie de cet article est consacrée à la façon dont les missions d’études réalisées par les chefs de projets ont façonné les projets locaux
35
liés à la mise en œuvre des Quartiers sensibles et ciblés à partir du cas de
Parc-Extension.
La mobilisation du quartier à Parc-Extension
Situé au centre de l’île de Montréal, Parc-Extension est un quartier dont
l’urbanisation remonte aux années 1930. C’est un quartier multiethnique et
de transit9. D’abord un quartier d’immigration italienne, il est progressivement devenu un quartier où se concentraient l’immigration grecque et, plus
récemment, des populations issues des pays sud-asiatiques. En 1996, 62 %
des ménages vivaient sous le seuil de pauvreté et 30 % étaient prestataires de
la sécurité de revenu et 81 % de locataires contre 72 % pour la ville de Montréal10. Le quartier était donc associé aux images de chômage, de pauvreté, de
dégradation du cadre bâti, de manque d’équipements ou encore d’insécurité
(Germain et al. 22).
Le programme d’actions élaboré dans le cadre de ces politiques pilotes
touchait à la fois le développement social des habitants11 et la réhabilitation
de l’environnement physique du quartier12. Selon la distinction de Donzelot
(et al.), les plans d’intervention étaient caractérisés par une logique people,
malgré le financement d’actions relatives à l’environnement physique, prenant une direction opposée à celle prise par les politiques urbaines françaises.
Cette orientation people résultait clairement des processus de définition des
projets locaux.
Les procédures d’élaboration du plan d’action du quartier pour les deux
programmes ont vu interagir trois types d’acteurs13 : la chargée de projet du
comité du maire responsable de Parc-Extension, l’élue et les groupes communautaires du quartier. Pour les projets liés au développement social, la
chargée de projet a veillé à sélectionner les projets en concertation avec la
Coalition jeunesse de Parc-Extension (CJPE) et avec l’élue. Ainsi, 8 des 10
projets financés ont reçu le soutien de la Coalition jeunesse. L’élue est intervenue de façon limitée dans le choix des projets de développement social,
seulement pour s’assurer qu’un projet visait la communauté sud-asiatique,
car cette communauté n’était pas touchée par les différents programmes existants et les bailleurs de fonds privés. Concernant les opérations sur l’environnement physique, la sélection présentée par l’élue rencontrait les priorités
définies tant par les tables de concertation que par le Conseil de quartier. Les
plans d’action de ces deux programmes étaient le résultat d’une coproduction
essentiellement locale et d’une collaboration horizontale entre les acteurs
agissant à l’échelle locale et concernés par les problématiques ciblées par ces
programmes. Ces programmes ont donc suscité une mobilisation des acteurs
locaux qui les éloignaient des orientations descendantes et contractuelles
prises au cours des deux dernières décennies par la politique de la ville en
France au profit d’un rapprochement avec la philosophie du DSQ.
36
Pour la chargée de projet et la conseillère de Parc-Extension, la distanciation et la nécessité de travailler avec les moyens du bord ont été les
principaux apports de la mission d’études à Lyon. Ce bilan se justifie par les
différences de ressources financières et de contraintes institutionnelles qui
caractérisaient les deux villes. Pourquoi le transfert s’est-il limité à l’importation d’un cadre général et n’a-t-il pas conduit à l’importation de projets mis
en œuvre sur le terrain lyonnais? La configuration des acteurs dans ce quartier
avant l’introduction de ces politiques publiques et la trajectoire des acteurs
en configuration permettent de répondre à ces questions. En effet, ces deux
éléments ont façonné la conduite de ces politiques dans ce quartier. Malgré
l’absence de transfert à cette échelle, cette étude de cas montre à nouveau que
la conduite de ces politiques est plus proche de la phase expérimentale de la
politique de la ville française, le DSQ.
La configuration d’acteurs à l’œuvre dans le quartier
Lorsque les Quartiers sensibles et ciblés ont été introduits à Parc-Extension,
la configuration d’acteurs dans le quartier était assez différente à plusieurs
égards de celle engendrée par ces nouveaux programmes. L’introduction de
ces politiques publiques a suscité autant de ruptures que de continuités.
Le quartier avait été désinvesti pendant plusieurs années non seulement
par la Ville de Montréal, qui avait cessé d’y effectuer les investissements de
routine (maintenance des parcs et des équipements collectifs…), mais aussi
par les élus politiques. L’élu de Parc-Extension de l’époque ne semblait pas
très actif dans la défense des intérêts et dans la consultation des résidents de
son quartier. D’une manière générale, le cadre institutionnel procurait peu de
ressources et de compétences aux élus et aux fonctionnaires pour agir à cette
échelle. Les élus de quartier ne possédaient qu’une voix consultative et ne
géraient aucune compétence ni ressource au niveau de leur arrondissement
d’appartenance, ni au niveau du quartier qu’ils représentaient. L’arrondissement et le quartier n’existaient pas en tant que paliers gouvernementaux. Ils
correspondaient plus aux districts d’élection des conseillers municipaux et
à des découpages administratifs. Bien que les conseillers municipaux soient
élus au scrutin majoritaire uninominal, ils ne disposaient que de faibles ressources politiques et financières, ainsi que de faibles marges de manœuvre.
En conséquence, les institutions de proximité étaient absentes, bien qu’à partir des années 1990, le programme « Quartier en santé » ait renforcé l’attache
territoriale de ces élus en créant des espaces d’information et de consultation
des résidents par le biais des Conseils d’arrondissement et des Conseils de
quartier, qui définissaient « les priorités de quartier ».
De ce point de vue, ces nouvelles politiques initiaient une présence
plus active des élus politiques et des agents administratifs dans les quartiers,
en leur déléguant de facto la compétence du développement social et com-
37
munautaire, normalement exercée par les niveaux provincial et municipal.
Ainsi, le pouvoir décisionnel des élus de quartier sur le programme local
d’action représentait une nouveauté. Le rôle officieux dévolu aux élus par ces
politiques préfigurait à bien des égards la réforme municipale de 2001, qui
institutionnalisait l’arrondissement comme palier gouvernemental et le rôle
des élus de district à cette échelle. Mais le rôle de l’élu local ne se démarquait
pas de celui en vigueur à d’autres niveaux de pouvoir. L’élu14 adoptait les
décisions, mais ne les produisait pas forcément. L’élue de Parc-Extension n’a
pourtant pas investi pleinement le pouvoir décisionnel que lui conféraient ces
nouvelles politiques publiques. Elle a laissé une large place à la chargée de
projets du comité du maire œuvrant pour Parc-Extension et aux acteurs du
secteur. En effet, dans le système politique québécois, les fonctionnaires ont
un poids considérable. En règle générale, ceux-ci construisent le contenu des
décisions entérinées par les élus politiques. Ils sont ainsi chargés d’arriver
aux solutions les moins contestables et les plus consensuelles possible à partir
de rencontres avec les acteurs clés du secteur considéré et d’un examen le
plus objectif possible, faisant la balance entre les besoins des habitants et les
ressources existantes grâce à l’expertise acquise au cours de leur formation et
de leur travail quotidien.
La faiblesse et le désintérêt de certains élus de ce district, de 1986 à 1999,
laissaient une large place aux groupes communautaires dans la régulation du
quartier. En effet, le monde communautaire était déjà extrêmement structuré
autour des tables de concertation depuis la fin des années 1980, notamment
grâce à l’impulsion des organisateurs communautaires du Centre local de
services communautaires15 (Germain et al. 32). Dans la lignée de la tradition
québécoise qui a consacré, dès les années 1970, les principes d’une société
civile impliquée dans la gestion publique (Hamel et Jouve 7-8), les organismes communautaires de Parc-Extension se concevaient encore comme
un contre-pouvoir au monde politique et comme des acteurs devant aider
à la structuration du quartier et à la mobilisation politique de ses habitants.
La philosophie de cette démarche s’inscrivait déjà dans l’empowerment. Ce
monde communautaire se caractérisait par un militantisme social très actif
et possédait une expertise très pointue sur le quartier, tant dans ses aspects
démographiques que dans les aspects plus concrets de la vie quotidienne des
habitants. Pour étayer cette connaissance, les organismes communautaires
recouraient au porte-à-porte, à la rédaction de portraits du quartier et à l’analyse des statistiques. Ils exerçaient déjà le monitoring du quartier. Ceux-ci
étaient coordonnés par le biais de plusieurs tables de concertation selon les
publics ciblés16 et par une table de quartier17 regroupant les différentes tables.
De longue date, ces tables étaient chargées d’établir des portraits de quartiers,
de déterminer les enjeux, de les prioriser, ainsi que de mener certains projets
à l’échelle du quartier qu’elles représentent. Ainsi, lorsque les Quartiers sensibles et ciblés ont débuté, le contexte était assez différent de celui en vigueur
38
en France, puisque dans le cas de Parc-Extension, et de Montréal en général,
le développement communautaire et la mobilisation du quartier étaient déjà
bien ancrés, et les acteurs communautaires étaient incontournables, tant en
raison de leur force réelle qu’en raison de la forte valorisation de ceux-ci dans
le système politique et institutionnel québécois.
Avec ces politiques, les acteurs communautaires ont conservé un rôle
important. Toutefois, ils ont perdu leur position monopolistique dans la planification du quartier. Ainsi, le fonctionnement de ces politiques illustre plutôt
la reproduction d’un répertoire d’action en vigueur à d’autres niveaux de
pouvoir (ville et gouvernement) que l’introduction de nouvelles pratiques. Si
ces politiques ont introduit une innovation, elle se situe dans le rôle conféré
à l’élu de district et au chargé de projet du comité du maire, ainsi que dans
l’élargissement aux élus et aux agents administratifs locaux de la concertation locale par l’attribution de ressources, et non pas dans l’invention d’une
nouvelle forme de régulation politique de ces quartiers ou dans la création
d’une mobilisation à l’échelle locale. En effet, cette dernière existait déjà par
le biais de la mobilisation communautaire.
La trajectoire des acteurs en configuration
À Parc-Extension, la prégnance de l’orientation people dans les projets
locaux des politiques de lutte contre la ségrégation sociospatiale et le recours
à la coproduction comme mode de fabrique des projets locaux s’expliquent
également par la trajectoire et les compétences des acteurs en configuration.
Comme exposé précédemment, les acteurs communautaires mettaient déjà en
œuvre des méthodes d’intervention fondées sur la mobilisation des habitants
et des regroupements communautaires, et s’occupaient déjà de planification
dans le quartier grâce à leur expertise dans ce domaine. Ceux-ci défendaient
ardemment le bien-être des résidents dans tous les projets développés dans
le quartier. La trajectoire professionnelle de la chargée de projet explique les
orientations du contenu et la forme des procédures décisionnelles. Ayant une
longue expérience dans l’organisation de diagnostics et de procédures participatives en environnement18, elle avait accumulé une grande connaissance
des procédures participatives. En ce qui concerne l’élue, en tant qu’habitante
du quartier depuis sa plus tendre enfance, bénévole dans le communautaire
depuis plus de quinze ans et en poste depuis 1998, elle avait également une
très bonne connaissance à la fois des besoins criants de son quartier – du fait
du délaissement par la Ville de Montréal dont il avait fait l’objet pendant
plusieurs décennies –, des dynamiques locales et des revendications communautaires. En outre, elle réclamait de longue date l’égalité des résidents de
Parc-Extension à recevoir de la part de la Ville de Montréal le même niveau
de services que dans les autres quartiers de la ville. Par ailleurs, tant l’élue
que la fonctionnaire reconnaissaient que les véritables détenteurs de l’expertise sur le quartier étaient les groupes communautaires, ce qui conduit à une
39
certaine reproduction du style de politiques publiques par un effet d’adhésion
à celui-ci.
Ce détour par Parc-Extension montre que ces nouveaux programmes se
fondent sur une définition du quartier proche de celle développée dans le
DSQ, en s’appuyant sur une forte et déjà longue mobilisation des acteurs
locaux. Comme la politique de la ville en France, ces politiques s’inscrivent
bien dans une logique tant de rattrapage par rapport aux autres territoires de la
ville, notamment en ce qui a trait aux équipements collectifs et aux services,
à la réparation des défectuosités des territoires en privilégiant toutefois une
rénovation de l’urbain adaptée aux besoins des résidents du quartier, grâce à
l’orientation imprimée par la configuration d’acteurs locaux.
Conclusion
Cet article défend l’hypothèse que le contexte antérieur au transfert de la politique française de la ville s’articule à ce transfert. C’est pourquoi les convergences qui en résultent sont partielles, comme l’est le transfert lui-même.
L’analyse de l’influence du modèle français de la politique de la ville sur les
politiques de lutte contre la ségrégation sociospatiale montre l’existence de
divergences entre le modèle initial et les politiques implémentées à Montréal.
Plusieurs éléments expliquent cette distance. Les agents du transfert, incluant
autant ceux qui vont chercher le modèle et ceux qui mettent en œuvre les
politiques publiques inspirées par un modèle étranger, déterminent le contenu
du transfert. Leur autonomie implique qu’ils se réapproprient ce modèle en
en sélectionnant les éléments en fonction des réalités et des phénomènes
qu’ils entendent résoudre. Tant à l’échelle de la ville de Montréal qu’à celle
du quartier de Parc-Extension, leur interprétation des différences entre les
deux contextes façonne la sélection des instruments et des objectifs importés,
et le choix des instruments et procédures mobilisés dans l’opérationnalisation
de ce transfert. Les contextes dans lesquels s’effectuent ces transferts influent
donc autant que les raisons du transfert elles-mêmes. Les convergences se
situent essentiellement dans la reprise du principe d’une géographie prioritaire et de l’approche intégrée, la mobilisation locale existant déjà. Toutefois,
l’importation de ces éléments se rapproche plus de la phase expérimentale
de la politique de la ville française, le DSQ, que des pratiques qu’ils ont
eu l’occasion d’observer. La réappropriation du modèle conduit donc à la
création d’une mobilisation du quartier en tant que vecteur du renouveau
attendu – facilitée par l’existence préalable d’une mobilisation communautaire assez active, militante et structurée – et à l’absence de prise en compte
des aspects plus concrets et des évolutions de ce modèle. Considérant l’évolution des politiques montréalaises, l’analyse montre également que les formes du transfert et la production de convergence dépendent non seulement
de la configuration institutionnelle, mais aussi – plus fortement encore – de
la configuration d’acteurs politiques. De ce fait, le transfert évolue dans le
40
temps en fonction des configurations politiques. Les transformations de la
configuration politique montréalaise ont conduit à la disparition de l’approche
intégrée au niveau de la Ville de Montréal, qui équivaut à un certain retour au
style de politiques publiques antérieur, marqué par des modes d’intervention
sectorielle, et à la délégation de cette dernière au niveau du quartier. Enfin,
la compétition électorale et les ressources fournies par le transfert pour se
distinguer des autres candidats ne réduisent pas la portée du transfert et de la
convergence à de simples effets de discours.
Notes
1.
Les traces de l’influence du modèle français de la politique de la ville sont
essentiellement orales, elles ne figurent dans aucun des documents auxquels
nous avons eu accès. Les principaux acteurs de ces politiques publiques à
Montréal y font pourtant souvent référence.
2. Le lesson drawing réfère à la constellation de policy transfer dans lequel les
gouvernements utilisent rationnellement les expériences disponibles ailleurs
pour des problèmes similaires. Le gouvernement est un acteur rationnel qui
pose la question : sous quelles conditions et dans quelle mesure un programme
en vigueur marche-t-il ailleurs. L’apprentissage peut se faire de façon positive
ou négative, dans la mesure où les modèles étudiés servent de recettes à adopter
ou non.
3. Le terme de passeur est utilisé pour qualifier les acteurs qui font passer des
idées ou des pratiques d’un domaine à un autre, d’un secteur ou d’un milieu à
l’autre, d’un pays à un autre.
4. La revue de presse réalisée sur ces politiques publiques et sur la campagne
électorale de Pierre Bourque ne comporte aucune référence à la politique de la
ville française.
5. Le Plan d’intervention des quartiers ciblés a été financé à hauteur de 42
millions de dollars canadiens, dont 29 millions proviennent du ministère des
Affaires municipales et de la Métropole, et 12,6 millions de la Ville
de Montréal.
6. SOGEMAP INC., 2003, Évaluation de la mise en application du protocole
d’entente sur les quartiers sensibles et des premières retombées des projets,
Rapport d’évaluation présenté au ministère de l’Emploi et de la Solidarité
sociale, mars 2003.
7. Il y a eu trois comités du maire : le premier consacré aux Quartiers sensibles et
aux Quartiers ciblés, le deuxième aux jeunes et le troisième à la sécurité.
8. Le Programme de renouveau urbain et villageois est appelé PRU quand il est
question de son application à la ville de Montréal.
9. Parc-Extension est un quartier de transit dans la mesure où il constitue l’une
des premières destinations des nouveaux immigrants en provenance des pays
du Sud-Est de l’Asie et que la moitié de la population du quartier a déménagé
entre 1996 et 2001.
10. GROUPE DE TRAVAIL SUR LES PORTRAITS DES QUARTIERS DE
VILLERAY, SAINT-MICHEL ET PARC-EXTENSION, 2004, Portrait de
quartier de Parc-Extension, Montréal, p. 24.
41
11. Le développement social regroupe des projets de prévention de lutte contre
la toxicomanie, le décrochage scolaire et l’animation socioculturelle et
sociosportive des jeunes, ainsi que deux projets à destination des immigrants,
dont l’un à destination des femmes et l’autre visant la communauté
Sud-Asiatique.
12. Les interventions visant le cadre physique rassemblent des opérations de
réfection de certaines rues, de rénovation et d’équipement des parcs du quartier
par l’ajout de jeux plus sécuritaires pour les enfants et de tables de pique-nique,
ainsi qu’un projet de désenclavement du quartier par la création d’un passage
entre le quartier et un parc d’envergure métropolitaine.
13. D’autres acteurs, le Comité de coordination ou le Conseil municipal, ont
participé à la production de ce projet local, leur rôle ayant été secondaire dans
la mesure où le premier a vérifié que les projets étaient concertés et répondaient
aux attentes du milieu, et le second a adopté les dépenses liées à ce programme.
14. La figure du maire semble échapper à cette description des élus, sans doute en
raison du leadership qu’il est censé représenter.
15. Les CLSC ont une approche très large de la santé. Ils tentent d’agir sur tous les
déterminants de la santé (salubrité des logements, espaces publics, éducation…)
afin d’améliorer les conditions de vie de la population et agir ainsi sur leur
santé. Ils mettent donc en œuvre une approche préventive de la santé.
16. Il existe cinq tables de concertation sectorielles à Parc-Extension : la table de
la petite enfance, la Coalition jeunesse, la table des aînés, la table des femmes,
ainsi que le Regroupement en aménagement de Parc-Extension (RAMPE).
17. Cette table de quartier s’appelait Parc-Extension quartier en santé (PEQS). Elle
a été dissoute au cours de l’année 2008 en raison de dysfonctionnements dans
la concertation causés par l’absence d’un leadership consensuel.
18. Depuis le début de sa carrière, elle a en effet travaillé successivement dans
plusieurs bureaux de consultance en environnement, au Bureau d’audiences
publiques en environnement (BAPE) ou encore au Service de planification de la
Ville, où elle a rédigé un guide sur l’élaboration des portraits de quartiers, ainsi
que comme secrétaire-recherchiste des Conseils de quartier de Saint-Michel et
de Parc-Extension.
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43
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Katrin Urschel
From the “White Lily” to the “King Frog in a Puddle”:
A Comparison of Confederation and Multiculturalism
in Irish-Canadian Literature
Abstract
The Confederating period of the 1850s and 1860s and the adoption of official
multiculturalism in the 1970s are arguably two of the most decisive ideological moments in Canadian history. The literature produced during the Confederating period and the early years of multiculturalism therefore constitutes
a valuable medium to discern what is at stake in reinforcing “national” and
“ethnic” identities as normative categories. This paper focuses on Canadian
literature written during these times by Irish Catholic immigrants and their
descendants because the conflicting role of the Irish as both colonizers and
colonized adds political dynamics, the explorations of which help to illustrate
the objectives and shortcomings of national and multicultural ideologies. The
essay analyses ideas about nation building, ethnic identity, racial supremacy,
and cultural diversity in the poetry of Thomas D’Arcy McGee and Rosanna
Leprohon, as well as novels by Harry J. Boyle and Dennis T. Patrick Sears.
Résumé
La période de formation de la Confédération (années 1850 et 1860) et la
période d’adoption du multiculturalisme officiel (années 1970), sont deux
des moments de l’histoire du Canada dont on peut dire qu’ils ont été parmi
les plus déterminants sur le plan idéologique. Les ouvrages produits pendant
la formation de la Confédération et les premières années du multiculturalisme constituent donc un moyen précieux pour discerner ce qui est en cause
lorsqu’il est question de renforcer les identités « nationales » et « ethniques
» en tant que catégories normatives. Le présent document s’intéresse à la
littérature canadienne écrite à cette époque par des immigrants irlandais
catholiques et leurs descendants à cause du rôle conflictuel des Irlandais, en
tant que colonisateurs et de colonisés, qui ajoute une dynamique politique
dont l’exploration aide à illustrer les objectifs et les lacunes des idéologies nationales et multiculturelles. L’essai analyse des idées au sujet de la
construction d’une nation, de l’identité ethnique, de la suprématie raciale
et de la diversité culturelle dans la poésie de Thomas D’Arcy McGee et de
Rosanna Leprohon ainsi que dans les romans de Harry J. Boyle et de Dennis
T. Patrick Sears.…
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
The Confederating period of the 1850s and 1860s and the adoption of official
multiculturalism in the 1970s are arguably two of the most decisive ideological moments in Canadian history. The literature produced during the Confederating period and the early years of multiculturalism therefore constitutes
a valuable medium to discern what is at stake in reinforcing “national” and
“ethnic” identities as normative categories. This paper focuses on Canadian
literature written during these times by Irish Catholic immigrants and their
descendants because the conflicting role of the Irish as both colonizers and
colonized adds political dynamics, the explorations of which help illustrate
the objectives and shortcomings of national and multicultural ideologies.
The majority of Irish settlers in Canada were of Protestant backgrounds and
economically and politically fairly powerful thanks to such support networks
as the Orange Order (Akenson; Wilson, The Orange Order in Canada). Although a significant number of Irish Catholics had already settled in British
North America before the 1830s (Miller 196), the largest influx was during
and just after the Great Famine of the late 1840s, which largely shaped the
stereotypical image of the Irish as poor, downtrodden, “lazy, improvident
and unthankful” people (Toronto Globe, 11 Feb. 1858, qtd. in McGowan
17). Precisely because of the colonial conditions with which Irish Catholics,
in particular, have been associated, while they were simultaneously part of
an Anglophone, Christian, and ‘white’ majority, literature by Irish Catholic
Canadians constitutes a fruitful test case for the investigation of power dynamics within the ethno-national discourse of Canadian nation-building and
multiculturalism.1 As I will discuss, Canadian nationalism and imperialism
provided Irish Catholic settlers with an opportunity to escape their status
as racial inferiors and political and religious threats to the cohesion of the
British Empire. At the same time, however, their strategies for overcoming
colonial oppression only shifted but did not collapse the colonizer/colonized
binary in Canada; it aggravated racial oppression, only with the Irish on the
side of the winners. Multiculturalism later allowed, perhaps even forced
them to reinscribe their national belonging with distinct ethnic features. Yet
their long affinity to Canada’s ethnic majority and their central status within
Canada’s national imaginary only underscored the artificiality of this ethnic
reconstruction and instead shifted the focus to the individual and to intracommunal intersections of ethnicity with gender, class, and regional identities without tackling the inequalities on the larger societal level. The writers
I have chosen for this investigation—Thomas D’Arcy McGee (1825–1868),
Rosanna Leprohon (1829–1879), Harry J. Boyle (1915–2005), and Dennis T.
Patrick Sears (1925–1976)—were extremely popular and arguably the most
successful Irish-Canadian writers to represent Irish Catholic communities at
the two time periods in question. McGee was not only a poet and journalist,
but also a politician and one of the Fathers of Confederation. The entry on
Leprohon in the Bibliotheca Canadensis, Canada’s first important encyclopaedia, claims that “[s]he has done more almost than any other Can[adian]
46
A Comparison of Confederation and Multiculturalism in Irish-Canadian Literature
writer to foster and promote the growth of a national Literature” (Morgan
224). Apart from poetry, she wrote short stories and nine novels, four of
which were translated into French immediately after publication in English.
Boyle was not only a fiction writer and print journalist, but also a successful
radio and television broadcaster; he later served as vice-chair (1968–1976)
and then chair (1976–1977) of the Canadian Radio and Television Commission (CRTC). And Sears was discovered by publisher Jack McClelland, who
provided him with a book contract based on the popularity of his journalism
for the Kingston Whig-Standard. The centrality of these writers in Canada’s
cultural domain enhances the salience of their discursive strategies for my
assessment of Irish-Canadian literature.
The Confederating Period
Canada’s national unification process began in the 1840s as the result of
increased economic development made possible by the technological advances associated with the steam engine. Rapid population growth, the rise of
industrialism, and the ideology of free trade contributed to the increase in
economic activity in British North America (Bumsted 145–49).
The end of the Canadian–American Reciprocity Treaty during the American Civil War put the British North American provinces under pressure to intensify trade among themselves and expand the railway system. The railway
was also seen as the best way of transporting troops, which is why it was promoted as a key element in British North America’s defence strategy against a
potential invasion from the south. Trade and defence, together with westward
expansion and the improvement of infrastructure, were the fundamental
intercolonial issues that warranted a reform of administrative structures and
thus led to the Confederation debates (Martin 24). Some of the ideological
concerns of Canadian Confederation and nation-building were, however, intricately linked to Ireland. In 1866, the Fenians, an Irish Republican organisation that fashioned itself after a band of ancient Irish warriors, and consisted
mostly of veterans of the American Civil War, invaded Canada with the
intention of joining forces with Canadian Fenians and bribing England into
releasing Ireland as their colony. The invaders were quickly defeated but the
invasions helped turn public opinion in favour of Confederation, especially
in the previously rather sceptical Maritime colonies (Burns 260; Martin 22).
One of the key negotiators in this process was Thomas D’Arcy McGee. Born
in Ireland in 1825, McGee fled to the United States after the failed rebellion
of 1848 and then relocated to Montreal in 1857. Even though he had previously fought for republican ideals in Ireland, he had grown disillusioned with
them in the United States and favoured Canada because of its bilingual nature
and its disestablished church (Burns 267; Wilson, Thomas D’Arcy McGee
295). By appealing to the budding sense of national feeling among settlers,
McGee’s campaign for Confederation was simultaneously an attempt at the
47
amelioration of the Irish situation and the lessening of religious and racial
strife. McGee negotiated, in a sense, through his politics and his writing,
room for Irishness in the conception of a Canadian identity. As Canada managed to accommodate minority rights within a British imperial framework,
McGee wanted the country to serve as a model for Ireland (Wilson, Thomas
D’Arcy McGee 44). The Fenian ideology fundamentally opposed the British
Empire and thus intensified divides among Irish Catholic Canadians, splitting
them into two major camps: radical Irish republicanism on the one hand,
and constitutional Irish-Canadian nationalism on the other. Fenian radicalism
also provoked a resurgence of anti-Catholic sentiment on the part of the Orange Order, and many Irish Catholics were arrested on suspicion, even if they
had nothing to do with Fenian activity—a form of prejudice that continued
for several years (Neidhardt 83, 134). Because of its divisive nature, McGee
saw Fenianism as a threat to Irish integration in Canada, which sparked much
controversy among Irish-Canadians. In April 1868 he was assassinated by
a Fenian supporter in Ottawa, which ultimately proved his point about the
futility of fighting violently for the Irish cause in Europe, and helped shift
the focus of Irish-Canadians away from Ireland and towards their situation
in Canada.
McGee’s poetry collection, Canadian Ballads, and Occasional Verses
(1858) testifies to his ideals. McGee recognized the importance of Canada’s
imperial link to Britain but also knew that for a successful social interaction
among people from different backgrounds it was crucial to keep ethnic
hostilities at a low and foster a unified identity. His call for and contribution to a Canadian “National Literature” was ironically based on an Irish
decolonizing strategy. In his youth, McGee had been a member of Young
Ireland, a didactic movement influenced by German nationalist philosophy to
establish a unifying national literature in Ireland that would to celebrate the
glories of Irish history and remind the Irish of their cultural accomplishments
and virtues (Holmgren, “Ossian Abroad”). Ballad poetry was chosen as the
predominant genre because it was seen as the supreme form of the “poetry
of action and passion” (Dwan 207) and therefore well suited to the Irish political cause. With his experience in forming a national narrative for Ireland
through ballads, McGee set out to establish the ballad as the dominant form
of Canadian literature and even dedicated his Canadian Ballads to his Young
Ireland mentor, Charles Gavan Duffy, in “memory of Old Times.” Remaining
true to the Young Ireland ideology, he focused on aspects of the culture that
could transcend the different heritages and traditions of the individuals, even
though this fabrication of a unifying narrative implied a certain disregard for
historical accuracies and a tendency to emphasize myth over reality. McGee
refrained from using images of violence and concentrated instead on a defence of cultural developments and achievements.
48
The Canadian Ballads provide jigsaw pieces of a founding myth that
highlight McGee’s sociopolitical interests: to establish an early form of
multiculturalism based on religious, linguistic, and ethno-cultural tolerance.
Irish-Canadians are reassured of their ethnic origins and simultaneously
asked to develop a new Canadian identity resulting from the commemoration
and reassessment of a communal North American heritage. The latter means,
of course, the combination of both the aggregation of the various European
cultures and traditions brought to North America by the settlers, and the ongoing response of the settlers to their Canadian environment. Effectively, this
led McGee to write three different types of poems: poems that concentrate
solely on Irish themes, poems that feature Canadian history, and poems that
focus on Irish-Canadian connections.
Centring his Irish ethnicity in his Canadian Ballads, McGee was able
to convey some key ideas about Canadian nationality. He saw every Canadian as coming from a distinct ethnic background, and while these ethnicities differed in content, structurally they worked in the same way. All
ethnicities present in Canada could therefore nurture Canadian literature in
similar ways. Didactically speaking, the poems attached to the emigrants’
birthplaces were supposed to inspire other Canadians to “find corresponding sentiments of their own” (Holmgren, Native Muses 188). This served to
shape Canada’s “mental outfit,” as McGee later outlined in a speech, ensuring
that it is “national in its preferences, but catholic in its sympathies” (McGee,
1825—D’Arcy McGee—1925 2).
Whereas the Young Irelanders had not been concerned with religious or
denominational difference, McGee’s Canadian Ballads exhibit a distinctly
Catholic worldview. Problematically, McGee did not reduce Catholicism to a
facet of ethnicity to be cherished on a sub-national level that would allow the
nation to be truly “catholic” or universal “in its sympathies.” Instead, he tried
to form the basis for a national identity at the intersection of Christianity and
Canadian history, thus replicating an imperial ideology. The historical legacy
he so proudly promoted as the essential substance of ballad poetry is the legacy of the colonizer; that is, it excludes the cultural achievements of Canada’s
Aboriginal peoples and forecloses anything pre-colonial. His ballads begin
with European explorers, and several of them celebrate the evangelizing of
Aboriginal communities. McGee’s poem “Jacques Cartier” (Canadian Ballads 12–14) first evokes sublime natural settings in order to conjure up the
excitement and admiration that European explorers displayed towards the
New World. A few stanzas later, it reminds the reader of the settlers’ civilizing
missions. Canada’s indigenous peoples appear as “pour souls” who worship
“every living thing,” but whose lives are greatly improved upon hearing the
Christian gospel (14). “Jacques Cartier and the Child” (McGee, Canadian
Ballads 15–16) portrays Canada’s indigenous peoples as “Savages” whom
the protagonist feels sorry for and wants to convert to the Christian faith to
49
save them. Both Cartier poems are written in the medieval European ballad
form of elaborate fourteen or fifteen-syllable lines (Beaton), and are narrated
by a chronicler with a pedagogical agenda. “The Arctic Indian’s Faith” (McGee, Canadian Ballads 29–30), on the other hand, is told from the Aboriginal
perspective and in a much simpler style. Oral literature is already commonly
associated with the “primitive” and connected to the stereotype of the Noble
Savage (Finnegan 23–24). The ballad stanza form of alternating tetrameter
and trimeter employed in his poem is reminiscent of the European oral tradition as well as the musical tradition of the ballad as a “a sung narrative poem”
(Finnegan 10). It is used here in an attempt at a naturalistic depiction of Native orality, and serves to present a more primitive, emotional, and repetitive
form of commemoration, less developed than the elaborate and seemingly
more rational epic accounts of exploration. Moreover, as Terry Goldie suggests that indigenous “languages are assessed as sound rather than as vehicles
of communication” (118), the song structure of “The Arctic Indian’s Faith”
can be read as an allusion to the incomprehensibility of Aboriginal languages,
cultures, and religious practices. While the choice of form enhances their perceived otherness, it simultaneously makes them familiar. This appropriation
process consolidates racial difference and leaves the Indigene speechless.
Contrary to the individual in the title, the Aboriginals in the body of the poem
appear as a collective speaker. The settler who performs the ballad can easily
inhabit the Native “we” and become not only part of the heritage but claim it
for himself and his own heirs—a quick route to indigenization.
Although ballad-writing, for McGee, was an anti-colonial instrument
that ought to help Canadians distinguish themselves from the British and
the Americans, just as it had helped the Irish before, it also represented an
indigenization strategy that would ultimately efface Aboriginal culture and
centre white Canadians as the new Natives. McGee’s promotion of the ballad
overwrote Canada’s pre-colonial heritage not only because he began his own
narration of Canadian nationhood with the arrival of white colonizers and
European settlement; but he also imported a poetic framework intricately
linked to European oral folk culture that could thus easily conceal the very
process by which it superseded Aboriginal orature. In proposing a European
orality to replace Canada’s Aboriginal orality as a mythological tool, he
normalized Canada in European conceptions of time and space. Because of
its decentring potential within the European community, the adoption of the
ballad as an anti-colonial tool in the aid of Canada’s nation-building process
granted the Irish a central position in the newly imagined nation. The Irish
used this tool to rid themselves of their own marginal status and to shift the
colonizer/colonized dichotomy so that they could be included on the imperial
side. They did not use it in order to denounce colonialism in general, which
ultimately helped sharpen the racial divide and increase economic and political inequalities.
50
Another Irish-Canadian writer who published poetry in the 1850s and
1860s is Rosanna Leprohon. Leprohon’s poems are in line with McGee’s
guidelines for a national literature, that is, they celebrate historical events,
local culture, and the inhabitants’ attachment to the Canadian environment.
They appeared in such periodicals as the Literary Garland and even the
Boston Pilot—a paper McGee had worked for and edited during his first sojourn in the United States between 1842 and 1845—and they were published
posthumously in the collection Poetical Works (1881), edited by the IrishCanadian poet John Reade. Given that both writers were well established in
Montreal’s Anglophone society, it is very likely that McGee and Leprohon
read each other’s poems carefully, if not discussed their subjects with one
another. Leprohon’s “Jacques Cartier’s First Visit to Mount Royal” (66–67)
can be considered a prequel to McGee’s two “Jacques Cartier” poems, filling
a gap in the historical narration of the nation. Before taking up the effort to
Christianize the Natives as described by McGee, Leprohon’s Cartier contemplates the distinctive elements of the land itself, including the St. Lawrence
river, the regional hills and mountains, the future border to the United States
in the form of Vermont, and, in the distance, “the Indian wigwams dun” (66).
In her fifth and final stanza, Leprohon points to a crucial step in any exploration: that of naming the land. She climactically describes how Cartier came
up with “Mont Royal” (67) as the name for the mountain in what is today the
city of Montreal. The inscription of the Canadian place in the linguistic and
imperial system of the European explorers thus becomes the central motif of
her eulogy.
Born in Montreal in 1829 and married to a French Canadian physician,
Leprohon was not only already a second-generation Canadian but also considerably removed from Irish immigrant circles. The Irish do appear in her
poetry but they are often constructed as “other” in terms of gender and belonging. Leprohon uses the categories of gender, race, and religion to define a
superior Canadian identity that appears to be an amalgamation of British Isles
and French legacies but without any conscious attachment to Europe. The
clear distinctions she draws between Irish immigrants and established Canadian nationals becomes clear in her poem “Monument to Irish Emigrants”
(81–83), which is an appraisal of a monument built in 1859 to commemorate
the Famine Irish who arrived in Canada in 1847–1848 and died from typhus.
It is a rare reference to Leprohon’s own ethnic kinfolk, but this relationship
is nowhere expressed in the text. Through her constant usage of the secondand third-person plural Leprohon maintains an us/them binary and alienates
the Irish from her own Canadian community, beginning with the title. The
dead were emigrants from Ireland instead of immigrants to Canada, which
underscores the fact that they have nothing to do with Canadian society. The
actual poem ends with the Famine Irish silenced and reduced to a piece of
stone that is supposed to tell their story. Yet the living Irish too are alienated
51
by the speaker, both through the use of the second person and the ascription
of male gender. It is worth noting here that in Europe, the Irish and other
“Celtic races” were usually portrayed as effeminate in colonial discourse, and
that the ascription of masculinity to Ireland is a reverse kind of “Othering,”
unconventionally conducted from a female perspective. Moreover, as Sara
Ahmed pointed out, the gender construction of the nation usually roots in
the distinction between “what the nation takes to be as itself (the masculine
subject)” and “what it has (the feminine object)” (136). Claiming degenerate
or dead male bodies for itself would significantly weaken Canada’s selfimage as a virile and strong new nation. Therefore, Leprohon associates the
male gender with distance and foreignness, for example, when she speaks
of “Ye gallant sons of toil” and “their fatherland” (82) or the “Sons of a
distant land” (83). The monument is also not for our but “your kindred dead”
(82, added emphasis), and Irish kinship is notably linked to toil and death.
Taking into account that Leprohon’s father was an immigrant from Ireland
and her mother already born in Canada, it makes sense for her to use gender
categories as spatial metaphors to express distance and closeness to Canadian
culture. Leprohon herself has already cast off her European ethnic belonging
completely and become rooted in Canada. Thus she is following the maternal
link, and her Canadian homeland identity is consequently expressed with
signifiers from the female sphere.
Her national, imperial, and female confidence is particularly obvious in
the poem immediately following “Jacques Cartier’s First Visit to Mount Royal” in her Poetical Works. “The White Maiden and the Indian Girl” (68–69)
is structured as a dialogue between a white, possibly Irish-Canadian girl and
one from a local indigenous tribe, who compare their living conditions with
each other. It first may seem that both girls are on equal terms; they have an
equal number of lines in the discussion, and the white girl’s arguments are
well countered by the Indigene. But always speaking second and responding
to the terms the white girl has laid out, the Native is, of course, caught within
the language system of the colonizer and confined in her resistance to the
definitions already established. As a result, the settler/Native binary is not
broken down but reaffirmed.
Leprohon uses the term “maiden” for the “white” girl in the poem’s title,
certainly to evoke the idea of the settler’s innocence and the fear of miscegenation. Throughout the actual poem, however, the white girl addresses the
“Indian” as “maiden” and also as “child,” which cements a phallocentric and
paternal worldview. Myra Rutherdale has documented how Anglican missionaries in Northern British Columbia, the Yukon, and the Northwest Territories,
in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries used maternal metaphors
to describe and justify their work. Leprohon’s poetry can be interpreted as
the literary equivalent if not justification for this kind of matronizing behaviour. The idea of sisterhood, on the other hand, was frequently evoked in the
52
nineteenth century not only to describe a common gender identity but also
to express a shared public responsibility for causes such as women’s rights,
temperance, and evangelization. The identification as “sisters in Christ,” an
image common to the convent tradition, is but one example (Lasser 165).
However, sisterhood cannot transcend racial boundaries. The Native girl in
the poem, calling her European companion “sister” and “White Lily,” tries
in vain to establish a lasting natural bond. Thus the closeness, innocence,
and kinship expressed in these terms mask the colonial power structure and
metaphorically describe what Terry Goldie calls indigenization (13). Not
only writing about the truly indigenous but establishing this familial association with them is Leprohon’s way of showing that “white” people in Canada
have become native.
The settler’s subsequent displacement of the Native is illustrated in Leprohon’s poem by the separation of the girls. The white girl realises that she
“cannot tempt” the “Indian” to live in her “palace home” but has to leave her
in a forest rife with “countless dangers and hardships” (69). Interestingly, the
Native takes up this reference of menacing death when she asks her white
counterpart, “Back to the free, fresh woods let me hie, / Amid them to live,—
amid them to die” (69). Yet as she also says, she “would worry to death of
this gilded cage” (69), the settler’s home is not a healthy alternative. The
ambivalence here lies in the fact that the image of the “gilded cage,” as well
as the dark and scented rooms, are subversive criticisms of Leprohon’s own
domestic sphere and may reflect a secret admiration and desire on the part
of the speaker-poet for certain indigenous lifestyles. The female Aboriginal
commonly “represents the attractions of the land but in a form which seems
to request domination” (Goldie 65). As a result, the two worlds are incompatible, and the Aboriginal ultimately has to die in order for the settler to live.
This conclusion carries an obvious Christian reference, a connotation
that is present in many of Leprohon’s poems. The eponymous “Huron Chief’s
Daughter” (86–87), for example, is about to be burnt on a pyre by Iroquois
warriors. A Jesus-like figure, she is portrayed as a noble queen, proudly enduring her cruel fate, and praying for a death in strength and courage to “be
fit to reign, oh God! with Thee” (87). While “The Huron Chief’s Daughter”
illustrates the “savagery” of the Iroquois, “The White Canoe: A Legend of
Niagara Falls” (36–49) focuses on the morbidity of Seneca spirituality as
it depicts a tribal girl who, chosen as a sacrifice to the Spirit of Niagara,
paddles into death, and is joined by her father, the tribe’s widowed chief, who
wants to sacrifice himself next to her. In several poems, Aboriginal girls are
sacrificed and the Catholic faith simultaneously promoted.
Displacing the Native Canadian and stripping the Irish-Canadian of his
or her ethnic affiliation, Leprohon envisions Canada as a nation of devout
white Christians and civilizers. Her texts represent a move towards the adop-
53
tion of an “ethnicity-free” identity that is today often termed “Anglo-Celtic”
(Fee 274). On top of that deliberate move, McGee’s assassination at the hand
of a Fenian only emphasised the benefit of turning away from ethnic baggage and towards the construction of a centralized Canadian identity. Many
post-Confederation Irish-Canadian poets such as John Reade, Isabella Valancy Crawford, or Nicholas Flood Davin took this attitude for granted and
cemented this ideology in their poetry. Moreover, all of these poets have been
canonized early on through their inclusion in popular Canadian anthologies.
Both McGee’s “The Arctic Indian’s Faith” and “Jacques Cartier” were included in Dewart’s famous Selections from Canadian Poets (1864) as well as
Lighthall’s three anthologies (1889; 1892; 1894). Leprohon also saw five of
her poems included in Dewart’s Selections; “A Canadian Summer Evening”
was included in Lighthall’s anthologies; and “The Huron Chief’s Daughter”
was anthologized in Rand’s A Treasury of Canadian Verse (1900). As the
focus on the “ethnic” had subsequently been replaced by the “national” and
the “regional,” the literary representation of Irish ethnic identity gradually
disappeared, and the Irish became almost invisible members of Canada’s ethnic majority. The linguistic, historical, mythological, literary, religious, and
other commonalities that were envisioned in this move towards invisibility
cemented the illusion of national homogeneity (Kymlicka 62).
The Early Years of Multiculturalism
In 1963, when a surge of Quebecois nationalism had been posing a number
of questions about the relationship between the “two founding nations,” the
Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism was established to
enquire into the cultural contributions and practices of Canada’s population.
While the resulting establishment of official bilingualism was more readily
accepted, the suggestion to frame Canada in bicultural terms was met with
harsh criticism, especially from Ukrainian Canadians, soon followed by Jewish Canadians, who requested an acknowledgement of Canada’s multicultural diversity (McRoberts 122). In 1971, multiculturalism was introduced to
eradicate racial and ethnic prejudice and discrimination in the national debate,
to adapt Canada’s previous bicultural self-conception to the societal realities,
and officially to recognise “ethno-cultural particularities … as legitimate
expressions of the larger Canadian culture” (Troper 1002). The irony was
that many of the “ethno-cultural particularities” of Canada’s ethnic majorities
had already become mainstream features of Canadian culture so that they
were left virtually “ethnicity-free,” while the “otherness” of ethnic minorities
was highlighted. Multiculturalism is effectively only one of three branches
of “group-differentiated minority rights” in Canada: Indigenous peoples
have been negotiating land claims and treaty rights; the descendants of the
historic French settlers obtained “bilingualism and provincial autonomy (for
the Québécois)”; and “multicultural” rights and accommodations were finally
arranged for ethnic groups that were neither part of an indigenous commun-
54
ity nor of the “two solitudes” (Kymlicka 78, 91). The Irish as an “historic
substate ‘nation’” of the British (Kymlicka 78) were naturally included on
the English side of the two solitudes, and beyond that Irish Catholics were
allied religiously with the French. This inclusion, however, put the Irish in
an awkward position. While it acknowledged their contribution to Canada’s
national and imperial outlook with its implied inequalities vis-à-vis linguistic
and racial minorities, it occluded the fact that much of the Irish migration
to Canada had been caused by a similar imperial ideology except with the
Irish at the receiving end. Because the identification with the Irish language,
Fenianism, and Famine victimhood, for example, would mark the Irish as
different, marginal and inferior, and certainly irreconcilable with the cultural
identities of the other Anglophone settlers in Canada—representatives of the
same English and Scottish imperial elites that also governed Ireland—they
had to be assimilated or replaced to fit into the national imagination. The Irish
were therefore both included in and at odds with the English solitude.
As Will Kymlicka has argued, multiculturalism is not merely about “recognition” and “identities” but also about “redistribution” and “interests”; that
is, it is about power and resources (80–83). Yet the Canadian Irish already
had positions of power during the Confederating period; to name but one example, Thomas D’Arcy McGee became a member of the Legislative Assembly soon after his arrival in Canada, and he was Minister of Agriculture, Immigration, and Statistics (1864–1867) while negotiating Confederation with
other political leaders. How do the Irish then fit into Canada’s multicultural
imagination? Were the Irish—who in terms of language, religion, and settlement history can be located close to both English and French Canadians—so
much assimilated that they had very little to produce by the time they were
allowed to step outside the bicultural framework and perform Irishness as an
intrinsic element of their Canadian identity again? Did they place particular
emphases on “identities” or “interests” and manipulate the ideology for special gains? How much of a role did ethnicity play in Irish-Canadian literature
when the performance of distinct ethnic identities became a marker of being
Canadian and an instrument of empowerment, although the Irish had been
empowered a century earlier precisely because they stopped performing such
distinct ethnic identities?
The Lark in the Clear Air (1974) by Dennis T. Patrick Sears and The Luck
of the Irish: A Canadian Fable (1975) by Harry J. Boyle are Bildungsromane
both set on Irish farms in rural Ontario during the Depression. The main
plots of both novels explore family ties, community relations, and romance
over the course of about one year as seen through the eyes of an orphaned
adolescent. However, each novel is also clearly anchored in the early 1970s
through its narrative perspective, which opens a window of about forty years
that gives the reader a sense of how ethnic affiliations and societal structures
have changed throughout the decades.
55
Sears’s text is predicated on the assumption that Irish-Canadians do not
identify themselves as Irish beyond the first generation, but that Irishness is a
label that can easily be supplied from the outside—by a different person or by
the narrator who looks back at his past from a future standpoint—especially
to mark a lack of education or civility.2 Boyle’s text, on the other hand, treats
Irishness as something more organic and continuously present, except that
the ethnographer would find a different representation of it depending on the
generation he or she looks at and the year of inquiry. Although both novels
conform to the multiculturalist urge to diversify, they expose both the socially
constructed nature of ethnicity and the intrinsic diversity of an ethnic community. Considering the relative attention they received—with The Luck of
the Irish winning the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour in 1976,
and The Lark in the Clear Air being canonized with its adoption into the New
Canadian Library series in 1985—the novels are symptomatic of the way
multiculturalism encouraged representations of the “Celtic fringes”—Margaret Laurence’s The Diviners (1974) is another good example—but they are
also symptomatic of the ongoing misrepresentation and exclusion of other
voices from Canadian literature. Put differently, they accorded privilege to
the fringes of an already privileged group.
In their generic conception, these ethnographic social realist novels3 are,
much like the ballad and the historiographic poem in the nineteenth century,
aspiring to a national or universal level. In addition to their focus on various
distinct representations of identity—ethnicity, gender, religion, generation,
region, and so on—their realism indulges, to quote Georg Lukács, the type:
a peculiar synthesis which organically binds together the general and
the particular both in characters and situations. What makes a type a type is
not its average quality, not its mere individual being, however profoundly
conceived; what makes it a type is that in it all the humanly and socially
essential determinants are present on their highest level of development, …
rendering concrete the peaks and limits of men and epochs. (6)
This universal aspect of the realist character is very important. Both Boyle
and Sears have made it clear that they do see their work as simultaneously
autobiographically specific and representative of the universal.4 That is, their
characters can be read as synecdoches for the nation (Ryder 16). They extend
the self symbolically into the social and transform personal experience into
a larger political narrative (Patten 51). While the novels flesh out local Irish
heritage, their use of the orphan motif and the Bildungsroman structure are
emblematic of a renunciation of the local community and a simultaneous embrace of a national Canadian identity. Tom Macrae, the protagonist of The
Luck of the Irish, appears instantly symbolical: he is born on the twelfth of
July, Orangeman’s day, baptised Catholic at once, and dies at the age of fiftytwo on the first of July, Canada Day. Losing his parents at a young age, Tom
56
is raised by his sister Carrie, a bossy, ignorant, but religious woman. Tom’s
symbolic trajectory of transformation is also a result of his ethnic, even racial
origins. The narrator provides a long list of success stories in Celtic myth
and Irish history that Tom appears connected to through blood and genes,
“mysterious hereditary strains bubbling away in him” (133). Growing up, he
had been a passive consumer of these stories; however, when the Macraes’
barn is destroyed in an instance of spontaneous combustion, and the siblings
set off on a pilgrimage to change their economic fortunes, Tom begins to
change and to rearrange actively the grid of Irishness that concerns his life.
The pilgrimage to the Martyrs’ Shrine near Midland, north of Toronto, is
explicitly likened to the Atlantic crossings of Jacques Cartier (34) and of the
Irish emigrants during the famine (40), both of which also led to redefinitions
of identities and vast economic changes. This identifies the pilgrimage, on
the one hand, as a metaphor for the transformative experience of migration in
general. On the other hand, the central event of the pilgrimage, the miracle, is
very much a symbol for the transition of the Irish as a poor settler community
to being very successful Canadian individuals. It works as a catharsis for
the community and leads to a softening of sectarian differences, a decline of
religious fervour, and a substitution of psychology for religion to emphasize
individual identities over community values.
