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The Canadian Language Challenge: From Laurier to Harper

The Fourth Annual Laurier Lecture, Wilfrid Laurier University

Graham Fraser - Commissioner of Official Languages

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It gives me great pleasure to speak to you this evening. By referring to Wilfrid Laurier, Canada’s first Francophone prime minister, you are calling particular attention to our history, and, more specifically, to linguistic duality. As Commissioner of Official Languages, I am delighted to have the opportunity to revisit the history of linguistic duality by stressing Laurier’s role.

First of all, I would like to thank Dr. Kevin Spooner for inviting me to give this lecture. I am honoured to follow in the footsteps of the previous Laurier lecturers, Bob Rae, Sheila Copps and Nathalie DesRosiers.

When Dr. Spooner approached me about giving the lecture, I was still a mere author; in the meantime, I have become Commissioner. One of the differences between the two, I can say, is that there are now people whose full-time job it is to keep my desk clean and my schedule filled. And one of the first things I did when I became Commissioner of Official Languages was tell those people that giving this lecture was a commitment that I wanted to keep.

It is also a particular honour to be asked to give this lecture for, as you know, yesterday was Laurier’s 165th birthday. I thought it would be an exceptionally useful exercise for me, only a month after assuming my current position, to take a look at how language policy has evolved since Laurier’s time and to further reflect on the issue by drawing on some of the academic work – and political events – that have emerged in the last 12 months.

For it was almost a year ago today that I signed off the very last changes on the galley proofs of my book, Sorry, I Don’t Speak French: Confronting the Canadian Crisis That Won’t Go Away. I finished just in time: on November 24, the latest amendments to the Official Languages Act received Royal Assent; on November 27, I sent in the last changes to the book, taking note of the amendments; and on November 28, the Martin government was defeated. In March, just before the book was published, I gave copies of the page proofs to Mr. Martin, NDP leader Jack Layton, and the new prime minister Stephen Harper—who remarked that the book was already out of date. Indeed, I had not foreseen the election results, having failed to heed the warning given by Sir Walter Raleigh in the time of Elizabeth I: “Whosoever, in writing a modern history, shall follow the truth to near the heels, it may haply strike out his teeth.”

This, therefore, is a chance to take a step back and look at both where we have come from and where we are going in terms of language policy.

It is fascinating to look at Canadian language policy by examining the life and career of Wilfrid Laurier. He was born in the village of Saint-Lin, northeast of Montréal. His grandfather was a farmer and inventor who spent a good deal of time away from home trying to get a patent for an invention of his that measured distance travelled in horse-drawn carriages. His mother died when he was seven, and when he was ten, his father and his grandfather decided that he should learn English—by living with an English-speaking family in New Glasgow, ten kilometres away, and going to an English school.

The original plan was that he should board with the Kirks, who were Irish Catholics, but Mrs. Kirk fell ill, and he was put up instead with the Murrays, Scottish Presbyterians. Every night, John Murray read the Bible aloud—leaving in the ear of young Wilfrid not only the superb prose of the St. James Version, but also the soft Scottish lilt that would mark the his English in the years ahead.

When Laurier finished primary school, he went to classical college—Collège de l’Assomption. The college, which was founded in 1832, has been a shaping influence on several generations of political figures who went there, including Pierre Laporte, the Liberal minister who was murdered during the October Crisis of 1970, and Camille Laurin, the minister responsible for Quebec’s language legislation.

Laurier attended the college from 1854 through 1860, and his time there was very important to him. He returned often, inaugurating a new building there in 1893 and launching a fundraising drive that collected $40,000—a substantial sum of money in the 19th century.

From there, Laurier went to McGill Law School, where he graduated as valedictorian in 1864. In his spare time, he read English literature and, in particular, the great orators. Laurier Lapierre tells us that the future prime minister read and re-read Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, which moved him to tears.1

Nevertheless, he gave his valedictory speech entirely in French. As a young lawyer and, later, as an editor, he was a nationalist and a “rouge”—part of the liberal anti-clerical group in Quebec at the time. And when Confederation was passed in 1867, he denounced it as “the tomb of the French race and the ruin of Lower Canada.”

Despite his leanings, he later became reconciled to Confederation and to Canada. The effects of these crosscurrents on his upbringing and education were to create a politically moderate, skilled and competent conciliator who, for much of his career, was able to find the common ground between two deeply entrenched, suspicious and hostile communities in Canada.

