Salt and Pepper

A friend and I were discussing the results of the recent Quebec elections over coffee last night, and reflecting on the language policies that have come to define so much of our political identity. We shared thoughts about how the French language could continue to prosper and thrive in Quebec—and beyond—without the punitive approach of laws designed to diminish and even exclude the use of other languages within provincial boundaries.

Nobody reacts well to having something shoved down their throat; what if we could be invited to a feast instead of forced to sit at the table until we swallow down the same old dish? What if we were told how delicious this meal would be, instead of being told, "eat it because it's good for you... and because I said so"?

What if we had language ambassadors instead of language police, promoting the opportunities offered by learning French (much as our anglophone parents did for us, enrolling us in French immersion or even sending us to French schools - not because they HAD to, but because they realized that it was a good thing, that it would open doors for us). These ambassadors could share the romance and poetry of the French language as much as the practical benefits it offers.

Learning different languages is like using different spices for our food; imagine if salt was the only spice you were allowed to have on your table.

My family is anglophone, but with roots in Quebec going back to the 1700s. One of the treasured recipes passed down to me from my maternal grandmother is her tourtiere recipe. Tourtiere is a traditional French-Canadian dish. I love it, and I make it often, especially at Christmas. I give it to friends and family, and we all enjoy it tremendously. But none of us would want to survive on a diet of tourtiere alone; sometimes we want to eat spaghetti or couscous or samosas or even steak and kidney pie (not one of my favourites, but some people like it!)...and the more we are told that we can't have those things, the more we will want them and miss them.

So, instead of building Quebec as a prison with a forced diet of pea soup—I do actually like pea soup, in case you were wondering—or baguette and water, let's turn it into a five-star French restaurant where people line up at the door because of a varied menu packed with delicious choices. Que pensez-vous?