Debts to Pay
Debts to Pay
English Canada and Quebec from the
Conquest to the Referendum
John R Conway
James Lorimer & Company, Publishers
Toronto, 1992
Copyright © 1992 by John F. Conway
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or me-
chanical, including photocopying, or by any information stor-
age or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
publisher.
James Lorimer & Company Ltd. acknowledges with thanks
the support of the Canada Council, the Ontario Arts Council
and the Ontario Publishing Centre in the development of writ-
ing and publishing in Canada.
Cover photo: Vincent Ladouceur, National Battlefields
Commission
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Conway, John Frederick
Debts to pay: English Canada and Quebec from the
conquest to the referendum.
ISBN 1-55028-395-2 (bound). ISBN 1-55028-394-4 (pbk.)
1. Canada - English-French relations. 2. Federal government -
Canada. 3. Quebec (Province) - History - Autonomy and inde-
pendence movements.
I. Title
FC144.C761992 971.4 C92094857-X
F1027.C76 1992
James Lorimer & Company, Publishers
Egerton Ryerson Memorial Building
35 Britain Street
Toronto, Ontario
M5A 1R7
Printed and bound in Canada
For Patricia Vivian Conway Robitaille, born, 17 November
1940 at Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, died, 6 March 1988 at
Montreal, Quebec,
who attempted a reconciliation of the two nations
in her personal life
In days of yore, from Britain's shore,
Wolfe the dauntless hero came,
And planted firm Britannia's flag,
On Canada's fair domain.
Here may it wave, our boast, our pride,
And joined in love together
The Thistle, Shamrock, Rose entwine
The Maple Leaf for ever!
from "The Maple Leaf for Ever"
Alexander Muir, 1890
Je me souviens.
Quebec's national motto since 1883
I am convinced that much of our
problem is simply that people do
not know enough about their history...
Joe Clark
Minister Responsible for Constitutional Affairs
Globe and Mail, 31 December 1991
Those who cannot remember the past
are condemned to repeat it.
George Santayana
CONTENTS
Preface viii
Acknowledgements xi
Note xii
1 Ominous Impasse 1
2 Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 10
3 The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 22
4 The Quiet Revolution 53
5 Levesque, the Referendum, and Patriation 92
6 The Meech Lake Accord 129
7 The Charlottetown Agreement 148
8 The 1992 Referendum Campaign 168
9 Separation or Special Status? 207
Bibliographic Note 223
Select Bibliography 225
Index 232
PREFACE
When I was growing up in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, we
regularly sang "The Maple Leaf for Ever" during morning
assembly at Empire School. It was not until much later that I
noticed that the fleur-de-lis was not allowed to entwine with
the rose, shamrock, and thistle. That it was not is not, of course,
surprising. During those days the song was English Canada's
unofficial anthem, usually sung with more gusto than ''God
Save the King."
Quebec and the entire "French fact" were more or less ab-
sent from my direct experience, except when we studied his-
tory (and those classes never left any doubt that the best thing
that ever happened to New France was the Conquest). I can't
recall meeting a French Canadian from Quebec during my
childhood, but I heard a lot about them. And we had our local,
semi-assimilated variety. I learned the usual epithets — pea-
souper, frog. A lot of the prejudice we absorbed in my home
mixed Orange hostility to Rome with ethnic contempt. What I
learned about French Canadians was either uniformly nega-
tive — disloyal to Britain and Canada, untrustworthy, unwill-
ing to fight in the war while our boys died, lazy, backward,
priest-ridden — or patronizing — overly emotional, good-
natured, simple. Both these stereotypes were also portrayed in
the movies I went to see at the Royal Theatre — French Cana-
dians were either evil villains or happy-go-lucky, good-
hearted buffoons.
xii DEBTS TO PAY
There was one jarring exception to this general attitude. Like
most working men in Moose Jaw in that era, my father joined
in the harvest. He used to bring home stories of the French
Canadians he met who had come out on the harvest trains to
help take off the wheat. At the time it didn't strike me as odd
that these men he worked with were quite different from all
other French Canadians. They worked hard, did their fair
share, were easy to get along with, and enjoyed a good time.
Like most English Canadians, I was shaken out of my igno-
rance about Quebec by the Quiet Revolution. At university I
was exposed to books and courses on Quebec. I heard touring
speakers like Pierre Bourgault and Rene Levesque. I followed
political events in Quebec avidly. I travelled to Quebec. On my
first extended trip there in 1965 I learned something of both
the anger and the reasonableness of the people when I discov-
ered that my inability to speak or to understand French pro-
voked hostility only until the Quebeckers in question learned
I was not from either Montreal or Ontario, but from the West.
Then they would warm up. It was okay to be an English-only
speaker from western Canada.
On my last extended trip to Quebec in the autumn of 1987
for language training at Laval University I learned something
of the determination of the Quebecois in securing their nation.
This was a period when many in English Canada, and not a
few in Quebec, were gleefully crowing that Quebecois nation-
alism was dead for at least a generation. The Quebecois were
too busy earning money, and they had even voted Tory in
1984, an unthinkable act! Yet I failed to find any evidence of
this death of nationalism. Quite the contrary. I was in Quebec
City when Rene Levesque died, and I was amazed by the
massive outpouring of deep love and grief for the man and
strong support for his ideals.
I've put my children in French immersion. I have learned
enough French to function haltingly at professional meetings.
I do not want Quebec to separate. Yet I know that my linguistic
gestures are not enough, are not even what Quebec wants. I
believe today, just as I believed at the height of the Quiet
Revolution, that Quebec will eventually separate unless En-
glish Canada offers a serious accommodation to Quebecois
nationalism. The temporary breathing space provided by the
Preface xiii
October 1992 referendum may be our last chance. The next
federal and Quebec elections will clarify just how much time
we have. And it may not be much. This is an appeal to my
fellow English Canadians to open their hearts and minds to
Quebec in an effort to help save the Canada we know and love.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The manuscript was read by historian Dr. Lorne Brown, Uni-
versity of Regina, and by Diane Young, Senior Editor at James
Lorimer and Company. The idea was also discussed at length
with Jim Lorimer. Their suggestions helped to produce a better
book. The copy-editing expertise of Jane Fredeman greatly
improved the final text. Cheryl Heinnemann and Leanne
Overend typed the manuscript, showing constant patience
with my interminable changes and revisions. To all six, to my
family, and to my many students and colleagues with whom
I have debated the "Quebec question" over the years, my
heartfelt thanks.
NOTE
The use of the term "English Canada" may bother some read-
ers, but it is still the most convenient and historically accurate
term. The facts are clear. Canada is composed of two nations:
the Quebecois nation, with the province of Quebec as its po-
litical and constitutional home; and the English-Canadian na-
tion, with a considerably stronger political and constitutional
home — nine provinces and two territories. The latter also has
hegemony in the House of Commons, the Senate, and all other
federal institutions and a well-protected minority status in
Quebec. Canadians have now agreed to add a third nation to
the equation of Canada's constitutional design, the native or
first nations.
Over 75 per cent of Canada's current population is of British
or French extraction, or some combination thereof. Those of
British extraction make up the largest single population bloc,
often an overwhelming majority, in every province except
Quebec. In Quebec, about 80 per cent of the population is of
French origin. Granted, the English-Canadian nation is char-
acterized by a high degree of tolerance of ethnic and cultural
diversity, and this diversity has continued to transform and
enrich it. Perhaps we will soon reach the point when we can
drop the adjective "English" and just speak of the Canadian
nation. The Quebecois nation is similarly undergoing transfor-
mation as diverse ethnic and cultural groups adopt French as
Note xiii
their language of work and education. Seventy-three per cent
of Canadians speak English, 26 per cent speak French, while
only 7 per cent speak a different language at home.
The English-Canadian nation's distinctive roots remain in
its British origins, now significantly modified, and the English
language; the Quebecois nation's distinctive roots remain in its
French origin, also significantly modified, and the French lan-
guage. All the other ethnic groups that have come to Canada
have integrated, to varying degrees, to one or the other of these
nations.
Ominous Impasse
Supporters of the Charlottetown Agreement told Canadians
that approval would bring an end to constitutional bickering/
the beginning of national reconciliation. The defeat of the
Agreement on October 26, 1992 in both Quebec and English
Canada and the deep divisions provoked by the referendum
campaign are damning testimony to a monumental miscalcu-
lation on the part of our political elite. Instead of celebrating a
reconciliation, Canada faces a crisis. Within Quebec, separatist
sentiment has surged. The Quebecois rejected the Agreement
because it was too little, too late; many English Canadians
rejected it because it gave Quebec too much. Before the
Charlottetown Agreement, the Mulroney government was
deeply discredited, the most unpopular incumbent govern-
ment in Canadian polling history. It still is, and the probable
make-up of the House of Commons after the next election
leaves little hope that the impasse facing Canadians will be
resolved easily. Indeed, the polls suggest that, in the absence
of a significant and sudden shift in public opinion, we will
have a potential political disaster. Quebec's seventy-five seats
could be shared almost equally between the Liberals and the
Bloc Quebecois. The MPs from the West will include a large
number from the Reform Party. The disintegration of the To-
ries, as Reform acts as a spoiler on the right in English Canada,
could result in the NDP and the Liberals competing to form a
minority government, which would be harried by large groups
2 DEBTS TO PAY
of Bloc and Reform MPs and confronted with a serious crisis
of national unity.
How did we reach this impasse? Though the conflict be-
tween English Canada and Quebec has been with us since the
Conquest in 1759, its current sharp expression exploded with
the death of the Meech Lake Accord in 1990. Many Quebecois
interpreted the failure of Meech as a rejection of their mini-
mum demands. When Meech died., public opinion in Quebec
hardened on the option of either sovereignty or a satisfactory
renewal of federalism. For the first time in Canadian history,
separatist sentiment achieved representation in the House of
Commons and electoral vindication in a convincing by-elec-
tion win in Laurier-Ste.-Marie in August 1990. The sovereignt-
ist Bloc Quebecois, led by Lucien Bouchard, enjoyed levels of
national support that hovered between 7 and 10 per cent ac-
cording to Gallup. But that support was wholly concentrated
in Quebec, where it has fluctuated between 30 and 40 per cent.
The failure of the Charlottetown Agreement will strengthen
this level of support and, depending on events preceding the
federal election in 1993, perhaps provoke a rise in the Bloc
vote. In a federal election, this support will translate into a
significant number of Quebec seats, if not a sweep. The clear
federalist option in Quebec, which enjoyed such strength dur-
ing the Trudeau era, has little credibility. Even Bourassa's
"now nationalist/now federalist" equivocation seems discred-
ited.
In English Canada positions also hardened as a result of the
death of Meech. In the period following its failure, sympathy
for Quebec fell to a low ebb, where it has remained. Episodes
of desecration of the Quebec flag, acts that would have deeply
embarrassed English Canadians prior to Meech, received
widespread attention and often applause. Local governments
— like Sault Ste. Marie and Thunder Bay — declared them-
selves unilingual English-speaking. In New Brunswick, the
only officially bilingual province, the Confederation of Re-
gions party won the status of Official Opposition in the legisla-
ture on a program of dismantling bilingualism. The
governments of Saskatchewan and Alberta moved with un-
apologetic alacrity to expunge French-language constitutional
rights. An MLA in Alberta was prevented from speaking
Ominous Impasse 3
French in the assembly. And Preston Manning and the Reform
Party rose to national prominence.
The meteoric rise of the Reform Party reflected, better than
all the isolated incidents, the way many English Canadians
hardened their hearts against the concerns of the Quebecois.
The party leapt from relative obscurity in the 1988 election to
prominence in English Canada. Gallup recorded that Reform
Party support jumped from 2 per cent in 1988 to between 11
and 16 per cent throughout 1991-92. This support was and
remains wholly concentrated in English Canada, since Re-
formers are not interested in offering themselves to the people
of Quebec. In the midst of the Charlottetown referendum cam-
paign, as recorded by a Globe and Mail poll in early October
1992, Reform support reached 17 per cent on the Prairies, 21
per cent in British Columbia, 11 per cent in Ontario, and 6 per
cent in Atlantic Canada. On the Prairies, Reform support is
largely concentrated in Alberta, where polls suggest that the
party could sweep the province's twenty-six seats and where
Reformers in 1989 won both a by-election for the House of
Commons and the first provincewide election for a Senate seat.
Though Manning and the Reform Party got their kick-start
in the late eighties by voicing western alienation and demand-
ing a Triple-E Senate, much of Reform's national rhetoric has
been carefully designed to capture the minority strain of anti-
French, anti-Quebec bigotry that has always ebbed and flowed
in English-Canadian politics. Manning's position on Quebec
was probably given its most disturbing expression in a speech
he made in April 1991 in New York, counselling Americans to
look to the U.S. Civil War in order to understand what was
happening in Canada. He spoke of the Civil War as the "model
for secession." In that speech, Manning came perilously close
to suggesting civil war as a possible outcome in Canada's
constitutional crisis. During Manning's one foray into Quebec
during the 1992 referendum campaign, he spoke at the Loyola
campus of Concordia University in the heart of anglo-Mon-
treal. In the sole episode during the campaign at which a
speaker required police protection, he reiterated his determi-
nation to confront the separatists head-on, forcing the
Quebecois "to choose once and for all" between Canada and
independence.
4 DEBTS TO PAY
At the opposite end of the spectrum from the folksy mem-
bers of the Reform Party are Canada's mainstream anglophone
intellectuals. During the Quiet Revolution and the Levesque
era, these anglophone intellectuals, particularly those in the
centre and on the left were largely sympathetic to Quebec.
Though unable to persuade Ottawa and most provincial gov-
ernments that Quebec needed some special constitutional ac-
commodation, English-Canadian intellectuals played a
significant role in tilting public opinion toward a softer line on
Quebec. This positive attitude largely ended with the free
trade election of 1988 when many intellectuals in English Can-
ada were angered and deeply disappointed by Quebec's
strong support for Mulroney and free trade, particularly by the
aggressive support of Quebecois nationalists. The events at
Oka in 1990, which provoked sympathy for the Mohawks
across English Canada but hostility in Quebec, further under-
mined the progressive reputation of Quebecois nationalism
among the English-Canadian intelligentsia.
In a sense, Quebecois nationalism lost an influential ally —
a sort of fifth column — in English Canada. At the same time,
the minority intellectual current in English Canada that had
always been hostile to Quebecois nationalism was pushed to
prominence. Books that formerly would have had only a nar-
row appeal — Mordecai Richler's Oh Canada! Oh Quebec!, for
example — became best-sellers. Views that would have for-
merly been largely beyond the pale were taken seriously: Can-
ada would be better off without Quebec; military force ought
to be contemplated to keep Quebec in Confederation; a sepa-
rating Quebec would be carved up and partitioned; an inde-
pendent Quebec would not be welcome in any post-separation
economic or other association; and so on. Before free trade and
the collapse of Meech, intellectuals who took such positions
were seen as cranks. In the Meech aftermath, they were not, a
fact that indicates how far the polarization had gone. And
prior to the referendum on Charlottetown, these poisonous
voices resonated on the fringes of the No campaign.
In one of those strange ironies of history, at the same time
that English Canada's heart hardened on Quebec, it softened
on aboriginal issues. While English Canadians and their pre-
miers were firmly saying No to special status for Quebec, they
Ominous Impasse 5
were suddenly saying Yes to aboriginal self-government and
a more reasonable approach to land claims negotiations. Most
Canadians were willing to include an aboriginal self-govern-
ment clause in the constitution. The role of Manitoba native
MLA Elijah Harper in the death of Meech, the events at Oka,
and the attempt by some aboriginal leaders, especially Ovide
Mercredi, to use the split between the French and English to
push aboriginal claims all deepened the cleavage between En-
glish Canada and Quebec. English Canadians smugly patted
themselves on the backs about their growing openness to na-
tive issues while they looked down their noses at the more
backward attitudes of the Quebecois. The Quebecois, for their
part, angrily pointed out that they had little to learn from
English Canadians whose late repentance hardly erased a
lengthy record of intolerance and oppression. At the same
time, the hostility of many Quebecois to native demands grew
as they perceived efforts by native leaders to exploit the strain
between English Canada and Quebec. And this hostility was
a sad but significant undercurrent in the strong rejection of the
Charlottetown Agreement in Quebec.
The October 1992 referendum has passed. Instead of a rec-
onciliation, the "two solitudes" have not been so hunkered
down in their respective enclaves since prior to the Quiet Rev-
olution or the bitter World War I Conscription Crisis or per-
haps even since the hanging of Riel. The Bloc Quebecois and
the Reform Party represent the logical extreme of each soli-
tude, looking inward and brooding over its own grievances.
Perhaps one could take a fatalistic view, arguing that this
outcome was inevitable, that it has been coming ever since the
Conquest. But many of us do not share that view. Rather, we
believe that history, both long past and recent, informs us that
English Canada must largely shoulder the blame for our pres-
ent circumstances.
The Bloc Quebecois and the Parti Quebecois reflect a con-
viction, present in Quebecois nationalism from the beginning,
that in order to save the Quebecois nation, a separate, sover-
eign state must be constructed. Ever since Rene Levesque was
spurned by the Quebec Liberal Party and proceeded to build
the Parti Quebecois, that conviction has been a clear provincial
choice for the Quebecois.
6 DEBTS TO PAY
But in the past, it was a choice only exercised in the secure
context of simultaneously choosing among the Conservatives,
Liberals or NDP in federal elections. Now, with the Bloc
Quebecois poised to run candidates in the coming federal elec-
tion, the potential outcome is more ominous. It was one thing
to joke during the Levesque-Trudeau era that the Quebecois
wanted an independent Quebec within a strong federal sys-
tem. What happens if Quebec elects the PQ provincially and
the BQ federally? That will be no joking matter. Quite simply,
the federal government will have little political legitimacy in
Quebec or in world councils when dealing with the Quebec
question.
After Meech and Charlottetown, Canada is still on the
threshold of a period of political instability and rancour, a
period that could witness the departure of Quebec. It need not
come to pass, just as what has happened since the Quiet Rev-
olution need not have happened. During the Quiet Revolution,
when English Canada opened up to Quebec as never before,
there was an opportunity to renegotiate Confederation. En-
glish Canada refused to do so. After Levesque lost the refer-
endum in 1980, there was another opportunity to renegotiate
Confederation. English Canada again refused. After the failure
of Meech, there was another chance. Initially, the wide-open
process which culminated in the Charlottetown Agreement
raised many hopes, but then the English-Canadian premiers
badly fumbled the ball. British Columbia's Minister Responsi-
ble for Constitutional Affairs Moe Sihota put it most graphi-
cally when he said Quebec's Premier Bourassa "ran into a brick
wall formed by nine other governments... [which] said: 'Look,
there is no way you are going to get special status ...'" Once
again, English Canada failed to rise to the challenge of the
Quebec question, harshly refusing to make the accommoda-
tions for which Quebec has been asking, episodically from the
Conquest onward and most insistently for the last thirty years.
What Quebec wants is straightforward: that English Canada
affirm an acceptance of the right of the Quebecois to national
self-determination and that negotiations begin to reconstruct
Canada's constitutional order in ways that give Quebec the
special powers it needs to protect and enhance the Quebecois
nation. That was what the Royal Commission on Bilingualism
Ominous Impasse 7
and Biculturalism more or less told us in 1967. That was what
the Task Force on Canadian Unity told us in 1979. That was
what Levesque first asked of the Quebec Liberal Party and
then asked of Canada through the PQ. And that's what
Bourassa, the last credible federalist left in Quebec politics,
asked in 1992 when he warned us against "domineering and
authoritarian federalism."
A large part of the problem is that English Canada and
Quebec premise their actions on two very different versions of
the same history. English Canada recalls the Conquest of 1759
as a simple battle on the Plains of Abraham. Quebec recalls it
for what it was, the final military confrontation in a long,
bloody military campaign that stretched from Acadia up the
St. Lawrence. English Canada recalls the uprising of 1837-38
almost as a comic opera sideshow in the irresistible march to
responsible government. Quebec recalls 1837-38 as another
bloody suppression of the Quebecois nation. English Canada
celebrates Confederation in 1867 as the birth of a nation. Que-
bec views it as the imposition of a two-layered constitutional
stranglehold on national aspirations. English Canada sees the
hanging of Louis Riel as unfortunate, an event best forgotten,
and ambivalently contemplates making Riel a hero. Quebec
views the hanging of Riel as yet another English-Canadian
declaration that the French fact ought to stay locked up in
Quebec. And so it goes, each solitude with its own version of
the same history, even up to the present.
English Canada now believes the imposition of the War
Measures Act in 1970 was a regrettable, if understandable, over-
reaction. Quebec considers it as another military occupation
designed to subjugate, to warn, and to humiliate. English Can-
ada sees the victory of the federalist option in the 1980 Quebec
referendum as an affirmation of Quebec's commitment to Can-
ada. Quebec, now contemplating all the broken promises
made during that referendum campaign, views it as yet an-
other example of English Canada's political duplicity. English
Canada sees the isolation of Levesque in 1981 as another small
gambit in the constitutional chess game where Quebec's leader
was outmatched by the English-Canadian team. Quebec re-
gards it as an affront to the Quebecois nation, as a deliberate
slap in the face. English Canada was divided on Meech and
8 DEBTS TO PAY
Charlottetown. Some regarded both accords as craven surren-
ders to blackmail by Quebecois nationalists while others re-
garded them as reasonable and generous offers to Quebec.
Quebec saw Meech as a bare minimum on which English
Canada choked, and Charlottetown as yet another effort by
English Canada to impose unilateral constitutional solutions.
English Canada has not yet been able to go through the
process of recognizing the oppression of the Quebecois — and
other francophones — and undertaking a resolute effort to
make amends. It has gone through such a process regarding
the oppression of native people. Now we appear prepared to
pay our debts. Similarly, Canadians have acknowledged the
debts owed the Japanese-Canadian victims of the World War
II internment infamy. And we have gone partway from time
to time with the Quebecois. But only on our own terms and
never far enough to threaten English-Canadian interests, par-
ticularly control of the Canadian federal system, which in-
cludes Quebec as a province more or less like the others. We
have toyed with making amends, but never the amends asked
by the Quebecois. Indeed, many English Canadians believe
that we admitted our oppression during the Quiet Revolution
with the Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism. They
believe we proceeded to pay our debts amply, perhaps too
amply, to the Quebecois — French power in Ottawa, official
bilingualism, allowing French to become the language of work
and education in Quebec, various economic development con-
cessions. But the Quebecois do not agree, and they never have.
English Canada's most recent effort, finalized at Charlotte-
town, and forcibly presented to both the Quebecois and En-
glish Canadians on a "take it or leave it" basis, has only finally
served to deepen the divisions both within and between the
two solitudes.
The idea that Quebec is oppressed is a hard sell in English
Canada. Canadians have many diverse grievances and oppres-
sions that are uniquely rooted in the design of Confederation.
Confederation was, after all, a scheme hatched and carried out
by the British Colonial Office to salvage the fortunes and fu-
tures of the traditional colonial elites in Britain's possessions
in North America. It involved the construction of a sea-to-sea
federation that would remain loyal to Britain while containing
Ominous Impasse 9
the troublesome French fact. Confederation was a last resort
for our elites, who had stumbled from option to option and
crisis to crisis after the defeat of the rebels in 1837-38 and
whose separate futures would doubtless have culminated in
their falling into the tender embrace of Uncle Sam. Confeder-
ation had only minority popular support throughout the Brit-
ish colonies, except in Canada West (Ontario). Atlantic
Canada, British Columbia, and the Prairies all continue to have
grievances rooted in the political and economic design of Con-
federation. It is, therefore, understandably hard to win sym-
pathy for the Quebecois nation from the poor and unemployed
of Cape Breton or Newfoundland, from Saskatchewan farmers
driven off the land because of low prices and debt, from B.C.
lumber and mining communities that live through booms and
busts always mindful that a total shutdown is possible.
But that sympathy must be won. Whatever the grievances
and the regional oppressions faced by English Canadians, we
must never forget what sets the oppression of the Quebecois
apart. No other province or region has faced the routine use
of military force, or the threat of such force, throughout its
history. No other province or region can claim to be the polit-
ical and constitutional homeland of a unique nation with its
own language, culture, and history. The Quebecois nation ex-
ists, justifiably festering with historical grievances and resent-
ments arising from unjust treatment by Enghsh Canada. These
are the facts that English Canada refuses to face and avoiding
them has been the object of an elaborate constitutional dance
begun long before 1867. The dance must end; the facts must
be faced. And we in English Canada must set about paying
our debts if we want Canada to survive.
Quebec as a Defeated
Nation: The Conquest
The first historical fact to be remembered is the military con-
quest of Quebec. The Conquest must colour our interpretation
of all subsequent events. It was much more than the defeat of
the French by British forces in a contest for North America, a
contest whose geopolitical outcome was only a matter of time.
The Conquest was also the defeat of a nation — the Canadiens
— a people who no longer saw themselves as French citizens
on a temporary sojourn in the New World. They had in fact
built a new habitant culture from which, for most, there was
no going back.
English Canada no longer celebrates the Conquest. One
rarely hears the "Maple Leaf for Ever" any more. School chil-
dren do not recite 18 September 1759, the date of the final
surrender of Quebec City to the British, as a singular founding
event in Canada's history. But the fact of conquest is not ig-
nored. It is duly recorded as the inevitable outcome in a con-
tinental struggle between the 60,000 to 70,000 French, largely
in Acadia and New France, and the estimated 1.5 million Brit-
ish, largely in the Thirteen Colonies. And, it is also noted that
this was more than a local continental skirmish; it was a con-
frontation between the French and British world empires, a
confrontation only finally resolved at Waterloo.
Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 11
Historians in English Canada often refer to Versailles' ne-
glect of New France and indifference to the growing gap be-
tween the French from France and the Quebecois. In this
context, the quip by Montcalm's aide Bougainville is often
quoted: "It seems that we are of a different nation, even an
enemy one." These historians also frequently recount stories
about the generosity of the British conquerors and the good,
even kindly relations between the British troops and the peo-
ple of Quebec City, especially during that first terrible winter
of 1759 - 60.
General James Murray, Wolfe's replacement as commander
of the troops and the first governor of Canada, was generous
and humane in victory, once referring to the Quebecois as "the
bravest and the best race upon the Globe/' Scarce food and
fuel were shared, and troops who misbehaved were punished
severely. During the worst of the winter, the British troops, ill
prepared and poorly equipped for the harshness of the cli-
mate, suffered terribly from the cold and hunger, over a thou-
sand troops dying. The kindnesses of the conqueror were
repaid by the conquered. The Ursuline nuns — who had
tended the mortally wounded Montcalm and buried him in
their convent's walls (their museum today contains his relics,
including his skull) — knitted knee warmers for the bare-
legged Highlanders. Such events should be remembered and
celebrated, but so should other, less admirable actions. They
are not well remembered in English Canada, but they are
among the Quebecois.
This final war to conquer France in North America contin-
ued from 1754 to 1760, and until the last year the British did
not fare well. Indeed, until the spring of 1760 neither the
French nor the British knew for certain who would win the
final day, since that depended on which country's supplies
and reinforcements arrived in the St. Lawrence first. Montreal
had not been taken, and the French army of seven thousand
(including three thousand Canadian militiamen) had re-
grouped there and intended to retake Quebec City. General
Murray had only three thousand troops fit to fight. The British
fleet arrived first, and Montreal surrendered in September
1760.
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However, because their campaign had gone badly until
1759, the British took some desperate measures. About fifteen
thousand French lived on the Nova Scotia peninsula, which
was ceded to Britain by the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht. Angry that
many Acadians remained actively loyal to the French cause
and fearful that a majority might share similar sentiments, the
English decided in 1755 to exile the Acadians forcibly and
disperse them throughout the Thirteen Colonies. The orders
were brutal — the Acadians were rounded up by military
units, those who evaded deportation were deprived of shelter
and food by the torching of their homes and crops. In this way,
an estimated six thousand Acadians were dispersed, their land
seized without compensation and later redistributed to loyal
British settlers, largely from New England.
Before the battle on the Plains of Abraham, a frustrated
Wolfe ordered a scorched earth policy, burning homes, vil-
lages and farms along the St. Lawrence and shooting any Can-
adien who carried a gun. Further frustrated by Montcalm's
effective defences at Quebec City, Wolfe had the city bom-
barded from across the river, a tactic without military merit
that served only to inflict terror and suffering on the city's
civilian population. The later generosity of Governor Murray
could not completely erase such events from the collective
memory of the Quebecois. And the fact that Murray was
forced out in 1766 by the minuscule but powerful bloc of
British merchants, who chaffed and bridled under the restric-
tions on their right to exploit Britain's newest possession
freely, could not have been reassuring to the Quebecois, who,
above all, feared sharing the fate of the Acadians.
After the Conquest, the British occupation had two faces,
military and economic. Of the two, the military occupation
was the milder, and the economic occupation would have been
harsher, but for Murray and his successors. The newly arrived
British merchants wanted to make profits, and they antici-
pated easy plunder. The profitable fur trade of New France
was rerouted from French to British hands and from French to
British ports. But the merchants wanted more. Because the
Quebecois could not hold office, the British merchants sought
an elected assembly and other rights of British subjects. Had
they been successful, the Quebecois would have been deliv-
Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 13
ered, shackled, to a pitiless commercial fate. But Governor
Murray, and later Governor Guy Carleton, who once de-
scribed the British merchants as "the scum of the earth, mas-
querading as its salt," refused to accede.
Upon reflection, this contrast — the economic occupation
held in check by the military occupation — makes sense. The
British merchants had little interest in agriculture, except inso-
far as it fed land speculation. Their primary interest was the
fur trade and the resulting commercial traffic across the Atlan-
tic. Further, for them, the Que'becois were merely a source of
cheap labour to man the fur trade, a small but significant
captive market, and the annoying occupiers of potentially
profitable land. If the merchants could have exiled all the
Que'becois they considered either surplus to their pecuniary
needs or impediments to profit, they would have done so
without a second thought. After all, the Quebecois were not
only conquered and therefore subject, they were also French
and Catholic. On three counts, therefore, they were of little
consequence.
The British military, and later the governors appointed from
London, were concerned with both day-to-day and long-term
order in the context of the long-range global interests of the
British Empire. They were acutely aware that a handful of
British occupiers could never hold the colony against a united,
determined, and aroused population. As military commanders
and politicians, they knew that the population had to be pla-
cated and reassured that their worst fears were groundless and
that the local leaders had to be won over at least to passivity
and indifference. Wisely, therefore, they turned a blind eye to
the practice of the Catholic religion and dealt with the popu-
lation in the French language. The law was administered as
fairly and as reasonably as possible under the circumstances.
Charity was given. Kindnesses were shown.
Thus, even though the Royal Proclamation of 1763 outlined
what appeared to be a draconian program of forced assimila-
tion, its implementation was another story altogether. The
Proclamation clearly intended to re-make the new colony in
the mould of British colonies. It imposed English civil and
criminal law and customs and the use of English. Catholics
were effectively barred from public office because of the oath
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requiring allegiance to the British monarch as head of church
— the very oath that had provided the pretext for the exile of
the Acadians. In this way, the Quebecois were excluded from
all influence in the society and effectively enjoyed no status as
citizens. The size of the colony was severely reduced: the
northern boundary now ran northeast from Lake Nipissing to
Lake St. John and thence up the north shore of the St. Law-
rence; the southern boundary ran due east from Lake Nipiss-
ing across the St. Lawrence and thence up the south shore of
the river. The Proclamation also promised the introduction of
an elected assembly — which would effectively have been
English and Protestant — in an effort to promote an influx of
British settlers. Legally, the Proclamation was implemented,
but only imperfectly, and life for the ordinary Quebecois went
on much as before. Introducing an assembly was left to the
governor's discretion, a discretion Murray and Carleton chose
not to exercise.
While it may be true that the Conquest and its aftermath
were benign by the standards of the day and that the gover-
nors did hold in check some of the more rapacious tendencies
of the British merchants, these facts should not deflect us from
the long-term sociological consequences of the Conquest.
Quebecois society lost its leadership or, as some have put it,
suffered "decapitation." The British victory led to the disman-
tling of the French political and administrative apparatus, the
displacement of the French and Quebecois merchant elite, and
the emigration of many of the old landowners. How many
actually returned to France and how many remained or re-
turned later to be absorbed in a transformed and defeated
society is the subject of scholarly controversy. Sociologically it
makes little difference. These elements largely ceased to exist
as leaders with real power in the larger community, and those
who remained, remained on the conqueror's terms.
British domination led to a massive rural retreat during
which, like other conquered people, the Quebecois turned in-
ward and hunkered down in their parishes. Since their society
was deprived of effective secular leadership, the Church and
the local priest became a key focus of community life, a central
source of leadership, and a rampart for linguistic and cultural
resistance. With no significant outside contact, Quebecois so-
Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 15
ciety became increasingly homogeneous and rural, rooted in a
subsistence economy and overseen by British masters. The
extent of the "ruralization" of Quebecois society was dramatic
and quite contrary to world trends: at the Conquest it is esti-
mated that 25 per cent of Quebecois were urban dwellers. By
1825 only 12 per cent were urban, and in Quebec City and
Montreal the British were in the majority. This rural character
of Quebecois society remained predominant until World War
II.
Cut off from the usual sources of population renewal and
growth available to colonial societies through immigration, the
Quebe'cois commenced what has come to be known as "the
revenge of the cradle/' which saw the Quebecois population,
from the Conquest to the Quiet Revolution two hundred years
later, increase eighty fold, rising from sixty or seventy thou-
sand to five million, not counting the loss of another million
or so to immigration to the U.S. Today, Quebec has the lowest
fertility rate in Canada, a fact serving to increase the anxiety
of the Quebe'cois.
These, then, were the survival responses of a conquered
nation determined to thwart the conqueror's plans. Certainly,
the hope that the Quebecois would ultimately be swamped by
a huge British immigration was misplaced, at least initially.
The slowness of British immigration combined with the relent-
less rate of natural increase of the Quebecois to make clear that
"the French fact" was in Canada to stay. The imposition of the
English language and English laws, customs, and administra-
tion had been met with passive resistance, and long-run pros-
pects of a significant rate of assimilation appeared more and
more elusive as the Quebecois nation remained vital. Thus
conqueror and conquered reached a potentially unstable
stand-off. British power and British numbers could never
withstand the Quebecois should their resistance become ac-
tive. This concern was always foremost in the minds of the
wiser among the British, and it became even more central as
the Thirteen Colonies moved from defiance to rebellion.
Under the circumstances, the loyalty of the Quebecois could
not be counted on, and even elements among the British mer-
chants contemplated throwing in their lot with the American
rebels. As relations deteriorated between the Thirteen Colonies
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and the British, Governor Carleton moved to forestall revolt in
Quebec. The informal pact the British had made with the
Quebecois clergy and the remnants of the French merchant
and landowning elite, was carefully cultivated in order to en-
sure that the Quebecois masses were not swept up in the
coming American contagion. Now, however, the Quebecois
leadership, forever conservative but also nationalist, de-
manded a quid pro quo — the worst of the chains binding the
Quebecois nation would have to go. Furthermore, the bases of
the Quebecois leadership would have to be consolidated since
the Quebecois as a whole did not blindly love their elite.
The Quebec Act of 1774 was adopted just in time, only
months before open military hostilities broke out between Brit-
ish troops and American rebels. The act was a complete rever-
sal of the policies embodied in the Royal Proclamation of 1763.
The Quebecois nation got its language, its old civil law, and
the freedom to practise its religion. With official, legal status,
however, Quebecois leaders were a step removed from their
community, especially since they led by British selection rather
than by Quebecois election and therefore became more se-
curely a part of the British apparatus of domination than be-
fore.
Furthermore, the Quebec Act explicitly forbade an elected
assembly — "it is at present inexpedient to call an Assembly"
— and established an appointed council to advise the gover-
nor. In this way, the overall governance of the Quebecois re-
mained essentially despotic. The British had, deliberately or
otherwise, misinterpreted the Quebecois' earlier resistance to
an elected assembly from which they would be excluded as a
resistance to elected assemblies in general. No one asked them
if they wanted an assembly elected fairly by both Quebecois
and British residents, nor did their conservative leaders pro-
pose such a radical measure. The Quebecois were not yet con-
sidered fit to enjoy the rights of Englishmen. In a final act, both
to please the Quebecois and to put the American rebels on
notice, the Quebec Act also restored the boundaries of the col-
ony to their pre-Conquest dimensions. The new Quebec in-
cluded all the land around the Great Lakes north to the Height
of Land, south to the Ohio, and east to the Mississippi, and the
colony was extended on the north shore to Labrador and on
Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 17
the south shore flush to the American colonies. The fact that
much of this territory was part of future expansion plans of
the Thirteen Colonies was far from accidental. The new prov-
ince of Quebec was therefore made up of equal measures of
desperation and expediency on the part of London.
The Quebec Act was sufficient to ensure the passive neutral-
ity of the Quebecois during the American War of Indepen-
dence. Contrary to some British expectations, the Quebecois
did not jubilantly hail this measure as a great victory — it was
not — especially for the ordinary Quebecois. But it was
enough. While many sympathized with the American cause
and not a few joined the Americans to fight the British, the
Quebecois, as a nation, did not rise up and join the Americans
to throw off the British yoke. But neither did they join the
British. When the Americans invaded, the Quebecois not only
refused to join the American cause but also actively resisted
efforts to conscript them to fight on the British side. They did
not view the Americans as enemies and invaders, treating
them more often as a first wave of bothersome tourists creating
noise and disturbances in their tranquil communities. The
Quebecois did not want to fight on either side. Many, of
course, did agitate on behalf of the Americans, and some suf-
fered excommunication as a result. Others did act as guides
for the Americans and even fought with them. Consequently,
the neutrality of the Quebecois remained uncertain until the
very end. The Quebec Act of 1774 and the alliance the measure
cemented among the British, the Church and landlords was
enough. But had Montgomery and Arnold's winter 1775 siege
of Quebec City been successful and had Quebec City surren-
dered to the Americans as Montreal had, Canada's and
Quebec's stories would have been entirely different.
The Quebec Act granted the Quebecois a portion of their
national rights. It also briefly consolidated the conservative
leadership bloc among the Quebecois while setting in motion
a process that ultimately undermined it. Professions that
served the people and their culture were now legitimate;
teaching, law, medicine, and the notariat joined the priest-
hood, which resulted in the growth of an alternative secular
and middle-class leadership potentially more independent
and progressive than the old bloc. These professional occupa-
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tions, and to a lesser extent the Quebecois merchant class,
provided a fertile field for ideas and ideals spawned by the
American and French Revolutions. Though the British contin-
ued to select Quebecois office-holders "from a group ... of
'followers' of the English/' as the early Patriote Pierre Bedard
put it in 1814, alternative leaders with substantial popular
support began to emerge from among the new Quebecois mid-
dle class. Only the lack of an elected assembly prevented these
leaders proving their legitimacy, and, then, when an assembly
was granted, the absence of responsible government kept them
from office with real power.
The victory of the Americans had a final echo in Quebec
with the arrival of the United Empire Loyalists to settle in the
Eastern townships, the Gaspe, and what was to become On-
tario. These were the most loyal of British subjects, having
faced and passed the ultimate test of civil war and having lost
everything as a result of their commitment to Britain and the
Empire. Of the estimated forty thousand Loyalists who came
to British North America, most went to Nova Scotia, but a
large group of about seven thousand arrived in Quebec and
provided that colony with its first British population of any
great significance.
The Loyalists both sustained and subverted the traditional
British colonial merchant elite. They sustained the elite just by
being there in numbers as ballast to the large Quebecois pop-
ulation. They also sustained the elite by their deep pro-British
patriotism, their anti-Americanism, and their anti-republican
conservatism. Their demands for loyalty to the British flag and
Empire were implacable, and their standards were high. In
payment for their losses, the Loyalists received an immediate
tangible stake in the colony. Each Loyalist was granted one
hundred acres of land, as well as another fifty acres for each
additional person in his family. But the Loyalists who came to
Quebec were largely farmers and therefore committed to fur-
ther immigration and agricultural settlement. They found little
support among the British merchant elite, whose vision was
still limited by the blinders of mercantilism. The Loyalists also
brought with them the expectation that they would enjoy the
rights of Englishmen, including the election of assemblies and
the right, as men of property, to participate actively in the
Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 19
political life of the commonwealth. Inevitably, there was a
clash of interests between the merchant elite and the Loyalist
fanners, who were joined by other British immigrants who
anticipated a well-settled agricultural society firmly based on
a loyal landowning yeomanry. The contradiction between the
commercial designs of the British merchant elite and the agri-
cultural designs of the Loyalists and those who joined them on
the land could not be long contained merely by appeals to
patriotism and loyalty.
The growing British population was unhappy both with the
Quebec Act's considerable concessions to the Quebecois in law,
language, and land tenure and with its explicit prohibition of
an elected assembly. Furthermore, they did not see the pros-
pect of an assembly elected generally by both British and
Quebecois electors as a solution. They wanted British institu-
tions, rights, laws, and customs. And they wanted English to
be the language of daily life, business, and politics. These
things the British population could never have without tur-
moil and controversy as long as they were confined in a polit-
ical home with the Quebecois. The Quebecois, for their part,
newly confident and assertive as a result of the assurances in
the Quebec Act, and more and more led by a more progressive
middle class leadership, were attracted to the idea of an elected
assembly to provide a representative political voice for the
Quebecois nation. The demand for an elected assembly there-
fore united the British and the Quebecois against London and
the local administrative elite. But they were very much divided
on the other issues.
A reconciliation of sorts was achieved with the Constitu-
tional Act of 1791. The act imperfectly divided the British and
Quebecois populations into Upper and Lower Canada, respec-
tively. The line of division, just west of Montreal, included in
Lower Canada a small but powerful British minority. The act
allowed for elected assemblies, but appointed governors and
councils. The rights of the British minority in Lower Canada
were well protected: the appointed governor and a majority of
the appointed council remained British, and the boundaries for
election to the assembly were craftily drawn to give consider-
able over-representation to the British minority. For example,
the Quebecois, making up well over 90 per cent of the popu-
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lation of Lower Canada, were apportioned about 70 per cent
of the assembly seats, while the British minority were granted
the other 30 per cent. This practice of providing considerable
over-representation to the British minority in the assembly
only finally ended during the October Crisis in 1970. Never-
theless, in Lower Canada the stage was set for confrontation
as the assembly rapidly became the democratic voice of the
Quebecois nation, or at least of those with property, and the
appointed governor and council more and more took on the
character and appearance of external impositions, which, of
course, they were.
Since the Quebec Act was not repealed, the effect of the
Constitutional Act, which was in fact passed as an amendment
to the Quebec Act, allowed each colony to decide which pro-
visions of the Quebec Act would continue to be in effect. Need-
less to say, Upper Canada quickly opted out and established
a truly British colony. Lower Canada, however, retained the
comforts granted to the Quebecois by the Quebec Act, while
making careful arrangements to secure and protect the privi-
leges of the British minority. At least in that sense, long before
Confederation, Quebec was recognized as an atypical and
"distinct" British colony. The forerunner of modern Quebec
was therefore born in 1791, having been conceived in 1774.
The Quebecois moved into the nineteenth century with some
remarkable gains. They had been granted concessions that
made clear that London had finally abandoned the notion of
making the "French fact" disappear through a combination of
assimilation and British immigration, and they had secured
their civil law, language, and religion. Though their homeland
had been considerably reduced with the creation of Upper
Canada, the very act of creating Lower Canada provided the
Quebecois with a geographical and constitutional homeland.
Lower Canada was the territory in which the Quebecois nation
resided. The granting of elected assemblies — something that
London could not very well give to British Canadians without
giving it to the Quebecois — provided the nascent structures
necessary for the democratic evolution of the Quebecois. The
only things that separated the Quebecois nation from full mas-
tery in their homeland were the appointed British governor
Quebec as a Defeated Nation: The Conquest 21
and council, a powerful, privileged, and dominant British mi-
nority, and British military might. To some of the more pro-
gressive middle-class leaders among the Quebecois, who
enjoyed growing popular support, responsible government
and real national independence were only a small if momen-
tous step away.
The Re-conquest and
Isolation of Quebec
The four decades following the Constitutional Act of 1791 oc-
cupy an uncertain place of honour in Canada's official history
as the era dominated by the struggle for democratic and re-
sponsible government in Upper and Lower Canada. The
Quebecois of Lower Canada and the English Canadians of
Upper Canada were largely united in this struggle, which
pitted elected assemblies against the Family Compact and the
Chateau Clique.
There was much that united the middle-class democratic
movements in the two colonies: anger at and hatred for a
corrupt economic and political oligarchy, which ruled as if the
colonies were the personal fiefdoms of its members; fury at
distant colonial masters in London who failed to respond to
petitions with speed and justice; the affliction of an unwork-
able political system based on elected assemblies with the lim-
ited power of supply and appointed governors and executives
jealousy holding all political and administrative authority —
ensuring the impasse that inevitably occurred; the desire for
colonial economic policies designed to encourage immigra-
tion, local industry, and agricultural settlement, as opposed to
the oligarchy's increasingly irrational determination to cling to
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 23
the old mercantilist strategy. These grievances, in retrospect,
made the Rebellions of 1837-38 inevitable.
There was, however, a central issue that divided the demo-
cratic movements in Lower and Upper Canada from each
other. In Lower Canada the movement was both nationalist
and democratic, inevitably shaped by the resentment among
the Quebecois majority of the national oppression of British
colonial rule and its local expression through a privileged,
powerful, and arrogant English minority. In Upper Canada the
basic democratic issues were unclouded by the issue of natio-
nal oppression, and, as a result, both the Rebellion and its
aftermath were much less bloody and bitter.
In Upper Canada the conflict between the assembly and the
Family Compact was a more clear-cut constitutional question.
The Family Compact dominated the London-appointed gov-
ernor and his executive council. Further, the gulf between the
elite, the assembly members, and the electors was not com-
plete. The elite enjoyed some popular support and maintained
a strong loyal presence in the assembly, and elections were not
always foregone conclusions. The Reform Party won majori-
ties in the assembly in 1828 and again in 1834, but only a
minority in 1830, and in 1836 was defeated, amid charges of
fixed votes, unfair counting, bribes, and intimidation. Appar-
ently, the governor's appeal in 1836 to British loyalty and
patriotism was effective. The electorate's loyalty was uncertain
and wavering to be sure and it was severely tried by London's
refusal to accept the call for responsible government. But it
was sufficient to hold most Upper Canadians, indeed most
Reform Party sympathizers, back from leaping into the abyss
of armed insurrection.
Most of the key grievances of the Upper Canadian reformers
had to do with matters of economic policy. The basic antago-
nism involved the Reformers' desire for an aggressive pursuit
of policies to encourage immigration, agricultural settlement,
and industrial development. The Family Compact, on the
other hand, favoured continuing the emphasis on commerce
within the British mercantile system. The Reform opposition,
composed of farmers, nascent industrialists, small merchants,
and the middle-class professionals who serviced them, re-
sented the priorities of the colonial state: the pre-eminence of
24 DEBTS TO PAY
commercial policy; the use of public funds for expensive, com-
mercially oriented public works (particularly canal building);
and the absentee speculative ownership of vast tracts of land.
All of these were seen as enormous obstacles to the progress
desired by both the Loyalists and their descendants and the
new immigrants.
The Reform Party's concerns were well documented by
Robert Gourlay in his Statistical Account of Upper Canada pub-
lished in 1822, a book that resulted first in the author's banish-
ment and then his eventual trial and imprisonment for almost
four years. In preparing his book, Gourlay asked thirty-one
questions of each township in order to collect data. It was the
thirty-first question that got him into trouble: "What, in your
opinion, retards the improvement of your township in partic-
ular, or the province in general; and what would most contrib-
ute to the same?" This question, and the other thirty, were
posed to the resident landowners of each township, obviously
the leading "respectable" citizens. Everywhere the complaints
were the same: a monopoly of land ownership by absentee
owners and a lack of settlers with the capital needed to pur-
chase land.
In Upper Canada a new society was emerging, based on
agriculture and small industry. It was composed largely of
landholding farmers locked in a structure of government and
economy over which they had little or no control. Even when
their representatives came to dominate the assembly, the ap-
pointed council remained in the hands of the dominant mer-
chant class. This elite group had appropriated for themselves
much of the land as its value increased. It was the land mo-
nopoly issue more than anything else that sparked the Rebel-
lion. Indeed, the increasingly irreconcilable political conflict
between the legislative and executive branches of government
merely reflected this conflict between the new agricultural and
industrial majority and the old mercantile minority, which
blatantly used its control of the colonial state to defend its
privileges. Lord Durham later agreed and reported the "deep-
seated impediments in the way of industrial progress," includ-
ing "the possession of almost the whole soil ... by absentee
proprietors, who would neither promote nor permit its culti-
vation, combined with the defective government which first
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 25
caused and has since perpetuated the evil." It is not therefore
surprising that William Lyon Mackenzie's 1837 Navy Island
Proclamation most prominently promised freedom of trade
and the redistribution of land when independence was won.
Independence, however, was not won. The Rebellion failed
miserably. The military confrontation involved only a few
skirmishes in 1837, the major one occurring at Montgomery's
Hotel on the outskirts of Toronto, and a number of cross-bor-
der raids during 1838 by Reformer partisans who had fled to
the United States. The military outcome was never in doubt:
the Reformer forces were outnumbered, outgunned, and very
badly led. Canadians thereby learned the lessons learned by
European revolutionaries that same decade. You do not storm
barricades and topple governments with ideals, passion, and
a just cause alone.
The repression was severe but not brutal, involving few
casualties and no widespread punitive lootings or burnings
against populations sympathetic to the Reform cause. Two
military leaders — Peter Matthews and Samuel Lount — were
tried and hanged, after being hugged and kissed by a tearful
executioner. During the 1838 raids four captured Reformers
were summarily executed after they surrendered. Nine others
were tried and executed, and about sixteen were transported
to Australian penal colonies. In total, some 855 fighters were
officially named as arrested or escaping arrest. Most had their
sentences of death or imprisonment commuted.
The 1837-38 Rebellion in Upper Canada is not accorded a
great deal of honour in English Canadian history. When seek-
ing heroes from the event, English Canada has tended to hon-
our those who sided with the authorities against the
Reformers. A notable exception, of course, was the leader,
William Lyon Mackenzie, though he has hardly been lionized
in Canadian history. The Rebellion is very often viewed as the
unnecessary actions of impatient hotheads whose extremism
probably slowed down rather than speeded up London's be-
nevolent devolution of responsible government to British
North America. Often the Rebellion in Upper Canada is
painted as faintly ridiculous, involving a great deal of bom-
bast, a lot of running and hiding, and very little shooting. No
significant historical monument memorializing the Rebellion
26 DEBTS TO PAY
in Upper Canada exists, with the exception of that to the exe-
cuted leaders Lount and Matthews located in the Toronto Ne-
cropolis.
The Rebellion in Lower Canada was a different matter. The
national question dominated every other issue contested.
While Mackenzie envisioned an independent confederation of
colonies if the Rebellion succeeded, Louis-Joseph Papineau,
the Patriote leader, played coy with Mackenzie and toyed with
the vision of an independent Quebecois nation state emerging
from success. Papineau and his followers favoured a demo-
cratic republican form of government. They did not embrace
proposals for universal male suffrage, which were called for
by the radical elements, nor did they embrace some of the
more thoroughgoing anti-seigneurial and anti-clerical tenden-
cies. Thus the democracy envisioned was imperfect and de-
signed primarily to transfer political, economic, and social
power from the English minority, and their British colonial
masters, to the Quebecois middle classes.
On the land question, Patriote concerns were different from
those of the Reformers, since land and nation were inevitably
emotionally intertwined in Lower Canada. The Patriotes were
concerned about a land shortage resulting from both over-
population and the fact that British immigrants with capital
were taking up more and more land. Emotions concerning the
land issue were intensified by the fact that the rural retreat
after the Conquest had tied the survival of the nation to the
land and the habitant way of life. Furthermore, British im-
migration into Lower Canada was viewed as ominous, partic-
ularly in the context of the recurring British dream of
obliterating the French by drowning them in an irresistible tide
of immigrants. The fact that the major urban areas were now
dominated by the British minority and were the centres where
economic, political, and administrative power was held
largely by the British did little to alleviate this fear. While the
Reformers' economic program might be characterized as wide-
open frontier capitalism, that of the Patriotes was very much
that of a capitalism managed in ways to sustain and nurture
the nation, and the developments allowed must not be so
uncontrolled that they could threaten the nation's foundation.
Though there was a radical wing in the Patriote party that
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 27
wanted to go beyond the moderate policies to a more popular,
anti-clerical and anti-seigneurial program, they only began to
reach ascendancy in the dying days of the Rebellion and then
only because of their military courage and dedication to the
cause.
There were other fundamental differences between the
Upper Canadian Reformers and the Lower Canadian Patri-
otes. Both movements opposed the colonial system as a cor-
rupt and undemocratic barrier to economic progress. But the
Patriote complaints could never be separated from the fact that
they suffered under a British colonial regime and that the
Quebecois nation — the overwhelming majority of the popu-
lation — suffered endless national oppressions and humilia-
tions. Those few Quebecois co-opted into positions of power
and privilege were denounced as les gens en place, and such
promotions were counted against those who took them. The
British minority dominated the economy, particularly in trade,
industry, and finance, the sectors of growth, dynamism, and
progress. The relentless pressure of this British domination
and encroachment denied land to many Quebecois, drove oth-
ers into emigration to the United States, and left the Quebecois
excluded from the economy in the growing cities. All this fit
into the sense of national grievance and could only intensify
Quebecois fears that the long-run project of the British was the
ultimate extinguishment of the Quebecois nation, or at least its
reduction to the status of a rootless minority in what was
formerly its national home. The Rebellion, therefore, was seen
as more than a fight for democratic and responsible govern-
ment. It was also seen as the necessary means, first to save and
then reassert the Quebecois nation's right of primacy of place
on the soil of Lower Canada. Perhaps such emotions alone are
sufficient to explain the Patriotes' greater courage, determina-
tion, and more general willingness to die for the cause in
comparison to their counterparts in Upper Canada.
The Patriotes enjoyed much deeper popular support than
that commanded by the Reformers in Upper Canada. After
almost a generation of struggle for national recognition and
democratic political reform, there was no doubt about the
population's support for the Patriote party. In the 1827 elec-
tion, the Patriotes won an overwhelming election victory, re-
28 DEBTS TO PAY
ducing the English party opposition to four. Many of the Patri-
ote assembly members were of British origin, but they were
committed to both the democratic program and the struggle
for national independence of the Patriotes. In the general elec-
tion of 1834, held to the tune of Papineau's denunciation of
"the aristocracy of the banks, the government and trade," and
fought on almost entirely nationalist grounds, the Patriotes
swept in with seventy-seven per cent of the vote, winning
seventy-eight seats (forty-one of these by acclamation) to the
English party's nine seats. Just prior to the election, the assem-
bly adopted Papineau's "Ninety-two Resolutions," a passion-
ate distillation of Patriote grievances and remedies. The
government of Lower Canada reached a stalemate between the
appointed British-dominated executive and legislative coun-
cils and the elected assembly, which controlled public funds.
Commencing after the 1834 election, the Patriotes held a
series of huge rallies demonstrating their popular support.