It was not easy. There were times when his commitment to respecting the limits and restraints of the British North America Act had terrible results for French-speaking minorities. Laurier refused to support legislation that would have disallowed the Manitoba Schools Act, the act that put an end to French-language education in Manitoba for almost a century. And his resistance to British imperialism enraged many in what was then Tory Toronto.

“I am branded in Quebec as a traitor to the French, and in Ontario as a traitor to the English,” he once said. “In Quebec I am branded as a Jingo, and in Ontario as a Separatist. I am neither, I am a Canadian. Canada is the inspiration of my life. I have had before me as a pillar of fire by night and a pillar of cloud by day a policy of true Canadianism, of moderation, of conciliation.”2 (Can you hear those echoes of the St. James Version?)

The late Université de Montréal historian Michel Brunet argued that Laurier’s failure to protect French-language schools in Manitoba was proof that he had failed to lay the foundations for a common patriotism, which did not exist, and that French-Canadians were seeking an impossible dream. “French-Canadians were looking to square a circle or were searching for the philosophers’ stone,” he wrote. “This mutual patriotism didn’t exist. Laurier, prime minister of Canada for 15 years, couldn’t even set the groundwork. The First World War, the conscription crisis and academic persecution in Ontario forced the most blind and most optimistic French-Canadians to question the real nature of the Canadian union.”3

Brunet was correct to the extent that Laurier was unable to dissolve the differences between two societies that were suspicious of, and often hostile toward, each other. But he did succeed in bridging them and managing them.

Indeed, Laurier’s moderation was a fabric of subtlety, nuance and, occasionally, ambiguity. He was an optimist; he counted (some would say over-relied) on his personal charm, his persuasiveness, what he called his “sunny ways,” to achieve results.

In 1916, Abbé Lionel Groulx—one of the beacons for several generations of Quebec nationalists—was giving a lecture in Ottawa. Laurier invited him to Sunday lunch, where he spoke passionately of the importance of moderation and tolerance towards minorities. Groulx, often viewed today as an intransigent xenophobe, was admiring—and came away with subtle insights into the nature of Laurier’s moderation.

“On that day, he came across as a great, honest man at the core of his character. However, he also gave the impression that he was a political man inclined to organizing his views and his way of thinking according to the requirements and the philosophy of a political party,” wrote Groulx. “He also came across as a party leader that was more smart than brave, more responsive than voluntary, that his optimism and the rules of the game of parliamentary politics, and especially the tendency to always be seeking to seize power suggests infinite faith in what he calls his sunny ways, which are the compromises or trade-offs made to the state of the system, out of the belief that no right, no matter how sacred, could justify a political crisis or a racial conflict.”4

In this careful choice of words, Groulx reveals both his admiration and his sense of disillusionment, as well as disappointment at Laurier’s failure to protect French-language minorities in Ontario and Manitoba. In his recollection of that lunch, written 40 years later, Groulx concluded that, although Laurier was opposed to all fanaticism and persecution, he was incapable of using a strong hand and taking big risks to restore justice to the minorities he defended. “Laurier, I believe, had both Gandhi and Nehru in him,” wrote Groulx, implying that Laurier was honourable but passive in his resistance to injustice.5 Indeed, he wondered if Laurier felt that the struggle for the survival of French was a noble but doomed exercise.

Another somewhat disillusioned admirer of Laurier, journalist J.W. Dafoe, expressed hope that a future biographer would see that Laurier was “a man who had affinities with Machiavelli as well as with Sir Galahad.”6

Laurier paid a price for his moderation; his refusal to interfere in provincial jurisdiction meant that Manitoba and the western provinces were able to ban French-language education. His support for linguistic duality was mocked: one cartoonist depicted him playing a game of Russian roulette, holding a pistol labelled “bilingualism” to his head. The caption read, “Suicide?”7

But Laurier understood, as every successful prime minister has understood before and since, that the key to governing Canada effectively was managing the tensions between English-speaking and French-speaking Canada—and evaluating that fault line as the central point of these tensions.

It was something that his successor, William Lyon Mackenzie King, understood implicitly. King had seen the holes in the fabric of the country torn by the Conscription Crisis in 1917 that had led to riots in the City of Québec; he had witnessed Robert Borden’s incomprehension of Quebec and French Canada. He was determined to keep Quebec’s concerns in mind—through compromise, obfuscation, delay, and reliance on the advice of his Quebec lieutenant, Ernest Lapointe. It was a governing style that was not always pretty and sometimes enraged others—but it worked.