This pluralisation is also expressed in the narrative perspective. The
novel contains a lot of dialogue as well as direct “quotations” from various
characters as if they were being interviewed. The parts of the main plot told
from the point of view of Tom Macrae contain both sections in free indirect
speech and longer interior monologues set apart and indented. This heteroglossia allows for a rich picture of a community in transition, and makes a
point about identity already on the structural level of the book: ethnic communities are composed by individuals who represent a variety of opinions,
values, and manners of speaking.
The heterogeneous group of characters that the reader meets at the beginning and end of the novel highlights the changes in the Irish-Canadian
community between the late 1920s—the setting of the main plot with the pilgrimage—and the late 1960s—the setting of the frame narrative that focuses
on Tom’s funeral. While the mourners do not represent racial or linguistic
diversity, they nonetheless signify cultural diversity as they are ranked according to the relative importance of their various markers of identity. The
fact that the Irish Americans are introduced as the first mourners underscores
the centrality of ethnicity. Both Boyle’s and Sears’s novels repeatedly draw
attention to the many family connections between the Irish in Ontario and
those in the area around Detroit, Michigan.5 The people from the immediate local surroundings are listed as the second group of guests. They are
mostly business relations of the deceased and are from a variety of ethnic
57
backgrounds, which appear to be representative of the demographics of the
region. It is with regard to the Catholic community, only the third one to
be introduced, that the biggest changes are pointed out, which is probably
an indicator of its relative decline in importance. Not only has the Second
Vatican Council (1962–1965) had its bearings, but also the ethnic mix within
Catholic communities has changed, furnishing the Macraes’ parish, for example, with a Polish priest. The narrator makes the interesting remark that
the Irish American visitors find this a lot less odd than the Irish-Canadian
parishioners who have a hard time reconciling the priest’s ethnic heritage
with the fact that their church’s “stained glass windows had all been donated
by Redmonds, Brophys, O’Briens, Callaghans, and so on” (2). This observation places an additional emphasis on the first category, Irish ethnicity, which
seems to increase its importance in the perception of subjectivity the more
Catholicism disappears from within the Irish ethnic self-conception, and the
more Catholicism overlaps with other ethnicities in Canada. In that sense, the
novel presents the Irish community at a critical moment when the dynamics
of homogeneity and diversity with regard to both ethnicity and religion are
slowly being altered and the related powers shifted.
This uprooting of Catholic sternness, however, does not represent a challenge to the overall celebration of Canada’s Christian heritage. Catholicism
is still presented as the trigger for the pilgrimage, and the shrine is a cultural relic from the time of Canada’s colonization and therefore an imperial
manifestation and affirmation of the consolidated power of Christianity. The
shrine commemorates the Jesuits’ mission to Aboriginal communities as well
as their tragic death on such pyres as Leprohon described in her poems. Its
history is introduced by a preacher from London whose speech at mass is purposely sensationalist to entertain the congregation and encourage the pilgrimage. Moreover, the character of Sylvester Toogood, the seller of fake relics,
takes any seriousness out of colonial history. He exploits Native Canadians
as a commercial commodity to boost sales, reproducing the stereotype of the
Native shaman who has natural healing powers but died out in the course of
imperial expansion. Any frightening aspects of Native culture are removed by
presenting the relic-providing Chief as a Christian and part-white, that is, assimilated and de-indigenized (Goldie 132–33), and by situating his life in the
past. It has become a cliché that “whites of an Irish or Scottish heritage” have
“an unusual ability to comprehend indigene mysticism and thus are unusually
apt candidates for indigenization” (Goldie 137). By presenting the Aboriginal
as a void, Boyle depicts a natural progression from McGee’s and Leprohon’s
“imaginary Indian” (Francis) to the fake Aboriginal product for consumption: the Celtic settler does not need to assert his superiority anymore; he has
replaced the Native completely. Even within the narrow Catholic framework,
Poles and Italians are depicted as tragic outsiders and not yet belonging to
58
the community, which reinforces the picture of an “Anglo-Celtic” core in
Ontario to which the Irish naturally belong.
Though not quite as intent on using symbolic dates as Boyle, Dennis
Sears, in The Lark in the Clear Air, still points out that his character Mick
is born in the year before Confederation (126); he was born in Ireland and
arrived in Canada two years later. Of mixed Irish background, Mick unites
a cultural dichotomy that continuously affirms and subverts traditional Irish
stereotypes: bourgeois and farmer, Anglo-Irish landowner and Catholic stableboy, arts education and a love of nature, good manners and a disposition to
violence. His ward and great-nephew Danny describes him as “a kind of King
Frog in a puddle big enough for him to operate in and small enough to rule
out any possible competitors” (88). Through such a hybrid and individualized form of ethnicity, the practice of categorizing people as representatives
of distinct communal identities is ridiculed. At the same time, however, the
novel exposes the regulating power of the “civilized” ruling circles that limit
Mick’s options—as a member of the School Board, for instance—and seem
to trigger his conscious rejections of civility and his embraces of alcoholism,
prostitutes, and fist fights.
Mick prefers to escape into music whenever he has the chance. Whereas
Danny was bored by the songs as a teenager, the grown-up narrator develops
a folkloric interest: “I wish now, looking back, I’d written the words down or
studied harder at catching the tunes” (74). Relating back to Thomas D’Arcy
McGee’s insistence on the importance of ballads for the creation of national
(and ethnic) identities, this metafictional statement is another way of drawing
attention to the potential of song and literature as prime preservers of heritage. Furthermore, it highlights the disappearance of distinct ethnic markers
between the first and the third generation, between the arrival from Ireland
and the adoption of an “ethnicity-free” Canadianness, and between Confederation and multiculturalism.
While ethnicity seems to have great meaning for Mick, it is already an
empty category and a mere label for Danny. As the adult narrator, he speaks
about his youth from an ironic distance and adds the label “Irish” to past
situations predominantly for comic relief. “Irishness,” however, is also closely
connected to aspects of education, that is, ethnic identity is depicted as a way
of performing that can and should be altered by certain amounts and kinds
of learning. Danny’s love interest, the school teacher Elaine, resembles the
nineteenth-century cartoon figure of Britannia, the strong English female who
rescues the Irishman from anarchy by civilizing him. She too supplies Irishness from the outside as a label of otherness, identifying certain actions and
features of Danny’s and Mick’s as “Irish.” She teaches Danny correct English
grammar and poetry and wants him to go to university to escape Mick’s fate.
The novel ultimately presents a clash of desires and a mix of messages, of
59
which some celebrate the diversifying objectives of multiculturalism, and
some undermine them by idolizing the civilized, highly educated, and successful white Canadian who has overcome animal urges and ethnic curiosities.
Through intertextuality and mythopoeia, the novel is coloured in a particular shade of Canadianness that is simultaneously Irish and Canadian. The
Lark in the Clear Air is not only named after a poem by Samuel Ferguson, an
Irish poet who was praised by Gavan Duffy, the Young Ireland mastermind
and mentor of McGee, for his “appeal to the imagination and passions, not
to the intellect” (qtd. in Dwan 207), but the novel can be read as an actual
adaptation of this Irish text. This highlights the novel’s groundedness in both
the Irish and the Irish-Canadian literary tradition, while also demonstrating
the impact of the natural environment on the composition of culture. This
strategy disguises the fact that the pastoral incorporation of Canada’s natural
environment into a European narrative framework is in itself a strategy that
was developed by Irish and other explorers of, visitors to, and settlers in
Canada, such as McGee and Leprohon, making the novel only an updated
version of the kind of homogeneity-inducing cultural product Irish-Canadian
settlers had been developing long before. The style underscores the centrality
of the European explorer in Canada’s founding myth and the subsequently
assumed universality of Anglo-Celtic constructions of Canadianness.
Both Boyle and Sears present their own ethnic communities as microcosms to serve as examples for Canada overall, suggesting that social
cohesion in Canada only works by recognizing the essentially human characteristics of every person, and by negotiating happiness and success on
individualistic terms. While they relativize the Irish experience in a larger
Canadian context, presenting Irish settlers in a particular frame of space and
time, they simultaneously underscore their centrality in the construction of
Canada as an essentially white, Anglo-Celtic, Christian country. Their play
with stereotypes and their formal choices promote a settlement into coded
norms rather than a challenge to the problematic nature of colonial history;
they reaffirm the values of the Confederating period but do not question the
ideologies that led to assimilation. Since multiculturalism introduced a shift
of power away from the established cultural majorities, the assertion of minority identities within the majority appears a strategy of reclaiming privilege
under changed conditions.
60
Conclusion
Assessing Irish settler colonialism at the time of Confederation and the
early years of official multiculturalism, one can conclude that in trying to
escape British colonial domination Irish-Canadian writers have successfully converted anti-colonial strategies into national programs that helped
them move from the cultural margins into a self-created centre. To use my
titular metaphors, borrowed from Leprohon and Sears, they have, first, asserted their racial superiority and indigenized themselves, becoming “white
lilies”—innocent, natural Canadians. The later position as “king frog in a
puddle” indicates an amphibious nature that allows the Irish to move easily
between “ethnic specificity” and “ethnicity-free mainstream,” underscoring in a sense the instability of identities. At the same time, however, the
king frog is also a (European) myth that conceals a position of power. In
such a framework where ethnicity is presented as something that can be
overcome, the pattern of “ethnicity-as-choice” and “race-as-determination”
(Anagnostou 107) is consolidated, and multiculturalism becomes a void that
only increases the inequalities on the level of the larger society. As Kymlicka
reminds us, nation-building and multiculturalism are not contradictory; in
fact, multiculturalism must be seen as a transformation of rather than an
opposition to the nation-state (83). The Irish have historically shown the
validity of this statement in the way they integrated themselves into Canada’s early oligo-ethnic national vision, securing a space for the shamrock
on the English side of the bicultural framework. Yet over time they have
become part of the problem, not the solution. The potential for change lies
in the concept of collective remembering and forgetting that is an essential
principle of any nation-building, whether imperial or multicultural (Renan).
That Irishness and its relation to the Canadian nation was not remembered all
that differently in the early years of official multiculturalism compared to the
way it was ideologically understood around the time of Confederation shows
how strongly the Irish contributed to the homogenizing of Canadian identity,
and how slowly national self-conceptions develop over time. This does not
mean, however, that the Irish have not moved on from there. In fact, the
challenges to the national forgetting of various forms of racism, exclusion,
injustice and oppression, that have been brought forward by those who were
empowered by official multiculturalism, have had their impact on subsequent
accounts of Irish-Canadian remembering and forgetting. That is, an assessment of contemporary Irish-Canadian literature promises different conclusions than those reached here, but to go into detail would exceed the focus
of this paper. Suffice it to say that the more recent transnational explorations
of Irish-Canadian identity that specifically contemplate the ironies inherent
in the Irish colonizer/colonized binary have been much more sceptical about
cultural nationalism and multicultural harmony in Canada (Urschel).
61
If multiculturalism, as an ideology that is supposed to guarantee social
justice and equality, “is not just about ‘retention’ of an identity but its development within a larger social context” (Kostash 95)—and the “nation”
provides such a context—it is mandatory to analyse this context in terms of
its inclusionary and exclusionary practices. As Laura Moss has argued, “[i]f
context contains memory, then it is also vital to consider social, political, and
historically specific contexts to remember what is, or has been, done in the
name of the nation” (Moss 11). This essay has tried to do just that with respect
to Irish Catholic Canadians. Moving forward, however, it is also worth considering the conceptual instability of the nation as the site of these kinds of
negotiations precisely because of its associations with the history of racism.
Whereas Donna Palmateer Pennee has celebrated the process of “national
literary studies” as the enabler of “a kind of literary citizenship” that can
counter forms of exclusion (81–82), Lily Cho, in a direct critique of Pennee’s
work, has problematized the nation as the “natural site of citizenship” (95),
suggesting instead to foreground “diasporic citizenship.” For her, “dwelling
in this dissonance between diaspora and citizenship” has the potential “to
enable memory to tear away at the coherence of national forgettings” (109).
As Irish-Canadian literature has done much to define the terms of reference
in Canada’s debates about the “national” and the “ethnic,” a move away from
these categories towards the “citizen” and the “diasporic” might produce the
space where the previously marginalized are able to redefine the centre, and
a dialogue of equals can emerge.
Notes
1.
2.
3.
4.
62
I use scare quotes to describe the Irish as ‘white’, because of their not uncontested hold on whiteness. See David Wilson’s “Comment: Whiteness and
Irish Experience in North America” for a thorough discussion of the relevant
historiography.
For a critical definition of civility, especially in the Canadian context, see
Daniel Coleman’s White Civility (2006). He refers to civility as combining
“the temporal notion of civilization as progress that was central to the idea
of modernity and the colonial mission with the moral-ethical concept of a
(relatively) peaceful order—that is to say, the orderly regulation between
individual liberty and collective equality that has been fundamental to the
politics of the modern nation state” (10; original emphasis).
I classify them as “social realist,” as opposed to plainly “realist,” because of
their anti-Romantic depiction of social struggles, a setting in neglected areas,
and ordinary language.
Boyle had this tendency to use the local to comment on the national already
in his work as a radio and TV broadcaster (McCreath); also see his essay
collections. As for Sears, regarding his first novel, he writes, “It may be argued,
with cause, that any novel is, after a fashion, autobiographical. In that sense the
episodic nature of The Lark in the Clear Air reflects slices of life as I knew it
from that part of my boyhood spent growing up in Ontario” (11); however, he
also uses the term “mythical” to characterize his invented Brulé setting, which
5.
serves as a universal stand-in for “all back-country Ontario farm and townlands that have, or had, a marginally agricultural tenure” (10).
This cross-border connection is a persistent motif in Irish-Canadian literature.
Such recent novels as Emma Donoghue’s Landing (2007) and Jane Urquhart’s
Sanctuary Line (2010) also stress family links among the Canadian Irish in
Ontario and the American Irish around Detroit.
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65
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Evelyn P. Mayer
Beyond Border Binaries: Borderlines,
Borderlands, and In-Betweenness in Thomas King’s
Short Story “Borders”
Abstract
The concerns at the border in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries
are not so much goods and customs any longer but establishing the identity
and citizenship of those crossing the line. This focus increased further after
9/11 with new security concerns and the ensuing thickening of the Canada–US
border. With the mother, one of the protagonists in Thomas King’s short story
“Borders,” insisting on her Blackfoot identity, she and her son are stuck in
the middle. They can neither go back to Canada nor cross the border into the
United States. Quite literally, they are stranded in what Homi K. Bhabha called
“third space.” The setting of the duty-free store, located “between the two borders” (King 134), thus acquires a new meaning as a place of refuge, hybridity,
and third space beyond border binaries.
Résumé
Vers la fin du 20e siècle et le début du 21e, l’administration douanière ne
se préoccupe plus autant des questions de marchandises que des questions
concernant l’identité et la citoyenneté des personnes qui franchissent la
frontière. Cet intérêt a encore augmenté après le 11 septembre à cause de
nouveaux problèmes de sécurité et du renforcement de la frontière CanadaÉ.-U. Comme la mère, dans la nouvelle de Thomas King Borders, qui, ayant
insisté pour s’identifier comme Pied-noir, reste prise avec son fils entre le
Canada et les É.-U. puisqu’elle ne peut ni revenir au Canada, ni traverser la
frontière pour passer aux États-Unis. Tous deux sont littéralement « coincés »
dans ce que Homi K. Bhabha appelle un « tiers espace ». L’emplacement de
la boutique hors taxes, entre les deux frontières (King 134), acquiert ainsi
une nouvelle signification comme un lieu de refuge, d’hybridité et de tiers
espace au-delà de la double frontière.
So the borderlines construct conceptual edges and the borderlands
construct territories of translation. But this distinction misleads; borders can work both ways at once, whereas the distinction suggests that
a definitive binary resolution is possible. I resist the simplistic rhetoric
of either/or, and engage with the more difficult rhetoric of both/and.
(New 5)
Border concepts, liminality, and identity construction are key issues
in times of globalization and simultaneous particularization. Canada–US
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
borderlands are contextualized within the current discourse of border studies through focusing on Thomas King’s short story “Borders.” King aptly
explores the nexus between borders, citizenship, and identity. Being of mixed
heritage and a frequent border crosser between Canada and the United States
himself, he illustrates the dignity of Native peoples and the arbitrariness of the
border. The Canada–US border bisects the traditional lands of indigenous nations, as is the case for the Blackfoot. Both borderlines as “conceptual edges”
(New 5) and borderlands as “territories of translation” (ibid.) in a Canada–US
context, together with the encompassing notion of in-betweenness, are the
foci of this analysis in relation to “Borders.” King, one of the first Native
authors to be well known in both Canada and the US (Davidson, Walton, and
Andrews 3), embodies the “both/and” (New 5), the in-betweenness in need of
interpretation, negotiation, and translation. King, through his mixed heritage
and his biographical border crossings, is particularly suited to recognize and
address the issue of borders and liminal spaces: “As a mixed-blood man, born
in the United States but now a Canadian citizen, King is especially sensitive
to the power of borders. Yet he is also extremely interested in the spaces
‘in-between’ those borders, whether they are literal or figurative” (Davidson,
Walton, and Andrews 4). In-betweenness can be seen as an asset, according
to King. He “recognizes the possibilities inherent in his position of literal and
figurative ‘in-betweenness’” (ibid. 9). King’s interest and personal experience with borderlines, borderlands, and the spaces in-between are evident in
his fiction.
Border Studies and Border Concepts
The new field of border studies is increasingly evolving into an interdisciplinary field theorizing and analyzing borders, borderlands, and borderlands culture requiring comparative research (Konrad and Nicol 21). The geographical
focus of border studies in North America has shifted recently from the US–
Mexican border to diverse borderlands including the Canada–US border. Native scholar Karl S. Hele describes the added benefit of these borderland studies: “Beyond simply comparing Canadian and American experiences, much
can be discovered by examining the ebbs and flows of experiences within
borderland regions” (xxiii). These regions differ in their regional cultures depending on their geographic location along the Canada–US border. Much of
the fiction of Thomas King is located in the Alberta–Montana borderlands. In
this locale, the past, present, and future of Canadians and Americans merge,
in particular First Nations in Canada and Native Americans.
Moreover, new paradigms are adopted analyzing “the border not as a
barrier but as a crucible where conflicting currents of identity, history, and
culture shape local and national communities” (Hele xxiii). The country as a
whole is influenced by the periphery and the edges. They have become essential to the centres of power: “Areas once peripheral are now primary zones of
68
Beyond Border Binaries: Borderlines, Borderlands, and
In-Betweenness in Thomas King’s Short Story “Borders”
growth and development, crucibles for economic and social transformations
that in turn engender changes in the interiors of countries” (Loucky and Alper
19). Borderlands are catalysts for change and laboratories of transformation
beyond their immediate surroundings.
National borders seem to be arbitrary and artificial from a Native perspective: “First Nations have resided in their territories, which are referred
to geographically as Turtle Island or North America, since time immemorial.
For them, the linear borders are but a recent and wholly artificial construct”
(Lischke 220). The free movement of First Nations and Native Americans
is not halted by political boundaries superimposed on their homelands by
newcomers. Hence, Natives started to undermine these boundaries and
thwart the negative cultural impact through using key cultural expressions
such as storytelling to voice their viewpoints: “Lines drawn both on the water
and on the land bisect and serve to divide Native American communities.
In response, Native Americans in their stories and literatures have resisted
these borders throughout their territories” (ibid. 219). Expressing their voices
in literature is empowering and essential in the survival of Native cultures.
These “stories of resistance to the lines drawn upon the lands and the waters
of Turtle Island” (ibid. 220) feature prominently in King’s work. Creating
awareness is one of the main goals, thus “[i]n many of the stories that have
been written by Native people, borders are represented as political artifacts
that need to be dismantled or subverted, as in King’s ‘Borders,’ in order to
overcome cultural ignorance” (ibid. 220). “Borders” is hence a story of resistance promoting a deeper understanding of Native peoples’ situations in the
past and present.
Borders do not simply divide peoples, cultures, and countries, but also
create a borderland where interaction is possible. People, goods, and ideas
cross the border and go beyond binaries: “In many instances, boundaries
divide physically and geographically, but they might also help to transcend
differences, enable interaction, and generate understanding between cultures,
perhaps even serving to establish new identities” (ibid. 221). Borders are
challenging yet at the same time emblematic of opportunities. International
borders are characterized by a simultaneity of multiple functions: “An
international border, once definitive in most aspects of lands and life, today
has become at once a barrier, a conduit and a transition zone” (Konrad and
Nicol 22). This holds true as well for the Canada–US border. The border
is a site of simultaneous convergence and contestation even with enhanced
security measures and a current focus on rebordering: “[T]he reality remains
that borders are simultaneously sites of nexus and convergence as well as
lines of delineation and disjunction. They are alternately flexible and fixed,
open and closed zones of transition as much as institutional settings” (Loucky
and Alper 12). However, the perceptions of the border can differ regarding
the primary functions of the borderline between two nations. Consequently
69
increased awareness instead of increased security is needed, taking into account regional perspectives from local stakeholders. This approach creates
more knowledge and hence more trust, leading to tangible results, such as
more trade and better security.
The binational relationship between Canada and the United States is
asymmetric in nature, in general Canada being the less powerful of the two
partners. However, in certain instances, such as the Cascade Gateway in
Washington State and British Columbia, this relationship is reversed. Vancouver is the centre for Western Washington. Canada and the US view the
border and related security issues very differently. The United States sees the
border to Canada as a weakness in their defence strategy: “The world’s longest border between two countries is now often characterized as a potential
gateway for terrorists and undocumented immigrants. These concerns draw
on the widely held US view of Canada as a safe haven for terrorists and
a country with lax immigration laws” (Sadowski-Smith 1). This has led to
an erosion of trust between the two countries: “We don’t seem to see the
world the same way anymore, and as a result there is perceptible erosion
in the trust between us. Americans responded to Sept. 11 in ways that most
Canadians don’t seem to have internalized” (Rosenzweig 34). Canadians
underestimate the lasting impact of 9/11 on Americans’ need for security. For
Canadians, trade, tourism, and sovereignty, as well as identity, trump security concerns. There is a complete disconnect between the two countries regarding border priorities, leading almost to a dismissal of the other country’s
concerns: “Likewise, in an America where national security concerns are top
of mind, Canadian complaints about ‘thickening’ at the border fall on deaf
ears” (Savage 30). Canadians associate a “thickening” of the border with the
rebordering and technological build-up along the Canada–US border, which
has repercussions for trade, transportation, and border culture: “Increased
security has slowed the flow of goods and people and increased frustration of businesses and travelers. These disruptions are serious because they
threaten to undermine economic opportunities in border regions, erode social
ties, and weaken competitiveness in the highly integrated North American
economy” (Alper and Hammond 1). Due to the asymmetry between Canada
and the United States, Canada—and by extension the US–Canada border—
are marginalized in the American psyche: “From the U.S. perspective, until
recently the northern border has been largely inconsequential, a back door
which hardly merits attention” (Loucky and Alper 17). Hence, only a sense
of perceived security threats can spark the interest of the US media and public
or an overhaul of security-related regulations. The focus on the Canada–US
border has become very topical after the June 1, 2009, implementation of the
Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative (WHTI) with its passport requirement
for land border crossings between Canada and the US, particularly in light of
low rates of passport holders in both countries (Konrad and Nicol 14).
70
Border studies acknowledge that borders as well as border concepts
are evolving and in need of review: “A central part of border studies is the
recognition that borders are places of reading and interpretation, subject to
revision: how we read borders, and who is included and excluded by them are
ongoing questions” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 151). These issues are
revisited repeatedly and often reflect the cultural moment in history.
The inherent danger is a propensity for wishful thinking. King, however,
has a realistic approach to it without being prone to succumb to utopian scenarios: “King’s works adapt and reconfigure these concerns without treating
the border as space of utopian alterity. His characters actively try to reverse
the discursive norms that have been used to entrench Western versions of nationalism and disempower Native peoples. At the same time, however, King’s
texts also suggest an awareness of the limits of this approach” (Davidson,
Walton, and Andrews 151). Native views of identity and belonging substitute
the discourse of the non-Native majority. In “Borders” King’s “doubled vision, which is both informed by a postmodern desire to move beyond the
confines of nation and national borders, and critical of the limitations of a
utopian vision” (ibid.) is displayed when the Blackfoot mother is eventually allowed to enter the US after insisting on her Blackfoot identity. This
incident, though, does not set a precedent.
King’s stories set at the border are unlike other border narratives as he
paints a more realistic picture: “By showing the Canadian–U.S. border as
a site in process, constantly being reconfigured, King’s work revises and
subverts the heroism and linear teleology of many border narratives” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 153). Canada’s identity and sense of self cannot
be separated from the Canada–US border with its powerful symbolic value
as a shield against American cultural imperialism. King places Canada in
a triangular relationship with the US and First Nations to great effect for
decentring preconceived notions:
King exploits uncertainties about Canada’s relationship to America in
order to develop a sophisticated and ironic treatment of the border,
and then uses this frame of ambivalence, at the same time avoiding an
assimilation of Native tribal customs and traditions into a discourse of
Eurocentric nationhood. His works refashion border studies by looking
both within and beyond national borders to consider the legitimacy of
internal claims of solidarity. (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 153–54)
Border studies need to take into account internal as well as external relations
between all stakeholders involved in vital border relationships.
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Identity Construction and Canadian Identity
Borderlands are an important locale for learning more about national identity.
Literature specialist Claudia Sadowski-Smith contends that “the Canadian
boundary with the United States has traditionally functioned as a stronghold
for concepts of Canadian national identity” (12). Identity construction is
hence closely associated with the Canada–US border; “the 49th parallel is a
powerful cultural trope” (New 11). In the same vein, Lauren McKinsey and
Victor Konrad argue that “Canadians tend to see the border as the edge of
their culture and the shield of their identity” (20). Hugh Keenleyside once
said, “The boundary between Canada and the United States is a typically
human creation; it is physically invisible, geographically illogical, militarily indefensible, and emotionally inescapable” (Canada and the United
States, 1929/qtd. in Konrad vii). This emotional inescapability is the key to
understanding. The Canadian–American border has more than one function.
Thus the US–Canadian border can take on multiple roles and is in this respect multidimensional. The border as dividing line between Canadians and
Americans is clearly a sanctuary line for Canadian culture as understood by
Canadians:
“Maintained borders, such as Canada’s with the United States, protect
against assimilation” (Blaise 8). Marshall McLuhan depicts Canada as “a
land of multiple borderlines, psychic, social, and geographic” (244). Canadians see themselves in contrast to their southern neighbours:
That America has so often served as a useful defining contrast is
part of what is meant by Canadians when they say that the border
defines them. For this reason, in Canadian writing and in writing about
Canada, that border, that literal demarcation of difference between the
two countries, often takes on almost allegorical status. (Brown 20)
Roger Gibbins delved deeper into these differing perceptions to conclude that
only Canada resembles a borderlands society:
The border penetrates deeply into the Canadian consciousness, identity, economy, and polity to a degree unknown and unimaginable in the
United States. Thus, Canadians and Americans do not share the international border in the same way, for Canada alone can be described as
a “borderlands society.” (2)
The border is consequently “as much a psychological as a physical
one” (Blaise 4). Pertaining to psychological borders, Clark Blaise states that
“psychological borders are, by their nature, unequally felt” (9), which might
be yet another reason for the differing perceptions of the shared border in
both the United States and Canada.
72
Some scholars label the asymmetric Canada–US relationship as “imperial” due to a very big American cultural influence in Canada: “[T]he imperial
relations between Canada and the United States are reflected in the United
States’ current economic and cultural involvement in Canada” (Davidson,
Walton, and Andrews 141). They see a clear link to identity constructions:
Foreign trade, the ownership of businesses, and the circulation of television,
film, and printed materials produced in ‘America’ and exported north of the
border all have an impact on constructions of Canadian national identity”
(ibid.). The asymmetry due to the different population distribution in Canada
as compared to the United States is particularly felt in Canada as the perceived
junior partner in this relationship: “Sixty percent of the Canadian population,
currently thirty-two million people, live within one hundred miles of the
US boundary and are constantly exposed to US hegemony in the cultural,
political, and economic realms” (Sadowski-Smith 12). The term hegemony,
indicating neo-imperialist actions, explains Canadians’ impulse to see the
Canada–US border as a defence mechanism: “In the metaphorical approach
common in Canada, the border often symbolizes Canadian efforts to resist
US cultural, economic, and political intrusions. The border thus functions as
a bulwark for definitions of Canadian particularities, which are almost always
conceptualized as differences from its southern neighbor” (Sadowski-Smith
12). Nevertheless, despite this perceived inferior role with regard to the United
States, Canada still needs to assume responsibility for Canadian imperialism:
“Canada, in particular, has tended to position itself as historically vulnerable
to the controlling whims of Britain and the United States, reinforcing the
perception that Canada is not responsible for its own imperializing actions,
a notion that is deconstructed in King’s texts, especially through depictions
of the border” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 156). King makes use of
that in his stories dealing with the border and what the border means for
First Nations, since “Canada is embroiled in its own set of contradictions,
especially regarding Native peoples” (ibid. 135). In the Canadian imagination, Natives nevertheless are an essential part of the Canadian mosaic. First
Nations, Métis, and Inuit as well as the notion of the North play a prominent
role in the Canadian psyche: “Native characters, paradoxically, strengthen
Canadians’ conceptions of their own, unique cultural identity” (ibid.). Laura
Peters postulates along the same lines:
Yet, the paradox contained within Canadian national identity is that
it desires what it attempts to erase. The presence of the indigenous
peoples serves as a constant reminder that Canadians are not indigenous in that they are not of the land, while the indigenous—as
‘Borders’ so powerfully reveals—are not Canadians. Thus, one could
argue that Canadian citizens are immigrants while the indigenous are
not citizens. (Peters 197)
73
She puts it very directly that “in the Canadian context the “foreigner” is
not foreign but indigenous” (Peters 197). Indigenous peoples are, according
to Peters, the marginalized other, the foreigners though they were and are the
first people present. With this situation, other groups who feel marginalized
can also identify due to being non-members of the “two founding nations”:
“Thus, the figure of the “Indian” provides a point of identification for other
groups who, by virtue of their ethnicity, find themselves marginal in a multicultural country that privileges the ‘two founding nations’” (Peters 198).
Due to the asymmetric relationship and yet strong connection between
Canada and the US, Canadians are hardly ever indifferent to the US whereas
in the US there is a lack of interest in and knowledge about Canada. Both
countries have their concerns, but in two diametrically opposed realms: identity and trade for Canada, and security for the US. These differences affect the
perceived role of borders as well:
For Canadians the border is central to identity. There is substantial
concern over the influence of the United States on virtually every
aspect of Canadian life. […] Thus, the border is viewed somewhat
optimistically, as a necessary if insufficient protective shield to help
maintain Canadian sovereignty. […] However, regionalism and continentalism are as much territorial realities as is nationalism. The strong
sense of awareness of this reality has for generations helped shape a
unique Canadian nationalism. This nationalism is based on Canada as
“not the United States.” (Loucky and Alper 17)
The border safeguarding Canadian, particularly English Canadian
identity, is of utmost importance in the minds of Canadians. Despite strong
regional identities and political inklings of continentalism, Canada as a nation defines itself in negation towards the United States. Historian Sheila
McManus highlights the important role borderlands play in comparison to
heartlands regarding national identity:
Although “heartlands” are often assumed to be the source of a nation’s
identity, the place where common values and beliefs are either forged
or preserved, nations are in fact made and unmade at their borders.
Heartlands can be heartlands only if the edges around them are already
doing the work of defining whatever it is that is seen to separate one
nation from another. (xi)
In “Borders,” King addresses the linkage between borders, citizenship,
and identity. The story is set in the Alberta–Montana borderlands. Historian McManus, echoing the observations by King’s characters, describes her
personal experience of the Alberta–Montana borderlands:
74
As I crisscrossed the border between Alberta and Montana years later,
the imaginary nature of this “international” border was again brought
home to me: were it not for the Canada–U.S. Customs building (called
“Coutts” on Canadian maps and “Sweetgrass” on American ones),
there would be no way to tell when you had crossed the line. Although
sections of the border are visible from the air, on the ground the
constants in these borderlands are more striking than the differences:
mountains to the west, dry prairies to the east, and a big sky always
above you. These constants are a powerful reminder that this region
was once part of a coherent territory. (xi)
Historically speaking, these borderlands were integrated and the border was
superimposed in the nineteenth century: “The land that would become the
Alberta–Montana borderlands was home to interconnected communities,
economies, and ecologies that could not be divided simply by proclaiming
that a linear boundary ran through them” (McManus xii). This was Blackfoot/
Blackfeet territory: “American observers in the late nineteenth century referred to these groups collectively as the ‘Blackfeet,’ while Canadian writers
called them the ‘Blackfoot’” (McManus xi). Depicting the special situation
of indigenous peoples when crossing the Canada–United States boundary,
King highlights the role that rules and regulations play and how public opinion and media coverage can create pressure to be more accommodating in
implementing those rules and regulations. King shows the dignity and pride
of First Nations and Native Americans in asserting their identities independent of the nation-state of which their Native nations became a part.
Native identities do not stop at the Canada–US border. As is the case
with Thomas King who has a mixed heritage in more than one way:
As a writer born in the United States, but who considers himself Canadian and holds Canadian citizenship, he embodies two nationalities.
On a cultural level, moreover, his status throws those demarcations
into question, since as a Cherokee who moved to Canada, he can
be read as a Canadian writer and a Native writer, but he cannot be a
Canadian Native writer because Cherokees are not ‘native’ to Canada.
(Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 13)
There is, however, a pan-Native heritage. Similar situations persist regarding
claims for sovereignty, land, and cultural identities. King succeeds in pointing out the role of the imagination in Native relations with the majority.
Natives are often marginalized and victimized yet acknowledging their own
cultures and redefining the border superimposed on their territories can be
empowering. They can in turn take hold of their imaginations regarding the
border. King makes it clear in his work that the border is merely an illusion:
“His texts, by writing and transgressing the border that divides Canada from
the United States, show the forty-ninth parallel to be precisely that: a figment
75
of someone else’s imagination” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 13). This
“figment” is a driving force to make Natives’ own voices heard. They acknowledge the fluidity and shifting nature of borders with its consequences:
“And if a border is, in fact, inherently unstable and elastic, it follows that
that which it demarcates is also flexible and rooted in particular historical
and cultural moments. Consequently, national borders alter and what they
delineate shifts” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 15–16). European and Native perspectives on borders are diametrically opposed: “From a European
cultural perspective, borders mark differences; from a Native view, borders
are and always were in flux, signifying territorial space that was mutable and
open to change. The borders that presently exist ignore the Native peoples,
who are often cut off from one another as a result of a line that has been
drawn through their lands” (ibid. 16). National borders are not only important
for the Native presence, but also for the nation-state delineated by it: “Just as
national borders separate First Nations people by ignoring (and erasing) their
presence, so do those borders also obscure the acknowledged Nations they
outline” (ibid.).
Canada and the United States need one another, or the other “somewhere
else,” to define themselves. This is put in a very compelling way by scholars
Davidson, Walton, and Andrews: “Undoubtedly, for Canada and the United
States, the where of there is inevitably defined by somewhere else” (16). It is
essential to keep the notion of an imaginary line in mind, because
borders exist only to the degree that they are defended and ... this
imaginary line is especially defended by the way that each side imagines an identity in relation to the other across it—but differently. The
asymmetrical working of the imaginary border is especially evident in
the way Canadians tend, somewhat dubiously, to view Americans as
the rampant example of what they do not want to become, whereas the
American tendency is to see, just as dubiously, Canada as already so
much like the United States (except less interesting) that it is hardly
there at all. (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 16)
The liminal space in-between national borders such as Native lands and
the stories associated with them are empowering and help transform interaction from that viewpoint: “[I]t suggests that from in-between, one can view
either side, perhaps rejecting both, at the same time that those sides influence
one’s spatial position. Telling stories is one way to explore and reconfigure such complex relations from a position of in-betweenness” (Davidson,
Walton, and Andrews 17–18). In-betweenness is a strength, as is the fluidity
of the border: “That the border is giddy becomes cause for celebration, not
regret. [...] In King’s stories, fields can alter with changes in the frame of
reference, lines can move, and edges and extremities can turn into thresholds,
76
especially for the next generation” (New 29). In “Borders,” borderlines and
borderlands are transcended to go beyond limits and limitations.
“Borders”: Beyond Borderlines and Borderlands
There are two main characters in “Borders.” One is the unnamed narrator,
who is the younger brother of Laetitia, who is the catalyst for the plot. She
had left the reserve in Canada to start a new life in Salt Lake City. Her father
was American. The other protagonist is the mother, who embodies the tradition and pride of the Blackfoot nation. She addresses Laetitia in Blackfoot,
whereas Laetitia responds in English. The use of the Native language as
opposed to English strongly underlines the identity and sense of belonging
these two individuals embrace. The mother identifies as Blackfoot, whereas
her daughter sees herself as English-speaking mainstream Canadian or even
American: ‘“You can still see the mountain from here,” my mother told
Laetitia in Blackfoot. “Lots of mountains in Salt Lake,” Laetitia told her in
English’ (King 133). King emphasizes traditional culture in his story.
Blackfoot is the core cultural identity of the mother as is evident in her
cultural practices and language. There is a subtle critique of Americans as
well, thus indirectly placing the Blackfoot mother on the Canadian side of the
line. She adheres to the Canadian phenomenon of defining as non-American
and espousing an air of superiority regarding the neighbours to the South.
King emphasizes the distinct identity of the protagonists and their desire to
differentiate themselves from the Americans. The narrator, the son, reports
that he had to dress up as well as his mother “for my mother did not want
us crossing the border looking like Americans” (135). The port of entry the
mother and son use is at Coutts, Canada and Sweetgrass, US The son associates positive things with Canada and negative ones with the United States:
“Just hearing the names of these towns, you would expect that Sweetgrass,
which is a nice name and sounds like it is related to other places such as
Medicine Hat and Moose Jaw and Kicking Horse Pass, would be on the Canadian side, and that Coutts, which sounds abrupt and rude, would be on the
American side” (136).
The border itself, that is the American border crossing, is described with
a sense of foreboding and danger: “My mother […] drove all the way to
the border in first gear, slowly, as if she were trying to see through a bad
storm or riding high on black ice” (King 136). Since the boy’s father is from
the US and the sister lives there, it is surprising to read about this sense of
foreboding. This ultimately proves almost a self-fulfilling prophecy when the
mother and son are neither allowed to re-enter Canada nor to proceed to the
United States and are momentarily an actual example of “an Indian without
a country” (King 145). After the television crews and cameras arrive, the
mother and son can finally cross the border to visit Laetitia.
77
The border guards are described as gun-crazy cowboys: “They were
talking as they came, both men swaying back and forth like two cowboys
headed for a bar or a gunfight” (King 134). Additionally that description
draws attention to American border guards being armed in contrast to their
Canadian counterparts, a situation only recently changing with the rebordering and thickening of the Canada–US border after 9/11. The motif of guns
runs through the story, the narrator also mentioning that the female border
guard, Inspector Pratt, has a gun. Later on, he describes her gun in more
detail: “Her gun was silver. There were several chips in the wood handle and
the name ‘Stella’ was scratched into the metal butt” (King 136).
The following dialogue between the mother and the US border guard shows
the main emphasis being the answer to the citizenship and identity question:
“Morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning.”
“Cecil tells me you and the boy are Blackfoot.”
“That’s right.”
“Now, I know that we got Blackfeet on the American side and the
Canadians got Blackfeet on their side. Just so we can keep our
records straight, what side do you come from?” […] “Canadian side
or American side?” asked the guard.
“Blackfoot side,” she said. (King 135–36)
The concerns at the border are not so much goods and customs any longer
but establishing the identity and citizenship of people crossing the line. This
focus increased further after 9/11 with the “thickening” of the Canada–US
border. With the Jay Treaty, indigenous peoples have special border crossing
rights. The border bisects tribes, bands, and indigenous nations, as is the case
for the Blackfoot as shown in the quote above.
With the mother insisting on her Blackfoot identity, she and her son
are stuck in the middle. They can neither go back to Canada nor cross the
border into the United States. Quite literally they are stranded in what Homi
K. Bhabha called “third space”: “By refusing to locate herself within the
discourse of ‘nation,’ as defined by Canada and the United States, King’s
female protagonist offers a third term that predates the creation of these two
political entities” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 123). The setting of the
duty-free store, located “between the two borders” (King 134), thus acquires
a new meaning as a place of refuge, hybridity, and third space:
Most of that day, we wandered around the duty-free store, which
wasn’t very large. The manager had a name tag with a tiny American
flag on one side and a tiny Canadian flag on the other. His name was
Mel. Towards evening, he began suggesting that we should be on our
way. I told him we had nowhere to go, that neither the Americans nor
78
the Canadians would let us in. (King 140)
The boy and his mother are in-between and cannot escape that duality for
the time being and they have to go back and forth between the Canadian and
American borders. They end up once again for a second night in the duty-free
parking lot: “The woman and her son are relegated to the in-between space
of the Duty Free store until sufficient media attention forces the Canadian
officials to allow them to return to Canada” (Peters 195). Furthermore, the
post-modern notion of glorifying the modern being as nomadic and decentred
is criticized by King:
“By relegating his protagonists to the Duty Free zone between Canada
and the US, King challenges the post-modern celebration of Western identities as decentered and nomadic” (ibid. 196).
Storytelling and humour are important aspects of Native culture. Using
stories infused with humorous elements, a sense of community is created while
at the same time subverting the status-quo as maintained by the majority:
Stories create a sense of belonging and facilitate the exchange of
ideas. But these narratives also become spaces of debate and potential
subversion, spaces to claim and refashion knowledge to reflect a past,
present, and future otherwise elided by the dominance of national borders and a long-standing colonial rhetoric, in which Natives—and their
stories—have been marginalized. (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 11)
Native sovereignty is essential to maintaining the distinct cultural identities
as individual nations, often reasserted in land claims to rewrite their colonial
past: “Yet King also takes issue with the forty-ninth parallel, a political dividing line that systematically has erased prior tribal relationships and Native land claims” (Davidson, Walton, and Andrews 12). In “Borders,” the
situation of First Nations finding themselves barred from living in their entire
homeland through a superimposed dividing line is illustrated very concretely:
“Borders” encapsulates the dilemma faced by the indigenous
peoples of North America who have seen colonial borders/frontiers eclipse their longer-standing affiliations. Part of the central
issue in the story is that the U.S./Canadian border has split the
Blackfeet population nominally into Americans and Canadians; their ethnic affiliation as a group has been placed under
erasure. (Peters 195)
The very identity and sense of belonging is dismissed. In King’s story, the
mother uses the involuntary exile in no-man’s land to transmit some traditional values to her son. Though the young boy is preoccupied with food
and possibly getting hamburgers from the manager at the duty free store, his
mother begins with traditional storytelling. She looks at the starry sky with
79
her son and points out the constellation of stars that look like a fish. This
is her starting point to talk about Coyote and indigenous creation stories:
“Coyote went fishing, one day. That’s how it all started” (King 142). Claudia
Sadowski-Smith argues that “the trickster-coyote signifies the dissolution of
boundaries and a state of transition and change” (9). Most likely, it is the
mother’s way to solve their border dilemma, by telling her son about Coyote.
Her son realizes that his mother cares deeply about these stories by telling
them slowly and repeating parts to facilitate him remembering them. This
scene is a turning point in the short story, a breakthrough in their border
dilemma as if the Coyote trickster did his magic. The question arises as to
whether King places his short story “Borders” in the tradition of trickster border narratives by the mother’s evocation of Coyote and creation myths (144).
In “Borders,” the trickster is explicitly mentioned in the plot and indeed sorts
out the protagonists’ border issues: “Trickster border narratives portray the
second coming of Trickster, who returns with the potential to reorder the
chaos of the frontier for Native Americans” (Lape 15). The telling of the
trickster story is juxtaposed with the arrival of the media and the eventual
solution of their dilemma. It is like trickster’s second coming. At the same
time, for once, the mother’s Blackfoot identity is valued and recognized as
sufficient proof of citizenship and identity: “For a moment, ‘Blackfoot’ is
publicly acknowledged as citizenship, the borderlands are thus briefly recognized as Blackfoot country spanning and overwriting the national border
between Canada and the U.S.” (Sarkowsky 20). The Blackfoot homeland
stretching beyond the Canada–US border is momentarily reinstated on its
own cultural terms. The media arrives on the scene and covers the story.
Through the powerful presence of the media and public opinion in this
“standoff” (King 138) of “an Indian without a country” (142) the US border
guard “was all smiles” (143) and the situation was turned around. Upon asking about the mother and son’s citizenship, despite her replying “Blackfoot,”
he saluted them and let them pass:
“Citizenship?”
“Blackfoot.”
The guard rocked back on his heels and jammed his thumbs into his
gun belt.
“Thank you,” he said, his fingers patting the butt of the revolver.
“Have a pleasant trip.” (King 143–44)
Awareness, persistence and a strong sense of cultural identity are essential in
claiming the original place in society. The mother could not change the rules
permanently, but King shows that marginalized people can reclaim their original dignity and pride and reassume their roles: “Even though the mother’s
courageous act only challenges rather than changes official border crossing
rules, the story’s ending confirms the Blackfoot view of international borders. ‘Borders’ leaves us with the final image of a disappearing international
80
boundary, marked by flags as the obligatory symbols of nations, when the
mother and son cross back into Coutts” (Sadowski-Smith 90).
The border is based on political will and public opinion, which in turn
is also based on perceptions of each other, the issues at stake meeting at the
border, and the significance of the border in the imagination of the people.
History and politics as well as security, trade and transportation are but individual facets that together with the more elusive concepts of identity and the
imagination approximate a more holistic view of the border, where there is a
third space beyond border binaries.
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82
Nielan Barnes
Canada–US–Mexico Integration:
Assessing (Im)Migrant1 Health Policy Convergence
Abstract
This paper uses a comparative case study approach to assess convergence between three areas of Canadian, US, and Mexican policy that shape (im)migrant
access to health and social services. These three areas include key policies and
programs in relation to Immigration and Citizenship rights; Temporary and
Foreign Labour Visa Programs; and Health and Human Services programs
and policies. The paper takes a meso-level approach and compares policy
and programming trends among public and private organizational actors and
fields in Canada, the US, and Mexico at societal, political and technical levels.
Ultimately, the paper finds that despite local level innovation, there is a large
degree of agreement in all three policy areas, as well as increasing convergence
at social, political, and technical levels. Theoretically, the paper contributes to
recent debates about how to assess policy convergence, as well as debates
about the impact of globalization on policy convergence. Practically, understanding local dynamics of immigration and health policy convergence serves
to develop realistic and informed policy and programs at the international,
national, and local levels.
Résumé
À l’aide d’une approche comparative d’étude de cas, le présent article évalue la
convergence entre trois secteurs de politique canadiens, états-uniens et mexicains, qui façonnent l’accès des immigrants aux services sociaux et de santé. Ces
trois secteurs comprennent des politiques et des programmes clés en rapport avec
les droits en matière d’immigration et de citoyenneté, les programmes de visa
pour la main d’œuvre temporaire et étrangère, et les programmes et politiques
des services de santé et services sociaux. L’article suit une approche de niveau
moyen et compare les tendances en matière de politiques et de programmes
parmi les acteurs et les champs d’activité d’organisations publiques et privées
au Canada, aux États-Unis et au Mexique, aux niveaux sociétal, politique et
technique. Enfin, le document constate qu’en dépit de certaines innovations au
niveau local, il existe un degré important d’entente dans les trois secteurs de
politique, ainsi qu’une convergence croissante aux niveaux social, politique
et technique. Théoriquement, le document contribue aux récents débats sur la
manière d’évaluer la convergence politique ainsi qu’aux débats concernant
l’impact de la mondialisation sur la convergence politique. En pratique, le fait
de comprendre les dynamiques locales de convergence de la politique en matière d’immigration et de santé, sert à élaborer des politiques et des programmes
réalistes et éclairés aux niveaux international, national et local.
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
Introduction
The North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) significantly increased
the flow of goods, capital, and labour between the US, Mexico, and Canada.
Since NAFTA, however, North American trade and immigration policies,
such as the Security and Prosperity Partnership, have not addressed the separate-but-connected issues of the need for labour in many economic sectors and
whether to provide amnesty for the millions of undocumented migrants living
and working in all three countries of North America. At the federal level, all
three nations have been reluctant to reform immigration policy significantly.
In the US, after the failure of immigration reform in 2005–2006, the federal government left immigration legislation to state and local jurisdictions
(Progressive States Network 2008) where many controversial anti-immigrant
laws have since been passed. In 2008 Mexico changed its Constitution in
response to US pressure to lessen draconian sanctions against undocumented
immigration and reduce human right abuses of migrants; and in 2009 Canada
passed Bill C-50 to reduce flows of Mexican migrants. Aside from these policies, US, Canadian, and Mexican, provincial, state, and local actors have had
a relatively large degree of slack to generate local-level policy and programs
(Lune 2007). Consequently, throughout North America, migration flows have
shifted away from county, city, and state jurisdictions that have passed antiimmigrant policies reducing social programs, and toward jurisdictions that
have passed more encouraging measures or become Sanctuary Cities. Given
the wide range of slack, the shifting nature of (im)migration and the emergence of a diverse range of both pro- and anti-immigrant local-level policy
and program innovations, in what direction is policy moving?
This paper assesses convergence between three sets of Canadian, US,
and Mexican policies that shape (im)migrant access to health and human
services: immigration policies, temporary and foreign labour policies and
visa programs, and health and human services policies. At the practical level,
understanding immigration and health policy convergence helps to develop
realistic and informed policy and programs. Theoretically, the paper contributes to recent debates about how to assess policy convergence, as well as
debates about the impact of globalization and neoliberal economic policies
on policy convergence.
In debates about policy convergence, many have criticized the assumption that modernization and globalization lead to a convergence of national
policies governing areas such as environment, consumer health and safety,
and regulation of labour (Bayrakal 2005; Drezner 2005, 2005; Blank and
Burau 2006; Park 2002). In one of the few comparative health-policy-convergence studies, Blank and Burau (2006) examine policy convergence in nine
industrial countries, showing that clusters of convergence exist primarily at
the ideational level, whereas actual practices on the ground continue to vary
84
widely across countries. The main problem with convergence theory is that
the conceptual framework(s) of convergence studies remains vague. This
paper uses Blank and Burau’s multi-level framework to “unpack,” assess, and
compare levels of convergence across three policy domains. Blank and Burau
suggest a framework that distinguishes between three substantive areas—the
social, political, and technical—of health policy and their corresponding
goals (intent to deal with common policy problems), content (formal policy),
and instruments (institutional tools to administer policy) (see Table 1).
