Waiting in line at Greyhound gate 26, a man in a bright yellow vest approached me to check my passport and tickets prior to boarding. He greeted me the way every person in his position typically does -"Passport and tickets, please" - and I disinterestedly handed them over to him. As he completed his routine checks, I let my mind wander, wafting, as it often does, between English and Italian, as I replayed specific moments among friends and colleagues lived at the conference just hours earlier. After a few minutes, the man with the yellow vest returned with my documents, telling me I could "ranger [mon] passeport, il [fallait] juste montrer mes billets au conducteur."
It took a moment for me to adjust to the fact that he was addressing me in French. Not because I was unaccustomed to hearing it (I grew up in French Canada). Not because I was shocked to hear it south of the border (I studied Italian in a Romance languages department in the United States). Not even because he had greeted me in English, then switched languages (from what I understood, French was likely his first language, and he was probably glad to hear it recognised and understood). But because after ten years of studying Italian formally, it has replaced French as my official second language. At least currently; historically and on paper, I am still officially bilingual (native proficiency in English and French), and have only (very) near-native fluency in Italian.
But that's not the part that inspired this digression. That part only came later, as the man in the yellow vest addressed another Canadian traveler, in French, to the latter's glossy-eyed bewilderment and categorical rejection of Canada's official second language. "I don't speak French," he said. When the man in the yellow vest told him he should, he had a Canadian passport after all, the passenger only replied, "But I live in Ottawa."
There is nothing new about the dialogue between them. It goes back centuries. Perhaps more than any other Canadian province, Ontario has most consistently used its "not Quebec" status as a strategy and excuse for not speaking both languages on all of its nation's official documents and charters. The Quebec-Ontario rivalry goes back to the Quiet Revolution, Upper and Lower Canada, Montcalm and Wolfe. In the 1990s, Ontario went from rival to occasional ally to Quebec's anglophone and allophone populations, many of whom fled to Toronto around the 1995 referendum that threatened to bring to term Quebec's secessionist movement - and fell flat, but just barely, largely as a result of their votes (or so then Quebec premier Jacques Parizeau would have us all believe). The same tensions that were felt then are even more present today, as Parti Québecois (historically, a sovereigntist political party) leader Pauline Marois and current Quebec premier implements a growing number of discriminatory practices, some targeted at religious minorities, others at any and all non-francophones more generally.
But no matter your chosen side of the argument, independent of political allegiance or ideology is the distinct advantage that knowing a second (and third, and fourth) language affords its users. When the man in the yellow vest told my fellow traveler that he would do well to learn French, he wasn't lying, being malicious, or displaying anti-anglophone sensibilities: even outside of Canada, and in an increasingly international global market, mastery of a second language is always an asset.
Sometimes, in the case of Ontario, resistance to it is a calculated decision that has as much to do with political penchant as it does with identity. Within Ontario, at least, a Canadian identity is in no part contingent on bilingualism -- that's the stuff the separatists want to talk about (but not really; separatists want to eliminate English in Quebec just as much as Ontarians want to eliminate French from the rest of Canada). In fact, if shunning French is the easiest way for Ontario to distinguish itself from Quebec (and vice versa), it'll do it, if only to preserve historical animosity.
In other cases, although just as reliant on theories of national identity, this resistance is at least publicly justified by a lack of immediate need for a second official language. In Italy, for example, a country that saw Mussolini ostensibly lay the foundations for the institutional growth of a national identity, the only language anyone needs is Italian. Immigrants to Italy learn Italian quickly, as there is no way for them to receive services in their own native languages there; although assimilation practices are often stunted by the much more common institutional exclusion and marginalisation of ethnic minorities, assimilation is expected among Italian immigrants; even foreign tourism is often independent of Italian institutions, and, increasingly, is more often led by externally-hired cultural liasons knowledgable in Italian than by Italians themselves. It's true that English is current in Italy, as it is everywhere in the world, and that one can get by with functional knowledge of it alone. But unlike Quebec, where learning French in school is mandatory (indeed, certain laws stipulate that all children of immigrants must attend public French schools), or some parts of the US, where learning Spanish is not only expected, but practically required for the functioning and thriving of local businesses, learning English - or French, or any other language - remains an option in Italian classrooms. Even in the north, and in regions bordering (or almost) on other European nations, occasional signalisation in tourist-rich places aside, Italian society remains monolingual, the use or influence of other languages markedly absent. The only exception, of course, is South Tyrol (Trentino Alto-Adige), which, bordering on Austria, has accordingly adopted the use of its own particular languages (German and, more frequently, South Tyrolese dialect). There is no French in Liguria or Piedmont; no German in Lombardy; no Serbian or Croatian in Friuli. A speck in the French alps, Valle d'Aosta is all but forgotten as an Italian region; accordingly, it is perhaps more conversant in French than in Italian. Despite the continuous interaction - commercial or otherwise - with these bordering nations, all hosted by a European union that at least in theory combines them, conversation between Italy and each of them is hampered by a general unwillingness to engage with each other's local languages.
The question that has tormented and confused non-francophone Quebecers for at least half a century is why knowledge of a second language should be considered a threat. From my personal perspective, knowing French not only more or less guaranteed my employment within Quebec (when I sought it) or granted me a competitive edge when seeking employment outside it; it also helped me learn a third language I now consider just as fluent and coexistent as the other two in my repertoire -- a language that has provided me with the ability to navigate travels beyond my hopes and expectations, and a language that has defined my livelihood for the past seven years. I am only enriched by the ability to converse easily in these three languages, and lucky enough to be momentarily jolted when transitioning from one to the other (without code-switching, which is another post for another day). Bilingualism (or multilingualism, the ability to be a polyglot), indeed, should neither inspire fear nor pose a threat to personal or national identity; indeed, it is perhaps the strongest tool available to conquering fear, understanding others, and affirming oneself in relation to them. In a Quebec society increasingly looking to eliminate all signs of otherness from its discourse, it will be just as important to embrace and appreciate linguistic variety and cultural heritage as it should be to the rest of Canada and to Italy - and for the same reasons. Quebec only benefits from the presence of English, just as the rest of Canada would only benefit from the more official adoption of French -- just as Piedmontese and Ligurian students would only benefit from compulsory French classes, or Friulian students from compulsory Croation lessons. Recently, a friend who already speaks English, Spanish, and Italian fluently, expressed a long-term commitment to learning French, just in order to be able to travel to all parts of Africa, not just the English-speaking nations. We would all do well to follow the example she is unafraid to set.
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