“King’s genius was to realize that, for all he might wish to align national politics around the battle between Liberal progress and Tory reaction, he needed always to account for the stubborn fact of Quebec’s unique political needs,” wrote John Duffy in his history of Canadian elections. “King restored the Liberal Party as the common ground on which Quebec’s traditionalist power structure and English Canada’s reformers could do business together.”8 But King was not the only one affected by Laurier’s “sunny ways.” William Moore was an improbable defender of French-language rights in Canada; he was, as he listed proudly in his biography, of United Empire Loyalist descent and a farmer in Pickering, Ontario. He graduated from the University of Toronto in 1894 and studied law at Osgoode Hall; later, he would become chairman of the House Banking and Trade Committee.

In 1918, when the First World War was still raging and in the aftermath of Regulation 17, when Ontario abolished French-language education, Moore wrote a remarkable book entitled The Clash: A Study in Nationalities.

In it, he argued that British traditions called for bilingualism and inclusion and contrasted them shrewdly with what he called the “rigid Prussian approach.”

Moore also noted English-Canadian hypocrisy: obsessing about corruption in politics in Quebec while ignoring it in Ontario, Manitoba and Saskatchewan. “We English-Canadians have habitually had our good eye upon French-Canadian faults and our blind eye upon our own,” he wrote.9

Referring to Regulation 17, Moore contrasted Ontario’s move to eradicate French with Quebec’s tolerance of an English and Protestant school system, evoking the famous contract in Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, where Shylock had the right to take a pound of flesh if Antonio defaulted on a loan. He claimed, “[Ontario] has taken 15 of the 16 ounces of flesh to which it is entitled under the British North America Act; Quebec has never drawn the knife.”10

This was not a popular view at the time. During the election campaign of 1917, cartoonists depicted Laurier (who opposed conscription) cavorting with the Kaiser and a map of Canada on which every region was imperial red except Quebec, which was black. One MP called Quebec “the spoiled child of Confederation,” and another English-Canadian political activist called it “the plague-spot of the entire Dominion.”11

Twenty years later, in a book of profiles of Canadian political figures, Léopold Richer, a parliamentary correspondent, saluted Moore—by then a Liberal MP—for his convictions, calling him “liberal, profoundly liberal, the most complete and the most typical representative of true liberalism, in the philosophical and political meaning of the word.” Moore’s liberalism, Richer wrote, “gives him an armour of tolerance that protects him from aggressive doctrines.”12 What a delightful phrase: “an armour of tolerance.”

The memory of his book lived on; Richer concluded his profile by observing that French-Canadians were in his debt.13

For a hundred years, from Confederation until Expo ’67, our prime ministers adopted more or less two strategies in governing Canada’s language duality.

One was described by Sir John A. Macdonald, who summarized a prime minister’s task in 1856, a decade before Confederation: “He must make friends with the French; without sacrificing the status of his race or language, we must respect his nationality. Treat them as a nation, and they will act as a free people generally do—generously. Call them a faction, and they become factious.”14

The other strategy was that adopted by Sir Robert Borden, who felt that French-Canadians’ concern for special rights was peculiar. They should be “content to be Canadians,” he said, adding that worry about whether “ancestors were English or French…only tends to keep alive ideas which really have no useful place in the life of this country.”15

Without recounting an entire century of political management, suffice it to say that the Macdonald strategy has been the more successful of the two.

In the 1960s, the traditional relationship between the federal government and Quebec began to change. For 15 years following the Second World War, an entire generation of well-educated and well-travelled Quebeckers was effectively marginalized by the conservatism of Premier Maurice Duplessis and his Union nationale government.

In 1960, the lid came off with the election of the Quebec Liberals, led by Jean Lesage. John Diefenbaker, then Canada’s Prime Minister, was unable to either understand what was happening in Quebec or respond to it. In 1958, a year before he died, Duplessis sent 50 Conservative MPs to Ottawa, and Diefenbaker literally didn’t know what to do with them.

But between the 1950s and the 1960s, a sea change occurred in Quebec. For over a century, French-Canadian nationalism had been Canada-wide in scope but organized around the parish: protective, inward-looking, traditional and religious-based. Over an extraordinarily short period of time, it was transformed, becoming Quebec-focused, secular, modernized, integrating and language-based. In less than a decade, what had been in many ways an ethnic and religious contrast in values became a language challenge.

Every prime minister from Macdonald through Diefenbaker responded to the reality of a French-speaking, conservative, Catholic society co-existing with an English-speaking, increasingly multicultural, multiethnic society.

