LA GESTION SCOLAIRE

This week’s edition of La Voix acadienne features an article celebrating an important 25^th anniversary.  On July 1, 1990, the Commission scolaire de langue française was granted the right to administer the French-language school system on Prince Edward Island.  The article rightly mentions the significant contributions of several individuals who were instrumental in bringing about this significant victory.  Though not among them, I was deeply involved in language politics at the time.  I’d like to share my recollections of three related events.

The first event goes back to the early 1980s when I was a member of the Board of La Société Saint-Thomas-d’Aquin.  We became quite interested in the debates around the Canadian Constitution.  Pierre Elliott Trudeau and the Premiers were hammering out an agreement to bring home the Constitution from London and to implement the new Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.  Prince Edward Island initially opposed patriation and the new Charter.

Provincial Attorney General Horace Carver spoke to us one evening in Summerside.  The gist of his argument was that our interests would be better served by elected members of Parliament in Ottawa and our own Legislative Assembly than by the courts.  I had no doubt that Mr. Carver was well-intentioned, but we knew where Trudeau stood on the issue of minority language education rights and we trusted him.  Naïve as I was then, I knew in my gut that our rights would be protected by the courts, and that we had no chance if our fate was left in the hands of politicians.  My instincts were correct, as it turned out.

Section 23 of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms is the section of the Constitution of Canada that guarantees minority language educational rights to French-speaking communities outside Québec.  Some scholars argue that Trudeau considered it one of the most important parts of the Charter.  The picture below is my favourite of Trudeau, taken April 17, 1982, the day he and Queen Elizabeth II signed the Proclamation of the new Constitution Act.

Our three children graduated from École François-Buote in Charlottetown.  Two of my grandchildren attend École Samuel-de-Champlain in Saint John, New Brunswick.  The youngest, barely three years old, attends a French daycare next door to École Gabrielle-Roy in Edmonton, Alberta.

None of this would have been possible without successive favourable decisions by the courts, including the Supreme Court of Canada.

The second event occurred during my brief term as president of La Société Saint-Thomas-d’Aquin.  In 1988, the French school board, Unité scolaire no. 5, administered only one school, École Évangéline.  The second French school, École François-Buote in Charlottetown came under the control of the Unit 3 School Board.

Believing the political climate would be favourable, with Joe Ghiz as Premier and Léonce Bernard as our representative in Cabinet, I met with Minister of Education, Betty Jean Brown, and Bernard, at the old Centre culturel Port-LaJoie on Dorchester Street.  Our purpose was to propose the formation of a province-wide French-language school board, in other words, La gestion scolaire provinciale.

I was struck by their evident surprise at the suggestion, and their apparent view that it made no sense.  I can still see the look on Léonce’s face; like he thought it was the craziest idea he’d ever heard!  Fortunately, reason prevailed.  In February 1990, the provincial government adopted new regulations, granting the Commission scolaire de langue française province-wide jurisdiction.  It became official that July 1.

I put language politics aside for awhile (two years in an MBA program at Université Laval) but continued to follow developments closely on the local and national scenes.  The two years I spent in Québec taught me a lot about being a member of a linguistic minority.  Most importantly, it taught me that it’s up to us to preserve the French language and culture.  We have very few allies, and Québec is not among them.

The third event occurred in April 1998 when I was the Chair of the Comité acadien, a group that advised the provincial government on matters relating to French-language services.  The Minister responsible, Mitch Murphy, a man for whom I had the greatest respect, walked up to me during a reception marking French Awareness Week.  He said: “I have very bad news.  The decision on the Arsenault-Cameron case just came down from the Court of Appeal.  It overturns Judge DesRoches’ decision and the lawyers tell us there’s no way it can be taken any further.”

I’d read the Armand DesRoches decision and I knew it was sound.  He was one of us and understood the Charter.  It was inconceivable to me that supposedly learned judges could have overturned it.  I nodded to the Minister, without saying anything.  As we say in French: “Je riais dans ma barbe.”  I knew that the next stop was the Supreme Court of Canada, and that there, our poor provincial government would get whacked.

I read the decision written for the Prince Edward Island Court of Appeal by Hon. Justice McQuaid.  In it, he laid out the Court’s finding that the Minister of Education had done the right thing by refusing to build a French school in Summerside, thus overturning the decision of the Commission scolaire de langue française.  Speaking of Section 23, he wrote: “…language rights are fundamentally different than other rights protected by the Charter in that they are founded on political compromise.”  I chuckled to myself, astounded at the ignorance displayed by the Court, remembering what we’d been told before the Charter came into force.