Clearly, Papineau and the Patriotes were determined to use
the decisive 1834 election results and their palpable support to
force concessions from London. Popular anger against the Brit-
ish minority and Quebecois "traitors" increased, scuffles broke
out, tensions mounted. The situation was further worsened by
an economic crisis. A drastically lower harvest resulted in a
sharp rise in the price of bread and in the cost of living. The
economic downturn adversely affected all sectors of the econ-
omy and increased popular anger as farmers plunged into
debt, workers could find no work, merchants saw profits fall,
and professionals adjusted to shrinking incomes. Meanwhile,
grain that could not be found for local consumption could be
found for the export market. The situation became a classical
pre-revolutionary one, with political and economic grievances
coming together into a hardening of positions and a wide-
spread anticipation of a looming final confrontation. At this
point, the impasse could have been broken, and the Rebellion
avoided, had London agreed to serious reforms toward re-
sponsible government. Instead, on advice from the local Brit-
ish elite, London acted provocatively when the British House
of Commons adopted Lord John Russell's infamous 'Ten Res-
olutions" in the spring of 1837. The resolutions in effect re-
jected any concessions to the Patriote reform program, while
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 29
stripping the elected assembly of its powers. The message was
clear. Not only was London rejecting any reform in response
to the years of tireless democratic agitation culminating in an
unmistakable expression of popular will, but also it had de-
cided to strip the Quebecois of what little political power they
enjoyed, the very instrument that had allowed them to mobi-
lize and shape this expression of the nation's will. It was a
provocation that could have had only one outcome, presenting
the Patriotes with a stark choice: abject surrender or insurrec-
tion.
That the Patriotes had not seriously planned insurrection
from the beginning is well known. No military preparations
of any significance had been made. A Patriote militia had not
been organized, though some Patriote activists secured posi-
tions in the established militia. Military plans had not been
made. Talk of military action usually occurred as mere rhetor-
ical flourishes in flights of political oratory. Typically, such talk
was not followed up with any practical actions. These were
not serious revolutionaries, though they were in love with the
idea of revolution and naively convinced that revolution was
justified in the circumstances.
The Church, long suspicious of the anti-clerical tendencies
among the Patriotes, and the government took counteraction
quickly and ruthlessly, catching the Patriote leadership off
guard. The Church announced that there would be neither
absolution nor religious burial for those rebelling against con-
stituted authority. The Patriotes were denounced from the
pulpits as "heathens, hypocrites and manipulators." This ef-
fort to shatter the Patriotes' popular support largely failed,
since many local priests did not comply with the bishop's
directives. But the message could not help having some inhib-
iting effect. There was now a yawning gulf, according to the
Church, between the rebels and devoted God-fearing
Quebecois. The government banned public meetings, called in
troops, and commenced military preparations. Arrest war-
rants for Patriote leaders were prepared, but most went
quickly into hiding. The ranks of the magistrates and militia
were purged of known and suspected Patriote sympathizers.
London and the local government had opted for a final, mili-
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tary solution of both the present crisis and the previous de-
cades of impasse.
The actual two-year civil war in Lower Canada was quite
extensive, involving a number of pitched battles between
poorly armed Patriotes and British regulars and volunteers. In
most major battles the Patriotes were poorly led. The only
significant Patriote victory occurred at St. Denis in the early
phase of the war. Very soon, however, the war became a pu-
nitive expedition as British troops, particularly the volunteers
with years of scores to settle, embarked on a campaign of
killing, looting, and burning. At St. Charles, surrendering
Patriotes were killed, and the village was burned. St. Denis
was also burned to the ground in reprisal for being the site of
the early victory. Patriote leader Dr. Jean-Olivier Chenier died
during the defeat at St. Eustache. His body was put on display
at the inn, it was rumoured that his heart was cut out, and the
village was torched. Outnumbered Patriotes at St. Benoit of-
fered to surrender, but their offer was refused, and the village
was attacked and burned to the ground. The burning of vil-
lages and farms became so general that the British military
commander and later governor of Lower Canada, Sir John
Colbourne, was nicknamed Vieux Brulot (Old Arsonist), and
when he was later made Lord Seaton, many Quebecois delib-
erately mispronounced his name as "Satan."
There are no precise figures for the total number of dead
and wounded, but most accounts speak of hundreds. Of the
estimated 515 locked up in jail at the end of the war, not
counting those prematurely freed by Lord Durham, 99 were
condemned to death, and 12 were finally hanged. Fifty-eight
were deported to penal servitude in Australia, and two were
banished. Many hundreds fled into exile and later trickled
back as pardons were granted. Chevalier DeLorimier, a Mon-
treal notary who was among those executed, left a political
testament in which he said, "I die without remorse; all that I
desired was the good of my country, in insurrection and in
independence ... My efforts have been for the independence
of my compatriots; thus far we have been unfortunate ... I die
with the cry on my lips: Vive la Liberte, Vive l'Independance!"
The full story of the uprising in Lower Canada is rarely
recounted among English Canadians. We conveniently over-
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 31
look it or diminish its significance. Among the Quebecois it is
different. The story is told and retold in all its detail. It is a
deep part of the national heritage. The Patriotes are presented
as heroes of the nation, and their names and the details of their
lives are learned in school. Statues and monuments to the
Patriotes dot the province. The most striking is that raised at
St. Denis, the site of the only Patriote victory; topped by a
Patriote partisan in fighting stance, it bears the simple inscrip-
tion in French and English, "Honneur aux Patriotes 1837. " Th e
events of 1837-38, and the agitations leading up to them, mark
the birth of the modern Quebecois nation. The fact that the
nation was reconquered and suppressed by military force and
the noose and that its leadership was broken and dispersed
certainly slowed down its development. But the Quebecois
nation did not disappear despite continuing diligent efforts to
make it do so.
Lord Durham's report on the events, issued in January 1839,
was a scurrilous, anti-Quebecois document that once again
reflected the English determination to extinguish the French
fact. The document blamed the rebellions on the Quebecois
and proposed, most importantly, that measures be taken to
prevent the Quebecois from ever controlling an elected assem-
bly again. Since Durham himself, as a radical lord, was com-
mitted to responsible government and since it was
inconceivable for him to deny democracy to Englishmen, he
took local advice and recommended that the stillborn 1822
idea of a union of Upper and Lower Canada into one colony,
Canada, be resurrected. The estimated 400,000 British in Upper
Canada would combine with the 150,000 in Lower Canada,
providing a working majority against the 450,000 Quebecois.
Durham also recommended that a policy of assimilation be
adopted. The English language would prevail as the language
of government and business. Excluded from the vital main-
stream, the language and customs of the Quebecois would be
pushed to the margins of society where they belonged.
Durham's view was that while the backward among the
Quebecois might continue their resistance by clinging to the
old ways, the best and the brightest would be attracted to, and
finally absorbed by, the opportunities and the progressive dy-
namism of a bustling, British-dominated colony. Further, an
32 DEBTS TO PAY
aggressive encouragement of British immigration would
doom the Quebecois to the status of a declining minority.
London implemented many of Durham's recommendations
with the Act of Union in 1840, which set the stage for the pattern
that has continued ever since. The Quebecois were locked up
in a political and constitutional home they could never hope
to control, a measure intended to ensure their long-term fate
as a declining, marginalized minority. Upper and Lower Can-
ada were united into a single colony with an elected assembly
in which each former colony received forty-two seats. Thus,
the seats for the old Upper Canada, combined with the over-
representation provided the British minority in the old Lower
Canada, would ensure a British-dominated assembly. French
was denied official status as a language either of public record
or of debate in the assembly. A very high property qualifica-
tion was established for eligibility to run for election (in the
old Lower Canada there had been no restrictions on who could
run for the assembly and a fairly low property qualification
determined eligibility to vote). Further, money bills could only
be presented to the assembly by the government. Durham's
major recommendation — responsible government — was
flatly denied. The governor and council were appointed, and
there was no requirement for equal representation from the
two former colonies in the appointed councils nor was there a
requirement for the representation of both language groups.
London did not, however, go the whole route in national
oppression. French civil law remained in place for Canada East
(Lower Canada), and the religious rights of the Catholic
church were respected, as was the principle of the local control
of education. Thus, Canada was an administrative nightmare
with two systems of law, two legal bureaucracies, two attor-
neys-general, and two school systems with two different lan-
guages of instruction. The Act of Union, then, pleased no one
completely, but neither did it offend anyone completely. The
Reformers were angry that responsible government was not
granted, but they were pleased that Governor Lord Sydenham
promised nearly responsible government by a careful selection
of his council to ensure that its members had the support of
the assembly. The British Tory bloc was happy to get union,
an assured British majority in the assembly, and a postpone-
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 33
ment of full responsible government. The Quebecois were
angry, but they were marginally relieved that the national
oppression was not as thoroughgoing as they feared. The
Quebecois still had the right to elect representatives to the
assembly, the comfort of their civil law, and the assurance that
their key cultural and linguistic institutions — schools and the
Church — would be permitted to carry on. But it was to prove
a largely unworkable system, ensuring that deadlock would
again inevitably result.
The biggest fear of London, Governor Lord Sydenham, and
the local British elite was that the Reformers of Upper Canada
and the Patriotes of Lower Canada might coalesce around
another reform program and achieve control of the new as-
sembly. For the first election the governor left nothing to
chance or to the unfettered exercise of democracy. The high
property qualification served to keep out some of the radical
riff raff. In addition, the governor personally gerrymandered
the electoral boundaries to reduce Quebecois representation,
and he actively campaigned in Canada West to encourage the
election of moderate and/or conservative members. He also
made clear he did not want too active a campaign, advising
the public to "avoid useless discussion upon theoretical points
of government." The tame press helped considerably in this
effort to depoliticize the situation by warning the people "to
shun as they would a pestilence the contaminating presence of
an itinerant preacher of grievances ... [and] to cast politics to
the winds and devote themselves ... to their farms and their
warehouses as if ... the turmoil of an election had never been
heard by their peaceful firesides."
The effort was successful, and the first assembly saw only a
handful of committed Reformers elected from Canada West.
Though a significant group of Patriotes was elected in Canada
East, the heir to Papineau's mantle, Lafontaine, was defeated.
In the end, the governor had an assembly he felt he could work
with — a moderate majority of around fifty to sixty members,
with a strong but not unmanageable Patriote/Reform opposi-
tion on the left and a rump group of hard Tories carping on
the right.
With a relatively tame assembly, the Quebecois nation again
contained, and a sort of half-way house to responsible govern-
34 DEBTS TO PAY
ment in place, the resurrection of the old mercantile dream
seemed plausible, even irresistible. Prosperity returned, and
the future seemed to hold prospects unlimited for the elite,
which, though somewhat transformed and a bit subdued, had
survived the worst fear of elites everywhere — a popular
insurrection. The St. Lawrence trade route would dominate the
heart of the continent — British and American — carrying raw
or partly finished staples to Europe and bringing British man-
ufactures back. Both trips would fill merchant and forwarding
pockets. Settlers would rush in. An imperial loan on good
terms and a doubling of the revenue tariff assured the new
colony's fiscal recovery, making it possible to complete the St.
Lawrence canal system. Alas, for the elite, the golden future
was not to be; the house of cards began to collapse.
To the dismay of Canadian merchants and Tories, Britain
began to dismantle its worldwide mercantile system and move
to free trade. This process began in 1842 with measures that
reduced the preference for Canadian wheat and timber; next,
the Corn Laws and Timber and Sugar Duties were repealed,
and, finally, in 1849 the protection given by The Navigation Acts
ended. These moves swept away the foundation of Canada's
commercial system, which relied on imperial preference and
protection for its exports and upon The Navigation Acts for its
shipping industry. Furthermore, to emphasize London's con-
viction that British colonies had to find their own niche in the
world economy and become responsible for themselves, in
1842 Canada was granted de facto responsible government,
followed by formal and final measures in 1847. In an irony of
history, what the Reformers and Patriotes had failed to win in
1837-38 was granted by the imperial Parliament: economic
self-determination and responsible government. The ideolog-
ical descendants of 1837-38, now more moderate, came to
ascendancy; the old Tory bloc was more or less excluded from
power; the French language returned to official status in 1848;
and a complex and comprehensive reform program was car-
ried out.
Britain's moves to free trade precipitated an economic di-
saster in Canada. Exports of wheat and flour collapsed, prop-
erty values declined, bankruptcies accelerated. Even with the
changes following on responsible government, Canada's new
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 35
political and economic elite had no alternative economic strat-
egy for recovery, and consequently the government lurched
from crisis to crisis. Eventually Canada's choices became clear,
even to the old Tories. The alternatives were not attractive;
they were all through perilous uncharted waters, and none
included the old secure special mercantilist bond with Britain.
The cruelly orphaned colony could move to a policy of
economic protection, keeping the home market for local man-
ufacturers and encouraging industrialization. It could adopt
free trade, carving out an economic niche in a world already
dominated by European industrial powers. It could embrace
annexation and throw its lot into a continental American em-
pire. It could seek reciprocity with the United States in an
effort to exchange benefit for benefit in the hopes of ultimate
prosperity. Or, the colony could adopt a mixture of such pol-
icies. This last prudent course was adopted, as Canada's elite
opted for a judicious application of protection and reciprocity,
but with considerable energy also devoted to maintaining a
special relationship with Great Britain. The shadow blueprint
for Confederation began to be drawn.
The first step to Confederation was the Intercolonial Reci-
procity Agreement of 1850 between Canada, New Brunswick,
Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island, which provided for
preferential duties for each colony's products in the others.
This worked so well for Canada West that pecuniary enthusi-
asm for Confederation increased rapidly. In 1854 the Reciproc-
ity Treaty with the United States was signed. Again, Canada
West did very well, particularly as the growth in markets
began to stimulate Canada's small manufacturing base. There
was a brief period of prosperity until the 1857 depression. It
resulted in another fiscal crisis, spurring a further strategic
innovation, as Minister of Finance Alexander Galt proposed
his famous ''fiscal tariff with incidental protection." With one
bold stroke more revenue was generated at the same time as
the government responded to demands from Canada's emer-
ging industrialists for targeted protection of the home market.
Growing discontent with the Reciprocity Treaty in Canada,
especially among farmers, fishermen, and lumbermen, who
were becoming unhappy with the free flow of natural prod-
ucts, was now joined by annoyance from the Americans at
36 DEBTS TO PAY
these moves to protection. The victory of the protectionist
North in the American Civil War in 1865 and the subsequent
abrogation of the treaty by the U.S. government simply con-
firmed the wisdom of the already well-prepared underpin-
nings of Confederation: westward expansion, an east-west
transcontinental railway, and industrialization through pro-
tection.
This colonial project, though largely conceived in London,
received its strongest support in Canada West, soon to be
Ontario. London's interests were clear: to preserve a British
North America from sea to sea. To realize it, London had to
beg, cajole, and threaten the elites of Britain's North American
possessions, except in Ontario. There Confederation, particu-
larly the economic prospects of a vast westward expansion,
captured the imagination. Canada, as a transcontinental na-
tional economy, was to be Ontario's. More importantly the
West was to be Ontario's frontier.
What of Canada East, soon again to be Quebec? In the pe-
riod leading to Confederation Quebecois nationalism had di-
vided between the conservative Bleus and the more radical
Rouges. The Bleus entered into a pact and shared power with
the English moderates of Canada West. Radical nationalism
ebbed and became more and more isolated. Anti-clericalism
and freethinking became increasingly unacceptable, and the
Church enjoyed a renewed status in the society, joining the
governing coalition. The pact, quite simply, was to accept the
defeat of the Quebecois nation in 1837-38 and to attempt to
salvage the essence of the nation — its language, religion, and
culture — through accommodation and compromise with the
dominant English. And, though the Act of Union imposed strict
limits on the Quebecois nation, significant concessions had
been secured.
As the Confederation scheme unfolded, supported by the
Bleus in Canada East, a promise was held out to the Quebecois
nation. Canada would be divided into two provinces, Ontario
and Quebec. Thus, the Quebecois would again be granted a
political and constitutional home in which they would enjoy a
certain hegemony within the considerable constitutional limits
of Confederation. The French language and civil law would
prevail in Quebec, and significant powers would be granted
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 37
to all provinces — education, health, local government, prop-
erty, resources, civil rights, a large say in agriculture — powers
sufficient to defend the cultural and linguistic foundation of
the Quebecois nation. The powerful English minority in Que-
bec would be reassured by Article 80 of the British North Amer-
ica Act, which established seventeen protected English
provincial constituencies in the Eastern Townships, the Ot-
tawa Valley, and northwestern Quebec. These constituencies
were to remain protected until a majority of the seventeen
sitting members agreed otherwise. And, for the first time since
1837, the Quebecois nation would be able to express its dem-
ocratic political will, however circumscribed by the British
North America Act, through a National Assembly.
For the British-dominated Canada West, the dangers inher-
ent in defying Durham's advice never again to allow the
Quebecois domination in an elected assembly were offset by
being rid of the burden of having constantly to reconcile the
divergent interests of the united Canada. The establishment of
Ontario as the biggest, richest, and most dynamic and power-
ful province, freed of all the messy history of the old colony,
would allow the province's elite to get on with nation-building
and westward expansion — British nation-building and west-
ward expansion. With the Quebecois nation safely secured in
a separate province under a strong central government domi-
nated by Ontario, the elite of Ontario could turn its mind to
other more important matters.
Yet the Quebecois in their new province could pose a threat.
With its large population, economic base, and strategic loca-
tion on the St. Lawrence, Quebec was the only province that
could present itself, if not as an alternative leader of Confed-
eration, than at least as a serious counterweight to Ontario.
This might prove a serious problem if the Quebecois nation
decided to play a significant role in westward expansion
through settlement. This was unlikely to happen since
Quebecois nationalism was obsessively rooted in Quebec soil.
Nevertheless, it could occur if opportunities arose for those
with a broader vision of the role that the Quebecois nation
could play in Confederation, a vision that might include the
co-development of the West to include a significant French
population. After all, the Quebecois had not been reluctant to
38 DEBTS TO PAY
move in droves to the United States to seek their fortunes. Why
would they not move in large numbers to a West that was
welcoming and congenial to them? It was one thing to lock up
the Quebecois nation in the province of Quebec, but it also had
to be isolated and confined there, and the rest of Canada,
especially Ontario's frontier in the West, quarantined from the
French fact. The vision of Canada as a British nation from sea
to sea — except for Quebec — could not be realized if the West
were to become a series of New Brunswicks. And it was indeed
in the West that any emerging aspirations of the Quebecois
nation to play a significant role in building Canada outside
Quebec were firmly thwarted.
In March 1992 the House of Commons honoured Louis Riel by
adopting a resolution recognizing his "unique and historic
role" in founding the province of Manitoba and in defending
the rights of the Metis. Riel has long been viewed by western
Canadians as a hero in the Wesf s battle against Central Cana-
dian domination. And it goes without saying that he has been
held in deeper reverence by both Indian and Metis.
Louis Riel led two rebellions resisting the terms of incorpo-
ration of the Prairie West into Confederation — one in 1869-70
in Red River, the other in 1885 in the Saskatchewan region. In
1670 the Prairie region and most of the vast northern territory
had been granted by the British Crown to the Hudson Bay
Company, which for two hundred years exercised relatively
complete economic and political control over the region and
its inhabitants. In 1867-68 Canada negotiated the purchase of
the entire region from the Company for 300,000 pounds ster-
ling, retention of one-twentieth of the "fertile belt" in the re-
gion (about seven million acres), and further land grants
around the Company's many trading posts. In 1869 Canada
dispatched a governor to take control of the entire region as a
colonial possession of Ottawa. At no time were the Red River
inhabitants consulted. Sixteen hundred white settlers, fifty-
seven hundred French-speaking and four thousand English-
speaking Metis lived in the region. (The entire area —
including what is now Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, parts
of western Ontario, and the Northwest Territories — in 1871
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 39
boasted a meagre total of just seventy-three thousand inhabi-
tants, including the native nations.)
The local people responded with something less than enthu-
siasm to their annexation by Canada. The French-speaking and
Catholic Metis feared for their language, education, and reli-
gious rights. White settlers and the Metis as a whole shared a
concern that their rights, particularly land rights, would be
over-ridden without prior guarantees. Both groups wanted
some form of responsible government and full provincial sta-
tus and rejected the prospect of exchanging the dictatorship by
the Company for one by Ottawa. When the Canadian gover-
nor, William McDougall, declared his authority over the re-
gion, the overwhelming majority of white settlers and Metis
united under the leadership of Riel, proclaimed a provisional
government, issued a "List of Rights," and demanded negoti-
ations with Ottawa. Ottawa agreed to negotiate, and as a result
the province of Manitoba was established in 1870. The French
and English languages were both granted official status, local
control of education was assured, the recognition of the rights
to tenure on existing farms was promised, and 1.4 million acres
of land were designated for the settlement of outstanding
Metis land claims. This was a significant victory, though it was
somewhat offset by Ottawa's decision to constrict Manitoba's
size to just ten thousand square miles around what is now
Winnipeg and to deny the new province control of its lands
and resources.
The grievances in Saskatchewan in 1885 were similar, again
uniting white and Metis. This time there was also significant
support from the native nations, which faced starvation and
were angered at the failure of Ottawa to live up to treaties. The
1885 "Bill of Rights" demanded more just treatment for Indi-
ans, a redress of Metis land grievances, and guarantees of
security of tenure on existing farms for white and Metis alike.
Additionally, the demands included responsible government,
representation in the House of Commons and the cabinet,
control of lands and natural resources, improvements in the
homestead laws, vote by ballot, improvements in rail transpor-
tation, and tariff reductions. The central political demand was
again full provincial status and involved a threat of separatism
40 DEBTS TO PAY
— "we may settle up with the East and form a separate feder-
ation of our own in direct connection with the Crown."
When the Red River Rebellion occurred, Quebecois opinion
insisted that the Canadian government negotiate Riel's "List
of Rights," which included education and language equality
for French and English. Ontario opinion wanted to send an
army to crush this affront to Canadian law and sovereignty.
In Quebec, Riel was celebrated as a Quebecois hero battling
against British arrogance. In Ontario, Riel was viewed as a
rebel and, after the execution of Thomas Scott, a villainous
murderer. British refugees from Red River wanted nothing
less than a war of conquest, followed by the imposition of a
stern regime until British immigration could increase the loyal
population sufficiently to outvote the French in the colony.
Ontarians largely shared that view.
Prime Minister John A. Macdonald initially tried to appease
both sides. He agreed to negotiate Riel's "List of Rights," but
he also agreed to send a military expedition. In an effort to
reassure Quebec, Macdonald promised that the military expe-
dition would not be punitive and let it appear that he agreed
that an amnesty would be granted to the rebels. This amnesty
was widely understood in Quebec, and among the rebels, to
be a general one, including Riel. When some twelve hundred
troops were raised for the expedition, an effort was made to
include Quebecois. But the Quebecois proved reluctant, and
the Quebec battalion that finally went west included mostly
British volunteers. In Ontario, there was no problem recruiting
for this cause celebre, since many did see the main object of the
expedition as avenging the executed Scott. Given the mood, an
amnesty was simply unthinkable in Ontario.
Increasingly, the debate about Riel and Red River became a
more fundamental one about the character of Confederation
in the West. The Quebecois hoped to assert that the West was
not the private possession of Ontario and the Orange Order.
Ontario was determined to claim just that: the West did belong
to Ontario, and Quebec ought not to meddle.
In the end, the Quebecois felt betrayed. Riel did not get
amnesty and fled into exile, where he lingered despite his
continuing popularity in both Quebec and Red River. In 1873
and 1874 he was elected to the House of Commons in absentia.
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 41
The military expedition turned out to be sufficiently punitive
to drive many Metis westward. The land settlement the Metis
gained was more or less annulled through deliberate admin-
istrative delays and harassment and the issue of scrip negotia-
ble for cash. But the defeat was not complete by any means.
The province of Manitoba was established, both French and
English were established as official languages, and two school
systems were guaranteed. The French fact had an official and
legally equal foothold in the West.
The script was more or less replayed in the North West
Rebellion in 1885. Riel was called back by his people/ Metis
and white, French and English/ to lead the region's campaign
for settlement of its grievances. Riel had, after all, despite his
personal banishment, been successful in winning the establish-
ment of Manitoba. But English Ontario immediately vilified
him as a rebel, a murderer, and a traitor. Again, the Quebecois
praised Riel as a patriote, almost equal to the 1837 leader
Papineau, fighting the good national cause against English
domination and injustice. Opinions were somewhat harder
and more polarized this time. Many in Ontario saw the Rebel-
lion as a determined effort to impose the French language and
culture on what should be English Canada's western preserve.
Facing overwhelming odds, including eight thousand men,
artillery, and machine-guns, Kiel's forces were easily defeated
at Batoche. This time there was no pretence that the military
expedition was not punitive. Metis communities and farms
were looted and burned, and the population was dispersed
westward and northward. Riel surrendered, was taken to Re-
gina, tried before an English and Protestant jury, found guilty
of high treason and condemned to death despite the jury's
recommendation for mercy.
With the death sentence pronounced, the national debate
between Orange and English Ontario and French and Catholic
Quebec became intense and bitter. Many Quebecois now saw
Riel as a potential martyr on an equal footing perhaps with
Joan of Arc, certainly with the patriotes of 1837-38 who went
to the scaffold. The Quebecois demanded virtually with one
voice that Riel be pardoned. English Ontario saw him as a
twice-over traitor who must not be allowed to escape the noose
again.
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Macdonald played his usual double game, but in the end he
had to make a decision amid a great deal of political pressure
and turmoil, some of which had spilled from the editorial
pages and the meeting halls onto the streets in minor riots. If
Macdonald agreed to allow Riel to hang, he risked his loyal
Conservative base in Quebec. On the other hand, given the
intensity of passions aroused in Ontario, if Macdonald agreed
to pardon Riel he risked his base in Ontario and perhaps in the
rest of English Canada. Reasoning that he had survived the
1869 Red River controversy and that nationalist passions in
Quebec usually died down with time, Macdonald decided to
yield to Ontario. There is no doubt that Macdonald, person-
ally, preferred that course. His preference was revealed in a
remark that has echoed through the pages of Canadian history
ever since: "He shall hang though every dog in Quebec bark
in his favour." And so, on 15 November 1885 Riel was hanged.
Macdonald seriously miscalculated this time, for the bark of
Quebecois nationalism turned out to have a serious bite in-
deed. The hanging of Riel, and the bitter division between
Quebecois and English Canadians created by that sorry event,
resulted in the rise of a Quebecois nationalism strong enough
both to defeat the Conservative provincial government in Que-
bec, and, ultimately, to ruin the federal Conservative party in
Quebec for almost a hundred years.
The message to Quebec was obvious. The Quebecois nation
could play no significant role in westward expansion. The
West belonged to English Canada. The Quebecois had earlier
made some symbolic, even practical gains, thanks to the ap-
parent victory at Red River. French and English were made
official languages in Manitoba in 1870, and in the North-West
Territory in 1875. In the aftermath of the 1885 Rebellion and
Riel's execution, these gains were quickly and unconstitution-
ally erased. In 1890 the Manitoba legislature declared that
French was no longer an official language, and in 1892 the
North-West Territory legislature followed suit. In 1912, French
was eliminated from public education in Ontario. In 1916, after
a series of crises and unsatisfactory compromises, Manitoba
abolished French, or any language other than English, in that
province's schools.
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 43
From the defeat of Riel in 1885 until the Quiet Revolution of
the 1960s, enormous impediments were thus put in the way of
those francophones in English Canada who wished to retain
their language and to educate their children in French. It was
in this period that the incredible and moving stories of the
Quebecois diaspora outside Quebec emerged, stories of assim-
ilation, ridicule, prejudice, and discrimination — even of train-
ing children to hide their French texts when the education
inspectors came to town. In Quebec, by contrast, the English
minority enjoyed enormous privileges. The message that the
Quebecois were unwelcome in Confederation if they ventured
outside of Quebec was taken to heart by the Quebecois. At the
turn of the century, just over 7,000 francophones resided in
Saskatchewan and Alberta, which had a total population of
165,000. Another 16,000 could be found among Manitoba's
population of 255,000 and 5,000 among B.C/s population of
179,000. In other words, from the western border of Ontario to
the Pacific, at the height of the western settlement boom, there
were fewer than 30,000 francophones in a total population of
approximately 600,000. Among those deciding to seek their
futures outside of Quebec, few came to the western frontier
where they were obviously not wanted, while more than
500,000 immigrated to the U.S. Had this population remained
in Canada, Canada would today have in excess of 6 million
more francophones. One cannot help wondering how different
Canada might have been today had this tidal wave of
Quebecois come west. There is no doubt that Canada would
have become an entirely different country. But that, of course,
is the point. English-Canadian opinion in Ontario was deter-
mined that Canada could never be allowed to become such a
place.
It should be understood clearly that the Quebecois nation
backed down from the immediate confrontation over the 1885
Rebellion and Kiel's fate. Many historians express admiration
for this statesmanlike behaviour, as well as for Quebecois rea-
sonableness over the subsequent suppression of French lan-
guage rights outside Quebec. Had Quebecois political leaders
pushed the issue further, the very foundations of Confedera-
tion might have broken asunder just before success began with
the 1896 Wheat Boom. It was clear to the Quebecois that En-
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glish Ontario had no intention of backing down. But was their
behaviour an act of statesmanship, or was it a frank recogni-
tion of yet another defeat? Conquered in 1759, reconquered in
1837-38, having had the apparent Red River victory turned
into defeat, and then having been defeated by proxy in 1885,
the Quebecois nation again retreated into a degree of passivity.
Ontario had carried the day. The Confederation project, in-
cluding the development of the cherished western frontier,
would proceed on Ontario's terms without any significant
compromise. Though the national pride and sensibilities of the
Quebecois had again been wounded and a more aggressive
nationalism had briefly stirred, the Quebecois nation remained
locked up in Quebec, deliberately isolated from
Confederation's western realization. Across English Canada
the mocking stereotypes of the Quebecois held sway, and
within Quebec the population played the passive role of cap-
tive market and source of cheap labour, overseen by English-
Canadian economic masters, as wave upon wave of British and
then Eastern European immigrants passed through the
Quebecois national enclave on the St. Lawrence. Yet, it was
also self-evident that the Quebecois nation had to be handled
with care. If the events of 1837-38, 1869-70, and 1885 proved
anything, they proved that there were limits to the endurance
of the Quebecois, limits that English Canada transgressed at
the peril of keeping Confederation intact. During the conscrip-
tion crises of World Wars I and II, the limits of that endurance
were again tested significantly by English Canada. By far the
most serious crisis of the two was that of World War I.
When Great Britain declared war on Germany in August 1914,
Canada, as a loyal dominion in the British Empire, was auto-
matically at war as well. It may seem incredible that a nation
could go to war without a decision of its people or their rep-
resentative institutions, but the war was completely, even en-
thusiastically, accepted by English Canada. Among the
Quebecois, there was no such enthusiasm. Nationalists in Que-
bec had long attacked British imperialism and warned that
Canada would be dragged into distant wars Canada had no
tangible reason to fight. Ever since the Boer War, Quebecois
nationalists had taken the position that the Quebecois should
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 45
eagerly share the burden in dollars and blood of defending
Canada but absolutely oppose fighting British wars of im-
perialism. Rather than enthusiasm, then, the Quebecois ac-
cepted Canada's role in World War I with resignation,
insisting that fighting in the war remain voluntary and that
Canada not jeopardize the national treasury. Resigned to their
isolation and exclusion, yet still annoyed over the loss of
French education in Ontario, and even more annoyed by
Manitoba's English-only education decision in 1916, the
Quebecois made it clear that military service by conscription
could not be imposed on the Quebecois and that if it were
attempted, it would not be tolerated.
The glorious "war to end all wars," which many expected
to be over by spring of 1915, dragged on and on into a bloody
stalemate, and the new industrial techniques of mass war com-
bined with the military tradition of fighting from fixed posi-
tions to produce staggering casualties. The demand for fresh
troops to be fed into the European meat-grinder could not be
met by voluntary recruitment, despite the government's infor-
mation campaign, which combined censorship to hide the
truth of what was happening with a duplicitous propaganda
effort. From the beginning, the Quebecois had not been eager
to enlist, and that resistance grew as the war continued. Even
in English Canada, where early efforts at voluntary recruit-
ment had been quite successful, eagerness subsided, especially
as the truth trickled home from the trenches to families of men
undergoing the horror. Criticism of the war was not then lim-
ited to Quebec. Quebecois voices of dissent were joined by
those from farm and labour movements in English Canada,
especially in the West. Though English Canada was divided,
the loudest clamour still came from those supporting the war,
and they increasingly began to point an accusing finger at
Quebec for not carrying its fair share.
In this context Prime Minister Robert Borden approached
what he viewed as the need for conscription gingerly, aware
that the Tory government could go down to defeat on the
issue. He therefore first tried to make the recruitment effort
more effective, but he declared that he would move to con-
scription if necessary in order to raise sufficient troops to fulfil
Canada's commitments. In 1917, after voluntary recruitment
46 DEBTS TO PAY
had failed to reach acceptable levels, Borden decided to insti-
tute conscription. Acutely aware of the anger his action would
provoke in Quebec, Borden approached Wilfrid Laurier to join
a coalition government in order to prosecute the war effort.
Laurier refused and Borden then approached members of the
English-Canadian wing of the Liberal Party, most of whom
joined him in the Union government. Though Parliament
passed the conscription measure, serious implementation
awaited an election on the issue. Deeply uncertain of victory,
given both Quebecois and growing English-Canadian opposi-
tion, the Union government passed The Military Voter's Act and
The War Time Elections Act just before calling the 1917 election.
The first law gave the vote to all those in the armed forces,
including women (who as a group did not yet have the vote),
without any residency or citizenship requirements. Leaving
nothing to chance, the military ballots were cast simply for or
against the Union government and not for candidates. Further,
if the military voter did not designate his or her home constit-
uency, the vote was assigned by the elections officer. The sec-
ond law gave the vote to all female relatives of persons in the
armed services, including wives, mothers, daughters, and sis-
ters. Even Borden did not dare include grandmothers, female
cousins, sisters-in-law and mothers-in-law. Further, the law
took the vote away from conscientious war objectors and all
immigrants from enemy countries who had come to Canada
since 1902. As the election campaign came to a close, Borden
was still worried about continuing farmer opposition. Just two
weeks before the vote, the cabinet issued an order-in-council
exempting farmers' sons from conscription. Taken together,
these efforts were probably the most comprehensive (and per-
fectly legal) attempt to fix or steal an election in Canadian
history.
It worked. The Union government won an overwhelming
victory, 153 seats to 82 with a popular vote of 57 per cent.
English Canada delivered massively: 12 of 16 seats in Nova
Scotia; 7 of 11 in New Brunswick; 74 of 82 in Ontario; 14 of 15
in Manitoba; all 16 in Saskatchewan; and all 13 in British Co-
lumbia. In Quebec the results were quite different. The
Quebecois gave 62 of 65 seats to Laurier with 73 per cent of
the vote, and the 3 seats that went to Borden were English-
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 47
speaking. But the actual vote was closer than it appears. Just
under 320,000 votes separated the Union government and
Laurier's anti-conscription Liberals. Of this victory margin,
200,000 came from the military vote and only 100,000 from the
civilian vote. Had The Military Voters Act, The Wartime Elections
Act, and the last-minute exemption of farmers' sons (which
was withdrawn the following spring) not been put in place,
the Union government might well have either gone down to
defeat or achieved such a narrow majority that Borden could
not have proceeded the way he did without risking losing the
confidence of the House of Commons.
The Union government's efforts to impose conscription on
the Quebecois were a monumental disaster. The mood of the
Quebecois had been made clear when the bill was first intro-
duced and passed: virtually the entire Quebecois press op-
posed the measure; opponents carried out a massive lobby
effort; protest rallies were held; the home of the pro-conscrip-
tion owner of the Montreal Star was bombed; and serious
rioting occurred in Montreal. And in January 1918, on the heels
of the Union victory, a Quebecois member of Quebec's Na-
tional Assembly introduced a motion offering to separate from
Canada if English Canada found Quebec's presence distaste-
ful. The motion was short and blunt: "That this House is of the
opinion that the province of Quebec would be disposed to
accept the breaking of the Confederation Pact of 1867, if in the
other provinces it is believed that she is an obstacle to the
unity, progress and development of Canada." The motion pro-
voked a lively debate and received a lot of headlines, but it
was withdrawn before a vote was taken. Clearly the purpose
of the motion was to warn English Canada just how serious
the situation had become.
The Union government failed to heed the warning and pro-
ceeded to implement the law. In defiant response, the
Quebecois engaged in a mass resistance to it. Local boards
granted wholesale exemptions. Draft dodging and aiding draft
dodgers became nearly universal. Deserters fled to the United
States. Even the Quebec legal system could not be counted on
for systematic enforcement. The situation became an ugly con-
frontation between an English-Canadian government with no
Quebecois representation, a government that furthermore ap-
48 DEBTS TO PAY
peared to have rigged an election and that therefore had little
democratic or moral legitimacy, and the Quebecois nation.
Never had the divisions been so deep since 1837. The Union
government, under relentless pressure from English Canada,
was determined to impose the law of the land upon the
Quebecois. The Quebecois were just as determined to defy it.
Matters came to a head in Quebec City on Easter weekend,
1918. On the evening of 29 March, Dominion Police officers
detained a Quebecois on the street, and when he could not
produce his draft exemption papers, briefly arrested him and
took him to his home, where the proper papers were pro-
duced. However, his public arrest was the spark for bloody
rioting, which lasted until 2 April. The crowds burned a police
station, vandalized a newspaper, and stormed and burned the
office of the registrar of The Military Service Act. The police
asked for military help. Martial law was declared. In an act of
abysmal stupidity, or of deliberate provocation, a battalion of
English-Canadian soldiers from Toronto was sent to relieve
the civil authorities. Their clumsy and brutal efforts to contain
the crowds — including bayonet charges and mounted attacks
using axe handles as clubs — were completely unsuccessful
and served only further to enrage the local population. On the
evening of 1 April the military authorities claimed that the
troops had been fired on by snipers, and they responded with
rifle and machine-gun fire. Others claim the troops fired on an
unarmed crowd. In all, five civilians were killed, a great many
were wounded, and scores were placed under military arrest
without bail. The authorities produced four wounded soldiers,
which suggests that the snipers, if there had indeed been any,
were remarkably bad shots. At an inquiry, a local jury laid the
entire blame for the incident at the feet of the authorities.
The situation was reduced to a stalemate after the Easter
riot. The Union government refrained from enforcing the law
too vigorously, and the Quebecois continued their passive re-
sistance. When all special exemptions from the draft were
withdrawn later that month, rioting and draft resistance be-
came significant in English Canada. Then refraining from a
zealous enforcement of the law seemed an even wiser course
for the government to pursue. Further, as the war began to
turn in the Allies' favour and the end came in sight, the only
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 49
effect of enforcing conscription would have been to create an
even deeper cleavage between Quebec and English Canada.
By the end of the war, English Canada could only claim a
partial victory over Quebecois war resistance. About the same
number of Quebecois — nineteen thousand — submitted to
conscription as resisted it. The Quebecois nation had a chance
to pass judgement on conscription in the 1919 provincial elec-
tion when the Quebec Tories won only five seats with less than
24 per cent of the vote, the lowest Bleu vote since Confedera-
tion. And in the 1921 federal election, the Quebecois gave all
sixty-five seats and over 70 per cent of the vote to the Liberals,
entirely shutting out the Tories.
The World War II conscription crisis was much less serious,
but it again revealed the deep chasm between English Canada
and Quebec. When Canada's Parliament declared war, Prime
Minster Mackenzie King, remembering Quebec and World
War I, made an early promise that no Canadian would be
conscripted for the war effort and that Canada would focus on
supplying war material and equipment rather than cannon
fodder. This promise mollified Quebec, and the provincial
Liberals actually defeated the Union Nationale when Duples-
sis called an election to criticize Canada's involvement in the
war. But King's position did not please English Canada — or
Canada's allies. As the war continued to go badly, with victory
after victory by Germany and particularly after Japan entered
the war with stunning success at Pearl Harbor, pressure for
conscription mounted. In fact, English Canada clamoured for
conscription. But the Quebecois made equally clear their de-
termination to resist it. The King government tried to extricate
itself by holding a plebiscite asking the Canadian electorate to
release the government from its no conscription promise. En-
glish Canada said "yes" with a resounding 80 per cent. Quebec
said "no" with an equally resounding 73 per cent. The stage
was again set for an ugly confrontation. King, however,
adroitly implemented his "conscription if necessary, but not
necessarily conscription" compromise. There would be con-
scription, he said, but no one who did not volunteer would be
sent overseas to combat. Those who were conscripted for
home defence and refused to volunteer for overseas service
became know as "zombies," a term that did not sit well with
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the Quebecois. Even though the King government later re-
neged and repealed the measure limiting overseas service to
volunteers, the practice of sending only volunteers overseas
largely continued. Nevertheless, the holding of the plebiscite
and the breaking of the no conscription vow, led directly to
the re-election of Duplessis and the Union Nationale in the
1944 Quebec election. Only military victory in 1945 and the fact
that the federal Tories were now totally unpalatable to the
Quebecois saved King from a similar fate in the federal elec-
tion of 1945.
By the end of the era of the world wars, Quebecois nationalism
had changed considerably, but it remained largely divided
between two great ideological streams. One stream, which
adhered more or less to the Liberal Party, argued that Quebec
should seek to affect the Canadian identity in ways that pulled
it away from the British Tory tradition in order to achieve a
more significant place for the Quebecois in Canadian national
life through the positive use of the Quebecois presence in
federal institutions. At the same time, this group held, the
Quebecois should sustain and develop their unique cultural
and linguistic identity as a small nation within the larger one.
The larger nation of Canada, which included both Quebecois
and British traditions, should develop a unique Canadian na-
tionalism, simultaneously incorporating both traditions and
accommodating the inevitable divergences when they oc-
curred. This stream, though federalist, could still be fiercely
and assertively nationalist when confronted by threats to the
Quebecois nation and its cultural and linguistic life.
The other stream of Quebecois nationalism remained
largely turned inward on itself and its political enclave in
Quebec. It was more intensely nationalistic and viewed the
Quebecois role in Canadian federal institutions merely as one
of protecting Quebec from encroachments by English Canada.
In a sense, federal institutions were seen as agencies that could
be used when necessary, but not as ones to be embraced pos-
itively. There was no commitment to an effort to build a
unique Canadian nationalism blending British and Quebecois
traditions. Such a project was seen either as an illusory fool's
paradise or as a dangerous trap that would lead to assimila-
The Re-conquest and Isolation of Quebec 51
tion. The proper nationalist project was to defend and sustain
the Quebecois nation and to take every opportunity to em-
power it further. This stream was further divided into a variety
of smaller tendencies, ranging all the way from a right-wing,
ultra-religious nationalist tradition to varieties of progressive
and anti-clerical nationalism. The conservative stream tended
toward a defensive strategy, rooted largely in fond remem-
brances of the past, reacting aggressively only to attacks and
outrages on national sensibilities. The more progressive
stream tended toward a more assertive and aggressive nation-
alism, advocating programs of modernization and sometimes
of radical social change.
Despite the obvious and often bitter divisions, there was a
basic core of beliefs that united the entire Quebecois nation,
whether federalist/ nationalist or nationalist. The Quebecois
people were a nation whose political and constitutional home
was Quebec. That nation had experienced forms of oppression
at the hands of the English-Canadian nation, and such oppres-
sion had to be resisted. Above all, the Quebecois nation had to
survive and its institutions, if they were changed, had to be
changed according to the Quebecois' own desires. Changes
could never be imposed by English Canada. And, however
federal institutions were used, they should never be used to
violate the integrity of the Quebecois nation. The Quebecois
presence in federal institutions had to be used to prevent vio-
lations from happening. Typically, the Quebecois supported
the strongly nationalist stream in provincial elections and the
federalist/ nationalist option in federal elections, a shrewdly
effective hedging of bets.
English Canada was also changing. The British Tory tradi-
tions were dying, slowly, perhaps too slowly, as the old gen-
erations died off, and many of the traditional British myths
died with them. Further, many English Canadians reacted de-
fensively to longstanding Quebecois nationalist claims that the
Quebecois nation was the only true Canadian nation firmly
and uniquely rooted in Canada and that English-Canadian
nationalism, such as it was, was overly devoted to the British
connection and sustained itself too often by anti-Quebec pos-
turing. Finally, as non-Anglo-Saxon immigrants streamed into
Canada, especially into the West, the British flavour of English
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Canada was increasingly diluted as subtle, sometimes even
dramatic, modifications of "the Canadian identity" began to
occur.
Whether it was the demand for a separate seat at Versailles
after World War I, or the winning of a separate seat at the
League of Nations, or the establishment of an independent
foreign policy after 1922, or the achievement of true legislative
independence with the Statute of Westminster, or the indepen-
dent declaration of war in 1939, or the attraction to the Red
Ensign over the Union Jack, English Canada was evolving —
slowly and reluctantly from the point of view of the Quebecois
— toward a sense of identity incrementally separate from its
British roots. In the past, English-Canadian nationalism had
shown only brief episodes of an intense sense of unity of
purpose, usually as a negative reaction, sometimes against a
real or perceived external American threat, more often against
a perceived and exaggerated Quebecois threat. That negative
feature of English-Canadian nationalism was slowly disap-
pearing and being replaced more and more by an open, frank,
even naive search for a new sense of national purpose. As a
result, when the Quebecois nation once again asserted itself,
English Canada's reaction was more ambivalent than before,
swinging from openness and sympathy, on some occasions, to
the old hostility and anger, on others, but always in the context
of a willingness to accommodate Quebecois nationalism to an
extent unthinkable in the past.
The Quiet Revolution
From 1936 to 1939 and 1944 to 1959, conservative Union
Nationale Premier Maurice Duplessis governed Quebec
through a close alliance with the English business establish-
ment and the Catholic Church. It was a period in Quebec's
history marked by patronage, corruption, and the manipula-
tion of anti-communist hysteria to justify the repression of
trade unions, movements for reform, and progressive ideas.
Consequently, in Quebec, the period became known as La
Grande Noirceur — the Great Darkness. The end of the dark-
ness and the beginning of La Revolution Tranquille — the
Quiet Revolution — is marked by the death of Duplessis in
1959 and the election of Liberal Premier Jean Lesage in 1960.
These events, however, were merely external confirmations of
long developing social and economic changes that would have
inevitably burst through. While conservative Quebecois na-
tionalism had continued to dominate the province's politics
under Duplessis, it was a doomed domination based on resist-
ing disquieting changes the ideology could neither understand
nor ultimately control. In fact, the 1960 victory of Jean Lesage,
and his leading minister Rene Levesque, merely accelerated
the long overdue transformation of Quebec.
Between Confederation and World War I investors were
primarily attracted to Quebec by its copious supply of cheap
labour and its large market. Consequently, much of Quebec's
industrial development was labour intensive and heavily de-
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pendent on low wage costs. This relatively narrow industrial
sector co-existed with a large and backward rural economy
rooted in a small-holding, inefficient agriculture. After World
War I Quebec was suddenly thrust into the modern era by a
rapid industrialization based on the discovery of important
new resources — copper, pulp, iron, asbestos, chemicals —
and the development of an apparently endless supply of cheap
hydro-electric power. These developments were less depen-
dent on cheap labour, more on cheaply available natural re-
sources. Indeed, the modern industrial sector tended to be
capital intensive, using advanced technologies that required
skilled rather than unskilled labour. The speed of change was
breathtaking with, for example, industrial employment during
the single decade of World War II growing by the same
amount as it had during the previous century.
After World War II the dual trends of industrialization and
urbanization totally transformed Quebec, laying the material
basis for the Quiet Revolution. The rural farm population that
had comprised 41 per cent of all Quebecois in 1941, plum-
meted to 13 per cent in 1961, while urban dwellers went from
55 to 71 per cent. This dramatic change, coupled with very
large natural population increases during the 1940s and 1950s,
resulted in the rapid emergence of an entirely new way of life
for the Quebecois nation. Conservative Quebecois nationalism
still faced firmly backwards, nostalgically regretting a disap-
pearing past, and remained rooted in a rural way of life remote
from the concrete experience of a whole new generation.
One of the consequences of rapid urbanization was the re-
conquest of Montreal by the Quebecois. After the Conquest in
1759 Montreal became the centre of the English minority, and
for a time in the nineteenth century the English even out-
numbered the Quebecois in the city. Even in the 1950s, almost
one in four Montrealers was English, and the centre of the
great city, dominated by English cultural and business institu-
tions, remained essentially English-Canadian. By the 1960s,
with the rapid urbanization of the Quebecois, the English
share of Montreal's population had declined to under one in
five, and it was continuing to fall. Nevertheless, the tendency
to Quebecois cultural dominance, including accepting French
as the language of city life, was still successfully resisted by
The Quiet Revolution 55
the English minority. It is no t therefore, surprising that Mon-
treal became and remains the focus of the contest between the
new assertive nationalism of the Quebecois and English-Cana-
dian resistance. The English-Canadian minority of Montreal
was, if you like, English Canada's cultural and economic gar-
rison in the heart of a conquered Quebec. And that garrison
became increasingly beleaguered, first materially, then intel-
lectually and culturally, and finally politically.
Initially, however, it was among the Quebecois themselves
in Montreal that the soil was tilled for the Quiet Revolution.
Since Montreal was the emerging centre of gravity of the new
Quebec, the intellectual ferment there was greater than else-
where, if only because of the ever-present weight of the En-
glish fact. But the ferment reached out and touched the
Quebecois everywhere, even those in the diaspora. In one
sense, it was a replay of an old scenario, whose issues re-
mained the common themes of Quebecois nationalism since
Papineau and before. How shall the nation be preserved as an
island in a continental sea of English-speakers? How shall the
nation affirm itself, grow, and change to meet the new
challenges of modernization? How shall the nation best deal
with English Canada and Ottawa: confrontation? accommoda-
tion?
Increasingly, this intellectual ferment achieved a certain un-
easy but clear consensus. The Duplessis mixture of manipula-
tive, right-wing, and paranoid nationalism, relying on
patronage, corruption, and the cultivated ignorance of the
masses, had to be swept away. The new trade unions, locked
in a fierce battle with English and/or American bosses backed
by the Duplessis regime, had to be supported in their bitter
struggle. The Catholic Church, which held a central position
in the conservative power bloc and which intruded heavily on
daily life, had to be trimmed, tamed, set aside, and directed to
focus on spiritual concerns, leaving worldly power and ad-
ministration to democratic and secular forces. Quebec had to
catch up quickly if the Quebecois nation was to determine its
future effectively. Beyond that, there was much disagreement.
At first, the debate was between the new nationahsm, re-
flected in Le Devoir, and the new liberalism, reflected in Cite
Libre. Though they shared a common political foe in Duplessis
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and conservative nationalism and a common project in bring-
ing Quebec society into the modern era, they disagreed deeply
on ideology, methods, and ultimate objectives. The new na-
tionalism argued that Quebec had to be secularized, modern-
ized, and democratized but that the objective of the reform
program also had to be to win and consolidate Quebecois
power in Quebec, to make French the working language of life
in all public spheres in Quebec, and to shape the provincial
state into a modern political and constitutional tool for the
Quebecois nation. The new liberalism opposed nationalism,
whether in its backward Duplessis guise or in its modern,
enlightened guise. In the process of modernization, seculariza-
tion, and democratization, liberalism argued, Quebec must
abandon and reject the nationalist project and substitute con-
cepts of individual and social rights for those of national col-
lective rights.
Both nationalists and liberals wanted to construct and use
an interventionist and technocratic provincial state. But the
nationalists insisted that the state must always serve the nation
in the task of progress and nation-building. The two streams
also divided deeply on the correct approach to federalism and
Quebec's place in Confederation. The new nationalism argued
that the Quebec provincial government apparatus had to be
used, as nationalists had always maintained, as an instrument
to protect and to enhance the place of the Quebecois in the
federal system. Thus, they insisted that, given its unique role
as the political and constitutional home and political instru-
ment of the Quebecois nation, Quebec had to strive to win
increased powers from Ottawa, particularly fiscal, social, and
cultural powers. The new liberalism did not see the need for
new or enhanced powers and appeared content to argue that
existing arrangements, coupled with a flexible and reasonable
government in Ottawa, were sufficient for Quebec's assured
future.
These of course were the polar streams, and many tried to
bridge the gap, wanting to serve both masters. Indeed, Jean
Lesage and the Quebec Liberal Party made an effort to do so.
In fact, in its first phase, the Quiet Revolution was very much
a successful effort to create a hybrid of liberalism and nation-
alism, a hybrid that took much more from the new nationalism
The Quiet Revolution 57
than from the new liberalism. As events unfolded these two
dominant streams divided into three, each represented by one
of the leading politicians of the era. Rene Levesque became the
most prominent advocate of the new nationalism. In the face
of an unyielding federalism/ he believed that some form of
sovereignty was essential for the Quebecois nation. Robert
Bourassa became the leading advocate of Quebec liberalism.
He sought special status and significantly increased powers
for Quebec within the federal system. Pierre Trudeau became
the symbol of an uncompromising federalism determined to
block the inevitable secessionary tendencies of the newly
aroused and progressive Quebecois nationalism. The three
men began their careers as friends and colleagues who met
together in intense face-to-face debates in countless kitchens
and living rooms during the early phase of the Quiet Revolu-
tion. At the end of the process, they had become bitter political
foes.
In 1960 Lesage and the Liberal Party campaigned on the
slogan "C'est le temps qui ca change!" There were few across
Canada who did not applaud his victory in 1960 — the Duples-
sis regime had come to epitomize corruption and extreme
reaction; it was an embarrassing relic from the past. Indeed/
many English Canadians were smug about the Duplessis era.
That the Quebecois would tolerate and continue to elect such
a government could be cited not only as evidence of the back-
wardness of the entire population but also as further confir-
mation of the dangers of Quebecois nationalism. What Lesage
appeared to propose seemed self-evidently good and neces-
sary — reform, modernization, catch-up, the integration of
Quebec into the mainstream of modern Canada. What fol-
lowed, however, was less reassuring.
During its first brief term from 1960 to 1962/ the Lesage
government took the obvious reform steps, many of which had
begun during Paul Sauve's Union Nationale government.
Most of the program amounted simply to beginning to provide
in Quebec what were considered normal government services
across English Canada in areas like health, education/ labour
law, social welfare. Then in 1962, under the influence of na-
tionalists like Rene Levesque, who was minister of natural
resources, and Paul Gerin-Lajoie/ who was attorney-general,
58 DEBTS TO PAY
Lesage successfully sought a new and stronger mandate, using
the more dramatic slogan, "Maitres chez nous!" This slogan,
and the palpable quickening of the Quiet Revolution, were
more disturbing to English Canada. For the Quebecois to want
obviously needed changes to catch up to the rest of the country
was one thing, but for them to want to be masters in their own
home, whatever that meant, was quite another.
Gerin-Lajoie pushed a more aggressive line for Quebec in
constitutional matters, seeking what was in effect "special sta-
tus" in a variety of areas as well as the right to enjoy interna-
tional recognition and representation, particularly in areas of
exclusive provincial jurisdiction. Levesque ardently pushed
the need for the Quebec state to become more interventionist
on behalf of the Quebecois nation, advocating the nationaliza-
tion of the Quebec power industry and the establishment of
Hydro-Quebec as a crown corporation. This proposal in fact
became the central issue in the 1962 election. Furious and
enraged at the paternalistic attitude of the many English Ca-
nadians who believed that the Quebecois lacked the necessary
skills and qualifications to do the top jobs, LeVesque was de-
termined to use Hydro-Quebec as a model of what the
Quebecois could accomplish if they had the necessary powers.