Table 1. Framework—Substantive and Procedural Aspects of Health Policy Convergence*
Substantive aspects of health
policy convergence
Procedural Aspects of Health Policy Convergence
Policy Goals (Intent)
Policy Content
(Meaning)
Policy Instruments
(Mechanisms)
Societal Level (Ideas)
Political Level (Legislation)
Technical Level (Instruments)
*Source: (Blank and Burau 2006)
Park (2002) and Bayrakal (2005) also point out that some recent examples of globalization and policy convergence studies focused on “mesolevel” interaction among non-state and sub-national actors and institutions, a
point that Drezner (2005) and other researchers largely ignore as they focus
on state-based regulatory mechanisms. Alternative (non-state and sub-national) regulatory mechanisms (including industry- and sector-specific voluntary
agreements, self-regulatory standards, information-based disclosure requirements, and transnational civil society networks) are becoming an important
supplement, if not substitute, for traditional state-based government policy
making and as such are important for understanding policy innovation and
convergence.
Research Methods
This project utilized a case study approach (Yin 2003), combining qualitative ethnographic methods (participant observation, in-depth semi-structured
interviews, archival research, policy analysis) to gather data for comparative
analysis across numerous knowledge domains for each of the cases. Using a
mixed methods approach to conduct comparative case studies has become
common in the social sciences (Creswell 2003), particularly for researching
complicated social and health problems (Needle, Trotter, et al. 2003).
The three cases consist of three separate but overlapping organizational fields (Dimaggio and Powell 1983). The primary research sites were
regions in Canada, the US, and Mexico where large numbers of (Latino)
transnational migrants and immigrants live as members of either sending or
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receiving communities, and where there exist significant bi- and trilateral
US–Mexico–Canada health initiatives. These regions were Ontario, Canada
(Leamington, Windsor, Toronto, Ottawa); Central Mexico (State of Mexico,
Federal District, Puebla); and California (Los Angeles, San Diego).
In-depth interviews were conducted with actors from three knowledge
and action domains: (a) state public health policy and program decisionmakers; (b) representatives of community-based NGOs; and (c) representatives of transnational organizations (foundations, development agencies, and
international NGOs) working within and across North American borders on
migrant and immigrant health. Participant observation also occurred at key
events, including applied health forums, conferences, health policy planning
meetings and civil society events in Mexico, Canada, and the US. Finally, a
historical comparative analysis of archival data, such as health policy documents, conference and workshop proceedings, and organizational literature
(including brochures, websites, annual reports, and internal documents)
was conducted to provide a foundation for the multiple sources of qualitative ethnographic data. Data from interviews, participant observation, and
archival documents were triangulated to generate a historical comparative
analysis of trends, patterns, and explanations for levels of policy convergence
(or divergence). Data was organized into three comparative matrixes to assess the societal, political, and technical aspects of policy convergence (see
Tables 3a, 3b, 3c).2
Framework for Assessing Health Policy Convergence
The analytic framework assesses (dis)agreement between policy goals, content, and instruments, at societal, political, and technical levels. The societal
level refers to larger immigration policies that can shape (im)migrant access
to citizenship and therefore to health and social services. At the social level
it’s important to remember that the funding and administration of health services in the US, Canada, and Mexico are significantly different. Canada and
Mexico mandate the constitutional right of citizens to health care and have
socialized health care systems that are more “open” to migrants. The US, in
contrast, operates largely on a private model with some public services and
programs for the elderly, poor, and children, and in some cases for migrants.
At the political level, the focus is on (im)migrant policies and programs,
such as the H-2 Visa Program in the US, the Seasonal Agricultural Worker
Program (SAWP) in Canada, and the Mexico–Guatemala Temporary Agricultural Worker Program. Existing within or alongside these temporary worker
programs are policies and programs directed specifically at migrant health.
For example, Canada’s SAWP mandates immediate access to health care for
migrants by mandating that workers purchase private medical insurance for
the first 90 days in Canada. After that, access to “free” provincial medical care
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begins. For Mexican (im)migrants in the US, the Mexican government provides information about health services through consular “Health Counters”
(Ventanillas de Salud) and the Binational Health Week. Mexico also provides
health care to returning Mexican (im)migrants via the Programa Paisano
(Countryman Program), Vete y Regresa Sano (Leave and Return Healthy) and
the Programa Salud del Migrante (Migrant Health Program).
The technical level focuses on the implementation of policy and the
mechanisms by which actors do the actual work of “managing” (by enforcing, ignoring, or challenging) laws and policy and serving (or not) the (im)
migrant population. At this level, the linkages (and disconnects) between
policy convergence and sub-national, non-state actors become more evident,
particularly the role of civil society actors in policy and program innovation
and creating “alternative regulatory mechanisms” (Park 2002).
Population Focus
It is estimated that more than 28 million Latin American and Caribbean
people live outside their country of origin (Sohnen 2008). Yet only 3.7% of
Latin Americans abroad have access to social security benefits and “advanced
portability” regulated by bilateral agreements. Simply stated, immigration
in North America is stratified into two main classes. The first class consists
of those who have high levels of education and skills, work in the professional sector, and have permanent or temporary (i.e., the H-1B Visa in the
US) legal status. The second class consists of temporary foreign labour with
lower levels of education who work in manual fields or agricultural labour
(i.e. the H-2A or H-2B Visa in the US), and those with undocumented status.
The focus of this paper is on the second class of (im)migrants (see Table 2).
In the US, the size of the temporary worker population was approximately 6,151,042 in 2006–2007 (Wedemeyer 2006; Office of Immigration
Statistics 2007). In Canada about 25,000 workers entered via the SAWP in
2007 (Gibb 2006). Mexico also relies on about 100,000 temporary labourers
from Central America, who work in agriculture and construction (OIM 2003).
In terms of undocumented labour, in the US, the size of the undocumented
population is estimated at 11.6 million (Hoefer, Rytina, and Baker 2009).
Canada’s undocumented population is much smaller, estimated at between
35,000–200,000 (Gibb 2006; Crepeau and Nakache 2006). Mexico’s undocumented population is estimated at 240,269, the majority of whom are from
Guatemala and Honduras (OIM 2003).
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Table 2. Legal, Temporary, and Undocumented Immigrants in Canada, the US, and Mexico
Type
Origin
Canada
US
Mexico
Legal
Mexico
36,225 (2001)
10.4 million (2007)
n/a
Central America
108,085 (2001)
2.5 million (2007)
44,300 (2000)
Mexico
15,000 (2007)
6,146,122 (2006)
n/a
Central America
8,405 (2001)
4,920 (2007)
79,253–100,000 (2001–2002)
(Guatemala)
Total
35,000–200,000 (2007)
11.6 million (2009)
240,269 (2005)
Temporary
Undocumented
Sources: Department of Homeland Security 2007; International Organization for
Migration (IOM, 2003); Office of Immigration Statistics 2006; Pew Hispanic Center
2006; Gibb 2006; Batalova 2008.
Assessing Levels of Policy Convergence
Societal Level
The societal level encompasses the dominant values and norms that shape
debates and changes in immigration and temporary labour policy, and health
and social service policy. In general, despite sharing many of the same labour
needs, each country has a distinctive stance toward immigration policy and
assimilation (See “Policy Goals” in Table 3a). The US is considered a “melting pot” in which immigrants blend and assimilate; Canada is a multiculturalist “mosaic” of distinct cultures; Mexico, by contrast is highly nationalistic
(Lazos 2008; Watson 2006; Waller 2006).
Table 3a. Framework for Assessing Health Policy Convergence—SOCIETAL LEVEL
Policy Goals
Mexico
US
Canada
Nationalist
Assimilationist/Melting Pot
Multiculturalist/Mosaic
-Immigration reform
-Increase labour mobility, decrease labour protection via visa programs
-Securitization of borders and migration control/enforcement
-The protection of human rights of migrants and the right to asylum
Policy Content
-Limited Immigration reform
-Mexican law of 1974
-2008 population law
Policy Instruments
(H.R.4437 vs. S.2611)
-Reform visa programs
-Anti-immigrant policies
(reduction of social services)
(Bill C-50)
-Reform visa programs
-Amnesty and regularization
-Militarized/Securitized Border
-$ penalties prison, deportation
-Deportation or amnesty/
asylum
A review of the main policy documents and debates in each country
reveals that the tensions centre on “enforcement” versus “asylum” based approaches to deal with unauthorized immigrants (and their access to labour
and health and social services; see Policy Content, Table 3a). On the enforcement side, all three nations have increased border security and enforcement
as evidenced in the tri-lateral 2005 Security and Prosperity Partnership of
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North America, which promotes security integration and recommended
the development of unified visa and refugee regulations by 2010 (Crepeau
and Nakache 2006). However, only the US and Mexico have taken security
implementation to the extent of militarizing their southern borders. Despite
all three nations agreeing on the need for immigration reform to meet labour
needs and resolve the problem of unauthorized migration, none have enacted
any comprehensive measures, leaving large amounts of “slack” (Herold,
Jayaraman, and Narayanaswamy 2006; Lune 2007) for local actors to interpret and innovate policy and programs at the state/provincial and local level.
In the US, the failure of immigration reform led to the introduction
of another failed Bill, HR4437, one of a growing number of “enforcement
only” immigration reform bills, making it a felony to be an undocumented
non-citizen or to offer non-emergency assistance to an undocumented
non-citizen. HR4437 sparked weeks of large nationwide demonstrations in
support of immigrant rights and reform, including a national strike, school
walk-outs, and consumer boycott on May 1, 2006 (Wedemeyer 2006). Bill
HR4437 eventually died in the Senate, but Bill S.2611 was passed in its
place, which has many of the same enforcement provisions as HR4437, but
also includes a guest worker program that provides a path to residency and
an amnesty provision that allows undocumented immigrants to become legal
residents if they meet several requirements and pay a stiff fine. The enforcement approach of S.2611 includes implementation measures such as high
profile workplace raids by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), the
temporary deployment of 6,000 National Guard troops to support the Border
Patrol along the southern border, the hiring of 6,000 new Border Patrol agents
by 2008, and building 700 miles of new fencing along the Mexican border
(Wedemeyer 2006).
Amnesty approaches are less visible, but still popular in the US. The
Pew Hispanic Center’s 2006 report on American public opinion finds that a
significant majority of Americans see illegal immigration as a serious problem. However, a significant majority of Americans also believe that illegal
immigrants are taking jobs Americans do not want, and favour measures to
allow illegal immigrants currently in the US to remain in the country, either
as permanent residents and eventual citizens, or as temporary workers who
will eventually go home. American polls also indicate a majority in favour
of amnesty (as permanent residents, eventual citizens, or temporary workers)
over deportation (Pew Hispanic Center 2006). The proliferation of Sanctuary
Cities (discussed further below) in the US is another indicator that amnesty
approaches are widespread.
In comparison to the US and Canada, Mexico has the most restrictive
immigration policy, denying until 2008 all fundamental rights to non-citizens
and treating undocumented (im)migrants as criminals. In particular, Mexico’s
89
treatment of Central American migrants is characterized by violence and human rights abuses. For example, in March 2008, Univision.com reported that
Central American migrants were being persecuted by the Mexican police.
The report stated that “the level of brutality seen during a police operation
against undocumented migrants near a train station in Central Mexico, where
a local man was killed because of the color of his skin and the style of his
clothes seemed Central American” was unprecedented (Abusos de ilegales en
México 2008). Witnesses (citizens and migrants) and reporters have provided
evidence that the police “hunt” migrants at night and sexually abuse female
migrants; migrants regularly report to human rights workers how they are
victims of police, soldiers, and citizens that rob, rape, beat, and even kill
migrants. Despite—or perhaps because of—such extreme anti-immigrant
sentiment, many Mexican civil society actors have organized to meet the
legal, health, and human service needs of Central American migrants in Mexico (Tobar 2008).
Canada has a different history of immigration policy than either the US
or Mexico. In the case of unauthorized migrants, Canada takes an amnestyfirst approach, providing the undocumented with asylum as their case makes
it through the immigration system. A big question for most undocumented
cases is whether they can legitimately claim asylum or are simply economic
migrants. Very few Mexican asylum cases are accepted because most are seen
as economic migrants; however, while their case is making its way through
the system, the migrant often gets “lost” in the country so that by the time the
deportation order comes through, he or she is untraceable.
Despite its relative historical openness to immigration, the majority of
Canadians (two-thirds according to a Citizenship and Immigration Canada
poll) favour deportation of illegal immigrants, even if they had family ties,
“because they did not follow the rules” (Aubry 2007). In contrast, American
polls indicate a majority in favour of amnesty over deportation (Pew Hispanic
Center 2006). Canada’s recent shift from a Liberal government (2003–2006)
to a Conservative one in February 2006 has shaped its recent stance on immigration. Increasingly, Canada is following the US model of tightened security on the border and using ICE-style immigration raids of the employers
of undocumented workers (No One Is Illegal 2009). This shift is indicated
by changes in the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act proposed by Bill
C-50 in 2009, which give the Conservative government considerable power
in deciding immigration quotas, giving priority to specific immigration categories, and refusing applications (No One is Illegal 2008; Campion-Smith
2008). Specifically, in an attempt to deal with the large number of Mexicans
claiming asylum, Bill C-50 mandates a new, somewhat controversial visa requirement for Mexicans; no visa has been previously required for Canadians
visiting Mexico.
90
Access to Health and Human Services for (Im)migrants in the US, Mexico
and Canada
Debates about immigrant use of public health care show the conflict between
the goal of providing care, and enforcement-based immigration policies that
deny access to care (Field Costich 2002). In Mexico, the US, and Canada,
access to health and human services for migrant workers is viewed by public
health and civil society actors as a human and labour right. At the societal
level, all three nations have signed international documents supporting protection of the human rights of migrants (Crepeau and Nakache 2006), but
policy implementation and enforcement at the local level is difficult, particularly in southern Mexico and along the US–Mexico border. As a result, the
vast majority of health and human service providers in each country enact a
“don’t ask, don’t tell” policy by ignoring existing statutory barriers to health
care for undocumented (im)migrants. The discordance between public health
practices and immigration policy opens up space for local-level innovation;
such innovative practices are observed at the political and technical levels of
the policy assessment framework.
Political Level
(Anti) Immigrant Policy in Canada, the US, and Mexico
The political level compares specific policies that structure immigration and
health systems, including state and municipal immigration laws, temporary
and foreign labour programs, and migrant health policies and programs (see
Table 3b). Given the lack of comprehensive immigration reform at the national level in all three countries, each state and province has much leeway
to pass laws and create programs that structure access to labour rights and
health care for migrants.
91
Table 3b. Framework for Assessing Health Policy Convergence—POLITICAL LEVEL
Mexico
US
Policy Goals
Immigration and labour programs: Increase labour mobility
Health services: Provide assistance to poor and undocumented
Policy Content:
(Anti)Immigrant
-Anti-immigrant
Policy Content:
Labour Programs
Reform temporary labour visa programs
-Mexican law of 1974 (denies
basic rights to all non citizens)
-2008 population law
-Policies deny access to
social and health services
(AZ HB 2699/HR 2779; CA
Prop 187; GA HR 256; OK
HB 1804)
Canada
-Pro-immigrant
Immigration and Refugee
Protection Act 2001
Mexico–Guatemala Temporary
Agricultural Worker Program
H2A and B Visa program
-Seasonal Agricultural
Worker Program (SAWP)
(Canada–Mexico and
Canada–Guatemala)
Policy Content:
Health Services
Access via:
-Consular “health counters”
-Binational Health Week
-Programa Paisano
-Vete y regresa sano
-Programa Salud del Migrante
-Visa access to health services
for Central Americans
Access via:
-HRSA Migrant Health
Centers
Access via:
-Seasonal Agricultural
Workers Program—90 day
wait for provincial services
Policy Instruments:
Labour
-ICE raids by police and
immigration enforcement
Policy Instruments:
Health
-Migrant/public health centres
-Consulates
-Community-based organizations
n/a
-Unions (US 2006; Canada 2008)
In the US, “States have displayed an unprecedented level of activity—and have developed a variety of their own approaches and solutions”
(National Conference of State Legislators 2008). For example, according
to the National Conference of State Legislators (NCSL) Immigrant Policy
Project (NCSL 2006; NCSL 2008), “state legislators have introduced almost
three times more bills in 2007 (1,562) than in 2006 (570) and the number
of enactments from 2006 (84) has nearly tripled to 240 in 2007.” Much of
the legislation focused on restrictions in the areas of employment, health,
identification, drivers and other licenses, law enforcement, public benefits,
and human trafficking. As a result of the climate of fear produced by antiimmigrant policies, many immigrants have stopped shopping or going to
church and have closed bank accounts (Constable 2008; Southern Poverty
Law Center 2007), and may also limit use of social and health services (Field
Costich 2002). Another result is increasing internal migration away from
anti-immigrant areas (such as Oklahoma and Arizona) to more immigrant
friendly regions in the US (Archibold 2008; Pinkerton 2008).
In addition to fleeing conservative states for more liberal locales in the
US, immigrants are also moving north, into Canada. Canada has had an
historical commitment to immigrant and refugee rights, affirmed in 2001
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with the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act. In September 2007 the
Windsor–Peel, Ontario area experienced an “explosion” of Mexican migrants
claiming refugee status (Hall 2008; Waldie, Freeman, and Perkins 2007).
However, Mexican applicants for refugee status in Canada are usually denied
because they are seen as economic migrants, not refugees. Yet once in Canada, while waiting for their claim to clear the system (a process that could
take years), the Mexican claimant is given a work permit and a health card,
and as time passes, often becomes part of the growing non-status population living and working in Canada (Canadian Council for Refugees 2007;
Goldring, Berinstein, and Bernhard 2007).
As stated above, Mexico has had the most restrictive immigration policy
until 2008. Despite the change in law, the practice of illegal immigration is
still viewed as a criminal act. In March 2008, because of media and civil
society outrage, Jorge Bustamante (the “Relator Especial” for the Mexican
Human Rights Commission) exhorted the Mexican Government to fulfill
their responsibility on Mexico’s southern border. “What we do to the Central
Americans that come into our country without papers,” he stated, “does not
qualify us as an exemplar country. There are human rights violations worse
than what happens to our countrymen in the US” (Ballinas and Becerril 2008).
Policy Content and Instruments: Temporary and Foreign Labour Programs
in Canada, the US, and Mexico
The current trend in immigration policies of most major countries is to reduce
permanent settlement of unskilled labour in favour of “re-forming” temporary
migration visa programs. The core for implementing US, Mexican, and Canadian immigration and labour policy is visa programs that release a limited
amount of temporary skilled labour (H-1) visas, as well as a larger number of
temporary unskilled (agriculture H-2A and seasonal H-2B labour) visas. The
effect is a two-tiered system that favours employer use of cheap, temporary,
foreign labour. At the societal level, all three countries acknowledge that there
is a need to reform existing temporary labour programs and policy in order
to meet long-term demands for labour and prevent the abuse of workers. Yet
at the political level, debates have focused on expanding and streamlining
temporary visa programs in ways to make it easier for employers and the
government to increase labour mobility and provide foreign workers with a
fewer labour protections. Below, I outline the content of instruments of US,
Canadian, and Mexican visa programs, including the rights and responsibilities of employers and workers, and program abuses and sanctions.
The US H-1, H-2A, and H2-B Visa Programs
To (im)migrate to the US, individuals can apply for either an H-1 or an H-2
visa. H-1 visas are granted to highly skilled individuals (professionals). This
paper focuses on workers entering with H-2A visas (seasonal agricultural
93
workers) and H-2B visas (temporary non-agricultural workers in industries
such as forestry, construction, landscaping, services, meat and vegetable packing, fishing, tourism, etc.). In 2007 the US admitted 87,316 H-2A visa workers,
79,394 of whom were from Mexico (US Citizenship and Immigration Services
2008). The top receiving US states were North Carolina (25% of labour certifications), Georgia (13.9%), and Virginia (9.2%) (Wedemeyer 2006). In 2007
the US also admitted 154,892 workers on H-2B visas, with 105,244 returning
back to Mexico (US Citizenship and Immigration Services 2008).
Despite the fact that H-2A and H-2B visa holders are supposed to guarantee worker rights and protections, abuses are common (Wedemeyer 2006;
Bauer 2007; Farmworker Justice 2008). For example, employers frequently
use the non-agricultural H-2B labour certification to import agricultural
workers (especially in the area of packing produce) because the H-2B visa is
less costly to obtain than the H2-A visa. Other documented examples of the
exploitation of H2-B workers include being cheated of wages, being denied
overtime pay, being held captive by employers who “hold” worker identity
documents, being forced to live in unhealthy conditions, and being denied
medical benefits (Bauer, 2007). Workers are also often recruited by firms that
charge them for visas (i.e. $2,500 for a Guatemalan worker, $20,000 for an
Asian worker) and transportation; often workers go into debt just to get a visa
to work in the US. “Workers are systematically exploited because the very
structure of the program places them as the mercy of a single employer and
provides no realistic means for workers to exercise the few rights they have”
(Farmworker Justice 2008). As well, evidence from H-2B court cases shows
that employers and recruiters discriminate by gender as they steer women
into H-2B visas while reserving H-2A visas for men; employers and recruiters are also notorious for discriminating on the basis of age (Bauer 2007;
Wedemeyer 2006). As documented by the Southern Poverty Law Center, if
guest workers complain, they face deportation, arbitrary firings, and blacklisting or other forms of retaliation (Southern Poverty Law Center 2007).
One of “the most unacceptable aspect of guest worker programs is the
limitation placed on the mobility of imported workers within the labour
market, which goes against the very grain of liberal democratic principles”
(Griffith 2006). According to Griffith and others, the exploitative nature of
the temporary and seasonal visa programs⎯linked to the unbalanced power
relations between employers and workers⎯is akin to slavery or indentured
servitude. Additionally, the implementation of guest worker programs is
characterized by a lack of Department of Labour (DOL) enforcement of employer violations. Moreover, in cases where the DOL is aware of employer
violations, it frequently takes no legal action (Bauer 2007; Wedemeyer 2006;
Farmworker Justice 2008). The DOL has been silent despite the fact that
since its inception the agricultural sector has used the H-2A program to import cheap foreign labour, even when there are domestic labour surpluses.
94
The Canadian Seasonal/Temporary Agricultural Worker Program
In 1974 Canada and Mexico formed the Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program (SAWP) Mexico–Canada (Trejo García and Álvarez Romero 2007) and
in 2007 issued approximately 25,000 visas, 15,000 to Mexican workers. The
general framework and implementation are similar to the US H-2A visa. Like
the US program, Canada’s SAWP provides certain social protections to the
migrant (pension plan contributions, vacation pay, workers’ compensation,
health care). Again, employer abuses are amply documented, but accessing
legal rights is problematic because workers are either uninformed or wary of
claiming entitlements for fear of blacklisting and deportation (Farmworker
Justice 2008; McLaughlin 2008; Preibisch 2007; Petrich 2005).
Mexico–Guatemala Temporary Agricultural Labour Program
The temporary foreign worker flows of Central Americans on Mexico’s
southern border have increased in number, geographic scope, and economic
sectors from the mid-1900s to present (Trabajadores Migratorios Temporales
en la Frontera Sur de México 2005). Low economic development and high
poverty rates cause many Central Americans to migrate to Mexico’s southern
border (and the US and Canada) to work in the agricultural sector. Most work
is in the coffee sector in Chiapas, however, new labour markets in service
and construction have emerged where migrants can earn double or triple the
average salary. As in the US and Canada, the visa stipulates the migrant can
only work for one employer, has the right to social security and medical care,
and has the right to receive minimum wage. However, given the backlog and
the deficiencies in the National Migration Institute’s (INM) ability to process
documents (specifically Forma Migratoria para Visitante Agrícola (FMVA),
many migrants arrive in Mexico without documents; furthermore the FMVA
in Chiapas is granted within the Mexican territory, i.e., while Guatemalans
are already in Mexico. Entering without documents is relatively easy, as the
Guatemala–Mexico border has many puntos ciegos (blind spots) where an
indeterminate number of both documented and undocumented workers cross
in both directions daily (Herrera Ruiz 2003).
Given its level of disorganization, the International Organization for
Migration (IOM) acknowledges that “the labor market across the border between Guatemala and Mexico has traditionally posed practices in which the
minimum protection guarantees are diminished for labor rights of temporary
migrant workers, affecting directly the social and economic labor conditions
of the worker and his family” (OIM 2003, 4). Finally, in early 2008, the Mexican National Human Rights Commission opened investigation into the treatment of Guatemalan guest workers after media reports exposed bad working conditions, the use of child labour, and human trafficking (Hernández
Navarro 2008; Abusos de ilegales en México 2008; Shepard-Durni 2008).
95
Policy Content and Instruments: Health Programs for Migrants
Alongside temporary and foreign labour visa programs, Mexico, the US,
and Canada have developed a range of health policies and programs specifically for migrants with and without visas. Shared health problems have
been a concern for the three countries since the early 1900s, when the first
bilateral (US–Canada and US–Mexico) agreements were created to prevent
animal-borne diseases. In the case of health policy, much more programming
has occurred between the US and Mexico rather than the US and Canada
or Canada and Mexico, largely because of rising rates of infectious disease
(TB, hepatitis, HIV, etc.) in the populated, sister-city border areas shared by
the US and Mexico (Collins-Dogrul 2007). In 1967 the Binational TB Commission was created, representing the first human health policy agreement
between the US and Mexico. The next significant human health policy agreement, however, did not occur until the 1994 Border Health Commission Act,
when the Health Resources and Services Administration (HRSA) created
the US–Mexico Border Health Task Force. To implement its migrant health
programs, HRSA funds 1,612 migrant health centres distributed throughout
the US. It is estimated that HRSA-funded health centre programs serve more
than one-quarter of all migrant and seasonal farmworkers in the United
States. In 2007 alone, HRSA-funded migrant health centres served more than
826,977 migrant or seasonal farmworkers and their families (HRSA 2007;
Laws 2002).
In 2000 the US–Mexico Border Health Task Force created the first truly
bilateral health organization—the US–Mexico Border Health Commission
(USMBHC). Two of the most successful USMBHC health programs—organized with the Mexican government and health system—are the US–Mexico Binational Health Week and the Ventanillas de Salud (Health Counters)
Program. As described above, the Health Counters are modules located in
the Mexican consulates of 23 US states, where culturally competent outreach
workers explain existing health insurance programs and inform the Mexicanorigin population of available health services. The Health Counters program
started in 2002 in the Los Angeles and San Diego consulates in collaboration
with the Mexican consulate and community-based organizations.
In addition to providing services to Mexican migrants in both the US and
Mexico, the Mexican Health Ministry provides services to the large population of Central American migrants on its southern border. The Ley Federal de
Trabajo establishes the labour and health care rights of both nationals and foreign migrants. The temporary agricultural worker program between Mexico
and Guatemala also establishes the right to health care for foreign migrants
with a visa yet implementation of this policy is non-existent or weak at best.
According to Rudolfo Casillas, a researcher with FLACSO, even though
employers in Tapachula formed a network and signed an agreement with the
96
Instituto México de Seguro Social (Mexican Social Security Institute, IMSS)
to provide care to migrant workers, it left a significant number of migrants not
covered. Additionally, many Central American migrants do not even know
they have the right to access care or know how to access the IMSS system.
Compared to the long-term development of US–Mexico border health,
Canada’s political and organizational response to migrant health is nascent
yet robust. Unlike the US and Mexico, Canada’s visa program gives authorized migrants access to the Canadian public health system (for a fee) and
many community health centres operate on a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy,
providing services to all regardless of immigration status (Trejo García and
Álvarez Romero 2007). Yet problems with accessing care still exist, in part
due to language barriers and lack of knowledge of how to utilize the Canadian
health system, but also because most migrants live and work in rural zones
where health services are sparse and access is a problem even for Canadian
citizens.
Technical Level
Enforcers versus Providers
The technical aspects of policy convergence include the actors, mechanisms,
instruments, and strategies by which policy is implemented. In terms of the
goals of policy at the technical level, all three countries converge on several
points (see Table 3c): 1) the need to control (and reform) the (im)migration process; 2) the need to provide a limited amount of social services and
health care to (im)migrant farmworkers; and 3) to shift the burden of care
and enforcement to regional and local actors. An assessment of policy content at the technical level clearly indicates agreement toward expanding and
shifting service provision and immigration enforcement to local and regional
police, doctors, educators, employers, and community-based organizations
(CBOs). The increasing involvement of regional and local Canadian, US,
and Mexican civil society organizations in responding to (im)migrant health
and human rights issues is a product of the global trends toward inclusive
neo-liberalism in which North American countries have “shifted away from
federal government control to greater roles for sub-national governments and
civil society actors” (Mahon and Macdonald 2007).
While there are many technical aspects to implementing these policies,
here I highlight the roles of “enforcer” and “provider” instruments (as mechanisms and/or actors). Unlike previous studies that indicate little convergence
at the technical level (Blank and Burau 2006), this study shows considerable
agreement (indicated by merged cells in the table) of technical-level policy
goals, content, and instruments.
97
Table 3c. Substantive and Procedural Framework for Assessing Health Policy Convergence—
TECHNICAL (ENFORCER/PROVIDER) LEVEL
Mexico
US
Canada
Goals:
-Immigration control
-Provide limited social services and health care
-Shift burden of care and enforcement to regional and local actors
Content:
Expand and shift service provision and immigration control/enforcement to local and
regional police, doctors, educators
Instruments: Enforcer
US–MEXICO
-Border militarization
-Plan Mexico/Mérida Initiative
US–CANADA
-Border securitization
-Security and Prosperity Partnership of North America (2005)
-ICE raids and deportation
-Requirements for doctors, teachers, police, etc. to profile and report
Instruments: Provider
-Reliance on CBO services and advocacy (don’t ask don’t tell)
-Sanctuary City movement (State of Mexico; 120+ Sanctuary Cities in US; Toronto)
First, all three countries have enacted post 9/11 border security policies
that support increasing control of their borders (Crepeau and Nakache 2006).
As stated above, the trilateral 2005 Security and Prosperity Partnership of
North America promotes security integration and recommends the development of unified visa and refugee regulations by 2010. While Canada has
agreed to increase border security and harmonize visa requirements, it has
not gone as far as the US and Mexico, both of which have effectively militarized their southern borders.
Alongside the amplification of local policing resources dedicated to
immigration enforcement in North America, are increasing numbers of high
profile raids by Immigration Control and Enforcement (ICE) that target unauthorized (im)migrants (vs. employers). In the US, arrests of undocumented
workers grew by 750% between 2002 and 2006; and there has been a trend
toward large-scale immigration raids arresting between 99–1,200 workers at
a time. These tactics have a humanitarian cost, resulting in the separation of
children from parents, often for months at a time (Abraham 2008). Canadian
immigration officials have adopted the US ICE-raid strategy and increased
raids targeting (im)migrants (vs. employers), as evidenced by actions at a
number of workplaces in Southern Ontario, arresting and detaining approximately one hundred unauthorized workers in Spring and Summer 2009 (No
One Is Illegal 2009).
The Sanctuary City Movement
As a response to rising anti-immigrant sentiment and the militarization of
borders, citizens in a number of US, Canadian, and Mexican states and cities
have established Sanctuary Cities (SRE 2007). In the US, the Sanctuary City
movement is widespread—all but 22 states have sanctuary cities (there are
just over 120 cities in total), and Oregon, Alaska, and Maine are Sanctu-
98
ary States. Some innovative local strategies include a San Francisco (which
passed its Sanctuary City ordinance in 1989) city-sponsored public service
campaign to assure undocumented immigrants that they are welcome and safe
(McKinley 2008). In another response to anti-immigrant legislation passed in
Prince William, Frederick, and Anne Arundel counties in Maryland, where
immigrants have become afraid to attend church, drive, or go to the bank for
fear of having a run-in with the local police (Constable 2008), Prince George
and Montgomery counties (in Maryland) have publicized their support for
new service centres for migrants and/or have taken a hands-off approach to
immigration enforcement (“Anne Arundel goes after illegals” 2007).
Sanctuary Cities are spreading across North America. Canada started its
own Sanctuary City movement in Toronto in 2009, and in Mexico, the mayor
of Ecatepec (a suburb in the state of Mexico where migrants catch a freight
train that arrives at the US–Mexico border) declared his city a sanctuary for
illegal immigrants from Central America (Tobar 2008). Sanctuary Cities are
a destination of migrants and immigrants fleeing less immigrant-friendly locales; however, such cities bear the brunt of the costs and benefits of migrants
and immigrants (Juozapavicius 2008).
Conclusion
It is widely recognized that the North American economy benefits from
migrant remittances, and that the labour market benefits as immigrants and
migrants create more jobs and demand for goods and services (Fix 1994). It
is less well-known that the migrant and immigrant labour-force pays a high
price in terms of reduced well-being and productivity due to poor working
conditions, exposure to pesticides, poor housing, and limited access to health
services. Explanations for lack of access have typically focused on “internal”
factors that reduce access to health care—problems possessed by the migrant
or immigrant, such as financial, linguistic, and cultural barriers. Also important—but receiving less attention—are “external” factors that shape access
to health care, such as 1) national sovereignty issues (who is “responsible”
for migrants; legal/citizenship issues), 2) diversity of organizational actors
and interests, 3) negative public opinion and anti-immigrant legislation. This
paper assesses the external policy factors that shape migrant health and human service access.
At the societal level there is a strong degree of agreement between the
US, Mexico, and Canada regarding the goals of immigration and migration
reform, however given Canada’s multiculturalist immigration policy, the
US and Mexico are closer in policy content and instruments. The political
level also shows trilateral convergence regarding goals to increase temporary
labour mobility while decreasing labour protection and providing limited services via public health and community-based organizations. Canada is also
99
moving closer to the US in terms of instruments—i.e., increasing use of ICElike immigration raids and the increasing role and importance of community
organizations in providing health and human services to farmworkers. Finally,
a strong degree of agreement in policy goals, content, and instruments also
exists at the technical level in terms of expanding immigration control and
enforcement by shifting gate-keeping (profiling) duties to local and regional
police, doctors, educators, and social service providers, as well as increase
the use of ICE-like immigration raids and mass deportations. On the provider
side, there is increasing reliance on community-based services and advocacy
(via “don’t ask don’t tell” practices) and the spread of the Sanctuary City
movement from the US to Mexico and Canada.
In sum, this policy convergence study assesses societal, political, and
technical levels of society across various policy domains (goals, content, and
instruments) and finds a large degree of policy convergence at all levels. How
is such agreement possible given that ample federal slack provides space for
developing a diverse range of local policy and program innovations? One
possibility for the surprising amount of policy convergence is the spread of
local information via transnational civil society networks that inform and
shape policy and program innovation and implementation. This possibility
assumes that civil society networks can play a role in developing policy and
programs “from below” in ways that both challenge existing political power
structures and produce policy convergence. Local actors have certainly been
given a central role in program service provision, yet the degree to which
civil society actors are integrated into—versus given a “parallel space” for—
the policy-making process is a question that remains to be explored
Notes
1.
2.
3.
(Im)migrant is spelled and punctuated as such to indicate that the paper
addresses both migrant and immigrant
policies, as well as to indicate that in the case of the population under study
migrant vs. immigrant status can be interchangeable.
Note: Policy convergence, or agreement, is indicated by merging cells in the tables.
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Jay Scherer and Lisa McDermott
and Manufacturing “Ordinary” Canadians
Abstract
Over 15 years ago, Andrew Wernick described a new stage of promotion
within the mainstream politics of advanced capitalist democracies through
which political dialogue was effectively subsumed by the language and
practices of contemporary marketing and image-making spectacles. In this
article, we examine how the national sport of hockey and its associated traditions and cultural identities continue to be mythologized and deployed in the
new millennium for the purpose of contemporary political promotional strategies. We argue that, as a central element of national popular culture, hockey
remains the pre-eminent signifier of a particular ‘brand’ of Canadianness for
the current federal Conservative Government as it massages its neoliberal
political platform to a demographic of imagined, “ordinary Canadians”—a
key concept of neoliberal discourse that is redefining citizenship and identity
across contemporary Canada.
Résumé
Il y a plus de 15 ans, Andrew Wernick a décrit un nouveau stade de promotion, au sein de la politique des démocraties capitalistes évoluées, dans
le cadre duquel le dialogue politique était effectivement subsumé par le
langage et les pratiques contemporaines de commercialisation et de création d’images. Ici, nous examinons la manière dont notre sport national, le
hockey, et ses traditions et identités culturelles connexes continuent d’être
des éléments mythiques et d’être déployés dans le nouveau millénaire à des
fins de stratégies politiques promotionnelles contemporaines. Nous avançons
que, en tant qu’élément central de culture populaire nationale, le hockey
reste le signifiant d’une marque particulière de « Canadianité » pour le
gouvernement fédéral conservateur actuel alors qu’il modèle sa plate-forme
politique néolibérale pour en faire un élément démographique de Canadiens
ordinaires – un concept clé de discours néolibéral qui redéfinit la citoyenneté
et l’identité dans tout le Canada contemporain.
Introduction
The CBC usually has a half-hour with the Prime Minister [PM] for his yearend interview. This year, however, the Corp. was offered 15 minutes … with
Stephen Harper.... Now this is revealing as the Harper government is no fan
of the media and many Conservatives especially don’t like the CBC, believing it is left-of-centre and does not treat the Harper government fairly. Com-
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
pare this with CTV. The network got its usual hour-long interview…. The
[CTV] … journalists asked the Prime Minister about his love/hate affair with
the national media. Mr. Harper said he likes to do interviews “when I have
something to say. Otherwise, I don’t.... think that’s what Canadians expect.…
They don’t expect the prime minister to aspire to be a media star as an end
in itself.” Meanwhile, the reluctant media star is appearing in two 15-second
spots on TSN to promote the IIHF World Junior Championship, which is
taking place over the holidays in the Czech Republic. The hockey-fan PM
asks Canadians to watch the series. (Taber, “Stephane Dion” A6)
Political pundit Jane Taber’s year-end column in 2007 revealed a host
of fascinating tensions within the Canadian political landscape. While highlighting the PM’s well documented (e.g. Lawrence Martin) antagonistic—but
carefully managed—relationship with the media,1 Taber identifies Harper’s
less-than-subtle rebuke of the public broadcaster, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), in favour of the privately owned CTV network. For
many conservatives, including Harper, the CBC is a leftist public institution
that holds little relevance in an age of globalization and media deregulation, a
sentiment that has fuelled the Conservative Party’s (CP) ongoing attempts to
“demonize” the CBC for its perceived partiality (Doyle). Ironically, Harper’s
affection for the national game of hockey, like many middle-aged men who
grew up in post-war Canada, was cultivated every Saturday night when he
watched the CBC’s iconic program, Hockey Night in Canada (Johnson).
Taber also adroitly illuminates a consistent media tactic in the political arsenal of both Harper and his Conservative strategists that we seek to excavate
critically herein: the ongoing representation of Harper as a hockey fan and
scholar of the game, and the (re)production of an imagined national culture as
common sense in an effort to target various Canadian electoral constituencies.
Evidenced through the Taber quote is an extension of what Andrew
Wernick has described as “promotional politics”—a new stage of promotion
within the mainstream politics of advanced capitalist democracies through
which political dialogue has been subsumed by the language and practices
of contemporary marketing and image-making spectacles. These developments—and the personalization of political figures from across the political
spectrum via well-rehearsed and enduring links between nationalism and the
mythology (to use Roland Barthes’ terms) of hockey—are certainly not unprecedented in Canadian history.2 In the early 1970s, for example, former PM
Pierre Trudeau advanced his domestic and foreign policy agenda and public
image by vigorously championing the 1972 Summit Series between Team
Canada and the USSR (Macintosh and Hawes). Even prior to the legendary series, Trudeau skilfully utilized the National Hockey League’s (NHL)
refusal to allow Canadian players from the rival World Hockey Association
to represent Team Canada as a promotional opportunity. In response to the
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NHL’s contentious decision, Trudeau sent telegrams to the NHL, the NHL
Players’ Association, and Hockey Canada:
You are aware of the intense concern, which I share with millions of
Canadians in all parts of our country, that Canada should be represented
by its best hockey players … in the forthcoming series with the Soviet
Union. On behalf of these Canadians, I urge Hockey Canada, the NHL
and the NHL Players’ Association to take whatever steps may be necessary to make this possible.… I would ask you to keep the best interests
of Canada in mind and to make sure that they are fully respected and
served. (qtd. in MacSkimming 17)
As Scherer, Duquette, and Mason note, “such a provocative statement was
little more than political posturing by Trudeau; the US-dominated NHL had
regularly prioritized its economic agenda over Canadian national interest in
numerous instances and would continue to do so in the near future” (172).
However, Trudeau clearly recognized an opportune moment to articulate a
populist and nationalist position in light of his invocation of the War Measures Act in 1970 to quell nationalist forces within Quebec; the failed Victoria Charter of 1971; his new Foreign Policy for Canadians (1970), which
championed Canada as an international player beyond the shadow of the US
(Macintosh and Hawes); and, finally, an upcoming general election that was
soon to be called. Beyond this, it should also be noted that Canada’s narrow victory over the USSR “provided the opportunity for many pundits and
politicians to celebrate the result as a triumph not only for ‘Canadian virtues’
but also for capitalist liberal democracy—a point frequently portrayed by the
players themselves” (Gruneau and Whitson 253).
We want to suggest, however, that there has been a discernable expansion of promotional politics in the new millennium. Indeed, if we return to
our initial example, what appears to be on display is an increasingly complex vortex of promotion through which a number of interrelated circuits
recursively promote each other in a condensed 15-second televised advertisement. That is, in addition to the promotion of an international hockey
tournament and its sponsors was the brand marketing of a privately owned
sports network, its associated advertisers in search of national audiences, and
by extension junior hockey players who arguably exist as emergent national
sporting celebrities and potential brands themselves. Moreover, the presence of the PM confirmed to viewers that this event was an event of national
significance, thereby linking the politician with a dominant mythology associated with hockey that continues to emphasize patriotism, masculinity,
and normality. Also promoted, then, were Harper’s identity and the CP brand
as the political party of choice for “ordinary” Canadians who, like the PM,
embrace the tradition of watching the World Junior Championships over
the Christmas holidays. Such developments speak to the ascendancy of the
109
continual image-making practices of contemporary promotional politics in
Canada, and by extension, the position of members of the chattering class,
like Jane Taber, who play key roles in the circuitry of this new politics of
impression management.
In the remainder of this article, we examine how hockey and its associated traditions and cultural identities continue to be deployed in the new
millennium for the purpose of contemporary political promotional strategies.
We argue that, as a key element of national popular culture, hockey remains
the pre-eminent signifier of a particular “brand” of Canadianness for the current federal Conservative Government as it massages its neoliberal political
platform to a demographic of imagined, “ordinary Canadians”—a key concept of neoliberal discourse that is redefining citizenship and identity across
contemporary Canada (Mackey). Beyond transforming understandings
of citizenship and further naturalizing the often unrecognized problematic
link between hockey and Canadian identity, we posit that such promotional
strategies also function to normalize powerful political elites “ordinary Canadians” who, at least temporarily, appear on the same level as other citizens,
thereby obscuring their class backgrounds and often “unseen” connections
and access to the upper echelons of the Canadian business community. These
networks have been carefully documented by a number of authors, including
the Marxist scholar Leo Panitch who, many years ago, noted “a particularly
striking characteristic of the Canadian state—its very close personal ties to
the bourgeoisie” (11). Indeed, the vast majority of Canadians would likely
be unaware of the close business connections of countless federal leaders,
including Paul Martin, Jean Chrétien, and Brian Mulroney, each groomed for
political power by billionaire Paul Desmarais Sr., head of Power Corporation
(“Paul Desmarais”).
More recently, for example, these normally subterranean politico-economic articulations have been thrust into the public limelight. In 2007 at the
North American Leaders’ Summit in Montebello, Quebec, Canadian, US, and
Mexican leaders met to discuss the trilateral Security and Prosperity Partnership (SPP), which “outlines an agenda for greater cooperation in areas as
diverse as security, transportation, the environment and public health” (Government of Canada); arguably an agenda that facilitates the neoliberal objective of eliminating barriers to the movement of capital. Its critics maintain
the SPP is the three governments’ response to intense corporate lobbying “to
speed up the corporate goal of continental economic integration by linking it
to US government security demands” post 9/11 (The Council of Canadians).
Greeting these leaders were thousands of demonstrators protesting the meeting’s undemocratic and unaccountable nature (“Canada, U.S.”). Germane to
our discussion, though, was PM Harper’s response to this democratic protest,
which he dismissed as insignificant for “ordinary,” hard working Canadians:
“I heard it’s nothing. A couple of hundred? It’s sad” (“Harper dismisses”);
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implicitly Harper assumed “there were no hockey dads [sic] or Tim Hortons
customers among them” (Moore A15), two of the central characteristics symbolizing the CP’s “ordinary” Canadian.
Harper’s dismissal of such protests is not altogether surprising given
his commitment to further entrenching a neoliberal agenda implemented by
successive generations of Canadian political and business elites who, commencing in the 1980s and gathering full momentum in the 1990s (Cameron),
have steered the nation’s political-economic agenda sharply to the right.
These policies have targeted the welfare state, decimating publicly funded
social programs (e.g., healthcare, education, social support programs for lowincome families, etc.), privatizing public programs and institutions, increasing tax cuts, and de-regulating various areas, including labour (e.g., Human
Resources and Social Development Canada). The most conspicuous effect
of this agenda, however, has been the widening gap between rich and poor
Canadians (Yalnizyan). Equally disconcerting is how dissension to this political platform, in terms of democratic rights to free speech through protest,
has increasingly been circumvented by state forces (notably the police), taking its cue from state officials (i.e., elected representatives), through violent
engagements evidenced by anti-globalization demonstrations dating back
to Seattle 1999. Within such logic, dissenters are represented, particularly
within political and conservative media discourses, as “extremists,” or in
Harper’s case, as “un-Canadian.” Such representations signal “a form of government where corporate CEO’s are regarded as consiglieres and unionists
and environmentalists [along with feminists, nationalists, poverty activists,
etc.] are troublemakers” (Moore A15).
As Canadians confront what Henry Giroux has labelled the “terror of
neo-liberalism”, it is vital, then, to examine when the mythological cultural/
sporting nation is conjured up by various politicos for promotional purposes
so that “an affective unity can be posited against the grain of structural divisions and bureaucratic taxonomies” (Rowe, McKay, and Miller 120). To
that end, we offer a critical media analysis of the cultural work that hockey
accomplishes for the CP’s public relations strategy that, since 2004, has
endeavoured to soften Harper’s image as an uncharismatic, right-wing ideologue, making the PM more palatable to middle- and working-class Canadian
voters. While Harper has actively pursued an association with a range of
popular sporting practices (e.g., curling, the Canadian Football League, the
2010 Vancouver Winter Olympic Games, etc.), hockey remains the key element in a promotional arsenal that has habitually marketed him as a passionate hockey fan, an avid and dedicated hockey historian, and an “ordinary”
Canadian hockey Dad, thereby obscuring his ideological leanings and the
effects of the CP’s neoliberal agenda on Canadians. Prior to engaging these
issues, however, we map Stephen Harper’s ascendancy to Canada’s highest
elected position.
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The Rise of Stephen Harper: The Right Strikes Back
The emergence and rebranding of Stephen Harper as a federal political leader
is a direct result of the recent reunification of the Canadian Right, in the form
of the CP of Canada, and the downfall of the Liberal Party which, in the new
millennium, imploded under the weight of a devastating sponsorship scandal.
Regarding the former, it is important to note that since the late 1980s, the
right-wing vote had been divided between the Reform Party/Canadian Alliance Party and the PC Party, which, under PM Brian Mulroney, governed
Canada from 1984–1993. Led by Albertan Preston Manning, the Reform
Party was formed in 1987 by a range of Western interest groups disillusioned
with, they argued, the PC’s favouritism towards Quebec, its lack of fiscal
responsibility, and its failure to meet the needs of Western Canadians. For
example, in 1989, at a Reform convention in Edmonton, Manning delivered
his (in)famous “House Divided” speech that disparaged the PC government’s
1986 decision to award a billion-dollar maintenance contract for CF-18
fighter planes to Canadair of Montreal, even though a Winnipeg consortium’s
bid was cheaper and judged by the federal government’s own experts to be
technically superior. Manning opened his speech with a joke that played on
the Calgary Flames’ Stanley Cup championship that temporarily disrupted
the Edmonton Oilers’ legacy in the late 1980s:
Last year, in a magnanimous effort to redress regional disparities,
Edmonton allowed Calgary to win the Stanley Cup. While it is
Edmonton’s nightmare that this might be repeated this season, Les
MacPherson of the Saskatoon Star Phoenix had an even worse nightmare. He dreamt that Mulroney and the federal government intervened
after last year’s Stanley Cup final to give the cup to Montreal even
after Calgary had won the series. (qtd. in Johnson 149)
Although initially a PC supporter, Harper became disenchanted with Mulroney’s fashion of conservatism, and thus found a welcome home in the Reform
Party. After delivering a powerful speech at Reform’s 1987 founding convention in Winnipeg, Harper became the party’s Chief Policy Officer. His speech
offered a preliminary indication of his ideological leanings, and singled out
the Canadian welfare state as having
grown a highly centralized political culture which is inherently and
righteously biased against western Canada….[W]henever challenged,
it wraps itself in a flag called “Canadian identity,” “Canadian nationalism,” “national unity,” or the “national interest”….The whole concept
of “Canadian culture” no longer means the values and lifestyles of Canadians in a diverse country. Instead it means the protection of narrow arts
and media interest groups based in Toronto. Unilingualism in Quebec is a
legitimate desire—Maitres chez nous. In Manitoba, it is “redneck” and
“racist.” (qtd. in Johnson 84)
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While not directly associated with the Reform Party’s extreme social conservative wing, Harper embraced a number of deeply conservative viewpoints, including opposing the legalization of same-sex marriages. Elected
as a Calgary MP in 1993, Harper had a strained relationship with Manning
and the Reform Party over the next four years. While Manning sought a
more populist approach representing the rural resource-producing regions,
Harper believed the Reform Party needed to target a broader constituency
of Canadians by emphasizing conservative social values consistent with the
traditional family, the market economy, and patriotism. These strategies, he
anticipated, would appeal to those parts of the urban middle- and workingclasses, and rural constituents who agreed with those values (Wells). As
Harper saw it, “the real challenge is ... the social agenda of the modern Left.
Its system of moral relativism, moral neutrality and moral equivalency is
beginning to dominate its intellectual debate and public-policy objectives”
(“Rediscovering the Right” 6). Significantly, this political discrepancy
would foreshadow the terrain of cultural values upon which Harper and the
newly formed CP would wage their promotional campaign for the hearts,
minds, and ultimately votes of Canadians. However, after realizing that he
was unlikely to defeat the more populist Manning, Harper quit the Reform
caucus in 1997, and became president of the National Citizens’ Coalition, an
“organization that stands for the defence and promotion of free enterprise,
free speech and government that is accountable to its taxpayers” (National
Citizens Coalition).