Quebec sociologist Guy Rocher has pointed out that French Canada’s unique identity was based on three pillars: French law, the Catholic religion and the French language. Social change meant that only language remained as a defining characteristic. “Thus, the future of the French language became an issue of power,” he wrote.16

So, from Pearson to Harper, prime ministers have been dealing with a changing, increasingly secular, increasingly multicultural French-speaking society, redefining its role in the country and in the world.

The year 1962 proved to be critical in a number of ways. The first stirrings of the independence movement could be seen, and the first bombs of the FLQ were set off. The Conservatives lost their majority in the spring, but the Liberals failed to capitalize on the growing unpopularity of the Conservatives and were taken by surprise by the election of 26 Social Credit MPs from Quebec.

In September 1962, the situation was similar in a number of ways to the political situation today: a minority Conservative government, a third party of French-speaking MPs that kept either Conservatives or Liberals from getting a majority and a serious effort by Liberals and Conservatives to figure out what was going on in the province.

That month, Maurice Lamontagne—an economist and Liberal strategist—wrote a memo to Liberal leader Lester Pearson. It was an extraordinary document, and I was amazed when I found it in the National Archives.

In it, Lamontagne argued that it was up to the Liberal Party to set out—and achieve—three concrete objectives.

First was the patriation of the Constitution—and he added, “It must include a declaration of human rights covering federal and provincial areas.” Second was the creation of a national flag and a national anthem which would, he said, leave no doubt about the sovereignty of the country.

Finally, he wrote, "All federal institutions must become bilingual and be the concrete demonstration of our bilingualism.”

“These three objectives will constitute the immediate goals for the next Liberal government. If we want to maintain the integrity of Canada and assure our life together, the federal government must become as soon as possible and as completely as possible the synthesis and the symbol of a truly bicultural Canadianism.”17

Three months later, in December 1962, Lester Pearson, then leader of the opposition, called for the creation of a Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism. Pearson later wrote that it was the speech he was proudest of.

In it, Pearson raised a series of questions that are still worth posing: “Are we ready... to give all young Canadians a real opportunity to become truly bilingual? If the answer is yes... what concrete steps should be taken... to bring about this opportunity, having regard to the fact that constitutional responsibility for education is, and must remain, exclusively provincial?”

“What further responsibilities to this end have we a right to expect from radio, from television and from films in both languages? How can we encourage more frequent contacts between young Canadians?”18

Later, in the same speech, he explored the lack of French-speaking Canadians in the public service and the need for language training.

There is a tendency to think of Canada’s official languages policy as Pierre Trudeau’s “dream”. The phrase recurs again and again, as if to suggest that it was a private fantasy. In fact, it was Maurice Lamontagne’s proposal, and Lester Pearson’s acceptance of it that laid the groundwork for Canada’s language policy.

When Pearson was elected prime minister in 1963, one of the first things he did was name the Royal Commission that he had suggested—and in 1965, in their preliminary report, the commissioners warned that Canada was passing through the greatest crisis in its history.

In the fall of 1967, when he was minister of justice and working on a white paper on a charter of rights, Pierre Trudeau delivered a speech to the Canadian Bar Association in which he refined Pearson’s comments of five years earlier into two clear, simple language rights: the right to learn, and the right to use.

In my opinion, the structure of language rights developed over the last 40 years rests on these two pillars: the right to learn, and the right to use. From that simple statement can be traced the Official Languages Act, which defines the right to use both official languages, and Article 23 of the Charter of Rights, which defines to a certain extent the right to learn one or the other.

When he became prime minister in 1968, Trudeau asked his friend Gérard Pelletier to draw up the Official Languages Act.

One of the remarkable things about the Official Languages Act, which was passed in 1969 and amended in 1988 and again in 2005, is that it became part of the Constitution, as Section 16. Recently, I learned some of the background of how this came about.

When a joint parliamentary committee was asked to study the Charter, Trudeau asked Serge Joyal, then a Liberal MP, to be the co-chair. He did so with a certain amount of reluctance; Joyal had both an independent streak and a reputation for flamboyance. Joyal said that he would chair the committee, but on one condition: that the principles of the Official Languages Act be enshrined in the Charter.

In a recent conversation, Joyal told me why he had set this condition. Five years earlier, during the Gens de l’Air crisis—when Trudeau lost two cabinet ministers over the conflict over whether or not French-speaking pilots had the right to communicate with French-speaking air traffic controllers in French—Joyal had taken the federal government and Air Canada to court.