Levesque also pressed the idea of special status for Quebec,
going so far as to propose that Quebec be granted the status
of "associate state" in Confederation. There was no doubt that
the decisive 1962 victory of the Lesage Liberals confirmed an
overwhelming desire among the Quebecois both to get on
with, and to speed up, the Quiet Revolution.
"Maitres chez nous!" enjoyed a variety of meanings in Que-
bec. At a minimum, the slogan called for a cultural and lin-
guistic revolution to bring the Quebecois a real sense of
cultural and linguistic domination in the daily life of the prov-
ince. This was reflected in an enormous proliferation of the arts
and letters, cinema and drama, and a push to make French the
language of work and common usage. This cultural and lin-
guistic revolution had a couple of false starts during the
Duplessis regime. Back in 1937 Duplessis' Union Nationale
government passed a law officially making French the pre-em-
inent language in the province's legislation and administra-
tion. In 1938, under pressure from the English lobby, he backed
The Quiet Revolution 59
off. Though they were fearful that the move might be misin-
terpreted as secessionary in English Canada, the Union
Nationale also adopted the fleur-de-lis as the official flag of
Quebec, a nice gesture. But Duplessis had not been a true
friend of Quebecois culture, certainly not in its progressive and
secular manifestation. In contrast, during the Quiet Revolu-
tion, the Lesage administration supported the flowering of
Quebecois culture as no regime ever had, and the provincial
government's efforts to make French the language of business
and government, as well as of cultural life, resulted in a sur-
prisingly aggressive assertion of the French reality in Quebec.
But the meaning and implications of the slogan quickly
began to expand. Levesque and other nationalists in the Lesage
government interpreted the slogan as meaning that Quebecois
mastery in Quebec had to extend beyond culture and language
into both the economy and Quebec's place in the federal sys-
tem. The state had to become an instrument to build Quebecois
economic power and influence from the bottom to the top. It
had to be used as an instrument to achieve social and economic
justice for the Quebecois, which meant inevitably that the state
had to be used to attack and dismantle the two-hundred-year-
old structure of English privilege in Quebec. Further, the state
had to be used to defend Quebec from unwarranted intrusions
of federal power into the national life of the Quebecois. This
expanded meaning of "Maitres chez nous," more and more
shared among the Quebecois, was enormously disquieting to
the English establishment, both within and outside Quebec.
It is not surprising that the speed of change and the growing
dominance of Quebecois nationalism led to an explosion of
expectations among the Quebecois. By 1964, in terms of the
modernization of the programs and infrastructures in health,
education, and social policy, Quebec had more or less caught
up with English Canada. But the Quebecois had not caught up
economically. The new labour law, the most progressive and
pro-labour in Canada, extended the right to strike to the public
sector and provided an important means for catching up. Dur-
ing the period from 1964 to 1966, Quebec was hit by an aston-
ishing wave of labour militancy. Strikes by taxi drivers, police,
postal workers, engineers at Hydro-Quebec, teachers, hospital
workers, and civil servants rocked the province. For example,
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in 1964 just over four hundred thousand person days were lost
as a result of strikes. In 1966 this figure approached two mil-
lion. Everywhere the demands were the same—income parity
with English-speaking equivalents in Canada (usually in On-
tario). In the case of the taxi strike the demand was that the
airport monopoly be taken away from the English firm, Mur-
ray Hill. For more and more among the Quebecois, "Maitres
chez nous" meant nothing less than economic equality with
English Canadians and an end to the system of English privi-
lege in Quebec.
Nationalists frequently evoked the image of Quebec as a
colony of English Canada. And reality suggested the image
was apt. The Quebecois nation was confined in a federal sys-
tem that prevented self-determination and imposed con-
straints according to the will of English Canada. The system
treated the Quebecois as second-class citizens economically
and gave them fewer opportunities and lower incomes than
English Canadians. The Quebecois language and culture were
confined, suppressed, and marginalized. Most telling, of
course, was that in Quebec itself a small, powerful English
minority enjoyed enormous privileges — economic, political,
and cultural—while the Quebecois majority languished at the
bottom of the heap. It was not surprising that Quebecois na-
tionalists often compared Quebec to Rhodesia, where a tiny
English white minority ruled an overwhelming majority of
blacks. Nor was it surprising that leading Front de Liberation
du Quebec (FLQ) intellectual Pierre Vallieres wrote a best-
seller entitled Negres blancs d'Amirique.
The emergence of the Front de Liberation du Quebec, fur-
ther provoked growing English-Canadian anxiety. In 1963, the
FLQ commenced a terrorist campaign of bank robberies
(called 'Voluntary taxes"), armoury raids, and bombings. The
campaign began in 1963 with the bombing of the Wolfe mon-
ument in Quebec City and stretched over six or seven years.
The targets were carefully selected symbols of English privi-
lege, English political and/or economic power, and the federal
presence in Quebec. Westmount, a wealthy English residential
neighbourhood, and McGill and Loyola, English universities,
were targeted because they represented privilege. Eaton's and
the Montreal Stock Exchange were selected as bastions of En-
The Quiet Revolution 61
glish economic power. Federal targets included various mili-
tary and paramilitary headquarters (the buildings housing the
Army Recruiting office, the RCMP, the Black Watch Regiment,
the Canadian Army office, the Ministry of Defence), and other
symbols of Ottawa's power (the National Revenue building
and CNR headquarters). In addition to the Wolfe monument,
a monument to Queen Victoria and the office of the Queen's
Printer were also hit. Though the objective of the bombings
was clearly symbolic, six lives were tragically lost during the
campaign. These events increased the tensions caused by the
wave of strikes and the almost routine occurrence of large and
small demonstrations. Taken together, they profoundly dis-
turbed English Canada. To many it appeared that changes they
had warmly supported in 1960 were getting out of control,
heading in unforeseen and undesirable directions.
Nevertheless, the reaction in English Canada remained am-
bivalent, and feelings often cleaved along generational lines.
Among the younger generation, particularly those touched by
the growing radicalism of the 1960s, there was a great deal of
openness and support for what was happening in Quebec.
Increasingly critical of the establishment, its old ways and
outdated attitudes and symbols, many young English Canadi-
ans enthusiastically endorsed Quebec's right to special status
and ultimately to self-determination. Within the older genera-
tion, especially among those supportive of tradition and the
establishment, there was confusion. For many, their old hatred
of the Quebecois was rekindled. Yet, many of the strongest
voices defending Quebec were English. English Canada, there-
fore, from the outset of the Quiet Revolution was seriously
split. Gone were the days when English Canada spoke to Que-
bec with a unified and implacable voice. Rather, Quebec re-
ceived mixed messages.
Prime Minister John Diefenbaker seemed to have won the
forgiveness of the Quebecois for past Tory sins when he swept
the country in 1958. In some ways, the Quiet Revolution was
initially seen merely as the Quebec reflection of the mood for
change igniting the entire country. In Quebec, the Diefenbaker
landslide included fifty of the seventy-five seats with 50 per
cent of the popular vote. This was a remarkable achievement
compared to the dismal Tory showings in the five previous
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elections,, which ranged from one seat and 20 per cent of the
vote in 1940, up to a meagre nine seats and 31 per cent of the
vote in 1957. But Diefenbaker neither understood, nor re-
sponded effectively to, the Quiet Revolution. Some of his well-
intentioned gestures only exacerbated the situation and made
the Quebecois angrier. In 1958, for example, his government
introduced simultaneous translation in the House of Com-
mons, a sensible and long overdue measure. But this was
hardly un beau geste, since it called attention to the fact that for
almost a hundred years the two solitudes of Canada had made
speeches to each other that neither understood. Most members
of Parliament on both sides of the language barrier were uni-
lingual, and it seemed bizarre that no federal government had
ever set up translation services. Quebec saw it as a reaffirma-
tion of a basic truth—Quebec's voice, on most national issues,
was irrelevant when English Canada's Parliament made deci-
sions. The 1962 decision to issue all federal cheques in both
languages was again perceived as more of an insult than any-
thing else in Quebec — as if bilingual cheques addressed the
issues raised by the Quiet Revolution!
While Diefenbaker was preoccupied with his "Northern Vi-
sion," events in Quebec were showing that Canada would be
made or unmade there and not in the north. Diefenbaker never
understood this at the time — or during the rest of his political
life, when he continued to rage and fume from the Opposition
benches. And it was the Quebecois who had embraced him so
warmly in 1958 who sent him firmly into Opposition in 1963.
He never forgave Quebec, constantly attacking the aspirations
of the Quebecois, in a vendetta that shredded his own party
when he fought the "two nations" concept without compro-
mise. In 1958 Quebec — and the rest of Canada — had given
Diefenbaker a great opportunity to move the nation forward
in new ways by bestowing on him the greatest measure of trust
ever given to a prime minister. Sadly, Diefenbaker squandered
this opportunity. Even more sadly, he never realized that such
an opportunity had been thrust into his hands. He went to his
grave without remorse, without regret, without any doubt,
firm in his conviction that he had stayed the course for the
cause, deluded that the masses loved him deeply, unaware
that in Quebec he had become a laughing stock.
The Quiet Revolution 63
Liberal Prime Minister Lester Pearson, in contrast to
Diefenbaker, was well aware of the depth of the crisis Canada
had entered as a result of developments in Quebec. Having
won his first minority government in 1963 thanks largely to
Quebec, Pearson knew that both his future as prime minister
and Canada's future as an intact federation depended on more
effectively winning the hearts and minds of the Quebecois. His
regime took steps to deal with Quebec that were denounced
on both sides at the time — in Quebec as much too little and
much too late and in English Canada as much too soft. As a
result, these measures took considerable political courage. But
the overwhelming raisons d'etat always weighed heavily on
Pearson — if Ottawa did not do something and only replaced
Diefenbaker's policy of hostile indecision with one of friendly
indecision, then events in Quebec could spiral out of control.
Above all, if Canada were to survive, the federal state had to
act decisively, or at least appear to act decisively. And any such
actions had to be sufficient to produce two almost contradic-
tory results: to begin to win over English Canada to the need
for accommodation and a willingness to yield and to convince
the Quebecois that real change and accommodation were pos-
sible within Confederation.
In 1963 the Pearson government established the Royal Com-
mission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism (the B and B Com-
mission), whose interim report in 1965 asserted that Canada
was in the midst of "the greatest crisis in its history." The basic
premise of the inquiry was politically courageous and will
endure as a major feature of Pearson's legacy. The commission
was directed to base its recommendations on the controversial
doctrine of Confederation as "an equal partnership between
the two founding races." For the Pearson government this
move not only provided needed temporary breathing space
but also ensured that the eventual recommendations would
focus on seeking a significant accommodation with the
Quebecois. Convinced that pro-federalist elements in the new
Quebec had to be co-opted into national leadership to replace
the traditional old Liberal guard in Quebec, Pearson per-
suaded three leading Quebec personalities to join his govern-
ment: the intellectuals Pierre Trudeau and Gerard Pelletier and
the prominent labour leader Jean Marchand. Then, as a signif-
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icant linguistic concession, in 1964 the Pearson regime directed
the federal civil service to launch an ambitious French- and
English-language training program. Further gestures were
made to Quebec. It was allowed to opt out of the 1964 Canada
Pension Plan, retaining control of pension funds as part of the
Quiet Revolution's strategy of economic development and em-
powerment. (By 1992 the resulting Caisse de depot et place-
ment du Quebec controlled a $41-billion pool of capital.) The
decision was also taken to drop the Red Ensign in favour of
our present flag.
Armed with these moves — some substantial, others sym-
bolic — and amid a growing uneasiness and anger among
traditional English Canadians, Pearson, more desperate than
hopeful that he would receive a majority, called an election in
1965. The "three wise men" from Quebec agreed to run and
were promised cabinet posts. Pearson asked Canadians to give
him the majority mandate he needed to finish the tasks he had
begun, both in the reform and expansion of social programs
and in resolving the Quebec problem. The Quebec electorate
responded, giving him 56 of 75 seats. But the response was not
enthusiastic — the Liberal popular vote in Quebec remained
unchanged at 46 per cent. It was clear that in Quebec Pearson
was regarded as the lesser of two evils, not as a reformer. In
English Canada the results were much less gratifying; Pearson
won only 75 of the 190 remaining seats, 51 of them in Ontario,
and he faced almost a total shut-out in the West (only 9 of 70
seats). So while Pearson had the lukewarm support of Central
and Atlantic Canada —107 of 160 seats in Quebec and Ontario;
20 of 33 seats in Atlantic Canada — the largest of the two great
English-Canadian peripheries had refused to embrace him.
Undaunted, the Pearson government continued completing
the construction of the welfare state — under prodding from
the NDP—by proceeding to a national medicare program and
announcing a war on poverty. Further concessions were made
to Quebec with Pearson's 1966 policy of equality of treatment
for francophone and anglophone applicants for jobs in the
federal bureaucracy, supplemented by a bilingualism bonus
for those in the lower levels of the civil service who worked in
both languages. This was the carrot. The stick was the new
justice minister, Pierre Trudeau, who began a sustained ideo-
The Quiet Revolution 65
logical offensive against Quebecois nationalism, particularly
its tendencies toward separatism. In the 1966 Quebec provin-
cial election, this separatist tendency in Quebecois nationalism
became explicit for the first time.
The 1966 defeat of the Lesage government and the re-elec-
tion of the Union Nationale were largely attributed at the time
to a feeling among the Quebecois that things were going too
quickly and that it was time to slow down and return to the
safe embrace of conservative nationalism. A close examination
of the results, however, suggests otherwise. Two separatist
parties ran candidates in the election. The right-wing Rallie-
ment National (RN), which favoured associate state status for
Quebec, won about 4 per cent of the Quebecois vote (3.1 per
cent overall). On the left, the socialist and separatist
Rassemblement pour l'Independance Nationale (RIN) won
about 7 per cent of the Quebecois vote (5.6 per cent overall).
The RIN vote hurt the Liberals badly and helped defeat the
Lesage government. The RIN ran in just over two-thirds of the
seats, focusing on metropolitan Montreal and other major
urban centres. They won about 11 per cent of the Quebecois
vote in metropolitan Montreal and between 8 and 12 per cent
in places like Trois-Rivieres, St. Jerome, Hull, and Shawinigan.
More significant, perhaps, was the fact that the RIN attracted
very strong support among Quebecois between the ages eigh-
teen and twenty-five where the party presented candidates. At
the time, the spectacular and unexpected defeat of the Lesage
government overshadowed this much more significant devel-
opment. The separatist option in Quebec had sufficient elec-
toral support that it now had to be taken seriously, even if only
because it could act as a spoiler. Only six seats separated the
victorious Union Nationale from the defeated Liberals, and
thirteen of the Union Nationale victories had occurred because
the RIN had pulled sufficient votes from the Liberals. The real
message of the election then was not to slow down the process
of change, but to speed it up; not to return to the old quiet
nationalism, but to become more assertive in advancing the
claims of the Quebecois nation.
If the size of the separatist vote was disturbing, the demo-
graphics were doubly so. The size of the vote suggested that
the left-wing RIN had broken out of the student and New Left
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ghetto where it had got its start six brief years before. The
separatist option received its strongest support among young
people. In addition, intellectuals in cultural areas — teachers
and professors, artists, actors, writers, musicians — were tilt-
ing more and more to independence as were the new genera-
tion of Quebec professionals, white- and blue-collar workers,
and small business people, who were all rankling at the system
of English privilege. Significant inroads were made in work-
ing-class districts, particularly among young workers. These
demographics could only be interpreted to mean that the elec-
toral future of the separatist option in Quebec was one of
growth, particularly if a party presented itself in which the
electorate had confidence. Though the RIN was clearly not yet
that party, the support it had won on a shoestring budget, with
a chaotic organization, and in spite of the excessive abuse
heaped upon it suggested the political situation was ripening
for independence. If nothing else, the 1966 election made sep-
aratism, in a non-terrorist and democratic expression, a coin
of common political currency, a choice in the accepted political
discourse, an option to be debated and voted on, rather than
simply an option to be discussed on the intellectual sidelines
and political fringes of Quebecois nationalism. The lid of
Pandora's box was off, and it has remained off.
Events in Quebec accelerated incredibly between 1966 and
1970, and many thought that the trajectory was toward sepa-
ration. Rene Levesque, who more than any other single figure
embodied the ultimate aspirations of the Quiet Revolution,
appealed to the Quebec Liberal Party in 1967 to adopt his idea
of "sovereignty association." The idea was seductively simple.
Quebec would become a sovereign nation but maintain a close
economic association with Canada. Indeed, the associative
bonds could be extended into other areas, as long as Quebec's
sovereignty and equality as a nation were the first premise of
negotiations and agreements.
Levesque's proposal was soundly rejected, as everyone ex-
pected, whereupon he split from the Liberals and founded Le
Mouvement souverainete-association (MSA). Within months,
buoyed by the support he found everywhere in Quebec and
the surprisingly high levels of sympathy he galvanized in
English Canada, Levesque was confidently predicting
The Quiet Revolution 67
Quebec's independence in two to five years. French president,
General Charles de Gaulle had lent considerable credence to
the separatist option with his provocative declaration in July
1967 from the balcony of Montreal's Hotel de Ville, "Vive le
Quebec Libre!" — a call that palpably electrified the huge
listening crowd and created a major diplomatic furore that
resulted in de Gaulle's premature departure from Canada. The
French government heaped insult on Canadian injury by pro-
viding quasi-official welcomes for visiting separatists from
Quebec, like RIN leader Pierre Bourgault and MSA leader
Levesque, that gave considerable international legitimacy to
the movement.
Unity negotiations between the RIN, MSA, and RN led in
1968 to the founding of Le Parti Quebecois, under Levesque's
charismatic leadership. It had the declared and prescient intent
of winning at least one in four Quebec votes in the next pro-
vincial election, expected in 1970. The major Quebec trade
union federations moved toward the explicit endorsation of
independence, as did the nationalist, popular mass organiza-
tion, La Societe Saint-Jean-Baptiste. All of these events were
sharply punctuated by the FLQ's apparently unstoppable
symbolic bombing campaign.
While Rene Levesque was rising to political leadership of
the Quebecois nation on this wave of separatist sentiment,
Pierre Trudeau was rising in the federal system on the inevi-
table countervailing wave of anti-separatist sentiment both in
English Canada and among the still powerful federalists in
Quebec. Trudeau was the perfect foil for English Canada in
general, and Quebec federalists in particular, in the struggle
against Quebecois nationalism and separatism. Urbane, witty,
highly educated, independently wealthy and unsullied by past
associations with the old Liberal Party, Trudeau was seen as a
fresh force in national politics. Despite his previous lack of
involvement in electoral politics, he had strong, if unusual,
political credentials. He had fought Duplessis and supported
the unions during their darker days. He had flirted with the
NDP but never embraced the party. He had publicly de-
nounced the Liberals for accepting U.S. nuclear weapons on
Canadian soil. More importantly, Trudeau was a firm and
dedicated opponent of Quebecois nationalism and had been
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throughout his adult life. The son of a wealthy French-English
marriage, he was fluently bilingual. For many he embodied
the ideal of the new Canada — at ease in both languages and
cultures but emotionally committed to neither. He presented
himself as the rational, sophisticated, bilingual model of the
new unhyphenated Canadian. Given his roots in Quebec, Tru-
deau was able to denounce Quebecois nationalism and, even
more severely, separatism with a contempt and arrogance that
would have provoked mass indignation among Quebecois
had his statements come from an English-Canadian politician.
Having failed in four elections, Pearson decided to step down.
His invitation to Trudeau and the other two wise men from
Quebec to join his government, and Trudeau's immediate ele-
vation to the role of justice minister amounted to a "laying on
of hands." Trudeau was clearly the leadership choice of the
prime minister and most in the Liberal establishment.
The increasing popular support for independence in Que-
bec made Trudeau, a recognized foe of nationalism, a logical
successor to Pearson. Pearson's decision to give Trudeau pri-
macy of place, second only to his own, at the key federal-pro-
vincial constitutional conference in February 1968
immediately buoyed Trudeau's chances for success in the
coming April leadership convention. Trudeau boldly faced
down Union Nationale Premier Daniel Johnson, refusing to
recognize Quebec's special status as a province containing one
of the two founding nations. Rather, Trudeau laid out the
doctrine that would more or less guide his years in power: a
binding national Charter of Rights; the constitutional equality
of provinces in a co-operative federal system orchestrated by
the senior government at Ottawa; the determination of the
character of any new federalism not by negotiation between
English Canada, represented by Ottawa, and Quebec, but by
negotiations between all eleven governments. At root, of
course, was Trudeau's conception of a dominating un-
hyphenated Canadian nationalism, nourished and sustained
at the federal level. His vision was in fact not much different
from Diefenbaker's, and it was no less offensive to Quebecois
nationalists.
Perceived as the one candidate who would not only stand
up for Canada but could also effectively keep Quebec in line,
The Quiet Revolution 69
Trudeau easily won the leadership. Immediately thereafter, on
20 April 1968, he was sworn in as prime minister. Three days
later he dissolved Parliament and called an election for 25
June. The campaign was dominated by the Quebec question.
The choice was clear: who could deal best with Quebec? The
accommodating Robert Stanfield, willing to take seriously the
two-nations concept or Pierre Trudeau, who would make no
such accommodation with Quebecois nationalism?
Trudeau's victory was sealed on 24 June 1968 during the
Saint-Jean-Baptiste-Day parade in Montreal. Separatists chose
the occasion to demonstrate against Trudeau, denouncing him
as a traitor. Riot police moved in, and the scene beneath
Trudeau's reviewing stand became an ugly and violent con-
frontation, as police bludgeoned and arrested demonstrators,
who responded with bottles, bricks, and attacks on police ve-
hicles. A few of the missiles were hurled in Trudeau's direc-
tion. The prime minister's bodyguard tried to convince him to
leave the stand for his safety. Trudeau refused and even phys-
ically resisted his protectors' efforts to pull him from the stand.
All this occurred in front of television cameras and was in-
stantly broadcast across the nation. The next day, as Canadians
went to the polls, the news coverage on radio and television
and the laudatory front-page stories in daily newspapers
across the country left no doubt that this was a prime minister
who would face down the separatists. Lost amid the waves of
adulation was any doubt about whether a wise and mature
prime minister ought to engage in such bravado. The elector-
ate had few doubts. Trudeau won a convincing victory, the
first for a prime minister in a decade, taking 154 of 264 seats,
including 7 of 32 Atlantic seats, 56 of 74 Quebec seats, 63 of 88
Ontario seats, 27 of 68 Western seats, and the seat for the
Yukon and the Northwest Territories.
During this same period, the B and B Commission contin-
ued its quiet work. The preliminary report in 1965 had warned
of the crisis. Volume I of the report, The Official Languages,
released in 1967, had concluded that the Quebecois constituted
a "distinct society" with control over key features of their
collective life. This reality, the report suggested, should be
confirmed at the federal level through the legal adoption of
French and English as equal official languages of Canada and
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the appointment of a regulatory mechanism to enforce the
language law. Provincial governments were similarly called
upon to adopt the two official languages. Volume II, Education,
was issued the next year. It sought to placate the fearful by
suggesting that parents be allowed to educate their children in
the official language of their choice and that educational choice
be provided across the country for speakers of the minority
official language. One of the first acts of the Trudeau govern-
ment was to accept the recommendations of Volume I by in-
troducing the 1969 Official Languages Act, which granted equal
status to French and English in federal institutions, guaranteed
federal services in both languages across the country, and es-
tablished the Office of the Commissioner of Official Languages
to police implementation.
Under the constitution, the Volume II proposals on educa-
tion required provincial action. The language of education was
a key issue in Quebec. The English minority in Quebec had
long enjoyed access to their own cultural institutions, includ-
ing most importantly a well-funded school system from kin-
dergarten to university (including the internationally
prestigious McGill). Meanwhile, francophone minorities in
English Canada enjoyed no such special consideration, even
when numbers made it feasible. Indeed, what few rights to
French-language use and education francophones had pos-
sessed had been unconstitutionally snatched from them. Only
in locales in English Canada where there were large concen-
trations of French speakers — St. Boniface in Manitoba,
Gravelbourg in Saskatchewan, major portions of New Bruns-
wick — had francophones managed to maintain a toehold
against hostility and pressure, often having to create an elab-
orate community conspiracy to circumvent provincial laws
designed to suppress the French language. Though long since
resigned to the obliteration of French in English Canada for all
practical purposes, a key feature of the Quebecois nationalist
consensus was that French had to be well protected in Quebec.
A combination of assertive self-confidence deriving from the
Quiet Revolution and the growing demographic changes led
inevitably to confrontation on the language question. As the
Quebecois birth rate fell and as immigration into Quebec in-
creased, the Quebecois share of Quebec's population declined
The Quiet Revolution 71
slightly. In the Montreal area this decline was quite sharp.
Assuring the future of the Quebecois meant ensuring the inte-
gration of immigrants to the French-speaking Quebecois ma-
jority rather than to the English minority. Yet immigrants
realized that the gateway to success in Quebec and to easy
mobility across the rest of Canada was integration with the
English minority and the adoption of English as the language
of education and work. This meant that, where possible, im-
migrants wanted to educate their children in the English
school system.
Matters came to a head on 27 June 1968, just two days after
Trudeau's election. The local school board in the Montreal
suburb of St. Leonard moved to limit the language of instruc-
tion in all grade one classes in the coming school year to
French. That this action was aimed primarily at families of
Italian origin who persisted in their preference for English
language instruction, there was no doubt. That this was a step
towards imposing French as the sole official language of the
province, there was no doubt. There was even less doubt that
this was an attack on the English minority; it struck at one of
the most important roots of any cultural community's self-per-
petuation and social reproduction — schooling in that
culture's language. And there was no doubt that this was
potentially a first step in dismantling the English minority's
structure of privilege in Quebec. That is certainly how it was
seen across English Canada, both within and outside Quebec,
and those who had never shed a tear for the generations of
francophone victims of forced integration wept many public
tears for the oppressed children of the Italian families of St.
Leonard.
The St. Leonard board was in fact doing nothing different
from what had been done to the French minority elsewhere
from the Conquest on. Receiving a taste of its own medicine,
English Canada reacted with indignation, demanding rights
for itself in Quebec that it had refused to give to French-speak-
ers in the rest of Canada — preferred language protection,
including the right to education in English at the state's ex-
pense. The St. Leonard crisis, involving demonstrations,
counter-demonstrations, and even violence and rioting,
rocked the nation.
72 DEBTS TO PAY
Again, English Canada, and most importantly the English
minority in Quebec, won the confrontation. In 1969 the Union
Nationale government, in a spirit of concession to the B and B
Commission's recommendations and reeling from the inten-
sity of the language conflict introduced and finally adopted
Bill 63, An Act to promote the French language in Quebec. This
outraged Quebecois nationalists. They saw it as a profound
humiliation, as a sign of defeat by and surrender to English
power and influence. Where was the legislation to promote
English in Ontario or Saskatchewan? More than that, despite
the bill's small but significant efforts to enhance French and to
assure some knowledge of French by all, it in fact caved in to
the pro-English lobby both by giving all parents the freedom
to choose the language of instruction for their children and by
obliging school boards to establish and fund programs of in-
struction according to those choices. The bill was a total capit-
ulation to English Canada. It provoked mass protests in
Quebec that involved tens of thousands as well as serious
rioting during a strike by Montreal police — troops had to be
called in to maintain order and protect property. As a conces-
sion to this popular opposition, and in an effort to defuse it,
the Union Nationale government established the Gendron
Commission to make a full inquiry into the language issue.
The St. Leonard crisis and Bill 63's passage presented
English Canada with a perfect opportunity to make amends
for the past and work toward a more amicable future by im-
itating the generosity of Quebec's Bill 63, by in fact and spirit
heeding the call of the B and B Commission. Two actions on
the part of the English-Canadian provinces would have indi-
cated good faith — guaranteeing the right of French-speaking
minorities to educate their children in French and declaring
French and English to be equal official languages in each prov-
ince. In other words, measures were required to give to fran-
cophones across Canada what English Canada was
determined the English minority should have in Quebec. En-
glish Canada missed another opportunity.
Only New Brunswick, with its large Acadian minority, re-
sponded by adopting French and English as official languages
of equal status. No other English-Canadian province followed
suit. Some small concessions were made: amendments to ed-
The Quiet Revolution 73
ucation legislation to allow the use of French as a language of
instruction under highly controlled and limited conditions;
promises to provide some provincial services in French where
numbers warranted and when feasible; the Ontario legislature
agreed to permit a member to speak on the record in either
language; and so on. These gestures were not enough. Indeed,
they were so slight that they seemed more like insults.
Quebecois nationalists — who had long since abandoned fran-
cophone minorities across English Canada — used the ges-
tures to full advantage to expose English-Canadian hypocrisy,
bad faith, and lack of generosity. For federalists in Quebec —
and in Ottawa — the sheer stinginess of English Canada's
response was a profound embarrassment. As a result, Quebec
continued on its march toward declaring French the sole offi-
cial language of Quebec, though that move took another five
years.
The B and B Commission lobbed a further bombshell with
the 1969 publication of Volume III, The Work World. This report
documented the yawning economic chasm between the
Quebecois majority and the English minority in Quebec. It was
common knowledge that the English minority enjoyed consid-
erable economic privileges, but they had never been so thor-
oughly revealed. Nor had the gap between French and English
ever been so clearly set out. When the cultural and linguistic
privileges enjoyed by the English minority were combined
with their considerable economic benefits, the political impact
was incendiary.
The B and B Report was relentless and microscopic. The
average English male in the labour force earned just under 50
per cent more than the average Quebecois male. The
commission's researchers controlled for all factors relevant to
income earning ability and found that about 80 per cent of the
difference could be explained only by the Quebecois/English
ethnic difference. But it was more than just income inequality;
it was everything else. The English were over-represented, and
the Quebecois under-represented, in the better occupations;
while the reverse was true in the unskilled labour categories.
The upper management of most firms was English, while the
Quebecois took the lower and poorer-paid jobs. Large business
concerns tended to be English; the small ones tended to be
74 DEBTS TO PAY
Quebecois. Even the skilled and better-paid working-class oc-
cupations were dominated by English workers. English engi-
neers, architects, lawyers, and physicians earned more than
their Quebecois counterparts. The most privileged group in all
of Canada was located in Quebec: unilingual anglophone
males. The aptness of the colonial analogy struck a now deeper
chord — you did not even have to speak the language of the
majority to hold, enjoy, and retain your privileges. And the
very real economic reasons why immigrants to Quebec
yearned to integrate to the English minority rather than the
French majority were made crystal clear by the B and B data.
Italians in Quebec did much better than those in Ontario. The
only place in all of Canada where a salary earner of Ukrainian
origin exceeded the national average income was in Quebec,
again ahead of the Quebecois average. The B and B report also
detailed that English was not only the language of work but
also of promotion and career opportunity. To be successful a
Quebecois had to be fluent in English, slamming the door of
opportunity on the overwhelming majority of Quebecois who
were unilingual. Furthermore, the report noted that the eco-
nomic status of the Quebecois, compared to the English mi-
nority, had actually worsened since 1930.
Needless to say, this volume of the B and B Report was
considerably more popular among Quebecois nationalists than
others because it lent all the weight of a federal royal commis-
sion to their claims that Quebec languished in a colonial situ-
ation. Levesque and Bourgault never tired of quoting from The
Work World. Journalists pored over the data and generated
countless articles in the popular press, while scholars crunched
and re-crunched the numbers, which, ironically, though gen-
erated by a royal commission to save Canada, appeared to
contradict the arguments about the economic benefits of Con-
federation for the Quebecois. Any new deal for Quebec in
Confederation was going to have to address the touchy issues
of making French the language of work and of closing the
economic gap between the Quebecois and the English minor-
ity. Behind the language issue, therefore, lurked the deeper
structural issue of the transfer of real economic power, oppor-
tunity, and privilege. If English Canada and the English mi-
nority in Quebec had shown themselves not to be very
The Quiet Revolution 75
generous on language and education issues, on the economic
issue Quebecois nationalists expected even fewer concessions.
In such circumstances, the election of 29 April 1970 was a
significant test of the mood of the Quebecois. Was Levesque's
prediction of a 25 per cent vote for sovereignty correct? Was
the Trudeau formula—bilingualism, French power in Ottawa,
greater economic opportunities for the Quebecois, all in a con-
text of hard-nosed federalism — winning favour? A Gallup
poll in 1968, using a toughly worded question on support for
separation in Quebec, found 11 per cent in favour, 71 per cent
opposed, and 18 per cent undecided. Yet, in 1969, when Gallup
asked people in Quebec about the break-up of Confederation,
47 per cent thought a break-up would occur, 25 per cent
thought not, while 28 per cent remained undecided. With
Levesque asking for support for something non-threatening
and vague like "sovereignty-association," all bets were off, and
English Canadians, especially in Quebec and Ottawa, became
increasingly worried about the outcome, especially when
Levesque's Parti Quebecois campaign seemed to catch fire.
The Union Nationale government was thoroughly discred-
ited as a result of the Bill 63 fiasco. The Liberal Party, now led
by Robert Bourassa, had just come through a divisive leader-
ship race. The Creditistes decided to shift from their exclusive
focus on the federal arena to run provincially. In such a four-
way fight, the outcome was highly uncertain, and many in
English Canada and in federalist circles feared that the charis-
matic Levesque could conceivably win. So the dirty tricks and
fear campaign began. What Levesque referred to at the time
as a propaganda campaign of "economic terrorism" started.
Federalists in Quebec and Ottawa claimed that the Quebecois
would experience an overnight drop in their standard of living
of 35 per cent if Levesque and the PQ were elected. Plants
would shut down, unemployment would spiral, savings and
investments would be put at risk. Potential investors would
panic and refuse to risk their capital. Worse, there would be a
massive flight of capital out of the province.
This point of view seemed confirmed by events that oc-
curred early on Sunday 27 April, two days before the election.
That morning, nine Brinks armoured trucks pulled up to the
front door of the Royal Trust building on Dorchester Boule-
76 DEBTS TO PAY
vard. This in itself was unusual, not only because it was Sun-
day morning but also because Brinks typically used the garage
entrance for obvious security reasons. Despite the early morn-
ing hour, photographers from the Montreal Gazette were on
hand to get some front-page pictures. The trucks were osten-
tatiously loaded with boxes of "fleeing capital" in the form of
what were claimed to be "securities" and were driven toward
the Ontario border. Their route conveniently took them past
waiting television camera crews, who duly recorded this tan-
gible evidence of a "flight of capital," which was then broad-
cast and rebroadcast for the next two days to counterpoint the
newspaper pictures and headlines and hysterical interviews
with representatives of the business lobby and responsible
Quebec politicians, like Premier-in-waiting Bourassa. The
event had been elaborately staged, requiring the co-operation
of the media, Royal Trust, and the Brinks Company. It was just
one more incident in a campaign of hysteria and fear.
Levesque and the PQ were temporarily stopped on 29 April
1970. The PQ won 24 per cent of the vote but took only 7 of
108 seats in the National Assembly. The Liberals took 72 seats
with 44 per cent of the vote, winning a comfortable majority
government. The Union Nationale won 18 seats with 20 per
cent, while the Creditistes took 12 seats with 11 per cent. The
English minority voted en bloc for the Liberal Party, while the
Quebecois were deeply divided. But a close analysis of the
results was deeply disquieting for the federalist victors. About
one Quebecois in three had voted for the PQ. Again, like the
RIN before it, the PQ did best among the groups that owned
the future: the young, the educated, and cultural workers.
When one also considers that the conservative nationalists in
the Union Nationale (UN) won 20 per cent of the vote, the
political message was not reassuring. Though Levesque per-
sonally went down to defeat and it retained the status of Offi-
cial Opposition, there was little doubt that the UN was in its
death throes and that the real opposition and the real alterna-
tive in Quebec had become the PQ. For this reason the PQ
election-night rally had all the characteristics of a victory party,
and one can understand why Levesque's statement "this is a
defeat which feels like a victory" brought the PQ partisans to
their feet, cheering. A PQ victory appeared as close as the next
The Quiet Revolution 77
election if the Quiet Revolution continued to unfold as it had
since 1960. For the first time since 1837 a sovereign future for
the Quebecois seemed a real possibility. The events of October
1970 were, however, to result in a brief but painful delay.
On 5 October 1970 the Quiet Revolution ended, the gloves
came off, and the apparently irresistible democratic trajectory
of the Quebecois toward some form of sovereignty was de-
railed by political violence — the illegal political violence of
the FLQ and the legal state violence of Ottawa. Early that
morning, the FLQ escalated its terrorist tactics by kidnapping
the British trade commissioner in Montreal, James Cross.
Threatening to kill Cross, the FLQ gave authorities forty-eight
hours to meet seven demands: the cessation of police actions
to find the abductors and Cross; the broadcast of the FLQ
manifesto on prime-time television over the CBC and its affil-
iates across Quebec and its front-page publication in the major
Quebec newspapers; the "liberation" of twenty-three "political
prisoners/' twenty of whom were in prison, while three others
were on bail; the provision of a plane to take the freed FLQ
cadres to Algeria or Cuba; the re-employment of the "Lapalme
boys" by Canada Post; the payment of "a voluntary tax of
$500,000 in gold bullion" to be placed on the plane; and the
release of the name and picture of the latest police informer in
the FLQ.
Not unexpectedly, the Quebec and Ottawa governments
initially refused all the demands and took considerable pains
to reject the FLQ's allegations about the twenty-three "political
prisoners." These were FLQ activists convicted of terrorist ac-
tions: mainly armed robbery and bombings. A few had also
been convicted of murder when deaths had occurred during
the commission of the offences. They had, of course, been
convicted of violations of the Criminal Code. Yet everyone
understood that, however misguided, their motives were po-
litical. Their crimes were politically motivated by the romantic
vision of the terrorist hero who courageously confronts the
state and, by example, hopes to inspire more and more among
the population to do likewise. The FLQ had also begun to win
some public sympathy because of their treatment by the crim-
inal justice system: two had been held for over three years with
neither bail nor trial; those convicted, often first offenders and
78 DEBTS TO PAY
certainly not criminals in the normal sense, received sentences
unprecedented in length; FLQ members who were charged
were routinely denied bail; one of the prisoners had been
sentenced to 126 terms of perpetual confinement; many of the
twenty-three claimed to have been beaten and tortured. Under
the circumstances, it appeared that FLQ activists, when con-
victed, were treated much more harshly precisely because
their crimes were politically motivated. This issue of the "po-
litical prisoners" became the source of a temporary split be-
tween Trudeau in Ottawa and Bourassa in Quebec.
In retrospect, Ottawa and Quebec then made a serious po-
litical miscalculation. Having initially rejected all seven de-
mands, the authorities relented and, as an act of good faith,
agreed to the broadcast and publication of the FLQ manifesto.
The 1970 manifesto was a much better polemic than the more
tedious academic version of 1964. It was full of the immediacy
of recent political events, made free use of the vernacular,
reiterated many widely held grievances, and was salted with
irreverence and contempt for key authority figures ("Drapeau
the dog, Bourassa the Simard sidekick, Trudeau the queer, the
sub-ape Robert Shaw"). It made good use of the distortions of
the earlier election, especially the electoral maldistribution that
gave the PQ less than 7 per cent of the seats despite their
winning 24 per cent of the vote and what it called "the Brinks
show."
It is not clear why the decision was taken to permit the
broadcast. Perhaps it was seen as the most innocuous of the
demands, involving no compromises of the state's authority.
Perhaps the authorities believed that the tone and content of
the manifesto would alienate ordinary Qu^becois, that the ex-
cessive political rhetoric would leave them unmoved. Perhaps
they just hoped to buy a few days' time, during which the
police effort would successfully uncover the location of Cross
and his abductors. Whatever the official reasoning behind the
decision, the impact of the manifesto on the Quebecois popu-
lation was entirely unexpected. Everywhere people from all
walks of life — priests from the Gaspe, students and profes-
sors, trade unionists, randomly selected "person in the street"
TV interviewees — began to draw a clear and sophisticated
distinction that was very unsettling to the authorities. They
The Quiet Revolution 79
liked the FLQ's analysis and political message but disliked
their terrorist tactics. There followed a flowering not only of
an intense media discussion and debate of the issues but argu-
ments and discussions on street corners, in taverns, in class-
rooms. Background articles on Quebecois grievances appeared
in newspapers both in Quebec and across English Canada.
Though the authorities had bought some time with the broad-
cast, that time was taking events in an unexpected political
direction and appeared only to make the climate of opinion
increasingly favourable to the FLQ. The public reaction — "I
like what you say, but not what you are doing" — was not
what the authorities had had in mind. Indeed, the political
debates were deflecting attention away from the central issue
from the perspective of the governments in Ottawa and Que-
bec — the kidnapping and threatened "execution" of Cross.
Public fear began to ebb over the next few days, as the FLQ
kept cancelling and reissuing new execution deadlines, while
demanding negotiations. Increasingly the view was that the
FLQ were not really serious about the threat to kill Cross. On
the sixth day, 10 October, Quebec Justice Minister Choquette
issued a joint declaration on behalf of the governments of
Ottawa and Quebec declaring that the broadcast was it —
there would be no deals and no further concessions on the
seven demands.
No one expected the FLQ's reply, perhaps anticipating only
another ultimatum. Instead, later that same day the FLQ kid-
napped Quebec Labour Minister Pierre Laporte, a further es-
calation of the confrontation and a stunning blow to the
hard-liners in government circles. The stakes were im-
mediately higher. It was one thing to kidnap a foreign diplo-
mat, a symbol of the British tradition. It was a more serious
matter directly to attack the state by abducting and threatening
the "execution" of a cabinet minister. Jean Drapeau, the mayor
of Montreal, continued to take a hard line, rejecting any idea
of concessions to or negotiation with the FLQ. However, the
former unity of position that had characterized the Ottawa,
Quebec, and Montreal governments finally cracked and then
collapsed completely under a growing demand that negotia-
tions be opened with the FLQ in order to save the lives of Cross
and Laporte.
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The day after Laporte's abduction, Premier Bourassa broke
ranks, partly as a result of a sad and disturbing letter from
Laporte begging that he and Cross be exchanged for the FLQ
''political prisoners." In his statement, Bourassa did not hesi-
tate to use the term "political prisoners," and he offered to
open official negotiations with the FLQ regarding what
amounted to an exchange of Cross and Laporte for the libera-
tion of imprisoned FLQ members. The Quebec government
appointed lawyer Robert Demers, and the FLQ named Robert
Lemieux, who had represented FLQ members in the courts. In
an effort to encourage Bourassa in his decision to open nego-
tiations, sixteen prominent Quebecois leaders, including
Levesque, the leaders of the major trade union federations, the
leader of the Catholic Farmers' Union, and the editor of Le
Devoir, issued a statement declaring that this crisis was a Que-
bec crisis to be solved by Quebecois, concluding "we most
urgently recommend negotiations to exchange the two hos-
tages for political prisoners — these negotiations must be
made in the teeth of all objections from those outside Quebec."
Meanwhile, junior college and university student activists
were organizing meetings to discuss the FLQ manifesto, where
proposals for a student strike in support of the document's
program were considered. This process culminated in a huge
and boisterous rally of students on 15 October in Montreal's
Paul Sauve arena at which the crowd demonstrated its whole-
hearted support for the FLQ's manifesto. During the rally the
Quebec government announced its final offer: the release of
five of the FLQ prisoners in exchange for Cross and Laporte.
Two days earlier Trudeau had made clear his opposition to
Bourassa's decision to negotiate with the FLQ and to accept
the term "political prisoners"; for him, the FLQers were in fact
and in law nothing more than ''criminals," "bandits," and
"outlaws." During a famous confrontation with TV journalist
Tim Ralfe on the steps of Parliament, Trudeau justified his
initial deployment of troops in Ottawa and Montreal to guard
public buildings and public officials with repeated references
to the threat posed by a "parallel power." He said, "Society
must take means to prevent the emergence of a parallel power
which defies the elected power," even if such harsh measures
offended the "bleeding hearts" and "weak-kneed." As far as
The Quiet Revolution 81
Trudeau was concerned, such people could "go on and bleed."
When asked by Ralfe how far he would go, his answer left no
room for doubt: "Just watch me ... I think that goes to any
distance." Trudeau was clearly convinced that any concessions
to the FLQ would amount to a total capitulation to an illegal
power derived from the kidnappings and execution threats.
But his comment was also directed at the group of sixteen who
were presenting themselves as advisers to Bourassa in the
midst of crisis and instability. His greatest fury, however, was
reserved for Bourassa's capitulation, which he saw as the first
step in what could be the collapse of the Bourassa
government's resolve to stand firm. Such a collapse, particu-
larly in the context of growing popular support for the aims
of the FLQ, could set the stage for the onset of a more general
political crisis.
Furthermore, Bourassa's decision to break with Ottawa and
the declaration of the sixteen essentially telling Ottawa not to
meddle amounted to a demand that Ottawa cease acting as an
effective federal government with the overriding constitu-
tional power to ensure "peace, order and good government"
in Canada. Trudeau had no doubt that such a course would
accelerate Quebec's path toward separation and transform
Levesque from premier-in-waiting to de facto premier. How-
ever one assesses Trudeau's subsequent actions, his political
analysis of the crisis the federal government faced was brutally
sound. Had he not acted decisively, Trudeau's worst fears
might well have been quickly realized given the tempo of
events in Quebec. That he went much further than was neces-
sary in the circumstances is without question. Trudeau was
never one to take half or quarter measures when it came to
exploiting an opportunity to squash or to humble Quebecois
nationalism, for which he had nothing but contempt.
On 14 October troops were sent into Ottawa. On 15 October
troops began to be positioned in Quebec, especially in Mon-
treal. At 4 a.m. on 16 October the War Measures Act (WMA)
was invoked by Trudeau and his cabinet, making Canada the
only western democracy to use war powers during peacetime.
Indeed, Ireland and Canada were alone among democracies
having such powers at a cabinet's fingertips, without reference
to Parliament. Ottawa declared that a state of "apprehended
82 DEBTS TO PAY
insurrection" existed in Quebec, citing letters from Premier
Bourassa, Mayor Drapeau, and the Montreal police chief. Over
five thousand troops were deployed in Quebec. The FLQ was
outlawed, and membership became a retroactive crime, with-
out an opportunity to recant, punishable by five years in
prison. Even having associated with a member of the FLQ
became a crime, as did giving assistance to the FLQ or to a
member or making any statements that appeared to advocate
the aims of the FLQ, all similarly punishable by a prison term
of five years. Again, quite unlike previous invocations of the
law during wartime, no opportunity was provided to anyone
suspected to renounce association with the FLQ. All civil rights
and liberties across Canada were technically suspended: a per-
son could be arrested without charge, held incommunicado
and without bail for twenty-one days, and without trial for
ninety days. Since it was a federal statute, the proclamation,
though focused on Quebec, extended to all of Canada. The
WMA gave the government dictatorial powers over virtually
every aspect of Canadian life. The immediate public reaction,
particularly in English Canada, was massive support for Tru-
deau: a poll days after the proclamation found that 87 per cent
of Canadians supported the move. Three days after proclama-
tion the government asked for the support of the House of
Commons. NDP leader Tommy Douglas, in what was his fin-
est hour in federal politics, stood alone, together with fifteen
members of his caucus, to oppose the government, likening
the invocation of the WMA to using "a sledgehammer to
smash a peanut."
As soon as the WMA was proclaimed, the arrests in Quebec
began. Before the sun came up 242 people had been arrested,
50 of whom had run for the PQ in the April election and 2 of
whom were candidates opposed to Mayor Drapeau's Civic
Party in the coming 25 October Montreal municipal election.
Those arrested, besides the core leadership of local PQ associ-
ations, included not only those suspected of FLQ sympathy,
very broadly defined, but also labour leaders, community ac-
tivists and organizers, separatists of all types, and those known
for effective opposition to any of the three levels of govern-
ment. By the end of the arrests some days later, 465 had been
arrested, their homes and offices ransacked and searched, their
The Quiet Revolution 83
families and neighbours terrorized. Of these, 403 were even-
tually freed without charge. Most were not even subjected to
any kind of interrogation. Of the remaining 62, 32 were
charged, but the government decided not to prosecute. At the
end of the day, only 18 were convicted of minor offences, like
complicity, or of being accessories after the fact. Leaders of the
police units trying to crack the case later revealed that the
invocation of the WMA provided no help in the investigations
that finally solved the case. Indeed, not a single FLQ member
involved was caught in the WMA arrest net (10 members were
directly involved in the actual abductions, and 25 members
acted as a courier and support group). Nor did the WMA and
the 5,000 troops provide any help in finding the hostages. The
case was finally solved using normal painstaking police in-
vestigative procedures. The people arrested were victims of
state violence: often arrested in the dead of night; not allowed
to inform family, friends, or employers about what had hap-
pened; held without charges or bail. Some lost jobs; others
claim to have been verbally and/or physically abused by po-
lice and prison guards; all experienced terror, degradation,
and humiliation. And that appears to have been the only rea-
son most of them were arrested in the first place — a settling
of political accounts and a warning of the possible costs asso-
ciated with their political convictions and actions.
But the person who paid the highest price was Pierre
Laporte. The day after the proclamation of the WMA Laporte's
body was found in the trunk of a car in the parking lot of a
small military airfield on the outskirts of Montreal. The FLQ
communique announcing Laporte's "execution'' suggested the
act was a cold-blooded response to the harsh actions of the
authorities. The condition of the body (many cuts and bruises),
the results of the autopsy, and various statements by officials
and the accused, in subsequent interviews and at trials, sug-
gest the murder of Laporte was not coldly calculated.
The best reconstruction of the death appears to have been
as follows. The FLQ cell holding Laporte panicked when the
WMA was proclaimed. Laporte, already in a very fragile emo-
tional state as revealed in his earlier letter to the premier, also
understandably panicked, fearing that his abductors might
carry out their threats. While temporarily left alone in the
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bedroom where he was held, Laporte either freed himself from
any bonds restraining his wrists or made his escape attempt
despite the bonds and threw himself through a window. His
abductors, hearing the noise, raced into the room, saw Laporte
part-way out the window, and pulled him back inside. In the
ensuing struggle, Laporte was strangled by the chain holding
the religious medal he wore around his neck. If it happened
that way, it was certainly murder. But was it a cold-blooded,
deliberate execution? Or was it the action of frightened, violent
and fanatical young men who suddenly realized the enormity
of the consequences of what they had done? Many questions
remain. Did they really intend to murder Laporte? If so, why
did the FLQ cell holding Cross not follow suit? Though
Laporte was the victim of FLQ political violence, in another
sense he was the inadvertent victim of state violence. The
unanswered question that will always plague reflections on
the October Crisis remains: Had Ottawa not proclaimed the
WMA and sent in the troops, would Laporte, like Cross, be
alive today? There is no doubt about the criminal responsibil-
ity for Laporte's death, and those responsible were tried,
found guilty, and sentenced. But a large share of the moral and
political responsibility for Laporte's death must be assigned to
Trudeau, Bourassa, Drapeau, and all those Canadians who
cheered and applauded the harsh measures. Laporte's life was
sacrificed for reasons of state — to protect the integrity of state
power. The state wanted more, however. His family, against
their inclinations, were pressured into allowing officials to put
on an elaborate state funeral at which Trudeau, Drapeau, and
Bourassa sought public justification for their actions. It was
one of the most grotesque and maudlin events in Canadian
history.
But Laporte's kidnappers were not the only ones to react
with fear and panic. Fear, panic, and hysteria became general,
affecting the whole country, touching down here and there
with sometimes comic, other times malevolent, results. Much
of this mood resulted from a deliberately orchestrated cam-
paign by the governments involved to justify their actions. The
really serious fear campaign began with the imposition of the
WMA and intensified with Laporte's death. Claims were made
that the FLQ had infiltrated all key institutions of Quebec, that
The Quiet Revolution 85
three thousand armed FLQ terrorists were ready to begin an
insurrection, that the FLQ had a "hit list" of two hundred
Quebec leaders marked for assassination, that the kidnappings
were just the first step in a revolutionary plan — next, there
would be mass meetings, then a massive bombing campaign,
then a bloodbath of executions, all followed by the installation
of a provisional government No scenario was too fantastic, no
tactic too bizarre, to be blurted out by one prominent politician
or another. The media, which had been somewhat balanced
though sensationalist before the imposition of the WMA, got
clearly on the government's side after the proclamation, re-
porting as fact every wild exaggeration and every fantastic
notion.
English Canada was not left unscathed by the hysteria and
fear. The B.C. cabinet passed an order-in-council requiring the
instant dismissal of teachers or professors who, in the opinion
of the police, advocated the policies of the FLQ. Seven mem-
bers of the Vancouver Liberation Front, a student-based radi-
cal group, were arrested without charge and held over a
weekend by Vancouver police. The mayor of Vancouver
threatened to use WMA powers to clean his city of hippies and
transients. A student at Carleton University had his home
searched in the first hour; nothing was found but he was taken
to jail and held incommunicado for six days. A student at
Ottawa University was arrested and held for four days be-
cause he happened to be called Bernard Lortie, the name of a
known member of the FLQ. The editors of several university
newspapers across Canada were visited by police and threat-
ened because of their intention to print the FLQ manifesto. The
Regina police chief expressed a desire to use the powers to
clean out what he called "undesirable elements" — he had a
notorious antipathy for hippies, student activists, indeed, for
all young people with long hair. A Maple Creek, Saskatche-
wan, man, arrested for failing to produce a registration form
and for having an unpaid 1967 parking ticket, was held in jail
for three days. Former brigadier and then Regina Chamber of
Commerce president Keehr advocated strengthening the mili-
tia by giving employees time off with pay for training so that
Canada could better defend itself against a "bunch of kooks
who think they can actually take over this country."
86 DEBTS TO PAY
Then there was the extensive self-censorship by the media,
often more vigorous than any government-appointed censor
would have dared. Toronto's CHAN Television abruptly
stopped a 60-minute taped interview show when it realized
that the guest was a prominent Quebec labour leader who had
been arrested in the first hours of the WMA. National CBC
radio cancelled the broadcast of a Max Ferguson skit satirizing
the WMA with a routine where Trudeau has been mistakenly
arrested and held incommunicado. The.CBC sent out a direc-
tive to all producers and directors ordering them to get on side
with the government during the crisis. Government censors in
Alberta banned the film Red, which featured a Metis who goes
to Montreal. The airing of a TV documentary on Lenin, the
Russian revolutionary leader, was cancelled. Mayor Drapeau
told Quebec film censors to order the withdrawal of the film
Quiet Days in Click}/ from two Montreal theatres, or he would
have the theatres raided and arrest everyone seeing the film,
as well as the censors themselves. (The film was pulled.) Vir-
tually every journalist and commentator active at the time in
Quebec, as well as elsewhere in Canada, is full of stories of
how censorship was imposed on his or her work during the
crisis.
The fearsome icing on this cake of hysteria for all of Canada
was Creditiste leader Real Caouette's 18 October 1970 call for
the summary execution by firing squad of all FLQ leaders.
Despite continuing support for Trudeau's actions, enthusiasm
waned, and doubts about the wisdom and necessity of the
state's measures increased. Even Trudeau himself had warned
of the inherent dangers of such an authoritarian approach
when he proclaimed the act. The situation was salvaged when
the crisis more or less ended with the arrests of those respon-
sible for Laporte's kidnapping and murder in November, fol-
lowed quickly by the discovery on 3 December of the location
where Cross was held. Negotiations resulted in Cross's release
in exchange for safe passage to Cuba for his kidnappers.