Despite his departure from the federal political landscape, Harper maintained close ties with other Western-based conservatives, and carefully followed the Reform Party’s trials and tribulations. During this time, he was a
frequent commentator in the media; predictably, his columns found a home
in the conservative-leaning National Post. His most infamous column appeared in 2001 as an “Open Letter” to Alberta Premier Ralph Klein. Titled
“The Alberta Agenda,” Harper and other prominent conservatives, including
University of Calgary3 political scientists Tom Flanagan and Ted Morton,
argued that Alberta should: withdraw from the Canada Pension Plan and the
Canada Health Act, collect revenue from personal income tax instead of the
federal government , and create an Albertan provincial police force to replace
the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). Or, as the authors argued: “It is
imperative to take the initiative, to build firewalls around Alberta, to limit the
extent to which an aggressive and hostile federal government can encroach
upon legitimate provincial jurisdiction” (qtd. in Flanagan 23). Nevertheless,
the “Alberta Agenda” was widely vilified as the “firewall” document, and
ultimately tarnished Harper’s political reputation as being an uncharismatic
Westerner and a right-wing zealot: a persona that continues to haunt him to
this day.
113
By the end of the last millennium, the Reform Party had been disbanded
and replaced by the Canadian Alliance Party, led by Albertan Stockwell
Day. However, the right-wing vote continued to be split and conservative
politics reached its nadir in November 2000 when Canadians awarded Jean
Chrétien and the Liberal party its third consecutive majority government,
although the Alliance remained the official opposition party. Still, the Alliance’s failure to make inroads in Ontario, Canada’s most populous region,
along with growing concerns about Day’s leadership opened the door for
Harper’s return to the federal political scene. After receiving encouragement
from a range of conservative supporters, Harper resigned his NCC position,
formally declared his leadership candidacy on 2 December 2001, and by
March 2002 was elected leader of the Canadian Alliance. As Leader of the
Opposition, Harper was well aware that he could not realistically defeat the
Liberals without giving “unity a try” (Wells 49), which meant reaching out
to the PC Party to unify the Canadian right. After protracted negotiations
with PC leader Peter MacKay, in October 2003, the two parties announced
that they would merge to form the rebranded Conservative Party of Canada.
Equally significant, on 20 March 2004, Stephen Harper was elected its leader,
completing a remarkable rise through the federal political ranks.
Selling Harper to “Ordinary” Canadians
In June 2004, after an exhausting leadership campaign, Harper and his “little
band of Calgary policy wonks” (Wells 71) lost a hastily called federal election
to the Liberals and former Finance Minister Paul Martin who had succeeded
Jean Chrétien as PM. The Conservatives remained the official opposition
party having made some progress in Ontario, but were shutout in Quebec, the
first time a centre right party had failed to win a seat in Quebec. Nevertheless, the Liberals were only re-elected with a minority government thanks to
revelations that between 1997 and 2002 up to $100 million of a $250 million
sponsorship program was awarded to Liberal-friendly advertising firms and
Crown corporations for little or no work. Despite this disturbing publicity,
the Liberals inflicted considerable damage to the CP’s credibility in a number of attack ads that played on Harper’s image as a right-wing ideologue,
and effectively accused the Conservatives of a “hidden agenda” in line with
US interests.
While Harper was despondent over the loss, he responded by shifting
his party closer to the political centre and attempted to reinvent his image to
make him more palatable to non-Western Canadians—particularly in Ontario
and Quebec—through a careful promotional orchestration. As one of the
“Calgary School” players, David Bercuson, explained: “I think there was a
sharp epiphany after the last election. The people around Stephen Harper
realized the only way to win power was to transform themselves and their
message” (Walkom F1). A key element in this promotional transformation
114
was the Conservative Convention in March 2005. As one Conservative adviser recalled: “[i]t was a giant PR exercise. The goal was to go into the convention, come out of the convention, not fuck up, and come up with moderate
centre-right policies and show the public that we were not a scary prospect”
(qtd. in Wells 140). That summer, Harper took his PR exercise on the road
and traveled across Canada in a promotional mission nicknamed the “Glad
as Hell Tour.” As the CBC reported, Harper’s image makeover strategy was
clear: “Conservative Stephen Harper will hit the festival and barbeque circuit
across Canada this summer to persuade voters he’s a nice, warm guy with a
good sense of humour” (qtd. in Johnson 426).
Beyond these significant reimaging and personalizing efforts, in 2005 the
Conservatives began to rethink their advertising strategies to woo “ordinary”
(a staple of Harper’s rhetorical devices) lower-middle- and working-class
Canadians. As Wernick has observed, complimenting the rise of political
advertising within a broader promotional culture has been the adoption of
sophisticated techniques to analyse and predict voter presence—practices
that were developed in the field of market research and are widely used
throughout the advertising industry and the commercial market. Taking their
cue from former Australian PM John Howard’s successful 1996 campaign
manual, the CP’s focus on these demographics signalled Harper’s recognition
that, just as centre-left parties have made inroads into wealthier and more
urban sections of the electorate, Conservative success equally hinged on
their ability to disconnect lower-middle- and working-class voters from their
traditional centre-left positions (Montgomerie; Barns). The Conservatives
were particularly impressed with Howard’s appeal to an imagined Australian
constituency nicknamed “the battlers:” middle-class families struggling to
raise their children on a modest income. The Conservatives thus rearticulated
their appeal to Canadians through an advertising strategy revolving around
groups of fictional people reflecting core voters, non-Conservative voters,
and swing voters who might prove to be within their grasp. “Steve and Heather,” identified as core voters, were a Protestant couple in their forties, who
were married with three children and owned their own business. “Zoey,” cast
as the non-Conservative voter, was a single, twenty-five-year old, organiceating, yoga-practicing, urban resident. Swing voters, however, represented a
particularly interesting snapshot of middle- and working-class Canadians to
which the Conservative policy book made a number of appeals (Flanagan).
“Mike and Theresa” were cast as having “a mortgage and two kids ... [who]
moved out of Toronto to suburban Oakville because they hated the bustle
of downtown” (Wells 214). “Dougie,” however, represented the “Conservatives’ fondest hope” (ibid.): single and a tradesperson in his late twenties,
“Dougie” agreed with Conservative policies on crime and welfare abuse, but
was “more interested in hunting and fishing than politics and often didn’t
bother to vote” (Flanagan 224). Through this market demographic approach,
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the Conservatives concluded that they could profitably target the likes of
“Dougie” through a new round of brand advertising and enticements (e.g., a
tax credit for his tools and an environmental tax exemption on the truck he
drove to his fictional job).
On 1 November 2005 Justice John Gomery’s report on the Liberal sponsorship scandal greeted Canadians. While it exonerated Paul Martin, it concluded that a “culture of entitlement” existed within the federal government,
and described an elaborate kickback scheme designed to benefit the Liberals’
Quebec-wing. These revelations prompted Harper to initiate a motion of nonconfidence that was seconded by the New Democratic Party’s Jack Layton,
forcing Martin to call an election for Monday, January 23. The Conservatives were well prepared and had gained valuable electioneering experience
from their 2004 election foray. Promoting their policy platform under the
rubric “Stand up for Families” (Porter), they proposed cutting the Goods
and Services Tax (GST) and replacing the Liberal’s embryonic “Universal
Childcare Program” with a “Choice4 in Child Care Plan,” while simultaneously rebranding Harper’s identity so as to appeal to various swing voters.
Building on earlier strategic reformulations, the Conservatives released their
advertising strategy to target their imagined “ordinary” Canadians. Entitled
“Stand up for Canada,” the ads featured a woman asking a series of scripted
questions, and receiving equally scripted answers from Stephen Harper about
pensions, taxes, and government ethics as the sponsorship scandal continued
to engulf the Liberals. Despite their simple, direct, and hokey nature (Wells),
the advertisements represented an important discursive shift in Conservative
strategy and explicitly addressed core and potential swing voters; in Flanagan’s terms, they were targeting working people who “get their coffee at
Tim Hortons” (225) rather than Starbucks. Conservative pundit Tim Powers
likewise utilized a hockey analogy to explain the new ad strategy: “There’s a
school of thought that we’re more Don Cherry than Giorgio Armani. And the
ads reflect that. Look at the success that Don Cherry has had with Rock’em
Sock’em Hockey [videos]. A low-tech production, but a messenger with a
product people wanted” (qtd. in Wells 182). Underscoring this point, Plamondon maintained that to pursue the lunch bucket crowd, “Harper would
[need to] look and talk more like Don Cherry than Adam Smith” (425). Such
comments provide a window to the CP’s framing and reimagining of Harper
through symbols of Canadian identity and aspects of national popular culture
to capture swing voters like “Dougie” with his “workaday concerns” (Wells
221). It also gestures to the type of “ordinary” Canadian envisioned within
both the CP imaginary and neoliberal discourse. Significantly, “Dougie”
is likely white, presumably heterosexual, and from a working-class background: arguably the exact constituency of Canadians for whom the deeply
conservative and hypermasculine Don Cherry still holds considerable appeal.
Moreover, Dougie is cast as a neoliberal citizen—an economic actor and
116
consumer who seeks neither special status nor special treatment from the
state and has the ability to provide for his own needs and to service his own
ambitions (Brown).
Harper’s tactics are noteworthy on three additional fronts. First, they
point to the ascendency of the discourse of marketing in contemporary
promotional politics, which has been transformed into a continual advertising campaign that is increasingly fought via the terrain of popular culture.
Second, Harper’s relatively recent embrace of popular symbols of Canadian
identity (e.g., hockey and Tim Hortons) is ironic. Prior to this shift, he was
at pains to admit that such things as Canadian identity and culture5 even
existed (“Federal leaders”). Third, is the profoundly penetrating, essentializing, and divisive “us versus them” binary logic that frames Harper and his
Conservative colleagues’ understanding of the Canadian populace and rival
political parties: the Tim Hortons (vs. the Starbucks) electorate, the “Dougies” (vs. the “Zoeys”) demographic, or more recently, supporters of popular
cultural practices (e.g., hockey vs. what could be termed the more “highbrow” performing arts community6). As with all binaries, the Conservative
“Other” is framed through mutually exclusive oppositional terms that work
to devalue and denigrate critical perspectives and rival images, which can be
seen in Harper’s approach to non-Tim Hortons, pro-CBC, anti-Don Cherry,
non-hockey loving Canadians who are represented as not being sympathetic
to a neoliberal vision.7 Central to the workings of the CP’s very public discursive “us versus them” strategy then is a “cultural war” (Chase and Vu;
Taber, “CBC Clears”) that continues to foment in an effort to not only attract
particular swing-voters, but also to pin down what it means to be a “real”
Canadian in terms of the terrain of values, ideology and convictions; areas in
which, as Caplan argues, “Canadians have [historically] disagreed [upon].”
On 23 January 2006, the Conservatives were elected with a minority
government, 31 ridings short of a majority. While the Conservatives made
substantial inroads into Ontario and Quebec, they took only a handful of seats
in Atlantic Canada and were shut out in Canada’s three largest cities (Toronto,
Montreal, and Vancouver), a profound indication of the urban–rural divide
that the Conservative Party has agitated through its culture war approach to
promotional politics. Despite deploying attack ads that “revealed” Harper’s
ties to right-wing groups in the US, the Liberals were unable to recover from
the Gomery report’s damning revelations. However, Harper’s victory cannot
be solely attributed to public anger over the sponsorship scandal; rather over
the course of the last two decades, a salient shift has occurred in Canadian
political ideology, public policy, and attitude (Cameron). Since the 1990s,
parties on the political right have been steadily climbing in popularity and
influence; the merger between the Canadian Alliance and the PC Party ultimately solidified this trend. As journalist Paul Wells argued, “Harper’s victory
wasn’t a fluke. It accelerated a decade-long trend by which conservative
117
parties slowly displaced the Liberals as the party of the average working
Canadian” (264).
Massaging the Voter: Manufacturing Harper’s Hockey Identity
MP’s Christmas cards have been arriving in mailboxes during the past couple
of weeks…. Stephen Harper’s card shows him gazing at a collage of photos
of himself from the past year—the Prime Minister with his family, hoisting
the Stanley Cup, holding up a hockey jersey, posing with the Queen and
various foreign leaders. (Smyth A3)
Building on his successful electioneering strategy, Harper has continuously sought to entrench his popularity with “ordinary” Canadians and various swing voters by vigorously promoting his identity as a hockey fan, proud
hockey Dad, and dedicated hockey historian. Less than a month after being
sworn in as PM, Harper’s identity as a hockey fan and “ordinary” hockey Dad
was reinforced in an article that discussed how the RCMP now drive Harper
to hockey rinks to watch his son, Ben, play hockey. The article featured pictures of Harper taking his son to his hockey practice, sitting in the stands with
the other “ordinary” hockey parents. In the article, Harper noted: “No matter
how tired I am, no matter how many things I have on my agenda, if I can find
time, I can always get up and always make it to the hockey rink” (“Stephen
Harper”). Notably, the story also emphasized a range of comments from other
parents about Harper’s presence, including one father’s observation that the
PM is: “A regular guy like all the rest of us, he still walks, talks and chews
gum the same way as we do” (ibid.). Central to these media narratives is
the Conservative frame of not only the “ordinary Canadian” juxtaposed to
the “elite” ones favoured by the Liberal Party, but also the “ordinariness” of
Harper and his family (Taylor; Smyth). As the conservative blogger, Stephen
Taylor8 has remarked, “Ben and Rachel are the ordinary kids in hockey and
gymnastics, Stephen and Laureen are such an ordinary couple that one or the
other may forget an anniversary, similar to ... any other ordinary Canadian
couple.” Discursive promotional strategies like these function to obscure
class differences and the growing socioeconomic divide between “ordinary”
Canadians and their counterparts in Canada’s business establishment and
political circles who, in Zygmunt Bauman’s terms, have seceded from the
Canadian commons, and now exist in a “socio-cultural-bubble” that has insulated them from any real awareness of how low middle- and lower-income
families actually live, and the deleterious effects neoliberal social policies
have on their lives.
In a similar vein, Harper’s routine tapping into national symbols, like
hockey, is evidenced through his (self-)promotion as a hockey historian. For
example, in 2006, while attending hockey games in Toronto and Calgary
respectively, Harper was referred to as a “hard-core hockey fan” who is a
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“member of the Society for International Hockey Research,” and is currently “penning a book about the pre-NHL history of the game”9 (“PM’s
hockey”). Despite these plaudits, Harper readily admitted the challenge of
being PM and completing this endeavour: “My original plan was to have
that published by the end of this year, but I have to admit, that since Jan.
23, I’ve been spending a little less time on it than before so we’ll have to
see” (ibid.).10 Four days after this coverage, Harper granted an exclusive
one-on-one interview to The Sport Network’s (TSN) Gord Miller, reiterating
his identity as a proud hockey Dad, while extolling: “I love my job as Prime
Minister, but if you could be a hockey player, I mean, what could be better
than that” (“Prime Minister”).
Harper’s fondness for representing himself via an affective national symbol is far from unintentional; rather it illustrates his skilful adaptation of the
promotional strategies of the George W. Bush administration. Indeed, in May
2006, Harper met with Frank Luntz, a US Republican pollster, communications adviser, and adjunct fellow at the conservative think-tank, the Hudson
Institute. Credited with both having a momentous impact on contemporary
US political and public discourses, and with being the mastermind behind
the Republican rise in fortunes dating back to its 1994 sweep of Congress,
Luntz was also the wordsmith underpinning Bush’s carefully crafted successive wins and his administration’s policies (Berkowitz, “Spurned by” and
“Politics”; Mason). Notably, Luntz claims to be in the “language guidance”
profession: “my job is to look for the words that trigger the emotion. Words
alone can be found in a dictionary or telephone book, but words with emotion
can change destiny, can change life as we know it” (Mason A5). Luntz’s
central promotional strategy is thus to use carefully tested and often repeated
simple messages, in conjunction with key words, images, pictures and national symbols in order “to deflect suspicions of unpopular policies” (Moxley;
“Tories influenced”). In 1997, for example, he fashioned a communications
how-to guide, Language of the 21st Century, which became the Republican
Party’s “language bible” (Mason). However, its reach also stretched north of
the 49th parallel as Luntz’s tactics have been readily observed in the Harper
Government’s repertoire of communication strategies (Berkowitz, “Spurned
by” and “Politics”; “Tories influenced”; Dobbin; Mason). Luntz’s interest in
Canadian politics and his relationship with Western Canadian economic and
social conservatives dates back to Reform Party days when Preston Manning’s political advisers hired him as an official election pollster and strategic
adviser; his focus was to coach Manning on the art of negative political campaigning (Walker).11
Harper’s 2006 meeting with Luntz occurred the day before the Republican pollster (Doskoch) gave the keynote address at the tenth-anniversary
conference of the Civitas Society (Gairdner), described as “the premier venue
in Canada where people interested in conservative, classical liberal and liber-
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tarian ideas can not only exchange ideas, but meet others who share an interest in these rich intellectual traditions” (Civitas Society). Its founder, William
Gairdner, described the conference as such: “there were about 250 members
of Civitas there from all across Canada drawn from a membership that constitutes a kind of lonely platoon of conservative/libertarian thinkers, journalists,
professors and policy wonks who are pretty excited to find one of their own
as Prime Minister of Canada” (Gairdner). As Gairdner alludes to, the Civitas
Society has particularly close ties to the PM; Harper’s former chief of staff Ian
Brodie (2006–2008) is a director, and Harper’s mentor and former campaign
manager, Tom Flanagan, was a founding director and past president.
Luntz’s speech, “Massaging the Conservative Message for Voters,” was
a communications blueprint offering a range of promotional strategies for
“tailoring a conservative message and selling it to moderate voters” (Moxley); its objective was to solidify the conservative minority government
with a view to expanding it to a majority in the next election. The pillars
of Luntz’s “message” to Civitas members were accountability, opportunity
(read: the neoliberal favourite of “choice”), security, and families. “Massaging,” for its part, encompassed language, images, and national symbols.
As Luntz explained, “language is your base. Symbols knock it out of the
park…” (Mason). To this end, Luntz encouraged Harper to link his identity
and right-wing agenda to national symbols like hockey: “If there is some way
to link hockey to what you all do, I would try to do it” (qtd. in Thompson
A6). According to Luntz, these types of personal appeals to national popular culture play a critical role in appealing to “average voters,” the “Mikes
and Theresas” and “Dougies” of the Conservative playbook, who may not
traditionally vote Conservative: “You have a gentleman who may well be
the smartest leader intellectually. Now, that is half the battle. The other half
of the battle is to link that intelligence to the day-to-day lives of the average
individual” (qtd. in Thompson A6).
Lakoff’s work on framing within political and public discourses is
constructive in making sense of Luntz’s counsel to Civitas, and the CP of
Canada. Lakoff argues that central to deconstructing contemporary political
discourse is understanding how issues are framed through particular values
which resonate within the type of promotional politics described by Wernick.
As Lakoff elucidates, “politics is about values; it is about communication.…
And it is about symbolism” (8); the positioning of an issue follows “from
one’s values, and the choice of issues and policies should symbolize those
values” (8).12
Luntz also encouraged the CP to promote neoliberal policy initiatives
through carefully manipulating discourse by deploying less threatening
cultural terms like “tax relief” rather than “tax cuts”, and “personalization”
instead of “privatization.” Such discursive initiatives arguably represent
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an Orwellian version of Newspeak designed to massage Canadian voters,
particularly as they are uncritically transmitted via either right leaning corporate media conglomerates, or through alternative (i.e., “unfiltered”) media
sources. Neoliberalism is, in this instance, clearly much more than an economic theory; it “constitutes the conditions for a radically refigured cultural
politics” (Giroux 107) that reinforces dominant values, social relations, and
understandings of citizenship.
Given Luntz’s long-standing relationship with the CP and its political
forerunners, it is likely that prior to the Civitas Society’s Conference Harper
was well aware of the promotional value of reframing potentially unpopular conservative policies by linking them to national symbols like hockey.
Consider, however, Harper’s media activity following Luntz’s presentation
on 6 May 2006. Two days afterwards, Harper appeared during the Game 2
second intermission of the Ottawa Senators–Buffalo Sabres NHL playoff series, where he spent the entire time posing for photos with other hockey fans,
shaking hands, and signing autographs (St. Martin). Such practices juxtapose
interestingly with Harper’s assertion, noted earlier, that Canadians do not
expect their Prime Ministers “to aspire to be a media star as an end in itself”
(Taber, “Stephane Dion” A6), not least of which would contradict Harper’s
rebranding process and the strategy of appealing to “ordinary” Canadians
through national symbols.
Returning to our initial remarks about Luntz’s discursive philosophy,
such articulations are apparent in Conservative attempts to “massage” and
market various right-wing policies to appeal to moderate voters who are encouraged to embrace new identities as neoliberal citizens. For example, in a
2006 move to address the childhood “inactivity” and “obesity” “epidemics,”
federal Finance Minister Jim Flaherty, clad in skates and a hockey jersey
after playing hockey with a group of peewees in his home riding of Whitby,
Ontario (Department of Finance), announced a Children’s Fitness Tax Credit,
providing families with up to $500 per child for registration fees. At a tax rate
of 15.5%, the savings amounts to $77.50. Yet, as McDermott points out, like
other policies emphasizing tax cuts rather than investing in public programs,
such initiatives ultimately serve to entrench further class differences by
predominantly supporting families whose children are already registered in
sports programs. Indeed, a tax credit is a moot point for families that cannot
afford registration fees in the first place. Thus, while the tax credit failed to
achieve its stated objective (to increase children’s sport and physical activity
involvement), it did serve important promotional purposes for the CP in its
bid to secure the votes of Canadian families.
Characteristic of a neoliberal agenda is an anathema for governmental
regulations, viewed as roadblocks to economic growth. Nowhere is this ideology so conspicuous for Stephen Harper than in the case of global warming
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and Canada’s commitment to the Kyoto Accord. In a 2002 fundraising letter
to Canadian Alliance members, Harper decried the accord as an “economy destroying … socialist scheme to suck money out of wealth-producing nations”
(“Harper letter”). Harper’s perspective is unsurprising given his connections
to the Alberta oil industry, and his resolute commitment to aggressive oil
sands development (McQuaig). Harper’s opposition to the Kyoto Accord
followed him into office where he demonstrated his environmental disdain
through frequent denials of global warming, and his appointment of Rona
Ambrose13 as Canada’s environment minister. In 2006 Ambrose announced
that Canada would not meet its Kyoto commitments; instead, it would focus
on implementing a “Made in Canada”14 solution to climate change. Opposition Liberals, who had originally committed Canada to the Kyoto Accord,
responded by introducing a private member’s bill to force Canada to maintain
its Kyoto commitment. Significantly, Harper skipped this bill’s parliamentary
vote to fly to Toronto on the Department of National Defence’s executive jet
with his son to watch the Maple Leafs season-opener against the Ottawa Senators (McGregor).15 The Harper government’s dismissive attitude towards
global warming, however, soon underwent a seismic political shift as polls
indicated the importance of this issue to Canadian voters (“Harper letter”).
On 5 January 2007, TSN interviewed the PM during the first intermission
of the gold medal game of the World Junior Hockey Championships between
Canada and Russia. Referenced, yet again, as a hockey historian, he offered
his analysis of both the opening period and various rules and regulations, including his preference for games to be decided in an overtime period versus a
shoot-out. Following a 4–2 Canadian victory, TSN covered a congratulatory
phone call from Harper to Canadian Head Coach Craig Hartsburg, while the
next day various newspapers carried a photo of Harper calling from his office
with the Canadian flag behind him. Harper’s hockey appearance, arguably,
served to draw attention away from his removal, a day earlier, of the much
maligned Ambrose from her environment portfolio to neutralize national and
international criticism against his government’s Kyoto Accord abandonment
and the introduction of the Luntz inspired “Made in Canada” solution: the
Clean Air Act. Lamenting Canada’s rapidly declining environmental reputation, the Act was resoundingly attacked by opposition parties and environmentalists (Simpson). Harper’s approach to pressing environmental concerns,
however, has not deterred the PM from various promotional efforts designed
to massage his party’s position on the environment. When former California
Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, widely lauded for implementing stringent
greenhouse gas emissions caps, came to Ontario in 2007 to sign an agreement
coordinating fuel efficiency standards to reduce greenhouse gases, Harper
used it as an occasion to meet the governor. While a similar agreement was
not forthcoming at the federal level, Harper and Schwarzenegger managed
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to discuss the Ottawa Senators–Anaheim Ducks Stanley Cup finals and exchanged hockey jerseys in a photo op (“Arnie to”).
Perhaps the CP’s most conspicuous (and long-lasting) attempt to pin
down and promote what it means to be an “ordinary” Canadian has transpired
through its replacement of the Liberal’s Citizenship and Immigration study
guide used by immigrants in their preparations for taking their citizenship
exams. Friesen and Curry gesture to the culture war in which the CP has been
engaged with their observation that “[t]he monarchy and the military ... are
given much greater prominence in the new document. The land, the environment and healthcare, mainstays of Canada’s self-image through the past two
decades, are largely ignored” (A1). In assessing the new guide and the reenvisioned “Canadian” projected through it, the Canadian historian Margaret
Conrad remarked “[i]t’s kind of like a throwback to the 1950s. It’s a tough,
manly country with military and sport heroes that are all men.... It’s a tougher
Canada than the one the Liberals depicted” (ibid.). Conrad’s observations
point to not only the CP’s masculinized representation of Canada, but also to
its continued strategic deployment of hockey as an apparatus through which
to promote the party’s brand, its leader, and its policies, as well as a medium
through which it attempts to forge dominant understandings of “ordinary”
Canadian identity.
Such efforts clearly continue to be played out on the cultural terrain of
values. For example, in contrast to the new citizenship guide’s numerous
references to hockey (13 in total),16 Jason Kenney, the Minister of Citizenship, Immigration and Multiculturalism ordered the removal of all references
to gay rights in Canada from an earlier iteration of it, including its decriminalization in 1969, and the legalization of same-sex marriage in 2005. Yet
The Globe and Mail’s Tabatha Southey (along with potentially many other
Canadians) represent fissures to the CP’s attempts at solidifying for political
gain what it means to be an “ordinary” Canadian through popular cultural
symbols when she sardonically notes:
Canada ... is one of only seven countries in the world in which samesex and opposite-sex marriages have equal standing in law. However,
we are one of only four countries in the world in which hockey cards
are routinely traded. Before you judge Mr. Kenney ... who, either by
inattention or design, included hockey-card information and excluded
any reference to same-sex marriage, take a moment to imagine that
you come from a country in which it’s not acceptable to trade hockey
cards. Imagine you were raised somewhere you’d be discriminated
against or beaten senseless or risk untimely death because of your
hockey-card collection—or that you yourself, while uninterested in
collecting cards, beat other people in your homeland with impunity the
second you discovered they owned a deck. (F2)
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These developments, it can be suggested, further reinforce how the notion of
the “ordinary” Canadian—as a key concept of neoliberal discourse—can be
mobilized politically “to re-define citizenship and to naturalise the exclusion
of some citizens from notions of national belonging without direct reference
to culture, race, sexual preference and gender” (Mackey 21).
Conclusion
Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s reticence toward the media apparently
doesn’t apply to sportscasters. Harper invited TSN’s Gord Miller to 24 Sussex Drive on Wednesday night so he could be filmed watching Game 2 of
the Stanley Cup final. The Prime Minister hasn’t held a news conference in
Ottawa this year, and only rarely stops on the staircase outside the House of
Commons to deliver a message to the news media. His relationship with the
parliamentary press is charitably described as frosty…But when it comes to
hockey, Harper is expansive and accommodating. (“Harper makes” A13).
In this article, we have endeavoured to illuminate the symbolic role of
hockey in a new stage of promotional politics in Canada. There are, as we
noted earlier, no shortage of examples of politicians from across the political spectrum who have recognized the importance of maintaining popular
associations with the national sport of hockey and, indeed, other elements
of national popular culture. Still, unlike earlier eras of promotional politics
where PMs such as Diefenbaker, Pearson, and Trudeau recognized the promise of sport in general, and hockey in particular, to fashion political interests
regarding national unity and international prestige (Macintosh and Hawes),
under Harper’s tenure there has been an expansion of these meticulously
calculated practices that are now deployed exclusively for personal imagemaking and advertising.
The expansion of promotional politics has been spurred, of course, by
substantial technological and political-economic changes to the Canadian
media landscape: notably, the advent of the 24-hour news cycle and the commercialization of the Internet, affording infinite possibilities for (virtual) public engagements, including, but not limited to, mainstream online news sites.
To this we can add the ascension of marketing discourses that occurred in the
1990s through the confluence of database marketing (i.e., compiling customer
databases), one-on-one marketing (i.e., using technologies to foster enduring
customer relationships through strategies like personalized communication)
and the Internet, which provides the technology to further transform customer communication processes into real-time interactions (Neuman). All
of these developments, in conjunction with the CP’s masterful execution of
Luntz’s promotional blueprint of often repeated messages invoking national
symbols, have been fully exploited by the CP for promotional purposes as the
party solidifies strategic affinities amongst key elements of national popular
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culture, the PM’s political persona as an “ordinary” Canadian hockey fan,
and the CP as the political choice of middle- and working-class Canadians.
We have also argued that such strategies have fluidly unfolded against a
backdrop where citizens are being encouraged to embrace understandings of
neoliberal citizenship as various national institutions representing real points
of connection for all Canadians are being dismantled; where, as Raymond
Williams argues, “the active promoters, the ideologists and the agents” of
these processes “speak to the rest of us, at least from one side of their mouths,
about traditional values of settlement, community, and loyalty” (Resources
186). Here Williams’ words assume a prescient quality in relation to the
contemporary Canadian political landscape: while seemingly paying homage
to Canadian community and identity through its promotional deployment of
Canadian symbols of popular culture, in practice the Harper government has
all the while implemented a neoliberal program designed to erode the fabric
of this community and identity.
What further marks Stephen Harper and the CP’s promotional political strategies as unique is the manner in which this has been accomplished:
through a focused commitment to neutering democratic processes, as we
noted at the beginning of this discussion. Democracy, as Canadian political
scientist Michael Byers asserts: “should be the marketplaces of ideas…. Markets, of course, depend on the free flow of information and basic norms of
good conduct…. For some reason, Stephen Harper either doesn’t understand
this, or doesn’t care.” Occurring alongside this democratic deficit, the CP’s
unremitting promotional agenda continues to unfold on a variety of fronts:
the conspicuous visibility of the PM during the 2010 Olympic Games in Vancouver; his frequent photo-ops with professional hockey players, including
national icon Wayne Gretzky; and the use of hockey imagery and sporting
rhetoric to massage Canada’s military presence in Afghanistan (see Scherer
and McDermott; Scherer and Koch).
Still, there are no guarantees with respect to how Canadians encode these
promotional strategies both in relation to what it means to be an “ordinary”
Canadian, and to the neoliberal agenda the former attempts to massage. Faultlines in these attempts to secure power can, in fact, be detected on at least two
fronts: first, are the occasional opinion editorials (even within mainstream
media) “pulling back the curtains” on the CP’s strategy “that a good way
to distract voters is to talk as much as possible about hockey” (Smith); and
second, what has become apparent is that Harper and his hypermasculine image (e.g., as someone who “walks his own talk” [Gairdner]) and policies are
much more palatable to some Canadians than others: repeated polls suggest
that Canadian women are less inclined to support him (Delacourt, “Macho
Symbols”).17 These trends may reveal various aspects of the organization of
power in Canada, and the privileging of hockey by groups of dominant white
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men who continually articulate national cultural values in “a manner that
reflects and promotes their interests and that continues to place their image at
the centre of a shared national identity” (Adams 82).
Finally, these developments also point to a number of issues facing the
Canadian Left. Here it may be helpful to return to an observation made by
Stuart Hall over two decades ago about the willingness—and success of the
Right—to maintain a popular presence and connect with British citizens
via the terrain of popular culture: strategies that the Left largely neglected.
Indeed, as we have argued throughout this article, Hall’s concerns arguably
hold true in the contemporary Canadian context where the CP, in terms of
promotional politics, has unquestioningly outmanoeuvred its political rivals
who have struggled to establish a more active cultural presence.
It can be granted that those on the Right have considerably more resources to devote to such imaging strategies and, beyond this, are likely fluent in
the language and practices of marketing, and have well-established “commercial” networks with the private sector. Moreover, it becomes increasingly
difficult for the Left to challenge market-based policies and definitions of
neoliberal citizenship via the terrain of a promotional political culture that
has been effectively subsumed by the very same logic of advertising that
continually nourishes understandings of possessive individualism and mobile
privatization as common sense. Yet, as Williams once remarked, the market
can only provide so much support for citizens, let alone nourish collective
identities: for “other human needs, beyond consumption, other relationships
and conceptions of other people are necessary” (Towards 190). While the
subversion of a promotional political culture is by now increasingly unlikely,
the challenge for the Left, then, will be to embrace elements of national popular culture that open up new possibilities for more enduring kinds of common
interest and points of connection.
Notes
1.
126
Since becoming PM, Harper has solidified his persona as a micro-manager
intent on limiting the flow of public information, particularly through
the mainstream media. Two examples illustrate this. First, is the Access
to Information Commissioner’s 2008–2009 Report assessing 24 federal
departments’ responses to public information requests, largely by the media.
Thirteen departments were rated below average, unsatisfactory and/or “red
alert” (notably Foreign Affairs whose performance “was so poor that the
OIC [Office of the Information Commissioner] could not rate it against its
established criteria” (OIC, “Out of Time” and “Interim Information”). Second,
is the government practice of using Message Event Proposals (MEP), a
communications tool for vetting public events requests. MEPs are a “political
tool for literally putting words in the mouths of cabinet ministers, federal
bureaucrats, low-profile MPs on the barbecue circuit, and seasoned diplomats
abroad.... All major news organizations ... [in Canada] have had requests
2.
3.
4.
for information dissected by individual MEPs” (Blanchfield and Bronskill).
Harper’s approach to government-media relations enacts what Rosen calls a
“decertification of the press,” which he suggests has two faces. The first is to
put journalists in a diminished position (i.e., “Don’t answer their questions,
it only encourages the askers to think they’re legitimate interlocutors ... for
the public”). The second involves describing government efforts to inform
the public as purely factual while dismissing mainstream media as inherently
biased. Ultimately, through tapping into alternative media venues, notably
provided through the Internet (e.g., blogs, YouTube, etc.), decertification
has become an important strategy the Harper government deploys “to get its
message out” to the public unencumbered by what are perceived to be the
mainstream media’s negative filters.
The images, symbols, and language of sport in general, and hockey in particular
have served as levers of political legitimacy for innumerable Canadian
politicians. Former Progressive Conservative PM John Diefenbaker, for
example, allowed a CBC television crew into his home to film him and his wife
watching the final game of the 1972 Summit Series (“Paul Henderson scores”).
In 1949, as Liberal Secretary of State, Mike Pearson (who would eventually
become PM) noted the political ends of sport particularly at an international
level (Macintosh and Greenhorn). Pearson also played for the Oxford Blues
while at Oxford University during the 1920s (Smith) and subsequently coached
the University of Toronto Varsity Blues’ hockey team. More recently, Liberal
PM Jean Chrétien donned a pair of hockey skates for a segment in the National
Film Board documentary “Shinny: The Hockey in All of Us.” After the 2002
Olympic men’s and women’s hockey teams won gold medals—Canada’s
first Olympic gold medal in men’s hockey in 50 years—Chrétien sought to
capitalize on the national mood: “In two golden weeks of triumph, the game
that we have always called our own, that we have shared with the world, has
become ours again. In the past two weeks, in homes and schools, at work and
at play, Canadians have once again been united in a way that only hockey
can bring us together” (“Golden nation”). Others, like former Liberal MP and
Montreal Canadiens goaltender Ken Dryden have unassailable links to hockey
in addition to his other impressive credentials as a writer, lawyer and executive.
We are grateful to the anonymous reviewer who drew our attention to these,
and other, examples.
Tom Flanagan, along with Ted Morton, Barry Cooper, Roger Gibbins, Rainer
Knopff, and David Bercuson, form a group of political scientists from the
University of Calgary known as the “Calgary School,” who are attributed
with facilitating Harper’s swift rise to lead the CP and ultimately become
PM. McDonald describes the “Calgary School” as being bound by a “neoconservative agenda [that] read as if it has been lifted straight from the dusty
desk drawers of Ronald Reagan: lower taxes, less federal government, and free
markets unfettered by social programs such as Medicare that keep citizens from
being forced to pull up their own socks.”
Nikolas Rose’s discussion of freedom is relevant here. Central to the workings
of a neoliberal rationality is an understanding of freedom whereby the
individual is represented as an autonomous, entrepreneurial self who has
“the capacity to realize one’s desires ... to fulfill one’s potential through one’s
own endeavours, to determine the course of one’s own existence through
127
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
128
acts of choice” (84). The neoliberal subject is thus conceived in terms of
self-responsibility (versus social responsibility) and self-actualization through
choice. “Choice,” within conservative discourse, is thus far from innocent.
Harper rarely uses the term “culture,” which was noticeably absent in the
CP’s policy document (Dobbin). A 1997 CBC interview provides insight into
Harper’s views on Canadian culture. When asked “is there a Canadian culture?”
Harper responded: “Yes in a very loose sense. It consists of regional cultures
within Canada, regional cultures that cross borders with the US. We’re part of a
worldwide Anglo-American culture. And there is a continental culture” (ibid.).
Such an understanding of culture aligns well with the globalized economic
relations being pursued through neoliberalism.
In explaining why no members of Harper’s Conservative cabinet would
be attending the 2008 Governor-General’s Performing Arts Award Gala, a
Conservative MP noted that “he and many of his fellow Tories don’t get ‘jacked
up’ by meeting arts and cultural celebrities, but would if they were honouring
‘hockey players’” (Taber, “Why Tories” R4). More recently identified has been
Harper’s strategy of fostering a culture war within public discourse (Chase and Vu).
According to a poll conducted for the Vancouver Sun, a CanWest Media daily,
Stephen Harper’s political fortunes are grounded in male Tim Hortons voters
who view HNIC’s Don Cherry as a “national icon,” watch more sports, and are
most likely to fear a terrorist attack (O’Neil).
Taylor is an example of the CP’s attempt to “decertify” the mainstream media
as a source for political information and analysis, thereby allowing its message
“to get out” “unfiltered” (Delacourt, “PM Can’t”).
A Google search of “Stephen Harper” & “hockey book” (16 June 2010)
returned 311 hits, which included links to all mainstream Canadian media
outlets (The Globe & Mail, National Post, Macleans, CBC, CTV, Financial
Post, and The Toronto Star) as well as online sites (including personal
blogs, Hockey News, NHL, and interestingly the Afghanistan News Center).
Consciously or not, such forums serve to reproduce the CP strategy of
articulating national symbols to Harper and the CP.
Azpiri notes Harper’s regularity of mentioning his hockey book in interviews.
Azpiri goes on to disclose that when pressed for details regarding the book,
Harper admitted that he “only spends about 15 minutes a day working on it.”
As Azpiri observes: “it sound[s] more like a hobby than a serious work of
historical research.” Regardless of whether a book comes to be published,
Harper’s (and wittingly or unwittingly the media’s) tactic of repeated
invocation of it not only keeps in circulation but ultimately solidifies his
promotional image of a hockey-loving Canadian.
Former Reform Party policy manager under Manning, Dimitri Pantazopoulos,
described Luntz as “one of the few outside sources who has (sic) a real
influence on party direction” (Vardy 12).
Harper’s understanding of the centrality of values to politics and his deft
enactment of Luntz’ key pillars to effective messaging is evidenced in a
response he made while appearing on CanWest Media’s Global National,
regarding his reticence to interact with the media: “I have no desire to be a
celebrity or media star. I’m not in People magazine, talking about my hopes
and fears as an individual…. While I don’t go on interviews and unburden my
inner soul, at the same time I think Canadians know about me what most people
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
know about me. I think they know that I’m a family man, they know that I’m a
hockey fan. They know the kind of values I have, whether they agree with them
or disagree with them” (qtd. in Mayeda and Martin A1, emphasis added).
Prior to running as a federal Conservative, Ambrose, whose father was an
oil industry executive (MacDonald), was the Alberta (Canada’s most vocal
Kyoto critic) conservative government’s senior intergovernmental officer. Her
responsibilities encompassed fiscal, social, and constitutional policy issues,
including Alberta’s position on the Kyoto Protocol (“Ministers in”).
A “Made in Canada” climate change solution reproduces Luntz’s “Made in
America” one.
The CP repetitively conveyed to the public that it paid for the jet expense to
Toronto and Harper`s two platinum level ($182 per seat [Kernaghan]) seats
next to Leafs’ owner, Larry Tanenbaum (McGregor). The flight, ticket cost, and
company shared at the game arguably debunk Harper’s pose as an “ordinary”
Canadian. His appearance at the game, however, did provide another Harperhockey photo-op.
For example, as stated in the guide: “Many young Canadians play hockey at
school, in a hockey league, or on quiet streets road hockey or street hockey and
are taken to hockey rinks by their parents. Canadian children have collected
hockey cards for generations” (Citizenship and Immigration Canada 39).
This is unsurprising given the fact that few women are visible in the CP which:
decreased funding to the Status of Women Canada by 37% resulting in 12 of its
16 regional offices being closed (Gergin); changed the government criteria for
funding women’s groups; and removed the word “equality” from its objectives.
It also cancelled the court challenges program (which determined whether
laws contravened women’s rights), refused to adopt pay equity legislation,
cancelled funding for a national child-care program (“1,000 protesters”), and
recently responded, via a female Conservative Senator, to feminist critiques
of its controversial G8 Maternal Health initiative that excluded abortion rights
for women in developing countries, by telling them to “shut the fuck up on
this issue.... If you push it, there will be more backlash” (“Senator drops”).
The effects of such decisions are evidenced in international gender equality
rankings: the World Economic Forum gender gap index ranked Canada in
seventh place in 2004; by 2009 it had dropped to 25th on the list of countries
regarding their gender equality records (Gergin).
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134
Meena Sharify-Funk
Governing the Face Veil: Quebec’s Bill 94
and the Transnational Politics of Women’s Identity
Abstract
During the last decade, a new pattern of cultural contestation has emerged in
a range of “Western” contexts where there has been significant Muslim immigration. From Belgium and France to Quebec, Canada, anxieties concerning
the integration and acculturation of Muslim minority communities have led
to increased preoccupation with symbols associated with extremism and with
practices deemed threatening to women’s rights. Muslim face veils such as
the niqab and burqa now figure prominently in political debates, and are the
subject of campaigns to reassert fundamental values by defining appropriate as well as inappropriate ways for women to construct and express their
identities. Using Quebec’s Bill 94 as a case study that illustrates patterns
also evident in other countries, this article explores the transnational politics
of women’s identity behind current efforts to “govern” the face veil. Attention
will be given to international precedents that have inspired proponents of
legislation denying face-veil wearers essential government services (including public employment, educational opportunities, and health care), as well
as to surprising anti-Bill 94 coalitions that have emerged within Quebec and
in the larger Canadian context.
Résumé
Au cours de la dernière décennie, un nouveau modèle de contestation culturelle
a commencé à se manifester dans une gamme de contextes « occidentaux »
qui ont reçu une immigration musulmane importante. Depuis la Belgique et
la France jusqu’au Québec (Canada), les sujets de préoccupation concernant l’intégration et l’acculturation des collectivités de minorité musulmane
ont amené à se préoccuper davantage des symboles associés à l’extrémisme
et à des pratiques jugées menaçantes pour les droits des femmes. La question du voile facial porté par les Musulmanes comme le niqab et la burqa
s’introduit en force dans les débats politiques et fait l’objet de campagnes
visant à réaffirmer les valeurs fondamentales en définissant les moyens, appropriés et inappropriés, par lesquels les femmes construisent et expriment
leur identité. Se servant du projet de loi 94 du Québec comme d’une étude de
cas illustrant des modèles que l’on retrouve également dans d’autres pays, le
présent article explore les politiques transnationales de l’identité des femmes
qui sous-tendent les efforts actuels pour « régir » le port du voile facial. On
portera une certaine attention aux précédents internationaux qui ont inspiré
les promoteurs de la législation visant à refuser aux porteuses du voile facial
des services gouvernementaux essentiels (notamment l’emploi dans la foncIJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
tion publique, les possibilités d’éducation et les soins de santé); on portera
également attention aux coalitions contre le projet de loi 94 qui ont pris naissance au sein du Québec et dans le contexte canadien plus vaste.
On 24 March 2010, Minister of Justice Madame Kathleen Weil introduced
Bill 94 to the National Assembly of Quebec, a piece of legislation proposed
in order to “establish the conditions under which an accommodation may be
made in favour of personnel members of the Administration or certain institutions or in favour of person to whom services are provided by the Administration or certain institutions” (Parliament of Quebec, National Assembly, 2).
The stated purpose of this Bill was to clarify standard practices associated
with the provision of public services, for exemption from this ruling might
be denied. The principled grounds for rejecting all forms of face covering
is presented in section 4 of the Bill, which cites Quebec’s Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms “as concerns the right to gender equality and the
principle of religious neutrality of the State whereby the State shows neither
favour nor disfavour towards any particular religion or belief” (ibid. 4). The
pragmatic basis for the new ruling is provided in section 6, which contains
both the clause stating that individuals must “show their face during the delivery of services” and the ruling that mandates a denial of accommodation
requests when considerations of “security, communication or identification
warrant it” (ibid. 5). If passed, Bill 94 would require that all employees of
the government and public services show their face at all times, and that
all people making use of government or public services (including public
and some private schools, health care services, social services, and childcare
services) would similarly be expected to have uncovered faces at the time
of service delivery. Although the principal targets of the legislation are not
mentioned in the text of the Bill, the legislation is generally understood to
be aimed at Muslim women who wear the niqab (full-face veil), and would
essentially prohibit niqabi women from accessing public services.
While in the immediate wake of the tabling of the legislation there
seemed to be overwhelming popular and political support for the Bill, a
number of religious groups, academics, and civil society organizations have
voiced strong criticism. Members of the public were invited to submit briefs
to the government, and by the May 7 deadline over 60 submissions had been
made (Dougherty, “Bill 94”). Public hearings commenced on May 18 and,
while originally scheduled to last for 3 weeks, were suspended on May 20.
While the official reason given for suspending the hearings “was the need to
turn the committee’s attention to the more pressing matter of parliamentary
ethics,” observers have suggested the government began to reconsider the
Bill after criticism and opposition voiced during the hearings (ibid.). The
absence of a specific, declared date for renewed hearings has left the future
of the legislation in question.
136
Although the ultimate fate of Bill 94 remains to be determined, the
dynamics associated with the Bill thus far reveal a great deal about the
contemporary cultural politics of Quebec. As the first substantive action of
the Charest government on issues of majority–minority relations since the
Bouchard-Taylor inquiry into reasonable accommodation, Bill 94 signals
continuing tension surrounding notions of visible cultural difference, particularly with respect to Islam. While many aspects of the scenario are specific
to Quebec, the Bill 94 debate nonetheless provides a window into a pattern
of identity construction, boundary demarcation, and identity conflict that has
parallels in many contemporary North American and European contexts.
Whatever the outcome, Bill 94 raises profound questions concerning
identity, belonging, cultural boundaries, and the challenges of community building in a time of renewed insecurity. Is a new symbolic politics of
“otherness” and exclusion reshaping the contours of the public sphere, or
is the current salience of themes pertaining to an “Islamic other” a passing
phenomenon? To what extent are cultural and political identities in Quebec
and other “Western” contexts being reconstructed in relation to a feared Muslim “other”? Does the new preoccupation of some feminists with socially
marginal but symbolically potent expressions of conservative Islamic gender
relations constitute a reorientation or change in the character of feminism
itself, or merely a contingent and largely defensive shift in emphasis? Given
the very limited extent to which the Bouchard-Taylor Commission—a highly
visible project of officially sanctioned intercultural dialogue—changed the
character of popular discourse in Quebec, what other means of advancing
inclusive community are possible at a time when the defence of cultural
boundaries has become a salient political theme?
Theoretical Context: Boundary Maintenance and Cultural Community
In The Symbolic Construction of Community, Anthony P. Cohen observes
that human collectivities construct their notions of community and in-group
solidarity symbolically, relying heavily on “contrasts” with other groups to
establish a sense of uniqueness. Community, Cohen writes, “expresses a
relational idea: the opposition of one community to others or to other social
entities” (12). Furthermore, consciousness of community is inescapably associated with the perception of boundaries.
As the expansive literature on ethnicity and nationalism attests (Smith;
Hutchinson and Smith), deep differences in values and beliefs are not an
essential prerequisite for identity-based conflict dynamics. Actual differences
in cultural practices may play a role in exacerbating tensions, yet it is the
symbolic meaning of divergent practices rather than the practices themselves
that shape their significance for intergroup polarization and conflict mobilization. Symbolic meaning, moreover, is determined by in-group narratives and
137
categories more often than through intergroup communion and dialogue. As
Cohen writes,
[A]lmost any matter of perceived difference between the community and
the outside world can be rendered symbolically as a resource of its boundary.
The community can make virtually anything grist to the symbolic mill of
cultural distance, whether it be the effects upon it of some centrally formulated government policy, or a matter of dialect, dress, drinking or dying. The
symbolic nature of the opposition means that people can “think themselves
into difference.” (117)
While other authors are more optimistic than Cohen concerning the
possibility that encounters between communities might lead to mutual learning and transformation of meaning (Inayatullah and Blaney; Kymlicka and
Bashir), rhetoric concerning the encroachment of an “other” on cultural
boundaries has undeniable mobilization potential in a wide range of conflict
situations. The more visible the apparent differences, the greater the potential
challenge for those who would aspire to build bridges, reconstruct meanings,
and establish new, cross-cutting bonds for a more inclusive communal whole.
A variety of factors has given renewed prominence to identity-based
boundaries and divides in recent years, in Canada as well as in many other
national contexts. The combined forces of globalization, mass migration, and
post-9/11 security politics have created an atmosphere in which longstanding
debates about topics such as multiculturalism, rights, and liberal democratic
norms (Kymlicka and Bashir; Levey and Modood; Taylor; Stein) have taken
on a new edge. Increasingly, visible manifestations of cultural difference
evoke heightened concern not just about physical security, but also about
the security of a larger sense of “self” that is now threatened by an influx of
cultural, ethnic, and religious “otherness.” Such identities are now subject
to securitization (Buzan, Waever, and de Wilde) with problematic consequences for visible minorities and immigrant groups as partisans of “traditionally authentic” national culture seek to fortify communal boundaries,
and as rhetorically targeted minority groups increase their own insularity
and defensiveness in response to increasing scrutiny (Moghdessi, Rahnema,
and Goodman). As Cohen would predict, reassertion of an idealized “we”
necessarily presupposes sharp contrasts with the qualities and practices of an
antithetical “they,” inviting reciprocal practices on the part of those placed in
the outsider camp.