In November 2000, the Supreme Court of Canada disagreed with the Appeal Court, upholding Judge Armand DesRoches’ 1997 decision.  The Court wrote that: “…a school is the single most important institution for the survival of the official language minority.”  Regarding the decision of the Minister of Education, the Court stated: “The Minister’s discretion was limited to verifying whether the [School] Board had met provincial requirements. …he had no power to substitute his own criteria or decision.”  Amen!

And so the Summerside school was built, École-sur-Mer, yet another symbol of the determination of the Acadian people and the strength of the Charter.

The October 28 edition of La Voix acadienne contains another very important article, the one announcing the refurbishment of the former Rollo Bay Consolidated School, soon to be reborn as École La Belle-cloche.  The announcement by the Commission scolaire de langue française states that $6.1 million will be spent to construct new spaces for K-12, as well as a community centre to serve the Acadian and Francophone community of Eastern Kings.

What a contrast to the earlier fiasco surrounding the construction of the Rustico facility, École Saint-Augustin, when residents were pitted against one another because of the poor judgement of politicians.  This time, not only do we have competent elected trustees at the helm, we have a provincial government led by people who understand their obligations under the law.  It makes all the difference.

The other day, I stood in line at my bank and watched as a teller served an Asian customer in Mandarin.  My Charlottetown is being transformed by the arrival of new Canadians.  I welcome them.  We need their talent, their work ethic, and their tax dollars. 

There were no signs at the bank telling me that I could be served in French.  RBC is a business.  Its choice to hire and train a Mandarin-speaking teller is a business decision.  This example reminded me, yet again, that fundamental rights, like language, need and deserve the protection of the highest law of the land.  They cannot be subjected to the vagaries of political and business decisions.

When I started Grade 8 at École régionale Évangéline in the fall of 1965, it was the only French school recognized as such by the provincial government.  Now, there are six.  Each has its own unique story.  None was built without a struggle.  A solid 5% of Island students attend the six French schools.  Enrollment is steady.

I can’t imagine what the state of French-speaking minorities would be were it not for Trudeau’s vision and the presence of Section 23 in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.  It granted us the right to control our most important institution, our schools.  And it reinforced what we always knew: the people know best!

I rest easy now, knowing that my grandchildren can be schooled in French almost anywhere in our great country.  I hope they will recognize the importance of preserving our mother tongue when their turn comes.

FREDERICTON GRAN FONDO

“Pain brings me closer to God…”  That thought ran through my mind as I cranked over the pedals in the lowest gear I’ve got, listening to the sound of my own laboured breathing, hoping my legs would carry me to the top of ‘The Wall’.  Every organized ride worth its salt has a tough climb or two, and the 2.5 km. wall features a vicious 17% section that starts steep and doesn’t let up.

The first 50 km. to that point had been a breeze: beautiful weather, good roads, and an experienced group of riders, most of whom took a turn at the front.  But the Wall tested our climbing legs and separated the men from the boys.

The Over the Hill Gang (OTHG) opted for the Fredericton Gran Fondo several months ago.  We trained for the flat course originally promised by event organizers.  Due to road construction however, the route had to be modified to include a couple of tough climbs and lots of rolling terrain.

Five of us - Russ Melanson, Richard Birt, John MacQuarrie, Kent Wood and me - shoe-horned bikes, luggage, carcasses, and home-made cookies and muffins into a Dodge Grand Caravan and hit the road for Fredericton.  We’d hoped to have all the gang with us, including Ira Birt, Ian MacIntyre and Mark Grimmett, but they were unable to come for a variety of reasons.

Arriving at the Crowne Plaza mid-afternoon, we checked in and strolled to the local cycle shop, Radical Edge, where we drooled over the bikes and other gear on display.  Then it was on to McGinnis Landing for the mandatory evening-before pasta meal. 

Back in our hotel rooms, we groused like a bunch of old women: “It’s gonna be cold in the morning.  What are you gonna wear?”  Too old to party (except for Kent, who’s too serious to party), we hit the sack early, each one hoping his roommate wouldn’t snore.

I couldn’t see the Saint John River, barely 50 metres from my room, when I looked out the window on Sunday morning.  Fog so thick you could cut it with a knife.  The temperature had dropped to near freezing overnight, promising to rise to a balmy 6 degrees by the time we were to leave at 10:00.  After filling our faces with a nice buffet breakfast at the hotel, we made our way to the start line, hoping they’d hurry up and get the thing going.