The immediate political effect of the October Crisis no doubt
fulfilled many of the expectations and intentions of Ottawa.
The FLQ was utterly destroyed. The confusion and vacillation
of the Bourassa government was abruptly halted. The popular
mobilization — meetings, demonstrations, student strikes —
The Quiet Revolution 87
was stopped dead, and we will never know what might have
been the final outcome. Mayor Drapeau won a 92 per cent
victory in the Montreal civic election, and his left opposition
was crushed. The WMA clearly played no role in the final
resolution of the kidnappings and the murder of Laporte, and
the trials and convictions went forward through the criminal
justice system. And that system, to its credit, did not reflect the
hysterical mood at the height of the crisis. All those convicted
were out of prison, either on parole or with sentences com-
pleted, in eleven years or fewer and have since "gone straight,"
A few have written books about their experiences. Most have
remained politically inactive and silent about the October
events, often as a condition of parole. Efforts to get the full
story have been unsuccessful — the Quebec Keable Commis-
sion to inquire into police wrongdoing in Quebec was stopped
by Ottawa's refusal to co-operate and finally by court injunc-
tion. The 1980 McDonald Royal Commission on the Security
Service examined a great deal of the evidence, but key parts of
the report have been kept secret.
Despite this veil of official secrecy around the October
events, enough has leaked out over the years to suggest that
at least some aspects of the crisis were deliberately orches-
trated by authorities in an effort to provoke polarization, per-
haps as part of a campaign to discredit the democratic
separatist option by linking it in the public mind with extrem-
ism and terrorism. At the public political level, this was very
clear at the time — there was no "apprehended insurrection,"
no uprising of three thousand armed FLQers, no systematic
assassinations, no widespread and focused bombing cam-
paign. Nor did the authorities find any physical evidence of
such plans as a result of the searches and arrests under the
WMA. But there was also a great deal going on at the level of
the clandestine state. Prior to the kidnappings, both the Mon-
treal police and the RCMP security service knew a great deal
about the FLQ, as did many journalists who covered FLQ
activities and the trials of FLQers. An hour after the Cross
kidnapping, La Presse correctly named one of those involved.
The fingerprint of another prominent and well-known FLQer
was found on a FLQ communique after Laporte's kidnapping.
Most of the FLQ militants involved in the kidnappings —
88 DEBTS TO PAY
thirty-five of them — were routinely followed by undercover
police long before the October events. Some were even fol-
lowed during the crisis! The police actually had photos of FLQ
members stalking Cross in the days before his abduction. One
of the kidnappers had been linked earlier that year to FLQ
kidnap plans. He had been arrested in February 1970 in a panel
truck on his way to kidnap the Israeli consul. In the truck
police found a sawed-off shotgun, a ransom note, and a wicker
basket large enough to hold a man. He was merely charged
with possession of the illegal shotgun and released on bail. In
June 1970 a police raid on an FLQ safehouse in the Laurentians
scotched a plan to kidnap the U.S. consul. In that raid the
police found weapons and 250 copies of the manifesto that was
later read over the air. In the circumstances, why did the au-
thorities claim they knew nothing and were completely baffled
by the October kidnappings? One of the kidnappers com-
plained in 1985 that he now feels that he was manipulated and
that the authorities could have prevented the whole thing,
given the extent of their knowledge at the time. He is con-
vinced that for some reason the authorities wanted the plans
to go ahead.
When these scattered facts are put together with later ad-
missions of illegal and provocative activities by members of
the RCMP security service, the scenario gets shadowy. RCMP
security service agents have admitted to stealing dynamite;
setting off bombs; writing FLQ communiques; breaking into a
left-wing news agency's office; breaking into the PQ office to
steal membership lists and financial information; opening
mail; routinely gaining access to confidential medical files;
committing arson to destabilize the FLQ; using kidnapping,
unlawful confinement, and threats of violence to frighten FLQ
members and associates to become informants. Suddenly,
some FLQ claims that they didn't set off all the bombs or write
all the political communiques, attributed to them in the 1960s
become more believable. The claim by former FLQ intellectual
Vallieres that the communique written announcing Laporte's
murder was not written by a Quebecois no longer seems just
paranoid fantasy. One obvious possibility is that the security
forces sought to get maximum public impact from the panic
slaying of Laporte and put the car there themselves. The FLQ
The Quiet Revolution 89
allegedly left Laporte's body in a car parked in the parking lot
of a military airfield, adjacent to the military's Mobile Com-
mand headquarters. Therefore, by some means, the FLQ killers
managed to drive a car, well-known and sought by every
military and law enforcement agency in the province, carrying
Laporte's body in the trunk, through a series of two or three
roadblocks in broad daylight in order to reach a risky parking
lot. This is difficult to believe.
Some have suggested that the RCMP security agents acted
on their own in an excess of zeal. That is unbelievable. Security
agents do not engage in such domestic activities without clear-
ance and orders from the highest political level. The hints and
pieces of the October puzzle are tantalizing and suggestive but
incomplete. Too many gaps have to be filled by conjecture and
hypothesis. But we do know that the politicians in power and
the clandestine security forces joined together to obscure the
facts and to manipulate the Canadian people in October 1970.
And only some of those responsible — those directly involved
— have been brought to justice. The veil of secrecy must be
lifted so that the full facts can be disclosed and those respon-
sible can be called to the bar, if not of justice, then at least of
history and public opinion. Until that happens, the 1970 Octo-
ber Crisis remains unfinished business.
In English Canada support for Trudeau's use of the WMA
was very high, in some quarters almost obscenely enthusiastic.
Many in English Canada believed that the October events
marked the effective end of Levesque and the PQ — that on
sober reflection of the implications of separation, the
Quebecois would wake up to the folly of that option. Indeed,
many in English Canada believed that merely advocating sep-
aration by democratic means amounted to treason and ought
to be treated as such. For those, the whole repressive episode,
as long as it remained confined to Quebec, was a necessary
and long overdue tonic to shock ordinary Quebecois and to
deflect them from the separatist course. Many, many in En-
glish Canada shared the view that the events had hopelessly
compromised Levesque and the PQ and that political support
for separatism in Quebec would begin to melt away.
If it is true that one of the long-range political goals of the
authorities in using the WMA was to link terrorism and the
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PQ's democratic separatist option, thereby discrediting the lat-
ter, the effort was a failure. Levesque emerged from the crisis
looking good. He had tried to save lives by calling for negoti-
ations. He had denounced Bourassa's weakness and vacilla-
tion vis-a-vis Ottawa. He had warned Trudeau not to try to
turn Quebec into a prison by imposing collective repression.
He declared that he and the PQ would fight if Trudeau tried
"to tie up Quebec in impotence." And he had movingly and
repeatedly denounced terrorism at every turn.
Perhaps the October events slowed down the PQ's momen-
tum to some extent, but there was no fundamental reversal. In
the February 1971 by-election to fill Laporte's seat, the PQ vote
held at the level of April 1970. And in the provincial election
of 1973 the PQ vote grew to 30 per cent, though it still only
won 6 of 110 seats. Though the PQ was now the Official Op-
position, Levesque, who again failed to win personal election,
and the PQ had believed they would win. There is little doubt
that residual fear from October 1970 played a role in postpon-
ing the PQ's victory. In fact, the electoral fall-out from October
1970 seemed also to hurt Trudeau. In the 1972 federal election
Trudeau was humbled by the English Canada he had served
so well. In Quebec, support for Trudeau faltered only slightly,
falling by 4.5 per cent but still delivering 56 of 74 seats. But in
English Canada Trudeau only won 53 of 190 seats with 34.5
per cent of the vote. It appeared that though English Canadi-
ans had cheered him in 1970, they had very serious reserva-
tions about the concessions he continued to insist on making
to Quebec.
Indeed, that was the nub of the problem. The WMA and the
troops, though provoking temporary fear and hesitation,
could not hope, in the long run, to win the hearts and minds
of the Quebecois. And English Canada yearned for a final
settlement. At the end of the Quiet Revolution, the choices for
the Quebecois were clarified, and they were now reflected in
the National Assembly: they could either remain in a Canada
that accorded Quebec a place of cultural security and dignity
or adopt some variation on the theme of independence. For
English Canada that meant recognizing that there could be no
going back to the good old days of English-Canadian certain-
ties. In fact, concessions would have to be made; the structures
The Quiet Revolution 91
of English privilege in Quebec would either have to be greatly
modified or be made to disappear altogether. Even in the
midst of the October Crisis, on 18 October 1970, the National
Assembly voted unanimously to abolish Article 80 of the BNA
Act which guaranteed the boundaries of what were originally
seventeen English provincial constituencies. The boundaries of
these protected constituencies could not have been changed
without the consent of a majority of the MNAs occupying
them. Though most of the constituencies had become largely
Quebecois, it was the end of yet another piece of the elaborate
structure of English privilege in Quebec. To win and keep
Quebec for Canada, many more concessions would be neces-
sary.
The Quiet Revolution, ending so dramatically and abruptly
with the October Crisis, had permanently transformed politics
in Quebec and, by extension, in Canada. A political process
was begun in Quebec that posed sharp questions that could
not and cannot be avoided. Nor can the process be reversed.
The trajectory was set and the choices for the Quebecois were
clear: continue in a satisfactorily reformed Canadian federa-
tion or embark on the path to sovereignty. The former path
requires structural concessions from English Canada sufficient
to satisfy the Quebecois nation's sense of injustice from the
past and anxieties about the future. The latter path requires the
consent of a majority of Quebecois, a consent they have been
reluctant to grant. Still, support for sovereignty among the
Quebecois has continued, despite ebbs and flows, to grow.
Levesque, the Referendum
and Patriation
On 15 November 1976, Rene Levesque and the Parti Quebecois
won a convincing victory: 71 of 110 seats with 42 per cent of
the popular vote. Levesque had not expected to win, anticipat-
ing only a significant breakthrough, including personal victory
for himself and a very strong PQ Opposition. He certainly
never expected the opportunity to govern with a comfortable
majority. The Liberal collapse was so thorough that even Pre-
mier Bourassa was defeated, ironically at the hands of poet
and journalist Gerald Godin who had been arrested under the
War Measures Act in 1970. The Quebecois — at least the PQ
supporters—were jubilant and began an exhilarating all-night
celebration in the streets of Montreal that took some of them
to Westmount where their celebrations rubbed salt into
English wounds.
English Canada's initial reaction was one of shock, anger,
incredulity. Many had forgotten that old axiom of the British
parliamentary system: once you become Her Majesty's Official
Opposition, it only takes one election to become Her Majesty's
Government. Despite the concessions, despite the October Cri-
sis and the troops, despite yet more concessions, the Quebecois
weren't satisfied. Their demands were endless and unreason-
able went the dominant English-Canadian view. With an
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 93
avowedly separatist party now in power in Quebec, what had
been a perceived but distant threat of the break-up of Canada
suddenly became real and palpable. English Canada, there-
fore, braced itself for the beginning of a process that might well
have ended with the separation of Quebec. And nothing that
English Canada had done to placate Quebec had been suffi-
cient to postpone this awful final moment of decision.
Indeed, from the point of view of English Canada, great
strides had been taken since October 1970 in order to accom-
modate Quebecois aspirations. Constitutional renewal, includ-
ing patriation, a language charter, an amending formula, and
an opting out provision, were offered at Victoria in 1971. At
first, Premier Bourassa agreed to this Victoria Charter, but
after a brief sampling of opinion back home, alive with nega-
tive opinions, fears, and reservations about the deal, Bourassa
withdrew his agreement with a great deal of egg on his face.
The charter had failed to come to grips with the constitutional
bottom line of Quebecois nationalism—special status for Que-
bec, a new division of powers, and a guaranteed Quebec veto.
Meanwhile, Trudeau pursued his strategy of federal bilingual-
ism and French power in Ottawa, while he flatly rejected any
notion of special status for Quebec. Further, Trudeau turned
up the heat on Quebecois nationalism. He instituted an aggres-
sive multiculturalism policy, partly in an effort to reduce the
centrality of the French/English polarization, and insisted on
the constitutional doctrine of the equality of provinces, in an
effort to forestall Quebecois insistence that the matter ought to
be resolved through bilateral negotiations between Ottawa
and Quebec.
Federal bilingualism and French power in Ottawa —
though they created many career and business opportunities
for a significant number of Quebecois — did nothing to relieve
the language tensions in Quebec. In Quebec, the language
issue remained a matter of making French the language not
only of day-to-day life and work but also of economic deci-
sion-making and career opportunity. The Gendron Commis-
sion, appointed by the Union Nationale government in 1969
to defuse the St. Leonard crisis, issued its report in 1972. The
report included extensive research studies on the language of
work and economic opportunity and again confirmed, in more
94 DEBTS TO PAY
detail, the dramatic economic disadvantages experienced by
the Quebecois compelled to use English as the language of
work, especially as they moved up the occupational hierarchy.
Comparisons with the past again indicated that the Quebecois
were not progressing very rapidly in closing the gap with
English Canadians in Quebec. The evidence showed that lan-
guage was the key to dismantling English privilege and un-
locking economic opportunity for the Quebecois.
As a result, the Gendron Commission recommended that
French become Quebec's official language, though English
would continue to enjoy the status of a national language in
the province. Under growing pressure, in 1974 the Bourassa
government introduced and passed Bill 22, The Official Lan-
guages Act, which declared French the province's official lan-
guage in all key areas: business, labour, education, selected
professions, public administration, and so on. Further, a pro-
gram of implementation and a system of regulation were put
in place to enforce the new law. An important escape hatch
was left open, however. Those who wished to educate their
children in English could choose to submit their children to
testing to ensure their knowledge of English. If they failed to
demonstrate such knowledge, they would be enrolled in the
French-language system.
Predictably, English Canadians were not happy with this
development. While English Canada was reluctantly embrac-
ing official federal bilingualism, Quebec was apparently
bloody-mindedly marching towards French unilingualism.
Though this sentiment overlooked the fact that all provinces
but New Brunswick continued to embrace English unilingual-
ism, English Canada's capacity for upholding a linguistic dou-
ble standard remained unchallenged.
Bill 22 particularly angered the English minority in Quebec.
The law compelled them to make profound linguistic adjust-
ments in all spheres of life. Furthermore, the language test for
education inevitably began to divert immigrant enrolments
from the English to the French school system. Yet the
Quebecois nationalists were not satisfied. The law did not go
far enough or fast enough in making Quebec a thoroughly
French-speaking province. The language test still allowed ac-
cess to the English school system to those willing to go to the
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 95
expense and effort of tutoring their children. At the end of the
day, Bill 22 was a political disaster for Bourassa; it won the
premier no friends and created new enemies, particularly
among the English minority and immigrants.
Any political good that bilingualism may have done among
the Quebecois during the early 1970s was at least temporarily
wiped out by the dispute over the language of air traffic con-
trol at Quebec airports. Quebecois pilots and air traffic control-
lers resented being compelled to use English, even at Quebec
airports. English-Canadian pilots and controllers insisted that
English was the language of international aviation, and that,
for safety reasons, it ought to continue to be the uniform lan-
guage in Quebec. In 1973 Ottawa created a task force to look
into the matter, and in 1975 its report recommended that both
French and English be allowed at five Quebec airports.
English-Canadian air traffic controllers went on strike to
express their opposition, and English-Canadian pilots sup-
ported them, creating major national disruptions in air service.
Meanwhile, Quebecois air traffic controllers and pilots split off
to form their own organization, Les Gens de l'Air, to press the
case for bilingualism in air traffic control. When Ottawa caved
in to the English air traffic controllers and settled the strike by
allowing them a veto over the use of bilingualism in the air,
there were angry convulsions in Quebec. Although the crisis
was finally resolved in stages by a commission of inquiry
between 1976 and 1979 and the final result was that bilingual-
ism was extended to all airports in Quebec, the immediate
political damage in Quebec was considerable.
To the Quebecois, English Canada appeared unyielding and
arrogant, willing to permit only a restricted use of French, a
sort of bilingualism by English permission. At the same time,
English Canadians took the view that the Quebecois were
again being hypersensitive and unreasonable in pressing the
language issue in ways that jeopardized air safety. In retro-
spect, it was another unnecessary and gratuitous language
dispute provoked by English Canada. But it struck at the very
heart of the language issue in Quebec. If French was to become
the language of work it had to be the language of work in all
spheres, not just in those conceded by English Canada. And if
Canada truly embraced official bilingualism in the federal
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sphere, then it had to be nothing less than a real, day-to-day
bilingualism, not a bilingualism based on English-Canadian
sufferance.
Despite these continuing confrontations, the Quebecois re-
mained ambivalent about the stark choices before them, which
explains why the same electorate could strongly support the
implacable federalism of Trudeau in 1974 and yet elect the
separatist Levesque in 1976. The Quebecois had indeed made
significant gains since the Quiet Revolution. French was grad-
ually becoming the dominant language in Quebec; federal pol-
iticians and senior civil servants from Quebec played leading
roles at the highest levels in Ottawa; the system of English
privilege in Quebec was either being actively dismantled step-
by-step or was under serious seige. In 1961, an English male
in the Quebec labour force earned, on average, just under 50
per cent more than his Quebecois counterpart. By 1970 this
income lead had been narrowed to about 33 per cent. In 1961
unilingual English males in Quebec comprised the most priv-
ileged group in Canada. By the mid-1970s, the most privileged
group was made up of bilingual English males in Quebec. Still,
the upper ranges of the occupational hierarchy remained be-
yond the reach of most Quebecois. The English minority was
still heavily over-represented at the top. For English Canadi-
ans, however the change was sufficient evidence that real
structural transformation was indeed occurring and would
continue. For the Quebecois, it was happening much too
slowly, and their impatience was growing.
Clearly, this mood of exasperation had finally grown suffi-
ciently to express itself electorally in Levesque's victory. Fear-
ing the worst, English Canada made great efforts to remind
the PQ government of the limits of its mandate. Editorialists
and commentators in English Canada, and Trudeau himself,
pointed out that the PQ had no mandate to move towards
sovereignty. Only 42 per cent of the electorate had given
Levesque his majority. Just two years previously 54 per cent
of the same electorate had supported Trudeau and the feder-
alist Liberals. The Quebec electorate had simply voted out a
bad government in the hopes that Levesque and the PQ would
bring good government. The Quebecois had perhaps voted for
change. But they had not voted for independence. Further
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 97
evidence of this position was provided by a Gallup poll held
just a few months after Levesque's victory. Only 22 per cent in
Quebec favoured the hard separatist option. While this figure
was certainly ominous — it had doubled since 1968, and the
question was on separation not sovereignty-association — it
revealed no mandate in Quebec public opinion to pursue sep-
aration.
English Canada began to relax as the intentions of the PQ
government became clearer. Though many in English Canada
did not realize it at the time, Levesque and the PQ had long
before separated the election of the PQ to provincial power
from the achievement of Quebec sovereignty. Even if a PQ
government were elected, there would be a separate referen-
dum on sovereignty. This commitment had been made in the
1973 election, and it had been made even more clearly in the
1976 campaign. The moderate architects of this strategy con-
tended that without promising a separate referendum on sov-
ereignty, the PQ could never hope to win election. Their
position seemed to be confirmed by the 1976 results. Yet, had
the PQ government wished to, it could have made building
toward a referendum a central thrust of the work of both party
and government from the outset. But it did not, since the PQ
had also promised to move to a referendum only after making
an effort to achieve a negotiated settlement with Ottawa. As a
result, both sovereignty and the referendum were, for all prac-
tical political purposes, put on the back burner during the PQ's
first three years in power.
Levesque's careful, non-inflammatory approach to the sov-
ereignty issue was indicated in his decision regarding the
Bourassa government's Centre d'Archives et de Documenta-
tion (CAD). CAD, composed of bureaucrats at the highest level
in the Premier's Office, was established in 1971 in the after-
math of the October Crisis, and it was assigned the task of
collecting clandestine political information in co-operation
with federal and provincial police agencies as well as the Privy
Council Office in Ottawa. When Levesque took over as pre-
mier in 1976, CAD had assembled confidential files on thirty
thousand people and six thousand organizations in the prov-
ince. Levesque chose not to expose the situation by establish-
ing a commission of inquiry to uncover just how far the
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political spying had gone. It would have been particularly
significant to reveal whether laws had been broken and civil
rights violated, whether the active infiltration of organizations
had been carried out, and whether efforts to destabilize orga-
nizations and discredit selected activists had been undertaken.
Levesque simply disbanded CAD and ordered the files de-
stroyed. In the context of the dirty tricks of 1970 and after, a
thorough public exposure of CAD and its activities might have
proven a potentially potent weapon in mobilizing the popula-
tion more quickly in the direction of sovereignty. Levesque
chose not to do so, an act of statesmanship. It may also have
been a serious error in political judgement, as later events were
to suggest.
But the PQ's moderation extended beyond its approach to
sovereignty. Given the key role the Quebec state had played
in the Quiet Revolution and given the view of the PQ, held
since its founding, that the provincial state had to be used
aggressively to empower the Quebecois nation in its march
toward self-determination, there was a general expectation
that under the PQ the provincial government would become
more intrusive in the economy and act as a more aggressive
instrument for attacking both English privilege within the
province and English Canada's external influence. Except in
the areas of auto insurance and asbestos, this did not occur.
The PQ government was careful and prudent. It made no
large, dramatic strides in expanding the role of the state. This
was the source of some comfort in English Canada, since the
doctrines of the new Quebecois nationalism pointed strongly
in the direction of an expanded and more powerful provincial
state.
The PQ government did move, however, on a series of social
measures in accord with its social democratic program, mak-
ing it the most progressive provincial government in Canada,
far ahead of Allan Blakeney's NDP regime in Saskatchewan.
Anti-scab legislation was passed, restricting the use of "re-
placement workers" during a strike to essential activities and
property protection. The regressive sales tax on shoes, cloth-
ing, and furniture was removed, a benefit to those on lower
incomes. The minimum wage became the highest in Canada
and was indexed to the cost of living. More generous income
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 99
supports were provided to the poor. Quebec became the na-
tional leader in programs designed to support the family and
working women. Income tax rates were indexed to the cost of
living for those earning less than $30,000 annually, a real boon
to ordinary wage and salary earners. Children under sixteen
got free dental care, while senior citizens got free prescription
drugs. And there were many other such measures, few of
which received attention in English Canada.
Overall the PQ approach was one of etapisme — a gradual
step-by-step approach to ultimate sovereignty. Having unex-
pectedly won power, the PQ, the argument went, must first
prove that it was a competent, prudent and responsible gov-
ernment. Above all, the government must not rush off in too
many directions and initiate drastic changes that might worry
the population, arouse the business lobby, or fail abysmally.
Reforms must be carried out, but only those the people
strongly supported and only those the PQ government could
be certain would have positive outcomes. Most importantly,
the PQ must reassure internal and external investors by pro-
ceeding cautiously in the sensitive area of the economy.
Levesque did not need to be reminded about how well-orches-
trated economic fear campaigns had been used against the PQ
from the outset. The issue of sovereignty was to be postponed
while the PQ government carried out this program of reassur-
ance. No hasty moves would be taken; no abrupt changes in
the course of the government would occur. Except for the PQ's
ultimate commitment to sovereignty, which for English Can-
ada hung ominously in the air, Canadian political life went on
much as before, and the initial fears provoked by the PQ vic-
tory ebbed among English Canadians.
Though many in English Canada were pleasantly surprised
by the PQ's moderation, close watchers of the PQ were not. In
fact, Levesque and Claude Morin, his minister of intergovern-
mental affairs, had fought the etapisme strategy through the
structures of the PQ only with great difficulty, opposed at
every step by party activists and significant elements of the top
leadership. Levesque, it must not be forgotten, had been a late
and reluctant recruit to sovereignty. He was never committed
to independence in its fullest sense, and he was uncomfortable
with and suspicious of those, like the RIN, who were.
100 DEBTS TO PAY
Levesque was a bit of an anglophile — he did not want to sever
links with English Canada, hence his concept of sovereignty-
association, and he was a vigorous champion within his party
and his government of the rights of the Enghsh minority in
Quebec. In retrospect, if there ever was a Quebec separatist
leader with whom English Canada could have made an excel-
lent, workable deal, Levesque was that leader. From the found-
ing of the PQ, which at Levesque's insistence had only
officially included the MSA and the right-wing RN (the RIN
dissolved itself and advised its members to join the PQ), the
marriage between Levesque and determined separatists was
uneasy. Levesque needed the talent and energy of the
independantiste movement, and the movement needed
Levesque's popularity and credibility. Though they agreed
sufficiently to work for sovereignty, there were constant sharp
disagreements on strategy and tactics. Levesque and his MSA
group refused seriously to conceive of a sovereign Quebec in
the absence of an economic association with Canada, while the
independantistes saw sovereignty as the priority, untied to any
conditions about association.
Levesque was aided immeasurably in his battle for a mod-
erate, etapiste approach to sovereignty by Claude Morin,
whose decision to join the PQ in 1972 had been a major coup
for the party. His decision came as a surprise to many, since
Morin was widely known for his self-interested caution, par-
ticularly when it came to career decisions. Morin had been a
central figure in the Lesage government — Lesage's key eco-
nomic adviser from 1961 to 1963, then his first deputy minister
of intergovernmental affairs, a post Morin held, despite
changes in government, until his resignation in 1971. He was
widely recognized as the most significant adviser during both
the Liberal and UN periods in office. After his resignation he
wrote a book, Le pouvoir quebecois ... en negotiation, lamenting
the fact that Quebec always lost out in federal-provincial ne-
gotiations, something the PQ liked to hear from a man of his
experience.
It was not therefore unexpected when Levesque catapulted
Morin into a leadership role second only to his own. Morin
became the key architect and engineer of the PQ's etapiste
referendum strategy. Prior to the 1973 election, PQ policy
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 101
called for a referendum solely to accept or to reject a proposed
constitution for an independent Quebec. During the 1973 elec-
tion campaign, the PQ promised that independence would
only result after a separate referendum on the issue. This arbi-
trary policy change in the heat of an election was later con-
firmed as party policy. But Morin also added a further twist.
Such a referendum would only occur after efforts to negotiate
sovereignty-association with Ottawa had failed. After the 1976
victory, Morin added a further modification to the referendum
commitment — that the PQ government would begin to nego-
tiate sovereignty-association for Quebec only after winning a
referendum. Morin also played a central role in successfully
advocating another significant modification to the PQ's sover-
eignty strategy: as long as Quebec remained in Confederation,
a PQ government would participate fully in federal-provincial
negotiations in order to win more concessions for Quebec
within the federal system.
An additional feature of PQ policy had to do with the con-
cept of "sovereignty-association" itself. Was the emphasis to
be first on winning sovereignty, then on negotiating associa-
tion? Or was there a hyphen between the two words? With a
hyphen, the concept "sovereignty-association" was a package,
the one went with the other, winning sovereignty depended
on winning association. Morin came down heavily on the side
of the hyphen. This may sound like a petty, pedantic issue,
merely a question of quibbling about punctuation. But it was
absolutely central to the PQ's approach. Clearly the strategy
for winning sovereignty first and then negotiating some form
of association would differ markedly from that used to win
sovereignty and association at the same time. What if Ottawa
and the other provinces spoke loudly with one voice saying
there can never be any form of economic association between
an independent Quebec and the rest of Canada? The debate
raged in the party until October 1978, when Levesque, speak-
ing in the National Assembly as premier, clearly placed the
hyphen in the phrase and said Quebec aspired to sovereignty-
association, which would be the basis of any referendum ques-
tion. Morin proceeded to work on the wording of the future
referendum question with a focus on seeking the public's au-
102 DEBTS TO PAY
thorization to negotiate sovereignty-association rather then on
its support for sovereignty.
The overall impact of the Levesque-Morin etapiste strategy
was to defuse the sovereignty issue in the short and medium
term by postponing the day of the hard final question into the
relatively distant future: first, there would be a referendum
seeking permission to try to negotiate sovereignty-association;
if the referendum were successful, the PQ government would
then enter what might be fairly lengthy negotiations; if those
were not successful, then there would be another referendum
on some sort of declaration of sovereignty. Further, by focus-
ing on providing a good, moderate, business-like day-to-day
provincial government, the PQ administration was increas-
ingly caught up in the detail of running the province and
carrying out those reforms constitutionally possible under the
BNA Act. Finally, by deciding to participate fully in federal-
provincial negotiations, the PQ government was drawn into
federal-provincial gamesmanship, slipping deeper and deeper
into the give-and-take of Canadian federalism. Such an ap-
proach had the clear advantage of easing fears and quieting
nerves.
But the approach also carried with it serious political risks.
First, by defusing the sovereignty issue and postponing the
final decision into the distant future, the PQ's central raison
d'itre was compromised. Second, a good, fair, reform-minded
provincial government might deliver enough to make leaving
Canada less and less attractive to the average Quebecois.
Third, by seeking to appease investors and the business lobby,
especially those from English Canada and the U.S., the PQ
inadvertently delivered the message that perhaps there were
serious economic risks and sacrifices attached to sovereignty
after all. Fourth, an aggressive participation in federal-provin-
cial negotiations might prove sufficiently successful in win-
ning significant constitutional concessions that the need for
sovereignty might appear much less urgent to many
Quebecois. And finally, a soft question that asked only for a
mandate to negotiate sovereignty-association might lead many
to believe that the PQ, behind its bold facade, really had cold
feet about the whole project and was just using the threat as a
means to squeeze more out of English Canada. This last opin-
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 103
ion was widely held in English Canada and served to stiffen
resistance to Quebec's demands.
There was, however, one issue on which the PQ government
did not dare to be moderate and compromising — language.
And despite Levesque's hesitations and reservations, the PQ
government made rapid irreversible progress on the franciza-
tion process in Quebec. Bill 101, La Chartre de la langue
frangaise, was introduced and passed in 1978 and more or less
rapidly completed the work started by Bourassa's Bill 22. In
effect, French, already the official language of Quebec in most
crucial spheres, became the official language in all areas of life.
There was no way to avoid it: if you wanted to live and work
in Quebec, you had to do so in French. Only those parents who
had obtained an English-language education in Quebec could
enrol their children in the English school system. All others —
immigrants as well as English Canadians from outside Quebec
— were compelled to enrol their children in the French system.
The testing escape hatch was closed. Companies with fifty or
more employees had to embark on a compulsory and regu-
lated francization program. Significantly, as a gesture of good-
will to non-Quebecois and to business, the law backed away
from compelling a Quebecois quota among those employed.
The focus remained on language skill in French, regardless of
ethnic origin. English Canada was not pleased. Many English
Canadians in Quebec, faced with the daunting prospect of
achieving fluency in French, chose to leave. Amid much pub-
licity the century-old Sun Life Insurance company announced
the move of its head office from Montreal to Toronto as a result
of Bill 101. Quebecois were bitterly angry at Sun Life, and
Ottawa was profoundly embarrassed. Sun Life's departure
had been preceded in 1976 by the move of important sections
of Prudential's head office operations from Montreal. Subse-
quently, there was a haemorrhage of head offices of English
businesses leaving Quebec in the ensuing years, including,
according to a survey by Quebec's organized business lobby,
629 firms between 1979 and 1982 alone.
Bill 101 was a clear declaration to all of Canada. No provin-
cial political party in Quebec would survive if it dared to
compromise the essential features of the bill. Many English
Canadians outside Quebec were outraged by the law, and
104 DEBTS TO PAY
provincial politicians in English Canada frequently attacked it
to pander to anti-Quebec sentiments. But the wise and the
prudent among English Canadians, both within and outside
Quebec, knew that the francization process was irreversible
and represented the linguistic minimum that the Quebecois
would accept in the Canadian federation. Quebec was de-
manding for itself neither less nor more than English Canada
had long since imposed, often unconstitutionally, in the other
nine provinces. At least Quebec could point with justified
pride to how well it treated its established English-Canadian
minority — for those educated in Quebec in English, their
children could enjoy the same privilege. Certainly, the English
school system could no longer grow as a result of providing
education in English to newcomers to the province; indeed, the
system went into sharp decline, but the option remained in
place.
Despite the initial attention focused by the election of the
PQ in 1976, punctuated by the Bill 101 furore, English Canadi-
ans understandably were equally if not more preoccupied
with other issues that affected them more directly throughout
the 1970s. Quebec was not the only crisis afflicting the federa-
tion in that eventful decade. Confederation's other problem
child, the West, again began demanding redress of its historic
grievances. Relatively quiescent since the clashing battles of
Alberta's William Aberhart and Saskatchewan's Tommy
Douglas in the 1930s and 1940s, the West roused itself to de-
mand an improved place in the federation.
From Riel onwards, the West, particularly the Prairie West,
had resented both its economic place in Confederation as
resource hinterland and captive market and its lack of real
political clout in determining national policies. Though west-
erners largely joined Ontario in the commitment to keep the
West English and Protestant and in articulating a fundamental
hostility to Quebec, they resented the region's status as a de-
pendent investment frontier and captive market for Ontario
capitalists. The West's agitations had won many concessions.
But they won neither additional constitutional powers for the
western provinces nor a basic redesign of national economic
policies to benefit the West. The concessions were enough to
quiet the West during the period of postwar prosperity, and
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 105
the West was even initially prepared to accept concessions to
Quebec during the Pearson and early Trudeau years, particu-
larly when those concessions cost the West nothing and were
made in the context of the general expansion of federal spend-
ing programs.
But in the late 1960s and early 1970s when prosperity ended
and recession struck the entire region, it began again to express
aggressive anger about its place in Confederation. The first
obvious evidence of western arousal led to dramatic changes
in government in all four western provinces with the common
denominator of dissatisfaction with the resource strategies of
the 1950s and 1960s. Everyone in the West wanted economic
diversification new development, secure jobs, and prosperity
— but they began to question the price. Clearly, resource de-
velopment by external, largely foreign, capital was not doing
the job. Other than expanding the list of resources being ex-
tracted, real economic diversification to ease the booms and
busts of a resource economy had not occurred. What little
industrial development had occurred in the West — in indus-
tries related to the natural products of the region, like milling
and meat-packing — was closing down as the magic of the
market, improvements in transportation, and technological in-
novation led to increasing centralization closer to the large
markets of Central Canada. In different ways, the new western
provincial governments all said: The western provinces should
control resource development so that westerners would retain
more benefits and revenues. The industrial spinoffs of
resource extraction, including inputs and value-added pro-
cessing, should be located in the West. And more and more
revenue from the extraction of non-renewable resources for
export had to be reinvested in the region to assure its economic
future.
The election of the four new regimes marked a new era in
the West's struggle for a place in the sun in Confederation and
in the national economy. Just as the great social powers con-
ferred on the provinces by the BNA Act had allowed earlier
Western movements to push for the construction of the welfare
state in the era following the Great Depression and World War
II, the provinces' control of natural resources could be used to
push for a better economic and constitutional deal for the
106 DEBTS TO PAY
West. The West therefore began to use its resource wealth as
a bargaining chip in the constitutional debate. If Quebec could
use its hefty political clout to gain constitutional concessions,
perhaps the West could use its resource clout in a like manner.
More and more, the constitutional debate, formerly seen in the
West as an arcane, technical process largely between Quebec
and Ottawa, came to be seen as an arena to push for a western
breakthrough. What was sauce for the goose could be sauce
for the gander — if Quebec needed constitutional concessions
to deal with its linguistic and cultural concerns, could not the
West make some kind of trade and obtain constitutional con-
cessions to empower the region in the control of resources?
Trudeau's obsession with Quebec nationalism and separat-
ism, his clumsy agricultural policy initiatives in the West, his
imposition of a bilingualism that made no sense to many west-
erners, and his lack of sympathy for western concerns about
resource development began the process of western political
estrangement that saw the western Liberal Party, federally and
provincially, virtually annihilated in a decade. The once-proud
Liberal Party in the West, which in 1969 could boast twenty-
seven MPs, fifty-six MLAs, and the control of the Saskatche-
wan government, was reduced, by 1979, to three MPs and one
MLA. Trudeau's conviction that a large part of the Quebec
problem, indeed of the growing crisis of Confederation, had
to do with an excessively weak federal government and his
commitment to strengthen it ensured further confrontations
with the West. The West was happy enough to see Trudeau
flex federal muscles against the Quebecois, as he had during
the October Crisis, but it did not appreciate a similar flexing
against the West on the issue of resources.
Two contradictory forces ensured a confrontation: the grow-
ing determination in the West that provincial powers should
be used aggressively to maximize provincial benefits from
resource development and a growing conviction on the part
of the Trudeau regime that federal power, atrophied by lack
of use during the Diefenbaker and Pearson years, had to be
reasserted. Ottawa found itself fighting on two fronts: to the
East, separatism in Quebec, and to the West, the growing as-
sertion of provincial powers over natural resources.
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 107
In the early 1970s the world's oil-supplying countries organ-
ized themselves into a cartel, the Organization of Petroleum
Exporting Countries (OPEC), determined to reap a greater
share of revenue from oil for the producing countries. Spo-
radic pressure to increase the world price continued until 1973,
when OPEC began a series of unilateral moves that doubled,
tripled, and finally quadrupled world oil prices. The ''energy
crisis" was upon us, creating a bonanza for the oil-producing
countries and for the major international oil companies. The
crisis was a disaster for oil-consuming countries. The indus-
trial sectors of the advanced countries, including Canada,
deeply dependent on cheap oil, found themselves in a crunch.
The costs of home heating and auto fuel cut deeply into the
disposable incomes of families, while oil-price-related spiral-
ling inflation and interest rates further contracted incomes and
jeopardized industries. In Canada the energy crisis added a
new dimension to the crisis of Confederation.
The western energy provinces moved to capture the wind-
fall profits associated with the oil price rise (which also stim-
ulated a rise in the price for natural gas, as consumers and
industries rushed to convert from oil). The federal government
also moved aggressively. Ottawa imposed an oil price freeze
in the fall of 1973, slapped on a federal oil export tax to capture
increased revenues, and decided to deny resource companies
the right to deduct provincial royalty charges before they com-
puted federal taxes. All these moves markedly diminished the
extent to which the energy provinces could capture the wind-
fall. They were supplemented by a 1974 law granting Ottawa
the power to fix oil prices. Further, Ottawa threatened to im-
pose a federal tax on natural gas exports and resisted dramatic
increases in natural gas prices in Canada.
Alberta and Saskatchewan responded by revising their roy-
alty schedules upward and, in the case of Saskatchewan, by
taking into public ownership all non-crown oil and gas rights
and imposing a surcharge on oil production (the surcharge
was later ruled ultra vires). Alberta similarly moved to estab-
lish technical public ownership rights over its oil, though it
hesitated to go as far as Saskatchewan, by creating a marketing
commission mechanism and by declaring that the royalty
share of oil going through the marketing commission was
108 DEBTS TO PAY
publicly owned. These legislative moves, and a host of other
technical enactments and regulations, were designed to but-
tress provincial constitutional control over all aspects of oil
and gas development — production, marketing, and pricing.
By asserting their ownership rights over oil and gas after they
were out of the ground, the provinces were less likely to be
seen as interfering with trade and commerce, an area of clear
federal constitutional jurisdiction.
By 1975, an impasse was reached with both levels of gov-
ernment sharing the wealth with the industry in an atmo-
sphere of hostility and confrontation. As the 1970s unfolded,
Allan Blakeney and Peter Lougheed won renewed and con-
vincing mandates from their electorates by declaring their in-
tention to continue to fight for provincial control of resources
against the arrogant intrusions of the federal government. And
for his part, Trudeau repeated that he had no intention of
letting the western provinces hold the nation to ransom over
energy pricing.
The West had a strong case. Resources came under exclusive
provincial jurisdiction. Yet when the BNA Act was drafted, its
authors had in mind such resources as timber, land, and the
less significant mining sector. They saw resources as incidental
to the great effort of nation-building and the construction of
an East-West economy where the wealth to be made chiefly
lay in commerce and manufacturing. As the new resource
wealth of the West was developed, most of it was for export,
and federal powers over trade and commerce easily contained
the situation. However, the Western provinces' efforts in the
1970s to extend their control over resources involved aggres-
sive new departures. No longer simply content to sell the
rights to exploit resources to investors and then to collect roy-
alties as the resources were extracted and exported, the prov-
inces were now trying to control the whole process in an effort
to capture this new wealth as a basis for economic diversifica-
tion as well for revenues.
Ottawa also had a strong case. The oil crisis had driven up
the price for oil to the point where Central and Atlantic Canada
were in deep trouble. Forced to pay burgeoning world prices
for much of Canada's needs in the East, the federal govern-
ment tried to soften the impact by enforcing a low domestic
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 109
price. The difference between the world price paid and the
administered domestic price had to be made up, the federal
government argued, at least partly by the greatly expanded
revenues being earned for western exports of oil and natural
gas. By 1975, Canada was in a serious deficit position in the oil
trade — its imports of oil at world prices outpaced the reve-
nues from exports of western oil. The resulting dislocation and
inflation would be a disaster for the national economy. Fur-
thermore, the rise in oil prices had worsened the growing crisis
in Central Canadian industry, which required cheaper than
world-price energy sources in order to sustain its competitive-
ness. Therefore, the federal government argued that it was in
the interest of the national economy, in this case the industrial
heartland of the nation, to establish energy-pricing policies
that would protect Canada's manufacturing sector.
The western provinces largely agreed with such arguments
in principle. The debate centred on how much of the bonanza
the West ought to give up in the national interest. Westerners
complained that it was not fair that they should again be called
upon exclusively to bear the full cost of Canadian nationhood.
The 1896 Wheat Boom in the West had set the stage for the
realization of a viable East-West economy cementing the Do-
minion. The West had largely paid, through land grants, min-
eral rights, and a period of monopoly, for the railway that first
bound Canada together. The West's tariff-captive market had
helped make Central Canada's industries successful. Now,
once again, Canada was calling on the West to give up the
profits of the energy boom to help salvage the nation. Many
in the West felt that too much had been asked in the past and
that too much was being asked again.
After endless negotiations, the federal and provincial gov-
ernments agreed on a policy of a gradual upward movement
of oil prices, though the federal government refused in princi-
ple a commitment to a rapid move to world prices. A complex
formula for federal-provincial-industry revenue-sharing was
negotiated. There was also an agreement providing for federal-
provincial-industry involvement in the development of un-
conventional oil — the tar sands, heavy oil upgraders, the
offshore, and the northern frontier. The compromise was com-
pletely unsatisfactory to the West, which continued to insist
110 DEBTS TO PAY
that the region was being asked to surrender too much of the
boom to aid the nation. Anger at Ottawa and a pervading
sense of bitterness increased in the West.
In the federal election of 27 May 1979, the West got its
revenge on Trudeau, with a little help from Ontario, when Joe
Clark won the largest bloc of seats in the House of Commons
and became the prime minister of a minority Tory govern-
ment. After the acrimony of the energy wars and Trudeau's
heavy federal hand, the West liked Clark's vision of Confed-
eration as a "community of communities," giving him fifty-
seven of seventy-seven seats. Atlantic Canada, as usual,
hedged its bets, but it still gave Clark the edge — eighteen of
thirty-two seats. Though tempered by a dependence on its
expensive imported oil, many of the resource concerns of the
Western provinces were shared in Atlantic Canada, which
looked with hope at the future promise of offshore oil and gas
development. Ontario, disturbed by the energy conflict, a de-
veloping industrial crisis, and the continuing Quebec prob-
lems and deeply aware that eleven years of Trudeau had
seemed to deepen the strains on Confederation (which was,
after all, originally largely Ontario's creation), reluctantly
shifted into the Tory column, fifty-seven of ninety-five seats,
ending seventeen years of Liberal hegemony in Ottawa. If the
tough federalism of Trudeau had only served to increase sep-
aratist support in Quebec and begun to drive the West into
another episode of fury, then perhaps Clark's commitment to
reason, compromise and decentralization deserved a try.
Quebec, on the other hand, stayed with Trudeau, giving him
the strongest support ever — sixty-seven of seventy-five seats
and 62 per cent of the popular vote. As a result of this loyalty,
Clark was denied a majority. The irony of Quebec's electorate
voting heavily for Trudeau's strong centralist federalism just
two-and-a-half years after electing Levesque was not lost in
English Canada, especially among those who were annoyed
and uneasy that Clark had won such a tenuous victory. The
result was, however, cause for elation in the PQ government;
it gave them a window of political opportunity. Fighting a
referendum campaign in Quebec just shortly after Trudeau
had refreshed a strong mandate for federalism, including in-
contestable support in Quebec, was an unhappy prospect for
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 111
Levesque and the PQ. Now, however, they had the best of all
worlds: Trudeau, the champion of Quebec, laid low by English
Canada; an English-Canadian prime minister in power with
virtually no support in Quebec (Clark won just two seats there
with 14 per cent of the vote); and finally, and perhaps best of
all, a prime minister committed to decentralization and ideo-
logically disinclined to make heavy-handed use of federal
power. Levesque wasted no time. Just a month after Clark's
victory, Levesque announced that the voting day for the refer-
endum on sovereignty-association would be in the spring of
1980 — later the final date chosen was 20 May. Trudeau's
decision to resign from politics in November 1979 seemed to
mark the end of one of the most tumultuous eras in Canadian
politics, and many greeted the event without regret.
As it turned out, both the West and Levesque were to be
profoundly disappointed by Joe Clark. At first, things went
well for the West. In the late 1979 budget, the Clark govern-
ment gave the West major concessions on energy. A four-dol-
lar-a-barrel increase in oil prices in 1980, something Trudeau
had only promised over two years, followed by equally dra-
matic increases projected into future years. The overall objec-
tive was to move by stages but at considerable speed to the
world oil price. This represented a potential windfall for the
West, especially Alberta. But this measure was received with
less than enthusiasm in Ontario and Quebec, both staggering
under the blows inflicted by the energy crisis. Atlantic Canada
shared these concerns, though Newfoundland's Brian
Peckford was placated by Clark's promise that coastal prov-
inces would enjoy substantial control of offshore energy de-
velopments, something Trudeau had flatly refused to concede.
In other words, Clark had set himself up to become the light-
ning rod of the deep divisions between energy-consuming and
producing provinces — and Tory Ontario and Tory Alberta
pulled him in opposite directions. Convinced that the leader-
less Liberals would be hesitant to force an election for some
time, Clark had also set himself up for a fall by announcing
early in his mandate an intention to govern as if he enjoyed a
majority, probably one of the most suicidal positions a leader
of a minority government could take. Inevitably, Joe Clark's
seven-month-old government was defeated in the House of
112 DEBTS TO PAY
Commons on 13 December 1979. With visions of Diefenbaker's
1957 and 1958 performance dancing in his head, Clark set the
election date for 18 February 1980. Three days later, phoenix-
like, Trudeau announced he had reconsidered his resignation
and would fight the election as Liberal leader.
Clark's defeat was a foregone conclusion. On the energy
issue the West was isolated, finding little support or sympathy
in Central and Atlantic Canada. The energy-consuming re-
gions wanted lower than world energy prices and generally
supported federal initiatives under Trudeau to regulate energy
prices and to share out the costs of the crisis on a fair, national
basis. Clark was perceived as weak and as having gone far too
far in serving the West's sectional interests to the detriment of
the general good of the nation. Given the evident elation of the
PQ in Quebec upon Clark's election, and the alacrity with
which Levesque had moved on the referendum after
Trudeau's defeat, more and more Canadians were concerned
about whether Clark could adequately represent the federalist
option in the coming referendum debate.
Trudeau won his majority in February 1980, and his victory
can be almost solely attributed to his promise to Central and
Atlantic Canada that he would resist the Wesf s demands for
unreasonable increases in oil prices and for provincial jurisdic-
tion over energy resources unimpeded by federal authority.
(About the vigour of his stance against the threat in Quebec
there was never any doubt in English Canada.) Trudeau sim-
ply wrote off the West. The results confirmed the effectiveness
of his strategy: nineteen of thirty-two seats in Atlantic Canada,
seventy-four of seventy-five seats in Quebec, and fifty-two of
ninety-five seats in Ontario. In the West, the Liberals won only
two seats — both in Manitoba. Despite later myths in the West
that blamed Quebec for Clark's defeat, what won the election
for Trudeau was the shift in Ontario/ largely based on
Trudeau's energy promise and on the support of Ontario's
Tory premier, desperate for cheap energy. Ontario now again
favoured a strong central government in which Ontario would
play its proper and decisive role, something denied the prov-
ince by Clark.
Now unimpeded by any obligation to the West, Trudeau
proceeded to impose the National Energy Program, taking for
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 113
Ottawa authority over energy resources by establishing new
price and revenue-sharing regimes without western consent.
The regulated domestic oil price would never be allowed to
go above 85 per cent of the world price. The new revenue-shar-
ing regime more than doubled the amount going to Ottawa,
while it sharply cut the shares for the producing provinces and
the industry. The program also involved a strong push for the
Canadianization of ownership of the energy industry, incen-
tives for nonconventional development and frontier explora-
tion, and a bigger direct federal role in energy development
through PetroCan. The reaction in the West, especially in Al-
berta, was unconcealed fury. It provoked the rise of western
separatist sentiment and eventually led Alberta's Lougheed to
do the unthinkable by staging in two 5 per cent cuts in the flow
of oil eastward.
Immediately after his victory, however, the bulk of
Trudeau's attention was devoted to the referendum campaign
in Quebec, set for 20 May, just three months after his victory.
Fresh from his biggest victory ever in Quebec and armed with
a series of polls taken by the Clark government, Trudeau was
confident that the "No" side would carry the day, assuming it
had an effective campaign, the planning for which was already
in high gear on the ground in Quebec.
In retrospect, a number of things stand out in the referen-
dum campaign that have coloured Quebec politics up to the
present. One was the incredible economic fear campaign
mounted by the "No" side, not surprising since economic fear
had been the trump card used against the PQ and Levesque
from the beginning. Another was Trudeau's sneering con-
tempt for Quebecois nationalism, a contempt that had obvi-
ously deepened over the years and that he made no effort to
conceal. Yet another was the contrasting crowd scenes con-
veyed on national television after the results were in (60 per
cent "No"; 40 per cent "Yes"). At the Paul Sauve arena in
Montreal, there were thousands of "Yes" supporters singing,
hugging and openly crying as Levesque spoke and promised
"a la prochaine." At the "No" headquarters, there were only a
few hundred, subdued in their victory, as if they had just
participated in something distasteful in which they could take
114 DEBTS TO PAY
little pride. Was it another defeat for the PQ that had all the
taste and appearance of a victory?
More significant were the demographics of the "Yes" and
"No" votes. The "No" vote included overwhelming support
from the anglophone and the ethnic vote, in the
neighbourhood of 90 per cent. The Quebecois vote had split
down the middle: about half voted "No/' half "Yes."
Quebecois "No" voters tended to be older (over 50) and more
affluent, those for whom Confederation had not been such a
bad deal and who feared change the most. And fear was the
biggest part of the "No" campaign — fear of change, fear of
separatism, fear of the future, fear of losing old age pensions
and family allowances, fear of a fall in standard of living, and
so on. Quebecois "Yes" voters, on the other hand, tended to be
younger and somewhat less affluent as a whole. Students, for
example, overwhelmingly voted "Yes." This was general
among the eighteen to twenty-five year age group. Even the
working class was split between young and old — and, signif-
icantly, the major trade union centrals publicly endorsed a
"Yes" vote. Hence the trade union activists were largely pro-
"Yes." Those working in Quebecois cultural areas — journal-
ists, teachers, professors, artists, writers, actors, the human
professions, and so on — tended to go with the "Yes" option.
In other words, the demographics of the "Yes" vote left con-
siderable room for optimism for the future, suggesting the
pro-sovereignty forces would grow quickly in the absence of
an acceptable renewal of federalism.
In fact, among the militants and activists on the "Yes" side
there was much disappointment, but no sense of a permanent
defeat. There was little demoralization. They believed that the
future was theirs. Their arguments made some sense. The hys-
teria of the "No" campaign had in fact hardened up "Yes"
support just as much as it frightened away the uncertain. The
40 per cent "Yes" vote was basically, therefore, a bedrock
pro-independence vote. Convinced that English Canada could
not and would not give Quebec what it wanted and needed to
embrace a renewed federalism, they argued that all Levesque
had to do was to go to the conferences and let the English-Ca-
nadian premiers and Ottawa fight among themselves. They
argued that if a constitutional change package were developed
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 115
that won the agreement of all, or even a majority, of English-
Canadian premiers, it would be so trivial that it would be
offensive to the Quebecois. In other words, their view was the
referendum campaign was just another step towards ultimate
independence. In that context, the 40 per cent result was hardly
cause for despair. This was advice, however, that Levesque
rejected, a perspective he declined to share.
Of greatest significance for what was to come in the follow-
ing months and years was Trudeau's promise in his final
speech of the campaign, just days before the vote, that a vote
for the ''No'' side would be taken as a clear mandate "to
change the constitution, to renew federalism." This, Trudeau
declared, was a "most solemn commitment." The speech was
vintage Trudeau. In the context of the referendum campaign,
such a promise implied constitutional renewal that would ad-
dress Quebec's concerns, concerns on which a consensus had
developed among the Quebecois since the Quiet Revolution:
some kind of special status; a provision for opting-out of fed-
eral programs with compensation; an acceptable amending
formula that included a Quebec veto in some form, at least in
highly sensitive areas (e.g., federal institutions, language, cul-
ture, immigration, etc.)- Trudeau had never believed in yield-
ing such concessions in the past and had no intention of doing
so now — it would negate his whole political raison d'etre. On
the other hand, many believed that this vital vote on sover-
eignty-association, the first test of popular support among the
Quebecois for federalism, had perhaps shifted the ground be-
neath Trudeau enough that he might be willing to yield some-
thing.
A variation on this same promise — vote "No" and all of
English Canada will work with you for a renewed federalism
— was made not only by Quebec federalists but by federal and
provincial English-Canadian politicians throughout the cam-
paign. Saskatchewan's Blakeney came to Quebec with a speech
making just such a promise. That was the soft side of English
Canada's response. The hard side was a declaration that if
Quebec moved to sovereignty, it should not expect association.
English Canada was not prepared to negotiate sovereignty-as-
sociation. The message from English Canada to the Quebecois
was arrogant: this referendum asking for a mandate to nego-
116 DEBTS TO PAY
tiate sovereignty-association is a waste of time because we will
never enter into such negotiations. But if you vote "No/' and
express this one last time your commitment to federalism, we
solemnly promise that a renewed federalism will be the first
order of business for all of Canada.
As in the past, however, English Canada proved to have a
short memory when it came to promises to Quebec. English
Canada interpreted the 60 per cent "No" victory with a singu-
lar lack of grace, exulting in the defeat of Levesque and sover-
eignty-association. The fact that 40 per cent of Quebec voters
had supported the "Yes" side — in itself an ominous and
riveting fact — was swept under the carpet of English-Cana-
dian consciousness as if it were of no consequence. For many,
if not most, in English Canada, the Quebec issue was now
more or less dead, finished, and it was back to business as
usual.
Trudeau, however, saw it differently. Now having a strong
double mandate from Quebec — 68 per cent in the February
election; 60 per cent in the referendum — he was in a position
to proceed to realize his dream of patriation of the constitution
with a Charter of Rights and Freedoms forever enshrining
individual rights and defending them from the collective as-
saults of Quebecois nationalism. This would realize the great-
est fears of Quebecois nationalists of all varieties, sovereigntist
and federalist alike — that Trudeau's brand of federalism, so
widely supported in English Canada and so deeply hostile to
Quebecois nationalism, would be entrenched in the constitu-
tion with a Charter and an amending formula forever immune
to Quebec's desire for constitutional change. In Quebec it was
widely believed that this would not only forever shackle the
Quebecois nation but also deprive it of the means to defend
itself from gradual assimilation. LeVesque and a majority of
Quebecois knew that Trudeau's patriation formula would
never include those things Quebec had been demanding since
the Quiet Revolution — a Quebec veto; an acceptable amend-
ing formula; opting-out rights with financial compensation; a
new division of powers to give Quebec the tools needed to
defend and to empower the Quebecois nation. Coming so
quickly on the heels of his promise during the referendum
battle of a renewed federalism that would address Quebecois
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 117
concerns, Trudeau's determination to proceed unilaterally by
exercising ultimate federal powers was seen in Quebec as a
profound betrayal.