In Canada, the renewed salience of “we”/“they” contrasts in public life
is not limited to debates surrounding such unsettling matters as the potential
for homegrown terrorism, or to more traditional mechanisms of boundary
maintenance with the United States. Use of intercultural contrasts has also
become apparent in conversations concerning immigrant integration and the
138
rights and responsibilities associated with citizenship. Although a majority
of national media outlets still appear to favour an inclusive, multicultural,
and multiracial understanding of the contemporary Canadian “we,” conceptions of Canadian identity are nonetheless being reconfigured in subtle ways
that underscore stark differences between liberalism, modernism, individual
rights, and gender equality on the one hand, and the values of conservative
or radical Muslims on the other. In many respects the discourse of women’s
rights has itself become securitized through its frequent invocation in relation to foreign war (e.g. Canadian troops in Afghanistan) and threats posed
by religious extremists (Hunt and Rygiel). Whereas traditional feminism was
frequently regarded as a subversive challenge to the under-representation of
women in public life, feminist claims to gender equality are now being deployed in a new context to reinforce fundamental distinctions between “us”
and “them.” Nowhere in Canada is this dynamic more evident than in Quebec.
Debates over veiling in Quebec provide fascinating opportunities to explore the contestation of identity in a setting where both majority and minority
populations experience identity insecurity. Even as members of the Quebecois
community construct identity vis-à-vis both the Canadian Anglophone majority and new immigrant communities (whose neo-traditional mores evoke
a “they” contrast not just from abroad, but also from Quebec’s own conservative cultural past), minority communities—especially visibly observant
Muslims—face the daunting task of attaining membership within a new “we”
without severing a sense of authenticity and lived connection to their communities of origin. The fact that Islam has become a new “they” for many in
the dominant culture makes the challenge of belonging all the more difficult.
In exploring Bill 94 as a political initiative driven more by “we”/“they”
identity contrasting and identity insecurity than by pragmatic policy concerns, this paper seeks insight into dynamics of intercultural communication
(conducted more often in monologue than in a dialogical format) that are
by no means unique to Quebec or to Canada at large. These dynamics demonstrate not only the significant potential for polarization in contemporary,
culturally diverse industrialized democratic polities, but also suggest the possibility of surprising new alliances that contest the boundaries of dominant
symbolic conceptions of community and invite new efforts to imagine a more
inclusive and flexible “we.” The present analysis therefore seeks to interpret
controversies and coalitions surrounding Bill 94, with the intent not only to
highlight the fissures between different communities and their manners of
constructing cultural identity, but also to illuminate ways in which the terms
of debate might be altered or reframed in ways that foster shared identity and
inclusive community.
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Historical Background: The “Reasonable Accommodation” Debate and
the Politics of Veiling
The introduction of Bill 94 and the varied responses the Bill has evoked cannot be understood in a vacuum. While broader international debates about the
place of Islam and Muslims in Western societies undeniably affect opposing
camps within Quebec, the specific terms of debate in Quebec must also be
understood in relation to the province’s unique history and experiences pertaining to secularism, interculturalism/ multiculturalism, and gender equality.
Owing to the legacy of Anglophone conquest, multiculturalism has always been contested in the province of Quebec. Although originally intended
as a federal policy that, in combination with bilingualism, would preserve
the long-term integrity of the Canadian state, acceptance of multiculturalism
has been tempered by anxieties about gradual erosion and eventual erasure
of Francophone identity and culture within the context of a predominantly
Anglophone country with a steady influx of diverse immigrants (Venne).
Preoccupation with pure laine (literally, “pure wool”) Quebecers’ insecure
minority status within Canada has therefore generated considerable ambivalence about the broader implications of multicultural policy and has at times
reduced empathy for other Canadian minority groups.
In addition to the insecure cultural status of Quebecers within the Canadian federation, close historic ties with France are an additional influence on
attitudes toward minority cultures in general, and toward Islam and Muslims
in particular. Two specific factors inherent in the modern French experience,
and articulated in relation to the unique circumstances of Quebec, contribute
to the formation of perceptions and value claims behind current reasonable
accommodation controversies. The first factor is laïcité, the French conception of a strongly secular state and public culture1; the second is the French
colonial presence in Muslim North Africa, and the subsequent post-colonial
experience of economically driven North African migration to France
proper.2 While both are products of historical developments subsequent to
Anglophone predominance in Canada and the eclipse of “New France” as
a political project, the persistence of a common Francophone cultural and
intellectual sphere renders core constructs of French culture and history consequential (though by no means determinative) for Quebec.
Despite geographic distance, the French experience and example continues to resonate in Quebec. While the secular-religious dynamic within
Quebec was largely settled in favour of secularism during the mid-twentiethcentury “Quiet Revolution,” formulations of laïcité that reflect France’s more
tumultuous struggle for a secular state are present alongside less assertive
forms of secularism. French notions of a unifying secular ethic have particular appeal among those who fear that new immigrants, especially Muslims,
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may reverse the historically recent political marginalization of religious institutions as well as significant gains in gender equality. Attunement to current
French realities also heightens anxiety about rapid demographic change and
culture gaps, while providing concrete examples of state policies intended
to reassert a common, secular civic culture. Public controversy in Quebec
surrounding Muslim head coverings, for example, dates not to the postSeptember 11 era, but rather to the 1990s; Quebec-based incidents associated
with the expulsion of girls from school for wearing headscarves followed a
pattern similar to previous events in France.
A series of provincial and federal events have underscored and exacerbated deeper questions concerning the security of Quebecois identity, making
this debate especially charged in the last decade. A 2002 Supreme Court ruling, for instance, to overturn a decision made by the council of commissioners
of the Commission Scolaire Marguerite-Bourgeoys and allow Gurbaj Singh
Multani to wear his kirpan to school, was perceived by some Quebecers as
a federal government attempt to impose multiculturalism on Quebec, and
prompted increased media attention to the issue of reasonable accommodation (Bouchard and Taylor, “Building” 33, 50). In 2005–2006, there was a
dramatic increase in media coverage of “reasonable accommodation” issues:
many citizens were concerned about the transition to frosted windows at a
YMCA located in a Hasidic Jewish community, unsettled by sensationalistic and inaccurate coverage of Muslim ritual prayers at a sugarhouse, and
provoked by various incidents in which hijab-wearing Muslim girls were
barred from participating in sporting events. The controversies came to a
head in January 2007 when the town council of a small, homogeneous village
named Hérouxville announced a “Life Standards” act, declaring that a range
of extreme practices—many of them, such as stoning women and wearing
face veils, stereotypically associated with Muslim radicalism—would not be
accepted within the community.
The Bouchard-Taylor Commission
In light of this increasingly polarized media coverage and the prospect that
the Action Démocratique du Québec (ADQ) party’s anti-immigrant policies could lead to significant gains in impending elections, Premier Charest
sought to defuse the “reasonable accommodation crisis” by appointing
two well-known public intellectuals, Charles Taylor and Gérard Bouchard,
to chair a commission to investigate “accommodation practices related to
cultural difference” in early 2007. While Bouchard and Taylor would later
conclude the so-called “crisis” to be largely a “crisis of perception,” they
noted that the wave of accommodation cases in the media “clearly touched
an emotional chord among French-Canadian Quebecers in such a way that
requests for religious adjustments have spawned fears about the potential
loss of the most valuable gains of the Quiet Revolution, in particular gender
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equality and secularism” (“Building” 18). Many Quebecers also expressed
fear that reasonable accommodation requests might undermine the intercultural integration model that the province has adopted as an alternative to
federal multiculturalism. A broader identity “malaise” also shaped sentiments
regarding reasonable accommodation; fear for Quebec’s status as a Frenchspeaking minority in English North America and tension between Montreal
and “the regions” were at the heart of the debate (ibid. 17, 33).
Although the commission was set up to investigate the management of
cultural differences, the overwhelming majority of cases raised in debate
have to do with religious and not merely cultural diversity. In their Consultation Document, Bouchard and Taylor state: “In a word, it is, in particular, the
management of diversity, especially religious diversity that appears above all
to pose a problem” (“Seeking” 3). Religious groups and religious practices
and symbols, then, often became the centre of debate, with concerns about
Muslims particularly prominent.
In the wake of 11 September 2001 and the resulting suspicion of Muslims worldwide, Quebec’s relatively small community of Muslims received
great attention. Particular Muslim practices—most notably the hijab and requests for prayer rooms—drove much of this attention, leading many Muslim
groups to explain their traditions publicly in an effort to correct misconceptions and defend the place of Muslims in a pluralist Quebec. Acknowledging
the salience of cases involving Muslim women in their report, Bouchard and
Taylor note that it is often Muslim women’s attempts to integrate that make
them more visible and therefore vulnerable to Islamophobia. They argue that
“the way to overcome Islamophobia is to draw closer to Muslims, not to shun
them. In this field, as in others, mistrust engenders mistrust. As is true of fear,
it ends us [sic] feeding on itself” (“Seeking” 235).
After accepting submissions from various groups and holding public
consultations, Bouchard and Taylor produced a lengthy report and series of
recommendations for the province in May 2008, rooted in a vision of “open
secularism.” Their recommendations included demands to better define
terms such as “interculturalism” and “secularism”; to promote employment
opportunities for immigrants more effectively; to increase representation of
underrepresented groups in government and public services; to combat antiSemitism, Islamophobia, and racism; and, importantly for Bill 94, to make
government spaces religiously neutral. To this end, Bouchard and Taylor
recommended that the crucifix be removed from the National Assembly, and
that certain public servants in positions of authority, such as judges, not be
allowed to wear symbols of religious expression.
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Post-Bouchard-Taylor Developments
The Bouchard-Taylor report received mixed reactions, and although the report spelled out a series of recommendations, the government showed little
enthusiasm to follow up on any of them. In effect, Bill 94 was the first piece
of legislation related to reasonable accommodation tabled since the Commission’s completion, aside from a motion in Parliament (accepted by all
parties) not to remove the crucifix from the National Assembly, contrary to
the report’s recommendations. Although the Commission served to dampen
debate about minority communities for a time, subsequent events have served
to reignite and perpetuate the debate in largely unchanged terms. In November 2009, the story of Naema Ahmed, an Egyptian immigrant who was asked
to leave her French class in Montreal when she refused to remove her niqab
(and was later expelled a second time after enrolling in another school), was
in April 2010 followed by a similar story of another niqabi woman. These
events ignited a polarizing debate about head coverings; Chantal Hébert
maintains that Quebec’s French media played a decisive role in shaping and
fuelling this debate. On one side of the debate, many argued that in demanding a right to wear the niqab, largely depicted as a symbol of oppression,
Muslims had gone too far and that the government was right to put an end to
accommodation demands, a position that most Quebecers seemed to support.
On the other side, however, critics pointed out problems with focusing too
narrowly on the practice of a small minority of Muslim women, and argued
that prohibiting niqabi women from accessing public services would only
serve to isolate them, making integration more difficult.
The prevalence of anti-niqab public sentiment provided a favourable
environment for introducing Bill 94, although Madame Weil, who introduced
the Bill, maintains that the legislation had been in the works since November
2009 and was not merely an effort to capitalize on developments in the domain of public opinion. However, she has acknowledged that “the resurgence
of reasonable accommodations certainly didn’t hurt her cause, and neither
have the poll numbers” (Patriquin and Gillis 21).
According to the results of a recent Angus Reid poll, widely cited in the
media, anti-niqab sentiment in Canada extends far beyond Quebec. While 95
percent of Quebecers support the Bill, 75 percent of non-Quebecers likewise
support the Bill (Patriquin and Gillis 20). Support outside of Quebec is highest in Alberta (82 percent) and Ontario (77 percent) (ibid. 22). In Atlantic
Canada, 73 percent of people supported the Bill, while BC saw 70 percent
approval, and Manitoba and Saskatchewan had the lowest rates of support at
65 percent (Scott, “Majority”). The poll also found that men were more likely
to support the Bill than women (83% vs. 77%), and people over 55 were more
likely than those under 35 (86% vs. 69%). The vice president of public affairs
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for Angus Reid, who conducted the poll, noted that it is very rare to have such
a high level of public support for a government measure (Scott, “Majority”).
International Cases of Face-Veil Bans
While Bill 94 is very much a product of the specific Quebec milieu, it is also
part of larger international debates about the place of Muslims in the “West,”
about “War on Terror” security concerns, and about the place of religious
expression in secular states—debates that have played out in different countries across Europe, as well as in various Muslim-majority countries. In late
April 2010, Belgium’s Chamber of Representatives became the first Western
European assembly to impose a nationwide ban on full-face veils in public,
despite the fact that only 30 Belgian women are estimated to wear the niqab.
Other Belgium municipalities, such as Brussels, already had local anti-veil
legislation, “[b]ut legislators explained that they wanted to ‘send a signal’
to fundamentalists Muslims and preserve the dignity and rights of women”
(Cody A06). Similar proposals have been introduced in the Netherlands and
Italy. Although less certain to pass, both countries also have local bans on
face veils in effect. In Switzerland, where the construction of minarets was
banned in November 2009, the Justice Minister also recently suggested that
the government might use similar administrative powers to forbid face veils,
while exempting Persian Gulf tourists (Cody A06). In July 2010, 183 Spanish
parliamentarians voted to reject a proposed face-veil ban while 162 supported
the proposal or abstained, though the Socialist government said it supports a
ban in government buildings. The Bill was tabled by the opposition Populist
Party, framed as a measure to protect women’s rights (“Spain’s legislators”).
In France, the country with the largest Muslim population in Western
Europe, issues of secularism, identity, and the hijab have dominated public
debate for years, in a tone sometimes mirrored in Quebec (although Bouchard and Taylor go to great lengths to contrast France’s more rigid version
of secularism with Quebec’s “open secularism” model). On May 11, France’s
National Assembly also voted to declare full-face veils “‘contrary to the
values of the republic,’ which legislators described as the first step toward
enacting legislation similar to Belgium’s” (Galloway and Taber). On July 13,
France’s lower house of parliament voted to ban the full-face veil in public,
with 336 voting in favour of the bill, and only one voting against. Because the
bill has received widespread public and political support (only the Socialist
Party has dissented, offering a counter-proposal to limit the ban to public
buildings), it is expected to be approved by the Senate in September (“Face
veil ban approved”). Anyone caught wearing the full-face veil will be fined
$190, and will be required to enrol in a “citizenship course.”3
Despite the existence of broad support for a French niqab ban, objections have also been voiced. Many human rights groups, including Amnesty
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International (“Crowd protests”), have come out against the Bill, and some
legal scholars expect the Bill may not withstand a constitutional challenge
(“French Deputies”). It is estimated that less than 2000 women in France
wear the face veil. In addition to various bans in different European countries
stoking the fires of Islamophobia and leading to increasing hostility and resentment of Muslims (Galloway and Taber), Muslims themselves are often
divided on the issue, with some worried about the image of Islam conveyed
by wearers of the niqab, and others who argue that anti-niqab laws could in
fact liberate some women from the niqab (Malik).
Both India and Egypt, non-European countries with sizeable Muslim
populations, have also passed legislation limiting the wearing of the niqab. In
January 2010, the Supreme Court of India ruled that burqa-clad women cannot
be issued voter ID, rejecting the argument that Islam required them to wear the
veil (Mahapatra).4 In Egypt, where an increasing number of veiled women and
a growing population who have turned to more conservative interpretations of
Islam have come into conflict with the more moderate, officially sanctioned
brand of Islam, a number of state attempts to ban the niqab have recently
captured headlines. The most recent of these occurred in January 2010, when
the government banned students from wearing the niqab while writing exams
and students protested by arguing that the ban not only infringes on their religious rights, but also “supports rape and sexual harassment” (“Egypt court”).
Likewise, on 20 July 2010, Syria banned students from wearing the niqab
while attending university in order to promote “moderation.”5
Responses to Bill 94
Support for the Bill: Central Arguments
As is perhaps to be expected, responses to Bill 94 have been mixed. A number of important political leaders, public figures, lawyers, academics, and
religious groups have come out in favour of the Bill, while polls suggest
that an overwhelming majority of the public is also supportive of the legislation. Those who support Bill 94 have grounded their rhetoric around two
central themes: the need to be “reasonable” and set limits to accommodation
practices for purposes of security and identification; and the need to protect
“Quebec values,” especially gender equality and secularism. Subsidiary to
these central themes, the following arguments have also been advanced in
support of the Bill:
The Need for “Reasonable” Limits to Accommodation Practices: As the
Bill itself stipulates, supporters of the Bill have most often framed their position as a response to the need to set “reasonable” limits to accommodation
practices, often depicting the legislation as a kind of reasonable compromise,
one that accounts for security and identification concerns, and legitimate
accommodation requests, without constituting a complete ban on the niqab
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or other religious symbols as has been sought in some European countries.
Justice Minister Weil, who introduced the Bill, described it as “the Quebec
government’s first foray into legislating what can and cannot be reasonably
accommodated.” She further described the Bill as a “‘common sense piece of
legislation’—a happy medium between what she calls the ‘pur et dur secularism of France and the Parti Québécois’ and carte blanche for every religious
whim and practice in state institutions” (Patriquin and Gillis 21). In the wake
of some backlash at the public hearings, Weil again underlined the “reasonable” nature of the government’s position saying: “don’t worry, we are a reasonable society, we are going to have an adult conversation about this” (ibid.
23). This language of sensible compromise is also evidenced in Bouchard,
Ignatieff, and Harper’s responses to the Bill. Bouchard, for instance, said that
while “the host society has a duty to make all efforts for those immigrants
to [accommodate] them... society does not have the duty to [accommodate]
you wherever you go” (Scott, “Veiled Threat”). At the federal level, a spokesperson for the Prime Minister’s Office said “the law proposed by the Quebec
government makes sense”6 (Galloway and Taber) while Ignatieff has called
the proposed Bill “a good Canadian balance,” noting that accommodation
on both sides must be “reasonable” (Galloway and Taber) At a recent public
event, he noted: “The Quebec government is trying to make sure that in civic
and public spaces that freedom of religion is respected, but at the same time
on the other side citizens come forward and reveal themselves when they are
demanding public service”7 (Galloway and Taber).
In conjunction with the idea that Bill 94 is “reasonable” and “balanced,” the practical concerns of security, identification, and communication
are frequently mentioned as justifications for requiring individuals to give
and receive public services with their faces uncovered. Roksana Nazneen
of the Muslim Canadian Congress (MCC), one of the few religious groups
to support the Bill, spoke for many with her argument, “You can’t interact
with someone who is invisible. We cannot expect our government to provide parallel services to accommodate only a few” (Patriquin and Gillis 22).
Nazneen’s comments follow up on an MCC call in 2009 for a nation-wide
ban of “‘masks, niqabs and the burka in all public dealings,’ suggesting such
garments were examples of Saudi-inspired Islamic extremism” (ibid. 23).
Significantly, Mario Conseco, a vice-president of Angus Reid Public
Opinion credits the Bill’s framing in relation to security/identification/communication concerns as the reason for the Bill’s widespread public support.
Indeed, Conseco suggested that
the breadth of the consensus suggests a turning point: a moment at
which Canadians are reaching the limits of our vaunted self-image as
tolerant and inclusive. After years of collisions between institutions
and the demands of religious minorities, he says, the public portion of
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the debate increasingly boils down to matters of basic fairness: why
should one group be excused from accepted requirements of security,
identification, and communication, while another is not?”
For Conseco support of the Bill is not because Quebec legislation is
becoming intolerant, but more because Quebec legislation is framed in practical matters of security and identification, instead of attacking one religious
minority (ibid. 22).
Protecting Quebec’s Values: Although the Bill was presented as a response
to security, communication, and identification concerns, a significant portion
of public debate about the Bill has revolved around questions of gender equality and secularism, two principles seen to be paramount Québécois values,
which have frequently driven the debate on reasonable accommodation in the
past. Politicians both within and outside of Charest’s government have supported the Bill on these grounds (Haque and Bullock 1). Charest, for instance,
says the law “reflects his government’s commitment to ‘open secularism’”
but “[t]he niqab and burka are considered unacceptable in part because they
interfere with security, identification and communication” (Hamilton; Galloway and Taber). Outside of Charest’s government, Saguenay Mayor Jean
Tremblay said he supports a ban of the niqab in public services, while PQ
leader Pauline Marois has called for a complete ban on religious symbols in
public institutions, including the hijab (Galloway and Taber).
Indeed, Charest described the Bill as “a matter of ‘drawing a line’ to
defend Québec values... [which] follows a policy Mr. Charest’s government
introduced in 2008 requiring new immigrants to sign a declaration promising
to learn French and respect Québec’s ‘shared values’” (Hamilton, “Cultural
Insecurity”). Interestingly, Charest has used Bouchard-Taylor’s language of
“open secularism” to justify the legislation (Galloway and Taber).
Perhaps the biggest flashpoint for debate surrounding the Bill, however,
is the argument that the Bill is needed to help uphold the Québécois value
of gender equality. This argument is rooted in the assumption that the niqab
is indicative of women’s oppression, even though the Bill does not make
specific mention of the niqab. Minister for the Status of Women Christine
St-Pierre, who helped draft the Bill, has called niqabs “ambulatory prisons,”
and said niqabs and burkas are “an attack on women’s rights [and] unacceptable in our society” (Patriquin and Gillis 23). Similarly, PQ immigration
critic Louise Beaudoin said religious head coverings are an example of the
“submission of women, of regression, and a subjugation of all our freedoms”
(ibid. 21). Elsewhere, articles have claimed that “[s]ome feminist groups have
applauded the move, saying the garments are symbolic of the oppression of
women” (Galloway and Taber), while National Post writer Don Martin said
that “keeping women covered head-to-toe is a clear affront to gender equality
in Canada wrapped in obvious elements of religious extremism.”
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Opposition to the Bill: Central Arguments
Compared to the arguments advanced in support of Bill 94, groups and individuals that have opposed the Bill have used a much wider range of critiques.
They have challenged the Bill’s constitutionality, and have criticized its
ramifications for religious freedom and gender equality, its negative effect
(actual if not intended) on niqabi women, and its apparent dependence on
Islamophobic sentiment (which, critics suggest, is implicated in the Bill’s
widespread popularity). Those who have voiced strong opposition to the Bill
comprise interesting coalitions of sometimes surprising figures, ranging from
separatist politicians to Women’s Rights groups, Jewish groups, lawyers, and
a range of academics.
Violation of Charter Rights: Perhaps the strongest and most frequently
mentioned argument against Bill 94 is the challenge that the Bill constitutes
a violation of the rights stipulated in the Canadian Charter of Rights and
Freedoms, the Quebec Charter of Human Rights, and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Most frequently, groups have mentioned that the Bill
is a violation of the right to freedom of religion, expression, and conscience,
while some have also pointed out that the Bill violates women’s rights, and
compromises conceptualizations of “equality,” creating a hierarchy of rights.
Based on these challenges to the Bill under the Charter, a number of prominent lawyers and law professors, such as Clayton Ruby, Robert Leckey, and
Mari-Claire Belleau have suggested that the Bill is unlikely to withstand a
Charter challenge, as reasonable accommodation is not supposed to be denied unless undue hardship is created, and the government would not likely
be able to show that a breach of rights and freedoms is necessary. Ruby, for
instance, a Toronto-based defence lawyer, says the Bill is “hard to justify,” as
“it’s a blow at what somebody else conceives their religion to be. Freedom of
religion is guaranteed, and it’s been a very strict guarantee, as long as you’re
not hurting anyone” (Vallis). Leckey, a constitutional law professor at McGill
University, is likewise critical of the Bill for its differential effect on one
particular religious minority, noting that “the law may seem neutral but it’s
clear that there’s a differential impact on practitioners of a particular religion”
(Patriquin and Gillis 23).8 Third year McGill University law student, Daniel
Haboucha (2010), explains that in order for the Bill to withstand a legal challenge, the government would have to show that (i) the means are rationally
connected to the objective (gender equality and integration); (ii) the Bill
infringes on the rights and freedoms to as little an extent as possible, and (iii)
that there is proportionality between the infringement of religious freedom
and the Bill’s objective. Haboucha notes that the government may be able
to establish the first point, would have more difficulty with the second, but
would likely fail in establishing proportionality. Haque and Bullock (2010)
also explain that to withstand a Charter challenge, the Bill would have to
“withstand scrutiny according to the Oakes test, whereby limitations on
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rights or freedoms may be deemed appropriate if it can be established that: (i)
the legislative objective is pressing and substantial; (ii) that there is a rational
connection between the legislative means chosen and the objectives sought;
and finally (iii) that the infringement must be a minimal impairment on the
right or freedom in question.” They contend that the Bill would not be able
to meet such a challenge, as “(i) the issue is not pressing, as the number of
niqabi women in Québec is small; (ii) the objectives sought (gender equality and integration) are not rationally connected to the outcome of the Bill
(further isolation); and (iii) the right in question is maximally impacted, as it
forces a person who would rather not, out of a deep seated religious conviction, show their face.”
Freedom of Religion: Under this argument, groups and individuals point
out that it is not the duty of the state to decide how a person exercises their
religious rights (Arnold) and that individuals should retain the right to practice their religion in the best way they see fit, as long as it does not infringe
on the rights of others. Significantly, a number of groups also point out that
freedom of dress is also an important aspect of religious freedom that needs
to be protected, and that requiring women to not wear the niqab is as bad as
requiring someone to wear it.
In addition to a number of civil society organizations, Muslim as well
as other religious groups like the Quebec Jewish Congress (QJC) and the
Canadian Muslim Federation have been among those who have criticized the
Bill from the perspective that it violates freedom of religion. In agreement
with the QJC’s position, that wearing religious symbols, including the niqab,
is a matter of personal choice (Arnold), the Canadian Muslim Federation sees
the niqab as a choice not unlike “dyed blue hair or piercings.” The Canadian
Muslim Federation has additionally called the proposed law “Islamophobic
and discriminatory” (Dougherty, “Bill 94”).
The most coordinated opposition to Bill 94 under the freedom of religion
argument has come from a coalition of different civil society organizations
collectively known as No/Non Bill 94.9 The group states that its position derives from legislation that protects freedom of conscience, religious expression, and equality under the law—rights and freedoms guaranteed equally
to men and women. Introducing the coalition at a recent meeting, Zahra
Dhanani, a METRAC10 lawyer, said:
We believe that the response to gender inequality and gender discrimination must be created in partnership by the very women who
experience gender inequality and gender violence. It’s no longer okay
for legislators who have no idea what it means to be a Muslim woman,
who have no idea what it means to have been born and raised wearing
the niqab to decide whether women wear the niqab or not.11
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A coalition meeting at Ryerson in early May 2010 drew 150 people.
The group has launched a petition, submitted a brief to the government, and
encouraged members to speak out and challenge their MPs to oppose the bill
(Cole). Excerpts of the coalition’s petition read as follows:
No Bill 94 Coalition is made up of concerned individuals, organizations and grassroots movements that are demanding that the
proposed Quebec legislation, Bill 94, be withdrawn immediately.
...Bill 94 specifically targets Muslim women who wear the niqab (face
veil). The bill is an exaggerated response to a manufactured crisis that will
allow the government to deny women services to which they are entitled. A
truly democratic society is one in which all individuals have the freedom of
religious expression and a right to access public services.
Although touted as a step toward gender equality, Bill 94, if approved,
will perpetuate gender inequality by legislating control over women’s bodies
and sanctioning discrimination against Muslim women who wear the niqab.
Instead of singling out a minuscule percentage of the population, government
resources would be better spent implementing poverty reduction and education programs to address real gender inequality in meaningful ways...
If Premier Charest’s government is truly committed to gender equality
it should foster a safe and inclusive society that respects a woman’s right
to make decisions for herself. Standing up for women’s rights is admirable.
“Rescuing” women is paternalistic and insulting. Further marginalizing
Muslim women who wear niqab and denying them access to social services,
economic opportunities and civic participation is unacceptable.
… No Bill 94 Coalition is made up of concerned individuals, organizations and grassroots movements that are demanding that the proposed Quebec
legislation, Bill 94, be withdrawn immediately.12
Women’s Rights and Gender Equality: Related to this final point, groups
have also questioned the constitutionality of the Bill on the grounds of gender
equality. Here, groups are extremely critical of those who invoke gender
equality as a justification for the Bill, arguing instead that limiting how a
woman is allowed to dress is an infringement on her rights, and is especially
troubling when a woman’s choice of dress may lead her to be barred from
accessing social services. Rather, opponents of the Bill point out that the Bill
seems to impose one interpretation of “gender equality” (one that sees the
niqab as a symbol of oppression, not as a woman’s religious choice) over
another, in a way that ends up being paternalistic and does nothing to advance
women’s rights or women’s empowerment. Dana Olwan (2010), for instance,
says the logic on which the Bill is based grants the state, and men, the right
to legislate something that they should not, and assumes that Muslim women
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are oppressed. Olwan also warns that “[b]y extending the Canadian state an
unauthorized invitation into Muslim women’s closets, the proponents of Bill
94 maximize state control over women’s bodies and day-to-day choices of
dress and religious practices.” The No/Non Bill 94 Coalition is particularly
critical of the paternalism inherent in the Bill, and argues that “the response
to gender inequality and gender discrimination must be created in partnership
by the very women who experience gender inequality and gender violence.”
As one editorial notes: “To force women to reveal their faces—or, for that
matter, wear short skirts or have their hair down—as a condition for accessing
public services, including health care, is no way to protect their rights. Bill 94
will do little more than drive the couple of dozen Quebec women estimated
to wear the niqab back into their homes where, if they are being repressed
already, they will have even less access to assistance” (“Que. Prohibition”).13
Writing in a similar vein, commentators such as Soha Elsayed point out
that “to liberate women, we need to empower them,” and suggest that creating
daycare spaces rather than taking them away from veiled women would be a
better approach (Monteiro). Victoria Tahmabesis says framing the question
as one of gender equality does not make any sense, as equality has to do with
autonomous decision making and equal access to employment and education
opportunities.14 Haque and Bullock (2010) also point out that the Bill denies
in advance requests for same-sex service, even though requests for same-sex
service are routine for people of many different backgrounds. They note that
in Ontario, the government allows such requests by niqabi women, and this
has not been a problem.
Equality: In addition to questioning the Bill on the grounds of violating religious freedom and women’s rights, opponents of the Bill have also noted that
the Bill may be challenged under the equality clause in the Canadian Charter
of Rights and Freedoms, a clause that guarantees all rights are equally protected for all citizens (Vallis). Mohammed Fadel, for example, argues that
the Bill has negative effects for how Canadians define equality, as denying
certain people access to public services severely undermines the idea that
we are all equal citizens.15 Others, including an association of Jewish jurists
known as the Lord Reading Law Society, have pointed out that in this is case
the right to religious freedom is being trumped by other rights. The Society
maintains that in creating a “hierarchy of rights,” the Bill makes “the equality of men and women more important than religious and other freedoms”
(Arnold).16 Interestingly, Louise Beaudoin, the PQ Immigration critic has
suggested doing just that—i.e., amending the Quebec Charter to establish a
hierarchy of rights by giving priority to gender equality, secularism, and the
primacy of French (Dougherty, “Reasonable”).
Bill 94 as Islamophobic: A second kind of argument made in opposition
to Bill 94 is that the Bill is discriminatory and Islamophobic. The Canadian
151
Muslim Federation, for instance, called the bill “Islamophobic and discriminatory” (Dougherty, “Bill 94”) while Farheen Khan suggested the Bill was an
example of systematic Islamophobia.17
Groups and individuals who advance this argument point out that the Bill
is based in fear and stereotypes about Islam, and are also critical of the Bill
for singling out niqabi women and targeting only Muslims.
A range of groups and individuals have also criticized Bill 94 because
it is based on negative stereotypes about the niqab and Islam, and is rooted
in a culture of fear and the “War on Terror” narrative that has gained voice
since 9/11. Salam Elmenyawi, for instance, argued that the Angus Reid poll
results are a result of the emotional climate surrounding the issue, and all
the “negative stereotypes that have been on the airwaves” surrounding the
niqab (Scott, “Majority”)— a sentiment with which the authors of the Macleans article “About Face” agreed, suggesting that poll results may reflect an
underlying suspicion of Islamic traditions (Patriquin and Gillis 22). Likewise,
Dana Olwan (2010) argues that the “War on Terror” narrative—accompanied
by the narrative of Muslim women as oppressed—legitimates the Bill and
underlies arguments made in support of the Bill. An organizer at a No/Non
Bill 94 Coalition meeting noted that one motivation for the coalition was the
weariness with the argument that the Bill was about gender equality, when
in fact it was “actually about racism and about saying to people that they
[niqabi women] don’t belong here.”18 Also at that meeting, Anver Emon said
he found the language of security problematic, as it seemed to transfer fears
related to the war on terror onto niqabi women. Emon said, “When suddenly
the covered Muslim woman is seen as a threat to our security I think we’re
actually imposing on her a concern that we just can’t solve somewhere else…
on people that we cannot find because they’re in some hilltop.”19 Likewise,
Jasmine Zine said the Bill is part of a ‘culture of fear’ gaining legitimacy in
Canadian society, and has warned that the Bill is the beginning of a process in
which Muslim women are targeted because of their dress (Monteiro).
Targets Muslims: Another critique of Bill 94 related to the theme of Islamophobia is that the Bill singles out niqabi women, and seems to be an attack
specifically on the Muslim community. This critique revolves around the fact
that although the Bill doesn’t mention the niqab or burka, in practice the Bill
targets the handful of Muslim women in Quebec (estimated between 24 and
90) that wear the niqab. This has led many Muslims to feel targeted, as the
scope of the law is disproportionate to the number of women who wear the
niqab (Patriquin and Gillis 21). Considering that one of the conclusions of the
Bouchard-Taylor report was that “the way to overcome Islamophobia...‘is to
draw closer to Muslims, not to shun them,’” Graeme Hamilton rightly points
out that legislation that singles out the Muslim community will certainly not
help overcome Islamophobia (“Cultural Insecurity”).20
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Negative Repercussions: An additional argument made against Bill 94
focuses on the negative effects that the Bill would have if passed, with various people pointing out that the intent of the Bill (better integration, gender
equality, etc.) is incongruous with the Bill’s effects. Elmenyawi, for example,
notes that “if we are talking about integration, then this is actually much
worse, because it will prevent [Muslims] from integrating or changing their
ideas... we should leave society to self-adapt, let them either explain themselves to their fellow citizens or adapt and change their ways” (Hamilton,
“Unveil Quebec”). Nuzhat Jafri of the Canadian Council of Muslim Women
further suggests that the Bill undermines a practice of accommodation that
has traditionally been managed in an individualized manner between a service provider and a client. In calling for “systematic solution” to a problem
that is not systematic, Bill 94 would have negative effects for both niqabi
women and their children.21
In addition, a number of people have also pointed out that the Bill would
have a negative impact on the entire Muslim community. Elmenyawi, for
instance, said “passing a law that targets Muslims would cause a deep and
lasting rift within Quebec society that would leave long scars,” while Brahim
Benyoucef noted that the Bill “had sparked ‘consternation and worry’ in Quebec’s Islamic community” (Dougherty, “Quebec”). Likewise, Asmaa Hussein
says the impact of the Bill is a continued feeling of marginalisation among
Quebec’s Muslims, “the feeling of continuously living with the internalized
image of being part of an outsider or immigrant group.”22 This point may
be evidenced in the fact that the niqabi women who have spoken out by
participating in panels and meetings on the Bill, have clearly stated that the
niqab is their own choice and that they are capable of thinking and speaking
for themselves. Some have also noted that the Bill does not make sense to
them, as removing their niqab for reasons of security or identification has
never been a problem.23
With sensitivity to the potential for negative repercussions that the Bill
has for Muslims, while Gérard Bouchard may have said that granting niqabi
women access to government services is “a step too far,” he also stated that
the controversy surrounding the November 2009 case of Naema Ahmed
should have remained an internal affair. And although he publicly lent support to the CEGEP (usually translated as Quebec’s College of General and
Vocational Education) that expelled Ahmed because her requests were affecting other students at a public talk at McGill University, he also highlighted
his belief that Quebecers should reaffirm their commitment to both liberalism
and national identity, and that these things are not incompatible (Bouchard).24
The critique that the Bill might have negative repercussions for Quebecois society has also been advanced by media columnists and a small
number of politicians. Haroon Siddiqui of The Toronto Star, for instance,
153
has blasted Charest’s government, commenting that had this attitude existed
earlier, many other religious minorities in Canada—Hutterites, Orthodox
Jews, Sikhs, etc. probably wouldn’t be here. He further writes that it is “scary
... when majorities in democracies feel threatened by a tiny minority” (Siddiqui, “Quebec’s witch hunt”; Siddiqui, “Picking on”). Interestingly, both
Lucien Bouchard, the former PQ Premier of Quebec, and Gilles Duceppe,
leader of the Bloc Québécois (the federal version of the PQ), have broken
party ranks and offered warnings in a similar vein. While the provincial PQ
have said the bill does not go far enough, Duceppe has said that he supports
Bouchard-Taylor’s “open secularism” model, not the rigid model of France
that the PQ has also adopted. Although Lucien Bouchard has not officially
condemned the Bill, he has publicly warned his party against playing identity
politics, stating a preference for the “inclusive” Quebec that the father of
modern Quebec separatism, René Lévesque, envisioned (Siddiqui, “Picking
on Muslim women”).
Analysis and Conclusions
While the fate of Bill 94 has not yet been decided, the political dynamics
surrounding the Bill are quite revealing with respect to ongoing debates concerning cultural identity, social values, and the boundaries of community.
Even if the Bill is ultimately withdrawn from the legislative process, these
underlying debates are likely to persist. What does it mean to be Québécois?
Which values are most essential? Who is irremediably “other”? Such questions have considerable staying power.
Bill 94’s popularity in Quebec as well as in the larger Canadian context
is broad but not necessarily deep. Anxiety concerning Muslim immigration
is easily awakened, in ways that predispose many to redrawing boundaries in
ways that exclude cultural symbols experienced as threatening. Nonetheless,
vigorous opposition to the Bill on the part of intellectuals and civil society
organizations suggests potential resilience among protagonists of liberal
multiculturalism and of an open approach to cultural differences within which
Québécois as well as Canadian identities are regarded as works in progress
rather than as finished products. Although the reflexive popularity of Bill 94
is worrisome, the strength and rapid mobilization of the activist networks
opposed to the Bill offers long-term promise for those who hope to build a
more secure basis for Muslim identity and belonging within Canada.
There are good reasons, of course, for advocates of inclusion and dialogue in Quebec to feel discouraged by developments surrounding Bill 94.
Despite the extensive and often quite visible work of the Bouchard-Taylor
Commission and its Final Report, the terms of debate surrounding “reasonable accommodation” seem to have changed little. For instance, “secularism”
and “gender equality” are evoked in support of the Bill in the same way these
154
terms were articulated during the Bouchard-Taylor Inquiry. Despite Bouchard
and Taylor’s attempts to encourage a more precise, official definition of “open
secularism,” the term’s usage remains vague and inconsistent. The principal
difference between the “reasonable accommodation crisis” that prompted the
Bouchard-Taylor Inquiry and the political discourse that prompted Bill 94 is
that Bill 94 focuses more obviously on one small minority of Muslim women,
whereas the preceding, “reasonable accommodation” debate framed discussion of concerns about Muslim minority practices within a larger context, in
which concerns about other non-mainstream cultural and religious practices
were also considered. Because Bill 94 is the first piece of legislation to address the issue of “reasonable accommodation” since the Bouchard-Taylor
report, it would appear that this generously funded, government-mandated
inquiry had very little impact either on public opinion or on the policies of
the Charest government. Bouchard and Taylor’s constructive recommendations concerning positive measures to ease social and economic integration
of immigrants appear to have been ignored, whereas statements concerning
religious neutrality have provided a rationale for policies that selectively
target a specific group, in a manner consistent with popular calls to reassert
of cultural boundaries.
Like the Bouchard-Taylor Commission, the process surrounding Bill 94
has again placed a burden of explanation on the shoulders of Muslims, in
ways that have a particularly strong impact on women—especially niqabi
women, but also wearers of the hijab. The Commission sparked a large outpouring of responses from Muslim groups and individuals, impelled by the
inquiry process itself to defend and explain themselves. Quite frequently,
discussion turned to the hijab, and many Muslim women felt compelled to
explain that wearing the hijab was their own choice rather than a symbol of
oppression. This same compulsion to explain is evident in this case. Though
explicit attention has shifted from the hijab to the niqab, fear of a “slippery
slope” is pervasive. Most women speaking about Bill 94 do not wear the
niqab, with some even stating it is not a religious requirement and they do not
support it. With the exception of the MCC, however, all groups have sought
to explain that the niqab is a personal choice born of religious conviction, and
not a symbol of oppression. While the case has shown that, in some respects,
the Muslim community is internally diverse; for the most part members of
the community appear united in a conviction that the new legislation is driven
by harmful stereotypes. Both men and women appear to have responded to
the issue in equal numbers, and some niqabi women have stepped forward in
unconventional ways.
To its detractors, Bill 94 is less an act of policy leadership than an effort
on the part of the Charest government to capitalize on popular anxieties and
sentiments that would otherwise provide political fodder for opposition parties. Such allegations concerning the political nature of the Bill would appear
155
to have some basis in reality. Although the sentiments behind the Bill arguably are driven not merely by Islamophobia but also by long-term debates
about cultural identity in Quebec, the manner in which the Bill emerged on
the political scene mirrors the timing of the Bouchard-Taylor Commission.
The Commission, it can be argued, sought to respond to the so-called “reasonable accommodation crisis” in the run-up to a provincial election when
Charest faced a politically dangerous public outcry. It succeeded, for a time,
in calming both the political debate and the associated media wars concerning
reasonable accommodation. Bill 94 similarly follows a series of symbolically
potent events, and once again provides the Charest government with a means
of preventing losses to political competitors who are at least as willing (and,
indeed, often more eager) to enter the fray of identity politics.
The central role of identity politics and boundary demarcation in Bill
94 is quite clear in the public debate that surrounds it. Although the wording
of the Bill evokes issues of “security, identification and communication” as
the principal rationale for new legislation, the widespread support for the
Bill appears rooted in less pragmatic considerations. In contrast to early
efforts to frame the Bill as a “reasonable” response to unreasonable calls
for accommodation, the most salient issues in the larger debate are gender
equality, secularism, and religious freedom—i.e., value positions associated
with attempts to define the boundaries and content of political community.
Neither defenders nor opponents of the Bill appear to be taking “pragmatic”
arguments about public safety and reliable delivery of services as seriously as
broader debates about cultural identity and values.
Interestingly, both opponents and supporters of the Bill have evoked
“gender equality” and “secularism” in defence of their positions. Ironically,
both sides seem to be drawing on the same modern liberal discourse to support diametrically opposed views. For the most part the debate has remained
squarely within a Western, liberal, human rights framework. The argument
of many Bill 94 supporters proposes that certain practices must be curbed
in an effort to protect liberal social values from erosion and displacement,
while opponents argue that Bill 94 itself represents a threat to the liberal
values upon which political community in Quebec is based. For supporters,
the niqab is “a bridge too far”—a substantive embodiment of an alien system of cultural values that cannot be welcomed in Quebec. Opponents of
the Bill seek to counter this argument and bolster their own legitimacy as
“Québécois” by positioning themselves within the same liberal discourse,
in much the same way that many Muslim groups drew on the language of
secularism, gender equality, and freedom of religion in briefs submitted to the
Bouchard-Taylor Commission. Further investigation into this liberal framing
of the debate represents a potentially fruitful area for future research, together
with comparative study of how niqab debates have been framed in some
Muslim-majority countries.
156
The various responses to Bill 94 seem to reveal something about
changing perceptions of multiculturalism in Quebec and in the rest of Canada. A number of authors and critics of the Bill have pointed out that, like
the larger reasonable accommodation debate, the Bill seems to arise from
Quebec’s cultural insecurity—an impulse to preserve a Francophone culture
in a predominantly English-speaking North America, combined with a fear
of change and multiculturalism (Hamilton; Kay). Other polls have suggested,
however, that negative sentiment towards immigration and cultural diversity
is prevalent in other parts of Canada as well—as suggested by the Angus
Reid poll that found overwhelming national support for Bill 94. Beyond Bill
94 specifically, one poll from the Montreal-based Association for Canadian
Studies found that 50% of people think that newcomers should give up traditions and become more like the rest of us, up from 36% in 2007 (Patriquin
and Gillis 22). Another poll suggested that by 2007 only 69% of Canadians
said that multiculturalism helped foster Canadians’ sense of identity and
citizenship, down from 80% in 2001. Dana Olwan (2010) characterizes this
underlying sentiment in the following terms:
More than anything, Bill 94 reveals some deep anxieties and fears felt
in Quebec specifically but resonating throughout Canada. The main, but unstated, question underpinning this bill is one about Canada’s identity: What is
Canada’s face, its writers appear to ask? What will Canada look like a year,
a decade, or a century from now? Which, or more importantly, whose values
will it honor and uphold?
Similarly, Anver Emon says the crux of the debate over Bill 94 seems to
be about what it means to be Canadian, noting that “when you have the influx
of immigration [and] multiculturalism debates… the concern then is who are
we?”25 However opportunistic the timing of the Bill may have been, it cannot
be understood without a broader consideration of the changing demographics
of Quebec and of Canada as a whole, within a context of heightened post9/11 anxieties and insecurities.
Another dimension of the Bill 94 debate that merits attention is its impact on the Muslim minority community. A deep sense of sadness, regret,
and frustration is evident in the reactions of Muslim groups to the Bill, a
sadness born of the feeling that the Bill touches on deeper issues of identity
and belonging in which Muslims are repeatedly cast as outsiders who do not
belong in Canada. As Olwan (2010) suggested, the Bill is about what the face
of Canada is to look like. She continues, significantly, to point out that “the
unstated premise here is that the more Muslims are allowed into Canada, the
less western (and Christian) Canada will become.” Significantly, Emon notes
that the problem with the debates that have emerged in response to the Bill is
that the Bill “doesn’t define [who ‘we’ are]... It just says who we are not. And
that’s the problem”—i.e., the Bill says the “we” of Canada does not include
157
niqabi women.26 The result of all of this seems to be a culture of displacement and “not belonging” which was much less evident in the hearings of the
Bouchard-Taylor commission.27
Although Bill 94 has already heightened intercultural polarization in
Quebec and to some extent in Canada as a whole, discussion of the matter
would be highly incomplete without noting that the introduction of the Bill
has also spurred the creation of surprising alliances and coalitions. Even as
efforts to advance the Bill give rise to real concerns about how far the pendulum of identity politics might swing, counter-movements of diverse actors
suggest that the idea of a dynamic multicultural community—defined not so
much by whom it excludes as by its willingness to achieve distinctiveness
through inclusiveness and solidarity—still maintains vitality in Canada. The
range of actors in the No Bill 94 coalition is certainly an unlikely combination of groups, and invites speculation concerning what partnerships and alliances might persist in the future, as Canadians continue to debate the identity,
values, and purpose of their multicultural society.
Given the absence of a definitive decision with respect to Bill 94 and the
likelihood that the underlying issues will be contested for some time, definitive conclusions are not possible. What is clear, however, is that identities
and boundaries of community in Canada are being contested and renegotiated with great vigour. Despite the heightened potential for marginalization
and alienation among minority communities, reinforcement of negative, “us
vs. them” contrasts is not the only possible outcome. The Bill 94 debate also
has the potential to produce new syntheses within which cultural newcomers
more fully integrate values and symbols of their new home, and in which
defenders of past Canadian cultural syntheses make space within their identities and worldviews for tolerating forms of cultural expression once regarded
as irreconcilably “other.”
Notes
1.
2.
158
Though not necessarily anti-clerical in nature, present French understandings
of laïcité have been shaped by intellectual currents of the French Revolution
as well as by decades of contestation, especially during the nineteenth century,
over relations between the state and the Catholic Church. Conflicting claims
were ultimately resolved through firm establishment of a constitutional
separation of church and state: the state was declared independent of all
religious institutions, and religious institutions free from state intervention in
matters of doctrine. Believed to ensure freedom of religious thought within the
private sphere, this principle nonetheless presupposes a largely homogeneous
domain of public citizenship, within which a common value system, identity,
and language of expression prevail. This domain is made possible through
removal of religious influences from all public institutions, including schools.
Although some scholars have argued that the existence of hierarchical relations
premised on a “civilizing mission” (mission civilisatrice) left an enduring
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
cultural imprint on French attitudes toward Muslim peoples, an in-depth
exploration of colonial attitudes towards North African Arab Muslims is
beyond the scope of the present study. What is less disputable, however, is
that contemporary intercultural relations have been profoundly shaped by
large-scale North African (mostly Algerian) migration to France. Driven
by the desire for gainful employment, the settlement of North Africans in
France has been accompanied by considerable social conflict, economic
disappointment, and cultural tension. Among North African migrants, economic
marginalization, discrimination, and unemployment have generated trends
toward significant minority culture discontent, heightening dissatisfaction with
established cultural norms and orthodoxies. Discontent and dissatisfaction
have at times found expression in doctrines and symbols of Islamic revivalism,
producing considerable anxiety amongst members of the majority culture and
controversies over matters such as the wearing of veils (now forbidden) in
French public schools.
Men who force their daughters or wives to wear a face veil could be fined up to
$37,754 and face a yearlong jail term.
Interestingly, Muslim community leaders and scholars urged the Muslim
community not to oppose the Supreme Court decision, saying the veil is part of
culture and not necessarily a religious requirement (Wajihuddin).
The relevant bill extends an earlier ban on teachers wearing the niqab in lower
and infant schools (UPI). Officials say the ban comes at the request of parents
concerned that their children be able to learn in settings free of extremism.
Don Martin, a columnist for the National Post, also suggested that “legislating
our society’s gender equality over misogynist religious fashion imports would
be good policy and politics for the federal Conservatives.”
While such remarks have not been particularly controversial, some have
criticized Ignatieff for his stance; Lysiane Gagnon, a writer for the Globe and
Mail, lamented that his position seems to debark from the Liberal party’s liberal
values, and speculated that the stance was driven in no small part by broad
public support for the Bill.
Similarly, Belleau, a law professor at Laval, “said she was worried that in
affirming the neutrality of the state, the bill is not neutral toward ‘a practice by
only women of one religion’” (Dougherty, “Bill 94”).
The coalition has been endorsed by AQSAzine, Assaulted Women’s and
Children’s Counsellor/Advocate Program at George Brown College (AWCCA),
The Centre for Women and Trans People at U of T, The Centre for Women and
Trans People at York, the Miss G Project for Equity and Education, Frontline
Partners with Youth Network, Metro Action Committee on Violence Against
Women (METRAC), Native Youth Sexual Health Network (NYSHN), OPIRG
Kingston, OPIRG York, Ryerson Student Union, Simone de Beauvoir Institute,
and the South Asian Legal Clinic of Ontario (SALCO), Springtide Resources,
and Urban Alliance on Race Relations (UARR). See the coalition’s website:
<http://nonbill94.wordpress.com/>.
The Metropolitan Action Committee on Violence Against Women and Children.
This quote by Zahra Dhanani was stated at the No to Québec Provincial Bill 94
Coalition Meeting at Ryerson University, May 2010. To see full conversation
go to <http://vimeo.com/11493357>.