The group started slowly, following a City Police cruiser across the Westmoreland Street Bridge toward Marysville.  We followed the Nashwaak River upstream for 10 km. or so before crossing it a second time, then headed west on Route 105 through Nashwaaksis toward Douglas.  Kent took a long pull, pacing the group at a leisurely rhythm.  I even had a chance to glance at the Saint John River off to my left, when I wasn’t watching the backside in front of me.  It brought back memories of my years at UNB.

At the 35-km. mark, we turned north onto Route 104, feeling none the worse for wear.  One of the locals was on the front and doing all the work as we rode through Burtt’s Corner, a group of a dozen or so riders following close behind.  We got to the first refreshment point, made the hairpin turn and started the climb up Keswick Ridge.  The first part was just a teaser.  Too soon, after a short downhill section, the monster loomed directly in front.

Our rule on a group ride is that everyone sticks together, except on a steep hill, when it’s “Every man for himself.”  If anyone were to ask me: “How fast do you go up a hill like that?”, I’d answer: “Somewhere between falling over, like the old guy in Laugh-In, and burning out!”

We all climb at different rates, depending on the day and how we’re feeling.  Except for Kent who, many years younger, is by far the strongest.  He crested The Wall long before the rest of us and it was the last we’d see of him until we got to Fredericton.  (More on that later.)

Two guys, Greg Masiuk from Oromocto and Elwyn DeMerchant from Saint John, joined us for the grunt up The Wall.  OTHG reassembled at the top and white-knuckled it down the long, treacherous descent, trying to distinguish holes and cracks in the pavement from the shadows that danced across the road.

After a steady climb on the shoulder of Route 105, we stopped for the first time at the Mactaquac Dam refreshment point where, as John says, “We did like the Quebecers” in answering calls of nature.  (I hope none of the cars that drove past was coming home from church!)

Across the dam, our group of six turned onto the old Trans-Canada Highway, going west toward the Mazerolle Settlement turnoff on a gradual 2.5-km. climb.  The next stretch was over a series of ‘rollers’, short climbs and descents that kill your legs if you’re getting tired.  Greg fell off the back, and we didn’t see him again until the finish line.

The three km. we rode along the Hanwell Road were heaven: easy grades, good pavement, and a wide shoulder.  Too soon, at the 100-kilometre mark, we turned onto the rougher chip-seal surface of Deerwood Drive.  Elwyn jumped us on one of the hills and was gone.  Nine kilometres later, we hit the scary-steep Carriage Hill descent, hoping like hell our brakes would stop us before we went through the stop sign and out onto the highway.

From there, I knew the road back to the finish line was flat, so we got the big train rolling and made good time on the old Trans-Canada Highway, reeling in Elwyn and catching him just before we turned onto the Woodstock Road.  I was on the front, not realizing we were supposed to turn onto the riverside trail, until someone said: “We missed a turn!”

Eventually, we picked up the trail after riding through the Delta Hotel parking lot.  We pedaled on the gravel track a short distance until we reached a sign that directed us to take a 300-degree turn, through another parking lot and up to King Street.  What the hell?

That’s where we found poor Kent, totally lost after riding around for ages and being told by course marshals to go here, there and everywhere.  Confused, we decided to take the most direct route back to the Crowne Plaza and across the finish line.  Poor Greg, as lost as we were, rode past the hotel and all the way to the Princess Margaret Bridge before turning around.

We completed the 120-km. ride in four hours, not a bad average speed for us considering the hilly terrain (over 1,000 metres of climbing).  Event organizers recognized the confusion caused to all riders by the poor course marking.  They gave Kent a more accurate time, making him, by far, the fastest rider on the 120 km. course.

After well-deserved showers and a refreshment break, we joined other riders and event volunteers for a nice meal at the hotel.  We left Fredericton around 6:30, aiming for a 10:00 pm arrival in Charlottetown.  Alas, it was not to be.  Near Havelock, in the middle of nowhere, we came upon an accident scene and had to wait two hours or so before being allowed to pass.  Oh well, we got to see the lunar eclipse along the way, and the moon still showed traces of rusty brown when I stood on my doorstep at 12:30.

I’ll be 62 in two weeks and trail Russ by 6 years!  As a group, the four of us finished second to Kent in the 120-km. ride.  We dropped many younger riders who couldn’t hack our pace.  Several of them asked us afterwards how old we were.  The looks on their faces were priceless!

The annual road trip is an occasion for us to get away together, suffer a little, and have a few laughs.  We experience new courses and meet new people.  We get a chance to promote our Island as a cycling destination and to invite others to come see for themselves.

I burned over 4,000 calories in four hours in the saddle, and so got to eat my face off for a couple of days.  I conquered The Wall and got to spend quality time with my best buddies.  What could be better?