I believe that the heading of this article is apt under the circumstances. Thus, all that is written here are from my own experiences in Quebec.
My error in judgment was to fall in love with a Beauceronne (Quebecoise) named Marie Francoise Louise Catherine Jacques from of the all places "Saint-Joseph-de-Beauce," Quebec. St-Joseph-de-Beauce is a small village in Comte Beauce that is located not too far from the Maine border. I had my baptism of fire, because as the family put it, I was not a canadien (Metis), and I was not of their culture or religion. But what was their religion? Roman Catholic of course! And what was my religion? I was a Roman Catholic too. So what exactly was the drawback? The fact was that the Quebecois considered English-speaking Roman Catholics as being Protestants, and not Catholics at all, because they spoke English. But how had this flawed reasoning actually come about? Why of course the local parish priests in Quebec had being telling this falsehood to their parishioners for the last 248 years and counting.
On the very day of the wedding my fiancee's aunt, named Francoise Cliche Jacques, a sister of Judge Robert Cliche of the Dutil and the Quebec Crime Commissions, sent for her early in the morning to talk to her. Her tante Francoise Cliche then told her in no uncertain terms, so you are going to marry an immigrant? Do you know anything about immigrants? Immigrants have no education, own no property, don't have any money and cannot speak Joual (French patois). My child, we had those Polish immigrants working on my father's farm during World War II. We made them work 12 hours a day, seven days a week on our farm, we gave them one meal a day, and we made them sleep in the Hayloft in our barn. Once in a while we gave them a little money and some of our old clothes. Now just who were these Poles that tante Francoise was talking about? They were members of the Polish army who had escaped from Poland when their homeland was being invaded by Adolf Hitler's Nazi hordes on September 1, 1939. They had managed to get to France, and from France had got to Britain, after which they sailed to Canada.
They were both Polish enlisted men and officers, many of them were well educated and had degrees from various universities in Poland. They were certainly not ignorant peasants as tante Françoise had described them to be. Tante Francoise like many other Beauceronnes did not have a clue about what went on in the real world outside of the village of Saint-Joseph-de-Beauce. Tante Francoise may well have been a village idiot that was trying to show her niece how smart she was, when in fact she was the epitome of rural Quebecoise ignorance(Un fou de village avec un brin de foin dans bouche). Thus, her description of immigrants was badly flawed to say the least. But to speak of these educated Polish exiles as uneducated, and then exploit them, gives one an impression of what the people of Quebec, including La Beauce region are really like. The Poles were also Roman Catholics like the Quebecois, but the fact that they were not Quebecois, automatically made them inferiors and enemies.
On our wedding day, I discovered that my in-laws to be M. Joseph-Vital Jacques and his wife Mme Reine Roy Jacques were not paying anything towards the wedding, because they disapproved of it. Even when they sat at the head table there was hatred and rancour written all over their very faces. But this was clearly a marriage that started off on the wrong foot; of that there was no doubt.
After our marriage in Sainte-Marie-de-Beauce, Quebec, we returned to Mississauga, Ontario. But my wife's parents kept on writing to my wife, telling her that they could get her a quick divorce, and that she could return to her village. But, my wife did not take them up on their offer.
One spring my wife and I decided to take a trip from Mississauga to Saint-Joseph-de-Beauce to visit her family. When we arrived on the farm, I noticed my brother-in-law Gabriel Jacques was using a horse-drawn sleigh to carry some firewood and tanks to the farm building. But he was beating his horse repeatedly, while the poor animal was struggling in soft snow trying to pull the heavy load. While he was beating the poor horse, he kept calling it Jimmy. I though to myself, why does this horse have an English name? So, I asked my wife why Gabriel's horse had an English name? She replied that all the horses in the area had English names, because whenever they beat the horses they did not feel so bad, because they felt that they were beating the English. This was another facet of Quebecois prejudice that was apparent even when it came to horses.
In 1975, I decided to get a job in Montreal, Quebec, so that my two sons Pierre-Etienne and Louis-Joseph could get to know their grandparents and learn their language. This had no effect on the hatred that was boiling just below the surface of my in-laws. We moved to Pierrefonds, on the island of Montreal, where we had just bought a house. I got a job at Kraft Foods Ltd. and started work before I even moved. I discovered that the land on which the property that I had bought, once belonged to a priest from Le paroisse de Ste-Genevieve, a small town, on the border of Pierrefonds, Quebec. Among the documents for the property was a proviso by the priest, stating that the land must never be sold to a Jew.
