Tag Archives: Montreal

Not enough French in Quebec?

L’Office québécois de la langue française is not happy:

It began, as do many things these days, with a tweet. On February 19th, Massimo Lecas, co-owner of an Italian restaurant, Buonanotte, in Montreal, wrote that he had received a letter from the office warning him that there were too many Italian words (such as “pasta”) on his menu. This was a violation of Quebec’s language charter, he was told, and if they were not changed to the French equivalents (pâtes in the case of pasta) he would face a fine.

Journalists with a sense of the ridiculous quickly piled on. An analysis of international media coverage of Quebec showed the story, quickly dubbed #pastagate on twitter, received 60 times the coverage of a trip by Pauline Marois, the premier, that had been meant to drum up investor interest in the province. Other restaurant owners who had received similar letters—a fish-and-chip-shop owner who was instructed to call his main offering poisson frits et frites, a brasserie owner who was asked to cover the “redial” button on his telephone and the “on/off” button on his microwave—came forward, an indication this was not an isolated incident.

The blowback ultimately proved too great for the office to sustain:

Diane de Courcy, the Quebec minister responsible for language, tried at first to shrug off the pasta stories, saying she was satisfied with the work of the inspectors. When the bad publicity persisted, she announced a review of that particular case. The PQ government is currently attempting to toughen language laws, and pastagate was becoming a distraction. But by March 8th it was clear something more was needed. Quebec was the butt of too many jokes. Ms de Courcy announced that Louise Marchand, president and director-general of the language police, was leaving her post effective immediately. Apparently the move was made at Ms Marchand’s request. It is generally the case with figures of authority that when the masses start laughing at you, you are through.

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Protest porn

[vimeo http://vimeo.com/42848523]

Keeping things in perspective:

The 2012 Quebec student protests are a series of ongoing student demonstrations led by Quebec students’ associations, students, and their supporters against a proposal by the Quebec Cabinet, headed by Premier Jean Charest, to raise university tuition from $2,168 to $3,793 between 2012 and 2017.

Those 2017 tuition fees are lower than what I will spend in one month of my master’s program at Columbia this coming year. So stop complaining, French Canada. Cool video, though. I will give you that.

(Side note: when will governments learn that outlawing protest — or some thinly disguised variant of outlawing it — doesn’t solve anything?)

#5: The Disappeared

Read it and weep. Literally. The Disappeared is a quick, meaningful punch to the gut. In 228 short pages, author Kim Echlin wastes not a word or phrase in this despairing depiction of love and loss in war-torn Cambodia. Spanning decades and continents, from the dingy blues clubs of Montreal to the killing fields outside Phnom Penh, Anne Greves weaves a mournful path of despondency and courage as she follows her lover into the darkest recesses of human depravity.

Almost immediately upon opening this book, I knew I was going to enjoy it. Of course, “enjoy” is perhaps an inappropriate term given the subject. But a book’s value is not measured in tidy narratives so much as in an ability to immerse its readers wholly into the world of its characters’ lives. This holds true even when dialogue between characters is written intentionally dreamily, as if the protagonist’s memory has decayed and dissolved over time, leaving only mystical moments where reality once breathed.

Strangely, I couldn’t escape a familiar feeling for the first several chapters: the author’s literary style reminded me of something else I’d read previously. Then it suddenly occurred to me: The English Patient. “The light in Mau’s eyes was a pinprick through black paper,” Echlin writes of Anne’s first meeting with a new friend. “…I chose him because when he stepped forward, the others fell back…The light of his eyes twisted into mine.” One entire chapter reads: “I can still see a particle of dust hanging in a sunbeam near your cheek as you slept.” In very short order, it becomes all too clear that The Disappeared resembles Michael Ondaatje’s masterpiece in little other than descriptive syntax, however. This is not dream-sequence-turned-real; it’s a living nightmare, stretched and tortured into over thirty years of searching and loving and waiting and finding and searching all over again.

It is impossible not to empathize with Anne. Her naivete, her persistent belief in a justice, or karma, that will transform wrong into right, is as admirable as it is devastating. When she asks of her captor, “How can people move on without knowing what happens to their families? How can they move on without truth?” we want to laugh at her simplicity even as we cry for her faith in humanity. It is her ever-burning fire that ignites this story and affords us all the unique opportunity, if only for a moment, of believing again with her.