With nothing owed to the West — except for a small debt
for a pro-federalist role in the referendum—Trudeau believed
that he was in a position to proceed unilaterally and without
provincial consent if necessary. If anything, this determination
angered the West as much as it angered Quebec; they both
viewed it as a blatant attempt to increase federal at the expense
of provincial powers. It was a widely held view in the West
that the Trudeau government was determined to get through
naked power what it couldn't get through negotiation — con-
trol of western resources and a growing share of the wealth
from those resources. Premiers Lougheed and Blakeney, sup-
ported by other provincial premiers, made clear that no for-
mula for patriation and amendment of the constitution that
did not both enhance and enshrine provincial control of re-
sources and provide an acceptable amending mechanism
could win their support. Levesque, in an act of singular gen-
erosity and eager for allies, leapt to the West's defence, accus-
ing Ottawa of having "ravaged Alberta's resources." Only
Ontario and New Brunswick supported Trudeau from the out-
set. Ontario wanted to preserve a strong central government
able and prepared to assert a national will, a will that Ontario
had always played a major role in shaping. New Brunswick
felt the need to reaffirm its support for Trudeau's bilingualism
strategy and, like others among the poorer provinces, worried
about the loss of a strong federal government. The other eight
provinces disagreed.
Constitutional opinion was divided, but many experts took
the view that Trudeau could not hope to gain the patriation
and significant amendment of the constitution with the con-
sent of only two of ten provinces. There was no consensus in
appeal court decisions on the issue in Quebec, Manitoba, and
Newfoundland. Ottawa referred the matter to the Supreme
Court, which further confused the issue by ruling that unilat-
eral patriation without provincial consent would violate the
federal principle and that "substantial" provincial consent was
required by convention but not by law. Therefore, Trudeau
could act legally in a unilateral fashion, but such action would
118 DEBTS TO PAY
be conventionally improper. A committee of the British Parlia-
ment, which technically had to approve Trudeau's request,
had already recommended that unilateral patriation not be
granted. And hiding in the shadows, waiting to ambush Tru-
deau, was Quebec with its veto. Though never legally tested,
on constitutional matters Canada had always accepted the
convention that Quebec had veto rights over constitutional
changes (later the Supreme Court was to find that Quebec
never had a veto in any legal, constitutional sense).
In Quebec, Trudeau's determination to act unilaterally per-
haps saved the PQ from electoral defeat. After the referendum
defeat, many expected that the PQ, discredited and humbled,
would lose the next election and go though a period of reas-
sessment in opposition. Levesque, not unexpectedly, de-
nounced Trudeau's patriation plan as treachery, as a betrayal
of his promises to Quebec. Having promised that sovereignty
would not be an issue in the next provincial election and
seeking a common front with the seven English Canadian
provinces opposed to unilateral patriation, Levesque handily
won re-election in April 1981 with almost 50 per cent of the
vote, proving that Trudeau was not the only political leader
capable of rising phoenix-like from the ashes of defeat. The
stage was however set for yet another humiliating betrayal, the
worst in Levesque's political life.
Part of Claude Morin's etapiste strategy had included the
undertaking that as long as Quebec remained in Confedera-
tion, the province would participate in the federal-provincial
negotiating process. With sovereignty-association defeated
and Trudeau determined to patriate the constitution with a
charter, Morin became the architect of a further refinement of
that strategy to deal with the current crisis, proposing that
Levesque join with the other seven dissenting premiers in a
common front against Ottawa, something Morin had always
previously opposed. As Morin himself conceded, it was one
thing for Quebec simply to participate in federal-provincial
meetings; it was quite another to submerge Quebec as one
member in an anti-Ottawa coalition of eight provinces, that
included seven English-Canadian ones. Not only could
Quebec's distinctive position get lost in such a coalition, but
also, given the historical record, Quebec had no reason to
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 119
expect the English provinces would stick with Quebec to the
end. Yet the urgency of stopping unilateral patriation seemed
to justify an exceptional effort, which might include such risky
coalitions.
The agreement binding the Gang of Eight, as they came to
be known, was clear. They would support Trudeau's patria-
tion of the constitution if the amending formula for future
changes required the agreement of Ottawa and at least seven
provinces containing no less than half the population of Can-
ada and if any province could opt out of such future constitu-
tional changes and/or federal programs with equivalent
financial compensation. The dissenting premiers also opposed
Trudeau's proposal to enshrine a Charter of Rights and Free-
doms. In exchange, Levesque agreed to relinquish Quebec's
veto, since the opting-out/financial compensation clause
would protect Quebec from future unacceptable changes. This
accord was Levesque's bottom line on agreeing to patriation,
a bottom line he believed he now shared with the other seven
premiers.
In the meantime, Trudeau hesitated. The Supreme Court
decision was a legal victory but a profound political defeat.
Trudeau could act legally in a unilateral fashion, but such
action would be conventionally improper. In order to obtain
patriation and amendment of the constitution without more
deeply dividing the nation, Trudeau needed to win some of
the eight dissenting premiers over. It would be seriously divi-
sive if all the provinces of one region, like the West, continued
in opposition and forced Ottawa to walk over them. Ottawa
looked for a crack in the common front, putting out feelers to
Alberta's Lougheed and Saskatchewan's Blakeney and
Romanow, urging the isolation of Quebec on the grounds that
Levesque didn't want any kind of deal and was just using the
other seven provinces to scuttle the process.
The western premiers, especially Lougheed and Blakeney,
were deeply worried about developing western separatist sen-
timent. A continued impasse followed by Ottawa taking mea-
sures to force the issue would only deepen western
disaffection, which was beginning to include attacks on the
western premiers for being too soft and ineffectual in the battle
with Ottawa. Lougheed's Rambo decision to turn down the
120 DEBTS TO PAY
flow of oil eastward had led him to the precipice: if he contin-
ued the shutdown, Ottawa could eventually assert federal con-
stitutional power to stop him, perhaps taking over the
regulation of the oil and gas industry entirely on the grounds
of defending the national interest from sectional sabotage.
Such an event would lose the gains Alberta had made and
provide an incredible stimulus to separatist sentiment.
Lougheed needed a way out or he risked disaster. So, too, did
Blakeney, who feared the uncertain outcome of a continuing
federal-provincial logjam. Therefore, the needs of these two
premiers, on the one hand, and the prime minister, on the
other, came together, setting the stage for a compromise on
energy policy and the constitution, a compromise that both
sides could claim as a victory. Trudeau wanted to patriate the
constitution, with a Charter and an amending formula, in
ways that would give no concessions to Quebecois national-
ism. The energy-producing premiers, including those with off-
shore potential like B.C., Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia,
wanted strong constitutional protection of provincial control
of resources and an amending formula that would secure the
regions' interests in the future. They also wanted a higher price
for oil and gas and a better revenue-sharing deal. The premiers
were, in fact, for sale. And Ottawa was in the market for as
many premiers as it could buy.
A deal was struck. Ottawa would yield to Alberta and the
other energy-producing provinces higher oil and gas prices
and a larger share of revenues. This part of the deal was con-
cluded in September 1981 and publicly toasted by Lougheed
and Trudeau. Further, Ottawa agreed to consider seriously a
stronger constitutional provision guaranteeing provincial con-
trol of resources and an amending formula similar to that
already acceptable to the Gang of Eight. This formula effec-
tively gave both Western Canada and Atlantic Canada a re-
gional veto — no constitutional change could occur if all four
western provinces or all four Atlantic provinces united in op-
position. In exchange, the premiers would have to abandon
Levesque by dropping the opting-out and financial compen-
sation elements of the premiers' accord. They would also have
to yield on the question of the Charter.
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 121
These were the essential elements, with some fine tuning, of
the final agreement reached in November 1981 at the first
ministers' meeting in Ottawa. That many informal meetings
and consultations had occurred without Levesque's knowl-
edge in the months before was obvious in the slick way events
unfolded. Final wording of the agreement was initiated by
Blakeney, then hammered out by Romanow, Ontario's
McMurtry, and Ottawa's Chretien, and finally approved at an
all-night meeting of the dissenting English-Canadian pre-
miers, a meeting to which Levesque was not invited. It was a
sordid episode in Canadian constitutional history. The key
players — Blakeney, Romanow, McMurtry, and Chretien —
did not just betray Levesque; they also jeopardized the future
of Canada by excluding and isolating Quebec in this cowardly
manner.
The premiers sprung their betrayal on Levesque at a break-
fast meeting on 5 November 1981. The package contained a
Charter of Rights and Freedoms (but at the insistence of the
western premiers allowed a notwithstanding override for cer-
tain key sections) and minority language law; no provision for
opting-out and financial compensation; and a mobility clause
that might interfere with Quebec's interventions in the labour
market. There was not a crumb for Quebec. None of Quebec's
concerns had been addressed. Indeed, the opposite was the
case — the whole package seemed anti-Quebec. The West and
Atlantic Canada, however, got not only a regional veto but also
a strong, though still imperfect, resource-control clause.
Levesque was shocked and profoundly humiliated, initially
and uncharacteristically at a loss for words. But upon his re-
turn to Quebec, he found the words and did not hesitate to use
them — "shameful betrayal, deceit, stab in the back, night of
the long knives, treachery, political sluts." No word, no phrase
was strong enough to convey his harsh anger and cold fury.
With some prescience, though he was not to live to see it, he
warned English Canada that this betrayal and humiliation of
Quebec would have "incalculable consequences." LeVesque
always had a better sense of history than his English-Canadian
counterparts.
Levesque's anger and humiliation at the time had another
more private dimension. Just the month before the 1981 first
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ministers' meeting Levesque had been informed that Claude
Morin, his minister of intergovernmental affairs, was an in-
former for the RCMP Security Service. Loraine Lagace, the
representative of the Quebec government in Ottawa, pre-
sented Levesque with incontrovertible evidence that Morin
was a mole. Levesque confronted Morin, who admitted it was
true, and Levesque demanded his resignation. Though it was
agreed that the resignation would be delayed until after the
first ministers' meeting and take effect quietly in the new year,
Levesque must have been devastated. In fact, Ms. Lagace said
later that when he was told, Levesque clutched his stomach or
his heart and left the room briefly. Some have suggested per-
haps he had one of the four or five minor heart attacks that
preceded his death; Globe and Mail columnist Lysiane Gagnon
has suggested he perhaps left the room simply and appropri-
ately to throw up. In any event, learning that the key architect
of virtually the entire PQ strategy had been an RCMP mole
from the beginning was a profound personal blow.
It wasn't until 1992 that the whole sordid story came out.
The most influential adviser to every premier of Quebec re-
gardless of party since Jean Lesage, deputy minister of inter-
governmental affairs from 1963 to 1971, and then PQ minister
of intergovernmental affairs from 1976 until his resignation,
Morin became an informer for the RCMP in the early 1960s
and was paid as much as six thousand dollars a month for his
services. He was widely known to have been the central influ-
ence in developing the PQ's moderate course, including the
referendum strategy, the decision to place the hyphen in "sov-
ereignty-association," the decision to participate fully in fed-
eral-provincial meetings, and the fateful decision to join the
common front with the seven dissenting English-Canadian
premiers. During all this time, he was secretly meeting his
RCMP handlers, who had given him the code names "Ql"
before the PQ victory and "French Minuet" afterwards.
It is not clear how much Morin admitted to Levesque in
1981, and even in 1992 Morin has only confirmed the essentials
of the story, still denying some of the details. But Levesque's
understandable bitterness about, and hostility to, the anti-PQ
tactics of the RCMP Security Service are well known. During
the trial of one RCMP agent for illegal activities, Levesque lost
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 123
his cool in the National Assembly, saying "The agents of the
RCMP are caught in a trial for illegal acts and they are like fish
that eject a sticky, dirty liquid to hide themselves." As a result
of his outburst, the judge declared a mistrial.
The as-yet unanswered questions about Morin's role as an
informer and mole in the PQ cabinet, especially given his
power and influence over the government's policy direction,
are obvious. Did the RCMP direct Morin to resign his job in
1971, to join the PQ, and to seek prominence in the party? Did
Morin's information-gathering mandate include details about
the political discussions and the debates about policy options
in the cabinet? Was Morin directed by Ottawa to push for the
major shifts in PQ policy, shifts that deeply divided the party
and that proved so politically disastrous for LeVesque?
Clearly, the RCMP Security Service does not pay six thousand
dollars a month for casual conversations in Le Concorde hotel
in Quebec City merely as a diverting entertainment. Why did
Morin, already long an informant for the RCMP, and not at all
known as a partisan for sovereignty, suddenly quit his high
ranking post in 1971 and then join the PQ?
The importance a spy agency attaches to a "source" can
usually be judged by the rank and ability of those assigned as
"handlers." If this is the case, Morin was viewed as a very, very
important source indeed. In the June 1992 Canadian Forum,
Richard Cleroux, a journalist specializing in Canada's secret
police, reported that Morin's handlers were the very best the
RCMP Security Service had to offer; all of them rose to very
high ranks in either the RCMP or, later, the civilian Canadian
Security Intelligence Service (CSIS). Morin's handlers included
Raymond Parent, later to become the RCMP's assistant com-
missioner, and Leo Fontaine, later the deputy director general
of CSIS in Montreal, directing security operations in Quebec.
A third figure, to whom Fontaine reported, was Jean-Louis
Gagnon, currently the director of CSIS for Quebec. Gagnon is
well known for his political talents and played a role of major
importance in the 1980 referendum. Parent was assigned to "D
Branch," the RCMP's separatist hunters working on a cabinet
order signed by Prime Minister Trudeau that directed the in-
filtration and destabilization of separatist organizations. He
also worked closely with "G Branch," which was assigned
124 DEBTS TO PAY
dirty tricks and illegal activities, Parent's signature appearing
on the order directing the theft of PQ membership lists. In
other words, Morin was handled by three top operatives —
Cleroux describes Parent as "one of the toughest anti-separat-
ist spymasters," Fontaine as "a brilliant spy handler," and
Gagnon as "a cultured, educated man ... the ideal man to plot
the moves."
Morin's claims that he gave away nothing and in fact got
more information from his handlers than they got from him is
simply not believable. Further, evidence presented to the Mc-
Donald Commission revealed the high quality of the informa-
tion obtained by the RCMP from "paid sources in the PQ,"
including "the annual budget of the PQ, a project for an inde-
pendent Quebec, a possible Quebec cabinet shuffle, the legis-
lative priorities of the Quebec government, a proposed
federal-provincial agreement between a federal and a provin-
cial cabinet minister, and the instructions from a Quebec cab-
inet minister to Quebec public servants on how they could use
federal funds abroad to promote Quebec interests." In the
political chess game between Quebec and Ottawa from 1976
to 1980-81, such information, and probably much more be-
sides, would have been vitally useful as Ottawa plotted its
moves and countermoves. Even more useful would have been
having a key Quebec cabinet minister proposing measures that
would weaken the PQ's drive toward sovereignty.
Everything Morin touched is now tainted by the probability
that, as a paid informer, he was acting under the political
direction of Ottawa. The fact that every major shift he advo-
cated not only deeply divided the party but also proved to be
a serious miscalculation can only serve to heighten such rea-
sonable suspicions. Indeed, such a possibility may have upset
Levesque as much as hearing that Morin was an informer. It
must have created for Levesque a moment of terrible, sicken-
ing self-doubt to have learned that the man who had appeared
most closely to share LeVesque's own tactical approach to
sovereignty turned out to be the lowest form of political life
— an informer for Ottawa's secret police.
Levesque's subsequent decline can be dated from this dou-
ble betrayal: the one a public spectacle of humiliation that he
could neither forgive nor forget; the other a private assault on
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 125
his own political judgement in trusting Morin so completely.
His behaviour during this last, painful period of his career,
until his retirement in September 1985, became erratic and
unpredictable, estranging and driving out of the cabinet al-
most all of his loyal old independantiste colleagues and raising
widespread public speculation about his stability and health.
In some of his speeches at public events and in the National
Assembly, he became rambling and incoherent, often losing
his train of thought and making inappropriate remarks.
Within the party his sudden political shifts created upheaval
and division. Immediately after the first ministers' meeting, his
anger was so intense, and his passionate defence of indepen-
dence for Quebec so eloquent, that PQ delegates responded at
the December 1981 convention by deleting "association" from
the term "sovereignty-association," declaring that the next
election would be a straight fight over sovereignty. This dec-
laration seemed to fit with Levesque's imposition of a total
boycott on Quebec's attendance at all federal-provincial con-
ferences announced just days after the November meeting. But
Levesque still opposed the pure sovereignty option, threat-
ened to resign, and forced a plebiscite in the party. And he
finally won overwhelming support. But there was a cost asso-
ciated with this kind of confrontation and uncertainty; PQ
membership numbers went into a nosedive from a high of
three hundred thousand in 1980 to just over two hundred
thousand during the internal plebiscite. At first, Levesque
threatened to take the PQ directly into federal politics, where-
upon the PQ council voted to do so in June 1982, but then four
months later the council deferred the question because
Levesque did another flip-flop. The next year, despite
Levesque's profound hesitations, the PQ decided to support a
new federal party, Le Parti nationaliste, a farcical paper cre-
ation of a small number of PQ activists. Meanwhile, Levesque
busily offended his former friends in the trade union move-
ment by voiding collective agreements, reneging on negotiated
increases, legislating strikers back to work, and taking a hardl-
ine in collective bargaining. The PQ vote in three 1983 by-elec-
tions collapsed by over 80 per cent in one and by over 60 per
cent in the other two. The PQ's membership in 1984 fell to
one-half the 1980 figure.
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By far the biggest crisis was provoked by LeVesque's beau
risque strategy during the months just prior to his retirement.
When Trudeau announced his decision to step down after his
famous walk in the snow on 29 February 1984 and was re-
placed by John Turner in June, Levesque recognized an excel-
lent opportunity to help defeat the federal Liberals. Joe Clark's
replacement by Brian Mulroney as Tory leader had given the
Tories a fluently bilingual leader with some hope of success in
Quebec. When Prime Minister Turner called the federal elec-
tion for 4 September 1984, Levesque seized the opportunity.
Relegating the Parti nationaliste to the sidelines, much of the
PQ infrastructure, responding to clear signals from Levesque,
threw in with the federal Tories at the local level. PQ members
joined the federal Tory party, sought nominations, and put
their well-developed electoral machinery into high gear to
help Mulroney. When Mulroney promised "a new era of fed-
eral-provincial co-operation" and pledged to bring Quebec
into the constitutional fold "with honour and enthusiasm,"
Levesque publicly indicated that he endorsed Mulroney, fur-
ther distancing himself from the Parti nationaliste.
Mulroney's enormous victory — including fifty-eight of
seventy-five Quebec seats with 50 per cent of the vote — pro-
vided Levesque with what he saw as an opening to Ottawa, a
chance both to erase the 1981 humiliation and to address at
least some of Quebec's lingering constitutional grievances. As
a sign of good faith, Levesque immediately ended Quebec's
boycott of federal-provincial meetings. Mulroney, stinging
from attacks that he had made a deal with separatism, called
upon the PQ to show Canada signs of good faith as a prelude
to healing the constitutional wounds. In response, Levesque
accelerated the process, underway since 1981, of distancing the
PQ from its commitment both to sovereignty and to the left-
wing social democratic elements of its original program, lay-
ing out his proposal to seek a rapprochement with the federal
Tory government, a gamble he called le beau risque.
If le beau risque were accepted, Levesque proposed, the PQ
had to abandon its central commitment to sovereignty and
postpone it into the distant future, though the ultimate com-
mitment to sovereignty would remain in the background as a
sort of "insurance policy." Then the PQ government would
Levesque, the Referendum and Patriation 127
seek a deal with Mulroney. Levesque proceeded to implement
this strategy by making a public commitment that the next
provincial election would not be fought on the PQ's traditional
commitment to sovereignty. This unilateral action provoked
the resignation of seven prominent cabinet ministers, includ-
ing Jacques Parizeau, and the convening of a special conven-
tion to decide the issue. There was never any doubt that
Levesque would win the debate, as he had always won every
debate within the party in the past. Parizeau and others
warned that Levesque's about-face on sovereignty and the
increasing conservatization of the party's policy would lead to
political decline and ultimate disaster. These warnings fell on
deaf ears.
As far as Levesque and what was left of the PQ parliamen-
tary caucus and party membership were concerned, the decks
had been cleared in preparation for a renewal of constitutional
talks with Ottawa. Mulroney, however, remained noncommit-
tal regarding a timetable, preferring to mark time until the
Quebec provincial election, due in 1985 or 1986. The PQ ap-
peared to be on the ropes, and Bourassa, now reborn as Que-
bec Liberal leader, could well become the new premier. From
Ottawa's point of view, a constitutional deal negotiated with
a Bourassa Liberal government rather than the PQ government
would be infinitely easier to sell in English Canada. Not only
that, but the continuing carping criticism that Mulroney had
climbed into bed with the Quebec separatists in order to get
elected was so close to the truth that almost any deal struck
with the PQ, no matter how modest, would be tainted, a likely
candidate for automatic rejection in English Canada.
Levesque's turn to le beau risque deeply damaged the PQ.
Unable to deflect him from his course, a course largely deter-
mined by a desire to make up for his failure in 1981, and
unable to defeat him, the strong independantiste wing of the PQ
withdrew to the sidelines. Pierre-Marc Johnson, the leader of
the le beau risque/conservative faction of the PQ, increasingly
obtained Levesque's ear, rising to prominence in the vacuum
created by the exit of Parizeau and other key figures in the
cabinet. But Johnson did not play the role of loyal dauphin to
Levesque. Rather, he was more like Iago, encouraging
Levesque to abandon his principles and turn his back on his
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old colleagues. The polls continued to suggest that Levesque
faced certain defeat in the next election, and they indicated the
PQ would do better under Johnson. Johnson and his faction
urged Levesque to retire rather than face defeat. Finally
Levesque agreed, and on 29 September 1985 he was replaced
as premier by Johnson.
As PQ leader and, briefly, as premier, Pierre-Marc Johnson
was convinced that a sharper right turn on social and eco-
nomic issues, the substitution of a vague notion of "national
affirmation" for sovereignty-association, and the pursuit of le
beau risque with Mulroney's brand of federalism would all lead
to victory. He therefore called an election for 7 December 1985.
He couldn't have been more wrong. The PQ was crushed by
Bourassa's Liberals, taking only twenty-three seats with 37 per
cent of the vote, while the Liberals took ninety-nine seats with
58 per cent. The Quebecois obviously decided that if Quebec
were to abandon the sovereignty option and pursue le beau
risque with Tory Ottawa, they might as well elect a real
Quebecois federalist party to do it, rather than the sanitized
retread of the Union Nationale the PQ was becoming under
Johnson.
The defeat of the PQ and Quebec's return to the safe feder-
alist embrace of Bourassa's Liberals seemed to confirm that
one of the most tumultuous chapters in Canadian political
history had ended with a whimper. Trudeau was gone, or so
Canadians thought. Levesque was gone. Not only was there a
new prime minister with a fresh and strong mandate, but there
were also new premiers leading most of the provinces. The
Quebec separatist threat appeared doubly dead — not only
had the PQ under Johnson decisively turned its back on sov-
ereignty-association, but also the party had been badly de-
feated. English Canadians therefore relaxed about the Quebec
question, though it still simmered on the back burner since
Quebec remained a non-signatory to the new constitution, it-
self an irrelevant legal fact but nevertheless a very significant
political reality.
The Meech Lake Accord
As a result of his de facto pact with Quebecois nationalism and
separatism, Prime Minister Mulroney had pulled off some-
thing of a coup in Canadian history. He was the first Tory-
leader to sweep Quebec since Diefenbaker in 1958 and Sir John
A. Macdonald in 1882. Very much aware of how quickly
Diefenbaker's support in Quebec had dissipated, Mulroney
was driven by the need to deliver something tangible to Que-
bec on its constitutional grievances quickly if he hoped to win
a second mandate in 1988 or 1989. But in order to deliver to
Quebec, Mulroney recognized that he had to give something
in exchange to gain the support and acquiescence of the other
regions. Having been elected on a decentralist, "provincial
rights" platform, this proved an easy task for the new prime
minister.
Soon after Mulroney's election a metamorphosis occurred
in federal-provincial relations. Although things got off to a
rocky start over the usual divisive issues and Canadians set-
tled into their favourite sport after hockey—watching Ottawa
and the provinces fight it out — very soon reason and content-
ment reigned. Individual premiers would race angrily down
to Ottawa to confront Mulroney but come away purring, ap-
parently putty in the new prime minister's hands. Suddenly
Canada's ten provincial premiers had become a remarkably
tame bunch. No prime minister in modern times had enjoyed
such support from Canada's premiers. The premiers had made
130 DEBTS TO PAY
life hell for Diefenbaker and Pearson, while Trudeau positively
enjoyed his years of strife with them. Joe Clark's brief two-
hundred-day Camelot left him shredded by Alberta's
Lougheed and Ontario's Davis over the energy issue. Yet,
harsh words and expressions of angry resolve seemed to evap-
orate quickly from the premiers' lips after a little private strok-
ing by Mulroney. It appeared that Mulroney actually had
delivered on his promise of "a new era of federal-provincial
co-operation/' and most Canadians agreed. In early September
1987, Gallup found that 53 per cent of Canadians agreed that
since the election of the Mulroney government in 1984, Ottawa
and the provinces were getting on better than before, including
62 per cent of those in Quebec. Further, Gallup found that
almost one-half of Canadians shared the perception that Que-
bec was now more satisfied with its place in Canada.
It soon became obvious why federal-provincial peace and
harmony began to prevail, and it had little to do with
Mulroney's political artistry or social skills. As Trudeau had
often sarcastically noted, the one sure way for Ottawa to get
harmonious support from the premiers was to give them
everything they wanted. Mulroney didn't quite give them ev-
erything, but he came close — giving away some very import-
ant things that increased provincial at the expense of federal
powers. To the Atlantic provinces Mulroney gave everything
they asked for to increase provincial control of, and benefits
from, offshore energy development. While much of the activ-
ity was and remains mothballed as a result of low world oil
prices, it remains a boom waiting to happen. To the western
energy provinces he also gave everything they wanted on oil
and gas policy — a free market, deregulation, unrestricted
exports, the world price, and an end to intrusive federal taxa-
tion. When world oil prices rebound, as they inevitably must,
the West will enjoy a bonanza. By promising to build on exist-
ing economic strengths in federal economic development pol-
icy while not tampering with the market, Mulroney reassured
Ontario that its special place as the industrial centre of the
nation would not be put at risk by federal initiatives. But the main
dish served up at this provincial banquet was the Meech Lake
Accord, which promised powers for provinces that no premier
had ever dreamed possible. The Accord assured the premiers
The Meech Lake Accord 131
that they would finally be relieved of their subordinate status,
mounting the Canadian political stage as nothing less than
associate prime ministers of ten associate states.
The roots of the Meech Lake Accord lay in the five condi-
tions the new Bourassa government established as Quebec's
minimum requirements for constitutional reconciliation with
the rest of Canada. They included: the recognition of Quebec
as a "distinct society" in the preamble of the constitution; an
equal say on immigration into Quebec; a right to participate in
selecting judges from Quebec for appointment to the Supreme
Court; limits on the federal spending power requiring provin-
cial consent for spending in areas of provincial jurisdiction;
either a general veto for Quebec on all constitutional changes
or opting-out and financial compensation rights in cases of
transfers of provincial powers to Ottawa, combined with a
Quebec veto on changes in federal structures and the creation
of new provinces. Compared to what had been demanded
since the Quiet Revolution, these were modest demands for
Quebec, so modest that the PQ ridiculed them. But the defeat
of the PQ and the election of Mulroney had opened a door:
Quebec was in a mood to settle for a minimum, and English
Canada yearned to put the constitutional battle with Quebec
to rest. On the basis of these demands Mulroney was able to
convince a 1986 first minsters' meeting to enter into a negoti-
ating process focusing exclusively on Quebec's proposals.
On 30 April 1987 Mulroney met with the ten premiers at
Meech Lake in an attempt to win their final approval for con-
stitutional changes designed to overcome Quebec's objections
to the 1982 pact. Here and in later meetings in Ottawa, agree-
ment was reached on a series of proposals. Although Bourassa
agreed to many changes that seriously weakened Quebec's
five conditions in order to secure support from the other pre-
miers, the essentials of the principles remained intact. The
most surprising thing about the agreement was that what had
been billed as a "Quebec round" of constitutional negotiations,
focusing exclusively on Quebec's concerns, had in fact become
a radical proposal to transform Canada fundamentally. In an
effort to placate the English-Canadian provinces, which con-
tinued to insist that all provinces were equal and must be
treated the same, Mulroney managed to grant Quebec's mini-
132 DEBTS TO PAY
mum demands for signing on to the constitution only by giv-
ing the same powers to all other provinces. Quebec was
granted a veto, but so was every other province. Quebec was
conceded significant powers on immigration matters, but so
was every other province. The same held true for the other
features of the Meech Accord: opting-out rights, a say on Su-
preme Court and Senate appointments. The only unique fea-
ture of Meech for Quebec was the "distinct society" clause. In
other words, in exchange for allowing Mulroney to slip the
"distinct society" clause into the Accord to win Quebec, the
English provinces obtained enormous new powers.
Canadians had been told repeatedly since the Quiet Revo-
lution that to give Quebec what it had been demanding —
some form of special status with special powers — would
weaken Canada's federal system to the point of rendering
Ottawa ineffectual as a national government. Suddenly, as a
result of a quickly and secretly concluded agreement, Canadi-
ans were now being told that national unity was best served
by giving all ten provinces special status and special powers,
abruptly transforming Canada's federal system into an agree-
ment among increasingly autonomous associate mini-states,
more like ten fiefdoms or satrapies held together by the lar-
gesse of Ottawa's taxing and spending powers. Even Joe
Clark's idea of a decentralized Confederation as a "community
of communities," which Trudeau had ridiculed with heavy
sarcasm as a federation of shopping malls, had never dared go
so far. Mulroney's Meech agreement seemed more inspired by
an extension of Levesque's notion of sovereignty-association
to all ten provinces — growing political autonomy for ever
more powerful provinces involved in an economic association
overseen by Ottawa.
After the agreement at Meech Lake, which was finalized
into legalese at a first ministers' conference in early June, there
was enormous pressure on all Canadians to get on side. Those
who hesitated to provide instant and uncritical support were
accused of sabotage, of threatening national unity. It became
the sine qua non of politically correct thinking in Canada — all
reasonable Canadians devoted to keeping the country together
were expected to support Meech. Enormous pressure was put
on all political parties in the House of Commons and in the
The Meech Lake Accord 133
provincial legislatures to make the deal unanimous and to
refrain from partisan posturing over the Accord, pressure that
was largely successful in the House of Commons but unsuc-
cessful in some of the provincial legislatures. Even the PQ was
restrained in its criticisms, recognizing that the Meech Accord
— which clearly went some modest distance in enhancing
Quebec's powers while reducing Ottawa's — could be of use
to a future PQ government in a drive for sovereignty.
A three-year deadline for approval commenced when
Quebec's National Assembly approved Meech on 23 June
1987, a day short of three weeks after the first ministers ap-
proved the final legal text. During 1987 it appeared that the
approval of Meech was a foregone conclusion — speedy pas-
sage was obtained in the Saskatchewan and Alberta
legislatures and in the House of Commons. In early June 1987
Gallup found that 56 per cent of Canadians thought the deal
was good thing for Canada, while at the same time 58 per cent
admitted they knew little or nothing about it. Regarding the
main details of the Accord, however, they were deeply di-
vided, with 25 per cent believing too much power was being
turned over to the provinces and 40 per cent expressing dis-
approval of the "distinct society" clause. From the outset the
deal was, then, on thin ice — winning initial popular accep-
tance as an act of blind faith in what the premiers and the
prime minister had accomplished in secret. Yet on the two
central features of Meech — enhanced powers for the prov-
inces and "distinct society" — there was deep public unease.
The greatest unease, of course, revolved around the "dis-
tinct society" clause, the one thing Meech gave Quebec that it
did not give to all provinces. Much of the concern had to do
with the meaning and significance of the term and the con-
trasting meanings given in Quebec and English Canada by
politicians. In Quebec, Bourassa and Mulroney insisted the
clause was very significant. In English Canada, the premiers
and Mulroney insisted the clause was largely symbolic, that
English Canada had nothing to worry about. In Quebec, pop-
ular unease had to do with whether the clause had as much
meaning as they were assured, while in English Canada it had
to do with whether the clause was really as innocuous as
suggested. And it didn't help to calm matters that constitu-
134 DEBTS TO PAY
tional experts were divided on the issue and that each side
marshalled expert testimony to buttress its case.
It was during this period that one of those colossal collective
misperceptions occurred that sometimes change the course of
history. Thinking the Quebec question was now more or less
settled, English Canada fell asleep. It became something of a
cliche among the press and politicians in English Canada that
Quebecois nationalism, especially in its separatist expression,
was a spent force. Even Quebecois nationalists agreed to a
degree, though as PQ MNA Godin preferred to put it,
Quebecois nationalism was only "hibernating." On the sur-
face, there appeared to be sufficient reason to reach this con-
clusion, particularly in the political realm, including events all
the way from the election of Mulroney to Meech Lake. The loss
of the referendum and the right turn of the PQ had, of course,
dispirited many nationalists.
Many young Quebecois took the view that the great nation-
alist battle since the Quiet Revolution had been more or less
both won and lost. It was won because French had become
more secure as the language of life and work in the province.
It was won because Meech had unprecedently secured unan-
imous approval from both English Canada and Quebec. It was
won since the "privilege gap" between English Canadians in
Quebec and the Quebecois continued to close. (In the 1980s,
English-Canadian incomes in Montreal were an average of 14
per cent higher than Quebecois incomes, but by the late 1980s
bilingual Quebecois had finally caught up with bilingual
English Canadians. Still, a unilingual Quebecois earned about
20 per cent less than a unilingual English Canadian.)
The battle was also lost. The loss of the referendum and the
turn of Levesque and the PQ away from sovereignty-associa-
tion led to the popular abandonment of the dream of an inde-
pendent Quebec, at least for the time being. All of this was grist
for the English-Canadian media, which reported avidly and
endlessly on the decline of Quebecois nationalism. We were
told that the new Quebecois generation was tired of politics,
eager to learn English, determined to get ahead, and largely
uninterested in the clash of great principles.
But close watchers of Quebec noted that some of the old
nationalist spirit was still present. The odd small bomb went
The Meech Lake Accord 135
off and the odd brick was hurled through plate glass windows
over the language issue. Premier Bourassa's incomprehensible
(for English Canadians) unwillingness to make significant con-
cessions to the English-Canadian minority in Quebec over the
issue of permitting bilingual signs, despite the fact that his
party policy explicitly promised such a concession, should
have been a signal. As should have been his calm words, heavy
with meaning, in justifying his stubbornness, "II y a le pro-
gramme du party, mais tout chef politique doit tenir compte
de la paix sociale." In other words, despite this apparent win-
tertime of Quebecois nationalism, there remained everywhere
the sense that another explosion awaited if nationalist sensi-
bilities were seriously affronted. It was a measure of just how
fragile the nationalist peace was that even Bourassa felt the
apparently minor slight of bilingual signs could have been
enough to cause an eruption. It may have been winter, and
Quebecois nationalism may have been hibernating, but spring
could come quickly, and Quebecois nationalism could re-
awaken hungry and cranky.
Two major events occurred in the fall of 1987 that should
have shaken English Canada out of its slumber. The first event
of that momentous autumn was the sudden death by heart
attack of Rene Levesque on 1 November. His death
reawakened, at least briefly, the nationalist yearnings for inde-
pendence among many Quebecois. Over one hundred thou-
sand Quebecois in Montreal and Quebec City lined up to weep
over his body while it lay in state, over ten thousand attended
the funeral in Quebec City, and many hundreds more wept
daily at his graveside in subsequent weeks and months in an
outpouring of genuine sorrow no English-Canadian
politician's death has ever provoked. It was deeply moving,
almost unsettling, to witness. One had the impression that a
national hero, not just a politician, had died. More, as all flags
flew at half-mast and as one witnessed the grand spectacle of
a state funeral, the symbolism was obvious: Quebec buried
Rene Levesque as if he had succeeded in becoming the presi-
dent of the independent democratic Quebec republic of his
dreams. The distasteful memory of his last few years in power
and his turn away from sovereignty were forgotten and his
actions forgiven. Quebecois nationalism no longer appeared
136 DEBTS TO PAY
quite so dormant. More than that, the belief that somehow the
gulf between the two solitudes had disappeared was called
into question by the differing reactions to Levesque's death in
the English and French press. The Globe and Mail felt it neces-
sary to qualify English Canada's tributes to Levesque in ways
the Quebecois found patronizing. The Montreal Gazette's main
headline on 3 November, "Levesque had earlier attacks:
M.D.," contrasted sharply with those of Le Devoir, "Deuil na-
tional au Quebec," and of Le Soleil, "Le Quebec en deuil de
Rene Levesque: Drapeaux en berne et funerailles nationales."
The two solitudes remained, even in the grief expressed upon
the death of Rene LeVesque.
The second event that should have awakened English Can-
ada was the fall of PQ leader Pierre-Marc Johnson in the wake
of Levesque's death. Many English-Canadian analysts saw a
cause-effect relationship — the emotional catharsis and the
brief resurgence of separatist sentiment drove Johnson to re-
sign. The truth was more prosaic. Johnson's fate was sealed
long before Levesque's death, and if the death had any effect,
it was simply to speed up Johnson's own recognition that he
was finished, especially without Levesque's personal support.
The crucial events leading to Johnson's fall all occurred before
Levesque's heart attack: Parizeau's denunciation of Johnson
for abandoning the party's twin pillars of independence and
social democracy; Godin's brutal attack on Johnson, saying,
"under Johnson the party is going nowhere, except perhaps to
its death/' as he pointed to the fact that the 1987 PQ member-
ship had fallen to sixty thousand; regular meetings of the
independantiste ex-cabinet ministers, led by Parizeau, had been
plotting Johnson's fall for many months.
The reason for their move against Johnson was simple and
political: he had failed dismally. First there was the cata-
strophic defeat of 1985. Then there was Johnson's lacklustre
performance in the assembly against Bourassa. Finally, there
was the September 1987 by-election in Notre Dame de Grace.
Though an 80 per cent non-Quebecois riding and a Liberal seat
since 1939, the results were disturbing. The PQ vote was cut
in half, while the provincial NDP tripled its vote, taking sec-
ond spot away from the PQ. An earlier province-wide poll saw
the PQ's support fall to 26 per cent, while the NDP's shot up
The Meech Lake Accord 137
to 23 per cent. Another poll just weeks later put the NDP one
point ahead of the PQ. Other polls showed the PQ regaining
lost ground if Johnson were dumped and replaced by
Parizeau. When it became clear that the Quebec NDP was
seriously threatening to replace the PQ as the alternative to
Bourassa, the knives came out.
Certainly the aftermath of Levesque's death played a role,
but only that of convincing Johnson not to resist. Johnson was
remembered by PQ stalwarts, perhaps unfairly, as the man
whose counsel led to Levesque's about-face on independence,
whose promise of victory led to the 1985 debacle, and whose
continuing leadership promised an even darker future at the
hands of the NDP. The death of Levesque reminded people of
Levesque's inspirational dream, not his post-1981 betrayal of
that dream. Johnson, more than any other prominent figure in
the PQ, symbolized, not the early audacious dream of
Levesque, but the later sad, even pathetic retreat. Levesque's
death helped crystallize the moment and the decision: Johnson
had to go. The PQ had to re-embrace its raison d'etre, sover-
eignty. And new leader Jacques Parizeau made it immediately
clear: the PQ stands for "sovereignty, first, last and always."
Sovereignty was again a political option for the Quebecois. In
the fall of 1987, Quebecois nationalism may have been sleep-
ing, but it was an increasingly restless sleep. The death of
Meech was to awaken it sharply.
The Meech Lake Accord simultaneously unravelled at the
top and at the bottom, and as a result its demise became
inevitable. At the top, in late May 1987 Pierre Trudeau briefly
came out of retirement from public life and issued an op/ed
article attacking Meech that was featured in newspapers across
Canada. Three months later, he reiterated his attack before the
Joint Senate-Commons Committee on the Accord. Trudeau's
criticism that the Accord disastrously weakened the federal
government by enhancing provincial powers struck a popular
chord, confirming the fears of many. However, his attack on
the "distinct society" clause, which struck an even deeper
chord in English Canada, on the grounds that it would under-
mine bilingualism was a bit dishonest. The truth was that
English Canada had never embraced true bilingualism, and
there was no reason to expect that it ever would. Indeed,
138 DEBTS TO PAY
English Canada's grudging acceptance of Trudeau's forced
bilingualism at the federal level was often used as a club to
demand bilingualism in Quebec, while at the same time refus-
ing to endorse bilingualism in English-Canadian provinces.
However, the impact of Trudeau's intervention was consider-
able, serving to galvanize general opposition to the Accord in
English Canada, while stiffening the backbones of many in the
Liberal Party to begin a campaign of resistance. In October
1987 staunch Meech supporter New Brunswick Premier Hat-
field was swept from office by Liberal Frank McKenna, a critic
of the Accord. In the spring of 1988, the Accord suffered addi-
tional blows. Reluctant friend of Meech, Manitoba's NDP Pre-
mier Howard Pawley was defeated and replaced by a Tory
minority government led by Gary Filmon. Filmon was a mild
supporter of Meech, but he faced a strong opposition led by
Liberal Sharon Carstairs, a fierce opponent of the Accord.
After holding hearings, the Senate roused itself from its torpor
and approved a basketful of amendments and sent the Accord
back to the Commons, forcing the Commons to override the
Senate. Despite the fact that in 1988 five more provinces —
Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Ontario, Newfoundland,
and British Columbia — ratified the Accord, leaving only New
Brunswick and Manitoba, the Accord was losing support at
the top. The final blow occurred the next year when Liberal
Clyde Wells, a harsh critic of Meech, became Newfoundland
premier. A year later the Newfoundland legislature withdrew
its approval of the Accord.
The Meech Accord was also unravelling at the bottom. The
initial popular support for the agreement had been rooted in
ignorance and trust, a dangerous combination in democratic
politics. That support eroded very quickly as anti-Meech pop-
ular agitations swept the country. Women's groups com-
plained that the Meech Accord would freeze the status quo,
preventing future improvements in women's constitutional
status with reference to gender equality guarantees. Still bitter
about their failure to win constitutional recognition of the
rights to aboriginal self-government, native organizations
were particularly critical, resenting the successful constitu-
tional fast-track for Quebec's concerns, while aboriginal con-
cerns had been dismissed so cavalierly. Further, the provisions
The Meech Lake Accord 139
of Meech would freeze aboriginals out of future changes in the
constitution because of the universal provincial veto. Angry
that the Meech Accord granted each province a veto on the
establishment of new provinces, people in the Yukon and the
Northwest Territories were deeply fearful that such a provi-
sion foreclosed the possibility of future provinces in the North.
Trade unions and various nongovernmental organizations
began to complain loudly about the weakening of federal pow-
ers and the resulting end to future national social programs
characterized by national standards. The charge was made that
had Meech been in place, medicare, old age pensions, the
Canadian Pension plan and the unemployment insurance pro-
gram would never have been adopted. English Canadians
began to complain that the "distinct society" clause gave Que-
bec too much and made the English-Canadian provinces sec-
ond-class constitutional creatures. The NDP began a public
and divisive debate over the pros and cons of the Accord.
Legal and academic experts lined up on both sides of the issue,
giving equally learned but completely contradictory interpre-
tations of the meaning of the legal text. It was not surprising,
therefore, that popular support for Meech collapsed. In 1987,
while admitting ignorance, 56 per cent of Canadians thought
Meech was a good thing for Canada. In 1988, still declaring
ignorance, only 28 per cent felt the same way, and, despite
small blips, support continued to fall until Meech's official
death.
In 1988 and 1989, Mulroney was faced with demands both
from premiers and from various popular organizations for a
reopening of the Accord. He refused, fearing the agreement
would unravel and offend Quebec. As opposition grew and as
dissenting premiers felt compelled to use hard-ball tactics to
get some changes, the Mulroney government at first refused
to consider a parallel accord addressing the desire for changes,
then suggested the door might be open to a parallel accord
after all. Mulroney established a special Commons committee,
chaired by Jean Charest, to hold hearings and to make recom-
mendations for add-ons to Meech. The Charest Committee
suggested a series of changes and additions designed to defuse
opposition in English Canada. These additions angered Que-
bec, where they were seen as the beginning of another gang-
140 DEBTS TO PAY
up, a prelude to yet another betrayal. Mulroney's friend and
protege Lucien Bouchard resigned in protest.
The final death scene of Meech occurred in June 1990. It
began with a secret first ministers' meeting called to hammer
out a way to salvage the Accord. Prior to that meeting Premier
Clyde Wells had offered to submit any revised Meech Accord
to a referendum in Newfoundland and to abide by the results.
When this proved impossible because of time constraints,
Wells offered a free vote in the legislature. New Brunswick's
Frank McKenna had offered to approve Meech if his concerns
were even partially addressed. Manitoba's Premier Gary
Filmon promised to fast-track approval of Meech if his con-
cerns were met half-way. Bourassa indicated that, though he
was prepared to consider reasonable change, he could not
participate in any tampering with the "distinct society" clause.
There was, therefore, considerable tense optimism as the first
ministers met from 4 to 9 June 1990, when an agreement to a
modified Meech was finally reached, hinging only on the con-
clusion of a fast-track approval process in Manitoba and a
referendum or free vote in Newfoundland.
Then certain key players made some astonishing revelations
about what had gone on behind the closed doors. Filmon com-
plained that the feds had engaged in electronic eavesdropping
on his cellular phone conversations with Opposition Leader
Carstairs and NDP Leader Doer. Wells complained of "nasti-
ness" and "threats," claiming that if the public knew what was
being said behind those closed doors, they would be outraged.
Then Carstairs declared that "ethics were absent" during the
negotiations, that Ottawa "tried to destroy opponents of
Meech/' and that the "fear of retribution" was the only reason
she finally supported Premier Filmon's decision to sign the
agreement.
The Accord collapsed when Prime Minister Mulroney
bragged about his "roll of the dice," how he had treated the
final Meech negotiations just like an election campaign, delib-
erately delaying convening the premiers in order to put max-
imum pressure on the dissenters by creating a crisis
atmosphere as well as to prevent Wells from holding a refer-
endum in Newfoundland. This "roll of the dice" confession
perfectly echoed the Mulroney of the 1984 election campaign,
The Meech Lake Accord 141
who bragged openly about his post-election patronage inten-
tions, saying "Ya dance with the lady what brung ya." The
spectacle of the occupant of the highest office in the land
bragging about his brazen tactics was the last straw, or, as
Premier Wells put it, "the final manipulation." Meech was
dead, though it took MLA Elijah Harper's refusal to permit
fast-tracking through the Manitoba legislature to deliver the
final coup de grace. And it was self-evident to everyone but the
prime minister that Meech died largely because he had spoken
out a few days too soon. According to the prime minister,
however, Meech was dead because of Clyde Wells, who was
subsequently publicly punished when Ottawa initially refused
to sign the Hibernia agreement and who to this day remains
Mulroney's preferred scapegoat for the death of Meech.
While Brian Mulroney certainly bore the tactical responsi-
bility for the death of Meech, and to some extent the moral
responsibility, not only for his manipulative tactics but also for
his effort to slip an accommodation of Quebec by English
Canadians unnoticed and without their express approval, the
more basic historical reasons for the death of Meech were
English Canada's continuing hypocrisy about and hostility to
the aspirations of Quebecois nationalism. Mulroney might
have pulled it off if certain events hadn't intervened at just the
wrong moment, events that once again polarized English Can-
ada and Quebec and forced Mulroney to fall between the
stools of the two solitudes.
In February 1988 the Supreme Court ruled that section 110
of the 1885 Northwest Territories Act, which guaranteed franco-
phone rights to trials in French, the publication of French texts
of laws, and the status of French as an official language in the
legislature did not cease to have validity when Saskatchewan
and Alberta were established as provinces in 1905. In other
words, French language rights had been illegally and uncon-
stitutionally extinguished in the two provinces. These prov-
inces were and remained constitutionally committed to official
bilingualism. However, the Court further ruled that section
110 was not entrenched in the Canadian constitution; there-
fore, both Saskatchewan and Alberta had to decide quickly
whether they wanted to proceed with what was now a require-
ment for bilingualism or whether they wished to adopt English
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unilingualism by statute. Here was a clear opportunity for
Alberta and Saskatchewan, both of which had ratified Meech
just months before, to live up to its spirit. Both provinces
quickly and with a certain meanness of spirit decided not to
do so, adopting draconian legislation annulling French lan-
guage rights. Saskatchewan Premier Grant Devine was quite
frank about the matter: "This has been very hard. Put yourself
in the place of a premier of a province where 97 per cent of the
people speak English." Indeed, he went on to assert in an
interview with Le Devoir that the 97 per cent of Saskatchewan
population that spoke English opposed the Meech Accord and
was against the use of French in the province in any official
capacity. For the Quebecois, it was just another outrage to add
to a long list and left them wondering why a similar justifica-
tion for French unilingualism in Quebec was unacceptable in
English Canada. The Quebecois did not get demonstrably
angry about this further suppression of French, since the fran-
cophone diaspora had been long ago abandoned by the
Quebecois to its fate in English Canada, but the event did serve
to make the passage of Meech seem increasingly vital in Que-
bec. English Canadians might be speaking soothing words, but
their actions on the bottom line of language issues remained
the same as always, mean and nasty.
The November 1988 free trade election also served to drive
a wedge between English Canada and Quebec, elevating hos-
tility levels among many English Canadians against the
Quebecois. In one of the most bitterly fought elections in Ca-
nadian history, characterized by a huge expenditure of funds
by the pro-free trade business lobby, Brian Mulroney won a
second term with a comfortable majority. Many in English
Canada opposed to free trade irrationally blamed the
Quebecois for Mulroney's victory and the securing of free
trade, pointing to the fact that without his Quebec seats, Mul-
roney would have failed. It is true that Bourassa strongly and
publicly supported the free trade deal. It is also true that
Quebecois nationalists either supported free trade or refrained
from active opposition. Their arguments were subtle and nu-
anced. Recalling how economic fear had been used against the
PQ repeatedly, and most heavily during the referendum,
Quebecois nationalists suggested that free trade, which would
The Meech Lake Accord 143
result in the strengthening of north-south and weakening of
the east-west trade flows, would remove economic fear as a
trump card that English Canada could use in a future referen-
dum. If the Canadian federation ceased to exist as a viable
east-west economy, the arguments about the economic advan-
tages of Confederation would be compromised. Further, a fu-
ture independent Quebec would benefit from strong,
pre-existing trade links with the U.S. Finally, English Canada's
fear of cultural domination by the U.S. was understandable,
particularly given the weakness of indigenous English-Cana-
dian culture. The Quebecois did not, however, share these
cultural fears. Quebecois culture, they alleged, was vital and,
thanks to its linguistic distinctiveness, had nothing to fear from
strong American trade links.
Yet those who blamed the Quebecois for Mulroney's free
trade victory overlooked the anti-free trade agitations carried
out by Quebecois farmers and workers. It is doubtful that the
Quebecois voted for Mulroney primarily because of free trade.
It is much more likely the Quebecois voted for him because of
Meech Lake, which Mulroney was trying to salvage from En-
glish-Canadian carping. It may have been true that the
Quebecois supported free trade in exchange for Meech and
distinct society, but that was the best deal ever offered by any
prime minister in Canadian history. Unfortunately, many of
those in English Canada who were opposed to free trade were
also initially most sympathetic to the Quebecois nation's aspi-
rations. Bitter at the Mulroney victory, many of them turned
their backs on Quebec at this crucial time, depriving Quebec
of an important lobby in English Canada. "Why should I sup-
port Meech as a gesture of reconciliation, when Quebec has
stabbed us in the back on free trade" became a commonly
expressed sentiment among many who ordinarily might have
supported the "distinct society" concession to Quebec.
If it had not had such disastrous consequences, if English
Canada had not seized upon the issue to berate Quebec, the
public signage and commercial advertising decision of the
Supreme Court and Bourassa's subsequent actions might have
become a ludicrous historical curiosity. Section 58 of Quebec's
Bill 101, La Chartre de la Langue Franchise, required that pub-
lic signs, including commercial signs, must be rendered in
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French only. This law had been challenged in Quebec courts
in 1985 and finally percolated up through the system to the
Supreme Court. On 15 October 1989 the Supreme Court found
that the sign law violated Quebec's own human rights charter,
pointing to the predominance of French in bilingual signs as a
means of avoiding a charter violation. Unhappy with the de-
cision, cognizant of the explosiveness of the language issue,
and aware that the Quebecois were determined that Montreal
remain a French city, yet also sensitive to the English-Cana-
dian minority in Quebec, Bourassa tried to effect a compro-
mise. First, Bourassa introduced Bill 178 to amend Bill 101,
requiring that outside signs be in French only, while signs
inside businesses could be bilingual if French predominated.
Then he invoked the notwithstanding clause of both the Que-
bec Charter and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms
in order to protect the law from further court challenges.
The reaction in English Canada to these events was hypo-
critical and vastly out of proportion to what had in fact oc-
curred. Looking for a way to tap the traditional and
now-growing anti-Quebec mood in his province and party,
Manitoba Premier Filmon used Quebec's actions as an excuse
to withdraw the Meech Accord from the legislature. To sug-
gest — as Filmon did — that Canada now faced a constitu-
tional crisis of the first order as a result of Quebec's sign law
was a gross exaggeration. It says a great deal about the mood
of the time that Filmon would dare make the language of signs
a major constitutional crisis. It says even more that the English-
Canadian media took it with the utmost seriousness, rather
than with the sarcasm and ridicule it deserved.
The notwithstanding clause was originally placed in the
Canadian constitution, not at the insistence of Quebec, which
after all had nothing to do with the new constitution, but at
the insistence of the English-Canadian premiers, especially
Saskatchewan's Blakeney. Forgetting all this, the premiers and
the prime minister himself demanded that the notwithstand-
ing clause be removed. The clause had been put in the consti-
tution for precisely this kind of situation — when the courts
interpret the constitution in ways that defy the democratic
political will of the population as expressed through elected
legislators. There had been no outcry back in 1982 when the
The Meech Lake Accord 145
Levesque government passed a law providing for the blanket
application of the notwithstanding clause to all provincial stat-
utes. There had been no outcry when Saskatchewan Premier
Grant Devine invoked the notwithstanding clause to order
public employees who had not yet gone on strike to stop
striking and to get back to the work they had not yet stopped
doing. Nor had there been a hue and cry when Saskatchewan
and Alberta abruptly revoked French-language rights. But for
English Canada, the Quebec sign issue became a pretext for
letting loose the pent-up anti-Quebec spleen held in check
during the first steps of the Meech process. The language of
signs in Quebec was so fundamental a principle, for English
Canada, that it was worth putting Canada at risk. If it were not
so sad, if the subsequent events were not so divisive, the whole
episode would be laughable.
