Diary
My descent into hell
June 2013
I figured something was wrong, with good reason. I’ve just found out that my son was abused by his father, my own husband. What can I do? I call a help line, and a Francophone counsellor advises me to report the case to the Children’s Aid Society.
The lady responsible for admissions at the CAS says she’s bilingual, but I have a hard time understanding her in French. When she questioned my son, he hardly said a word and didn’t talk about what happened with his father. So I asked to speak to a bilingual staff person. The CAS replied, “But the person you are speaking to is bilingual.” So I realized they hadn’t understood anything!
Meanwhile, they tell me to go to the police. I ask to see a female officer who speaks French for my son.They found one. Except that they put my son in a separate room with an Anglophone trainee while I was being interviewed (in English). My interview is interrupted three times, because my son wants me. He doesn’t want to play with the English-speaking lady. As a result, he clammed up during his interview.
A few days later, I learn that the CAS sent my son’s daycare centre and French-language school a letter in English saying that the father is not allowed to see the boy.
Finally, it’s the day of the hearing. The lawyer assigned to me by the CAS speaks only English. Same with the social worker. At least the judge speaks French.
As recommended, I find myself a bilingual lawyer. My doctor, even though he’s a Francophone, sends her a letter in English attesting that I am fit to go ahead with the legal proceedings. She then asks me to translate all the statements I’ve made so far. It will be easier to do it in English, she says. I gave in – I have to pick my battles: my son’s safety rather than my language. Nevertheless, I keep my son’s statements as is, in French. They are his words, in his language.
I get an appointment to have my son examined at the children’s hospital. The specialist doesn’t speak French, but his nurse does. My son was comfortable with her. When it’s in his language, he’s calmer, more open and more likely to talk.
June 2013
I go back to court. The judge is English-speaking. To make matters worse, the CAS isn’t there, but they sent a fax in English that morning. The letter recommends supervised visits for the father and offers to hold the visits in French at the CAS offices. They say it will take two weeks to find someone who speaks French to supervise the visits. Then the judge surprises everyone by asking me to find someone to supervise my son’s visits. I panic. I have to call people and tell them about my situation. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it! I’m too ashamed.
September 2013
After four months with the admissions manager, the CAS finally assigned a Francophone social worker to me.
November 2013
I go back to court, still for joint custody. To my surprise, it’s not a judge but a mediator who’s there. He doesn’t speak French.
March 2014
I go back to court. The judge is supposedly bilingual, but the trial is in English. Since we haven’t had any supervised visits for the last seven months, the father’s lawyer suggests that the boy’s aunt (theoretically my sister-in-law) should supervise visits. I strongly object. She’s the abuser’s sister; she’s not impartial. What’s more, she doesn’t speak French; she was raised in English.
The judge asks the aunt, “Do you speak French?” She makes a faltering attempt to speak French. The judge replies, “Your French is as good as mine”, which got a laugh from the people in the courtroom. The judge says, “I’m going on vacation. I’m going to make a decision and you might not like it, but I don’t want to think about it while I’m on holidays.” He orders visits supervised by the English-speaking aunt. Unbelievable. He also suggests my son undergo a psychological evaluation.
Summer 2014
For my son’s psychological evaluation, I find a Francophone psychologist; the father finds an Anglophone psychologist. The father objects to my choice; I object to his. I keep looking in the National Capital Region, and no one can help me in French. I find an Anglophone psychologist in Gatineau whose Francophone assistant can translate the proceedings. I refuse. I went so far as to find a female Francophone psychologist in Montreal. I had to travel to Montreal four times so that she could complete her evaluation for the court. I’m not giving up even though I’m at my wit’s end.
October 2014
I go back to court. The judge speaks French – what a relief. The psychologist’s report written in French says that I should have full custody. I had to go outside my province to get a report in my language that supports my position in court.
And after all this effort to get custody, a bombshell: the father renounces his parental rights. Is it over?
Nothing’s over. Currently, I’m continuing the process of getting guidance for my son with French-speaking professionals. I don’t feel like I’ve won. In fact, I’m disappointed. Many people have disappointed me. The entire system has disappointed me. When you’re in a crisis, you’re vulnerable. I didn’t expect to face these gaps in French-language services in the nation’s capital.
I’m well-educated, and I have a good family and a good network. But I’ve hit bottom. My path was littered with obstacles to getting services in French, and I feel as if the message is that there’s no point in fighting.
Is she right? Is there no point in fighting?
I hope not; I hope she’s wrong. But I can certainly understand her weariness. The Franco-Ontarian community, collectively, has made huge strides in the last few decades; no one questions that. In 2016, we will celebrate the 30th anniversary of the French Language Services Act. But all these efforts and collective gains are not worth much if, at the human and therefore highly individual level, a citizen cannot obtain the high-quality services to which he or she is entitled on a timely basis. This is why it is so crucial to extend a hand to these Francophones, provide them with the right services, and show them that as citizens they are just as important as their Anglophone compatriots. Because, in the end, abandoning a citizen seeking services in French, especially if he or she is in a vulnerable situation, amounts to abandoning the entire community, the province and the country.
We are Ontario; we are leaders in Canada. Let’s act like it.
I would be remiss if I did not take the opportunity to thank all of the staff members, Alison, Anne and Mohamed, as well as François-Michel and Kim, who unfortunately had to leave us this year, for their exceptional contributions. Once again, in a year when, to our great disappointment, the new resources that we have been hoping for since 2007 were still not forthcoming, they have shown remarkable empathy, attentiveness, professionalism and commitment. Thank you.