159
12. Petition available online at: <http://nonbill94.wordpress.com/2010/04/05/
hello-world/#more-1>.
13. Feminist author Greta Hoffman similarly suggests that forcing women to
remove their niqab and ‘become like us’ would be “doing a tremendous
violence to them” (Scott, “Veiled Threat”).
14. Tahmabesis was a panellist at the closing panel on Bill 94 at Veiled
Constellations Conference, University of Toronto, 5 June 2010.
15. Mohamed Fadel was panellist on the closing panel at Veiled Constellations
Conference, University of Toronto, 5 June 2010.
16. The Society has also stated that the Bill “goes against the grain of every
position taken by the Canadian Jewish community nationally, and in Québec,
in the past, in that it targets in fact, if not in name, a specific religious group,
namely the Muslim community, with respect to an activity which represents
no danger to the rest of society” (Arnold). It argues that state shouldn’t
legislate who can exercise religious rights, and are concerned that “many other
important religious practices, rituals, and customs which would normally
not be considered to be unacceptable, may be unintentionally caught by this
legislation” (Arnold).
17. Farheen Khan was a panellist in the closing panel on Bill 94 at Veiled
18. This comment was made at the No to Québec Provincial Bill 94 Coalition
Meeting at Ryerson University, May 2010. To see full conversation go to
<http://vimeo.com/11493357>.
19. Ibid.
20. In a similar vein, Salam Elmenyawi, head of the Muslim Council of Montreal,
called the Bill “very troubling” as it “points a finger” at the Muslim community
(Hamilton, “Unveil”).
21. Nuzhat Jafri was a panellist for the closing panel on Bill 94 at Veiled
22. This comment by Asmaa Hussein was made at the No to Québec Provincial
Bill 94 Coalition Meeting at Ryerson University, May 2010. To see full
conversation go to <http://vimeo.com/11493357>.
23. Minnat-Allah Aboul-Ella, a niqabi woman who participated on a panel at a
public meeting in Kitchener, “told the audience that she is insulted when people
assume that she is a victim who needs to be rescued from a fundamentalist
husband.” She noted that wearing the niqab was, for her, “the best way to
serve [her] creator,” and part of her “sense of Islam and [her] identity,” while
also noting that she has never refused to remove her niqab for security reasons
(Monteiro). The Macleans article on the Bill also featured the story of Shama
Naz, a niqabi woman from Montreal, who said that it was “common sense” for
her to take off her niqab in certain situations. The article explains that Naz, a
graduate of Concordia, had wanted to return to school, but if the Bill is passed,
she likely will not go back to school, and may not even stay in Quebec.
24. Julius Grey, a constitutional lawyer from Montreal, has also come out in
support of the Bill, arguing that this is a case of accommodation becoming
unreasonable (Scott, “Veiled Threat”). He said the law is narrow enough to
withstand a court challenge, as it allows women “a considerable amount of
religious modesty by wearing a hijab” (Vallis). He notes that the law clearly
160
violates freedom of religion but, like other rights, that right is not absolute and
in this case should be superseded (ibid.).
25. This comment by Anver Emon was made at the No to Québec Provincial
Bill 94 Coalition Meeting at Ryerson University, May 2010. To see full
conversation go to <http://vimeo.com/11493357>.
26. Ibid.
27. This sense of marginalization is well expressed in Asmaa Hussein’s comment at
the No to Québec Provincial Bill 94 Coalition Meeting at Ryerson University, May
2010, about “continuously living with the internalized image of being part of an
outsider or immigrant group,” despite having been born and raised in Canada.
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Donica Belisle
Virtue and Vice: Consumer Culture in
English Canadian Fiction Before 1940
Abstract
This article explores references to commodities and consumption in English
language fiction either written by Canadians or published in Canada between
1890 and 1940. It confirms and expands existing research into Canadian
consumer history by showing that consumer themes were central to authors’
portrayals of class, gender, and morality. Suggesting that fiction offers important historical perspectives on English Canadian culture, it demonstrates
that as Canada became an industrial, urban, and capitalist nation, consumer
desire and display became central to English Canadian fiction writers’ portrayals of identity, status, and opportunity.
Résumé
Le présent article explore les références aux produits de base et à la consommation dans les romans en langue anglaise écrits par des Canadiens
ou publiés au Canada entre 1890 et 1940. Il confirme et fait connaître les
recherches actuelles dans l’histoire du consommateur canadien en montrant
que le consumérisme occupait une place centrale dans la manière dont les
auteurs décrivaient la classe, le genre et la moralité des personnes. Suggérant que la fiction offre des perspectives historiques importantes sur la
culture canadienne anglaise, il démontre que, à mesure que le Canada est
devenu une nation industrielle, urbaine et capitaliste, le désir de consommer
et de paraître est devenu essentiel aux auteurs canadiens-anglais de fiction
pour décrire leurs protagonistes en fonction de leur identité, de leur statut et
des possibilités qu’ils rencontrent.
In Robert Stead’s bestselling 1918 adventure novel, The Cow Puncher,
Calgary resident Mr. Duncan warns rancher Dave Elden about the dangers
of fashionable clothing. “You can run into intoxication on fine raiment,” he
says. “It has virtue in it, but just beyond the virtue lies the vice” (Stead 113).
Suggesting that moderation was the best approach to dress, he articulated
a common early twentieth-century view of consumer culture. According to
several English Canadian fiction works published between 1890 and 1940,
consumer goods were an acceptable but treacherous path toward human fulfillment. New garments, furniture, magazines, and other items could make
one’s life richer and more satisfying, but they could also contribute toward
class exclusion and alienation from self and community.
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
Mass consumer society, or a society characterized by the large-scale production, distribution, and consumption of consumer goods, did not emerge
in the United States, Western Europe, and Canada until the 1950s and 1960s.
Yet 1890 to 1940 was a crucial period in Western consumer history. Despite
working and rural people’s limited access to consumer items, this era saw the
rise of mass factory production, improved commodity distribution networks,
mass advertising, low prices, and increased consumer desire (Stearns, de
Grazia, Monod, Belisle). In their attempts to investigate the human condition,
to entertain, and to sell books, writers as diverse as Lucy Maud Montgomery,
Stephen Leacock, and J. G. Sime explored the place of commodities, shopping, and consumption in Canadian life. Offering commentary on what they
believed to be immorality of increased materialism, or, on the flip side, the
pleasure of low-priced commodities, they put forward their thoughts on the
rise of consumer capitalism.
In his history of popular culture in eighteenth century France, Allan
Pasco suggests that fiction sources differ from non-fiction ones in that they
allow authors freedom to examine contemporary issues in creative and prolonged ways (382). Pasco does not argue that fiction sources are better than
non-fiction ones, but rather that when used alongside non-fiction texts, they
broaden historical understandings of the past. This article proceeds in a similar spirit. Existing studies of Canadian consumerism between 1890 and 1940
reveal that as mass production and distribution brought prices down, and as
transportation and communication innovations made consumerism possible,
people all over the country began to associate material goods with modernity.
Advertisements for such commodities as cigarettes, alcohol, and tourist packages attached a range of meanings to commodities, including the conflation
of material goods with success, acceptance, and happiness. When the federal
government began measuring living costs in the early twentieth century, it too
demonstrated that Canadians’ access to goods was a component of modern
citizenship (Dawson, Dubinsky, Johnston, Liverant, Monod, Rudy, Wright).
This article corroborates and expands existing knowledge of Canadian
consumer history during this transformative era. Showing that fiction writers
inserted portrayals of consumer goods and consumer behaviour into broader
narratives about class, morality, and gender, it suggests that as consumer capitalism expanded between 1890 and 1929, and then faltered between 1930 and
1939, consumerism became for many fiction writers an important indicator
of social, moral, and gender status. Authors used consumer goods and desire
to describe characters’ class, virtue, and gender. They also used the themes
of commodity display, consumer inequality, and consumer conflict to probe
the English Canadian ideals of democracy and equality. Readers, importantly,
appreciated these efforts. As Clarence Karr argues in his study of Canadian
literary production, distribution, and consumption between 1890 and 1925,
Lucy Maud Montgomery, Robert Stead, Arthur Stringer, Ralph O’Connor
166
and Nellie McClung became famous partly because their narratives tackled
pressing issues of modernization, including urbanization, industrialization,
and consumerism (5). Through an in-depth study of readers’ letters to these
authors, Karr shows not only that readers responded on an intimate level to
these writers’ fiction, but also that many used favourite writers’ plots, themes,
and messages to cope with challenges in their own lives (160–61).
The following discussion of consumerism in English Canadian fiction
between 1890 and 1940 is based on a wide-ranging study of English language novels and short stories either written by Canadians or published in
Canada. As research on late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century literature
undertaken by such scholars as Carole Gerson, W. H. New, Clarence Karr,
Janice Fiamengo, Carrie MacMillan et al., Lindsey McMaster, James Doyle,
and Lorraine York reveals, between the 1920s and 1980s Canadian literary critics disparaged works written in the reform and romance traditions;
didacticism and melodrama were particularly frowned upon. Nevertheless,
the English Canadian literary landscape between the 1890s and 1930s was
highly diverse. Into the Depression, romance, adventure, and reform titles,
together with modernist ones, were well received by both English Canadian
readers and critics. English Canadian literature between the late nineteenth
century and World War II also included many more female authors than those
represented in pre-1980s anthologies, reviews, and course lists. As MacMillan et al. put it, “some [female] fiction writers have been ignored or dismissed
by the critical academy not because they were naïve, awkward, or coarse,
though popular, but because the academy itself in the early twentieth century
… was an all-male group, unable to see or appreciate the language, concerns,
and structures of women’s writing” (MacMillan et al. 11).
Using the above findings as a guide to the English Canadian fiction landscape between 1890 and 1940, research for this article proceeded by selecting
a sample of approximately 50 titles. Criteria for inclusion included region,
gender, decade, and genre. Specifically, titles were chosen that reflected a
diversity of fiction published in different decades by male and female authors
living in western, central, and eastern Canada. Titles from the main prose fiction genres of the period were also selected. These include romantic works, or
titles that featured chivalry, heroism, and melodrama; realist works, or titles
that offered gritty portrayals of everyday life; and didactic works, or titles
that made obvious attempts to inspire social and moral reform. By including
such criteria, the sample enabled comparisons of portrayals of consumerism
and consumption across decades, regions, genders, and genres.
Then, after reviewing these selected titles, a dozen were chosen for extended discussion. It is true, as Pasco argues, that when using past fiction to
glean insights into past cultures, historians should employ as large a sample
size as possible. Pasco himself has examined over 100 fiction titles for his
167
research (373). At the same time, however, it is also true that large samples
have the potential to generate superficial content analyses at the expense of
rich investigations. Indeed, as is illustrated by such excellent studies as Faye
Hammill’s Literary Culture and Female Authorship in Canada, 1760–2000,
Rachel Bowlby’s Just Looking: Consumer Culture in Dreiser, Gissing, and
Zola, and Gayle Green’s Changing the Story: Feminist Fiction and the Tradition, all of which make either one author or one literary work the focus of
each chapter, it is often necessary to restrict one’s sample size in order to
examine particular themes, tropes, and devices in depth. Here, a balance has
been sought between breadth and focus. This article’s review of twelve titles
affords comparison across regions, genres, and decades, but it also enables
meaningful inquiries into specific passages.
Chronologically speaking, the earliest title under investigation is
Roland Graeme, Knight (1892) by Christian writer and activist Agnes Maule
Machar of Kingston. A reform novel with a melodramatic plot, Roland
Graeme received favourable Canadian reviews (McMaster, Working, 53–54).
Romance novel Kerchiefs to Hunt Souls (1895) by Halifax writer Amelia
Fytche, is another early title; it received positive US reviews but remained
obscure in Canada (MacMillan 49–54). For the 1900 to 1910 decade, two
works published in 1908 are included. International bestseller Anne of Green
Gables, set on Prince Edward Island and written by PEI literary star Lucy
Maud Montgomery, as Karr puts it, is a “regional idyll” that remains in print
to this day. The reform-oriented romance novel Sowing Seeds in Danny set
in Manitoba and authored by feminist politician Nellie McClung, is today
less well-known than Anne, but during the early twentieth century it ranked
alongside it in terms of sales (Karr 128, 54). Books chosen from the 1910s
include one bestselling romance novel, Vancouver writer Isabel MacKay’s
House of Windows (1912); one bestselling collection of humorous sketches,
Montreal writer and McGill University Political Economy Professor Stephen
Leacock’s Arcadian Adventures with the Idle Rich (1914); one bestselling adventure novel, Manitoba writer Robert Stead’s The Cow Puncher (1918); and
one fairly obscure collection of realist short stories, Montreal writer Jessie G.
Sime’s, Sister Woman (1919). Of these, Arcadian Adventures, a satire of the
rich set in a fictionalized Chicago, and The Cow Puncher, a coming-of-age
book set in Winnipeg, were the most commercially successful; Sime’s work,
about the struggles of single women due to industrialization and urbanization, was not as widely read but did receive some favourable critical reviews
(McMaster, Working Girls, 50–59).
For the interwar period, four pieces are examined. These include the
realist, critically acclaimed, and award winning novel Wild Geese (1925)
by Martha Ostenso, who was born in Norway and grew up in the US and
Manitoba. The novel itself is set in rural Manitoba and depicts the struggles
of a wife and children trying to break free from an authoritarian and tight-
168
fisted husband and father. Also included is an obscure anti-modern adventure
novel, The Magpie (1923), written by Ontario-raised University of Manitoba
English Professor Douglas Durkin. Penned in the aftermath of the 1919
Winnipeg General Strike, The Magpie is critical of both socialism and capitalism; the only solution to modernity’s maladies, it suggests, is a return to
the family farm. Representing the increased popularity of working class and
realist themes during the Great Depression, finally, are two short stories that
appeared in the leading left periodicals of the day, The Masses and The Canadian Forum. The fantastical short story, “Dream of the Air-Meter” (1933),
by the largely unknown author Leonard Spier, appeared in the former; it is an
anti-capitalist tale of class oppression. The realist short story with a domestic
setting, “The Party” (1931), by US-born Toronto author Mary Quayle Innis,
appeared in the latter; it evokes a working class housewife’s agony over her
desire to attain unaffordable dreams of material abundance.
These twelve titles, of course, only skim the surface of the vast amount
of English Canadian fiction produced between 1890 and 1940. They provide
insights into how female, male, popular, obscure, and critically acclaimed
authors living in western, central, and eastern Canada depicted consumerism
and commodities, but their limited number does not capture the entirety of
themes pertaining to consumerism and commodities that no doubt emerged
during this period. Future researchers are therefore urged to conduct further
investigations. Examination of fiction by writers not included herein is one
important avenue of inquiry; explorations of how politics and religion influenced authors’ fictional representations is another. Where possible, the
following analyses take into account authors’ religious and political leanings; they also show how political and religious themes, such as democracy
and asceticism, surface within particular texts. At the same time, this article
foregoes lengthy inquiries into individual authors’ beliefs in favour of offering detailed analyses of specific references to consumption, both within and
across titles. Such emphases allow insight into how a range of both wellknown and obscure writers living in different places and times across Canada
imagined consumerism and commodities. In this way, they enable deeper
understandings of how a diversity of anglophone Canadians perceived and
lived through the emergence of modern Canadian consumer capitalism.
Consumption and Class Disparity
Of all the consumerist themes present in the works under consideration, class
features most prominently. To denote characters’ social positions, authors
returned repeatedly to the issue of consumerism. They did so not only to suggest that certain characters were rich or poor, but also to comment upon what
they believed were the injustices created by material inequality. Authors in
fact frequently conflated the issues of class inequality and consumer inequal-
169
ity, suggesting that as Canada modernized, consumerism played an important
role in class distinction and segmentation.
Two of the most famous books that emerged from this period—Montgomery’s idyllic Anne of Green Gables and McClung’s reform-oriented
Sowing Seeds in Danny—featured impoverished adolescent heroines whose
imaginations and good deeds captured their fellow characters’ hearts. Orphaned Anne Shirley is introduced wearing a “yellowish white” wincey
that is too small and clutching a “shabby,” broken carpetbag containing her
self-proclaimed “worldly goods.” McClung’s Pearlie Watson is “a pathetic
little figure in her brown and white checked dress,” who stores her “worldly
effects” in a birdcage. To ease the hurt of material deprivation, both Anne
and Pearlie develop strong imaginations. When Anne wears her wincey, she
pretends she is wearing “the most beautiful pale blue silk dress” and feels
“cheered up right away.” Likewise, Pearlie one day looks up at the sky and
imagines she sees a blue hat and cap, with white cloud puffs for edging. “I
kin just feel that white stuff under my chin,” she says (Montgomery 20–21,
23; McClung 118–19, 128).
Readers’ hearts are meant to go out to Anne and Pearlie, not only because
they are poor, but because they creatively cope with inequality. Montgomery’s and McClung’s efforts to win readers’ affection through their heroines’
deprivation indicates that by the early twentieth century, differing levels of
consumption were fostering feelings of class injustice. Encouraging readers
to identify with Anne and Pearlie, Montgomery and McClung tapped into
readers’ own insecurities about the expanding world of goods and likely into
readers’ frustrations over their own inabilities to afford status-laden commodities. The ongoing success of Montgomery’s novel suggests that readers
admire Anne’s determination to achieve joy, success, and fulfillment despite
her lower-class status. Anne in particular epitomizes modern English Canadian femininity: believing happiness and dignity to be rightfully hers, she
uses wits and kindness to achieve them.
Montgomery and McClung differed in that Montgomery wrote for
entertainment but McClung for reform (Karr 9). Pathos in Montgomery’s
work draws the reader into the narrative, but in McClung’s it is a critique of
class disparity. Anne’s experiences of deprivation, such as her lack of puffed
sleeves among her well-sleeved classmates, are not calls for reform; but
Pearlie’s inability to attend school and church due to lack of appropriate clothing and footwear are (Montgomery, 96–97; McClung 13, 19–20). McClung
was not the only author who used fiction to call for an alleviation of material
deprivation. In Roland Graeme, Knight, Machar includes a poverty-stricken
and ill single mother named Cecile Travers who lives with her small child in
a “bare” and “wretched little room” (18). She is a dispirited soul who eventually succumbs to alcoholism. Machar intends readers to identify not with
170
her, but with the affluent Nora Blanchard. After visiting the Travers’ home,
Blanchard awakens to class disparity. She “went to her dainty, quiet room …
and, lying down on the soft luxurious bed … tried to close her tired eyes,” but
she could not sleep because she was haunted by images of poverty (69–70).
To rectify the young mother’s condition, Blanchard takes in her child, sends
her to a hospital, and funds her medical care. Blanchard also begins helping
Mrs. Travers’ wage-earning friend, Lizzie. She gives her a warm winter coat
and purchases her a house in the country so she could escape her industrial
job. Capping off Blanchard’s good work is her creation of a Girls’ Clubhouse,
to which her friends donate furniture, musical instruments, and food; and at
which they host tea parties for working class girls (140, 173–74, 280).
According to Roland Graeme, Knight, charity is the answer to material
inequality. Without questioning or destabilizing her own class position, Blanchard helps Lizzie and Mrs. Travers achieve a higher quality of life. Another
nineteenth century novel, Kerchiefs to Hunt Souls, puts forth a more radical
view. Heroine Dorothy Pembroke leaves her comfortable Canadian teaching post and travels to Europe for adventure and edification. To pay for her
journeys, she intends to become a governess in Paris. Yet she is unable to
find respectable employment. Her financial situation deteriorates and, at the
novel’s end, she is forced to choose between singlehood and destitution, on
the one hand, and marriage and material comfort, on the other. She chooses
the latter, with disastrous results: her rich but immoral husband is already
married. She then contracts a mysterious illness, but is finally rescued by her
faithful Canadian friend, whom she does not love but whom she marries to
attain security (191, 259–60).
Kerchiefs to Hunt Souls follows romantic convention in that it features
a hapless heroine who lives by her wits and is rewarded with wealth and
marriage. Yet as American historian Nan Enstad shows, writers who worked
with this formula did sometimes offer critiques of class and gender injustice
(Enstad 59–61). Throughout Kerchiefs, Fytche is critical of material disparity.
She opens her novel with a storm so fierce that “the bitter cold crept into the
hovels of the poor, killing the old and feeble, chilling the sick and puny, and
making desperate the unemployed and starving.” In contrast, the “wealthy,
those whom kind providence had apparently taken under especial protection,” enjoyed the tempest, for it “served to heighten for them the pleasure of
warm fires and other creature comforts within” (12–13). Stating that fate was
the only thing separating the poor from the rich, Fytche sets up her theme of
unjust hardship, which Pembroke experiences for the remainder of the novel.
In another passage, Fytche condemns bourgeois women’s attitudes toward
the poor. When Pembroke’s reserves run out, she moves into a cheerless
boarding house operated by female philanthropists. She becomes roommates
with Alice Jeffreys, who is trying to find a position. At one point Jeffreys tells
Pembroke, “I detest the charities of the rich; money is the standard by which
171
you are measured; if you are poor, they think you have no fine feelings, are
not sensitive, so patronize you, intrude upon your privacy, give you gratuitous advice upon things you know much more about than they” (198–99).
Unlike Machar, who argues charity is the answer to hardship, Fytche suggests
that decent employment is the only proper way to end deprivation. In this
instance, it is the mainstream bestseller and not the moralist work that offers
the more radical solution to class inequality.
With the 1919 publication of her collection of short stories, Sime lent her
voice to the literary critique of material disparity. In “Adrift,” a dressmaker
and prostitute named Emilie explains her actions to a female dress client.
She relates that she is always visiting rich women’s houses, where she sees
“lovely things.” The clothes she makes for rich women are “like clouds at
night—like flowering trees” (31–32). Emilie creates such wonderful garments, but she cannot afford their materials. Determined to buy them for
herself, she sells her body. In her view, prostitution is better than deprivation
(33–34). Through Emilie, Sime highlights class injustice. Both upper- and
working-class women appreciate beautiful clothes, but only the rich can attain
them legitimately. Like Anne and Pearlie of Montgomery’s and McClung’s
novels, Emilie is a modern woman who takes action to gain personal fulfillment through commodities; but unlike them, she is a tragic figure. According
to the narrator, she becomes “ill” and grows “old” prematurely (34). Sime
hence offers a bleaker view than do Montgomery and McClung. Whereas the
two latter authors proposed that individuals could overcome class inequality,
Sime suggests that for low-waged women, class is an insurmountable barrier
to health and happiness.
Fictional portrayals of material inequality reached an apogee during the
Great Depression. During this decade, when by 1933 one out of every four
workers had lost their jobs, authors decried uneven access not only to luxuries but also to essentials (Morton and Copp 139). In “Dream of the Air Meter” (1933), Leonard Spier critiques capitalism’s commodification of food,
heat, and water and also condemns the state’s taxation of such items. The
story opens with the narrator walking down a road. He sees a man wearing
a machine that is choking him. The machine has a coin slot, so the narrator
inserts some money and the choking stops. After inquiring as to why the man
would wear the contraption, he learns that “in this land, not only soil, gas,
electricity, food and water were monopolized by corporations and taxed by
the state, but likewise the air!” The narrator then smashes the air meter, an
action that injures the man, but also frees him from the machine. At this point,
the narrator awakens and realizes he had been dreaming (46, 48). Implying it
was time for readers also to wake up and revolt against capitalism, “Dream”
is an indictment of the commodification of essential goods and services. It is
also one of the most radical critiques of inequality offered by the works in
this study.
172
Portraying social injustice in material terms, English fiction authors before 1940 indicated that consumption was becoming increasingly tied to class
status in Canada. They also reminded readers that Canada did not live up to
its reputation as a land of equality and opportunity. In several works, destitute characters suffer because of their lack of commodities. McClung and
Montgomery were optimistic about individuals’ abilities to overcome class
deprivation, but others were less confident. Sime and Spier each proposed
that Canadians could not surmount class without inciting radical change. This
difference stemmed partly from authors’ intended audiences. McClung and
Montgomery wanted the widest readership possible and may have dulled their
critique. Yet this difference also reflects broader political currents. Whereas
liberals tended to believe that individual agency alone was necessary for
social success, leftists tended to argue that class was a significant obstacle to
low-income people’s achievement of higher living standards. Moreover, as
many English Canadian fiction works of this era reveal, commodities were
becoming important enablers of human comfort, dignity, and edification.
The Morality of Consumption
When they suggested that material deprivation caused suffering, pre-1940
authors implied that equalized access to commodities would improve Canadian lives. In this sense, they demonstrated their congruence with other
organizations of this period that pushed for broadened access to goods and
services, including the CCF, a social democratic party established in 1932
that sent seven members to parliament in the 1935 federal election. It also
included the Housewives League, a late 1930s organization affiliated with
both the CCF and the Communist Party (Guard, Sangster). Some authors’
support for material equalization also belied a belief that consumerism was
a desirable way of life. In their suggestions that all Canadians should have
access to goods, they hinted that commodities were positive additions to
Canadian culture.
Along with the above-mentioned novel by Stead, Ostenso’s Wild
Geese offers a cautious endorsement of consumption. When teacher Lind
Archer arrives as a boarder at the Gare family farm in northern Manitoba,
the contrast between her elegant appearance and that of her female hosts is
obvious. Whereas the sixteen-year-old Judith Gare wears overalls and men’s
work boots, Archer’s attire includes a “wide lacy hat,” “trim outer clothing,”
“dainty silk underthings,” and earrings (60, 16). Archer attempts to help
Judith become more than an overworked farm labourer. She brings her to a
friend’s house to listen to a phonograph, she makes her a dress, and she gives
her feminine undergarments. At the book’s end, Archer helps Judith escape
the farm; Judith marries her lover and obtains a house in town. Consumer
goods were not the sole means by which Judith achieved freedom, but they
173
did symbolize dignity and femininity, two things that Judith’s father had denied her (71, 226, 277–88).
McClung also portrayed consumerism as beneficial. At the end of Sowing Seeds in Danny, Pearlie’s good deeds are rewarded with a substantial gift
of money. In the book’s sequel, The Second Chance, she uses it to buy her
siblings new clothes. Upon returning home from shopping, the children are
so excited that their parents forbid them to take their “cherished possessions
to bed.” Yet “when the lights were all out … one small girl in her nightgown
went quietly across the bare floor … to feel once more the smooth surface
of her slippers and to smell that delicious leathery smell” (16–17). Stressing
the tactile delights of slippers, McClung reveals an aesthetic appreciation for
goods. McClung also remarks on how phonographs and magazines enhanced
prairie living. One character’s phonograph becomes “an unending source of
comfort and pleasure to him as well as to his neighbours and friends”; another
character, who had previously filled her evenings with “neverending needlework,” was now spending “most of her time” reading “books and magazines”
(The Second Chance, 239–40; 137–38; 254).
Stead, Ostenso, and McClung operated under the twofold assumption that
lives without ornamentation and comforts were bleak, and that commodities
helped create edification and refinement. Indeed, the virtuous Mr. Duncan’s
house in The Cow Puncher is furnished with the hallmarks of middle-class
refinement, including “a piano and a phonograph; leather chairs; a fireplace
with polished bricks … thick carpets …and painted pictures” (102). Since
it is in these writers’ works that the theme of consumerism versus starkness
emerges most strongly, it is possible that prairie conditions contributed to
their endorsements. When people of Western European descent settled in
western Canada in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, most
believed they were civilizing an untamed region. European institutions such
as churches, stores, and schools domesticated the wilderness, as did individual homes. In this context, white settlers perceived well-furnished homes as
desirable. Exacerbating this trend was the complete lack of amenities with
which so many pioneers contended. Arriving from settled areas in Western
Europe, Canada, and the United States, thousands of prairie newcomers
cleared their own land and built their own homes (Broadfoot). The incorporation of consumer goods into prairie households symbolized a connection to
civilization and modernity.
Despite Stead’s, McClung’s, and Ostenso’s embrace of consumption, it is
true that other English Canadian writers put forth indictments of materialism.
As Bettina Liverant observes, “authors from Leacock to Callaghan … cast
doubt on the moral character of those able to display items of current fashion
or luxury. Those who were materially well-off … were often lacking in inner virtue” (277). From 1890 onward, conservative and progressive writers
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alike suggested that consumerist characters were superficial and greedy. In
Roland Graeme, Knight—conservative due to its suggestion that charity will
alleviate the gap between rich and poor—Nora Blanchard’s mother asks her
what she will wear to a party. Blanchard responds, “I couldn’t think of getting
anything more now; I have all I really need.” After her mother states that new
dress orders help seamstresses, Blanchard wonders if the “world” had lost the
virtue of “self-sacrifice” and replaced it with “selfishness” (84–85, emphasis
in original).
Stephen Leacock also viewed consumerism as decadent. In Arcadian
Adventures with the Idle Rich (1914), an entire chapter is devoted to the excess of wealthy cottage life. The narrator states that “the Newberrys belonged
to the class of people whose one aim in the summer is to lead the simple life.”
Because Mr. Newberry’s “idea of a vacation was to get right out into the
bush, and put on old clothes, and just eat when he felt like it,” he built “Castel
Casteggio.” The road leading to the cottage was “private property, as all nature ought to be.” With gardeners, servants, “sweeping piazzas and glittering
conservatories,” it “was an ideal spot to wear old clothes in, to dine early (at
7:30), and, except for tennis parties, motor-boat parties, lawn teas, and golf,
to live absolutely to oneself.” The Newberrys’ daughter wears an “old dress,”
which is two weeks old and “worth the equivalent of one person’s pew rent
at St. Asaph’s for six months.” Underscoring the gap between rich and poor,
Leacock here suggests the Newberrys are shallow and vain. Indeed, when a
cash-strapped niece visits the castel, she brings “a pair of brand new tennis
shoes (at ninety cents reduced to seventy-five), and white dress … and such
few other things as poor relations might bring with fear and trembling to join
in the simple rusticity of the rich” (84–93).
Leacock’s critique was biting, but this conservative humorist did not declare an all-out war against the bourgeoisie. Other writers on the opposite end
of the political spectrum did however. In The Magpie, Douglas Durkin uses
the romance novel formula to condemn an immoral capitalist class. At the
book’s beginning, farm-raised Craig Forrester moves to the city to work in
the grain exchange and find a wife. He meets both goals but finds his new life
meaningless. His wife Marion is materialistic and obsessed with social standing. Before a party, Forrester attempts to hug her but she pushes him away,
saying he will ruin her dress. This incident reveals the shallowness behind
commodity display, as does the revelation that Marion is having an affair
with Forrester’s co-worker, Claude. In the novel’s climax, Forrester travels
to Claude’s apartment for a confrontation. Claude’s place is richly furnished
in “fine velour”; it also has a “polished table,” “upholstered couch,” and “tall
lamp with shade of figured silk.” Finding Marion among this luxury, and
learning that Claude has swindled him at work, he has a nervous breakdown.
Calling them both “‘liars,’” he
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picked up a vase … and crushed it between his hands. … He lifted the
table … and reduced it to splinters … He tore bric-a-brac from its place …
and crumpled it in his fingers. He tore the curtains from the arch that led into
the hall and ripped them to ribbons. He seized the tall lamp … snapped the
slender pedestal … and sent the pieces crashing into the mirror against the
wall. (320)
After destroying Claude and Marion’s sumptuousness, Forrester pays all
the debts Claude has created for him, sells his house and car, and—“penniless”
but “free”—leaves the city. The end of the novel has him returning to his
father’s homestead, where he plans a simple and honest life (133–35, 330).
Durkin’s critique of materialism is partly class based. Those who are
showy and consumerist in his novel are members of Winnipeg’s business
community, which helped crush the General Strike of 1919. The book occurs
after this six-week work stoppage, but it contains references to its events.
Marion’s mother, Mrs. Nason, refuses to let the mother of a former striker
“pour tea for the guests of the society” of which Mrs. Nason “was president.”
Forrester eventually abandons politics, but another character named Jeannette commits her life to fighting capitalism. She first became “awake,” she
said, after her husband died in the war. “And one of the first things I saw
clearly was the fact that they took him from me—they did—the Nasons of
the world, the kindly intentioned men and women who are kind so long as
their sense of security is not disturbed.” She would like to “put the Nasons
where their pampered daughters and their degenerate sons and their faddish
wives would have to work for a starvation wage or go begging.” Jeannette
here articulates class resentment against businessmen’s wives and children,
whose work-free positions appear lazy and luxurious. She also voices a moralist critique of consumption. Viewing the Nasons as shallow and selfish, she
sees their showiness as corrupt. The Magpie’s narrator is similarly critical of
display. In a description of a woman at a party, he states that she was “overdressed” and “almost vulgar in her appearance, as if she was quite willing
that the world should know that her husband was blessed with a substantial
income” (133–35, 330, quotes 320, 130).
According to The Magpie, people consume for selfish enjoyment and
status display. At the same time, the book reserves most of its scorn for
female consumers, particularly Marion, her female houseguests, and her
mother. These women’s love of clothes, entertaining, and propriety symbolizes their superficiality and selfishness. By portraying middle-class women
as profligate consumers, Durkin suggests that consumption is not only about
class privilege, but about the fulfillment of base feminine desires. This perspective is similar to that of some left theorists, including Theodor Adorno
and Max Horkheimer, who suggested in Dialectic of Enlightenment (1947)
that consumers were passive, dim-witted, and feminine (Huyssen 44–53).
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Durkin’s portrayals also dovetail with some leftist depictions of rich women.
As American historian Daniel Opler writes, “much of the Communist literature of the 1930s” showed wealthy women as “extravagant, wasteful, and
unfeeling” (59). Such perspectives sprang from the left’s valorization of the
hardworking producer class, and its concomitant denigration of what was
perceived as the lazy and effeminate capitalist class (McCallum 62). This
framework in turn was related, first, to the left’s attempt to re-dignify labour
under the denigration of capitalism; and second, to a deep-rooted Western
conflation of femininity with insatiability (Kowaleski-Wallace 3–8). As The
Magpie makes clear, when these different theoretical currents came together
in English Canadian thought, they disparaged both women and consumption.
Indeed, Durkin’s masculinist condemnation of desire and display indicates
that as consumer capitalism gained strength in the early twentieth century,
certain English Canadian intellectuals projected their misgivings about consumption onto women.
Consumerism and Gender
As disempowering as certain leftists’ equation of femininity with consumerism might have been, their concerns are not surprising. The history of capitalism, many historians show, is deeply gendered. Such central political
economic tracts as Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations (1776) portrayed
consumption as a passive, feminine counterpart to the active, masculine
pursuit of production (de Grazia 1–10). As well, capitalism’s acceleration
in the nineteenth century had different implications for men and women.
When agrarian livelihoods declined, families moved into cities. Urban men
became breadwinners who worked long hours away from home, and urban
women became homemakers who raised children and managed households.
As industrialization expanded, both cash and low-priced goods became more
available. To save time, homemakers began purchasing goods in the consumer marketplace. By the early twentieth century, the connection between
homemaking and consumption was firmly in place.
Pre-1940 English Canadian fiction confirms this historical conflation of
women’s domestic labour with consumption. Kitchens are sites of traditional
manufacture—Mrs. Bjarnnason’s kitchen in Wild Geese has a “warm, good
smell” and a homemade braided rug adds cheer—but characters also incorporate store-bought goods into their routines (50). Nellie Slate in Sowing
Seeds in Danny uses “baking powder instead of tartar and soda,” and prefers
buying tinned “goods” to making her own (184). Women’s clothing production also blends the traditional with the new. Characters purchased fabric
and accessories, and modelled their clothes after styles in magazines, but
they still either sewed their own attire or had someone make their clothes for
them. Mrs. Lynde of Anne of Green Gables copies the latest fashions to make
attractive clothes for Anne (98).
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In contrast to Durkin’s depiction of consumer interests as corrupt, female authors tended to portray women’s consumer skills as admirable. In
The House of Windows, Isabel MacKay celebrates the consumer skills of
her female heroines, sisters Ada, Celia, and Christine Brown. When a friend
visits the sisters’ apartment, she is delighted by its appearance. The narrator
states, “the curtains, which were of some dainty, figured stuff, had been made
to fit, and were surmounted by a graceful valance of the same material” (19).
They were poor, but the sisters had purchased, made, and arranged décor
to create beauty and comfort. MacKay thus suggests the sisters’ domestic
artistry was evidence of their womanliness. Female writers also evinced
characters’ femininity by referring to attractive outfits and hairstyles. When
Dorothy Pembroke of Kerchiefs to Hunt Souls goes to London, she allows
herself one “extravagance” and purchases a “visiting costume.” It includes
a “lovely, tender, apple-green cashmere and silk frock, black-lace hat with
cream roses, black parasol with … chiffon flounce, long, black undressed kid
gloves, and black ostrich boa.” This detailed description suggests that Fytche
included this passage not only to highlight Pembroke’s artistic femininity but
also to please her readers, who were presumably interested in such matters.
MacKay’s and Fytche’s celebration of fashion and beauty arose partly
from literary convention. In romance novels, heroines are meant to fulfill
readers’ yearnings for adventure and success. Since many Canadian women
depended upon their looks to gain husbands and economic security, beauty
was an important component of femininity during these years. Yet the romance genre was not the only reason behind fiction authors’ valorization of
fashion and beauty. Sime’s realist Sister Woman also portrays these skills
positively. Altabelle, the heroine of “Mr. Johnston,” is a penniless drugstore
clerk who “looks like the countess of Malmesbury” every day. To achieve
her beauty, she buys a black suit once a year, launders it meticulously, and
changes her shirts and accessories according to the seasons (122–23). In this
passage, Sime expresses admiration for working class women who maintain
their dignity and beauty without spending a lot of money. She also suggests
women’s fashion and beauty talents represent skill and creativity.
Perhaps because of their own encounters with shopping, homemaking,
and fashion, female authors were more sympathetic than male authors toward
consumption. Particularly striking in this regard is Mary Quayle Innis’ short
story “The Party.” Wanting to prove her financial security to her friends and
family, a working-class housewife named Ethel hosts a get-together. She
purchases a new bedspread, lamp, cushions, dress, and playing cards for
the occasion; she also has dessert catered by the most expensive eatery in
town, leaving the boxes on the counter so her guests would know where she
purchased them. It would have been easy for Innis to cast Ethel as superficial,
but Innis instead demonstrates that Ethel was both creating an image for her
guests and fulfilling her desire for a beautiful home.
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[S]he wasn’t only showing off … it was that once, just once, she wanted
to have everything absolutely perfect. Every day she was buying round steak
and looking for a really good dollar cleaner. Just this once she wanted to
have the kind of bedspread and lamp shade you saw in the movies, the kind
of refreshments they probably served at the government house. Just once she
wanted to feel like one of the society women in the picture section of the
newspaper. (154)
Contrasting the glamorous lifestyles of the bourgeoisie with the lived
experiences of working-class homemakers, Innis suggests that commodity
display is a complex blend of status communication and wish fulfillment.
It is, furthermore, hard labour. When polishing her floor before her guests
arrive, Ethel is “depressingly certain that the society hostesses in the paper
didn’t have backs that ached the way hers did” (154). Offering an early feminist critique of the unpaid work of home décor, “The Party” is a nuanced
portrayal of consumerism.
“The Party” is also significant in that it explores the conflict between
husbands and wives over spending choices that emerged alongside the expansion of consumer capitalism (Liverant 269). As she prepares for the gathering, Ethel hopes her husband “wouldn’t notice” their new décor. Yet “the
first thing he said” when he arrived home from work was, “‘where’d you get
that?’ pointing at the [new] lampshade.” He remained angry all evening and,
after the guests left, told her he had been laid off from work. Innis intends this
statement to heighten Ethel’s sense of consumer guilt, as well as to illuminate housewives’ lack of financial autonomy. Ethel spends her days looking
after her toddler, keeping house, and cooking suppers for her breadwinner
husband. For one day, she takes time away from her wifely duties. When
she puts on her dress “before the mirror,” she “had a moment of clear happiness.” It “too was new, something she had kept from Todd” (153–54; 155).
Through new décor and dress, then, Ethel hopes to achieve fulfillment. Yet
because her husband does not care about new goods, and because he worries
about financial stability, he is critical of her purchases. In “The Party” Innis
captures the gender conflicts that highlighted women’s subordinate familial
positions that accompanied the rise of consumer capitalism.
If Innis’ critique of gendered consumer conflict is subtle, McClung’s is
overt. The Second Chance (1910) opens with a farmer named Mr. Perkins refusing to give his eighteen-year-old daughter Martha two dollars to purchase
a magazine. He justifies his decision by stating he bought her an “eighteendollar wallaby coat last year.” Reflecting on her father’s position, Martha
weeps. “All her early rising and hard work,” and “all her small economies,”
had saved her father the “wages of a hired man.” And yet “she had not been
able to get even two dollars when she wanted it” (3–4). In this passage, McClung not only makes reference to the Biblical Martha, whom Jesus admon-
179
ishes for spending too much time on housework (Luke 10:38–42), she also
suggests that patriarchal familial control was detrimental to women. In the
name of thrift, Mr. Perkins does not give his daughter any financial revenue
for her work. His power over the family economy means that the grownup Martha was dependent upon him for comfort and edification. If women
wanted to take control of their own situations, McClung implies, patriarchal
familial control had to be overthrown.
Ostenso’s Wild Geese offers an even more sustained argument for
unfettered access to commodities for wives and daughters. Interestingly,
Douglas Durkin, author of the anti-consumerist The Magpie, was Ostenso’s
English professor and lover when she wrote this novel (Arnason 304). There
is no evidence that Durkin and Ostenso discussed consumerism, but the different portrayals of consumption in their books do underscore the centrality
of gender to consumerism in the 1920s. Caleb Gare, the head of Wild Geese’s
main family, covets wealth. In ways reminiscent of McClung’s Mr. Perkins,
he uses his four grown children as free labour. Believing they will abandon
him if he allows them to experience leisure or pleasure, he forces his daughters to wear overalls and men’s boots. He treats eyeglasses and false teeth as
luxuries, and refuses to purchase these items for his daughter Ellen and wife
Amelia, though their health is failing. He does all the family shopping and,
learning that his daughter Judith is going to sell her calf in the fall to buy a
new coat, instead sells her calf in the spring and pockets the money. Caleb
hence wields his financial power as a tool of emotional abuse. When, at the
end of the novel, he dies while trying to save his crop from a wildfire, it is
fitting that Amelia and her children achieve the ability to purchase consumer
goods. A neighbour visits the Gares some months later, and Amelia serves
“her with excellent coffee, bought in the city” (306).
In The Second Chance and Wild Geese, fathers and husbands who deny
daughters and wives access to consumables are ignorant of women’s needs
for happiness and education. Such depictions suggest that McClung and Ostenso believed women’s dignity and fulfillment depended upon certain commodities, whether they be as important as eyeglasses, as simple as magazines,
or as luxurious as lacy underclothes. Since both of these writers had spent
their adolescent years on the plains—McClung in Manitoba and Ostenso
in Minnesota, South Dakota, and Manitoba—it is probable that patriarchal
control of the family purse contributed toward their consumerist portrayals.
A survey of 364 farmwomen conducted by the United Farm Women of Manitoba in 1922 revealed that while many of the province’s farms had modern
implements, their domestic life remained rudimentary. Women hauled water
in buckets, cooked without electricity, and washed laundry by hand, but
men used “tractors, combines, binders and threshing machines” (Sundberg
194). Such findings spurred the United Farm Women to argue for immediate
180
improvement of rural domestic conditions, and no doubt also contributed to
gender tensions throughout the region.
Importantly, though, neither Ostenso nor McClung fully embraced consumerism as a means to fulfillment. In Wild Geese, Mrs. Sandbo and her
daughter are so fashion obsessed that they remain ignorant of deeper matters (128–29). McClung also cautions against consumer excess. A character
named Arthur in The Second Chance must choose between two women,
Martha and Thursa. Both wear fashionable clothing and cosmetics, but their
personalities are different. Martha can “bake and scrub and sew and keep
things tidy”; she is also considerate. In contrast, Thursa loves shopping and
urban entertainment more than farm life. Arthur is at first smitten by Thursa,
but eventually finds her too shallow, and chooses the selfless Martha (246).
Non-prairie female authors also suggested that moderation was the best
approach. Sime may have been supportive of Adelaide’s consumer skills in
“Mr. Johnston,” but in another short story from Sister Woman, “The Social
Problem,” she suggests a well-lived life must include non-commodified pursuits. The main character, Donna, is an appearance-obsessed woman who
chooses to maintain her looks over all other activities. She therefore misses
opportunities for personal and social fulfillment and resembles “a beautiful
tropical bird” in a “cage” (215). In expressing their preference for temperance, English Canadian women writers implied that successful consumerism
entailed judgement and restraint. At the same time, romance novelists Fytche
and MacKay, adolescent fiction writers Montgomery and McClung, and realist authors Innis, Ostenso, and Sime all recognized that consumption could
be a path toward women’s comfort, edification, and happiness. So strong was
McClung’s and Ostenso’s support for women’s unfettered access to commodities that they portrayed fathers and husbands who denied wives and
daughters access to consumables as oppressive. As long as women were in
charge of their consumer urges, they could safely enjoy the fruits of industrial
capitalism.
The Triumph of Moderation
As consumer capitalism emerged and accelerated in Canada between 1890
and 1930, and then faltered during the 1930s, fiction authors responded by
incorporating portrayals of commodities and consumption into their writings.
Sampling twelve English language prose titles representing works penned by
authors of different decades, genders, regions, styles, and levels of fame, we
find that English Canadian writers were deeply concerned about the ethics of
consumption. Authors’ individual portrayals differed, but together their works
indicate that consumption was becoming central to notions of class, morality,
and gender. They also indicate that many English Canadians were ambivalent
about consumer issues. At times, authors embraced consumerism, seeing it as
181
a step toward human comfort, leisure, and enlightenment, but at other times,
authors denigrated consumerism, viewing it as decadent and immoral, and
portraying material disparity as evidence of inequality and corruption.
It might be expected that works intended for a mass audience would
valorize consumerism and that works intended for an intellectual audience
would denigrate it, but both popular and literary writers endorsed consumption as an acceptable path toward happiness and edification. So long as it
was approached in moderation, popular authors McClung, Montgomery, and
Stead, as well as realist authors Sime, Ostenso, and Innis suggested that the
use and pursuit of commodities could make Canadians’ lives more fulfilling.
This study also reveals that authors living in western Canada, central Canada, and eastern Canada all displayed sympathy toward consumer interests.
Therefore although the country’s two largest cities, Toronto and Montreal,
were dominant consumerist centres during this period, it was also true that
consumer culture was expanding in other regions.
Three prairie novels were especially supportive of consumerism. According to Stead’s The Cow Puncher, McClung’s The Second Chance, and
Ostenso’s Wild Geese, commodities eased the starkness of prairie life, improved one’s education, and in McClung’s and Ostenso’s cases, provided
freedom from the miserliness of husbands and fathers. These depictions
suggest that the settlement conditions of isolation, outdoor labour, loneliness, men’s familial authority, women’s financial dependence, and poverty
contributed to an atmosphere in which consumer goods became symbols of
comfort, modernity, and for women, independence. In contrast to those who
to this day nostalgize pre-1940 prairie life as less modern than urban life,
these books indicate that consumerism was an important feature of English
Canadian prairie culture during this period.
Consumerism was so prevalent in Winnipeg, in fact, that Douglas Durkin condemned it in his 1923 The Magpie. Evincing a masculinist distaste
for consumption, this novel delivers a class-based critique of consumerism
that is hostile toward bourgeois women. The Magpie is unique in this study
in that it merges an anti-female perspective with a socialist one, but other
authors were also wary of consumerism’s class components. Conservative
writers Machar and Leacock, feminist writers McClung, Innis, and Sime, and
socialist writer Spier each suggested that consumer inequality was indicative of class privilege. The authors may have put forth different solutions to
ending material disparity, but all agreed that consumption was an intricate
component of class in Canada, and crucial to social opportunity and success.
Commodities were also central to constructions of gender identities.
According to The Magpie, producerist masculinity during this period was
partly defined through opposition to the consumerist and the feminine. Other
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ideal masculinities presented in pre-1940 English Canadian fiction were
more amenable to consumption. Stead’s Mr. Duncan, Dave Elden’s middle
class role model in The Cow Punchers, lived in a well-furnished home and
urged Elden to wear tasteful, well-fitting garments. Consumerism was even
more important to femininity. In pieces by Fytche, MacKay, Montgomery,
McClung, Sime, and Ostenso, well-decorated homes and attractive bodily
ornamentation underscored female heroines’ womanly virtues.
Even as female authors celebrated consumerist femininity, they cautioned readers to exercise moderation. Works by McClung, Sime, Ostenso,
and Innis include female characters who put their love of shopping and
fashion above their responsibilities to themselves and their communities.
According to these writers, personal fulfillment and community harmony
arose not only from consumerism, but from mothering, loving one’s husband,
and doing good works. In this view, consumerism was necessary but must
never become one’s raison d’être. As consumer capitalism expanded in early
twentieth-century Canada, these female authors urged their audiences to keep
a portion of themselves outside the marketplace.
In his analysis of the movement against alcohol consumption in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Canada, historian Craig Heron demonstrates
that by the 1920s many members of the bourgeoisie and working class were
beginning to view prohibition as “prudish.” In 1919, therefore, provincial
governments began modifying laws banning alcohol, choosing instead to
legalize liquor and regulate its distribution. “The new watchword,” Heron
writes, “was ‘moderation’” (213, 270–71). A similar process occurred in the
realm of consumption in English Canadian literature between 1890 and 1940.
During this period, a few English Canadian writers depicted consumerism
as immoral, arguing that it promoted vanity and selfishness. More, however,
proposed that if commodities were pursued and displayed in tasteful moderation, they could enhance one’s gender identity as well as provide status,
comfort, edification, and fulfillment. For these writers, the keys to proper
consumption were decorum and self-discipline. Excessive and out-of-control
consumer appetites, they asserted, threatened individual well-being and destabilized the social order. To be a successful consumer of goods and services
between 1890 and 1940, one had to exercise not only taste, but also restraint.
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186
Research Note
Note de recherche
Myreille Pawliez
Narratologie et étude du personnage :
un cas de figure. Caractérisation dans
Dis-moi que je vis de Michèle Mailhot
Résumé
Dans le but d’étudier, en profondeur et essentiellement dans le cadre de la
narratologie, le dispositif des personnages dans Dis-moi que je vis, un roman
« psychologique » de Michèle Mailhot publié au Québec en 1964, on propose,
puis applique, un nouveau modèle où le personnage est conçu comme une
entité fictive de langage et de paroles. S’inspirant des travaux de Genette,
Barthes, Ewen, Rimmon-Kenan, Bal, Hamon et Doležel, on combine les
notions de distance modale, de focalisation et d’instance narrative à celles
d’identification et de qualification pour examiner comment se construisent
les personnages et l’univers. Ce faisant, on est en mesure d’expliquer pourquoi les analystes précédents pensent que, Josée, la protagoniste-narratrice,
est un personnage lucide, voire ultra-lucide. On démontre, également, que
l’étude du personnage, loin d’être incompatible avec la narratologie, gagne
à y avoir recours.