The manipulation of the signs issue by some English-Cana-
dian politicians and the anti-Quebec response of some of the
English-Canadian media provoked a knee-jerk reaction across
the country. A series of Gallup polls in the weeks and months
following the eruption of the signage issue revealed an unprec-
edented level of English-Canadian hostility to Quebec. Meech
was dead as far as public opinion was concerned, all that
remained was the drawn-out formal execution — fully 59 per
cent of English-speaking Canadians disapproved of Meech's
"distinct society" provision, while 58 per cent of French-speak-
ing Canadians approved. When asked to balance the rights of
English-speaking Quebekers to have freedom of speech
against the right of the Quebecois to preserve their culture, 72
per cent of English-speaking Canadians opted for freedom of
speech over cultural protection, while 78 per cent of French-
speaking Canadians felt the opposite. And while 96 per cent
of English-speaking Canadians supported bilingual commer-
cial signs in Quebec, fully 38 per cent of French-speaking Ca-
nadians rejected the Supreme Court's suggested compromise.
Astonishingly, 30 per cent of English-speaking Canadians ac-
tually supported English-only signs in Quebec, while 95 per
cent of French-speaking Canadians rejected such a provocative
proposition.
In the aftermath of the signs brouhaha, a petition calling for
the declaration of official English unilingualism in B.C. signed
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by ten thousand people in the greater Victoria area was pre-
sented to the legislature. The signatures included five of six
Esquimault aldermen, one of whom said, "Bilingualism just
shouldn't be here. I'm afraid the French lost it on the Plains of
Abraham and we're catering to a minority. I'm sick of it."
These were extreme words and actions. Like the incident in
Brockville, Ontario, when a group of English Canadians ex-
pressed their feelings about Quebec's aspirations by wiping
their feet on the Quebec flag, like the scores of local govern-
ments across English Canada that declared themselves unilin-
gual English and like Preston Manning's "love it or leave it"
challenge to Quebec, they reflected a hostility that seemed to
be growing.
As the months passed, this English-Canadian anger over the
signage issue spilled over to infect their attitudes towards the
entire effort to achieve a constitutional reconciliation with
Quebec. Another series of Gallup polls made it evident that
there could be no deal, the two solitudes were retreating fur-
ther from any hope of reconciliation. Clear majorities in the
English-Canadian regions — from a low of 50 per cent in
Ontario to a high of 64 per cent on the Prairies — had decided
that Quebec was asking too much. Not only that, but a clear
majority of English Canadians actually believed that Bourassa
was deliberately seeking independence or sovereignty-associ-
ation. This, more than anything else, attested not only to En-
glish-Canadians' ignorance about Quebec politics but also to
a meanness about Quebecois aspirations.
The reaction in Quebec in response to the sign controversy
and the final death of Meech was electric, catching many En-
glish Canadians off-guard. Not unexpectedly, Premier
Bourassa withdrew from constitutional negotiations, saying
that he would in future engage solely in bilateral negotiations
with Ottawa or one-on-one negotiations with each province as
necessary. Mulroney's friend and protege Lucien Bouchard
quit over Mulroney's compromise on distinct society in the
late-stage efforts to salvage Meech and founded the Bloc
Quebecois. The Bloc's numbers grew to nine MPs, who de-
clared their intention to work for Quebec's sovereignty in the
House of Commons — an unprecedented development. In
The Meech Lake Accord 147
August, the Bloc won a smashing by-election victory in a Que-
bec riding.
Separatist sentiment grew dramatically in Quebec. In 1979,
the year before the referendum, separatist support stood at
only 18 per cent, and this was on Gallup's hard separatist
question. From 1989 to 1992, that figure had fluctuated be-
tween 30 and 40 per cent. But on the softer sovereignty-asso-
ciation question, Quebec support fluctuated between 50 and
60 per cent. More worrisome, however, there was deep sup-
port for sovereignty-association among Quebecois business
leaders. A 1991 survey of three thousand Quebecois business
leaders found 72 per cent not only favourable to sovereignty-
association but also convinced that sovereignty-association
would be a long-term economic benefit to the Quebec econ-
omy. Given the key role economic fear and uncertainty played
in the 1980 referendum, the fact that important elements of
Quebec's business elite were moving to sovereignty-associa-
tion suggested that the economic tactic was less likely to suc-
ceed in future. Quebec's major trade union centrals once again
declared their enthusiastic support for sovereignty. This trend
was earlier reflected in the 1989 Quebec election, which re-
sulted in the re-election of Bourassa but in a surge in support
for the PQ under Parizeau, campaigning openly on sover-
eignty. Polls after the failure of Meech put the PQ significantly
ahead of the Liberals. The failure of Trudeau's bilingualism
flagship was duly recorded in the post-Meech polls; 64 per
cent of Canadians believed the program had failed completely.
It appears that Trudeau, having helped to destroy Meech, had
also inadvertently destroyed the credibility of bilingualism as
the preferred alternative strategy for English and French living
together in the bosom of a single state.
7
The Charlottetown
Agreement
After the death of the Meech Lake Accord in June 1990, Canada
was locked into a constitutional dance that increasingly ap-
peared out of control. Both Bourassa and Mulroney were un-
avoidably committed to carrying on the process of
constitutional negotiations. In fact, the political survival of
both depended on salvaging something from the wreckage.
Both Bourassa's own Liberal party, through the Allaire Report,
and Quebec's National Assembly, through the Belanger-
Campeau Commission, committed Quebec to a referendum in
October 1992 on either sovereignty or an acceptable offer of a
renewed federalism from Ottawa. Though both reports de-
manded sweeping powers for Quebec that left English Cana-
dians speechless, Bourassa asserted that his government's
bottom line was an offer that addressed the five elements of
the Meech Accord in a way that was acceptable to Quebec.
Bourassa's political future in the next provincial election and
the future of a continuing, viable federalist option in Quebec
depended on Ottawa making such an offer before the expiry
of the referendum deadline. Having signed on to Meech,
widely seen in Quebec as a set of minimal conditions, and
having been humiliated as deeply as LeVesque in 1981,
Bourassa could do nothing less. The PQ and Parizeau waited
The Charlottetown Agreement 149
in the wings, eager to accept the challenge of leading Quebec
to sovereignty.
Mulroney also had no choice. The two towering accomplish-
ments that helped his re-election in 1988 — Meech Lake and
free trade — had come badly unstuck. As a result, Mulroney's
popularity had sunk to a low point never before experienced
by an incumbent prime minister. Not only had Meech failed,
but support for the Free Trade Agreement had collapsed, and
the overwhelming majority of Canadians believed that it had
harmed the economy. For Mulroney to have even a remote
possibility of political survival, he would have to salvage
something from the Meech debacle. If no reasonable offer were
made to Quebec, the Bloc Quebecois was poised to sweep the
Tories from Quebec's electoral map. If, as a native son of Que-
bec, Mulroney proved unable to show English Canada that he
could return Quebec to the fold "with honour and enthusi-
asm/' his political future in English Canada was bleak.
The events following Meech made English Canadians pause
and reflect upon the future of the country. A series of Gallup
polls in 1992 left some room for hope, if not for unbridled
optimism. Though still overwhelmingly opposed to sovereignty-
association, 53 per cent of Canadians favoured an economic
union if Quebec should separate. Furthermore, though a ma-
jority of Canadians were still strongly opposed to giving Que-
bec more powers than the other provinces, the national
approval rate for distinct society recognition for Quebec in the
constitution went up to 40 per cent — the highest level in five
years. A strong majority in every region, including Quebec,
wanted Quebec to stay in Canada, and only one in five be-
lieved the country would break up, the fewest since 1989. In
Quebec, 35 per cent thought the country would break up,
down dramatically from 51 per cent in 1990. Canadians were
clearly hedging their bets, backing off from hard positions, and
appeared a lot more willing to contemplate unique arrange-
ments than their leaders admitted. Within Quebec, polls re-
vealed the depth of the crisis and the surge toward sovereignty
to be the results of the profound humiliation arising from the
collapse of Meech. But despite the growth in separatist senti-
ment, the overwhelming majority of Quebecois remained will-
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ing, even eager, to give English Canada another chance to heal
the wounds.
When constitutional negotiations reopened in 1991, Canadi-
ans were assured that the intention was to develop a package
that would not simply be a Meech Accord Part II. This round
was to be a "Canada Round," an attempt to address all the
issues that helped unravel Meech. It was to be a wide-open,
democratic, and public process — no more secret deals cob-
bled together in private. As discussions took place, they in-
deed appeared to be wide open, and no issue was unwelcome
on the table. The process was long, exhausting, and stressful,
involving a joint Commons and Senate committee road-show
which heard from 700 people and was deluged by 3,000 writ-
ten submissions, a series of six televised and carefully staged
national conferences from coast to coast, many top-level secret
multilateral meetings over countless days, interminable dis-
cussions both within and between the delegations represent-
ing each key player, and uncounted private phone calls to
Bourassa and his team, who refused to participate. In addition,
there was the very profligate public expenditure of over $22
million by the Spicer Commission. The pace of the process was
frenetic, sometimes appearing to border on panic, because the
urgency of the process was very clearly established by
Quebec's absence from the table and the need to make an offer
of renewed federalism to Quebec before the referendum
deadline. Clearly, the process had to address the two most
controversial features of Meech that had led to its failure in
popular support: distinct society for Quebec and the weaken-
ing of the power of the federal government. Most urgently,
Quebec's disaffection and sense of betrayal had to be over-
come. Furthermore, the constitutional concerns of Canada's
native people had to have some priority.
On 8 July 1992, the premiers of the nine English-Canadian
provinces announced an agreement on constitutional changes
after a lengthy and secret meeting. The first draft of the
Charlottetown Agreement was produced, having indeed been
secretly cobbled together in private. And what the premiers
produced was, in fact, a Meech Accord Part II in spades. Like
Meech, the Premiers' Accord proposed the irrevocable trans-
formation of the fundamental character of Canada. Provincial
The Charlottetown Agreement 151
powers were to be increased dramatically, while the central
government was to be weakened beyond any reasonable ca-
pacity to provide coherent national leadership. In addition, the
premiers' package included the abolition of all existing unam-
biguous federal powers to override provincial legislation. The
premiers proposed to pick the federal carcass nearly clean, a
carcass Joe Clark and Brian Mulroney willingly yielded up to
them. And, though Quebec was granted "distinct society" sta-
tus in the new proposed "Canada clause," this concession was
dramatically offset by commitments to the "equality of prov-
inces" and to Canada's "linguistic duality" in the same clause.
Furthermore, the equality of provinces doctrine was given
dramatic effect in a proposal for a new, very powerful Triple-E
Senate. Finally, the Premiers' Accord proposed to entrench the
inherent right of aboriginal self-government in the constitution.
Reactions to the Premiers' Accord were mixed. Prime Min-
ister Mulroney, who reportedly expected the premiers to fail,
initially expressed cautious and uneasy support. This response
was not surprising. Since Mulroney's election in 1984, he had
reduced the power and effectiveness of the central govern-
ment, while giving the provinces much of what they de-
manded. Even Mulroney, however, may not have
contemplated stripping Ottawa of so much power. He was
particularly concerned about the Senate proposals. In the West
and Newfoundland, partisans of the Triple-E Senate were
elated at winning such a complete and stunning victory. Al-
though Premier Bourassa typically neither rejected nor ac-
cepted the Accord, opinion in Quebec was uniformly negative,
uniting federalist and separatist alike. Quebec could never
accept losing so much power at the centre in the proposed
Senate. Indeed, a survey conducted just days after the
Premier's Accord by the Journal de Montreal found 44 per cent
of Quebecois opposed, 27 per cent in favour and 28 per cent
undecided.
For a time, it appeared that the Premiers' Accord would
unravel, forcing Ottawa to act unilaterally through the House
of Commons in order to make an offer to Quebec before the
October deadline. But a unilateral offer from Ottawa, without
the provincial consent needed to effect constitutional changes,
would have been a nearly meaningless gesture. And given the
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enormous pressure on Bourassa to proceed with a referendum
on either sovereignty or an offer of renewed federalism, there
would have been little opportunity to put together an alterna-
tive package in time. Furthermore, the nine English-Canadian
premiers, having reached a consensus on a package that deliv-
ered so much to the provinces, were eager to see it accepted
as well. Native leaders, having won the unexpected unani-
mous consent of the nine premiers and Ottawa to the consti-
tutional entrenchment of the native peoples' inherent right of
self-government, were also eager to rescue the agreement.
Desperate for some kind of saleable deal, Premier Bourassa
agreed to return to the table at a formal first ministers' meeting
if Quebec's three major concerns with the premiers' package
could be acceptably addressed. First, Quebec could not sanc-
tion the reduction in the province's power that would occur if
the proposed Triple-E Senate were accepted. Substantial
changes would be required in that area. Second, Quebec might
accept the constitutional entrenchment of aboriginal self-gov-
ernment as long as such entrenchment could not be used in
the courts to extend aboriginal land claims or to establish
complete native immunity from provincial law. Third, Quebec
required some additional movement on the federal-provincial
division of powers. Reassured that Ottawa, the premiers of
English Canada, and the aboriginal leaders were open to such
discussions and possible substantial concessions, Bourassa
agreed to return to the table.
Accordingly, following two preliminary meetings at Har-
rington Lake, a first ministers' meeting from 18-22 August
1992 hammered out an agreement. The July Premiers' Accord
more or less remained, despite some significant changes to the
Senate and the House of Commons. The agreement was fine
tuned at a final first ministers' meeting in Charlottetown on 28
August 1992.
The Charlottetown Agreement went much further than
Meech in the devolution of powers from Ottawa to the prov-
inces. The new powers the Agreement proposed to extend to
the provinces were considerable:
• Exclusive jurisdiction over labour market development
and manpower training, including the right to eject the
The Charlottetown Agreement 153
I federal government from all activities in the area. Ottawa,
• however, would still maintain the unemployment insur-
H ance program. Surely this was a bizarre idea: Ottawa
H would pay for unemployment insurance, but Canada
I could conceivably have ten different manpower develop-
I ment policies unrelated to the national unemployment
I insurance program.
I • Exclusive jurisdiction over culture, but Ottawa would
I continue to maintain national cultural institutions. How
I this would work in practice challenged the imagination.
| Would Ottawa be allowed to pay for and to run the CBC,
but with provinces determining provincial program-
ming?
• Exclusive jurisdiction over forestry, mining, tourism,
housing, recreation, and municipal and urban affairs.
These areas were already considered to be provincial ju-
risdictions, but Ottawa has not hesitated to act in these
areas using the federal spending power. What remained
unclear was how much of the federal spending power
came with this exclusive jurisdiction.
• The constitutional power to compel Ottawa to negotiate
regional development programs. This was an effort to
give some force to the already existing constitutional
commitment to equalization payments and comparable
levels of services and taxes across the country. The new
proposal also added a commitment to "comparable eco-
nomic infrastructures of a national nature," whatever that
meant.
• A share in power over immigration, something Quebec
already enjoyed by intergovernmental agreement as a re-
sult of post-Meech bilateral negotiations between Quebec
and Ottawa.
• A share in power over the regulation of the telecommu-
nications industry.
• The right to opt out of new national shared-cost programs
with financial compensation.
• A constitutional right to protect future intergovernmental
agreements from unilateral change by Ottawa.
• The right to submit a list of names from which Ottawa
must select appointees for the Supreme Court.
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• A veto over constitutional changes affecting the Senate,
the House of Commons, the Supreme Court (except the
nomination and appointment process), and the constitu-
tional amending formula.
• A right to opt out, with financial compensation, of any-
constitutional change that transfers provincial powers to
Ottawa.
In addition to these new provincial powers, Charlottetown
also proposed to hamstring the federal power. Ottawa's power
of disallowance and/or reservation of provincial legislation
was to be repealed. Ottawa's power to declare a provincial
"work" in the interests of two or more provinces, or the nation
as a whole, thereby taking over jurisdiction, was now only to
be exercised with the consent of the province in which the
"work" was located. These are presently unqualified, clear,
and unchallengeable central powers to be exercised at the plea-
sure and discretion of Ottawa. With these gone, Ottawa would
only retain the "peace, order and good government" power, a
vague and unsatisfactory central power, subject to arguments
about meaning and justification and ultimately arguable in
front of the Supreme Court, which, over time, would tilt more
and more toward provincial rights.
These were enormous new powers for the provinces and a
dramatic shackling of federal power. One can understand why
nine premiers, under the decentralizing guidance of Joe Clark
and Brian Mulroney, would agree to allow such burdens to be
imposed upon them. Interestingly, they also, taken together,
more or less amounted to a significant portion of the wish-list
Quebec had developed over the past thirty years. The only
thing missing, of course, was that the Charlottetown Agree-
ment did not grant each province constitutional recognition as
a "distinct society." Only Quebec received that recognition.
Now, if this had remained the package on offer — new powers
for the provinces, the profound weakening of the federal
power, distinct society status for Quebec — then Quebec might
have signed on eagerly. If the only way it can get special
constitutional status is by giving special status to every other
province, then Quebec won't argue. With the support of the
prime minister, the nine English-Canadian premiers were
The Charlottetown Agreement 155
playing the same game that the premiers had played during
Meech and have more or less played since the Quiet Revolu-
tion. If Ottawa wants to solve the Quebec constitutional crisis,
the only way it can be done is if each and every concession to
Quebec is given to all provinces. In exchange, the nine English-
Canadian premiers agreed to yield, reluctantly, on distinct
society for Quebec.
The Charlottetown Agreement included commitments to
both "the vitality and development of official language minor-
ity communities throughout Canada" and the "equality of
provinces" in the Canada clause to stand uneasily beside
Quebec's distinct society clause. Both proposals struck at the
very root of Quebec's continuing grievances. The first was seen
as a potential trump card to be used in future Supreme Court
tests of Quebec's language laws. It did not take much imagina-
tion to anticipate a flurry of challenges by Quebec's English-
Canadian minority to many aspects of Quebec's language laws
on the grounds that the laws did not respect the vitality and
development of the English-speaking minority in Quebec.
Public opinion in Quebec would hesitate to accept any mea-
sure that appeared to threaten the right of the Quebecois to
secure and to enhance the French language in Quebec.
The equality of provinces clause was also deeply offensive
to many Quebecois, though perhaps not as immediately
threatening as the minority-language clause. Quebec has al-
ways resented being treated as a province just like the others
and has always maintained an official position that it is dis-
tinctive. Clearly, the equality of provinces clause could be seen
as a direct counterweight to Quebec's distinct society clause.
But Quebec had long ago learned to live with the uneasy
co-existence of the two contradictory concepts in practice. The
proposal to insert the equality of provinces provision explicitly
in the constitution, however, created agitated concern in Que-
bec. But given the post-Meech mood, if it had remained merely
words, Quebec might well have swallowed the pill in ex-
change for all the other gains. But Charlottetown proceeded to
give that clause substantial effect in a new reformed Senate.
The Senate that was initially proposed in the July Premiers'
Accord was unacceptable to Quebec. It was truly Triple-E —
equal, elected and effective. It was so large — eight senators
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for each province, two for each territory, as well as eventual
aboriginal representation — that it would have had a signifi-
cant impact and could conceivably frustrate the will of the
House of Commons. As popularly elected politicians, senators
would enjoy a power base relatively independent of either the
provincial legislatures or the House of Commons, allowing
them to become credible brokers and mediators of regional
interests in Ottawa. Furthermore, the premiers proposed to
give this Senate a great deal of power — a simple majority
could veto natural resource taxation measures; a majority of
60 to 70 per cent could force a joint sitting of the two houses
to decide any question by a majority vote of the combined
chambers; a majority of 70 per cent or more could defeat mea-
sures approved by the House of Commons. Although money
bills in general were to be immune from the Senate, the 60 to
70 per cent rule would apply to "fundamental policy changes
to the tax system." Finally, the Senate would also enjoy the
power to ratify or to reject Ottawa's appointments, "of heads
of the national cultural institutions, the heads of the federal
regulatory boards and agencies," and the governor of the Bank
of Canada.
The premiers' Triple-E Senate was flatly rejected by Quebec.
It was so large and so powerful that Quebec could never agree
to an equal number of senators with the other smaller prov-
inces. Not only was this undemocratic in principle, but, more
practically, it would dilute Quebec's voice on behalf of the
Quebecois in the central government. Furthermore, the pros-
pect of another separately elected, powerful group of potential
federalist politicians representing the Quebecois was unthink-
able. For years, the Quebec government, speaking on behalf of
the Quebecois through the National Assembly, had had to
contend with federalist MPs also speaking for the Quebecois
and often carrying contradictory messages. To add a third
independent and powerful voice to the mix would further
reduce the impact of the Quebec National Assembly in Ot-
tawa. Quebec preferred abolition of the Senate or, failing that,
the status quo.
In order to overcome Quebec's refusal to accept the loss of
so much power at the centre, the premiers' Triple-E Senate
proposal was eviscerated and rendered virtually meaningless.
The Charlottetown Agreement 157
In the Charlottetown Agreement, the Senate proposal gave
each province six senators and each territory one, for a total of
sixty-two senators. The new Senate's powers were strictly lim-
ited: a majority vote of the Senate could force a joint sitting
where a majority of both Houses would decide an issue; kill a
bill approved by the House of Commons regarding natural
resource taxation; initiate bills to go to the Commons, other
than bills on money matters; veto government appointments
of heads of national institutions; and block Commons bills on
the French language and/or French culture.
In exchange for accepting equal numbers of senators, the
provinces with large populations received additional seats in
the House of Commons. Quebec and Ontario each got eighteen
additional seats; British Columbia got four in addition to an
early redistribution in 1996 to deal with the province's rapidly
growing population; and Alberta got two. Thus, the proposed
House of Commons was increased by forty-two seats.
In addition, Quebec received a form of special status. Que-
bec was permanently guaranteed 25 per cent of seats in the
House of Commons, essentially freezing and protecting its
current share of seats. Furthermore, Quebec was allowed to
select its six senators through the National Assembly, ensuring
that its Senate seats would be occupied by individuals with the
confidence of the National Assembly. Finally, French linguistic
and/or cultural matters were subject to a double Senate ma-
jority, requiring the approval of both a majority of the sixty-
two senators, including a majority of francophone senators.
This limited special status, in addition to the distinct society
clause, significantly offset the equality of provinces clause and
gave Bourassa room to argue in favour of the deal.
In order to obtain Quebec's agreement, native negotiators
also made some serious concessions in the final Charlottetown
Agreement. In exchange for Quebec's acceptance of the inher-
ent right of self-government for native people, native negotia-
tors and the first ministers agreed that this right would not
involve new land rights, and that all native laws would be
subordinate to federal and provincial laws in "matters of
peace, order and good government." As well, Charlottetown
included a guarantee of native representation in the Senate,
but the matter of numbers, method of selection and special
158 DEBTS TO PAY
powers of aboriginal senators were set aside for a future po-
litical accord.
On the issue of the creation of new provinces, Quebec failed
to obtain a clear veto. Under the Charlottetown Agreement,
Ottawa could create new provinces after negotiations with the
territories. But each province retained an imperfect partial
veto, since the important details of becoming a functioning
province, like the details of representation in Senate and the
establishment of constitutional rights, required unanimous
provincial consent. This, in fact, amounted to a temporary de
facto veto. As well, Quebec and every other province received
a veto over future constitutional changes to the Senate, the
House of Commons and the Supreme Court (except for the
selection process, which will follow the 7/50 rule — seven
provinces with more than 50 per cent of the population).
In the final analysis, the Charlottetown Agreement was a
power grab by the premiers. To mollify Quebec, as well as the
premiers of the more populous English-Canadian provinces,
the Triple-E Senate was gone and replaced by a Single-E Senate
— equal. Given the increase in the numbers of Commons seats
going to Quebec and Ontario and the dramatic reduction in
powers, the proposed Senate ceased to be effective, except on
natural resource taxation (the National Energy Program
clause). And with Quebec allowed to appoint senators through
the National Assembly, the Senate ceased to be elected. Fur-
thermore, though it had yet to be finalized, most premiers
other than Bourassa assumed that senators in the nine English-
Canadian provinces would be elected on a provincewide basis.
This meant that those wishing to have a serious chance at
winning a seat would have to get their names included on a
central party list. Since the election was to be provincewide,
the mechanism for the selection of a party's list of candidates
would of necessity be highly centralized and the party leader,
particularly if he or she were also premier, would play the key
role in determining the names to be included. The senators
would thereby owe their first allegiance to the movers and
shakers of the provincial party apparatus, not of the federal
party apparatus. And if senators wished to be included on the
party list the next time around, they would accept the discipl-
ine of the provincial party and, most importantly, provincial
The Charlottetown Agreement 159
party leaders. Provincial party leaders, particularly those who
were premiers, would thus have exercised enormous power
and influence at the centre, power and influence potentially
sufficient to frustrate the will of the House of Commons, espe-
cially when no party enjoyed a clear majority. Hence, the new
Senate was essentially a House of the Premiers.
When the Canada Round was finally over, having brought
forth the Charlottetown Agreement, the politicians, civil ser-
vants, and negotiators involved, and the journalists covering
the process, expressed relief that it was finally over, having
complained endlessly and loudly about constitutional fatigue.
Many shared this view, especially editorial writers. Many oth-
ers, however, expressed differing levels of disbelief and shock
about the Agreement, since it failed to address many crucial
concerns and appeared to have overlooked so many of the
views presented both before and after the death of the Meech
Lake Accord.
One major strength of the Charlottetown Agreement was
the satisfactory inclusion of the inherent right of aboriginal
self-government. Another strength was the Social Charter that
Ontario's NDP Premier Rae succeeded in obtaining with the
support of the other two NDP premiers — Romanow of Sas-
katchewan and Harcourt of British Columbia. Though declar-
ing a commitment to existing joint federal-provincial
programs in health, social assistance, and education; to
workers' rights to collective bargaining; and to environmental
protection, the Social Charter clause remained toothless since
it was not enforceable through the courts, only through a
"monitoring mechanism" to be established at a future first
ministers' meeting. The inclusion of a Social Charter was a
largely meaningless legal victory, though perhaps a positive
moral and political one. Finally, a third strength of the Agree-
ment was the inclusion of a mechanism preventing Ottawa
from making unilateral reductions in the federal funding share
of any future joint programs, or in renewals of agreements in
medicare, social assistance, or post-secondary education.
Charlottetown's greatest failure was that it did not address
one of the major fears in English Canada that had contributed
to the death of Meech — that provincial powers had been
unduly enhanced and that the powers of the central govern-
160 DEBTS TO PAY
ment had been unduly diminished. These fears were com-
pletely ignored. Indeed, the Charlottetown Agreement went
further down the road of decentralization than Meech had
gone. After Charlottetown, the federal government would be
left weak and impotent, unable to speak let alone act for Can-
ada by providing effective national leadership. At the centre
of this fear had been the conviction that the "opting out/finan-
cial compensation" feature of Meech would ensure that no
new universal national programs with enforceable national
standards could ever again be established. That feature of
Meech remained intact in the Charlottetown Agreement. Pro-
vincial governments would be allowed to opt out of any future
nationally run shared-cost social programs, yet still receive
federal funds in compensation. The only requirement was that
to be eligible for federal tax dollars, the province would have
to establish a program "compatible with national objectives."
But these "national objectives" would not be established and
enforced by Ottawa. Rather, they would be set by the first
ministers. Ottawa would thereby lose its ability to use the
federal spending power to discipline the provinces to adhere
to a national program's principles and objectives. Yet, enforc-
ing adherence is something Ottawa has had to do repeatedly,
first to establish and then to maintain the integrity of the na-
tional medicare program. Under the Charlottetown Agree-
ment, national shared-cost programs like medicare in new
areas of urgent public need — such as daycare, for example —
could never be established, even if the public demanded them.
Those loudly applauding the Charlottetown Agreement, if
only because of constitutional fatigue and a desire to get on
with other issues, were also in for a disappointment once they
examined the text carefully. Fully twenty-nine separate, com-
plex elements of the Agreement required further negotiations
in order to achieve final working arrangements that could be
included in future political accords. In other words, the
Charlottetown Agreement was a recipe for a continuing and
virtually endless negotiating process. The areas requiring
these negotiations included not only native self-government,
but also every new power transferred to the provinces. This
was a "settlement" hardly worth the name. Rather, much of
Charlottetown amounted to an agreement to continue negoli-
The Charlottetown Agreement 161
ating! Canadians who thought that concluding the Agreement
had ended the constitutional nightmare were in for a rude
awakening.
And what did the West get? Were Western grievances effec-
tively addressed, grievances which had been central in precip-
itating both the isolation of Quebec in 1981-82 and the
unravelling of Meech? Charlottetown's Single-E Senate alleg-
edly gave the West one clear victory — a simple majority of
the new Senate could defeat House of Commons bills relating
to natural resource taxation. The substantive meaning of this
power remained undefined. In the words of the Agreement,
'The precise definition of this category of legislation remains
to be determined/' If the Agreement were passed, the only real
winners in the West would be the natural resource companies,
especially the oil and gas interests. Given the Senate's small
size and the probability of at-large, provincewide Senate elec-
tions, these natural resource companies would do their best to
buy all the senators they could. It was a remarkable testimony
to the enormous power and influence of the oil and natural
gas industry to realize that the only western grievance effec-
tively addressed by the new Senate was that rooted in the
industry's deep-seated, continuing anger over Trudeau's Na-
tional Energy Program. Seldom, if ever, has a single industry's
lobbying effort been so effective, not only in creating a Senate
but in giving it the single power the lobby wanted.
The apparent gain for the West — and for Atlantic Canada
— of an equal Senate was more than offset by the 36 new seats
added to central Canada's representation in the House of
Commons. Though the Senate could force joint sittings of the
combined chambers, the Senate's 62 members, already divided
among themselves, would be more than effectively drowned
out by the 337 members of the new House of Commons. It
seemed hardly worth the estimated annual price tag of $140
million the Charlottetown Senate would cost the taxpayer.
Exactly how this new Senate was a victory for the West re-
mained murky.
While the western premiers hailed the transfer of many new
powers to the provinces and the "opting out/financial com-
pensation" clause as real victories for the West, many west-
erners (and Atlantic Canadians) were profoundly uneasy.
162 DEBTS TO PAY
What good was exclusive provincial jurisdiction in areas like
forestry, tourism, housing, culture, and so on, if federal money
didn't come with it or if additional fecal powers were not
transferred? What good was the provinces' "opting out/finan-
cial compensation" right, if that provided the justification for
Ottawa's refusal to bother developing any future national pro-
grams in areas of public need? Westerners were well aware
that had not access to federal funding been dependent on
implementation of an acceptable version of medicare, British
Columbia, Alberta, and perhaps Manitoba might never have
implemented medicare as we know it. Indeed, a careful exam-
ination of western Canadian history informed westerners —
and Atlantic Canadians — that the major concessions won
over the years of serious and lasting benefit to the people of
these regions resulted from decisions made by the House of
Commons and enforced by a strong central government in
Ottawa. The unemployment insurance program; shared cost
programming in health, social assistance, and post-secondary
education; and many smaller-scale programs would never
have happened had we had as weak a federal government as
that proposed in the Charlottetown Agreement. When exam-
ined in the clear light of history, and in terms of the real gains
of the past, the new provincial powers and the "opting out/fi-
nancial compensation" clause seemed victories that had more
the character of defeats, at least from the perspective of rank-
and file westerners.
Finally, the central question about the Charlottetown Agree-
ment was whether it would be enough to satisfy Quebec. Re-
gardless of what the Allaire Report and the Belanger-Campeau
Commission had demanded as Quebec's minimum — de-
mands seen almost universally in English Canada as outra-
geous — Bourassa had insisted from the outset that the five
elements in the Meech Lake Accord were his bottom line. The
Meech minimum had to be conceded to Quebec.
First, Quebec required constitutional recognition as a "dis-
tinct society." English-Canadian crankiness about the distinct
society clause had been the most significant single factor in the
death of Meech. In the post-Meech phase, however, particu-
larly during the elaborate constitutional discussions, English
Canadians had become somewhat more receptive to this con-
The Charlottetown Agreement 163
cession to Quebec. Indeed, many English Canadians had even
begun again to toy with the idea of "special status" for Quebec,
though preferring the more neutral phrase, "asymmetrical fed-
eralism." Still, the hostility to Meech's distinct society clause
had emerged abruptly and with surprising ferocity. Therefore,
the English-Canadian first ministers approached the issue gin-
gerly. On the other hand, for Bourassa, "distinct society" was
non-negotiable — anything less would meet a wall of opposi-
tion in Quebec.
Bourassa got the words "distinct society" not once but twice
in the Charlottetown Agreement. Section 2.(l)(c) of the Canada
clause said, "Quebec constitutes within Canada a distinct so-
ciety, which includes a French-speaking majority, a unique
culture and a civil law tradition," while section 2.(2) said, "The
role of the legislature and Government of Quebec to preserve
and promote the distinct society of Quebec is affirmed." But
these affirmations were twice trumped in the Canada clause,
making the distinct society provision of the agreement signif-
icantly weaker than that included in Meech. Section 2.(l)(d)
committed "Canadians and their governments.. .to the vitality
and development of official language communities through-
out Canada." And Section 2.(l)(h) enunciated "the principle of
the equality of the provinces," for the first time proposing the
constitutionalization of that fundamentally controversial doc-
trine. In a clash regarding Quebec's language laws, which
would prevail, "distinct society" mentioned twice or the dou-
ble trump? Furthermore, as Clyde Wells put it, a "fence" was
put around Quebec's distinct society by specifying its meaning
to include only "a French-speaking majority, a unique culture
and a civil law tradition," the concessions made to Quebec in
the 1774 Quebec Act. Meech's distinct society clause had not
been so precisely defined, allowing the possibility of expand-
ing upon its meaning and extending its application into new
areas. Just days after the Charlottetown Agreement, eight con-
stitutional experts from five Quebec universities published an
open letter in La Presse and Le Devoir emphatically stating "the
distinct society clause found in the Charlottetown agreement
is of virtually no value for Quebec [ensuring] that the integrity
of the Charter of the French Language will be more precarious
than ever... We consider that its adoption may even represent
164 DEBTS TO PAY
a setback with respect to the current situation... The Charlotte-
town agreement, in defining the distinct society and putting it
on an equal footing with the commitment of governments to
the vitality and development of the English-speaking minority
in Quebec, may put into question what has already been rec-
ognized."
Second, Quebec required a veto. In Quebec this was widely
seen as a return of Quebec's historic veto given up by Levesque
in order to cement his participation in the Gang of Eight in
1981. Although the Supreme Court had later ruled that no such
veto had ever existed, the political convention had indeed
prevailed and Quebec had exercised this veto often in the past
— most dramatically in 1971 to torpedo the Victoria Charter.
Bourassa wanted a Quebec veto over all aspects of the consti-
tution which directly affected Quebec, including the creation
of new provinces. Quebec and every other province had ob-
tained such a veto in the Meech Accord.
The Charlottetown Agreement gave all provinces veto
power over constitutional changes to the Senate, the House of
Commons and all aspects of the Supreme Court, except the
nomination and appointment procedure. On the creation of
new provinces, Quebec, and every other province, obtained
only an imperfect, partial, and temporary veto. This veto was
much less than Meech had offered. Again, the issue of the
creation of new provinces struck at the heart of one of
Quebec's historical anxieties, an anxiety which had increased
with the emergence of the doctrine of the equality of provinces.
Now one province of ten, Quebec looked forward to an uncer-
tain future when it would become one of eleven, then twelve,
then thirteen, as provincial status was granted to Canada's
northern territories. The prospect of becoming increasingly
marginalized as the one French-speaking province among so
many "equal" English-speaking provinces recalled Lord
Durham's prescription of gradually pushing the French fact to
the margins of society and politics. The Charlottetown Agree-
ment struck an unsatisfactory compromise. Ottawa would
have the pre-1982 power to create new provinces following
consultation with the first ministers. But each existing prov-
ince would have a de facto veto over the inclusion of the new
province in the constitutional amending formula and over any
The Charlottetown Agreement 165
increase in representation in the Senate. Granted, in the reali-
ties of political life, such a de facto veto could not be used to
deny full provincial status forever, but it could provide an
important bargaining chip in seeking new concessions. In ad-
dition, Bourassa received a backdoor veto he had not re-
quested in the Senate he didn't want — Commons bills
affecting the French language and culture required a double
majority in the Senate before final approval.
On the third and fourth elements of Meech, there was little
controversy. Meech had promised all provinces a significant
share in power over immigration if they requested it. This had
been such a sore point with Quebec that, after the collapse of
Meech, Quebec had received this through direct bilateral ne-
gotiations with Ottawa. Charlottetown extended the right to
all provinces that wished to pursue it. In Meech Quebec had
also gained the constitutional recognition of three of nine
members on the Supreme Court, as well as a say in the nomi-
nation and selection procedure. Charlottetown easily granted
these demands to Quebec as well as granting all provinces the
guarantee that Ottawa would only select members of the Su-
preme Court from lists submitted by the provinces.
Similarly, there was little controversy on the fifth element
of Meech crucial for Quebec: opting out and financial compen-
sation. The Charlottetown Agreement reiterated Meech. Que-
bec, together with all provinces, could opt out of future
national shared-cost programs in areas of provincial jurisdic-
tion and receive financial compensation, as long as the prov-
ince in question developed a program "compatible with
national objectives." Furthermore, a province could opt out in
the event of a future constitutional transfer of a provincial
jurisdiction to Ottawa with "reasonable compensation." The
"national objectives" aspect of the opting-out right caused
some continuing anxiety in Quebec, and was seen as a major
concession by many Quebecois since it allowed Ottawa to
maintain a significant role in exercising the federal spending
power in the province.
Did the Charlottetown Agreement meet the minimum de-
mands of Meech? At the time, Bourassa and the Agreement's
supporters insisted that it did. But on sober reflection, one had
to conclude it was nowhere near the Meech minimum. One
166 DEBTS TO PAY
must recall that at the time Meech was negotiated, the
Quebecois considered the demands that it addressed as skele-
tal. After the death of Meech, Quebecois demands escalated.
With Charlottetown, Quebec was asked not only to accept a
watered-down Meech, but at the same time to swallow a Sen-
ate it did not want, the entrenchment of aboriginal self-gov-
ernment which created profound unease, a flat refusal even to
contemplate a new division of powers based on Quebec's as-
pirations, and a total rejection of any consideration of "special
status" beyond the minimum granted in the 1774 Quebec Act.
It hardly appeared a serious effort to save or renew Canadian
federalism. Granted the English-Canadian premiers had tried
to sugar the pill with Quebec's 25 per cent guarantee regarding
seats in the House of Commons, the double majority in the
Senate on French language and culture, and the right of the
National Assembly to select Quebec's six senators. Many in
English Canada complained about this "special status" — and
it was a kind of special status — but not the kind Quebec
wanted. Once again, English Canada had decided virtually
unilaterally what the Quebecois should have and then im-
posed it upon them. Certainly, Quebecois nationalism could
and would use these concessions in the future, as it had with
previous concessions, but only as tools to continue to struggle
toward one of the two options Quebecois nationalism had
insisted since the Quiet Revolution constituted the real choices
for Quebec and English Canada—real special status involving
a new division of powers satisfactory to the Quebecois nation
or some form of sovereignty. In short, like all earlier accom-
modations devised and imposed by English Canada, the
Charlottetown Agreement really settled nothing, merely at-
tempted once again to postpone the day of final reckoning.
The tragedy for Canada of the Charlottetown Agreement
was that the English-Canadian premiers and the prime minis-
ter had squandered yet another opportunity to recommend
changes that could have taken a large step toward a resolution
of the Quebec crisis without jeopardizing the integrity of the
whole country. The nine English-Canadian premiers proved
unwilling to do so, preferring to use the moment to make a
grab for more provincial power under the cover of salvaging
Canada. Bourassa was politically vulnerable and desperate for
The Charlottetown Agreement 167
a deal, desperate for any piece of paper he could wave trium-
phantly as he stepped off the plane at Quebec City. To the
surprise of most/ including his own top negotiators, Bourassa
quickly and easily grasped the straw thrown to him by his
colleagues and ushered in another destructive and divisive
episode in the history of Quebecois-English-Canadian rela-
tions.
8
The 1992 Referendum
Campaign
After finalizing the text of the Agreement on 28 August 1992,
the first ministers spent most of their time at Charlottetown
discussing a formal approval mechanism. Above all, they were
determined to avoid a long, drawn-out process, like Meech,
during which support for the Agreement could wither and die.
Furthermore, as a result of the collapse of Meech, all first
ministers had publicly promised that no more constitutional
deals would be approved in secret without public, democratic
consultation. In fact, some of the premiers owed their elections
at least partly to public disgust with their predecessors over
Meech. British Columbia and Alberta had passed legislation
requiring a referendum on any constitutional amendment. The
Mulroney government had promised "national consultation"
in its 1991 Throne Speech. In the October 1991 Saskatchewan
election, voters had overwhelmingly endorsed their right to be
consulted by plebiscite on future constitutional changes. Both
Manitoba and Newfoundland were committed by statute to a
rather complicated process of public consultation before they
could approve constitutional changes. And, of course, Quebec
was irreversibly committed to a referendum.
Anticipating probable failure by the premiers to agree on
constitutional changes, the Mulroney government had earlier
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 169
introduced legislation to allow a national referendum super-
vised by Ottawa. Above all, the approval process had to deal
with Quebec's already-established referendum date of 26 Oc-
tober 1992. Clearly, the wisest course was to agree on one
question for all of English Canada to be put to the people on
the same day, allowing Quebec to pose the same question in
French according to rules already established there for the 1980
referendum. There was some debate about whether to put just
one question on the ballot in which the public would be asked
to accept or reject the entire package as a so-called "seamless
web" or, as Newfoundland's Premier Wells wanted, separate
questions on each major item in the Agreement. The problem
with Wells's proposal was that the electorate could then sup-
port only those items that were popular — like aboriginal
self-government — while rejecting the more controversial
items — like the new Senate or distinct society. Mulroney
argued strongly against the proposal, suggesting the question
should be the simple and stark equivalent of "Are you for this
deal or are you for the breakup of Canada?" The first ministers
agreed to this course, although Wells remained reluctant. The
final wording adopted was: "Do you agree that the Constitu-
tion of Canada should be renewed on the basis of the agree-
ment reached on August 28, 1992?"
The first ministers also agreed that a federal referendum
would be held by Ottawa in every province but Quebec. Que-
bec would ask the same question in French, but carry out the
referendum under Quebec law. Finally, Quebec's referendum
date was accepted — 26 October 1992. Formal public an-
nouncement of these decisions was delayed as a courtesy to
Bourassa so he could first meet and persuade his caucus in the
National Assembly, as well as the delegates at the already-
scheduled convention of the Quebec Liberal party. To have
announced these decisions immediately would have left
Bourassa open to charges in Quebec of being a prisoner of an
agenda and a process imposed by English Canada. Assuming
public approval in the referendum, the House of Commons,
the Senate and the various provincial and territorial
legislatures would then proceed to speed passage of the re-
quired formal legal texts. In this way, it was believed that the
pitfalls of Meech would be avoided: rather than secret deals,
170 DEBTS TO PAY
there would be a public campaign culminating in an expres-
sion of the popular will by ballot; rather than a painful, lengthy-
process of squabbling and nit-picking, there would be a rapid
and clear popular decision. The public approval process
would be over and settled in two months. Although that
would not prevent critics of the deal from attacking it in the
House of Commons and the legislatures, any future effort to
derail legislative approval after a victorious referendum out-
come would have little political legitimacy.
Still, in spite of the apparently impeccable logic behind
holding a referendum, there was profound unease among our
political leaders. Both Mulroney and Clark had serious reser-
vations about the idea, as did most of the premiers. In June
1992, government house leader Harvie Andre had warned, "I
hope we don't have a referendum. A referendum will be a
terrible bloody thing/' The two major referenda of this century
had been deeply damaging and inconclusive. Mackenzie
King's 1942 vote on conscription had cleaved English Canada
and Quebec more deeply than anyone expected. The result
was so politically unacceptable, and the passions aroused on
both sides so angry and volatile, that King was forced to retreat
from a full implementation of conscription. In retrospect, Ot-
tawa would have been wiser not to have held the vote and to
have proceeded through more aggressively persuasive volun-
tary recruitment, especially in Quebec. The 1980 Quebec refer-
endum had created deep and bitter divisions in that province
and arguably set in motion the process that led finally to the
Meech disaster. In a sense, the first ministers at Charlottetown
were in fact reaping what had been sown in the referendum
on sovereignty-association. Although 60 per cent were against
a mandate to negotiate sovereignty in that referendum, it had
settled nothing. In both cases, the referenda made the contro-
versies they were designed to resolve deeper and more dam-
aging. There was no reason to expect that this referendum
would be any different. Yet, despite these reservations, the
government appeared unavoidably committed.
To allay these fears, strategists pointed out that the jugger-
naut of support for the Yes side seemed irresistible. In favour
were all the premiers and territorial leaders; the prime minister
and his entire cabinet, the House of Commons and all federal
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 171
party leaders; the Senate; the most prominent native leaders;
the top leadership of organized labour and the established
business lobby (although it was split in Quebec). How could
such unanimity at the top not persuade the public to get on
side? Still, the referendum was a huge gamble which, if unsuc-
cessful, could worsen the situation. What if English Canada
voted Yes and Quebec voted No? What if two or three western
provinces voted No along with Quebec? What if the result was
so close as to be politically insignificant one way or the other,
merely confirming that the Canadian public was more or less
equally polarized? Was it really worth the almost $200 million
in costs to the taxpayer — $150 million for the federal referen-
dum and $45 million for that in Quebec — in order to find that
Canadians were split 51 per cent to 49 per cent one way or the
other?
As answers to such gloomy questions, eager proponents of
the referendum strategy pointed to polls which suggested that
Canadians were tired of the reform process, wanted the con-
stitutional issue resolved as soon as possible, and would sup-
port their leaders. And an early September Angus Reid poll
seemed to confirm this view: in English Canada 61 per cent
would vote Yes, 20 per cent No, with 18 per cent undecided;
in Quebec Yes had the edge at 44 per cent to 42 per cent, with
14 per cent undecided. These numbers suggested a strong Yes
in English Canada and a close Yes in Quebec — a more-than-
sufficient mandate to adopt the Charlottetown Agreement.
Still, nothing could be certain. Up until the moment the refer-
endum writ was dropped, Canada's united political elite more
or less controlled the agenda, stage-managed the process, and
paced the debate. After the writ was dropped, control would
slip from their grasp and anything could happen. And given
the political volatility of Canadians over the last decade and
their contempt for their political leaders, there was no guaran-
tee that they would give the political elite what it so eagerly
wanted — a clear and unequivocal Yes.
As a result, the cards were stacked to give the Yes option
the edge. The question itself was carefully constructed to en-
courage an affirmative response. The use of the word renewed,
rather than the more neutral words adopted or approved, was a
clear effort to link the question to the promise made by Tru-
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deau and the English-Canadian premiers to the Quebecois
during the 1980 sovereignty-association referendum. "Re-
newal" of the constitution had been promised in exchange for
an affirmation of federalism, but no "renewal" had in fact
occurred — at least not one with which the Quebecois had
agreed. In addition, the word renew is loaded: it cries out for
endorsation. It is hard to be against renewal, unless you are a
backward stick-in-the-mud.
The federal referendum law, in marked contrast to that in
Quebec, neither established real spending limits nor provided
access to government funds to ensure fair balance in the debate
between the Yes and No forces. The formidable Yes forces in
English Canada could thereby establish as many Yes commit-
tees as they wished and put on a massive propaganda effort
with no limits on spending — each and every committee could
spend up to $7.5 million. This opened the door to an uncon-
trolled effort to buy a Yes vote through advertising in print
and on the airwaves. The No forces in English Canada —
disparate, relatively weak, deeply divided ideologically —
could never hope to match the spending potential of the Yes
side. In addition, the absence of government subsidies virtu-
ally ensured that the No side would be shut out of comparable
access to the expensive and effective airwaves. The last barrier
to unlimited spending in the referendum campaign was re-
moved when the Canadian Radio-television and Telecommu-
nications Commission (CRTC) lifted all advertising
restrictions by ruling that partisan referendum advertising
would be considered programming rather than political ad-
vertising. The effect of the CRTC decision was to allow unlim-
ited partisan spending during the referendum on TV and FM
radio. (Restrictions on AM radio were dropped in 1985.)
In contrast, the Quebec referendum law was much fairer.
The referendum was overseen by a panel of judges. The Yes
and No sides were required to organize themselves into two
umbrella organizations each chaired by a member of the Na-
tional Assembly. Each committee could only spend $1 per
voter to a maximum of $4.7 million for each of the two com-
mittees. Third-party advertising was strictly forbidden. Each
side received the same subsidy from provincial coffers. Bloc
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 173
Quebecois efforts to obtain similar rules to govern the federal
referendum were stonewalled in the House of Commons.
Another feature of the card-stacking was Ottawa's multi-
million dollar blizzard of ads celebrating Canada's 125th
"birthday" and providing information on the Charlottetown
Agreement, all thanks to the taxpayers. These ads cried out for
a Yes vote, without explicitly saying so by appealing to our
patriotism and by applauding Charlottetown. The advantage
of these ads was that not only were they paid for by the Ottawa
government, but they could be played and printed in Quebec,
thus getting around Quebec's referendum law. (A similar cam-
paign in 1980 of federally funded Ottawa ads in Quebec had
annoyed Levesque and the Yes Committee.)
Another tactic available to the Yes side was the dangerous
game of delaying the actual legal text. After the Charlottetown
Agreement was finalized in August, Canadians were told a full
legal text would be available very soon. Then they were told
it would be available midway in the referendum campaign.
Then they were told by Joe Clark that the public did not really
need a legal text to judge the Agreement. Then there were hints
that the legal text might not be ready until very close to voting
day and perhaps not until after the vote. It was unclear
whether the delays represented an honest difficulty in render-
ing the Agreement into complicated legalese, whether last-
minute, behind-the-scenes negotiations were still going on, or
whether the Yes side was deliberately delaying, or even deny-
ing, access to the text until the vote was over. Whatever the
reasons, it was very risky.
One had only to recall that when the Meech Accord was
issued in legalese, its decline began. While it was merely vague
principles and propositions, Meech supporters could defend
it in platitudes and generalities and easily dismiss opponents.
But once the legal text was on the table and the experts began
to interpret the meaning and implications of the legal lan-
guage, it soon became clear that there were deep, honest divi-
sions in the opinions of the experts. Ordinary citizens reasoned
that if the experts could not agree, how could they be expected
to agree? The early debates on Charlottetown suggested that
expert opinion on the meaning of the legal text would be
similarly divided. Deliberately delaying the legal text, or even
174 DEBTS TO PAY
denying access until the vote was over, was attractive to Ot-
tawa. By denying the No side something definitive to attack,
the Yes side could easily dismiss the opponents of the Agree-
ment. On the other hand, Canadians might feel manipulated
or insulted. It would also be unprecedented in democratic
tradition to ask an electorate to approve a constitution before
the final legal text was a matter of public record. It was not
surprising, therefore, that as the campaign heated up, the lack
of a legal text became a burning issue not only among the No
forces, but also among some in the Yes camp.
The final tactic for ensuring the success of the Agreement
was the formation and launching of the Canada Yes Commit-
tee. The committee was composed of several prominent, non-
partisan Canadians as national co-chairs and boasted the
membership of three former premiers, two former national
political party leaders, and prominent personalities in law,
business, religion, education, science, and the arts and letters.
The Charlottetown Agreement was still vulnerable: it had orig-
inated in secret meetings among the nine English-Canadian
premiers and had been finally approved in further secret meet-
ings with Bourassa and the prime minister. Given the public's
suspicion of politicians, it was crucial to present the Charlotte-
town Agreement as now outside the grimy world of horse-
trading, deal-making backroom politics. Given the record of
public anger over Meech and its failure, the appeal to Canadi-
ans had to come from a more neutral source. Though the
Canada Yes Committee received the explicit endorsation of the
three federal party leaders, all the premiers and territorial
leaders, and the national aboriginal leadership, its makeup
was clearly designed to keep active partisan politicians at
arm's length. At its kick-off, the Canada Yes Committee told
Canadians that a Yes was not merely an approval of constitu-
tional changes, but a vote for everything that was good, pros-
perous, and hopeful about Canada, including "a promising,
certain future for our young people; the acceptance of a good
compromise that has been worked out with intelligence and
honour; good news for the economy; an affirmation of the
values and the diversity of our country." By extension, a No
vote was not just a rejection of a proposed constitutional
amendment; it was reckless and irresponsible; it jeopardized
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 175
our children's future, threatened to wreck the economy, and
repudiated Canadian values. The gloves were off at the outset.
Prime Minister Mulroney had signalled this tough cam-
paign line earlier when, upon announcing the successful con-
clusion of the Charlottetown Agreement, he had harshly said,
"I know there will be fights... And I know that the enemies of
Canada will... be out in full force. They will encounter me and
my fellow first ministers...fighting for Canada." Although
Mulroney quickly backed off from his explicit "enemies of
Canada" line, the basic theme remained that those who op-
posed the Agreement would help destroy Canada. The refer-
endum was not just about an agreement; it was about Canada.
The answer on October 26 was a Yes or a No to Canada.
Another theme favoured by the prime minister was eco-
nomic fear. Polls had repeatedly revealed that Canadians were
deeply anxious and insecure about the economy. Clearly, if
economic recovery, stability, and well-being could be linked
in the minds of Canadians to approval of the Charlottetown
Agreement, the initial Yes lead might be consolidated and
increased. The prime minister hammered home this point re-
lentlessly. A No would lead to "political instability
[which]... gives rise to economic uncertainty [and]... the loss of
economic opportunity... First and foremost, investors flee po-
litical uncertainty/' A Yes, on the other hand, would "reduce
uncertainty, increase stability and re-invigorate the economy/'
a Yes would bring "good news for the economy." The Yes
team across Canada repeated such arguments. With remark-
able unanimity, they insisted that a Yes would be an incredible
tonic for a beleaguered economy.
Constitutional Affairs Minister Joe Clark was assigned the
task of carrying messages of political instability. In a set speech
repeated at meetings across Canada, he warned that Canada,
"the peaceable kingdom...kept without civil war...will not
survive a No vote intact," that "if we reject this agree-
ment...this country would begin to crumble." Clark invoked
the terrible choices before Canadians: the "peaceable king-
dom" affirming itself with a Yes or another Lebanon or Yugo-
slavia intolerantly snarling a No.
Clark also raised two subordinate themes. One was that the
gains made by Quebec, the West, native people, and the prov-
176 DEBTS TO PAY
inces would be lost and never again resurrected if the No side
prevailed. Another warning was that if Canadians did not
approve Charlottetown, either the constitutional wrangling
would go on endlessly, or negotiations would stop and Can-
ada would be locked in a constitutional crisis for the foresee-
able future. Again, other members of the Yes team fanned out
and repeated these themes across the country.
Almost as soon as the referendum campaign began, popular
support for the Yes side started to drop. By the third week of
September, an Angus Reid poll reported that, on a national
basis, the Yes and No options were tied in popular support at
36 per cent, while the undecided had gone up to 28 per cent.
