The defining dialectic of Canadian life is language, the thorny issue that has long threatened to tear the country apart. Many Québécois believe that a separate independent state is the only way to maintain their culture in the face of the Anglophone (English-speaking) ocean that surrounds them. The role of Québec within the Canadian federation has long been the most debated and volatile issue in Canadian politics.
There were reasons for the festering intransigence, of course -- about 240 years' worth. A kind of linguistic exclusionism prevailed for much of the region's early history, with wealthy Scottish and English bankers and merchants denying French-Canadians access to upper levels of business and government.
The French language, though, was only the most tangible aspect to what many in Québec remain committed to. There is a kind of bedrock loyalty held by many to the province's Gallic roots. France may have relinquished control of Québec in 1763, but its influence, after its century and a half of rule, remains powerful. Many Québécois continue to look across the Atlantic for inspiration in fashion, food, and the arts. Culturally and linguistically, it is that tenacious French connection that gives the province its special character.
One attempt to smooth ruffled Francophones (French-speakers) was made in 1969, when federal legislation stipulated that all services were henceforth to be offered in both English and French, in effect declaring the nation bilingual. That didn't long assuage militant Québécois. They undertook to guarantee the primacy of French in their own province. To prevent dilution by newcomers, the children of immigrants are required to enroll in French-language schools, even if English or a third language is spoken in the home. Bill 101 was passed in 1977, which all but banned the use of English on public signage. Stop signs now read ARRET, a word that actually refers to a stop on a bus or train route. (Even in France, the red signs read STOP.) The bill funded the establishment of enforcement units, virtual language police who let no nit go unpicked.
The resulting backlash provoked the flight of an estimated 400,000 Anglophones to other parts of Canada. Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney met with the 10 provincial premiers in April 1987 at a retreat at Québec's Meech Lake to cobble together a collection of constitutional reforms. The Meech Lake Accord, as it came to be known, addressed a variety of issues, but most important to the Québécois it recognized Québec as a "distinct society" within the federation. In the end, however, Manitoba and Newfoundland failed to ratify the accord by the June 23, 1990, deadline. As a result, support for the secessionist cause burgeoned in Québec, fueled by an election that firmly placed the separatist Parti Québécois in control of the provincial government. A referendum, held in 1995, was narrowly won by residents who favored staying within the union, but the vote settled nothing. The issue continued to divide families and dominate political discourse.
The year 2007 may have seen the death blow to the issue, however. In provincial elections, once-reigning separatist Parti Québécois placed third with just 28% of the vote. The election was perceived by many as the first step in closing the door on the campaign for independence.
None of this debate should deter visitors. The Québécois are exceedingly gracious hosts. Montréal may be the largest French-speaking city outside Paris, but most Montréalers grow up speaking both French and English, switching effortlessly from one language to the other as the situation dictates. Telephone operators go from French to English the instant they hear an English word out of the other party, as do most store clerks, waiters, and hotel staff. This is less the case in country villages and in Québec City, but there is virtually no problem that can't be solved with a few French words, some expressive gestures, and a little goodwill.
