[Chronique d’Odile Tremblay] After the lights of Saint John go out

It’s Quebec Day. Long live the reunion! COVID throws its darts into the merry fight while no one is watching. She takes her foot. Have to say we die less from it. Leave the barriers. Get out the guitars and the accordion! Celebrate the common language. Loosen this squeeze at the spectacle of his daily shipwreck. Join the dance. Watch us dance. Jump, dance, kiss whoever you want!

Marjo, Richard Séguin, Florent Vollant and the other artists performing in the capital can awaken the dead and defy the clouds. Marc Labrèche knows how to think, laugh and speak. It also fluctuates in Montreal. For the rest, among those who are still afraid of mass baths, there are TV shows …

The time of joy is fleeting and liberating. You might as well tremble two days and two nights at once, whether it’s thundering, windy, raining, or windy. Satisfying joy helps to regain your strength for the big battles. If the heart is running low, then let’s not listen to this annoying guy.

Many of us have known national holidays based on immense hopes, at a time when the fiery impulse invaded the area at high tide. Today the soil is collapsing, as in La Baie. We pretend to believe in it as much as before. We turn up the volume. No one can hear each other talking anymore.

However, Frans is honored everywhere. There is even a stationary parade in panels at Maisonneuve, between Sanguinet and Saint-Dominique, until June 25, launching words of poetry, stories and songs to say it. But our linguistic pathways are so deep… Those who measure the full catastrophe of the aftermath are getting tense.

Because after the lights of Saint-Jean in Quebec go out, you really need to learn to roll up your sleeves. The state speaks to us of pride without appealing to collective responsibility, to the war effort to be deployed. You know, like in the old days when all the able-bodied helped to build the same building site in the village. Everyone was told, “Hurry up! Push! It would be exciting to fly together to come to the rescue of a language that has been butchered in harmony for so long. To refuse its collapse by learning new words, by chasing English equivalents, by fighting for the overhaul of the education system that breeds illiterates.

Literacy is sick in our fragile francophone cradle more than elsewhere. At the very least, the people of Quebec need to be convinced of their power to reverse the course of collective decay. They feel helpless or look for something else. A people to shake is flattered by its politicians in the direction of the hair. “As long as we’re up to it,” Ferland sang.

These alarms flashing everywhere are urging us to change: this decline of French, this inability to pass it on to emerging generations. Yes, let’s defy fate on these solstice days. Before we shuffle the chips. Status quos cannot last.

Not even on the environmental side. At this level, of course, we notice a small progress. The Plains of Abraham show has been labeled CO2 neutral this year. At least under all the vagaries of the climate, the place remains shady. And while trash from revelers litters the grass after the ball, trucks are already collecting trash during the rallies. And in general, people pick themselves up more than before. At the sight of the planet’s uprising, they quiver together: All these groves, these gardens, and the river flowing beneath the boats help them breathe better than through buildings in cramped rows. Real treasures to protect.

In Montreal, the Place des Arts Esplanade is very beautiful. But so many trees were cut, so much greenery was sacrificed to create this asphalt playground and culture. It is a concrete feast. Planting a few shrubs in containers and sowing water jets is not enough. During heat waves, the heat island turns into a sweat lodge. The place was not designed to withstand the effects of global warming or to help the human beast interact with the natural elements. Some prefer to celebrate a little further east, Place Émilie-Gamelin or Parc Jean-Drapeau. Where there are still leafy trees that radiate freshness and poetry.

We live as before. We dance on a volcano. But Quebeckers may love to celebrate their freedom and their pride, but they won’t be fooled. Their language, they will have to master it for fear of burying it. Their environment, they will have to let it breathe on pain of losing their grip. And let’s sing loud. Because tomorrow is the hour to coordinate all our efforts before logging. Let’s wake up!

This column has been suspended for five weeks. Back in August.

To be seen in video

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