The No option was leading in Quebec by 45 to 38 per cent and
in British Columbia and Alberta by 50 to 34 per cent. The Yes
lead in Saskatchewan and Manitoba was cut to a dangerous 41
to 40 per cent. Yes was enjoying a comfortable lead only in
Ontario and Atlantic Canada. A Leger et Leger poll in Quebec
told an even worse story: 41 to 30.5 per cent for No over Yes,
with 28.5 per cent undecided. Mulroney and the Yes strategists
undoubtedly followed this drop through their internal polling.
As a result, in what he later described as a deliberate "tactical
counterattack," the prime minister took a desperate and risky
step by escalating his attack on the No side during a speech at
Sherbrooke, Quebec on Monday, 28 September. Indeed, in re-
trospect, the prime minister's escalation was clearly co-or-
dinated with a number of events the previous weekend in an
effort to increase the level of economic anxiety among Cana-
dians.
On Friday, 25 September, Royal Bank Chair Allan Taylor
released a forty-seven-page report, "Unity or disunity: an eco-
nomic analysis of the benefits and costs," at a press conference
where he strongly endorsed the Yes side. The report was
premised on the worst-case scenario of Quebec's separation —
no economic association and hostile polarization — but the
timing of its release and Taylor's remarks made it clear that,
according to the bank, Quebec's separation might follow a No
vote. According to the report, economic and population
growth in Canada would grind to a halt and then fall sharply,
per capita income would collapse by 15 per cent, and thou-
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 177
sands would rush to emigrate from Canada to the United
States.
On Sunday, 27 September, speaking to the Canadian Cham-
ber of Commerce in Victoria, Al Flood, Chair of the Canadian
Imperial Bank of Commerce, provoked dramatic headlines
across Canada the following day. The Regina Leader Post's
front page captured the essence of his claims: "Yes side says
No is chaos." Clumsily combining the themes of economic and
political instability, Flood said, "The slightest hint of instability
can send global financial markets into disarray. We have seen
these things happen to other countries.. .and there is no reason
why they cannot happen here if the international investment
community concludes that we are politically unsound."
On Monday, 28 September during a speech at Sherbrooke,
Quebec, Mulroney dramatically ripped up a copy of the
Charlottetown Agreement for the benefit of the television cam-
eras. He went even further than the bankers. Picking up on the
warnings of Taylor and Flood, Mulroney declared, "No means
a direct contribution to separatism...the second-to-last step
before separation [which] would plunge us into the unknown,
into political instability and economic insecurity." No, accord-
ing to the prime minister, amounted to nothing less than "the
beginning of the process of dismantling Canada." Premier
Bourassa agreed, "A No vote could mean a possible breakup
of the federation."
In what was either a rapid self-fulfilling prophecy or a cyn-
ical economic manipulation, the Canadian dollar fell over the
next few days to its lowest point in four years and the Bank of
Canada raised its interest rate by 2 points, leading to similar
rises in the consumer rates charged by chartered banks and
ramming the prime rate up to 8.25 per cent. The Bank of
Canada's move represented the biggest single jump in rates
since the bank's birth in the 1930s. Stock markets reacted ner-
vously. Many Canadians panicked, rushing to lock in their
mortgages, fearing a continuing sharp rise in interest rates. All
this seemed dramatic confirmation of the Yes side's negative
economic forecasts, and the Yes side wasted no time in linking
the fall in the dollar and the rise in interest rates to fears of a
No victory. Globe and Mail columnist Jeffrey Simpson, deeply
disappointed at the decline in Yes support, sternly lectured
178 DEBTS TO PAY
Canadians: "The Yes side's best arguments are not of its own
making... The plunging stock market the declining dollar, the
skyrocketing interest rates...send the clearest message of all."
Economic scare tactics had worked well for hard-line feder-
alists against Levesque and the PQ during the 1970 and 1973
Quebec election campaigns/ and even more effectively during
the 1980 sovereignty-association referendum. But in those
campaigns, the costs of separation were defensible arguments
since the independence of Quebec was clearly on the table.
Even hard-line separatists and moderate sovereigntists con-
cede that there are economic costs associated with Quebec's
independence, although nowhere near as high as federalists
allege. Had the 1992 referendum been on Quebec indepen-
dence, the economic fear campaign would have had a big
impact, perhaps even a decisive one. But the referendum was
not on separation, and the efforts of the Yes side to emphasize
this issue failed utterly. The Canadian people refused to buy
the argument, and the Yes team and the business community
themselves were deeply divided on the political and economic
consequences of a No vote.
Many Yes team members — including CLC President
White, NDP leader McLaughlin, Newfoundland Premier
Wells, prominent Yes committee member June Callwood, and
many others — publicly and firmly rebuked the banks and the
prime minister for their scare tactics. Alhough many among
the business lobby continued to issue warnings, business opin-
ion was divided. Some business experts cautioned Canadians
not to panic but to ride out what was a temporary blip. Many
money market brokers, particularly in the U.S. and Japan,
predicted that interest rates in Canada would fall after the
referendum regardless of the outcome simply because the Ca-
nadian economy was too fragile to sustain high interest rates.
They contended that Canada's economic difficulties had to do
with the economy itself: nearly negligible growth, little pros-
pect for an upturn, and Canada's structural captivity by the
weak U.S. economy, Canada's biggest market. With such con-
flicting messages coming from the business lobby, it is not
surprising that the effort to generate economic hysteria in
order to extract a Yes vote fizzled quickly. Although the dual
themes of the negative political and economic consequences of
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 179
a No vote remained cornerstones of the Yes campaign, the tone
in which the messages were delivered changed quickly from
breathless hysteria to persistent moderation.
While it was true that support for Meech had simulta-
neously unravelled at the top and at the bottom, support for
Charlottetown unravelled almost exclusively at the bottom.
Thus, though the political, labour, and business elite remained
united in favour of the Agreement, the constituencies they
hoped to deliver began to march out of control. This move to
a No in English Canada was assisted by the interventions of
three prominent Canadians, each representing significant if
contradictory political tendencies. Former prime minister
Pierre Elliott Trudeau, Judy Rebick of the National Action
Committee on the Status of Women (NAC), and Reform Party
leader Preston Manning, speaking from very different ideolog-
ical perspectives, all came down dramatically on the No side.
This was a blow to the Yes campaign and helped to derail the
initial strategy of insisting that a No vote was not only un-
thinkable but illegitimate. By their very different interventions,
and for very different reasons, each gave many Canadians a
rationale for voting No. Most important, each gave a No vote
public legitimacy.
Preston Manning did not declare his decision to campaign
for a No until 10 September 1992, almost two weeks after the
finalization of the Charlottetown Agreement. Impressed by the
unprecedented consensus reached at Charlottetown and by
the initial euphoria and certain that Canadians would vote Yes
just to settle the matter, Manning was concerned that active
participation on the No side might further marginalize the
Reform Party. Briefly, he toyed with either critically support-
ing the deal or adopting a stance of neutrality. His initial
hesitation was common knowledge among political insiders,
and Joe Clark publicly expressed the hope that Manning
would do the right thing for Canada. However, Manning's
advisors, his middle-level leadership, and the Reform rank-
and-file made it overwhelmingly clear that Manning had no
choice but to come out strongly against Charlottetown.
Nevertheless, Manning wanted to ensure that the Reform
Party's No campaign did not reflect the anti-Quebec bias of its
rank-and-file, nor the shrill anti-central Canada sectionalism
180 DEBTS TO PAY
of its western base. Such a focus would irreparably damage
the party in the future, particularly in efforts to make a break-
through in Ontario and Atlantic Canada. Furthermore, a No
campaign that focused exclusively on the loss of the Triple-E
Senate could hurt the party in Ontario. Therefore, Manning
largely restricted his No campaign to five major themes. First,
the Charlottetown Agreement was called the "Mulroney Deal"
in an attempt to encourage Canadians to express their dislike
of the prime minister with a No vote. Second, Manning argued
that the deal would not end the "bickering," but would lead
to almost-interminable constitutional negotiations. Third,
Manning complained that the deal committed Ottawa to so
much spending on social programs that the government could
never balance the budget. Fourth, the amending formula made
the deal irreversible, thereby depriving future generations of
the means to fix the constitution. Finally, Manning insisted that
the deal failed to provide "effective regional representation/'
the closest he came to embracing the explicit role of champion
of western alienation.
The Reform Party's No campaign was, therefore, remark-
ably restrained, given the cauldron of anger and resentment
bubbling among its rank-and-file. The rest of the No side,
which had nothing in common with Manning other than their
opposition to the agreement, were grateful for the restraint.
But just by coming out for a No, Manning played a key role in
mobilizing the growing opposition to the agreement, particu-
larly in British Columbia and Alberta where the Reform Party
was strong. Yet it was clear that he was the captive of his own
power base. Had Manning advocated a Yes, those he repre-
sented would have walked over him and still voted No.
The 14 September 1992 decision by NAC to campaign ac-
tively for a No caught many off guard. NAC's close links to
organized labour, the NDP, and the centre and left of the
Liberal party led to an expectation that NAC would either sign
on, stay silent, or perhaps simply issue a critical press release.
Few expected that NAC's executive would unanimously com-
mit the organization and its president, Judy Rebick, to an ac-
tive campaign for a No. As the national voice of organized
feminism in English Canada, NAC carried a lot of clout. The
Yes team reacted angrily, lashing out at NAC and Rebick. Just
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 181
a few days after NAC's announcement, the Quebec Federation
of Women released tapes of a telephone conversation with a
bureaucrat in the Secretary of State's office during which the
federation was told its continued funding was dependent on
the organization staying out of the referendum. And NAC
revealed that a few days after announcing its position, it was
warned that the NAC file was being reviewed by the Secretary
of State. These revelations badly hurt the Yes side while only
serving to redouble the determination of Canada's organized
feminists to fight for a No.
NAC's opposition to Charlottetown was based on three cen-
tral concerns. First, Rebick declared solidarity with the Native
Women's Association of Canada, arguing that the aboriginal
self-government proposal failed to provide native women ad-
equate equality guarantees. Second, Rebick argued that the
Canada clause, by providing the interpretive context for the
future application of the Charter, jeopardized the gender
equality rights that women had already won in the 1982 con-
stitution. Finally, Rebick insisted that the Charlottetown
Agreement would make it impossible to develop future social
programs with national standards, repeatedly citing the exam-
ple of daycare. Furthermore, Rebick warned that the agree-
ment might jeopardize existing social programs by shifting the
establishment of national standards out of the hands of Ottawa
and into a meeting of first ministers. Rebick became a tireless
and effective campaigner for the No side, and as the campaign
progressed, she increasingly spoke not only for Canada's or-
ganized feminist lobby, but became the unofficial spokesper-
son for rank-and-file trade unionists and New Democrats who
had been abandoned by their leaderships. For many across
Canada, the things that should have been said by the CLC's
Bob White or the NDP's Audrey McLaughlin were, in fact,
being said by Rebick and other NAC activists.
Pierre Trudeau's criticisms had played a significant role in
the death of the Meech Accord, and it was universally ex-
pected he would pass judgement on the Charlottetown Agree-
ment. Trudeau's intervention came in two salvos. In an essay
written before the Charlottetown Agreement, but published in
the 28 September 1992 issue of Maclean's, Trudeau presented
a scathing and contemptuous denunciation of Quebecois na-
182 DEBTS TO PAY
tionalists as "a sleazy bunch of master blackmailers" who re-
peatedly threatened to leave Canada in order to squeeze more
and more money and power out of Ottawa. He was only
slightly less contemptuous of the "good souls in English Can-
ada" who "have not yet realized that the nationalists' thirst
will never end, and that each new ransom paid...will simply
encourage the master blackmailers to...double the ransom."
Trudeau warned of the grave consequences for individual
rights of granting Quebec the collective rights imphed in the
distinct society provision.
Trudeau saved his detailed critical analysis of the Charlotte-
town Agreement for his 1 October 1992 speech at La Maison
du Egg Roll in Montreal. He developed five substantive argu-
ments for voting No. First, he attacked the use of political and
economic terrorism by the Yes side: "politicians — and politi-
cians in high places, and even bankers in high places — are
trying to make us think, make us believe
/
 that a Yes is a yes to
Canada, and a No is a no to Canada. This is a lie that must be
denounced/' Second, he noted that a Yes would not bring
constitutional peace but endless bickering — "the blackmail
would continue." Third, Trudeau noted that the Charlotte-
town amending formula ensured the agreement would be
"irreversible." Fourth, Trudeau argued that the proposed Canada
clause undermined the individual rights enshrined in the
Charter, creating a "hierarchy of classes of citizens," thereby
threatening minorities, especially official language minorities.
Fifth, the Charlottetown Agreement seriously weakened the
federal government and jeopardized social programs, espe-
cially those in the poor provinces. In other words, Trudeau
declared, the Charlottetown Agreement was a "mess that de-
serves a big No."
With these two interventions, Trudeau crystallized signifi-
cant currents of opposition to the agreement, appealing simul-
taneously to anti-Quebec bigots in English Canada, official
language minorities in every province, Canadians who cher-
ished the primacy of the Charter's individual rights over col-
lective rights, those who feared the excessive devolution of
federal powers, and those who were concerned about the pro-
tection of existing social programs and the development of
new ones. Perhaps of greatest importance in the heat of the
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 183
referendum campaign was Trudeau's blunt condemnation of
the scare tactics of the Yes side, thereby giving many Canadi-
ans the courage to contemplate a No vote. "The question of
Yes or No is," Trudeau reminded Canadians, "yes or no, do
you want us to reform, or amend, the Constitution on the basis
of the so-called consensus of Charlottetown?" Trudeau's piv-
otal role in stopping the Yes team's scare campaign in its tracks
should not be underestimated.
The unravelling of popular support for Charlottetown can-
not be explained alone by these interventions by Manning,
Rebick, and Trudeau. They simply helped, giving diverse
groups of Canadians intellectual and political hooks on which
to hang their relatively spontaneous sense of opposition. It
appears that the largely ignored Spicer Commission report of
June 1991 had been more on the mark than anyone anticipated
— the report had warned of the popular "fury in the land"
against politicians, that Canadians had "lost faith" in "the
political process and their political leaders." While the Reform
Party and NAC had a considerable effect, they were no match
for the Yes side's potential. And, of course, Trudeau only had
influence at an aloof distance. He did not actively campaign,
nor did he have an organization with troops to deliver a No
vote. On the other hand, theoretically and on paper, the Yes
side had a formidable organization. By the end of the cam-
paign, 191 Yes committees and only 34 No committees had
been officially registered with Canada's Chief Electoral Offi-
cer. The central Yes campaign in English Canada had an esti-
mated media budget of over $5 million, and countless local
Yes committees had ample funds to put out their message on
local media and in local daily newspapers. Maclean Hunter
registered itself as a Yes committee in order legally to run
pro-Yes ads at its own expense in Maclean's, The Financial Post,
and the Sun daily newspaper group (Toronto, Ottawa, Cal-
gary, and Edmonton). Provincial governments were free to
spend as well and did so. The editorial consensus of English
Canada's daily newspapers was unprecedented, and they did
not hesitate to push the Yes message.
The No campaign in English Canada had virtually no
money, relying for national mass exposure on its half share of
the ninety minutes of free network time provided under ref-
184 DEBTS TO PAY
erendum campaign regulations. Since this was a campaign
that involved convincing, identifying, and delivering the vote,
the Yes side theoretically had the enormous advantage of hav-
ing the support of the entire campaign infrastructures of the
three major political parties. The three-party alliance worked
reasonably effectively at the top — the three parties' top media
and campaign strategists worked for the Yes team—but it was
soon discovered they could not deliver the troops on the
ground. Efforts to build joint local constituency organizations
to go door to door, to put up signs, to check off Yes supporters
on the voters' list, and to prepare to get out the vote all failed.
Not only did the elites of the three parties find that they could
not deliver their activist troops to campaign, they found they
could not deliver their supporters to vote Yes.
The Liberal party in English Canada was hardly united en-
thusiastically behind the Agreement. Jean Chretien did as little
campaigning as possible, and his defence of the agreement was
neither passionate nor convincing. Trudeau's interventions
had the biggest impact among Liberals in English Canada and
among English-Canadian Liberals in Quebec. Indeed, the
Equality Party's three MNAs supported the Yes side, while a
majority of delegates at a party convention endorsed the No.
Deborah Coyne, a constitutional lawyer and the key adviser to
Newfoundland Premier Wells during the Meech crisis, came
out strongly against Charlottetown, contributing her consider-
able influence among the Liberal rank-and-file to the No side.
Liberal leaders Sharon Carstairs of Manitoba and Gordon Wil-
son of British Columbia campaigned actively and very effec-
tively for the No side, especially Carstairs, who is a formidable
debater. Premier Wells lukewarm support did not help the Yes
side.
Except for the prime minister and a few of his most high
profile cabinet ministers, most Tory MPs either ran for cover
or did as little unenthusiastic campaigning as they could.
Given the low levels of Tory popular support and the pro-
found unpopularity of Mulroney, this approach was under-
standable. Indeed, too much aggressive campaigning by Tory
MPs might have hurt rather than helped the Yes side. Tory
premiers hardly threw themselves energetically into the battle,
at least not until the very end.
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 185
Many NDP supporters felt abandoned by their leaders on
Charlottetown. In order to agree to the deal, the three NDP
premiers and the national leader, Audrey McLaughlin, had in
fact abandoned a whole series of central tenets of traditional
NDP policy. First, there was the support for the new Senate,
probably the most appalling volte face in Canadian political
history. From its founding in 1935, the CCF/NDP favoured the
abolition of the Senate. Suddenly, Canadians were subjected
to the NDP leaders campaigning enthusiastically for a new
Senate which repudiated the basic democratic principle of
"representation by population" and which was powerless ex-
cept on behalf of the natural resource companies. Second, the
NDP traditionally supported a strong central government and
opposed the devolution of too much power to the provinces.
While it was perhaps understandable why the three NDP pre-
miers might agree to a grab for provincial power, why
McLaughlin would join in such a transparent "provincial
rights first" fiasco was inexplicable to many in the party. Third,
the NDP, since the Quiet Revolution, had gradually moved to
a sensible policy on Quebec, which included a willingness to
concede special status to Quebec. By supporting Charlotte-
town, the leaders of the NDP abandoned that principled posi-
tion and proceeded to lose themselves in the latest
English-Canadian effort to impose a fundamentally unaccept-
able constitutional solution upon Quebec. Why the NDP re-
fused to listen to the advice of the only MP it has ever elected
in Quebec remains a mystery. Philip Edmonston broke with
the party and campaigned in Quebec for the No side. Finally,
many NDPers were outraged that their leaders had partici-
pated in an effort to constitutionalize one of the major items
of the neo-conservative agenda of the last decade — to weaken
and render impotent the central government. In exchange for
a meaningless and toothless Social Charter, the NDP leader-
ship had largely bargained away the most important tool Ca-
nadians have had to fight for reform and change — the
instrumentality of a strong central government. The NDP lead-
ership, therefore, found that it was not only unable to deliver
its electoral base to the Yes side, but also failed to deliver its
party membership en masse.
186 DEBTS TO PAY
The top leadership of the 2.3 million member Canadian
Labour Congress faced the same problems as the NDP leader-
ship, for largely the same reasons. Despite formal support for
the agreement by the CLC's Executive Council, the rank-and-
file of the labour movement remained largely unconvinced.
Two major national unions — the Canadian Union of Postal
Workers and the Public Service Alliance of Canada — publicly
broke with the CLC and formally endorsed the No side, largely
over the same issues as NAC. And of course the Quebec Fed-
eration of Labour was overwhelmingly against Charlottetown,
like all other Quebec labour organizations. Ed Finn, a longtime
labour activist and retired research director of CUPE, spoke
for many in labour when he called the agreement a "legalistic
monstrosity...far better consigned to the garbage dump than
enshrined in the Constitution."
The English-Canadian business lobby was solidly on the Yes
side, particularly at the top corporate level and among the
organized Chamber of Commerce sector. But there were some
important cracks. Although the influential Canadian Federa-
tion of Independent Business came out strongly in favour of
Charlottetown, its leadership admitted that a large portion of
its membership was against it. The powerful British Columbia
Employers' Council faced such division that it decided to stay
neutral. Eric Kierans, one of the most respected English-Cana-
dian business leaders, at first declared himself in favour of the
Agreement and then announced, as he left for vacation, that
he had changed his mind and had voted No in an advance
poll. In Quebec, the business lobby was deeply fractured. The
most powerful and influential business organization,
1'Association des Manufacturiers du Quebec, which includes
such members as Alcan, Northern Telecomm, and IBM Can-
ada, decided to stay neutral while at the same time describing
the agreement as ''disappointing." Andre Berard, chair of the
National Bank of Canada, formerly seen as a loyal federalist,
also declared neutrality. Finally, in a significant setback for the
Yes team, the 61,000 member Chambre de Commerce du
Quebec opted for neutrality. These decisions may have had
something to do with the hostility faced by the Royal Bank in
Quebec following its intervention on the Yes side. Many cus-
tomers in Quebec closed their accounts in protest, Non stickers
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 187
were plastered on many branches, and Non campaign leader
Parizeau accused the bank of profiting by secretly speculating
on the sharp decline in the Canadian dollar that the bank had
helped to provoke.
But the most irreparable damage to the Yes campaign was
the unravelling of support for the aboriginal self-government
aspect of Charlottetown among some native peoples. The most
positive feature of the Charlottetown Agreement for English
Canadians and Quebecois alike was the commitment to the
inherent right to aboriginal self-government. Many in English
Canada were inclined to support the deal just to affirm that
right. From the outset, however, the Native Womens' Associ-
ation of Canada (NWAC) had strongly opposed the deal on
the grounds that not only were native women excluded from
the negotiating table, but that the clause of the Agreement
giving aboriginal culture and traditions primacy might prevail
over gender equality rights. NWAC took legal action in an
effort to have the Federal Court of Canada stop the whole
process, including the referendum, since native women's
rights under the existing constitution had been violated from
the outset. Though unsuccessful, NWACs action and contin-
uing opposition began to evoke support among Canadians.
And NWAC was not the only organization in the native com-
munity to have doubts about the Agreement. By late Septem-
ber, the Council of Crees of Quebec and the Mohawks were
proposing a boycott of the referendum, as were thirty Indian
bands in Alberta. Then the Manitoba chiefs began to express
doubts about the Agreement. And there were rumours that the
Union of B.C. Chiefs were moving toward support for a No.
Elijah Harper also refused to endorse the deal. He indicated
that if he had to vote, he would vote No, but it was better for
Indians to boycott the referendum.
The chiefs' concerns were of fundamental importance. First,
there was a fear that the Agreement might erode treaty rights
as a result of constitutionalizing them. Second, there was a
related concern that the devolution of power both to the prov-
inces and to aboriginal governments might also serve to
weaken existing Crown treaty obligations and Ottawa's re-
sponsibility for them. Third, there was a growing apprehen-
sion that the "peace, order and good government" concession
188 DEBTS TO PAY
to Quebec had made the aboriginal self-government clause
meaningless. Fourth, among treaty Indians there was some
concern about the inclusion of the Inuit and the Metis in the
aboriginal self-government clause. What impact would the
inclusion of these groups have on the existing and future rights
of status Indians? Where would the money for self-govern-
ment come from? Finally, there was a feeling that too much
power had been granted to Quebec and that the aboriginal
people in Quebec needed stronger assurances. Among many
chiefs, especially the Mohawks, there was also a principled
rejection of the whole process on the grounds that they already
enjoyed self-government on Indian lands, and always had.
There was a final effort to secure the endorsation of the chiefs
representing status Indians during a meeting of the Assembly
of First Nations at Vancouver from 14 October to 16 October
1992. Despite pleas and warnings from Grand Chief Mercredi,
Joe Clark, and the three NDP premiers, many of the chiefs
remained unconvinced. Although it is unclear exactly what
went on in the closed sessions, Mercredi decided not to force
a vote. Some claim he would have won; others claim he would
have lost. Whatever the truth, at the press conference after the
meeting, Mercredi said that it was clear that improvements
were needed in the Agreement. Despite the fact that Ovide
Mercredi and other native leaders continued to campaign for
a Yes, the failure of the Assembly to endorse Charlottetown
was a mortal blow to the Yes campaign in English Canada.
There were a series of other events that nipped at the heels
of the Yes campaign, undermining its credibility. First, there
were the absentee premiers who failed to go on the campaign
trail. Premier Wells of Newfoundland initially refused to
campaign actively outside his own province and only agreed
to do so later when he was satisfied that the legal text was
acceptable. His "on again/off again" trip to campaign in
Alberta and British Columbia probably did the Yes effort more
harm than good at the end of the day. Premier Getty of Alberta
had announced his retirement from politics right after the Agree-
ment and did not take a particularly active part in the cam-
paign, even in Alberta. Premier Filmon of Manitoba failed to
become active until late in the campaign. Premier Harcourt
of British Columbia spent so much of his time repairing the
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 1S9
personal political damage he suffered as a result of the Agree-
ment that he did not campaign outside the province. Premier
Romanow of Saskatchewan only made obligatory appearances
and speeches. In the early phase of the campaign, the premiers'
absenteeism had to do with over-confidence. Later, as the Yes
campaign faltered, eagerness to campaign was tempered by
the "Peterson factor" — memories of how the public had pun-
ished many of the incumbent politicians involved in Meech.
Then there was the "Mulroney factor." If a large part of the
reason that support was slipping for the Agreement had to do
with Mulroney's unpopularity, the premiers doubted the wis-
dom of linking themselves too clearly with the prime minister,
who had largely seized for himself centre stage in the national
Yes campaign.
Then there was the controversy over the legal text. While it
was true that there would not be an enormous demand for a
legal text among Canadians in general, those with a special
interest required one as soon as possible, if only to confirm that
the legalese faithfully replicated the Agreement in letter and
spirit. As September came to an end and there was still no legal
text, criticism mounted. The government was asking Canadi-
ans to vote on an Agreement and not only was the legal text
unfinished, but Canadians could not even easily see the orig-
inal Agreement. This absence of a legal text began to make
many Canadians uneasy. Finally, at the end of September,
Premier Wells of Newfoundland, Deputy Premier Horsman of
Alberta and Justice Minister McCrae of Manitoba clearly stated
that a legal text was needed or their provinces would recon-
sider their support for the deal. The Agreement was only fi-
nally published in all daily newspapers on 3 October 1992, and
Clark announced that the legal text would be available by
mid-October. Premier Wells announced he would not cam-
paign until he was satisfied with the legal text. From 4 to 7
October Wells's trip west was put on hold as he argued with
Clark over the text. Finally, private agreement was reached,
and Wells announced he was satisfied. Parizeau in Quebec,
where the No side had made the absence of a legal text a
central issue, quipped, "Do you see now how important the
legal texts are? Wells negotiated for hours over one word/' The
text was not finalized until the Thanksgiving weekend, just
190 DEBTS TO PAY
two weeks before the vote, when it was made available to
Parizeau to prepare for his 90-minute TV debate with
Bourassa.
By the time the legal text was generally available to the
public there were only ten or eleven days left in the campaign.
Yet the release of the text did not lay the suspicions to rest —
it was entitled "Draft Legal Text" and described only as "a best
efforts text." Furthermore, there were some significant contro-
versial changes to the original Agreement in the legal text. The
democracy guarantees of the Charter were not to apply to
aboriginal governments. Only the governor of the Bank of
Canada was definitely to be subject to Senate ratification,
rather than the heads of all federal regulatory agencies and
cultural institutions. Electrical power was added to natural
resources as subject to Senate defeat. The double majority re-
quirement in the Senate on matters of French language and
culture was now defined in terms of a majority of all senators
and of all "French-speaking" senators rather than all "franco-
phone" senators. Thus, the presumed veto of Quebec's six
senators was now dubious. Finally, the concession Wells
wanted — that Senate laws defeated in the House of Commons
would go to a joint sitting — was included. These were all
serious last-minute changes, and further undermined public
confidence in the Agreement.
A further problem of credibility for the Yes campaign re-
lated to the very different versions of the meaning of the
Agreement that were presented in Quebec and in English Can-
ada. Every time Mulroney bragged loudly in Quebec about all
the gains made for the province, the Yes campaign was hurt
in English Canada. Yet when English-Canadian politicians
told English Canadians that the deal gave Quebec very little,
the Yes side was damaged in Quebec. When Premier Wells
told a Calgary audience on 7 October 1992 that the Charlotte-
town Agreement was an improvement on Meech because it
had put a "fence" around distinct society, giving it a more
limited meaning than in Meech, the Le Devoir headline was
"Wells: le Quebec s'est satisfait de moins que Meech," and
another nail was hammered into the coffin of the Yes cam-
paign in Quebec. The same was true when B.C. Intergovern-
mental Affairs Minister Sihota explained in Quesnel, B.C. on 6
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 191
October 1992 that Bourassa had "lost" and had run into a
"brick wall" on "special status." The same was true on 14
October 1992 when Manitoba Premier Filmon told a farm and
business audience in Russell/ Manitoba, "When Quebec said,
'We want all those other powers/ we said:.. /No . This is as far
as we'll go.'" Clearly, Wells, Sihota, and Filmon were trying to
persuade English Canadians to support the deal on the
grounds that Quebec had received comparatively little. Yet
every such argument made in English Canada echoed back in
Quebec and served to undermine the Yes side there. And such
arguments did not finally help in English Canada because
Mulroney continued to tell the Quebecois about their 31 gains,
the best deal for Quebec in 125 years. Thus, the Yes side faced
a serious credibility gap in both Quebec and English Canada.
In an unforeseen irony, the Yes campaign's overwhelming
superiority in media access turned into a liability. With its
multi-million dollar media budget, the Yes side, in ordinary
politics, should have been a steamroller. With ample enough
resources to insert one and two full-page spreads in all major
dailies on at least two occasions, as well as to expose every
Canadian television viewer to thirteen pro-Yes ads each week
throughout October, the Yes side was confident. In addition,
huge Yes billboards dotted Canada from coast to coast, Yes
lawn signs sprang up and stood out sharply if only because of
the near total absence of No signs everywhere but in Quebec,
and pamphlets appeared in every single mailbox, all providing
the Yes message with constant daily reinforcement. But the Yes
propaganda campaign failed.
Many of the ads were misleading. Some ads claimed the
new Senate was Triple-E. It was not, and only the ignorant or
dishonest could claim otherwise. Others implied that the So-
cial Charter clause provided clear protection to ordinary Ca-
nadians. It did not. Others boasted that the agreement brought
Canada an effective economic union. It did not. Many Cana-
dians were insulted by some of the television ads: the batter
waiting for the perfect pitch is struck out, implying it is unrea-
sonable to expect perfection in the constitution; the class of '92
ad instructed us that a child hears No 23,000 times by the age
of thirteen. We were asked if it was not time to say Yes to our
children? The errors were obvious. While we might not expect
192 DEBTS TO PAY
perfection in routine government activities, we certainly ex-
pect near-perfection in certain key areas (like aircraft safety
and constitutions); and saying No to a child (or to a politician)
is sometimes more important than saying Yes. Other television
ads were simply not believed, and the only thing worse than
a commercial being ignored is for the viewer to engage in
active disbelief. In the final desperate days of the campaign,
the Yes side began using ads that focused on the separatist
threat in Quebec. One used unflattering, sinister photos of
Bouchard and Parizeau and told us that a No vote would make
these Quebec separatists smile. Another brought a grandmoth-
erly Quebecoise into our living rooms gently but urgently
begging English Canada to help her stop the separatists by
voting Yes. The Yes campaign stubbornly persisted in playing
these ads despite clear evidence they were counter-productive.
An Angus Reid/Southam poll taken from October 12 to 15
found that 55 per cent of Canadians did not believe that a No
would bring negative economic consequences, while 71 per
cent did not believe a No would lead to Quebec's separation.
The widely shared perception that Ottawa was misusing
taxpayers' dollars to influence their votes in what was sup-
posed to be a fair and democratic referendum process did not
help the Yes side, either.
Although buffeted by the major events in the national ref-
erendum campaign, the battle in Quebec was a separate, al-
most internal event. Once again, the Quebecois debated
among themselves whether their vision of Quebec as one of
two founding nations could be reconciled with English
Canada's latest version of federalism. It was significant that
Ottawa was conducting a separate referendum in the nine
English-Canadian provinces under federal law, while Quebec
was holding a separate vote under Quebec law. This difference
was more than a matter of symbolism. The rules governing the
referendum in Quebec were much fairer. While in English
Canada the disparate, poorly organized No side seemed badly
outmatched by the well-oiled Yes machine, in Quebec both
sides were more evenly matched. As Mulroney declared, in
Quebec he expected a "bare knuckled fight/' On the Yes side
was the Bourassa government and the Quebec Liberal party,
the preponderance of the business lobby and, at least initially,
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 193
the formerly formidable federalist forces. On the No side were
the sovereigntists, supported by between 30 and 40 per cent of
the population and very well organized in the PQ and BQ, a
significant portion of the business lobby, and organized lab-
our. As the campaign unfolded, the No side also picked up
elements of the nationalist wing of the Liberal party and even
a significant share of Trudeau federalists (including, according
to one estimate, up to 20 per cent of Quebec's English-speaking
minority). While the first post-Charlottetown polls gave the
Yes side a large 41 point lead in English Canada (61 to 20 per
cent), in Quebec the Yes lead was a mere 2 points (44 to 42 per
cent). At first, it was assumed that whichever side won in
Quebec, it was going to be a close call, decided by a few
percentage points. But then the Yes campaign in Quebec began
to unravel.
The biggest problem was the Agreement itself. The
Quebecois had been prepared for some kind of serious resolu-
tion after Meech and were awaiting a referendum on renewed
federalism or sovereignty. During the year prior to Charlotte-
town, over 500,000 Quebecois had signed a petition insisting
that Bourassa hold such a referendum as promised. Thanks to
the Allaire and Belanger-Campeau reports, the Quebecois had
very definite ideas about what acceptable renewed federalism
entailed, ideas that bordered on a popular consensus. When
Bourassa agreed to go back to the table to negotiate the
Charlottetown Agreement and then announced success, there
was an initial misperception on the part of many Quebecois.
Obviously, they reasoned, Bourassa must have obtained some-
thing significant in the Agreement. Hence, the early September
polls showed a 2 point lead in public support in Quebec. But
as soon as the Agreement was subjected to analysis, support
began to collapse. The distinct society clause in the Charlotte-
town Agreement was weaker than Meech. The Senate was still
unacceptable. There was no new division of powers acceptable
to Quebec. There was no clear veto, especially over the creation
of new provinces.
As well, Bourassa's arguments for the deal were half-
hearted and defensive. On one occasion he compared the deal
to a lottery consolation prize: "L'entente est comme un prix de
consolation, acceptez-la et prenez des billets pour le prochain
194 DEBTS TO PAY
tirage." Or, he argued, it was better to accept the deal than to
fight on: "Ce n'est pas la perfection. Mais, c'est mieux que
l'affrontement, les tensions et le recul." Or, as he once con-
ceded in English, "It is not an absolutely extraordinary deal"
though "there are substantial gains there for Quebec." Even
the Yes slogan in Quebec suggested satisfactory resolution was
put off for now: "L'avenir commence par un Oui." Certainly,
Bourassa participated in the scare tactics of Clark and Mul-
roney. Yet, his active defence of the deal itself was clearly
tempered by the deal's self-evident flaws from the point of
view of the Quebecois.
The No campaign was determined to make the deal itself
the battleground and resisted all efforts to shift the terrain to
other issues like the contention that a No vote equalled a vote
for sovereignty or that the political and economic conse-
quences of a No would be disastrous. At one point, Parizeau
said, "I won't discuss sovereignty. I'm discussing the constitu-
tional proposal we have before us." The No slogan also zeroed
in on the deal: "A ce prix-la, c'est Non!" The No side's ap-
proach was to lay the Charlottetown Agreement out like a
corpse on a slab and to engage in a clinical dissection in full
public view. Significantly, the first copies the Quebecois re-
ceived of a full text were distributed by the No campaign
machine, with critical comments and remarks written on the
margins throughout. From the outset, the No campaign saw
its biggest asset as the deal and insisted on keeping the public's
attention focused on the details.
Events at the Quebec Liberal convention on 29 August 1992
only confirmed the flaws in the Agreement. The resolution
approved by the convention clearly damned the deal with
faint praise: "That the Quebec Liberal Party recognizes
that.. .the agreement.. .while beneath the party's program, rep-
resents a genuine progress that is concurrent with Quebec's
traditional demands." The convention, which was open to all
individual Liberals who happened to show up, was stacked
with busloads of loyalists, including many non-francophone
Quebecois. It was widely acknowledged that there had been a
last-minute brisk sale of memberships in the party. In protest,
Mario Dumont, the leader of the Liberal youth wing, walked
out of the convention and was followed by a few dozen youth
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 195
delegates. Only later was it clear that he indeed represented
the overwhelming majority sentiment among Quebec's young
people. (A poll a few weeks later put No support at 66 per cent
among the 18-34 year age group). And when Jean Allaire, the
author of the famous party report on the constitution, voted
against the resolution and then later formally joined the No
side, a large bloc of Quebec nationalist Liberals joined him. By
the time Allaire had finished his quiet but lethally effective No
campaign within the Liberal party, over seventy local execu-
tive members had resigned. When Allaire earnestly said, "the
offers...received amount to nothing less than a surrender by
Quebec," people who would not give Parizeau or Bourchard
the time of day listened.
The impact of close public scrutiny of the deal and the
events at the Liberal convention were enough to turn the tide
against it. By 6 September 1992, the No side in Quebec was
leading the Yes by 39 to 34 per cent. A poll a week later found
it was leading by 41 to 31 per cent. From late August to a week
before the 26 October vote, 26 polls by a variety of polling
firms were conducted in Quebec. Twenty of them gave the
lead to the No starting from the first week of September to 19
October, when the No lead had increased to 58 per cent. In the
early polls, there had been a large bloc of undecideds, but in
the ensuing weeks, the undecideds began to break for the No
as the Yes campaign in Quebec stumbled from one disaster to
another.
L'affaire Wilhelmy dominated the campaign in Quebec for a
very crucial period, from mid-September to mid-October, and
lingered like a bad aftertaste until voting day. The controversy
virtually killed any hope the Yes forces had of rallying its
rapidly dwindling public support in a final push. At the centre
was a tape of an electronically intercepted cellular telephone
conversation between Diane Wilhelmy, Quebec's deputy min-
ister of intergovernmental affairs, and Andre Tremblay,
Bourassa's top constitutional advisor. Wilhelmy had been ab-
sent from the Charlottetown negotiations due to ill health,
while Tremblay had attended.
Intercepted just days after the Agreement was concluded,
the call caught Quebec's two top constitutional advisors com-
miserating with each other about the deal. They agreed it was
196 DEBTS TO PAY
a disaster for Quebec and that Bourassa had been an ineffective
and weak negotiator, abandoning Quebec's traditional de-
mands, collapsing under the relentless pressure from the En-
glish Canadian delegations, and finally settling for far less than
was defensible. In the course of the negotiations, Bourassa had
ignored all the advice given him and agreed to a flawed pack-
age for no other reason than he was desperate to obtain a deal
to present to the people of Quebec. The following excerpts
capture the rawness of their exchange and their deep disap-
pointment and shock at what had happened.
Tremblay: "He [Bourassa] never wanted a referendum
on sovereignty... We just caved in, thaf s all."
Wilhelmy: "It has taken me three days to accept the fact
that we have settled for so little... We are walking on our
knees../'
Tremblay: "It's a heavy burden to carry...with all these
people against you. And the Ontarians...are the worse
sons of bitches..."
Wilhelmy: "That is what we said last year, and it hasn't
changed... It's a national disgrace... Mr. Bourassa should
have taken a plane home right away. What a humilia-
tion..."
Tremblay: "He had no choice, he wanted offers and he
had to come home with offers."
These graphic images were serious affronts to Quebecois
national sensibilities: the premier on his knees to his domineer-
ing English-Canadian counterparts, compromising Quebec's
historic demands, over-eager for any deal, and finally caving
in to English-Canadian pressure.
The response of the Yes side ensured l'affaire Wilhelmy
would remain uppermost in the public's mind. On 14 Septem-
ber Wilhelmy obtained a court injunction preventing the
printed dissemination of the transcript, or the broadcast of the
tape, in Quebec. Portions of the transcript were, however, pub-
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 197
lished in the 16 September Globe and Mail distributed outside
Quebec. A few excerpts from the newspaper article, including
quotations, were read into the record in the Quebec National
Assembly. It became something of a farce, as English-Cana-
dian editions of the Globe and Mail were passed hand to hand,
while FAX machines hummed throughout the province. Full-
text transcripts were passed around in an almost-clandestine
fashion. Thereafter the public's right to know joined the con-
tent of the conversation itself in assisting the No side. When
the court injunction was lifted on 30 September, allowing pub-
lication of the words used but forbidding the broadcast of the
actual tape, there was another circus. Copies were printed and
sold on street corners for five dollars and media outlets hired
actors to perform the roles for broadcast. In addition to this
pummelling, the responses of Bourassa's first ministerial col-
leagues didn't help. ''Fraudulent and preposterous," intoned
Mulroney, "Mr. Bourassa conducted himself with great skill
and effectiveness." Virtually every premier leapt into the fray,
giving glowing testimonials attesting to Bourassa's outstand-
ing negotiating abilities. By protesting so much, the prime
minister and the premiers only served to encourage scepti-
cism, and many in Quebec found their comments patronizing
and condescending. And in Quebec Tremblay was paraded at
a press conference where he was forced to recant, though he
retained some of his dignity by refusing to comment on certain
key parts of the conversation.
Though the economic scare tactics of the prime minister at
Sherbrooke were at least partly designed to divert attention
from l'affaire Wilhelmy and to stop the slide in the polls for the
Yes side, Trudeau's 1 October intervention was more effective
than anyone expected. But in Quebec, where Trudeau's con-
stitutional views were old news, the biggest impact of his
speech was not his detailed analysis of the deal. The biggest
impact was his attack on the economic scare tactics, and it
struck a very responsive chord in Quebec that helped check-
mate that issue. For a former prime minister of some stature,
and one who himself had not hesitated to raise the economic
issue when debating Quebec's sovereignty, to stand up in pub-
lic and call the prime minister and the leading bankers of
Canada liars was a strong antidote. The Yes team had antici-
198 DEBTS TO PAY
pated Trudeau's constitutional criticisms/ were prepared for
them, and answered them quickly. But they did not expect that
Trudeau would sandbag them with such a frank and frontal
assault on the economic scare theme, a theme they had in-
tended to make a central focus of their campaign.
The remarks by Wells on 7 October, Sihota on 8 October,
and Filmon on 14 October — basically telling English Canadi-
ans how little Quebec had got and how Bourassa had lost out
in the negotiations — were bad enough alone. But in the con-
text of l'affaire Wilhelmy, they were devastating to the Yes side
in Quebec, if only because they seemed to provide repeated
confirmations that indeed Bourassa had "caved in," had, in
fact, suffered "a humiliation" at the hands of English Canada.
The last hope of the Yes campaign became the 12 October
ninety-minute live television debate between Bourassa and
Parizeau. If Parizeau should stumble badly, or if Bourassa
should shine brightly, there was still a chance. The debate was
a big event in Quebec, the first debate between party leaders
since 1962 when Liberal leader Lesage badly mauled UN Pre-
mier Johnson. Over 2.3 million viewers in Quebec watched the
exchange and remained switched on for the post-debate anal-
yses and commentaries. There were no surprises. No mortal
blows were struck. Both men effectively exchanged point for
point, with Parizeau putting Bourassa on the defensive in the
early stages, and Bourassa rallying near the end. No new ar-
guments were added, though Bourassa made a stronger-than-
usual appeal to the doubting federalists who had been shaken
loose from the Yes side by Trudeau and Allaire. The commen-
tators and analysts were almost unanimous: neither man won;
each held his own. But subsequent polls suggested the viewers
had a different assessment. When asked to pick a winner, 46
per cent gave it to Bourassa, while only 15 per cent gave it to
Parizeau. This was briefly reflected in a slight upward trend
in the polls for the Yes side, accompanied by a slight decline
for the No. But it was not enough. And any hope that this slight
post-debate blip could lead to a rally was undercut a few days
later in the pages of the 16 October edition of L'Actualite,
Quebec's version of Maclean's.
The L'Actualite episode was, in reality, the last chapter of the
l' affair e Wilhelmy and had been anticipated at the 17 September
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 199
Tremblay press conference in Quebec City. At that press con-
ference Tremblay made reference to a confidential government
report on the first ministers' meetings in Ottawa and
Charlottetown, saying, "Unfortunately, this report, this docu-
ment, has not yet been made public and it would be in the
public's interest that it be made public." In the context of the
press conference, during which Tremblay elaborately but care-
fully defended Bourassa, this statement implied that the doc-
ument would exonerate the premier. L'Actualite later obtained,
from an unnamed source, a collection of Quebec government
briefing documents for the Ottawa and Charlottetown meet-
ings. These documents were highly confidential, normally se-
cured in a locked safe. L'Actualite published excerpts in its 16
October issue. The documents filled in all the details and dra-
matically confirmed the earlier tantalizingly scant, but highly
suggestive telephone conversation. Bourassa had agreed to a
deal that both surrendered Quebec's historical demands and
succumbed to "domineering federalism." The deal repudiated
Quebec as one of Canada's founding nations, shackled Quebec
with the equality of provinces provision, and denied Quebec
any form of special status. The deal contained far less than
Meech, since the distinct society clause had been made trivial
and virtually legally useless. The deal allowed even more in-
trusions by Ottawa into Quebec's affairs via the many admin-
istrative agreements to be negotiated under the Charlottetown
Agreement. The documents revealed a certain envy that En-
glish Canada, with Bourassa's agreement, had allowed the
native people to make great gains in achieving many of
Quebec's basic constitutional objectives, including a clearly
demarcated order of government with special status and a
clear veto over constitutional changes affecting them. Since it
was a province, therefore subject to the equality of provinces
doctrine and with the diminished distinct society clause, Que-
bec was denied these gains. The documents advised that the
Agreement would lead to "perpetual negotiations." Finally, it
was confirmed that Bourassa's minimal demands for addi-
tional powers had been flatly rejected by the English-Canadian
first ministers, reinforcing the statements made by Wells,
Sihota, and Filmon.
200 DEBTS TO PAY
The effect was devastating. Despite efforts by Bourassa to
dismiss the documents as "anonymous allegations/' and Mul-
roney to rant about "idiocies and absurdities regarding certain
negotiations" while again defending Bourassa as "a remark-
able Premier/' the blow was fatal. Given the previous high
levels of No support, defeat of the agreement in Quebec was
already virtually assured. The publication of the documents in
L'Actualite simply removed any hope of a comeback for the
Yes side. Gallup carried out its last pre-vote poll from October
15 to 19. Not only did the poll suggest the Agreement was
going down to heavy defeat in the West, but Yes and No were
tied in Ontario. Only Atlantic Canada remained firmly Yes. In
Quebec, the No side was leading by an astonishing 28 points
— 58 to 30 per cent — with only 12 per cent undecided.
The last week of the campaign for the prime minister was
one of bombastic desperation. In response to the published
polls, Mulroney talked endlessly of internal polls which found
great movement and a huge bloc of undecideds ready to stam-
pede to the Yes side. He adopted a two-pronged contradictory
strategy for the final drive to voting day. On the one hand, he
appealed to Canadians to show tolerance and an acceptance
of diversity by voting Yes. On the other hand, he continued a
negative campaign of attacks, frequently very sneeringly per-
sonal, on the three major No figures: Manning for his intoler-
ance and bigotry, Parizeau for his separatist agenda, and
Trudeau for preventing Mulroney from "cleaning up his
mess" left in 1982. He also continued to warn the Quebecois,
as he had from the outset: "You cannot have your cake and eat
it too. If you turn down the Charlottetown Agreement, the
other English-speaking provinces are not going to the consti-
tutional table to accommodate Quebec." In addition, he esca-
lated his attack on the separatists: "Le gang du Non in
Quebec...torpedoed Meech...are sabotaging Charlottetown
and tomorrow will attack any agreement, no matter what,
which does not ensure the division of Canada."
Bourassa, for his part, continued to pin his final hopes on
the basic realism of both Quebecois and English Canadians.
He argued that, regardless of what the polls said, when people
went out to cast their ballots they would "think twice" and in
a "burst of lucidity" vote Yes. As voting day came closer,
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 201
Bourassa made his strongest-ever pitch directly to federalists
in Quebec, most importantly those in the Liberal party influ-
enced for opposite reasons by Trudeau and Allaire. Reminding
the Quebecois that a No vote would continue the impasse,
pose a major setback for the federalist cause in Quebec, and
represent a substantial moral victory for the separatists, he
pleaded for support: "We can't say No all the time. We've said
No many times. And now...this time we can say Yes. And I
can only hope that the people will hear me/'
The last week of the Yes campaign's national media strategy
tried to salvage what could be salvaged. The Yes side persisted
in focusing on the negative economic impact of a No vote, but
did so in a more careful and restrained tone. As one strategist
put it, "I don't think scare tactics are inappropriate if they are
elegantly handled." The Yes side also embarked on a more
aggressive strategy on the separatist threat. A third decision
was to push a softer theme of national unity. Keeping Canada
together was what the 26 October vote was most importantly
about. Rather than a shotgun approach, the ads were focused
to answer the major regional reasons for No support. Ontario
and Atlantic Canada were hit mainly with the negative eco-
nomic consequences and soft national unity ads. Quebec and
the West got top priority in exposure to the separatist bogey
ads. Finally, a special ad was focused in the West, where the
major reason for a No was a widespread belief that Quebec got
too much in the deal, arguing that the concessions to Quebec
were not only a reasonable compromise, but were more than
adequately balanced by the West's gains.
In the final days, the Yes team toyed with focusing virtually
the entire final propaganda campaign in Quebec around the
separatist threat. Internal polls confirmed that the Quebecois
wanted a deal, but rejected the Charlottetown Agreement. If
the Quebecois could be put in the position of believing that the
choice was really between sovereignty and Charlottetown, and
that Charlottetown was the best deal possible, there was a slim
chance they would hold their noses and vote Yes. Clearly,
fragments of this kind of thinking were present in the Yes
propaganda during the final days, but no effort was made to
polarize the whole situation by forcing such a choice. There
was good reason for this hesitation. One poll found that if the
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Quebecois were forced to choose clearly between Charlotte-
town and sovereignty, sovereignty was ahead by 43 to 36 per
cent, with 21 per cent undecided. Another poll found that
Charlottetown was ahead by 51 to 41 per cent with 8 per cent
undecided. With the numbers so close and contradictory, it
was evident that to attempt to force a choice between sover-
eignty and Charlottetown might be a monumental tactical
blunder. The Yes side, if the tactics failed, could have given
Parizeau and the PQ what they had never dared to ask of the
Quebecois themselves — a No vote that would be interpreted
as a Yes to sovereignty.
On 26 October 1992, 75 per cent of Canada's 18.5 million
eligible voters rendered their final judgement on the Charlotte-
town Agreement, including 83 per cent of Quebec's 4.9 million
voters. Turnout in English Canada ranged from a low of 54 per
cent in Newfoundland to a high of 76 per cent in British Co-
lumbia. Nationally, it was a decisive No victory, 55 to 45 per
cent, excluding spoiled ballots. In Quebec, the No victory, at
57 to 43 per cent, was substantial but failed to exceed the
strongest No votes in English Canada. In British Columbia, No
carried 68 per cent, in Manitoba 62 per cent, and in Alberta 60
per cent. The No side carried six provinces, including the four
western provinces, Quebec, and, by a narrow margin, Nova
Scotia (51 to 49 per cent). The Yes carried four provinces. The
deal was given strong approval in Newfoundland (63 per
cent), Prince Edward Island (74 per cent), and New Brunswick
(62 per cent) and was passed by a narrow margin in Ontario
— a mere 12,000 votes of the 4.8 million cast. The North was
split, with the Yukon voting No and the Northwest Territories
voting Yes. It was a decisive, irreversible defeat of the Agree-
ment, forcing the Yes team to abandon the last hope of some
premiers for salvaging parts of the deal under the 7/50 rule.
If Yes had won in seven provinces, representing more than 50
per cent of the population, those elements of the agreement
not requiring unanimity could be passed. The magnitude of
the defeat firmly foreclosed such a controversial temptation.
Voters had been reminded one last time of the economic
scare campaign in the lead story in the 26 October edition of
the Globe and Mail's Report on Business: "Referendum stalls
recovery by a least six months: Battle...has created monetary
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 203
turmoil/' Details of the terrible economic consequences suf-
fered by Canada during the campaign were again presented.
Canadians refused to listen, and voted No. The next day inter-
est rates fell by half a per cent, the dollar went up, and the
Toronto stock exchange index improved. Two days after the
No victory the real economic world passed an even clearer
judgement, and it flatly contradicted the Yes message. The
trend-setting Bank of Canada rate fell by another per cent, the
dollar again went up, and the stock markets were even more
buoyant. In fact, the Toronto Stock Exchange enjoyed one of
its best three one-day gains in value of the year, while the
one-day volume of shares traded had only been surpassed on
five other days in the past. It appeared that Trudeau had been
correct in his blunt assessment that the economic scare was a
lie. On 29 October 1992 External Affairs Minister Barbara
McDougall, who had participated in the scare campaign, held
a private meeting with foreign diplomats in Ottawa. When
asked by the media what she had said at the meeting, she
replied, "I told them what had happened last Monday night
was not a vote against Canada, but a vote against a specific set
of complex constitutional reforms." Parizeau, Trudeau, and
the entire No team had been saying exactly that during the
previous two months.
Neither the short- nor long-term significance of the referen-
dum was reassuring. At the simplest level, it was a clear rejec-
tion of a proposed constitutional amendment and a sharp
repudiation of the incumbent politicians responsible for put-
ting it together. But every Canadian knew it meant much more
than that. And most Canadians knew what the referendum
results did not mean. The vote was clearly not a rejection of the
principle of aboriginal self-government. Gallup has reported
that Canadians very strongly approved both the recognition
of native people as a "distinct society/' and of the inherent
right of natives to self-government. Nor was the vote an indi-
cation of an acceptance of the status quo, as some of our bruised
politicians have suggested. On the contrary, a Decima poll
taken on 26 October found that 54 per cent of the people of
Quebec and 51 per cent of the people of English Canada want
the politicians to continue efforts at constitutional reform
within a year. Canadians clearly wanted a resolution and ex-
204 DEBTS TO PAY
pected their political leaders to try again and to do it right this
time.
For a large group of Canadians — mainly in English Can-
ada, but also a significant number in Quebec — the No vote
was a vote for the Charter and the protections it provides
individual Canadians. For another large group of Canadians
the No vote was a vote for a strong central government, for
national social programs with national standards, and against
the devolution of too much power to the provinces. Together
these two groups probably accounted for the biggest single
bloc of No voters in English Canada — as many as 37 per cent
of English-Canadians voting No, according to the Decima poll
done on voting day. The Charter and the strong central gov-
ernment and social programs arguments had been central to
the failure of Meech. But the politicians refused to listen, and
the same issues predictably proved central to the collapse of
Charlottetown.
The greatest significance of the defeat of Charlottetown had
very much to do with the possible resolution of the English-
Canadian and Quebecois conundrum. The No vote had, in
fact, crystallized that conundrum even more clearly than the
collapse of Meech. On 28 October 1992 Prime Minister Mul-
roney declared "no part of Canada voted against any other
part of Canada." That, of course, was nonsense. In fact, a large
bloc of English Canadians voted against the Quebecois, partic-
ularly against the gains allegedly won for Quebec and the
resulting impositions on English Canada. And for many
Quebecois, the No vote was seen as a national affirmation. As
Parizeau asserted, "Quebec and the rest of Canada voted No
for opposite reasons." Despite the self-serving exaggeration,
Parizeau was partly correct.