As a result, he was invited to appear on Lise Payette’s television program—a program as popular then as Tout le monde en parle is now. When Payette ushered him into the studio, she introduced him as “Serge Joyal, our hero.” And Joyal’s reaction was: “No citizen should have to be a hero to defend his or her rights.”

That is why language rights are at the core of the Charter and cannot be abrogated by the Notwithstanding Clause: so that citizens don’t have to be heroes to defend their rights.

How did Canada respond to the challenge of the transformation—economic, social and cultural—in Quebec in the 1960s?

In some ways, by doing precisely what Maurice Lamontagne suggested in 1962, although not in the same order: a new flag in 1965, an Official Languages Act in 1969, a national anthem in 1980 and patriating the Constitution with a Charter of Rights in 1982 – 20 years after Lamontagne wrote his memo to Pearson.

Have those measures turned out to be successful?

On the one hand, Canada has successfully absorbed and disarmed a terrorist movement that was a threat to public safety and public confidence in the country. Violence is now an unthinkable option for defining Quebec’s future.

Canadian federalism has responded effectively to Quebec's defining itself as a French-speaking society—something that 40 years ago was viewed as the raison d’être of the independence movement.

The Canadian public service has managed, more or less effectively, if not always elegantly, to deliver services to Canadians in both official languages. It is now unthinkable for the Prime Minister of Canada to be unilingual.

The courts have played a crucial role, interpreting the Charter of Rights in a way that defines and extends the role of language in society19 and establishes the protection of minority rights as one of the four fundamental governing principles of the Constitution.20 Some of the most eloquent writings on language in Canada can be found not in the universities or in Parliament, but in Supreme Court judgments.

On the other hand, the independence movement remains a significant force in Quebec, with polls continuing to show that a majority of French-speaking Quebeckers would prefer Quebec to be independent.

The Parti Québécois may well win Quebec's next provincial election, the Bloc Québécois having effectively prevented either the Conservatives or the Liberals from winning a majority.

Seriously dysfunctional elements continue to exist in Canada’s language policy. Just when the federal public service had to meet language criteria for promotion, most English-Canadian universities dropped a second-language requirement for admission. As a result, when the 300,000 students in French immersion across Canada arrive at university, they find—with a few noble exceptions—that French is treated as a foreign language, taught in literature departments rather than a Canadian language essential for participation in the national public life of our country.

The federal public service continues to have difficulty with the requirements of the Official Languages Act. Meeting the requirements of the language of service is one thing, but respecting the right of employees to work in their mother tongue in bilingual districts is something else. Establishing a culture of bilingualism in the workplace, as the Royal Commission had hoped would be possible, has proved arduous.

What are the current language challenges?

The most basic one remains the same: the challenge of communication. There are seven million French-speaking Canadians, and four million of them speak no English. (This is a fact that few English Canadians know: there are four million unilingual Francophones in Canada.) Language policy exists so that those French-speaking Canadians get the same level of service from the federal government as English-speaking Canadians.

It is a tribute to the energy and vitality of French-speaking Canada that what was once a conservative, self-protective, defensive ethnic group is now a dynamic, creative, culturally self-sufficient society that is welcoming and integrating: French-speaking Canada is, increasingly, becoming as ethnically diverse as English-speaking Canada.

But that creates a different challenge.

How can one claim to understand Canada if one cannot understand seven million of its inhabitants, their films, their television programs, their novels, their plays, their political expectations, their social programs and their economic debates?

One of the more trenchant critics of Canada’s official languages policy was Stephen Harper who, when he was out of politics, wrote that bilingualism was the god that failed. Arguing that the purpose of the policy was to create a bilingual country, he declared that the policy has been a self-evident failure.

I would argue that this was never the purpose of our official languages policy. The purpose of the policy was to communicate with the unilingual and to protect the minorities.

As a political leader, Harper has disproved his own argument—and operated on the basis of the real purpose of the policy. Under his leadership, the Conservatives supported the first amendment since 1988 to the Official Languages Act, which now requires the federal government to take “positive measures” to support the development of minority language communities. As a campaigning politician, he succeeded in speaking to Quebeckers with clarity and eloquence in the last election and won an astonishing breakthrough as a result.

As prime minister, he has been rigorous in his use of both languages in every public appearance, whether in Canada, on foreign visits or at G8 meetings.

In doing so, he has set a new standard of bilingualism for political leadership in Canada. And while I would not dare guess whom the Liberal delegates will choose as the next leader of the Liberal Party at their convention in 10 days, I would suggest that they will be using Stephen Harper’s level of eloquence in both French and English and his ability to debate in both languages as a critical benchmark for evaluating the candidates.