Abstract
In order to provide, within a narratological framework, an in-depth study
of the characters of Dis-moi que je vis, a “psychological” novel by Michèle
Mailhot published in 1964 in Quebec, a new model in which the character is
viewed as a fictional semantic and enunciative entity is proposed and applied.
Taking the works of Genette, Barthes, Ewen, Rimmon-Kenan, Bal, Hamon
and Doležel as a starting point, the notions of focalisation and narration are
combined with those of identification and qualification to examine how the
characters and their world are created. This approach makes it possible to
explain why previous analysts think that Josée, the protagonist-narrator, is
lucid, if not ultra-lucid. It also proves that the study of characters, far from
being incompatible with narratology, can benefit from it.
L’œuvre romanesque de Michèle Mailhot (1932-2009) a été publiée au
Québec entre 1964 et 1990. Son premier roman, Dis-moi que je vis1, écrit à
la première personne et au présent, est le soliloque2 introspectif d’une jeune
femme (Josée) qui, au cours d’une nuit passée sans dormir à côté de Pierre,
son mari, s’interroge sur sa vie tout en se remémorant certains moments. En
proie à un malaise intérieur depuis plusieurs années, rien ne semble la rendre
heureuse, pas même la voiture offerte en cadeau par Pierre, le voyage en Floride avec sa compagne Laure, l'été passé à la campagne ou sa courte liaison
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
avec Jean. Pourtant, la protagoniste prend progressivement conscience de la
nécessité de se libérer des conventions sociales, et finit par comprendre que
le bonheur est un état précaire sans cesse à renouveler.
Les analyses sociologiques et psychologiques existantes relèvent, à
l’instar de l’article de Suzanne Paradis (312-317), la lucidité de Josée qui
lui permet de s'émanciper progressivement de son assujettissement conjugal.
Maïr Verthuy décrit Josée comme une héroïne qui se penche sur l'insignifiance de sa vie et sur une société matérialiste de laquelle on n'échappe que
par l'alcoolisme et les aventures extraconjugales (133). Pour Jean Anderson,
Josée est un personnage « ultra-lucide » aliéné par l'institution du mariage et
la société technologique et de consommation qui refuse de se laisser déshumaniser (93-105). L’approche de ces travaux importants ne permet cependant
pas de séparer clairement ce qui incombe à la narratrice ou à la protagoniste
dans ce roman écrit à la première personne.
Vu la sensibilité et l'acuité particulières avec lesquelles les personnages
sont peints, la lucidité et l'authenticité avec lesquelles la nature humaine est
relatée dans Dis-moi que je vis, on vise à étudier la pleine dimension des
personnages et du milieu dans lequel ils évoluent dans le cadre de la narratologie structuraliste qui, paradoxalement, se défie du personnage, mais offre
les outils pour dissocier protagoniste et instance narrative3.
Narratologie structuraliste et étude du personnage
Issue du mouvement formaliste russe des années 1920 et du développement
structuraliste de la linguistique qui a débuté, en France, dans les années 1950,
l’approche narratologique structuraliste des textes littéraires est centrée sur
le récit. Celui-ci est traité comme un tout cohérent existant par lui-même
où l’on trouve les marques linguistiques sur lesquelles repose l'analyse. Ne
pouvant considérer ni l’auteur réel (personne qui écrit le livre dans la réalité)
ou impliqué (image mentale de l'auteur construite par le lecteur), ni le lecteur
réel (personne qui lit l'ouvrage dans la réalité) ou impliqué (image mentale
du lecteur construite par l'auteur), ni le personnage comme un être réel, l'analyste peut s’intéresser, par le truchement du récit, aux rapports entre histoire
et récit, aux phénomènes de point de vue, de narrateur (instance fictive qui
prend en charge la narration dans le récit) et de narrataire (instance fictive à
qui la narration s'adresse ou destinataire fictif de l'acte narratif).
C’est dans ce courant qu’est apparue la théorie littéraire narratologique
de Gérard Genette4, qui a, par la suite, dominé la scène internationale. Adoptant la position selon laquelle la signification d'une œuvre est créée par le
jeu combinatoire de trois niveaux narratifs, Genette distingue l'histoire, qui
fait référence à l'enchaînement des événements qui constitue l'infrastructure
que l'on peut extraire du récit; le récit, qui correspond à l'énoncé tel qu'il se
présente linéairement; et la narration, qui est l'acte narratif (fictif) qui produit
190
Narratologie et étude du personnage : un cas de figure.
Caractérisation dans Dis-moi que je vis de Michèle Mailhot.
le discours et par extension l'ensemble de la situation fictive dans laquelle
il prend place. Cette approche, essentiellement textuelle, privilégie le récit
que Genette conçoit comme l'instrument qui médiatise les autres niveaux, et
à partir duquel on est en mesure d’examiner les relations temporelles entre
l'histoire et le récit (temps), la manière dont l'information narrative est vue ou
perçue dans le récit (mode), et les problèmes d'énonciation (voix) qui se situent
au niveau des relations récit-narration et des rapports histoire-narration5.
Malheureusement, tout comme les narratologues structuralistes qui
s’insurgent contre les analyses traditionnelles dans lesquelles on traite le
personnage comme une personne réelle, Gérard Genette ne considère pas
le personnage comme un élément narratif intrinsèque et n’y fait allusion
qu’indirectement quand le personnage assume un rôle au niveau de la narration ou de la focalisation. Cette prise de position typique a été remarquée
par Rimmon-Kenan qui explique que « les structuralistes ne peuvent guère
intégrer le personnage dans leur théorie à cause de leur adhérence à une idéologie qui “décentre” l'homme et qui va à l'encontre des notions d'individualité
et de profondeur psychologique6 ».
Par ailleurs, les analyses formalistes de Propp et de Greimas7 réduisent
les personnages à une fonction ou un rôle abstrait; aussi ces typologies sont
peu adaptées à l'étude des romans dits « psychologiques » où les personnages
ont beaucoup plus de profondeur. On préconise donc de repousser un tant
soit peu les limites de la narratologie structuraliste pour rendre compte des
personnages dans des romans complexes tels que Dis-moi que je vis tout en
restant dans le cadre de la théorie de Genette.
Vers une conception narratologique du personnage
Pour étudier le personnage d’une manière qui soit compatible avec la narratologie structuraliste, il faut avoir recours à une méthodologie qui puisse
mettre en avant les faits de caractérisation, autrement dit, qui puisse éclairer
comment, par le truchement du récit, se bâtissent les personnages.
Dans cette optique, Barthes a esquissé une théorie textuelle sémique
dans laquelle on analyse les sèmes qui permettent de construire les traits du
personnage à partir du récit :
Lorsque des sèmes identiques traversent à plusieurs reprises le
même Nom propre et semblent s'y fixer, il naît un personnage. Le
personnage est donc un produit combinatoire : la combinaison est
relativement stable (marquée par le retour des sèmes) et plus ou moins
complexe (comportant des traits plus ou moins congruents, plus ou
moins contradictoires), cette complexité détermine la “personnalité”
du personnage. (S/Z 74)
191
Toutefois, cette approche indicielle8, parce que basée sur un découpage
du texte en unités narratives peu clair, est difficilement applicable. On retient
néanmoins de ces recherches l'idée fondamentale que le personnage est un
concept linguistique qui s’élabore sur les indices sémiques éparpillés tout au
long du récit.
Par la suite, la classification des indicateurs textuels de Ewen (i-ii), les
travaux sur la qualification sémantique du personnage de Rimmon-Kenan
(58-70) et de Bal, ainsi que les propos d’Hamon (115-180) et de Doležel
(221-242) ont institué la notion de caractérisation directe (explicite) et de
caractérisation indirecte (implicite). Il en ressort que, si la caractérisation
directe peut transparaître dans le discours des personnages, le personnage est
le plus souvent décrit par l'instance responsable de la narration (description
physique, psychologique ou sociale, commentaires de l'instance narrative).
Il peut, également, être caractérisé indirectement par ses actions (action unique, répétitive ou itérative; potentielle ou réalisée), par son nom (prénom,
surnom), par son statut social (généalogie, rôle social ou familial), et par son
environnement ou son habillement. De plus, l'emplacement de l'indication
textuelle peut être significatif, tout comme la fiabilité, l'amplitude et l'évolution de la caractérisation.
Sur le fondement de ces travaux et pour observer le réseau des personnages d’un roman avec la perspective de Genette, on a conçu un modèle9 qui allie
le principe de construction sémique du personnage à son élaboration narrative.
Un modèle sémantico-narratologique
Une méthode qui puisse incorporer les notions narratologiques de Genette à
l’étude sémique du personnage se doit de concevoir le personnage comme
concept sémantique et narratif que l'on ébauche à partir d'indices textuels.
Empruntant le terme de Barthes, on estime que le personnage est « un être
de papier », autrement dit une entité qui s'inscrit linguistiquement et narrativement dans un récit, s'élabore sémantiquement comme référent fictif et
anthropomorphe, et évolue dans une diégèse (univers de l’histoire), elle aussi
fictive. Le personnage est donc à la fois être de langage caractérisé par un
réseau de traits sémantiques qui apparaissent linéairement dans le récit (Rimmon-Kenan 59-70), et être de paroles qui fait partie d'un texte énonciatif.
Cette vision sémantico-narratologique du personnage conduit à une méthodologie multidimensionnelle qui tient compte de la configuration textuelle,
sémantique et narrative du personnage, et qui a pour objectif d’appréhender
le système des personnages dans son entier.
Pour ce faire, il convient, d’abord d’examiner « l'étiquetage » (la chaîne
de signifiants dans le récit) pour chaque personnage, ce qui nécessite de
faire l'inventaire des marqueurs10 détectables dans les occurrences lexicales
et grammaticales du récit, tant du point de vue de la nomination que de la
192
qualification. Il faut ensuite considérer leur organisation et fréquence pour
dégager l’ensemble de signification interne qui se construit soit par référence
(dénotation), soit par inférence (connotation), établissant ainsi la caractérisation idiosyncrasique de chaque personnage. Il est aussi essentiel de se demander si ces désignations relèvent du discours narrativisé (récit d’événements,
actions ou pensées, qui revient entièrement à l’instance narrative), transposé
(récit de paroles médiatisées par l’instance narrative, au style indirect ou
indirect libre), ou rapporté (récit de paroles attribuables au personnage, au
style direct) pour établir ce qui est imputable à l’instance narrative et/ou au
protagoniste et conclure sur la crédibilité de cette caractérisation. Il ne reste
ensuite qu’à dégager le système des personnages et de leur univers en incorporant et scrutant toutes les caractérisations.
En somme, en intégrant les notions de Gérard Genette de distance modale (discours narrativisé, transposé et rapporté) , de focalisation et d’instance
narrative à l’identification et à la description sémiques des personnages, on
met en relief les procédés textuels sémantiques et narratifs sous-jacents au
dispositif des personnages. Cette méthodologie met fin à l'idée que « l'insuffisance du discours de la narratologie sur le personnage est patente » (Jouve
11). Et, si l’on a délaissé les approches sémiologiques11 axées sur « l’effetpersonnage »12, c’est que, mettant en jeu le lecteur, elles dépassent les confins
de la narratologie structuraliste.
Analyse sémantico-narratologique des personnages de Dis-moi que je vis
On propose d’appliquer ce modèle pour mettre en avant l’agencement textuel
sémantique et narratologique des personnages de Dis-moi que je vis tout en
sachant que, puisque Josée perçoit les événements et relate sa propre histoire
et ses pensées, elle est à la fois protagoniste, foyer de focalisation et instance
narrative; et que le discours transposé à la première personne, dans lequel
protagoniste et instance narrative sont généralement inextricables, domine
très fortement le récit. S’articulant autour des personnages principaux, l’analyse se concentre sur l’héroïne Josée, son mari Pierre, son amant Jean, et sa
compagne de voyage, Laure, avant d’aboutir à une perception globale des
personnages et de leur univers.
On constate avant tout que le premier mot du récit « Nous », qui réfère
quelques lignes plus bas à « il/lui », suggère indirectement au sein du discours
narrativisé que « je » correspond probablement à une femme :
Nous lisons tous les deux, du moins on fait comme si, et consciencieusement, en n’oubliant pas de tourner une page après quelques minutes de
silence. Peut-être lit-il vraiment, lui? Je le regarde du coin de l’œil et il me
paraît songeur. (9)
193
Ceci se confirme dès la dixième ligne lorsqu'il est dit dans le discours
transposé que « je » trompe Pierre, son mari :
Pauvre Pierre […] ça me fait du chagrin de le savoir trompé. (9)
C'est donc ça un mari trompé? (11)
Ainsi, le personnage est tout de suite qualifié par son statut de femme
mariée à Pierre et par le fait qu'il a quelques remords à l'avoir trompé. Plus
loin dans le récit, d'autres aspects de sa situation familiale sont indirectement
révélés dans le discours transposé où l’on apprend que cette femme est âgée
de 30 ans (31-32, 71-72, 97) et qu’elle n’a pas d’enfant (85). S'il est envisageable que le nom du personnage, qui narre sa propre histoire, ne soit jamais
divulgué, il se trouve que son prénom est mentionné, une seule fois, par Jean,
dans une bribe de conversation rapportée très tardivement dans le récit en
style direct : « Josée, vous êtes si belle quand vous aimez. Je me rappelle le
jour de votre mariage… » (124). Sans doute n'est-il pas anodin que Josée soit
ainsi identifiée dans le discours rapporté de celui qui deviendra son amant
au moment même où il fait allusion à son mariage. Par ailleurs, dans des
fragments en discours rapporté, certains personnages dévoilent comment ils
perçoivent Josée. Pierre trouve sa femme « belle » (13), exactement comme
Jean (124, 126, 145). Il s'énerve aussi de son insatisfaction perpétuelle (46-47,
115), comme Jean s'irrite de ses états d'âme (145). Laure lui envie sa pureté
et son bonheur (86). Mais la protagoniste-narratrice rejette intérieurement et
avec dérision leurs vues, rétorquant dans le discours transposé :
Et maintenant, je ne suis plus belle? (124, à Jean)
Je suis ingrate comme une mayonnaise qui tourne. On me donne
tous les soins qu'il faut, on me demande d'être seulement une bonne
mayonnaise et puis, flop, je suris par méchanceté pure, par refus
têtu de ta grâce de cuisinier, si bien outillé, si électriquement outillé.
(47, à Pierre)
En outre, dans le discours transposé, Josée ajoute avoir été une « [p]
etite épouse soumise, admirable petite épouse docile, humble, chaste, zélée,
patiente, charitable et résignée » (54). Elle se compare à une marionnette
actionnée par son mari (125) ou à Pénélope qui attend Ulysse (127), et juge
avoir été « fidèle et menteuse » (72). Tout ceci explique sa passivité (34,
132), sa mauvaise humeur (77), sa « tristesse chronique » (93, 128). Dans le
discours narrativisé, elle réaffirme se sentir « impuissante » (38) et compare
sa maladie à une « torpeur » (43). Dans le discours transposé, elle dit être
une « sainte refoulée » (85), se moque de cette « vertu apostolique » (93) et
conclut que :
Mais plus les vertus sont tristes plus elles sont précaires et la mienne
râlait. […] J'étais une femme de petite vertu. (93)
194
Constatant, comme protagoniste et narratrice, les paradoxes du mariage
(27, 30, 31-32, 54-56, 98) et découvrant le côté illusoire de l'amour (120122), Josée examine le rôle assigné à la femme et à l'homme (par exemple,
47-48, 72) et les modèles qui l'entourent, ridiculisant son amie Louise13:
Mon amie Louise, Louise la parfaite, était, en cette science charitable,
vraiment insurpassable. Elle témoignait, dans ces réunions, d’une si
admirable compassion pour les angoisses de ses amis, elle y mettait
une telle souplesse d'esprit que son corps, comme entraîné par le mouvement de sa miséricordieuse bonté, se penchait vers la souffrance
de tout le poids de son vaste sein. Jamais je n'ai vu une image plus
concrète, plus physique, de la miséricorde. Les mérites accumulés
dans son corsage de bonne mère nourricière débordaient sur ces
grands enfants mal-aimés, rangés autour d'elle comme une portée de
chiots. (50-51)
Sans contredit, Josée dénonce avec force dérisions l’archétype de la
femme idéale symbolisée par Louise. Tout comme Jeannine, qui manifeste
ouvertement dans ses propos son mécontentement quant à son rôle d’épouse
(94-95), Josée admet, dans le discours transposé, faire partie de toute une
catégorie d'épouses insatisfaites de leur situation :
Pauline, Jeannine, Sylvie, Lise, toutes cernées d'abîme et prises de vertige. Et moi, pareille à elles, tout à l'heure ravie d'avoir identifié mes démons
intimes et maintenant effarée de les voir rôder partout, insaisissables et
mauvais, grugeurs de petites joies et de grandes espérances à qui on jette en
pâture, pour les amadouer, tous ses espoirs un à un, toutes ses illusions une à
une, pour ne garder que des regrets soumis. (97)
À la recherche d'un équilibre, et prenant pour modèle Laure14, Josée finit
par prendre un amant, mais s’aperçoit qu’elle est devenue en deux mois « une
maîtresse » (140) au « masque durci » (140), à l'air triste et désabusé (131132, 140, 141, 143). Déçue par la vie, la protagoniste-narratrice fouille les
grandes civilisations du passé (24, 133-135) et sonde ses contemporains dans
la rue ou le bus (44, 130, 133, 134, 135-138), un peu comme un archéologue
cherche à décrypter une société pour lui donner du sens :
En l'an 1964 avant Jésus-Christ une femme pouvait se promener ainsi
sur une route de Grèce. Éperdue comme moi. Dépassée, cherchant dans
ce fouillis des jours, un coin où reposer son cœur, un autel où immoler
sa vie. A-t-elle trouvé? Sans doute pas, ça se saurait. Une trouvaille
comme ça ne se perd pas. On cherche encore : pas trouvé le secret de la
vie, le pourquoi de cette interminable lignée de morts. (134)
Par ailleurs, il apparaît dans le discours transposé que Josée évolue
dans un milieu montréalais15 bourgeois (9, 15, 16-17, 46-47, 49,
195
50, 64-65, 66-71, 82, 100-101, 117-118) qu’elle perçoit comme une
« cage chromée » (49). À en juger par les références aux automobiles
et à l'autobus (19-20, 36, 46, 61, 134, 137), au téléphone (9, 138),
aux doubles fenêtres d'aluminium (66), aux appareils ménagers électriques (47), aux loisirs16, au luxe17, aux affiches publicitaires (134), à
la révolution sexuelle de la femme occidentale (87) et au travail des
ouvrières (46), il est question des années 1950 et 1960, décennies qui
ont vu naître au Québec l’essor industriel, la société de consommation et de loisirs de masse, le travail et l'émancipation des femmes.
Les prénoms mêmes des personnages, la teneur de leurs propos et la
situation professionnelle des maris sont d’ailleurs révélateurs de cette
époque charnière d'après-guerre au moment où la société québécoise
s’industrialisait et où une bourgeoisie francophone émergeait. Ce que
confirment, du reste, la mention du « creusage de la Bersimis » (16)18,
l’allusion ironique à « l'an 1964 avant Jésus-Christ » (134) et le fait
que le roman sort précisément en 1964. Or, Josée, dans le discours
transposé, et parfois le discours narrativisé, observe (117-118) et critique âprement ce conformisme bourgeois et hypocrite au sein duquel se
cachent alcoolisme et adultère (15, 67, 68-71,79, 82, 94-96).
Pierre, posé comme personnage dès le premier mot par l'entremise du
pronom « Nous », est identifié par son prénom dans le discours transposé19 dès
la septième ligne. Il transparaît rapidement, aussi dans le discours transposé,
qu'il travaille dans la finance et qu’il n’est pas au courant de la liaison de sa
femme20. Mari trompé, confiant et intéressé par l'argent, son attachement aux
valeurs matérielles et sa sollicitude comme époux sont confirmés par ses actions (37, 47, 68, 103). Ses paroles montrent qu'il s'estime bon pourvoyeur et
bon amant et qu'il pense être le mari parfait (13, 47, 64, 65, 66, 68, 120, 123).
Cependant, le discours transposé laisse entrevoir un autre Pierre. Josée admet
qu'il est attentionné (27), qu'elle l'a aimé et qu'elle l'aime toujours (10, 56,
78). Si elle reconnait qu'il n'a pas changé (37, 121), elle lui reproche, souvent
avec dérision, d'être trop sûr de lui (30, 65, 66-67, 68, 77, 78, 84, 114, 126),
d'être matérialiste (62, 65, 121), de se contenter des petits plaisirs quotidiens
(15, 115, 117), et de la traiter comme un objet à sa disposition :
Il faut le voir, lui, quand il a congé : une vraie broyeuse de travail qui
avale du vide. Il s'affaire comme un bulldozer en mal de montagne à
bousculer. (49)
Mille prétextes […] parviennent toujours à sauvegarder sa divine
image d'homme modèle. (65) [I]l m'exhibe avec fierté, comme une
preuve de son heureux génie. (67)
Son numéro de pattes en l'air ressemblait au geste de Tarzan, qui crie
victoire, le pied sur sa victime. Et la jungle d'applaudir. (126)
196
En même temps, elle se reproche d'avoir été aveuglée par l'amour et
d'avoir, elle aussi, succombé aux pressions sociales (30, 153) et se demande
ce que ferait Pierre s'il se savait trompé (28-29, 65-66, 122).
Jean, troisième personnage à apparaître, est introduit dès la treizième
ligne dans le discours narrativisé :
Nous lisons tous les deux […]. Tandis que Jean jubile : il m'a téléphoné avant le souper avec sa voix des plus beaux soirs, enveloppante,
chaude… (9)
L’opposition entre « Nous » et « Jean » est significative, d’autant plus
que la conjonction « tandis que », comme, par la suite, le discours
narrativisé, implique une certaine concurrence entre Pierre et Jean :
Il [Pierre] a tout fait chavirer d'un coup. […] Une fois la lumière
éteinte, je respire mieux. Pierre ne voit pas mes yeux ouverts qui
regardent Jean. (13)
J'ai aimé ton mirage [Pierre] et maintenant que le désert se livre, je
cherche seulement une autre oasis. […] J'ai aimé Jean dans un éblouissement de sable, quand la soif me faisait si mal qu'il me fallait à tout
prix croire à l'eau pour que je ne crève pas. Il me désaltère en ce sens
qu'il me fait oublier ma soif, qu'il la reporte. (122)
Indéniablement, Jean est présenté, dans le discours narrativisé et transposé, comme l'adversaire de Pierre, l’intrus qui s'immisce dans le couple
Josée-Pierre. Ce qui est aussi impliqué dans le passage en discours transposé
où Josée songe à sa trahison et fait part de ses remords (10-12). Jean est,
en plus, dépeint dans le discours narrativisé (17, 140), le discours transposé
(18, 20, 21-23), et même le discours rapporté de Pierre (125), comme grand
séducteur. Josée, aussi bien comme protagoniste que narratrice, a pleinement
conscience de cette réputation et l’a choisi comme amant précisément pour
cette raison :
J'avais là, sous la main, un spécialiste de la plastique des cœurs
ratatinés. Intéressé bien sûr. Moi aussi. Je connaissais ses nombreuses clientes mais sa réputation était telle que celles qui se voyaient
repoussées souffraient plus de leur rejet que les intimes, de leur
nombre. Exactement ce qu'il me fallait : l'expérience toute nue, sans
complications sentimentales. (20)
Josée avoue aussi, dans le discours transposé, qu’il lui redonne la joie
de vivre :
Mon ange de courage […] qui me donne cette ardeur nouvelle […]. (13)
Jean, tendre et frivole, qui m'apprenait la saveur des moindres
gestes. (159)
197
Pourtant, comme le suggère la dérision ou l'autodérision qui perce dans la
plupart des passages en discours transposé relatifs à Jean, Josée comprend, à la
fin de la nuit, qu'il n'a été qu’un substitut passager, bien peu différent de Pierre :
Je me suis accrochée de toutes mes forces à cette illusion, mais le mal
était fait. Il m'a fallu toute cette semaine pour le reconnaître.
Cette nuit-là je n'ai pas voulu l'admettre. Il est si difficile pour une
femme de quitter un amour qui fut merveilleux. […] J'aurais aimé, ce
soir-là, que tu [Jean] te reposes contre moi, à ne rien faire, à ne rien
dire […]. Mais tu m'as prise, et Pierre a surgi aussitôt. (154-155)
Le personnage de Laure est introduit plus tardivement dans le récit par
la phrase rapportée de Pierre où il la présente incidemment et simplement
comme l’épouse de Léo :
« Pourquoi ne fais-tu pas un voyage? […] Justement, Léo me disait
que sa femme allait en Floride… » (68)
Le personnage ne prend corps que plusieurs pages plus loin dans le
discours transposé, quand Josée, un peu en écho de Pierre, mentionne son
surnom et l’a priori qu’elle en a – identification et qualification qui sont
immédiatement révisées :
Elle s’appelait Laurette, la femme de Léo. Laurette! un nom aussi
stupide que l’idée que j'avais d'elle avant de la mieux connaître. J'imaginais Laure comme j'imaginais toutes, à vrai dire, les femmes des
maris : servantes dévouées, chastes et généreuses. Sans surprise, en
somme. Or, voici que la dite Laure […], que Laure laisse éclater sa
gaine de conformisme devant moi. […]
Depuis Laure, je ne juge plus personne. (72-73)
Le changement en narration simultanée amorcée par « or » marque un
éclatement de cette image d’épouse loyale et soumise, comme l’atteste ce
segment en discours transposé :
Quand Laure a posé son masque, je n'en revenais pas de son vrai visage.
Son vrai visage? Je ne sais même pas. Un masque de Floride peut-être
bien, en plus des masques de Montréal, des salons, des chambres
conjugales. Une série de masques. Si nombreux qu'à la fin on se dit
que ce ne sont pas de vrais masques, mais des attitudes de rechanges
selon les lieux et les personnes. Fausseté? Mensonge perpétuel? Non.
(73-74)
Laure, la femme caméléon, est donc l’opposé de Louise, dont la perfection immuable étonne Josée :
198
Quand Louise la parfaite me demandait : « Mais où est ta vérité, qui
es-tu à la fin? » avec une pointe de colère m'enjoignant de choisir, une
fois pour toutes, ma personnalité, je la regardais étonnée.
Est-ce que je sais, moi, qui je suis? À quel moment précis de ma vie je
pourrais m'arrêter et dire : « Tiens, là, ça y est, ça c'est du moi tout pur :
photographie et passe à la postérité! » (74)
Pour Louise, ce n'est pas pareil. Son affaire est entendue. Elle s'est
installée de plein pied [sic] dans la perfection, elle est égale d'un bout à
l'autre de sa vie. Elle ne se fait pas, elle est toute faite d'avance, comme
le café instantané. On met de l'eau et on a la vraie saveur du vrai café.
Demain, on la couvrira de feu, de grêle ou de vent et Louise donnera de
la Louise. C'est son genre, inébranlable, d'ores et déjà sanctifié. (74-75)
En fait, dans le discours narrativisé, on apprend qu’à Miami, Laure
passe ses nuits dehors à boire à l'excès (76) et raconte à Josée ses nombreuses
liaisons. Dans le discours transposé, il est précisé que Laure, âgée de 34 ans,
a deux enfants (85), est malheureuse (76, 84) et n'aime pas son mari (78).
Dans son premier monologue, Laure elle-même convient que sa vie est vide,
qu'elle boit trop et qu'elle est une putain, que les autres et ses enfants, âgés
d'une douzaine d'années, la jugent sévèrement. Elle rapporte aussi avoir été
très pieuse et raconte comment à 24 ans, elle vivait avec son mari et ses
deux enfants en « demi-sommeil » (148) jusqu'à ce qu'un seul baiser l'ait
libérée et conduite à sa première infidélité (145-148). Avec virulence, elle
condamne l'hypocrisie des curés et des sociétés américaine et canadienne
(85-88). Indubitablement, sa situation passée et ses réflexions se rapprochent
en de nombreux points à celles de Josée, comme Laure le remarque dans son
second monologue :
J'étais assez comme toi [Josée], il me semble. Pardonne-moi mais je le
crois vraiment. Tu sais, entre une femme fidèle et une autre qui ne l'est
pas, la marge est infime. (146)
Avec le recul du temps, Josée reconnaît qu’elle a changé au contact
de Laure :
De la Floride à ici, il y a une année, des rides, cent mille désillusions
et, quand même, la certitude et la joie d'une progression. […] Tout cela
grâce à Laure, à sa métamorphose, à son évolution, à ses masques,
à n'importe quoi que l'on veut et qui s'appelle la vie. Laure qui s'est
mise à vivre avec une fougue que je ne lui soupçonnais pas et qui me
stupéfiait, cramponnée que j'étais aux manettes d'un idéal figé. (75-76)
En somme, la protagoniste, Josée, est une jeune femme d'une trentaine
d'années mariée à Pierre depuis environ dix ans qui évolue dans un milieu
bourgeois montréalais francophone des années 1950-1964. Comme personnage-témoin et personnage-narratrice, elle ne cesse de s'interroger sur
199
la société et le rôle assigné à l'homme et à la femme au sein du couple et
s'irrite de l'image que lui renvoient son mari et son amant – celle de la jeune
épouse, belle et comblée, mais ingrate. Comme pour beaucoup de ses amies
mariées, le rôle qu'il lui faut assumer ne lui convient pas. Elle blâme Pierre
de se conformer à son rôle d’époux et ridiculise le modèle de la femme idéale
symbolisé par Louise :
Il n'y a que Pierre et Louise qui soient (ou se croient) parfaits, et les
deux sont insupportables. (90)
Au contact de Laure, Josée découvre progressivement que, sous les images contradictoires de l'épouse parfaite et de la femme déchue qu’elle donne,
Laure, au fond, lui ressemble : même conformisme au départ, même insatisfaction comme femme mariée, mêmes désillusions en ce qui concerne l'amour
et la société, et même dégoût de l'hypocrisie. Espérant trouver quelqu’un qui
soit plus à l'écoute de son individualité et de ses désirs, et prenant exemple
sur Laure, la protagoniste choisit de prendre un amant, Jean. Dépeint comme
le rival de Pierre, Jean est réduit au rôle du séducteur volage et insouciant.
Paradoxalement, c’est lui qui « baptise » Josée tout en faisant référence à son
statut d'épouse, et qui insuffle le renouveau au sein du couple Josée-Pierre :
Mon ange de courage [Jean] n'est plus un fantôme mais une vivante
réalité qui me donne cette ardeur nouvelle dont Pierre profite. (13)
Sans mon mari, je suis sûre que Jean aurait moins d'attrait. Quelle
révélation : du mariage qui donne de l'éclat au péché et rend prestigieuse une simple affaire courante. (27)
Pierre par ricochet profitait de ces leçons. (152)
Évidemment, Jean comme trait d'union, c'est un peu cocasse. (153)
De plus, la protagoniste, en faisant l'expérience avec Jean du baiser libérateur, ressemble encore plus à Laure. Subsistent néanmoins quelques différences. Laure n'aime pas son mari, a multiplié les amants et se sent honteuse,
tandis que Josée affirme toujours aimer Pierre (10, 56, 78) et n'éprouver ni
honte, ni déchéance, à l’avoir trompé :
Jamais comme elle [Laure], je n'éprouverai cette sensation de déchéance
et de honte. (145)
L’aventure avec Jean s’étiolant après deux mois, Pierre retrouve sa place
initiale auprès de Josée qui réalise, à la fin de sa nuit blanche, que le bonheur
n’existe qu’au prix d’un effort personnel de tous les instants qui se construit
auprès de Pierre :
Aucune vérité n'est si solide qu'elle ne nécessite, chaque matin, un
acte de foi renouvelé. Se reprendre, jour après jour, pour rafraîchir
l'offrande de la veille, recréer à neuf, sans cesse, l'amour une fois
donnée. Un long effort de tous les instants, pour amasser des gerbes à
200
brûler dans la joie des sens ardents. (158-159)
Me reste le souvenir de Jean […]. Me reste toi, Pierre, endormi dans
ta longue patience. (159)
Des personnages et un univers vus au travers d’un prisme
Émerge du récit un ensemble complexe de personnages dont la caractérisation est axée sur la question des rapports homme/femme et dans lequel
s’établissent sémantiquement et narrativement des analogies (Josée/Laure,
Louise/Pierre, Pierre/Jean) et des oppositions (Louise/Laure, Laure/Josée,
couple Josée-Pierre/couple Josée-Jean).
La construction sémantique archétypée de Louise et de Jean dresse le
portrait de la femme idéale et du séducteur type. En revanche, le portrait que
Pierre fait de lui-même comme mari parfait est remis en cause par Josée qui
dénigre ce rôle stéréotypé auquel il adhère depuis leur mariage. Les stéréotypes contradictoires de l’épouse modèle et de la femme déchue attachés à
Laure éclatent quand la « vraie » Laure, plus compliquée, se dévoilant dans
ses deux monologues, s’avère assez semblable à Josée. Cette dernière, perçue
de l’extérieur par son mari et son amant comme une jeune femme belle, mais
ingrate, montre, en fait, un sens de l’observation et un sens critique très aigus
qui l’amènent à se questionner et à dénigrer, avec force dérision, les rôles
stéréotypés représentés par Louise, Pierre, Jean, et même Laure :
[…] tous des esclaves : Louise la parfaite, de l'inaltérable opinion
qu'elle a d'elle-même; Pierre, de l'orgueil de tenir un rang, Laure de
l'idée surfaite qu'elle a de la vertu des autres. Tous enchaînés à une idée
fixe qui écrabouille ce qui ne lui appartient pas. Pour chacun un pilier,
une tyrannie, l'exaltante certitude de posséder la vérité. […] Elles sont
à vous, les clôtures de vos propres cerveaux, pas du mien. Laissez-moi
tresser la mienne en paix, large, large, enserrant la terre et que je m'y
meuve à l'aise sans que la cervelle m'éclate de regrets. (114)
Clairement, en dix ans de mariage, la protagoniste a évolué : de jeune
épouse vertueuse et subjuguée, elle est devenue une épouse déprimée puis
infidèle, tout comme Laure. Cependant, contrairement à sa compagne de
vacances, elle n’en éprouve aucune honte. Au petit matin, la protagoniste-narratrice comprend que, pour se réaliser en tant qu’individu, elle doit
construire sa vie en toute liberté.
Sur le plan narratif, la narration autodiégétique inclusive en « nous »
de l’incipit met d'emblée en place le couple Josée-Pierre dont l'unité est
immédiatement remise en cause par l’apposition du fragment sur Jean, posé
comme l’intrus au sein du couple. Aussi, le changement abrupt en narration
simultanée dans le passage de Laure fait éclater le stéréotype de l'épouse
modèle. Dans les deux monologues de Laure, le « je » référant à Laure qui
201
miroite le « je » référant à Josée participe à l’analogie entre les deux personnages. Mais surtout, par le truchement du discours transposé à la première
personne, où protagoniste et instance narrative se fondent, la subjectivité de
Josée imprègne toutes les caractérisations, les teintant par son omniprésence.
En effet, si la caractérisation opère un tant soit peu au niveau du discours rapporté des personnages et du discours narrativisé, elle se fait principalement
par le biais du discours transposé qui établit, avec dérision, le portrait de
Josée et des autres et met en place l’univers dans lequel ils vivent.
Dis-moi que je vis, le soliloque introspectif d’un personnage témoin et
narrateur
En définitive, dans Dis-moi que je vis, les personnages et l’univers créés
s’élaborent principalement par le truchement du discours transposé à la première personne qui prédomine et qui permet d’appréhender, d’une part, le
cheminement psychologique de la protagoniste; et d’autre part, les souvenirs
(événements ou pensées du passé) et les pensées présentes narrés par l’instance narrative. Ainsi peut-on dire que, dans une certaine mesure, Dis-moi que
je vis est un Bildungsroman, un roman dans lequel se dessine le développement psychologique de la protagoniste. Mais, le récit est, par-dessus tout, le
soliloque introspectif de Josée, à la fois personnage-témoin lucide en pleine
évolution et personnage-narrateur ultra-lucide en plein questionnement, qui
s’autocritique, qui dénigre le milieu bourgeois et hypocrite de l’après-guerre
à Montréal, et qui dénonce les stéréotypes sociaux en rigueur représentés par
Louise, Pierre, Jean et Laure.
En appliquant le modèle sémantico-narratologique proposé, on a mis en
évidence les caractéristiques sémantiques et narratives du récit qui concourent à la construction de l’univers et des personnages de Dis-moi que je vis.
De la sorte, on a été en mesure de clarifier pourquoi les autres analystes ont
estimé que Josée est un personnage soit lucide, soit ultra-lucide. On a aussi
pu mieux appréhender l’univers et les personnages en établissant ce qui, au
niveau des discours, relevait de l’instance narrative, de la protagoniste, ou
d’un autre personnage. Ce faisant, on a prouvé qu’il est possible de faire
l’étude des personnages d’un roman dit « psychologique » dans le cadre de la
narratologie de Genette.
Notes
1.
2.
3.
202
Dorénavant, seule la pagination sera indiquée, entre parenthèses, dans les
références à Dis-moi que je vis.
Entendu dans le sens défini par Frances Fortier & Julie Grasse : « le soliloque
suscite bien souvent des interpellations directes où le je s'adresse explicitement
à un tu, figure inexistante dans le monologue » (243).
Pour une analyse étendue du roman, de son contexte sociologique et de son
importance littéraire, consulter Myreille Pawliez, Une étude sémantico-
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
narratologique de Dis-moi que je vis (1964) et du Portique (1967) de Michèle
Mailhot. Colimaçon et oscillation dans les soliloques de Josée.
Voir « Discours du récit » et Nouveau discours du récit.
Pour une synthèse complète de cette théorie, se référer à Myreille Pawliez,
« Une autre approche à la littérature : pour une utilisation de la théorie
narratologique de Genette ».
Ma propre traduction de : « Structuralists can hardly accommodate character
within their theories, because of their commitments to an ideology which
“decenters” man and runs counter to the notions of individuality and
psychological depth » (30).
Établies pour étudier les contes où les personnages sont très stéréotypés.
Voir « Introduction à l'analyse structurale des récits » (7-57).
Pour une première ébauche, voir Myreille Pawliez, « La caractérisation dans
Béatrice vue d’en bas de Michèle Mailhot ».
Ici, les termes marqueur, désignateur, dénominateur, caractéristique, attribut,
trait, sont interchangeables.
Se rapporter aux travaux de Thomas Docherty, James Phelan et Vincent Jouve
des années 1990.
Terme de Vincent Jouve.
Louise est associée au moins sept fois à la perfection, surtout dans le discours
transposé, mais aussi dans le discours narrativisé (50-53, 74-75, 90-91, 95, 114).
« Laure m'apparut comme une manière de missionnaire qui avait poussé
hardiment jusqu'aux terres inconnues souvent visitées par l'imagination de
chacune » (94).
Voir l'allusion directe à Montréal (74), ainsi que les références à la rue StJacques (49, 133), à la rue Sherbrooke (133) et à la rue Ste-Catherine (133),
toutes situées au centre de Montréal.
Cinéma (40-41), vacances (68, 82, 103-104), sorties au restaurant (116-117).
Baignoire (101), hôtel de Miami (82).
La centrale hydro-électrique Bersimis 1, en chantier depuis 1953, est mise en
service en 1956. Bersimis 2 est mise en chantier en 1956. Jean Provencher
(175, 178).
« Pauvre Pierre » (9).
« ça me fait du chagrin de le savoir trompé » (9), « confiant, donc ignorant de
[la] trahison » (10). « C'est donc ça un mari trompé? » (11).
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Review Essay
Essai critique
Christopher G. Anderson
Review Essay: Immigration, Immigrants,
and the Rights of Canadian Citizens in
Historical Perspective
Bangarth, Stephanie D. Voices Raised in Protest: Defending Citizens
of Japanese Ancestry in North America, 1942–49. Vancouver:
Caccia, Ivana. Managing the Canadian Mosaic in Wartime: Shaping
Citizenship Policy, 1939–1945. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s
Champion, C.P. The Strange Demise of British Canada: The Liberals
and Canadian Nationalism, 1964–68. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s
Iacovetta, Franca. Gatekeepers: Reshaping Immigrant Lives in Cold
War Canada. Toronto: Between the Lines, 2006.
Kaprielian-Churchill, Isabel. Like Our Mountains: A History of
Armenians in Canada. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University
Press, 2005.
Lambertson, Ross. Repression and Resistance: Canadian Human Rights
Activists, 1930–1960. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005.
MacLennan, Christopher. Toward the Charter: Canadians and the
Demand for a National Bill of Rights, 1929–1960. Montreal:
Roy, Patricia E. The Triumph of Citizenship: The Japanese and Chinese
in Canada, 1941–67. Vancouver:
For some time now, concerns have been raised that Canadians—and more
particularly, new Canadians—are losing or have lost sight of the values that
give meaning to being Canadian. For example, Andrew Cohen warns that
with our commitment to diversity “we risk losing our centre of gravity and
our fragile sense of place as Canadians” (163). Jack Granatstein claims that
because they do not have a proper understanding of the past, Canadians are
unaware of “the common fund of knowledge, traditions, values, and ideas
that help to explain our existence” (165). His call to focus on the responsibilities that bind us together more than the rights said to keep us apart is
shared by Rudyard Griffiths: “The powerful emotion of loyalty—not abstract
ideas about individual freedom or the rights of man—is the terra firma of our
political history” (4).
IJCS / RIÉC
43, 2011
From another perspective, uncertainty over what it means to be Canadian
is understood to stem from the retreat of a collective commitment to the national community channelled through government policies and laws. With
the rise of neoliberalism, Janine Brodie concludes, “citizens are [increasingly] expected to shape themselves into self-sufficient market actors who
provide for their needs and those of their families” (41). Moreover, Sandra
Rollings-Magnusson, Alexandra Dobrowolsky, and Marc Doucet contend
that in a post-September 11 context, core characteristics of Canadian national
identity have been brought into question through “a disturbing number of
illustrations of national security preoccupations severely impinging on freedom and liberty, not only undermining civil liberties but also undercutting
broader citizenship, equality, and human rights” (23). This has affected some,
Sharryn Aiken maintains, more than others: “While the government’s antiterrorism agenda has had a corrosive effect on the rights of everyone living in
Canada, the primary victims have been immigrants, refugees, and citizens of
Arab and Muslim descent” (180).
Although these two perspectives anchor contemporary concerns to different sources, each underscores the need to situate the intersection of rights
and Canadian citizenship in historical perspective. But this is easier said than
done, as Canada possesses a surprisingly thin historiography with respect
to rights and citizenship, especially in the context of Canada as a country
of immigration. This is changing, however, as a number of works have appeared that address these themes—either directly or indirectly—and thereby
allow the outlines of a fuller account to be drawn. Indeed, the eight texts
examined in this review provide evidence of underappreciated depths and
dimensions to debates over what it means to be Canadian, and what it means
to pursue liberal-democratic citizenship amid ethnic diversity. Although this
review seeks to indicate the full scope of each work, its main objective is to
situate them within this broader narrative, which necessitates first broaching
the subject of Canada’s British liberal heritage.
The importance of appreciating the enduring Britishness of Canada is
the focus of C. P. Champion’s The Strange Demise of British Canada. “[T]he
British tradition is not something foreign,” he insists, “it is a constitutive part
of Canadian identity” (226). In analyzing the efforts of the governments of
Lester B. Pearson to recast the country’s self-understanding by sidelining traditional “British” symbols and promoting new “Canadian” ones in the 1960s
(as seen, for example, in the displacement of the Red Ensign for the Maple
Leaf flag), Champion joins authors such as Phillip Buckner, who challenge
the well-worn interpretation that this was all part of a transformation from
“colony to nation.” Champion shows how the institutionalization of these new
forms of Canadian nationalism are better viewed as complex continuations
from, rather than simple rejections of, British traditions: “decision-makers did
not seek to betray or abandon their British heritage so much as to assign to it
208
Review Essay: Immigration, Immigrants, and the Rights of
Canadian Citizens in Historical Perspective
a new and less dominant role in national life” (13). He draws on a wealth of
published and unpublished records to delineate how Pearson, his supporters,
and his opponents understood and reflected being British/Canadian. As he
traces the influence of religion, war, and schooling on the development of
their British/Canadian identities, and explores how these arose with respect
to the flag debate and policies aimed at “Canadianizing” the military, he
underlines the persistent centrality of core dimensions of the country’s British
liberal heritage, including “the long tradition of freedom and dignity of the
individual,” among other basic liberties (80, quoting Frank Underhill).
However, in consciously recounting this history from the perspective of
those who sought and failed to preserve a more prominent place for British
markers in Canadian civic and political life, he adopts the polemicist’s habit
of overemphasizing the faults of those he opposes (like Pearson) and the
strengths of those he supports. For example, in a very informative chapter on
how Conservatives and Liberals courted “the ethnic vote” in the 1950–60s,
Champion writes that the former “made important gestures towards ethnic
representation in high office,” while the latter (and ethnic leaders that supported them) traded in “outright appointment-seeking along ethnic lines”
(150; 153). More fundamentally, this determination to tarnish the “winners”
unfolds within an unresolved tension: if the “new” Canadian symbols constituted an adaptation of “the British spirit in the local context,” and if “the
post-1960s civic identity might in some respects be a fulfillment … of the
British heritage,” (228, emphasis in original; 39) then why speak of its demise, however strange, instead of situating these symbols more firmly within
processes of adaptation and maintenance? Unfortunately, with his sights set
more on problematizing Pearson’s legacy, Champion does not do enough to
place his insights within a larger historical narrative of the transformation of
Britishness in Canada.
The need for such an undertaking is great, however, for as Janet Ajzenstat and others have observed, compared to Britain and the United States,
Canada has a poorly developed understanding of its own British liberal roots.
As a result, scholars—and more generally, Canadian citizens—are left with
an unnecessarily limited understanding of politics both past and present. A
good example concerns the 1885 Chinese Immigration Act, a law that aimed
at preventing Chinese immigration to Canada. While it is rightly and widely
identified as an example of Canadian racism, the fact that strenuous arguments
were made against it at the time in the Senate on British liberal grounds—that
it was regarded as “[s]o utterly inconsistent with the well understood rights
which every human being has when he steps on British soil,” as Senator
Alexander Vidal declared on 13 July 1885—has been completely overlooked.
This sentiment so dominated debates on the question between 1885 and 1887
that government supporters had to engage in procedural trickery to see the
law passed and amended against the will of the majority of senators (see
209
Anderson).1 Without this kind of knowledge, Canadians lack adequate historical benchmarks against which to assess how the intersection of rights,
citizenship, and international migration has evolved over time.2
In the absence of a more general analysis that explores such aspects of
Canadian history, it is necessary to turn to a disparate set of texts that address different dimensions with respect to particular immigrant communities.
As William Janzen has written concerning the Doukhobors, Hutterites, and
Mennonites, this allows for greater appreciation of how the presence of such
groups has “forced the Canadian political system to address the subject of
the limits of liberty in ways that are important … for what they reveal about
that system” and, by extension, what it means to be Canadian (4). Such insights are abundant in Isabel Kaprielian-Churchill’s monumental Like Our
Mountains. In the context of the discrimination and persecution faced by
Armenians during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century within the
Ottoman Empire, and the genocide of an estimated 1.5 million Armenians
(out of a population of 2–2.5 million) between 1915 and 1923, KaprielianChurchill provides a definitive history and analysis of the cultural, economic,
political, and social maintenance and adaptation of the Armenian community within Canada over the course of more than a century. In the process,
she contributes to the development of a fuller understanding of the nature of
rights in Canada.
During the first half of the twentieth century, Canadian officials generally considered Armenians as “Asians,” and therefore subject to the extensive
restrictions put in place to prevent, for example, East Indian immigration.
Armenian arrivals were therefore few in number, even after the genocide
began. Isolated from their homeland, Armenians often lived economically
precarious lives within tight-knit communities defined by a willingness to
provide mutual aid and an approach to politics that was split between regulating their own within Canada and maintaining connections with, and seeking
to assist, Armenians abroad. “When Armenians came to Canada,” KaprielianChurchill writes, “they carried with them centuries of experience of being a
minority and well-honed traditions and techniques of ethnonational survival”
(xxiii). They also adapted to their new surroundings as they “experienced
freedom and began to understand the meaning of equality” (99). This history,
then, provides an important reminder that all immigrant groups (including,
as Champion argues, the British) have undergone processes—incremental,
intermittent, and uneven—of identity adaptation and maintenance. In this
light, the history of Armenians in Canada reinforces a frequently overlooked
fact: that citizenship has never been about the wholesale adoption of a clearly
defined Canadian identity but instead constitutes “a mid-point in the integration process, not … the end-point” (Kymlicka 199).
210
These processes, moreover, worked both ways, as the majority population’s national identity received more precise articulation even as it developed
through its own (limited) interaction with the Armenian experience. This can
be seen in the response of Canadian citizens to the genocide, which entailed
a considerable mobilization of funds for survivors (one appeal received over
$300,000), pressure on the government to resettle orphans, and support for
political autonomy for Armenian territories in Europe after the First World
War. Such humanitarian work was most prominently channelled through the
Armenian Relief Association of Canada, the “first public interdenominational, interethnic nongovernmental organization … to assist refugees abroad
and to help them to migrate to Canada” (Kaprielian-Churchill 145). However, as the need for assistance grew so did the forms of restriction pursued
by officials. This provides insight into the meaning of the rights extending
from British liberalism. These have evolved considerably over time and have
been, to no small degree, the product of an engagement with ethnic diversity,
although not always in ways that reflect well on Canada. Thus, KaprielianChurchill concludes that in its dealing with Armenians during the first half
of the twentieth century, “the Canadian government rejected the principle of
individual rights and freedoms, specifically the individual’s right to safety
and security” (156).
Canada’s restrictive response to the plight of those fleeing the Armenian
genocide was soon repeated in the case of Jewish refugees in the 1930–40s,
documented in Irving Abella and Harold Troper’s landmark study None Is
Too Many. However, as early as the 1920s a political debate over what it
meant to be a British liberal country (which had receded soon after the passage of the 1885 Chinese Immigration Act) was revived. Although this occurred in response to restrictive legislation against British immigrant workers
after the 1919 Winnipeg General Strike, it had expanded into a discussion
over the rights of Canadians and non-Canadians in Canada by the time of
the Great Depression. It would eventually be transformed into a debate over
the meaning and protection of human rights, one that continues to inform
being Canadian to this day. This shift—long overlooked in the historiography
on rights in Canada, which has centred on the 1982 Charter of Rights and
Freedoms—is now well documented in Christopher MacLennan’s Toward
the Charter and Ross Lambertson’s Repression and Resistance.