The Charlottetown Agreement was presented to the
Quebecois as English Canada's final offer of renewed federal-
ism. Bourassa, Mulroney, and Clark — and the English-Cana-
dian premiers — made that repeatedly clear. If the Quebecois
rejected the deal, they were warned, there would be no repe-
tition, no return to the table, the thirty-one gains for Quebec
would be lost. It was a dangerous and risky game — final-offer
politics always is — because there was no fallback position.
When the Quebecois answered with, as Parizeau described it,
The 1992 Referendum Campaign 205
"the No that ends all Nos," it was for very clearly stated
reasons. The final offer was not good enough. The Agreement
was a poor deal because Quebec did not obtain the minimum
the Quebecois demanded in order to secure their nation. As
Jean Allaire put it on 26 October 1992, "We know what we
want, so stop trying to sell us something else."
A disturbingly significant portion of the No vote in English
Canada was clearly a vote against Quebec. According to
Decima's voting day poll, 27 per cent of No voters in English
Canada believed that Quebec got too much in the deal.
Throughout the campaign this was clear, particularly in the
West, and most especially in British Columbia and Alberta. An
Alberta government poll taken during the last week of Sep-
tember found that 28 per cent of Albertans were against
Quebec's guarantee of 25 per cent of House of Commons seats,
and 14 per cent remained opposed to distinct society status for
Quebec. A poll conducted by Angus Reid/Southam in mid-
October found that 40 per cent of English Canadians believed
Quebec got too much, registering strong opposition to "too
much power'' for Quebec, the 25 per cent seat guarantee, and
distinct society status. Eighty-one per cent believed that if they
voted Yes, Quebec would proceed to escalate its demands.
Polling in British Columbia found the same attitudes, even
more strongly expressed. Polls also found strong currents of
western anger over the perception that the western premiers
had betrayed their commitment to a truly Triple-E Senate by
yielding to Quebec's sabotage. A national Gallup poll in Sep-
tember found that 72 per cent of English Canadians disap-
proved of the 25 per cent seat guarantee for Quebec, including
75 per cent on the Prairies and 80 per cent in British Columbia.
Much of this, quite simply, was rooted in bigotry and igno-
rance. Mulroney's government house leader, Harvie Andre,
after campaigning in the West, expressed surprise at how
many he found who "hate French and French-Canadians,"
that he found "more bigotry and hatred than I thought ex-
isted." A significant portion of the No vote in English Canada,
then, was opposed to any concessions to Quebec, regardless of
the consequences. And now that stream of English-Canadian
politics has a political vehicle in the Reform Party and has been
legitimized as never before as a result of the referendum.
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The day after the results were in, Parizeau claimed that the
No vote in Quebec meant that the Quebecois had returned,
after a detour, to the "highway to sovereignty." He went on,
"Canadian politicians tried to reconcile the irreconcilable, and
it didn't work. And from both sides we told them it will never
work." Bouchard said, perhaps more hopefully, "There were
two roads for Quebeckers before the referendum — pro-
foundly renewed federalism and sovereignty. These two op-
tions must now find a convergence." Granted the
Charlottetown Agreement failed, but is there no reconciliation
to be found? Can there be a convergence? Can we reconcile the
"individual rights" position held dear by Canadians like Tru-
deau, Carstairs, and Coyne with the collective rights of the
Quebecois? Is there no way to satisfy the yearning in English
Canada for a strong central government, a strong sense of
Canadian nationhood, and secured and enhanced national so-
cial programs? Can Canada find no way to grant the
Quebecois the powers they believe they need to find a tranquil
place in the federation? Can the very different regional con-
cerns of the English-Canadian peripheries — the West and
Atlantic Canada — not be reconciled with the special needs of
Quebec?
The story of Canada has been to seek just such a reconcilia-
tion, just such a "convergence." Charlottetown was another
failure to place in the archives alongside the Victoria Charter
and the Meech Lake Accord. Hence, achieving reconciliation
remains unfinished business. Canadians might have to await
another federal election, as well as another Quebec election, if
only to clear the air, before returning to the always-incomplete
task of nation building. But the business cannot be allowed to
remain unfinished. Whether we like it or not, events will force
us to finish it, one way or another.
Separation or Special
Status?
From the beginning of the Quiet Revolution, the Quebe'cois
have appealed to English Canadians to understand their na-
tional grievances and to provide the minimum accommoda-
tion necessary to allow Quebec to find a secure place in
Confederation. And it was clear to all but the most wilfully
blind in English Canada that Quebec would eventually sepa-
rate unless large structural concessions were made to the new
progressive Quebecois nationalism. The demands of the
Quebecois were simple — a recognition of the right to national
self-determination and a willingness to negotiate a new, mu-
tually acceptable set of relationships between the two nations.
Rather than rising to the challenge, English Canada papered
together a federal system based on historical misperceptions,
a rejection of the reality of Canada's two nations, and a trivi-
alization of Quebec's fears as merely questions of language.
Furthermore, English Canadians commenced first to construct
and then to embrace a series of political and constitutional
myths. These myths concealed the reality of Quebec as the
political and constitutional home of the Quebecois nation,
while providing a false but reassuring sense of Canadianism.
English Canadians will have to free themselves of these
myths, presented as inviolate axioms, that make a settlement
208 DEBTS TO PAY
impossible. One of these is the assertion that the Quebecois are
only one small piece in the Canadian mosaic, no more or less
distinct than other groups in other provinces. This belief is
absurd. We cannot make a constitutional choice about whether
or not Quebec is a distinct society, as if this were simply a
matter of opinion. Quebec is a distinct society and always has
been. What we are debating is whether our constitution will
explicitly recognize that reality in a substantially meaningful
way. And it must be said from the outset that constitutions
that bloody-mindedly refuse to recognize reality are recipes
for continuing political strife. Trudeau's eloquent sophistry
convinced us that somehow if we refused to recognize
Quebec's distinctiveness constitutionally, it would not exist.
This is the talk of lawyers who believe that legal texts make
things so. In fact, sensible legal texts are those that guide us
rationally in dealing with what is, rather than provide us with
blinkers to allow us to deny reality. Throughout the entire
Trudeau era, the reality of Quebec was denied. The constitu-
tional recognition of Quebec as a distinct society is a minimum
demand of the Quebecois. In Quebec, it is seen as merely a
recognition and affirmation of historical and sociological real-
ity.
The second myth we will have to abandon is multicultural-
ism. Before we can reach a successful resolution of our differ-
ences, English Canadians will have to stop embracing
multiculturalism as an alternative to the reality of Canada's
two nations. Section 27 of the 1982 Constitution Act says, "This
Charter shall be interpreted in a manner consistent with the
preservation and enhancement of the multicultural heritage of
Canadians." This is an important principle with which no one
should quarrel — the rich cultural and ethnic diversity of
Canada should be maintained, encouraged, and protected. But
we must recall how the doctrine of official multiculturalism
emerged, was used to bludgeon the Quebecois, and found
final reflection in the constitution Quebec rejected.
In October 1971 Trudeau promulgated the doctrine of offi-
cial multiculturalism in a clear effort to avoid a central recog-
nition of Canada's binational, bicultural, and bilingual reality.
The doctrine stems from The Cultural Contribution of the Other
Ethnic Groups, volume IV of the B and B Commission's report.
Separation or Special Status? 209
This formal official statement by the prime minister in the
House of Commons retroactively rewrote the mandate of the
B and B Commission, flatly rejecting the thrust of the commis-
sion, which did not recommend multiculturalism as a state
policy but integration of the diverse ethnocultural groups to
one or the other of the two founding nations. The multi-
culturalism doctrine, in contrast, proposes that the key feature
of Canada is its composition by a variety of diverse ethnocultu-
ral groups, among which Canada's francophones are but one
among many. While ethnocultural diversity is a key feature of
Canada, it is a malicious fiction to insist it is the key feature of
Canada, when three out of four Canadians have British or
French roots.
The most convenient aspect of multiculturalism, which was
used quite cynically by Trudeau, is that while masking the
reality of anglophone domination, it diminishes the signifi-
cance of the French fact in Canada. The doctrine has proven a
potent weapon against Quebec. English Canadians, and the
many ethnic minorities that justifiably felt excluded, grasped
the concept to offset demands both from francophone minor-
ities across English Canada and from the Quebecois nation.
The doctrine is not in accord with historical and contempo-
rary fact, and its promulgation has only served to increase
tensions. Canada is composed of two nations. The Quebecois
nation enjoys the province of Quebec as a political and consti-
tutional home. The English-Canadian nation enjoys a consid-
erably stronger political and constitutional home: nine
provinces and two territories. It dominates in the House of
Commons, the Senate, and all other federal institutions; and it
has a well-protected and privileged minority status in Quebec.
During this current debate, Canadians have also conceded we
must add a third founding nation to Canada's constitutional
design: the first nations. Because our native peoples do not
have a clearly defined and established constitutional and ter-
ritorial home and because of small populations scattered
across the country, Canadians have yet to come to grips with
how to deal with the first nations principle, other than by
recognizing aboriginal rights, conceding the inherent right of
self-government, and making a vague promise of fairness in
land claims settlements. Canada's two-nation reality is recog-
210 DEBTS TO PAY
nized in the Official Languages Act and in the language rights
enumerated in the constitution. It was also recognized at the
founding of Canada in the British North America Act. To live
and work comfortably in Quebec, one must be able to do so in
French. To live and work comfortably in the rest of Canada,
one must be able to do so in English.
Finally, before English Canada can resolve its differences
with Quebec, it will have to give up the myth of the equality
of provinces. Confederation was not premised on the doctrine
of the constitutional equality of provinces as a federal princi-
ple. Indeed, such a principle was explicitly rejected in favour
of enumerating a specific and limited list of provincial powers,
while granting the federal government a list of specific powers
/
a series of key dominant powers, and all "residual powers."
All provinces were constitutionally equal in the exercise of the
powers assigned to them within their borders, but that notion
of equality did not extend to an equal say in the federation, to
an equal share of power in the central government. On the
contrary, the basic doctrine underlying the federal power was
a slightly modified version of "representation by population."
That is, each province would enjoy and exercise a share of
power in the central government commensurate with the size
of its population. This principle was modified to the extent that
when readjustments were made in representation in the House
of Commons after each census, the number of MPs for any
province was not to be allowed to fall below the number of
senators designated for that province. This provides the safe-
guard that, despite the principle of "rep by pop," each prov-
ince will continue to enjoy reasonable levels of representation
in the House of Commons.
Not all provinces were equal at the time of their entrance
into Confederation. Each of the four original provinces — On-
tario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia — entered Con-
federation under somewhat different arrangements in 1867,
and different particular deals were struck as each additional
colony opted to join. The three Prairie provinces were in an
entirely different constitutional category. Ottawa acquired the
region as a colonial possession, and the Prairie provinces were
simply the constitutional creations of the central government.
Upon their creation, Ottawa denied them control of their lands
Separation or Special Status? 211
and natural resources, a clear provincial power enumerated in
the BNA Act, yet successfully withheld by Ottawa until 1930.
Nothing makes clearer the historical supremacy of Ottawa
than this power to create provinces by federal statute and,
furthermore, to create a different constitutional class of prov-
ince, that is, those whose attainment of full constitutional pro-
vincial status could be delayed at the pleasure of Ottawa.
A further confirmation of federal supremacy lies in the fact
that Ottawa retains key powers that can be exercised in the
national interest and at the peril of provincial powers. These
include the power to disallow or reserve any provincial stat-
ute; all residual powers; the general power "to make laws for
the peace, order and good government of Canada"; and the
power to declare that any local work in a province is "to be for
the general advantage of Canada or for the advantage of two
or more of the provinces." The federal powers of disallowance
and reservation have not been exercised since the 1930s during
the heady days of Social Credit under William Aberhart of
Alberta. But these powers have not atrophied from a lack of
use. Indeed, they are designed not to have to be used. Their
mere existence imposes a certain self-discipline on the prov-
inces. The federal declaratory power has been used more fre-
quently to establish central authority over things like railways,
the grain trade, telecommunications, and nuclear energy. Any
federal system which abandons such powers will slowly bleed
to death as a result of a self-inflicted wound.
The recent emergence of the doctrine of the constitutional
equality of the provinces was another device in the arsenal
used by Trudeau to deal with Quebec. By insisting that all
provinces were constitutionally equal, Trudeau was able to
insist that Quebec was a province just like the others. Quebec's
demands should therefore simply be put on the list along with
the demands of all other provinces. In this way, Trudeau was
able to sidestep Quebec's demand for a bilateral negotiating
process between Ottawa, representing English Canada, and
the Quebec government, representing the Quebecois nation.
But it was a doctrine that Trudeau invoked with deft oppor-
tunism. To Quebec he would say he couldn't give what the
Quebecois wanted when the other provinces refused. Yet he
was equally able to plead with Canadians to elect a strong
212 DEBTS TO PAY
central government "to speak for Canada." On one day he
could determine to use Ottawa's power unilaterally to patriate
and amend the constitution. Yet on another, when Levesque
appealed to him after the 1981 debacle to help get Quebec's
veto back/ for example, he could insist that though he person-
ally might favour such a concession to Quebec, the other prov-
inces would have to agree and that until that agreement was
obtained, his hands were tied.
Ironically, Trudeau's opportunistic use of the doctrine gave
it a degree of respectability. Certain premiers, like Getty of
Alberta and Wells of Newfoundland, and Prime Minister Mul-
roney himself, have been able to use the doctrine in efforts to
transform Confederation into a loose amalgamation of power-
ful provinces presided over by an increasingly impotent cen-
tral government. Furthermore, the doctrine allows provincial
rights premiers to insist that Quebec can obtain nothing not
granted to all other provinces. This doctrine makes our current
Quebec/English Canada impasse insoluble. To give all prov-
inces exactly what Quebec needs to advance its uniqueness
will destroy the federation. Yet not to give Quebec at least
some of what it needs also risks the breakup of Canada.
This brings us to the final logical expression of the doctrine
of the equality of the provinces — the Triple-E Senate, com-
posed of equal numbers of senators from each province, dem-
ocratically elected, with some real and significant powers to
exercise. As we have seen, Quebec will never agree to such a
proposal, preferring abolition. In arguing the Triple-E case,
some have suggested that one of the original intentions of the
Canadian Senate was to provide, in an imperfect way, a place
to deal with regional grievances in the federation. Nothing
could be further from the truth. The Fathers of Confederation
explicitly rejected the model provided by the American Senate.
They wanted neither a powerful nor a regional body. Al-
though the BNA Act distributes equal numbers of senators to
each of the four regions — Ontario, Quebec, the Maritimes,
and the West — the Senate was never conceived as a house of
the regions. Rather, it was seen quite explicitly, in John A.
Macdonald's words, as "the representative of property" and
the place for second thoughts regarding the actions of the
Commons. The Senate has no real power, other than that of
Separation or Special Status? 213
delay and inconvenience, and the Commons can always pre-
vail in any clash. In practice, the Senate became and remains
simply a secure place at the public trough for former party
bagmen and hacks, public figures past their partisan useful-
ness, and assorted cronies of the prime minister. As such, it
has long outlived its usefulness and deserves to be abolished.
The main argument in favour of retaining and reforming the
Senate continues to be that Canada, torn by regional strife,
needs a house to represent the regional or provincial principle
in the federation, providing the provinces and regions a means
to address their grievances and to seek remedies. How such a
house will solve regional problems is unclear. Indeed, it can
be argued that a house deliberately designed to address re-
gional grievances might in fact encourage and deepen the
regional fault lines that afflict Canadian politics. At any rate,
according to Gallup Canadians have not been overly enthusi-
astic about the idea — 35 per cent want to abolish the Senate,
including a clear majority in Quebec, while another 47 per cent
want to elect it. On the issue of equal numbers of senators for
each province, the public is divided, with 50 per cent believing
that larger provinces should get more, and 41 per cent opting
for equal numbers. As for Senate powers, the plurality of Ca-
nadians (44 per cent) want to strip the Senate of the only power
it now has — that of a temporary veto forcing a Commons
reconsideration and override. It is rather strange to want to
keep the Senate and begin electing its members, but at the
same time to take away its sole power. Perhaps this reflects
Canadians' unease — they want an institutional way to air
regional grievances, but they don't want to make Canada un-
governable by giving the Senate any power. The result might
be that the Senate would stop being a relatively meaningless
appointed talk shop for the cronies of prime ministers, past
and present, and become a completely meaningless elected
talk shop for retired hockey stars, curling champions past their
prime, and former politicians with some remaining popular
following.
If Canadians seriously want to address the problem of re-
gional representation at the centre in a way that neither vio-
lates the basic democratic principle of representation by
population, nor offends Quebec, the remedy is available. First,
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abolish the Senate. Second, amend the constitution to require
that the Commons seats granted to each province be assigned
on a proportional basis to each political party according to
levels of popular support. This would ensure that each prov-
ince, or at least each region, would send MPs from all major
political parties to Ottawa, forcing each party caucus to grap-
ple with and to reconcile regional and national interests at the
same time. It would also ensure that splinter parties, though
small, would obtain a platform in the Commons sooner rather
than later. The results of the 1988 election, roughly calculated,
if proportional representation were in place, would have been
quite different under such a system, as the table on the next
page shows.
The House of Commons would also be different if these had
been the 1988 results. There would be the clash of debate
including class, region, and party. Each party would have to
deal with regional issues — language for Quebec or resource
policy for the West — in the context of the party's ideological
line. On occasion, cross-party regional alliances could occur.
The chance of the kind of regional polarization where Trudeau
could write off the West or the traditional Tories could write
off Quebec would be greatly lessened.
A House of Commons based on proportional representation
would be difficult to effect in Canada. The major parties would
resist it, and it would be a disaster, critics allege. There would
rarely be a majority government, the "Italian disease" would
afflict us, and Canada would become ungovernable. Prime
ministers would be constantly jockeying for majorities, gov-
ernments would fall, and we would have annual elections.
One easy remedy is to have fixed elections — elections shall
occur on the second Monday of June every fourth or fifth year,
for example. In between, the parties would have to work
harder at putting together ministries with the confidence of the
House, which, after all, is the basic principle of parliamentary
democracy and responsible government. Furthermore,
Canada's experience with minority governments — Diefenba-
ker in 1957-58, the Pearson years from 1963-1968, Trudeau in
1972-74 (let's forget about Joe Clark in 1979, who pretended
he had a majority) — have not been particularly bad. Some
argue such governments are the most sensitive and produc-
Separation or Special Status? 215
1988 Federal Election: Popular Vote, Seats Won and
Estimates of Seats under Proportional Representation (PR)
Quebec
Ontario
Man.
Sask.
Alta.
B.C.
N.B.
N.S.
P.E.I.
Nfld.
Yukon
N.W.T.
Total
Seats
75
99
14
14
26
32
10
11
4
7
1
2
295
Conservative
Vote
%
53
38
37
36
52
35
40
41
42
42
35
26
43%
1988
result PR
(seats) (seats)
63
46
7
4
25
12
5
5
0
2
0
0
169
41
40
5
5
14
11
4
5
1
3
0
0
129
Libera
Vote
%
30
39
37
18
14
20
45
47
50
45
11
41
32%
1988
result
1
PR
(seats) (seals
12
43
5
0
0
1
5
6
4
5
0
2
83
23
38
5
3
4
6
5
5
3
3
0
2
97
Vote
%
14
20
21
44
17
37
9
11
7
12
51
28
20%
NDP
1988
result PR
(seats) (seats)
0
10
2
10
1
19
0
0
0
0
1
0
43
11
21
3
6
4
13
1
1
0
1
1
0
62
Vote
%
-
3
1
15
5
-
-
-
-
-
2%
Reform
1988
result
(seats)
_
-
0
0
0
0
-
-
-
-
-
0
PR
(seats)
-
1
0
4
2
-
-
-
-
-
7
tive. They have to work harder at governing, not necessarily a
bad thing. Had the results of 1988 been expressed in a propor-
tional system, we should contemplate the answers to five ques-
tions. Would the Free Trade Agreement have been put in place
and retained? Would the Meech Lake disaster have occurred?
Would the GST have passed? Would we have been subjected
to the divisive Charlottetown referendum? Would Brian Mul-
roney still be prime minister?
Would the abolition of the Senate and a House of Commons
based on proportional representation create a system that is
more ungovernable than one with a reformed and powerful
Senate? There is a certain elegant simplicity to the idea of
abolishing the Senate and moving to a House of Commons
based on proportional representation. The proposals we have
seen for a reformed and more powerful Senate have been
neither elegant nor simple. Whether Triple-E, a house of the
provinces appointed by provincial governments, a regional
body based on the principle of "equity" rather than "equality/'
Saskatchewan's bizarre notion of equal numbers of senators
walking into the Senate with unequally weighted votes, or the
two versions of Triple-E approved by the premiers in the sum-
mer of 1992 — they are all cumbersome and ultimately un-
216 DEBTS TO PAY
workable. Further, the principle of democracy is not abrogated
but rather enhanced by abolishing the Senate and moving to
a Commons based on proportional representation.
Senate reform will create a Frankenstein. Imagine a more
powerful Senate able to share power with the Commons on
key issues, even with the relatively few and weak powers
proposed for the Charlottetown Senate. Think of the endless
deadlocks and confrontations between two powerful parlia-
mentary bodies. The imperfectly realized democratic principle
of government of the people, by the people, and for the people
we now have in Canada would be replaced by government of
the premiers, by the premiers, and for the premiers. Today the
prime minister of Canada, given existing federal powers and
the supremacy of the House of Commons, can summon the
premiers to Ottawa as he wishes. Usually they come. In the
Canada of a reformed and more powerful Senate, premised on
the regional principle, the prime minister will be the one sum-
moned to this or that provincial capital as he seeks a deal that
will allow him to govern. Under such a system, Canada might
not be completely ungovernable, but it would be nearly so,
and the effective power at the centre would not be exercised
by the federal cabinet answerable to the House of Commons,
but by a new super-cabinet composed of the prime minister
and the provincial premiers.
English Canadians want and need a strong central govern-
ment, though one which is able and willing to share power in
good faith with the regions and the provinces on issues of vital
provincial and regional concern — forestry in B.C., energy
resources and agriculture in the Prairie West, industrial policy
in Ontario, the fishery in Atlantic Canada. But after a failure
of good faith efforts to reach a national strategy with regional
support, English Canadians want a central government with
the power to do what is best for Canada as a whole. Unlike
Quebec, where a clear majority of residents feel a primary
allegiance to their province (53 per cent), as a result of
Quebecois nationalism, in the English-Canadian regions resi-
dents feel a primary allegiance to Canada, ranging from a high
of 74 per cent in Ontario to a low of 57 per cent in Atlantic
Canada.
Separation or Special Status? 217
The nine English-Canadian provinces need and want a
strong federal government to maintain a sense of Canadian
nationhood through a series of national strategies, particularly
to offset regional disparities as well as to resist the American
pull, a pull that can only increase in this era of free trade and
"harmonization." They want and need a prime minister and a
House of Commons at the centre that can not only speak for
Canada but that can also act decisively for Canada. Canadians
in English Canada want a government at the centre that can
continue existing national programs, like medicare and sup-
port for post-secondary education, and develop new ones in
areas like day care and culture. They want an effective national
government able to act on the popular will, not one incapable
of governing, characterized by so many checks and balances
that popular desires cannot be realized in national policy.
Canadians in English Canada can never achieve that kind
of government at the centre until the Quebec question is re-
solved satisfactorily. Quebecois fears continue to block the
realization of a more effective national government. Intrusions
of federal power, for example, through federally funded pro-
grams in areas of provincial jurisdiction, have always been
viewed as threatening by the Quebecois nation. English Can-
ada desperately needs a more aggressive national strategy on
culture, something the Quebecois resist. English Canada cries
out for a well-developed, co-ordinated program in post-sec-
ondary education and manpower training; again there is pro-
found resistance in Quebec. Intrusions of the federal spending
power in various areas of Quebecois life have always pro-
voked resistance. Thus, something that may be sorely needed
in English Canada is blocked or only done by half-measures
because of Quebecois resistance. Typically, English-Canadian
provincial rights premiers, eager to expand provincial at the
expense of federal power, opportunistically ally themselves
with Quebec in order either to bring Ottawa to a standstill or
to extract additional revenues and administrative powers. As
a result, the national government has become increasingly in-
effectual and more and more the object of scorn among Cana-
dians. It is, therefore, in the interest of all Canadians in English
Canada who yearn for an effective and responsive national
government to join together in a final resolution of the Quebec
218 DEBTS TO PAY
question, if only as a necessary first step in allowing English
Canadians to address their national question with the same
devotion and focus that the Quebecois continue to address
theirs.
English Canadians have two choices, now starkly clarified.
Either we grant Quebec some special constitutional status
within Confederation or we reconcile ourselves to Quebec's
ultimate separation. Perhaps it is too late — certainly Parizeau
and the PQ confidently believe so. Had English Canada re-
sponded to the B and B Commission, the Quiet Revolution, the
October Crisis, the election of the PQ, the results of the 1980
sovereignty referendum, and the post-Meech crisis — we
might not have reached this point. But we did not respond,
and so here we are.
What sort of special status will satisfy Quebec? In the first
place, most Quebecois who support separation or sovereignty-
association are, like Rene Levesque, reluctant separatists who
yearn for even a minimal settlement with dignity. Bourassa
clearly believed that his government's five conditions derived
from Meech were the minimum. These were recognition of
Quebec as a distinct society; more power over immigration;
limits on the use of the federal spending power; a veto; and a
say in the appointment of Quebec's three judges on the Su-
preme Court. Obviously, clear and unfettered constitutional
authority over language, education, culture, and immigration
are bottom lines for Quebec. Further, a special mechanism to
deal with intrusions of the federal spending power into Que-
bec (opting-out with financial compensation) will have to be
developed. As well, a Quebec veto over constitutional changes
that have a significant impact upon Quebec will have to be
granted. The point is that the precise form of the special status
will have to be negotiated, and at this point in history the
Quebecois may be willing to opt for the minimum rather than
the maximum. Either we negotiate special status while Quebec
is still part of Confederation, or we will negotiate the terms of
the association we will inevitably want with an independent
Quebec.
Certainly, the Charlottetown Agreement went some dis-
tance toward Quebec's minimum, but it proved finally insuf-
ficient. The recognition of Quebec as a distinct society was so
Separation or Special Status? 219
heavily hedged and qualified that the Quebecois decided it
was not enough. The special status granted Quebec, such as it
was, though enough to offend Trudeau, was not the sort
Quebecois nationalism had in mind. Quebecois nationalism
never asked for a perpetual guarantee of 25 per cent of House
of Commons seats. Quebecois nationalism never asked for a
reformed Senate and a double majority on language and cul-
ture. Special status for Quebec was never seen as more power
at the centre, power to threaten or frustrate the aspirations of
English Canadians, but rather it was seen as uniquely granting
the province of Quebec the special powers necessary to sustain
the Quebecois nation. Not only were the Charlottetown pro-
visions insufficient for Quebec, but they provoked profound
concern in English Canada. That concern was certainly a
mixed ideological bag, including anti-Quebecois sentiment at
its rawest; fears of a loss of too many powers by Ottawa; a
desire for a strong central government to articulate a vision of
Canada acceptable in English Canada; a yearning for new
national social programs in areas like day care; concerns that
the rights of women, more particularly native women, would
be given short shrift under the deal; and so on.
The failure of Charlottetown can set the stage for another
effort on the part of English Canada to resolve the Quebec
crisis. English Canadians must now clearly confront the
choices that have presented themselves since the Quiet Revo-
lution: special status or sovereignty. And this time English
Canadians must not confuse the Quebec issue with all the
other constitutional issues, as if there were one organic settle-
ment of all matters, like that attempted in the Charlottetown
Agreement. Let us proceed a careful step at a time: the aborig-
inal question; the Quebec crisis; the vision of English Canada
in the context of the grievances of the English-Canadian pe-
ripheries; the Social Charter; expansion of gender-equity mea-
sures; and so on. That way our constitutional re-construction
can be deliberate, careful, solid, rather than haphazard
jerrybuilding in a crisis atmosphere. Above all, constitutional
re-construction should not again be allowed to be made part
of the personal, urgent re-election agendas of incumbent pol-
iticians.
220 DEBTS TO PAY
Critics have contended that special status for Quebec, no
matter how limited initially, will turn out to be a half-way
house to separation. This argument has considerable merit.
Given any form of special status, the argument goes,
Quebecois nationalism will simply use these unique powers as
levers to win more and more. In the end, only full sovereignty,
followed by bi-national negotiations on association, will be
enough. The argument became more compelling as Quebec's
demands escalated, so compelling that it has taken on the
character of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Perhaps we in English
Canada have refused Quebec once too often. Perhaps the tra-
jectory of the Quebecois nation cannot now be deflected from
ultimate sovereignty. If that is true, we in English Canada, or
our descendants, will be forced to deal with it. But to use it
once again as an argument for yet another refusal is to ensure
that English Canada fulfils its own worst prophecy about Que-
bec.
Despite the referendum results, relations between English
Canada and Quebec have not yet reached the point that the
Quebecois are on an irresistible and irreversible trajectory to
sovereignty. It is not too late. But it may be nearly so. Together,
Quebecois and English Canadians have forged one of the best
places on the planet in which to live. If we can continue our
unique experiment in seeking unity through diversity, if we
can retain the two great cultures together in one federal struc-
ture, Canada could yet become a model for all the world. But
if we fail, it will not be a disaster. We will muddle through,
seeking some sort of practical working arrangement. But the
Canada we could have become, had we achieved an effective
reconciliation between the two nations in a single federal state,
will be forever lost. It is, after all, always easier to take things
apart than it is to put them back together — recent events in
the former Soviet empire should constantly remind us of this
fundamental truth.
The Quebecois nation has the political will to seek a recon-
ciliation. It always has had. Indeed, the last thirty years have
been characterized by increasingly urgent appeals from the
Quebecois for just such a reconciliation. But it cannot be on
English Canada's terms as it always was in the past. The rec-
onciliation the Quebecois seek insists that we in English Can-
Separation or Special Status? 221
ada accept the fundamental legitimacy and correctness of their
historical grievances. It also insists that English Canada aban-
don its notorious habit of declaring sympathy for the
Quebecois, while imposing measures smugly judged by En-
glish Canada to be sufficient remedies. Just as English Canada
reluctantly accepted the Quebecois nation's right of self-deter-
mination only after the election of the PQ, English Canada
must now yield to the Quebecois nation the powers it needs
to protect, strengthen, and enhance that nation.
As we have seen, English Canada and Quebec have two
quite different versions of the same history. Understandably
this makes dialogue difficult. English Canadians, searching for
positive, upbeat themes and justifications, prefer versions of
history that ignore or diminish the oppression of the
Quebecois. Undeniably negative events — military conquest
and suppression; the use of exile, prison, and the noose; insults
and degradations — are overlooked or attributed either to the
actions of defective individuals who happened to hold power
at the time or to the mood of the times. As victor, English
Canada wrote the official history, selected the national sym-
bols, controlled the myths, rituals, and rites of official national
self-celebration.
The Quebecois, on the other hand, carefully husbanded
their own history, holding it close to their hearts. Even when
absent from, or reflected badly in, official versions, the history
of the Quebecois became deeply embedded in their collective
consciousness. It was passed down from generation to gener-
ation in the private circle of family, neighbourhood, and par-
ish. The myths and symbols of that history became the litmus
test for local political leaders. Efforts by English Canada to
distort or prettify the history of the oppression had an opposite
effect. The Quebecois resented what they saw as an arrogant
attempt to rob them of their heritage and more determinedly
clung to the truths they had learned at their parents' knees.
English Canadians saw this tendency as evidence of back-
wardness, romanticism, an imprisonment by tradition, thus
heaping insult on the original injury.
This circle can be broken only with the greatest of effort and
only when English Canada admits the injustices done to the
Quebecois nation. For English Canada to admit publicly that
222 DEBTS TO PAY
the Quebecois have been oppressed will involve the accep-
tance of critical public scrutiny and the humbling admission
that all along much of what they said was true. It will also
involve a fundamental change in self-perception. There will be
shame and guilt and, inevitably, a need to make amends, an
effort to pay historical debts.
Do English Canadians have the political will to go through
this process? A crucial step in achieving that political will
among English Canadians is for us to admit there are debts yet
to be paid to the Quebecois nation. The whole purpose of this
essay has been to persuade English Canadians of this fact. Do
we acknowledge a debt to the descendants of those we con-
quered, re-conquered, and oppressed? Do we owe anything to
the descendants of those we exploited as cheap labour? Can
we be called to account again for the years of English privilege
in Quebec? Have we settled accounts with the Quebecois re-
garding the War Measures Act, or the dirty tricks of our secret
police against the PQ, or the mole we placed in the Levesque
cabinet, or the ganging-up of 1981-82? Have we erased the
impact of the insults and affronts when Meech fell? Did we
really test and reach our limits in the Charlottetown Agree-
ment? Can we in English Canada truly say that our collective
conscience as a nation is now clear and that we have made a
full historical accounting to the Quebecois nation?
The Quebecois nation does not believe we have yet paid our
debts. Nor do many of us. We can pay them now, or we can
pay them later. But pay them we must.
BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE
When I first proposed the idea for this book to the publisher,
I had in mind an essay that would make the basic "debts to
pay" argument, while providing a reinterpretation of the well-
known events of Quebec's history. As I began to write, I found
myself forced both to revisit a variety of old sources to refresh
my memory and to visit some new ones to update myself on
more recent events. I have included a list of those sources most
heavily relied upon. However, the book is still first and fore-
most an essay.
Additionally, I made a great deal of use of my own news-
paper clipping files from the Globe and Mail, the Regina Leader
Post, Maclean's, and selected editions of he Devoir, particularly
for the periods of the October Crisis of 1970 and the rise and
fall of the Meech Lake Accord. I also made frequent use of The
Gallup Report, to which I have subscribed for many years. And
I have been kept apprised of the recent constitutional debates
since the demise of Meech by The Network, the newsletter of
the Network on the Constitution, published out of the Univer-
sity of Ottawa and edited by Donald G. Lenihan. The chapters
on the Charlottetown Agreement and the 1992 referendum are
based on coverage provided in the Globe and Mail, Regina
Leader Post, Maclean's, the Montreal Gazette and Le Devoir, as
well as on the CBC-TV and CTV national networks.
224 DEBTS TO PAY
My discussion of the October Crisis might provoke some
controversy. The facts on which I base the characterization of
the events of October 1970 are all now on the public record.
For the sceptical among you, I refer you to the books on the
crisis by Haggart and Golden, Pelletier, Rotstein, Smith, and
Vallieres. Some excellent investigative work, including inter-
views with paroled FLQers, was published in the Globe and
Mail on the tenth and fifteenth anniversaries of the crisis (Oc-
tober 1980 and October 1985). I found John Twigg's unpub-
lished paper to be very useful, and I kept a very detailed
clipping file during the crisis. One cannot overlook the infor-
mation contained in the report of the McDonald Commission
on the RCMP Security Service and the press clippings about
the Quebec Keable Commission.
For basic statistics, which I tried to use sparingly, I appealed
often to Urquhart and Buckley's Historical Statistics of Canada,
Langlois's Recent Social Trends in Quebec, 1960-1990, to Census
reports, and reports by various electoral officers. Additionally,
I found myself forced to re-visit some of the major government
reports regarding Quebec, most importantly the reports of the
Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism, the
Task Force on Canadian Unity, and Quebec's Gendron Com-
mission.
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Owram, D. Promise of Eden: The Canadian Expansionist Move-
ment and the Idea of the West, 1856-1900. Toronto: University
of Toronto Press, 1980.
Pelletier, G. The October Crisis. Toronto: McClelland and Stew-
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Quebec Liberal Party. A Quebec Free to Choose. Quebec City,
1991 (Allaire Report).
Quebec. The Political and Constitutional Future of Quebec.
Gouvernement du Quebec, 1992 (Belanger-Campeau Com-
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Quebec. Quebec-Canada: A New Deal. Gouvernement du
Quebec, 1979.
Quebec. Rapport de la commission d'enquete sur la situation de la
langue francaise et sur les droits linguistiques au Quebec.
Gouvernement du Quebec, 1972 (Gendron Commission).
Quinn, H. The Union Nationale: Quebec Nationalism from Duples-
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Reid, M. The Shouting Signpainters. Toronto: McClelland and
Stewart, 1968.
Resnick, P. Letters to a Quebecois Friend. Reply by D. Latouche.
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Richler, M. Oh Canada! Oh Quebec! Requiem for a Divided Coun-
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Rioux, M., and Martin, Y. (eds.). French Canadian Society. To-
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Rotstein, A. (ed.). Power Corrupted: The October Crisis and the
Repression of Quebec, Toronto: New Press, 1971.
230 DEBTS TO PAY
Ryerson, S. 1837: The Birth of Canadian Democracy. Toronto:
Francis White, 1937.
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Ryerson, S. French Canada. Toronto: Progress, 1953.
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Macmillan, 1971.
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Macmillan, 1968.
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INDEX
Aberhart, William, 211
Aboriginal self-government,
5,151,157,159,160
Acadians, 10,12
Act of Union (1840), 32
L'Actualite, 199-200
L'affaire Wilhelmy, 195-197
Air traffic controllers strike, 95
Alberta, 38, 43,107,120,141-
142,157,168
Allaire, Jean, 195, 205
Allaire Report, 148,193
Andre, Harvie, 170
Arnold, Benedict, 17
Article 80 of BNA Act, 37, 91
Assembly of First Nations, 188
Assimilation,
policy of, 20, 31-32
threat of, 27
L'Association des
Manufacturiers du Quebec,
186
Atlantic Canada, 161, 200
Atlantic provinces, 120,130,131
Batoche, 41
Bedard, Pierre, 18
Belanger-Campeau Commis-
sion, 148
Belanger-Campeau Report, 193
Bilingualism, 69-70,93, 94
resistance to, 72-73,141-142,
143444,145-146
BUI 22 (Quebec), 94-95
Bill 63 (Quebec), 72
Bill 101 (Quebec), 103,143-144
Bill 178 (Quebec), 144
Blakeney, Allan, 98,108,115,
117,119,121
Bleus, 36
Bloc Quebecois, 1,2, 5, 6,146-
147,149,172-173
Borden, Robert, 45,46
Bouchard, Lucien, 2,140,146
Bougainville, Louis-Antoine,
Compte de, 11
Bourassa, Robert, 2, 7, 75,127,
135,140,146
and Bill 22, 95
decision to negotiate with
FLQ,80
defeated in 1976 election, 92
defence of Charlottetown
Agreement, 193-194
Index 233
and Premiers' Accord, 152
and Quebec liberalism, 57
Quebec's minimum demands,
131
rejection of Victoria Charter,
93
support for free trade deal, 142
Bourassa-Parizeau debate, 198
Bourgault, Pierre, 67, 74
British,
merchants, 12-13,18
minority rights, 19-20
British Columbia, 43, 46,120,
138,157,168
British Columbia Employers'
Council, 186
British immigration, 15, 26.
See also United Empire
Loyalists
British North America Act, 37,
211
Callwood, June, 178
"Canada clause," 151
"Canada Round," 150,159
Canada West, 35
Canada Yes Committee, 174
Canadian Labour Congress,
186
Canadian Radio-television
and Telecommunications
Commission (CRTC), 172
Canadian Security Intel-
ligence Service (CSIS), 123.
See also RCMP security service
Canadian Union of Postal
Workers, 186
Canadiens, 10,12
Caouette, Real, 86
Carleton, (Sir) Guy, 13,16
Carstairs, Sharon, 138,184
Centre d'Archives et de Docu-
mentation (CAD), 97-98
Chambre de Commerce, 186
Charest Committee, 139-140
Charlottetown Agreement, 8
and aboriginal self-govern-
ment, 159
and additional Commons
seats, 157
defeat of, 1-2
"distinct society," 154-155
elements open to further ne-
gotiations, 159-160
equality of provinces clause,
155
greatest failure, 159-160
and immigration, 165
legal text, delay of, 173-174,
189-190
native representation in
Senate, 157-158
new limits on federal power,
154
and new provinces, 158
new provincial powers, 152-
154
and "official language
minorities," 155
and "opting out/financial
compensation" feature, 160
provincial veto power, 158
Quebec and aboriginal self-
government, 157
Quebec guaranteed 25 per
cent of seats, 157
and the Senate, 156-159
Social Charter, 159,185
Charter of Rights and Free-
doms, 116,120
Chateau Clique, 22
Chenier, Dr. Jean-Olivier, 30
Choquette, Jerome, 79
Chretien, Jean, 121,184
Church, Catholic, 29,36, 53,
55. See also Clergy and British
rule
Cite Libre, 55
234 DEBTS TO PAY
Clark, Joe, 110-112
referendum campaign mes-
sage, 175
reservations about refere-
dum, 170
Clergy and British rule, 16,17
Cleroux, Richard, 123
Colbourne, Sir John, 30
Confederation, 7, 8-9
economic conditions leading
up to, 35-36
English-French rivalry and
the West, 37-38, 40, 42-44
myth of constitutional
equality, 210-212
and regional grievances, 9
Conquest, the, 2, 7,10-15
Conscription,
World War I,44-49
World War II, 49-50,170
Constitution, Quebec's mini-
mum requirements, 131
Constitution Act (1982), 208-210
Constitutional Act (1791), 19-20
Constitutional patriation. See
Patriation
Council of Crees, 187
Creditistes, 75, 76
Cross, James, 77
Cultural Contributions of the
Other Ethnic Groups, The, 208
Davis, Bill, 130
De Gaulle, General Charles, 67
Decentralization, 159-160
DeLorimier, Chevalier, 30
Demers, Robert, 80
Devine, Grant, 142
Le Devoir, 55,136,142,163,190
Diefenbaker, John, 61-62
Distinct society, 69,131,149,
154-155,162-163,208, 218
"Distinct society" clause, 132,
133-134,139,140,151
Douglas, Tommy, 82
Drapeau, Jean, 79, 87
Dumont, Mario, 194-195
Duplessis, Maurice, 49, 50,53,
55
Duplessis government, 58-59
Durham, John George
Lambton, Earl of, 24-25, 30,
31-32
Durham Report, 31-32
Economic disparity, 73-74
Edmonston, Philip, 185
Education, 70-73
Elected assembly(ies),
allowed in Constitutional Act
(1791), 19-20
denied by Quebec Act, 16
promised in Royal Proclama
tion of 1763,14
of Upper and Lower Canada
combined by Act of
Union, 32
"Energy Crisis," 107-110
English Canada,
hardened position after
Meech, 2-6
hysteria over War Measures
Act, 85-86
reaction to PQ government,
92-93, 96-97
resentment for Quebec over
free trade deal, 142-143
view of the past, 7-8, 25-26,
221
English-Canadian,
business lobby, support for
Yes side, 186
intelligentsia, and Quebec, 4
nationalism, and non-Anglo-
Saxon immigration, 51-52
Equality Party, 184
Etapisme, 99-103,118-121
Index 235
Family Compact, 22
Federal, election of 1979,110-
111
Ferguson, Max, 86
Filmon, Gary, 138,140,144,
188
Finn, Ed, 186
Flood, Al, 177
Fontaine, Leo, 123.124
Francophones, outside Que-
bec, 43
French,
merchants, 16
population at time of Con-
quest, 10
French language, 36, 42
accorded equal status with
English in New Brunswick,
72
and Charlottetown Agreement,
163-164
denied official status in
Act of Union, 32
eliminated from Ontario
schools, 42
La Chartre de la langue
francaise. See Bill 101
Official Languages Act. See
Bill 22
official status restored (1848),
34
and Quiet Revolution, 58.
See also Bill 63
French language rights,
annulled in Alberta and
Saskatchewan, 141-142
in Manitoba, 41, 42
and Quebec Act, 16
Quebec and the BNA Act, 36
Front de Liberation du
Quebec (FLQ), 60, 77-85,
86, 87-89
Fur trade, 12
Gagnon, Jean-Louis, 123-124
Galt, Alexander, 35
Gang of Eight, 119
Gendron Commission, 72, 93-
94
Gerin-Lajoie, Paul, 57, 58
Getty, Don, 188
Globe and Mail, 122,136,177,
202
Godin, Gerald, 92,134,137
Gourlay, Robert, 24
Grande Noirceur (Great Dark-
ness), 53-54
Harcourt, Mike, 159,188
Harper, Elijah, 5,141,187
Hatfield, Richard, 138
Hibernia, 141
Horsman, James, 189
Hudson Bay Company, 38
Hydro-Quebec, 58
Immigrants, and Quebec lan-
guage laws, 71, 94 103
Immigration, shared federal-
provincial power over, 165
Industrialization, 54
Intercolonial Reciprocity
Agreement, 35
Japanese-Canadians, 8
Johnson, Daniel, 68
Johnson, Pierre-Marc, 127-128,
136-137
Journal de Montreal, 151
Keable Commission, 87
Kierans, Eric, 186
Bang, Mackenzie, 49
Lafontaine, Louis Hippolyte,
33
Lagace, Loraine, 122
Laporte, Pierre, 79, 83-84
236 DEBTS TO PAY
Laurier, Wilfrid, 46,47
Lemieux, Robert, 80
Lesage, Jean, 53, 56
Lesage government, 57-58
Levesque, Rene, 7, 53, 75, 111
and beau risque strategy, 126-
128
concept of sovereignty-
association, 99-100
death of, 135-136,137
leader of PQ, 67
and Morin's betrayal. See
Morin, Claude, RCMP
informant
and new nationalism, 57
and the October Crisis, 80,
89-90
and 1970 Quebec election, 76
Quebec Liberal minister of
natural resources, 57, 58
re-elected 1981,118
and role of the state, 59
and "sovereignty association,"
66-67
and sovereignty issue as
premier, 97-103. See also
Sovereignty-association
referendum
Liberal Party, 1,184
Lortie, Bernard, 85
Lougheed, Peter, 108,117,
119,119-120,121,130
Lount, Samuel, 25
Lower Canada, 19, 20-21
land issue, 26-27
political stalemate, 28
Macdonald, John A., 40,42,
212
McDonald Royal Commis-
sion, 87,124
McDougall, Barbara, 203
McDougall, William, 39
McKenna, Frank, 138,140
Mackenzie, William Lyon, 25
McLaughlin, Audrey, 178,185
Maclean Hunter, 183
McMurtry, Roy, 121
"Maitres chez nous!" 58-60
Manitoba, 38, 39, 41, 42, 43,
46,138,168
Manitoba chiefs, 187
Manning, Preston, 3,146,179-
180
Marchand, Jean, 63
Maritimes, 212
Matthews, Peter, 25
Meech Lake Accord, 2, 8
concessions to the provinces,
130-132
early public opinion on, 133
unravelled, 137-141
Mercredi, Ovide, 5,188
Metis, 38-40
Military Service Act, 48
Military Voters Act, 46, 47
Minority governments, 214-
215
Mohawks, 4,187,188
Montcalm, Louis Joseph, Mar-
quis de, 11,12
Montgomery, Richard, 17
Montreal, and the Quiet Revo-
lution, 55
Montreal Gazette, 136
Morin, Claude,
key adviser to Lesage
government, 100
key architect of etapisme 100-
102.
PQ minister of
intergovernmental affairs, 99
RCMP informant, 122-125.
See also Etapisme
MSA (Le Mouvement
souverainete-association),
66-67,100
Mulroney, Brian,
Index 237
and constitutional renewal,
149
and defeat of Meech Lake
Accord, 140-141
federal-provincial relations,
129-130. See also Meech
Lake Accord
and free trade, 142
and the PQ, 126-12
and Premiers' Accord, 151
referendum campaign line,
175,177
reservations about
referendum, 170
Multiculturalism, 208-209
Murray, General James, 11,
12,14
NAC (National Action Com-
mittee on the Status of
Women), 179,180-181
National Energy Program, 112-
113,161
Native groups, and the
Charlottetown Agreement,
187-188
Native representation in Sen-
ate, 157-158
Native Womens' Association
of Canada (NWAC), 181,187
Navigation Acts, 34
NDP (New Democratic
Party), 1, 64,185
New Brunswick, 46, 72,138,
210
New France, 10
Newfoundland, 120,138,140,
168
"Ninety-two Resolutions", 28
No campaign, in Quebec, 194
No forces,
in English Canada, 179-188
in Quebec, 193
North West Rebellion, 41
Northwest Territories, 138
Northwest Territories Act
(1885), 141
Nova Scotia, 46,120,138, 210
October Crisis, 77-91
Office of the Commissioner of
Official Languages, 70
Official Languages Act. See Bill
22
Official Languages Act (B and B
Commission), 70, 210
Oka, 4, 5
Ontario, 37-38, 43-44, 46,130,
138,157, 210, 212
"Opting out/financial compen-
sation" clause, 160,161-162
Orange Order, 40
Organization of Petroleum Ex-
porting Countries (OPEC),
107
Papineau, Louis-Joseph, 26, 28
Parent, Raymond, 123,124
Parizeau, Jacques, 127,136-
137,189,190,194, 206
Parti nationaliste, 125,126
Patriation, 116-122
Patriotes, 26-30, 33
Pearson, Lester, 63-65, 68
Peckford, Brian, 111
Pelletier, Gerard, 63
Plains of Abraham, 7,12
PQ (Parti Quebecois), 6, 67,
76,110,118
and 1973 provincial election,
90
1976 victory, 92-93
aftermath of sovereignty-
association referendum, 125
debate over concept of
"sovereignty-association,"
101
and Meech Lake Accord, 133
238 DEBTS TO PAY
social democratic program
of, 98-99. See also
Levesque, Rene
Premiers' Accord, 150-152,
155-157
La Presse, 87,163
Prince Edward Island, 138
Proportional representation,
214-215
Public opinion,
on Charlottetown Agreement,
171,176,193,195,200
on Quebec and the
constitution, 149
Public Service Alliance of Can-
ada, 186
Quebec, 157,210,212
and aboriginal self-
government, 157
boundary changes, 14,16-17
British population, 18
and the Charlottetown
Agreement, 162-166
and creation of new
provinces, 164-165
electorate and sovereignty
mandate, 96. See also
Separatist option
and immigration, 165
and "opting out/financial
compensation," 165
provincial election of 1966,
65-66
provincial election of 1970,
75-76
public opinion after Meech, 2
strikes, 59-60
and Triple-E Senate, 156
veto in Charlottetown
Agreement, 164-165
view of the past, 7-8, 221
Quebec Act (1774), 16-18,20,
163
Quebec City, conscription
riot, 48
Quebec Liberal Party, 76,192,
194
Quebec NDP, 136-137
Quebec sign issue, 135,143-
147
Quebec Tories, 49
Quebecois, 11,13
and American War of
Independence, 17
fertility rate, 15
and Lower Canada
uprisings, 31
Quebecois nationalism,
of Le Devoir, 55-56
and liberalism of Cite Libre,
55-56
in the mid-1980s, 134-137
post World War II, 50-51,
55-57
Quebecois society,
middle class leadership, 17-18
rural character of, 14-15
Quiet Revolution, 53, 54,55-
57, 57, 57-58, 58, 59, 61, 77
Rae, Bob, 159
Ralf, Tim, 80, 81
Ralliement National (RN), 65,
67
Rassemblement pour
l'Independance Nationale
(RIN), 65-66, 67, 99
RCMP security service, 87-89,
123-124
Rebellions of 1836-37, 22-31
Rebick, Judy, 179,180-181
Reciprocity Treaty (1854), 35,
36
Red River Rebellion, 38-40
Referendum,
aftermath, 202-206
approval mechanism, 168-170
Index 239
campaign in Quebec, 192-202
cost of, 171
date chosen, 169
federal and Quebec laws on,
172-173
No vote and anti-Quebec
sentiment, 205
No vote and failure of
Charlottetown Agreement,
203-205
voting results, 202
wording of question, 169,
171-172
Reform Party, 1,2, 5
No campaign, 179-180
rise of, 3
Reform Party (Upper Can-
ada), 23-24
Regina Leader Post, 177
Regional grievances, 9
Religious rights,
and Act of Union, 32
under British, 13-14,16
Resource development, 105-
106
Responsible government, 23,
31, 32-33
Richler, Mordecai, 4
Riel, Louis, 7,38-43
Romanow, Roy, 119,121,159
Rouges, 36
Royal Commission on Bilin-
gualism and Biculturalism,
6-7, 63, 69, 208
Royal Proclamation of 1763,
13-14
Royal Trust, 75-75
Russell, Lord John, 28
Saskatchewan, 38, 43, 46,107,
141-142,168
Sauve, Paul, 57
Scott, Thomas, 40
Self-determination, 6, 207
Senate, the, 212-216
Separatist option, 65-67, 75
Seven and fifty rule, 158
Sihota, Moe, 6,190-191
Simpson, Jeffery, 177
Single-E Senate, 158,161
Social Charter. See Charlotte-
town Agreement, Social
Charter
ha Societe Saint-Jean-Baptiste, 67
Le Soliel, 136
Sovereignty-association, 101
Sovereignty-association refer-
endum, 111, 113-116,170
Special status, 218-219,220
Spicer Commission, 150,183
Stanfield, Robert, 69
St. Denis, 30,31
St. Leonard school board, 71
Strong central government,
216-217
Sun Life Insurance, 103
Sydenham, Charles Poulett
Thomson, Baron, 32, 33
Task Force on Canadian
Unity, 7
Taylor, Allan, 176
Terrorism, 60-61
Thirteen Colonies, 10,12
Tory MP, and referendum, 184
Treaty of Utrecht, 12
Tremblay, Andre, 195,196
Triple-E Senate, 151,155-156,
158, 212
Trudeau, Pierre, 57, 62, 63
and 1968 election, 69
and 1972 federal election, 90
attack on Meech Lake
Accord, 137-138
defeat, resignation and
re-election, 110,112
federal bilingualism, 93
240 DEBTS TO PAY
hard line position with FLQ/
80-81
impact on referendum
campaign in Quebec, 197-
198
opposition to Charlottetown
Agreement, 179,181-182
political and personal
background of, 67-69
unhyphenated nationalism
of, 68
and the West, 106-110. See
also Sovereignty-association
referendum; Patriation
Two nations concept, 62,
207, 209-210
Union of B.C. Chiefs, 187
Union government, 46
Union Nationale, 49, 50,57,
59, 65, 76
Union Nationale government,
72
United Empire Loyalists, 18-19
Upper Canada, 24-25, 26
Urbanization, 54
Ursuline nuns, 11
Vallieres, Pierre, 60, 88
Vancouver Liberation Front,
85
Veto, 158,164-165
Victoria Charter, 93
Wartime Elections Act, 46, 47
Wells, Clyde, 140,162,169,
184,188,189,190
West, the, 104-113, 120, 121,
130, 212
and "opting out/financial
compensation" clause,
161-162
rejection of Pearson, 64
and Single-E Senate, 161
White, Bob, 178
Wilhelmy, Diane, 195
Wilson, Gordon, 184
Wolf, General James, 11,12,14
Work World, The, 73
Yes campaign,
credibility gap, 188-189,
190-191
misleading ads, 191-192, 201
unravelled in Quebec, 193-200
Yes forces,
advantages enjoyed by, 171-
173
campaign budget, 183
economic scare tactics of,
175-178, 202-203
in Quebec, 192-193
tactics, 171-178
Yukon, 138
War Measures Act, 7, 81-86, 89,
90