In fact, without necessarily intending to do so, Stephen Harper has, in a way, defined the language challenges that lie ahead. How can the federal government take “positive measures” to support language minorities? How can English-speaking Canada communicate with French-speaking Quebec? How can English-speaking civil society connect with its French-speaking equivalent? And if a Calgary-educated economist can communicate his ideas clearly and articulately in French as well as in English, why can’t that be the standard for leadership in the rest of Canadian society? If he can do it, why can’t the rest of us?

In looking back over the century of language relations that separates Wilfrid Laurier from Stephen Harper, I am struck by how the dynamic between our language majorities has changed and, as a result, how the challenge for political leadership has been transformed.

Laurier had to balance contending hostilities; Trudeau set out to introduce a dialogue of rights. In February 1968, Trudeau wondered aloud how he would be compared with Laurier; at this point, it is clear that no critic would say, as Groulx did of Laurier, that he was more flexible than determined, and that no principle was worth provoking a conflict between French and English.

Language remains at the core of the country, just like race in the United States and class in Britain. It is the historic challenge that has marked and shaped Canada.

Things are different now in several ways. Cultural diversity is a phenomenon that is transforming both English-speaking and French-speaking Canada, making it necessary for new generations of Canadians to relearn the wounds and the lessons of the past. We all need to know and understand that English and French are Canadian languages, not foreign languages, and they belong to all Canadians.

We are now in a new era of leadership by bilingual English-Canadians. The challenge is to transform the discussion about language from one of compulsion, regulation and obligation to a discourse of communication, welcome, hospitality and shared identities.

It is an exciting era, and these are exciting challenges.

Thank you.

1 Sir Wilfrid Laurier and the romance of Canada. Stoddart, Toronto, 1996, p. 37.

2 Quoted by Joseph Schull in Laurier: The First Canadian. Toronto, Macmillan of Canada, 1965, p. 531. See also Cook, Ramsay, The Teeth of Time: Remembering Pierre Trudeau. Montréal, McGill Queen’s University Press, 2006, p. 199.

3 “Les Canadiens-Français face à la Confédération,” in Quebec Canada Anglais: Deux Inineraires Un Affrontement, Montréal, Les éditions HMH, 1968, p. 168.

4 Groulx, Lionel, Mes Mémoires, Tome 1, 1878-1920. Montréal, Fides, 1970, p. 324. Quoted and translated by Richard Clippingdale in Laurier: His Life and World. Toronto, McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 1979, p. 212.

5 Groulx, Lionel, Mes Mémoires, Tome 1, 1878-1920. Montréal, Fides, 1970, p. 324.

6 Dafoe, J.W., Laurier: A Study in Canadian Politics. Toronto, Carleton Library, McClelland and Stewart, 1963 (originally published in 1922), p. 24.

7 Bothwell, Robert, Ian Drummond and John English, Canada 1900-1945. Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1987, p. 125.

8 Duffy, John, Fights of Our Lives: Elections, Leadership and the Making of Canada. Toronto, Harper Collins, 2002, p. 154, 156.

9 Moore, William, The Clash: A Study in Nationalities. Toronto, J. M. Dent & Sons, 1918, p. 305.

10 Ibid., p. 315.

11 Bothwell, Robert, Ian Drummond and John English, Canada 1900-1945. Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1987, p. 131.

12 Richer, Léopold, Silhouettes du monde politique. Montréal, Éditions du Zodiaque, 1940, p.187-190.

13 Ibid., p. 145.

14 Creighton, Donald, John A. Macdonald, The Young Politician. Toronto, Macmillan of Canada, 1952

15 Bothwell, Robert, Ian Drummond and John English, Canada 1900-1945, p. 44, 126.

16 Rocher, Guy, “Beyond the Quiet Revolution,” As I Recall/Si je me souviens bien: Historical perspectives. Edited by the Institute for Research in Public Policy (John Meisel, Guy Rocher and Arthur Silver), Montreal, IRPP, 1999, p. 207.

17 Quoted by Graham Fraser in Sorry, I Don’t Speak French: Confronting the Canadian Crisis that Won’t Go Away. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 2006, p. 27.

18 Ibid., p. 31-32.

19 See reference to Manitoba language rights [1985] 1 S.C. R. 721; Ford v. A.G. Quebec, [1988] 2 S.C. R. 712; and R. v. Beaulac [1999] 1 S.C. R. 768 among others.

20 See reference to secession of Quebec, [1998] 2 S.C. R. 217.