MacLennan recounts the emergence and expansion of demands for a
written bill of rights in Canada between 1929 and 1960. The roots of this
movement are found in domestic reactions to government actions that undermined or denied rights and freedoms based in British liberalism that extended
as far back as the Magna Carta of 1215. These infringements, he shows, “had
a catalytic effect on the agitation for civil liberties protection in Canada”
(14). Thus, in response to restrictions on freedoms of assembly, association,
free speech, and the press with respect to communist and socialist organiza-
211
tions, and limited due process protections for immigrants facing deportation
during the Great Depression, calls were made for a written bill of rights
as early as the 1930s. Although inhibited by internal disputes between and
within groups, and a perception that it was being fostered by leftist radicals,
the movement grew during the war years as “Depression-era civil libertarians launched a vigorous campaign against the government’s abrogation of
freedom of speech, habeas corpus, and freedom of the press and its use of
arbitrary detention” (20). With the postwar arrests, detentions, and trials that
followed revelations of a Soviet spy ring in Canada, MacLennan writes, “[t]
he suggestion that Canada needed a national bill of rights now [became] a
political demand rather than an intellectual argument” (44).
Although many of the rights issues covered by MacLennan have been
studied before (for example, Quebec’s Padlock Law and the wartime Defence
of Canada Regulations), he establishes new linkages between them by tracing
the organizational and political response of advocates for a written bill of
rights. Another marked contribution lies in his exploration of the role played
by bureaucrats, especially within the Department of Justice, in convincing
the government that such a bill of rights would encroach upon provincial
jurisdiction and contravene the British tradition of parliamentary supremacy,
arguing that the latter already provided effective rights protection. Canada
nonetheless found itself in an increasingly uneasy position at the end of the
Second World War, MacLennan shows, as it “attempted to reconcile its public support for the UN’s efforts to promote international human rights with a
rather determined policy to avoid any commitment to their protection” (61).
This aspect could have received more attention in the text, for although Canada was clearly a “reluctant liberal” (Nolan; also see Schabas) when the 1946
Universal Declaration of Human Rights was created, its effects on both state
and non-state actors in Canada (as well as the effects of other international
human rights instruments) remains poorly understood. MacLennan’s narrative ends with John G. Diefenbaker’s 1960 Bill of Rights, which the prime
minister—in vain, as it turned out—hoped “would guarantee the equality of
all Canadians and thus … create the necessary conditions for the country to
become unified as ‘one Canada, One Nation’” (122).
A perfect companion to MacLennan is Lambertson’s study of human
rights activism in Canada, covering the same period and basic issues (i.e.,
from the Padlock Law to the Bill of Rights) but in greater detail and with
more of a grassroots perspective on the formation of human rights policy
communities. His analysis cuts impressively deep and wide into the archival
record to explore the impact of such activism on state policy. It is essential
reading for anyone interested in the history of rights in Canada. Lambertson
finds that “activists were on the whole moderately successful” in achieving
their rights-based goals, but that contextual factors such as “a favourable
ideological climate, which in turn was based upon a number of other factors,
212
especially at the economic level,” (379; 380) were key. He also underscores
“the power of even apparently unsuccessful political struggles” when they
are made part of “our collective memory” (379). The effectiveness of human
rights work, therefore, should not simply be viewed in terms of “winners”
and “losers” but also in terms of how it both reflects and informs the values
understood to define Canadian identity.
Lambertson adds important dimensions to understanding the relationship between rights and citizenship through the prism of ethnic diversity,
especially in his consideration of the contributions of Jewish organizations
to the development of a legislative framework for rights protection. “The
modern regime of human rights in Canada,” he states, “has its roots in these
early statutes” (241). Although others are now expanding on this history (for
example, see Patrias; Walker), Lambertson provides the most extensive analysis of the advocacy strategies and coalition-building involved. As Jewish
organizations came to realize at the end of the war that “the courts were
unwilling to expand existing laws so as to provide new forms of protection
against racial and religious discrimination,” more effort was made to secure
legislation to overcome discrimination in the workplace and the property
market, for example (206). In the process, the Canadian Jewish Congress
in particular nurtured coalitions with civil liberties associations, religious
organizations, labour unions, and others, and also lent support to minority
groups facing discrimination. Lambertson devotes a chapter to the Dresden,
Ontario case, where Blacks were routinely refused service at some restaurants and barbershops, and attendance at some churches. In detailing such
human rights legislation campaigns, Lambertson concludes that “[m]uch of
the impact of these organizations came from reasoned argument and moral
suasion, rather than from brute political power” (381). This influenced the
development of Canada’s postwar identity by forcing majority populations,
and more particularly governments, to confront rights-based issues that had
long been kept out of the political realm, which produced a wider discussion
concerning the intersection between rights and citizenship than might have
occurred otherwise.
Alongside Jewish organizations, another major factor in the evolution of
rights in Canada at the end of the war stemmed from government efforts to
remove Japanese Canadians (including the Canadian-born) to Japan. The displacement, internment, and attempted “repatriation” of Japanese Canadians
have been addressed in such texts as Ken Adachi’s classic, The Enemy That
Never Was. However, the rights-based dimensions of these events receive
more focused attention in two recent works: Stephanie Bangarth’s Voices
Raised in Protest, which compares American and Canadian wartime policies
toward the Japanese with an emphasis on the role of civil society actors, and
Patricia E. Roy’s The Triumph of Citizenship, which completes her trilogy
213
on the politics and public opinion of Chinese and Japanese immigration to
Canada since the late 1850s.3
Although “almost no Canadians publicly opposed the wartime relocation
and forcible removal of the Japanese Canadians from the west coast,” Bangarth observes that with government “repatriation” plans, opponents quickly
“recognized the threat to civil liberties posed by any deportation of Canadian
citizens” (34; 47). In response, a broad range of actors—including civil liberties groups, religious organizations, academics, politicians, and media commentators, as well as Japanese Canadians themselves, among others—sought
to coordinate their opposition. This created new links between minority
groups, as “African American and Jewish groups … came to recognize that
the struggles of the Japanese resembled their own” (114). A great strength
of Bangarth’s work is her focus on civil society actors, especially Japanese
Canadians, and how they engaged with one another and the state. Indeed,
she suggests that the community was farther ahead than others in terms of
“articulating their rights. They were responsible for revealing the link between discriminatory policies directed at them specifically and the problem
of racial prejudice in general” (146). Through her comparative focus on the
United States, Bangarth also explores possible effects of the lack of a written
bill of rights; it likely left the community open to a wider range of rights
infringements due to the authority vested in parliamentary supremacy, but it
may also have produced more extensive coalition-building since resistance
required a broader range of political tactics, a process that carried on into the
postwar period.
The Canadian government’s “repatriation” policy eventually went before
the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in London, which confirmed the
state’s authority to deport Canadian-born citizens. In the process, Bangarth
writes, Japanese Canadians and their supporters came to understand “that the
courts were concerned only with the legality of the orders, not with the moral
justice or injustice of the policy” (179). In the long term, the government’s
formal apology and offer of redress to Japanese Canadians in 1988 suggest
that the activists and their supporters possessed a better understanding of
Canadian values at the end of the war than did those in power. And as Bangarth observes, the fact that “there were public debates and individuals who
were appalled at the policies … weakens the excuse” that times were different or that choices were made in the absence of clear ethical alternatives (6).
In providing such historical perspective, her work raises challenging questions of how future generations will interpret the ways Canadians today are
developing the relationship between legality and moral justice in responding
to such issues as the recent arrival of Tamil asylum-seekers in boats off the
coast of British Columbia in 2009 and 2010.
214
At the end of the Second World War, the “repatriation” issue renewed the
civil liberties movement. Indeed, as Roy observes, “the revulsion of many
Canadians to forcing Canadian citizens of Japanese ancestry to go to Japan
after the war stimulated interest in human rights and the value and rights
of Canadian citizenship” (7). It did not lead, however, to an all-out commitment to equality. In keeping with the high standards set in her previous
two volumes, Roy provides a detailed analysis of government policy and
public opinion with respect to Chinese and Japanese migration to Canada
from 1942 to 1967. With her broader focus, she is able to carry the effects of
the “repatriation” issue further forward into the postwar evolution of Canadian citizenship. As she demonstrates, it ensured that debate over Canadian
identity would not simply revolve around such symbolic measures as a new
flag or passport but would address more substantive concerns like equality
and due process in the context of being Canadian.
In some ways, relatively rapid progress was made after the war. Antagonism toward Chinese Canadians, for example, had diminished considerably,
especially as attention became focused on the Japanese. Chinese associations,
including Chinese Canadian war veterans, worked with various groups to
secure their franchise rights. The resonance of their message was underscored
by the passage of the 1946 Canadian Citizenship Act: “Every Canadian citizen
should, by virtue of that citizenship, have the right to vote,” one Vancouver
newspaper opined (quoted in Roy 173). The Chinese and East Indians were
enfranchised in British Columbia in 1947 (which eliminated a raft of discriminatory provisions based upon the provincial voters’ list, including being
left off the federal list), but restrictions remained at the municipal level until
1948, and the Japanese had to wait until 1949. Such progress with respect to
citizens was not matched, however, with openness to increased immigration.
Thus, while the 1923 Chinese Immigration Act, which had essentially reduced Chinese immigration to zero, was soon repealed, “Asian” immigration
continued to be restricted. It was not until the 1960s that steps were taken
to reduce official discrimination in Canadian immigration policy. Although
some resistance was societal, Roy shows that it was prominent at the bureaucratic level: “Officials in the immigration department did not share the same
liberal ideas” that politicians were increasingly coming to adopt (292).
The commitment to an equal and inclusive citizenship therefore took
some time to develop and required changes from both majority and minority
populations. However, as Roy observes, “Caucasians only had to set aside
their prejudices; [other immigrant groups] had to be good citizens and had
to campaign actively to secure the rights due to them as Canadian citizens”
(305). While the works reviewed above reveal much about the latter processes, considerable light is shed on the outlooks of majority Canadians during and after the war in Ivana Caccia’s Managing the Canadian Mosaic in
Wartime and Franca Iacovetta’s Gatekeepers.
215
When ethnic diversity in Canada during the war is considered at all, the
focus tends to be on presumed national security issues such as the Japanese
Canadian “repatriation” policy or the internment of Italian Canadians. An
important development has thereby been overlooked, in which decisionmakers sought to provide a new foundation for Canadian identity that took
into account its ethnic diversity. As Caccia observes, a concern over “foreigners” (then the favoured term for non-British immigrants) “triggered in some
native-born Canadians a strong sense of moral duty to protect and preserve
the values of the British tradition and its particular liberal way of life, a duty
they took as a civic responsibility” (19). With the onset of the war, officials
recognized the need to address immigrant communities specifically to mobilize support, creating the Committee on Cooperation in Canadian Citizenship
and the Nationalities Branch of the Department of National War Services.4
In tracing the histories of these agencies and providing intellectual studies of
some of the main actors, Caccia reveals that national integration (and not just
national security) was a prominent concern among decision-makers, and that
many of the ideas debated continue to shape the politics of multiculturalism
in Canada.
Although academics and bureaucrats involved in these agencies often
disagreed over how to promote greater integration, Caccia shows, their policy
preferences generally exhibited a common tension, as “[s]tereotyping, paternalism, and assertions of unqualified Anglo-Saxon and Protestant superiority
over the continental Europeans competed with a liberal, universal principle
that valued individual personality over the cohesiveness of a particular cultural group” (210). Although internal disagreements and weak political support undermined their work, it nonetheless shaped the future management of
ethnic diversity. For example, in response to the paternalistic approach taken
by officials, a number of groups felt compelled “to speak publicly on their
own behalf about issues that concerned both their communities in Canada
and their homelands” (159). Such mobilization was supported by government
efforts to promote the recognition of the wartime participation of “foreigners” at home and in the armed forces abroad. It was also facilitated as ideas
about the immutable and hierarchical nature of culture and race were increasingly challenged, especially in light of the discrimination inherent in Nazism.
As a result, “[t]he identification of their various cultural characteristics as
‘foreign’ or ‘strange’ gradually lost, in the political discourse, the demeaning
connotation of ‘otherness,’ along with its consequence of inevitable social
exclusion” (211).
Indeed, as the war ended, Caccia finds that “[a]n optimistic and idealist view of an all-inclusive Canadian citizenship [appeared] as a potentially
essential trait of ‘Canadianism’” (212). This gained traction with the onset
of the Cold War, as the integration of ethnic and immigrant communities
was seen as essential in both the fight against communism and the reception
216
of some two million immigrants (mostly European) by the early 1960s. As
Iacovetta rightly states, this immigration and Canada’s response to it fundamentally altered the nature of being Canadian, as “Canadians from different
social and political backgrounds contemplated the meanings of family, morality, citizenship, and democracy” (11). Although political dimensions of this
Cold War story have been examined before (for example, in Reg Whitaker’s
Double Standard), Iacovetta explores how efforts at moral and social regulation fed into the political integration and identity formation of Canadians
during this period. She analyzes how various gatekeepers—bureaucrats,
journalists, social workers, health officials, and ethnic organizations, among
others—engaged with newcomers, promoting “conventional ideals of proper
gender roles, the family, and sexual behaviour [to] cultivate good citizens
who would be as cognizant of their civic duties to the state and wider society
as of their individual rights and social entitlements” (50).
While Canada’s postwar citizenship model reflected British liberal
ideals, for immigrants in particular, it was also founded on more coercive
ideas of conformity and loyalty. Iacovetta’s work is remarkable for its continual assessment of the power relations navigated between gatekeepers and
newcomers, keeping the agency of immigrants firmly in view. For example,
in a fascinating exploration of how experts sought to promote integration into
“Canadian” consumer, gender, and nutritional norms by altering immigrant
food practices, she shows how immigrant women “generally responded in
selective and pragmatic ways to Canadian health experts and to homemaking
campaigns, even if they could not entirely control the terms of these encounters” (150–51). Iacovetta also reveals how gatekeepers often focused more
on the loyalty of immigrants than their rights, and “willingly intruded into
people’s lives and regulated or punished those who transgressed dominant
norms” (290). It is an approach, she suggests, that has reappeared in Canada
since 2001 through “the equating of certain family values and uncritical acceptance of the national security state with respectability, loyalty, and democracy” (292).
As with the texts reviewed above, Iacovetta’s work provides numerous
opportunities for thinking through the intersections of rights and citizenship
at the outset of the twenty-first century (especially in the context of Canada
as a country of immigration) by subjecting the past to critical analysis. In
doing so, support can be found from all of the authors for the main claim of
those cited at the outset—that to understand what it means to be Canadian
today it is necessary to develop a fuller appreciation of the past. They also
confirm that the importance of the rights anchored in British liberal traditions
cannot be underestimated, as they underpin the rule of law and parliamentary
government in Canada, which in turn provide the foundations for legal and
political citizenship. As stated in the government’s new citizenship guide,
Discover Canada, they “reflect our shared traditions, identity and values”
217
(Citizenship and Immigration Canada 8). However, they do so in complex
and unsettled ways. In this context, defining Canadian citizenship in terms of
“the immutable beliefs about the nature and purpose of Canadian society that
our forebears fought to establish over generations” is extremely problematic
(Griffiths 96). The evidence provided in the works reviewed here shows how
such beliefs have evolved significantly over time, often in response to the
activism of ethnic/immigrant Canadians and their supporters. Loyalty to a
partial and reified past would seem, then, to offer fewer possibilities for a
better understanding of being Canadian in the here and now than an appreciation of how all Canadians, in their engagement with one another and with
non-Canadians, continue to refine and redefine the rights and responsibilities
that mark Canadian citizenship. These works, individually and collectively,
shed much-needed light on this process.
Acknowledgements: The author would like to thank the Faculty of Arts
at Wilfrid Laurier University and Sheelah Stratton for their financial and
editorial assistance, respectively."
Notes
1.
Those who opposed the law frequently held racist views of Chinese immigrants
as well but a commitment to core British liberal values enabled them to
consider a broader range of policy options.
2. For example, when the government issued a formal apology to the Chinese
community in 2006 for Canada’s past discriminatory actions, Prime Minister
Stephen Harper stated that such measures were, although legal at the time,
“inconsistent with the values that Canadians hold today” (Office of the Prime
Minister). They were also, however, inconsistent with values that Canadians
held in the 1880s. In producing such a sharp dichotomy between then and now,
this interpretation not only presents an inaccurate understanding of the past but
it also suggests that discriminatory values no longer feature in contemporary
Canadian civic and political life.
3. Both MacLennan and Lambertson address the importance of the government’s
“repatriation” policy as well. The previous two volumes in Roy’s trilogy are
A White Man’s Province, covering 1858–1914, and The Oriental Question,
which takes the analysis to 1941.
4. “The branch was the first government office to be devoted exclusively
to relations with the country’s culturally diverse communities, originally
conceived … to provide administrative support” to the committee (Caccia 116).
218
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Canadian Historical Review 87.2 (2006): 265–92.
Rollings-Magnusson, Sandra, Alexandra Dobrowolsky, and Marc G. Doucet.
“Security, Insecurity, and Human Rights: Contextualizing Post-9/11.” AntiTerrorism: Security and Insecurity After 9/11. Ed. S. Rollings-Magnusson.
Black Point, NS: Fernwood Publishing, 2009. 13–31.
Schabas, William A. “Canada and the Adoption of the Universal Declaration of
Human Rights.” McGill Law Journal 43.2 (1998): 403–41.
Walker, James W. St. G. “The ‘Jewish Phase’ in the Movement for Racial Equality
in Canada.” Canadian Ethnic Studies 34.1 (2002): 1–29.
219
Authors / Auteurs
Christopher G. ANDERSON, Ph.D., Assistant Professor, Faculty of Arts,
Wilfrid Laurier University, 75 University Avenue West, Waterloo,
Ontario, N2L 3C5, Canada.
Nielan BARNES, Assistant Professor, Department of Sociology, California
State University, Long Beach, PSY, Room 141, 1250 Bellflower Blvd,
Long Beach, CA 90840 USA.
Donica BELISLE, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of Women's and Gender
Studies at Athabasca University, 1 University Drive, Athabasca,
Alberta, T9S 3A3, Canada, [email protected].
Angela BUONO, Assistante de Recherche, Università di Napoli
« L'Orientale » - Dipartimento di Studi Americani, Culturali e
Linguistici, Largo San Giovanni Maggiore, 30 - 80134 Napoli, Italia.
Evelyn P. MAYER, Ph.D. Candidate, FTSK Germersheim / Johannes
Gutenberg University Mainz, Postfach 11 50, 76711 Germersheim,
Germany.
Lisa MCDERMOTT, Ph.D., Associate Professor, Faculty of Physical
Education and Recreation, University of Alberta, P412 Pavillion,
Edmonton, Alberta, T6G 2H9, Canada.
Myreille PAWLIEZ, Senior Lecturer in French, School of Languages
and Cultures, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, Victoria
University of Wellington, P.O. Box 600, Wellington 6140, New
Zealand, [email protected].
Muriel SACCO, doctorante au GERME et au CENA de l’Université Libre
de Bruxelles, Institut de sociologie (CP 124) Avenue Jeanne, n° 44,
1050 Bruxelles, Belgique.
Jay SCHERER, Ph.D, Associate Professor, University of Alberta, Physical
Education & Recreation Faculty, E4-25 Van Vliet Centre, Edmonton,
Alberta, T6G 2H9, Canada.
Meena SHARIFY-FUNK, Ph.D., Associate Professor, Religion and Culture
Department, Wilfrid Laurier University, 75 University Avenue West,
Waterloo, Ontario, N2L 3C5, Canada.
Katrin URSCHEL, Ph.D, sessional instructor, Department of English,
National University of Ireland, Galway, University Road, Galway,
Ireland.
221
INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF CANADIAN STUDIES
Call for papers
The International Journal of Canadian Studies no longer produces calls for
papers. It will instead publish a list of up-coming themes and invite potential
contributors to submit their texts to a particular thematic issue.
Recent and Upcoming Issues:
2010
2011
2012
41
Representations of First Nations and Métis / Les représentations des Premières nations et des Métis
42
Canadian Issues : childhoods, states, nationalisms / Enjeux canadiens : enfances, États,
nationalismes (2010)
43
Miscellaneous:International Persepectives on Canada/En vrac : perspectives internationales sur
le Canada
44
Americanity, Continentalism and Globalisation / Américanité, continentalité et mondialisation
45
Interculturality, Cultures and Strategies/Interculturalité, cultures et stratégies
46
Ageing Societies/Le vieillissement des sociétés
Readers will find the necessary details to submit a paper in the next section
herein entitled “Information and Guidelines for Contributors.”
Please forward paper and abstract (one hundred words) to the IJCS at the
following address: 250 City Centre, S-303, Ottawa, Ontario KlR 6K7.
Fax: (613) 789-7830; e-mail: [email protected].
REVUE INTERNATIONALE D’ÉTUDES CANADIENNES
Soumission d’articles
La Revue internationale d’études canadiennes n’émet plus de demande de
soumission de texte. Elle publie au lieu la liste des numéros à venir et invite
les intéressés à lui faire parvenir un texte portant sur les thèmes retenus.
Numéros récents et à venir :
2010
2011
2012
41
Les représentations des Premières nations et des Métis / Representations of First Nations and Métis
42
Enjeux canadiens : enfances, États, nationalismes / Canadian Issues : childhoods, states,
nationalisms
43
En vrac : perspectives internationales sur le Canada / Miscellaneous:International Persepectives
on Canada
44
Américanité, continentalité et mondialisation / Americanity, Continentalism and Globalisation
45
Interculturalité, cultures et stratégies / Interculturality, Cultures and Strategies
46
Le vieillissement des sociétés / Ageing Societies
La section qui suit, intitulée « Renseignements et directives aux auteurs »,
donne l’information nécessaire à la soumission d’un texte.
S.V.P. faire parvenir votre texte et un résumé (100 mots maximum) au Secrétariat de la RIÉC : 250, City Centre, bureau 303, Ottawa, Canada K1R 6K7.
Téléc. : (613) 789-7830 ; courriel : [email protected].
Call for Open Topic Articles
The Editorial Board welcomes manuscripts on any topic in the study of Canada. All submissions must undergo peer review. Final decisions regarding
publication are made by the Editorial Board. Often, accepted articles need
to undergo some revision. The IJCS undertakes that upon receiving a satisfactorily revised version of a submission that it has accepted for publication, it will make every effort to ensure that the article appears in the next
regular issue of the Journal.
Please forward paper and abstract (one hundred words) to the IJCS secretariat at the following address: 250 City Centre, S-303, Ottawa, Ontario
K1R 6K7. Fax: (613) 789-7830; e-mail: [email protected].
REVUE INTERNATIONALE D’ÉTUDES CANADIENNES
Soumission d’articles
Le Comité de rédaction examine toute soumission qui porte sur un sujet
relié aux études canadiennes indépendamment du thème général du numéro.
Bien entendu, comme toute soumission, celle-ci fera l’objet d’une évaluation par pairs. La décision finale concernant la publication d’un texte est
rendue par le Comité de rédaction. Une décision d’accepter de publier un
texte est souvent accompagnée d’une demande de révision. Une fois qu’elle
aura reçu une version révisée qu’elle jugera acceptable, la Revue essaiera,
dans la mesure du possible, d’inclure cet article dans le numéro suivant la
date d’acceptation finale.
S.V.P. faire parvenir votre texte et un résumé (100 mots maximum) au Secrétariat de la RIÉC : 250, City Centre, bureau 303, Ottawa, Canada K1R 6K7.
Téléc. : (613) 789-7830 ; courriel : [email protected].
Information and Guidelines for Contributors
General Information
The International Journal of Canadian Studies is a multidisciplinary scholarly
journal published by the International Council for Canadian Studies. The Council is comprised of twenty-one national and multi-national Canadian Studies
associations and six associate members in thirty-nine countries.
Readers of the Journal are scholars from various disciplines who teach and conduct research in the field of Canadian Studies, within Canada as well as outside
the country. Accordingly, contributors should take into account the multidisciplinary, international character of the Journal’s readership.
The Editorial Board will only publish articles making an original contribution
to the subject and will give preference to articles dealing with broad issues, or
interpretive essays using comparative methods or multi/interdisciplinary perspectives. Studies addressing topics that are more limited in scope should be
submitted to specialized journals.
The Journal publishes articles in English and French. Papers must normally
be submitted in one of the two official languages. Papers submitted in other
languages may be considered under exceptional circumstances and, if accepted
for publication, will be translated into one of the official languages. All articles
are assessed by independent experts. Reviewers will be advised when the first
language of a contributor is neither French nor English. If the paper is deemed
publishable, the IJCS will arrange for additional, reasonable copyediting.
The authors of articles and research notes must prepare abstracts, which will
be published in English and French. The secretariat will arrange for translation,
unless the author can submit an abstract in both languages.
Articles and Research Notes
The journal publishes articles (minimum 20 pages, maximum 30 pages) and
research notes (10-15 pages).
Articles may include supporting maps, plans, graphs, photographs and other
illustrative material. When submitting an article for assessment, photocopies of
such material will be sufficient. Should the article be accepted for publication,
contributors will be requested to submit camera-ready artwork.
Authors are requested to submit one copy of their text by electronic mail, on
a CD or a printed version of their article.
227
Review Essays
The Journal does not publish standard book reviews; instead, it publishes
broad review essays (10-15 pages) dealing with one important work or with
a group of books or other materials related to a specific topic. The emphasis
should be on the scholarly significance and the interpretive dimensions of the
works rather than on a narrow and specialized discussion of details. These
review essays will be particularly useful for international readers and to
those readers whose area of specialisation differs from the books reviewed.
Contributors are asked to propose a topic to the Editorial Board before
submitting a completed essay for consideration.
Some Guidelines
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Texts must follow the Modern Language Association (MLA) Style (see
following pages for more information).
Texts must be double-spaced, and in a font no smaller than 12-point and in
Word format or a format compatible with Word (ex. Wordperfect or RTF).
For our double-blind review process, we ask that authors include their
author information on the first page and that the rest of the text be
anonymous.
Notes should be concise, used judiciously, placed at the end of the text but
before the list of Works Cited, and include only necessary supplementary
material.
All titles must be cited in the language of publication.
REFERENCING
MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION (MLA STYLE)
The International Journal of Canadian Studies is grateful to the Academic
Writing Help Centre (AWHC) at the University of Ottawa (www.sass.uOttawa.
ca/writing ) for giving the authorization to use the following.
1. In-Text Citation in MLA Style
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228
Parenthetical references in the body of the paper identify specific sources
that are in the Works Cited list.
Basic parenthetical references use only the author’s surname and the
page numbers that are being referenced: (Gibaldi 142-143).
If the reference entry begins with two or three names, give the surnames
of each person: (Orwell, Green, and Blasky 25).
If there are more than three authors, either use the first author’s last name
followed by “et al.”, or give all the last names: (Johnson et al. 961) or
(Johnson, Brook, Williams, Hoff 961).
If the list contains more than one work by the same author, add the title,
shortened or in full, after the author’s name: (Joyce, Portrait 112).
•
•
If the author’s name appears in your text, you do not need to include it in
the parenthetical reference.
In order to cite a source within a source—that is, a source that is quoted
within another source—cite the text that quotes from another source as
normal, preceded by “qtd. in” in the parentheses. For example, if you refer
to a passage by Smith that you read in an article by Bryce: However, Smith
insists that “only fools would believe such a thing” (qtd. in Bryce 43).
2. List of Works Cited in MLA Style - General Information
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The list is called Works Cited, not References or Bibliography.
The entries are listed in alphabetical order, by the authors’ surnames.
If there is no author, use the title. Alphabetize titles according to the first
word after “a,” “an,” or “the.”
Use the full first name of authors, whenever possible, rather than
initials.
Double-space the entire Works Cited.
Titles of works are all capitalized.
Titles of articles are in quotation marks; titles of books, journals,
websites are italicized.
Hanging indents—the first line of each entry is not indented, but every
line beyond the first of each entry must be indented one-half inch.
Any information that is unavailable can be left out of the entry, but you
must provide as much information as possible to identify the source.
Note
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Quotation marks to close a quote come before the parenthetical
reference. Then, the reference itself comes before the punctuation mark
that concludes the sentence, clause, or phrase that contains the borrowed
material: “Quote” (Author 5).
For quotes of more than 4 lines, indent one inch on the left, double-space,
do not use quotation marks and put necessary reference information
outside the punctuation at the end. For example:
As Klammer and Schulz explain,
The possessive pronouns (traditionally considered to be in the genitive
case) occur in two forms. One set functions as the personal pronouns
do, substituting for a noun phrase; this use is called the nominal (noun
substitute) function. The other form has a determiner function: It precedes and specifies the referent of a noun. We will discuss determiners
more fully in the next chapter. (91)
229
3. List of Works Cited in MLA Style - Basic Referencing Formats
Book
Author. Book Title. Place of publication: Publisher, Year .
Shaw, Harry. Errors in English and Ways to Correct Them. New York:
HarperCollins, 1993.
Book with an editor (usually classical works of literature)
Author. Book Title. Ed. (Editor). Place of publication: Publisher, Year.
Shakespeare, William. All’s Well that Ends Well. Ed. Arthur E. Case. New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1958.
Work in an anthology
Author. “Title.” Anthology Title. Ed. (Editor). Place of publication: Publisher, Year.
Pages.
Poe, Edgar Allen. “The Raven.” The Norton Anthology of American Literature. 6th
edition. Ed. Nina Baym et al. New York: Norton, 2002. 1450-1454.
Article in a periodical
Author. “Article Title.” Periodical Title volume. Issue/number (Year): Pages.
Budd, Louis J. “On to the Centennial.” American Literature 76.4 (2004): 653-63.
Online article in a periodical (from a database)
Author. “Article Title.” Periodical Title volume. Issue/number (Year): Pages (if
available). Database Title. Date of access and <URL>.
Diala, Isidore. “André Brink and Malraux.” Contemporary Literature 47.1
(2006): 91-113. Project Muse. 19 Jul. 2006 <http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/
contemporary_literature/>.
Internet publication (that does not have a paper version)
Author. “Page/Article Title.” Website Title. updated/e-published date. Sponsoring
Organization. Date of access and <URL>.
National Institutes of Health, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
“National Institutes of Health Plan for HIV-Related Research Fiscal Year
2007.” Office of AIDS Research. 20 June 2006. Office of AIDS Research,
National Institutes of Health. 24 Jul. 2006 <http://www.oar.nih.gov/public/
public.htm>.
Webpage/website with no author/editor
“Page title.” Website Title. Year. Sponsoring Organization. Date of access and
<URL>.
230
“Renaissance Art.” Art World.com. 2002. Art World. 15 March 2006 <http://www.
artworld.com/periods/renaissance.html>.
4. Annotated Bibliography
Gibaldi, Joseph. MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers. 6th edition. New
York: Modern Language Association, 2003.
The text on which MLA style is based. It contains information on grammar,
punctuation and capitalization as well as the rules for referencing material in
the body and in the bibliography of a paper.
Modern Language Association. “What is MLA Style?” Modern Language
Association. 2006. Modern Language Association. 4 August 2006 <http://www.
mla.org/style>.
The website of the Modern Language Association. The site provides information about the MLA Handbook. Its “Frequently Asked Questions” section
contains valuable information about MLA referencing style.
Warlick, David. Citation Machine.net. April 2006. The Landmark Project. 24 May
2006 <http://www.citationmachine.net>.
A website for APA or MLA style, which produces an entry for the reference
page when the necessary information is entered. It is generally accurate, but
make sure to check each entry to make sure there are no small errors.
231
Canadian Public Policy is Canada’s foremost journal
examining economic and social policy. The aim of the
journal is to stimulate research and discussion of public
policy problems in Canada. It is directed at a wide
readership including decision makers and advisers in
business organizations and governments, and policy
researchers in private institutions and universities.
Because of the interdisciplinary nature of many public
policy issues, the contents of each volume aim to be
representative of various disciplines involved in public
policy issues.
Visit CPP Online today and sign up to receive
free access to a selection of CPP articles.
www.utpjournals.com/cpp/cpp.html
For more information, please contact
University of Toronto Press - Journal Division
5201 Dufferin Street, Toronto, ON M3H 5T8
Tel: (416)667-7810 Fax: (416)-667-7881
Email: [email protected]
www.utpjournals.com
Renseignements et directives aux auteurs
Renseignements généraux
La Revue internationale d’études canadiennes est une revue savante multidisciplinaire, publiée par le Conseil international d’études canadiennes, un
organisme qui regroupe vingt et une associations nationales et plurinationales
d’études canadiennes et six membres associés dans trente-neuf pays.
Les lecteurs de la revue sont des universitaires de diverses disciplines, faisant
de l’enseignement et de la recherche dans le champ des études canadiennes,
au Canada aussi bien qu’à l’étranger. Les auteurs sont donc invités à tenir
compte de ces caractéristiques internationales et multidisciplinaires de leurs
lecteurs.
Ces caractéristiques du lectorat amènent le Comité de rédaction à privilégier
les études aux perspectives larges, les essais interprétatifs, les études comparatives ou encore les travaux de nature multidisciplinaire ou interdisciplinaire.
Les textes soumis doivent cependant apporter une contribution originale à
l’étude de leur sujet. Il est évident que les auteurs d’articles qui ne s’adressent
qu’à un segment étroit de spécialistes au sein d’une discipline seront mieux
servis en proposant leur texte à des revues qui rejoignent ce type de clientèle.
La revue publie des articles en anglais et en français. Les textes doivent être
soumis dans l’une ou l’autre des langues officielles. Dans des circonstances
exceptionnelles, des soumissions écrites dans une langue autre que le français
ou l’anglais pourront faire l’objet d’une traduction vers l’une des deux langues
officielles du Canada, si ces soumissions sont acceptées pour publication.
Toutes les soumissions sont examinées par des évaluateurs externes. La RIÉC
avertira les évaluateurs du fait que la langue de l’auteur n’est ni l’anglais ni le
français. Si un texte obtient la recommandation d’être publié, la RIÉC fera en
sorte qu’une révision linguistique soit effectuée, dans la mesure du raisonnable.
Les auteurs d’articles et de notes de recherche doivent préparer un résumé
qui sera publié en anglais et en français. Le secrétariat se chargera de la traduction, à moins qu’un auteur soit en mesure de rédiger son résumé dans les
deux langues.
Les articles et les notes de recherche
La revue publie des articles (minimum 20 pages, maximum de 30 pages) et
des notes de recherche (de 10 à 15 pages).
Les textes peuvent être accompagnés de cartes et plans, de graphiques, de
photographies ou d’autres illustrations, si ces documents sont nécessaires à
la démonstration. À l’étape d’évaluation du manuscrit, il suffit d’en fournir
233
des photocopies claires. Si le texte est accepté pour publication, l’auteur devra
fournir des documents prêts à photographier afin de permettre une reproduction
nette.
Les auteurs sont invités à remettre une copie de leur texte de l’une ou l’autre
des trois façons suivantes : sous forme électronique (par courriel), sur CD ou
en version imprimée (une copie).
Essais critiques
La revue ne publie pas de comptes rendus. Elle présente des essais critiques
(de 10 à 15 pages) aux perspectives plus vastes traitant soit d’un ouvrage
important, soit d’un groupe d’ouvrages sur un sujet spécifique. L’accent
devrait être mis sur l’apport scientifique et les dimensions interprétatives des
travaux plutôt que sur une critique spécialisée de questions de détail.
Ces essais critiques seront particulièrement utiles aux lecteurs internationaux
et à ceux dont le champ de spécialisation est différent de celui des livres
examinés. Il est recommandé de soumettre, au Comité de rédaction, une
proposition avant de remettre le texte au complet.
Quelques consignes
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234
Les textes soumis doivent suivre les normes établies par la Modern
Language Association (MLA) (voir pages suivantes pour plus de détails
à ce sujet)
Les textes doivent être tapés à double interligne, en police de 12 points
minimum et en format de traitement de texte Word ou compatible avec ce
format (p. ex. Wordperfect ou RTF).
Afin de préserver l’anonymat des auteurs lors du processus d’évaluation,
nous demandons aux auteurs d’inscrire leurs coordonnées sur la première
page du texte et de s’assurer qu’aucune référence dans le texte ne permettra
de les identifier.
Les notes, s’il y en a, doivent être placées à la fin du texte et avant la
bibliographie; il faudrait éviter de les surcharger d’informations.
Tous les titres doivent être cités dans leur langue de publication.
Dans les textes rédigés en français, ne pas laisser d’espace avant le pointvirgule, le point d’exclamation et le point d’interrogation.
Dans les textes rédigés en français, laisser une espace insécable avant
le deux-points, après le guillemet ouvrant et avant le guillemet fermant.
RÉFÉRENCER
LE STYLE MLA – MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION
La Revue internationale d’études canadiennes tient à remercier le Centre
d’aide à la rédaction des travaux universitaires (CARTU) de l’Université
d’Ottawa (http://www.sass.uottawa.ca/redaction) pour lui avoir donné
l’autorisation de s’inspirer du texte qui suit.
1. Les références dans le texte selon le style MLA
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Placez les références entre parenthèses dans le texte. Celles-ci indiquent
un renvoi à la bibliographie qui se trouve à la fin du travail.
La référence inclut le nom de famille de l’auteur et le(s) numéro(s) de
page(s) que l’on cite : (Gibaldi 142-143).
S’il y a deux ou trois auteurs, indiquez le nom de famille de chacun :
(Orwell, Green, and Blasky 25).
S’il y a plus de trois auteurs, indiquez soit le nom de famille du premier
auteur (selon l’ordre alphabétique) suivi de « et al. », soit chacun des
noms de famille : (Johnson et al. 961) ou (Johnson, Brook, Williams,
Hoff 961).
Si la bibliographie comprend plus d’un livre du même auteur, ajoutez
le titre, en entier ou en version abrégée, à la suite du nom de famille de
l’auteur : (Joyce, Portrait 112).
Si le nom de l’auteur est mentionné dans votre rédaction, il n’est pas
nécessaire de le noter dans la référence.
Afin de citer une source emboîtée, c’est-à-dire une source qui est ellemême citée dans l’ouvrage que vous consultez, référencez la source que
vous avez consultée entre parenthèses, précédée de la mention « citée
par ». Par exemple, si vous vous référez à un passage de Freud que vous
avez lu dans un article de Jung : L’étude de Freud (citée par Jung 56),
dans la liste des références, n’indiquez que la source que vous avez lue.
2. La bibliographie selon le style MLA – Information générale
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Les ouvrages sont énumérés en ordre alphabétique, selon le nom de
famille de l’auteur.
S’il n’y a pas d’auteur, utilisez le titre de l’ouvrage. Placez les ouvrages
en ordre alphabétique en laissant tomber les articles (le, la, les, un, une,
des) en début de titre.
Indiquez le prénom de l’auteur plutôt qu’une initiale, lorsque c’est
possible.
Écrivez la bibliographie à double interligne.
Écrivez le premier mot du titre en lettres majuscules.
Placez les titres d’articles entre guillemets; les titres d’ouvrages, de
périodiques et de sites Web en italiques.
235
•
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Mise en retrait : La première ligne de l’entrée n’est pas mise en retrait,
mais les lignes suivantes de la même entrée sont mises en retrait de 1.3
centimètre (0,5 pouce).
Toute information manquante peut être omise, mais il est important de
fournir autant d’information que possible afin d’identifier la source.
N. B.
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Les guillemets qui marquent la fin de la citation sont généralement
placés avant la référence. Le signe de ponctuation qui termine la phrase
est placé après la référence : « Citation » (Auteur 5).
On met les citations de plus de 4 lignes en retrait de la marge de 2,5
centimètres (1 pouce), à double interligne et sans guillemets. Dans ce
cas-ci, l’information sur la source est placée à la fin de la citation, à
l’extérieur du signe de ponctuation final :
Ainsi, Pierre Bourdieu écrit (1968) :
La familiarité avec l’univers social, constitue pour le sociologue
l’obstacle épistémologique par excellence, parce qu’elle produit continûment des conceptions ou des systématisations fictives, en même
temps que les conditions de leur crédibilité. Le sociologue n’en a
jamais fini avec la sociologie spontanée. (p. 35)
3. Les formats de notices bibliographiques selon le style MLA
Livre
Auteur. Titre du livre. Ville de publication: Maison d’édition, année.
Durkheim, Émile. Le suicide. Paris: PUF, 1983.
Livres avec éditeur (habituellement, des œuvres littéraires classiques)
Auteur. Titre du livre. Éd. (éditeur). Ville de publication: Maison d’édition, année.
La Fayette, Madame de. La Princesse de Clèves. Éd. Jean Mesnard. Paris:
Imprimerie nationale, 1980.
Texte dans une anthologie
Auteur. « Titre. » Titre de l’anthologie. Éd. (Éditeur). Ville de publication: Maison
d’édition, année. Pages.
Nelligan, Émile. « Sérénade Triste. » Anthologie de la poésie québécoise. 6e édition.
Éd. Lucien Dufour. Québec: PUL, 2002. 1450-1454.
236
Article dans un périodique
Auteur. « Titre de l’article. » Titre du périodique volume. numéro de publication
(année): Pages.
Savard, Louis. « Les poésies de la génération X. » Littérature et société 76.4 (2004):
653-63.
Article dans un périodique électronique (d’une base de données)
Auteur. « Titre d’article. » Nom de périodique volume. numéro de publication
(année) : Pages (si disponible). Nom de la base de données. Date de
consultation et <URL>.
Latreille, Claude. « Nelligan et le spleen. » Littératures revisitées 47.1 (2006): 91113. Érudit. Le 19 juillet 2006 <http://erudit.edu/revues/litterature_moderne>.
Publication Internet (qui n’ont pas de version papier)
Auteur. « Nom de l’article/de la page. » Site Internet. Date de publication/de
révision. L’organisme qui subventionne le site. Date de consultation et <URL>.
Santé Canada. « Santé et sécurité au travail. » Santé de l’environnement et du milieu
de travail. Le 20 juin 2004. Santé Canada. Le 24 septembre 2006
<http://www.hc-sc.gc.ca/ewh-semt/occup-travail/index_f.html>.
Page/Site Internet sans auteur/éditeur
« Titre de la page. » Site Internet. Année. L’organisme qui subventionne le site.
Date de consultation et <URL>.
« L’art de la renaissance. » ArteFact.ca. 2002. ArteFact. Le 15 mars 2006
<http://www.artefact.ca/histoire/renaissance>.
Autres types de notices bibliographiques
Il se peut qu’une source dont vous vous servez ne corresponde pas aux
types d’entrées bibliographiques présentées dans le MLA Handbook. Des
informations peuvent être manquantes, ou la source peut être dans un format
inhabituel. Dans une telle situation, on doit donner autant d’information que
possible et tenter de respecter le plus possible le format du style MLA qui
correspond le mieux à la source en question.
4. Bibliographie commentée
Gibaldi, Joseph. MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers. 6e édition.
New York : Modern Language Association, 2003.
En anglais seulement. C’est l’ouvrage de référence en ce qui concerne le style
MLA. Il donne des informations essentielles en ce qui a trait à la grammaire,
à la ponctuation et aux règles de l’utilisation des sources.
237
Modern Language Association. « What is MLA Style? » Modern Language
Association. 2006. Modern Language Association. Le 4 août 2006
<http://www.mla.org/style>.
En anglais seulement. Le site Internet du Modern Language Association.
Ce site offre de l’information au sujet du MLA Handbook. La section
« Frequently Asked Questions » fournit des informations utiles.
238
Canadian Studies Journals Around the World
Revues d’études canadiennes dans le monde
The American Review of Canadian Studies. Quarterly/Trimestriel. $60; $25
(Student/Étudiant; retired membership/membres retraités); $105 (Institutions). Association for Canadian Studies in the United States, 2030 M Street,
NW, Suite 350 Washington, DC 20036 USA. ARCS orders are now handled
through Routledge, c/o Taylor & Francis, Inc. Editor/Rédacteur : John L.
Purdy, Western Washington University.
The Annual Review of Canadian Studies. Yearly/Annuel. Japanese Association for Canadian Studies, Department of Engligh Literature and Languages,
Tsuda College, 2-1-1 Tsuda-machi, Kodaira-shi, Tokyo 187, Japan. Editor/
Rédactrice Masako Iino, Tsuda College.
Australasian Canadian Studies. Biannual/Semestriel. Annual subscriptions
are also available for libraries and other institutions – enquiries to/Abonnements annuels disponibles, prière de contacter : [email protected]. Editor/
Rédactrice : Dr. Robyn Morris, University of Wollongong.
British Journal of Canadian Studies. Biannual/Semestriel. Available through
membership to the British Association for Canadian Studies/Disponible aux
membres de l’Association britannique d’études canadiennes. BACS, Room
SB212, Senate House, Malet Street, London WC1E 7HU. Editor/Rédactrice : Heather Norris-Nicholson, Manchester Metropolitan University.
Interfaces Brazil/Canadá. Biannual/Semestriel. 15$ Cdn. Revista da ABECAN. ABECAN/Associação Brasileira de Estudos Canadenses. Editora da
FURG. Rua Luis Loréa, 261, Centro. Cep: 96200-350 Brazil. www.revistabecan.com.br. Editora: Nubia Jacques Hanciau, Fundação Universidade Federal do Rio Grande, Brasil.
Central European Journal for Canadian Studies. Annual/Annuel. Central
European Association for Canadian Studies. József Attila University, Dept.
of Comparative Literature, Egyetem u.2, H-6722 Szeged, Hungary. Editorin-Chief/Rédactrice en chef: Katalin Kurtösi, University of Szeged.
Études canadiennes/Canadian Studies, revue interdisciplinaire des études
canadiennes en France. Semestriel/Biannual. Membre régulier, France : 55
euros — étranger : 60 euros. Étudiant, France 25 euros — 30 euros. Association
française d’études canadiennes, Bât. de la Maison des sciences de l’homme
d’Aquitaine, Domaine Universitaire, 33607, Pessace, France. Rédacteur en
chef/Editor-in-Chief: Patrice Brasseur, Université d’Avignon.
239
Indian Journal of Canadian Studies. Yearly/Annuel. Indian Association of
Canadian Studie, J 391, New Rajinder Nagar New Delhi 110 060. India.
Editor/Éditeur : R.K. Dhawan, University of Delhi.
The Journal of American and Canadian Studies. Yearly/Annuel. Sophia University, Institute of American and Canadian Studies, 7-1 Kioicho, Chiyoda-ku,
Tokyo 102, Japan. Editor/Rédacteur : Tomoyuki Iino, Sophia University
Journal of Canadian Studies/Revue d’études canadiennes. Three times per
year. $80 (Individual); $60 (Student/Étudiant); 130$ (Institutions). Plus 5%
GST in Canada/TPS de 5 p. 100 en sus au Canada. Outside Canada, payment
is required in American dollars/À l’extérieur du Canada, les frais sont en
dollars américains. Journal of Canadian Studies, Trent University, 1600 West
Bank Drive, Peterborough, Ontario, K9J 7B8. Managing Editor/ Directrice
de la Rédaction : Kerry Cannon
Korean Review of Canadian Studies. Biannual/Semestriel. Articles are published in Korean and English/Publication de langue coréenne et anglaise.
Korean Association for Canadian Studies (KACS), Sookmyung Institute for
Multicultural Studies (SIMS), 415 Queen Sunheon Building, 52 Hyochanwon-gil, Yongsan-gu, Seoul, Korea, 140-742. Editor/Rédacteur : Seokwoo
KIM, University of Seoul.
Québec Studies. Biennial/Bisannuel. Regular Membership : $100.00.
International Regular Membership: $125.00 Student/Unaffiliated Scholar
Membership (in the US): $75.00 International Student/Unaffiliated Scholar
Membership: $100.00. Journal prices are $25.00/issue for US delivery or
$30.00 for international delivery. ACQS Secretariat, 154 College Avenue,
Orono, ME 04473. Editor/Rédactrice : Jane Moss, Duke University.
Revista Mexicana de Estudios Canadienses. Biannual/Semestriel. 70$.
Asociación Mexicana de Estudios Canadienses. Facultad de Estudios Internacionales y Políticas Públicas. Universidad Autónoma de Sinaloa Prol.
Josefa Ortiz de Domínguez s/n, Culiacán, Sin., 80040, Mexico, Director/
Directeur : Jorge Antonio Hernández Velázquez, Instituto Tecnológico
de Estudios Superiores de Occidente.
Revue internationale d’études canadiennes/International Journal of Canadian Studies. Biannual/Semestriel. 65$ (Institutions) ; 40$ (Regular/
régulier); 25$ (ICCS members, retirees and students/Membres du CIEC,
retraités et étudiants). Outside Canada, please add 10$/Abonnés à l’extérieur
du Canada, prière d’ajouter 10$. Plus HST in Canada/TVH en sus au Canada.
IJCS/RIÉC, 250 City Centre, S-303, Ottawa, Ontario K1R 6K7. Rédacteur
en chef/Editor-in-Chief: Claude Couture, University of Alberta.
240
Canadian Studies Journals Around the World
Revues d’études canadiennes dans le monde
Rivista di Studi Canadesi. Annual/Annuel. 30.000 lire ; Foreign/Étranger,
40.000 lire. Rivista di Studi Canadesi, Grafischena, n. 13147723, Viale
Stazione 177-72015 Fasano di Puglia, (Br-Italia). Director/Directeur :
Giovanni Dotoli, Università di Bari.
Zeitschrift für Kanada Studien. Biannual/Semestriel. €14. Augsburg, Germany:
Wißner Verlag. Editors/Rédacteurs : Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh,
Wilfried von Bredow, H. Peter Dörrenbächer.
Journal, Centro Cultural Canadá. C.C. 1122 - 5500, Córdoba, Argentina.
Editora: Elsa Zareceansky
Revista Venezolana de Estudios Canadienses, Embajada de Canada, Torre
Europa, Piso 7. Ave. Francisco de Miranda, Apartado 63.302, Caracas 1060,
Venezuela. Rédactrice/Editor : Vilma Elizabeth Petrash
241
REVUE INTERNATIONALE D’ÉTUDESCANADIENNES
SUBSCRIPTION/ABONNEMENT
Rates per year (for subscriptions in Canada, please add 13 % HST; for subscriptions
outside Canada, please add 10 dollars)/Tarif par année (au Canada, prière d’ajouter
13 p. 100 de TVH; à l’étranger prière d’ajouter 10 dollars :
65$Institutions
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Members of ICCS Associations, retirees or students, include proof/membres
des associations du CIEC, retraités ou étudiants, joindre une preuve
Please indicate year of subscription/Veuillez indiquer l’année d’abonnement désirée :
❑ 2009 N°39-40 Culture / Natures in Canada / Culture / natures au Canada
❑ 2010 N°41
Representations of First Nations and Metis /
Les représentations des Premières nations et des Métis
N°42
Canadian Issues: childhoods, states, nationalisms /
Enjeux canadiens : enfances, États, nationalismes
❑ 2011 No 43
Miscellaneous: International Perspectives on Canada /
En vrac : perspectives internationales sur le Canada
N° 44
Americanity, Continentalism and Globalisation /
Américanité, continentalité et mondialisation
❑ 2012 No 45-46 Interculturality, Cultures and Strategies /
Interculturalité, cultures et stratégies
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Canadian Issues Vol 43.indd - Conseil international d`études

Transcription

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