I tried to get along with my neighbours, but that was not to be. I found that the neightbours looked at me as an interloper. Thus, whenever I did something, like plant trees, or begin a garden they were always watching me. I found them very angry over a maudit anglais buying a house in their area. If I put in new Tomato or other plants they would disappear immediately. And they could be seen in a neighbours garden. What surprised me was the way they looked at things.
One Saturday afternoon, I had worked all night long and was in a deep sleep, when I awoke because of a noise that I heard in the backyard. I went out to see what was happening, and to my surprise, one of my Delicious Apple Trees, which I had imported from Stark Brother's Inc. of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, USA, was not only dug-up, but being dragged along the road by four of the neighbourhood children who were taking it to their home. When the children were questioned about it, they said: our parents told us that the Apple Tree is not yours, because it's growing in Quebec, and you are not Quebecois! My wife told me that she would talk to the parents, and I thought that it would be the end of the problem. But to my surprise, my wife did not support me, but the actions of her Quebecois neighbour's. As she said to me, I am only supporting my own race and you are the enemy. I did not know then that my wife was a member of the Parti Quebecois at that time.
One Sunday afternoon, I was about to go out, but found that both the front tires of my car had their sidewalls slashed. I was not really surprised, because the neighbours were not friendly towards me. A few days later a 13-year old boy from down the street named Marcel Deschamps while passing my house, shouted out to my sons: "How did you like the way I slashed your car tires, maudit anglais?" So, it was obvious that we were not welcome in the community.
While trying to beautify my property, I moulded six special posts in a cement form, and attached white plastic chains to join them for my driveway. Two days later, I find that four of posts are missing. I noticed that further down the street two of my canadien neighbours now had them in front of their homes. This was standard practice among a people who live by their wits.
One afternoon in 1981, I heard a ruckus in my backyard. So I went out to find out the problem. Apparently my neighbour's grandson named Martin had climbed my fence and had thrown a brick at my three and a half year daughter Sophie's head. The neighbour a Quebecois named Regimbald a CPR union man was standing by the fence. So, I asked him why his grandson Martin had tried to injure my daughter Sophie? He replied that your children do not want to play with my grandson Martin. I told him that my children were not five-year olds like Martin, but 10 and 11-year olds. To which he said, you can order them to play with Martin! So I told him that I could not order my sons to play with Martin. My neighbour's reply was: "I wish my grandson Martin had killed your daughter Sophie!" And then he added, why are your children speaking English? This is Quebec; they should be talking in our language (Joual).
At work a friend named Malcolm Forester from the Fort Chambly area told me that he was moving and he asked me if I wanted some Rhubarb plants? I told him that I certainly would. So, I planted the Rhubarb that Malcolm gave me in a special spot, where I could channel-in rainwater from the roof. But, I also fed them plant food. After a while the Rhubarb had taken-off and reached five feet in height. One Sunday morning, I told my wife that after returning from church, I would cut the Rhubarb and bring it in. Imagine my surprise, when I arrived home from church to find that someone had cut down all the Rhubarb from my back garden and taken it away. Further down the street, there was a boy selling the Rhubarb, which I knew was mine. That is how the Quebecois operate.
At work things were happening that worried me. Sometimes I found tools missing from my truck, and inquired if someone had borrowed them, only to find out that were stolen by Quebecois workmates. On finding tools marked with my name on them in someone else's possession, I would ask for them to return the items. Only to be told: that the English robbed us, so we are now doing it to them. Even my Foreman Gerald St-Aubin agreed with the theory that the English robbed the canadiens. The bosses made my life a hell on earth, but things got even worse when my wife told me that I was not to listen to music, or watch TV in English in our home. She had returned to university and was being thoroughly brainwashed by the professors there at UQAM (Universite du Quebec a Montreal).
Now to the hardest part of all. Apparently, in canadien society there is a tradition. That the older siblings can come to the house of the younger sibling and take anything they wanted, and this was their right. I found that when I was away at work, my brother-in-law or sister-in-law would come over and take things that belonged to me. When, I questioned my wife on this problem, she told me that this is our canadien tradition. My brother has rights over everything we own, because he older than me, and since I married to you, he is over you too. What an amoral society, which also supports they're thinking that they can rob the rest of Canada, because it is their right and privilege.
On day my sister-in-law Henriette Ruelland came over and was going through the family photograph albums, taking out snapshots that she wanted without my permission and my daughter Sophie saw her and told me. I then told my wife of what was happening. My wife turned around and berated my daughter Sophie for informing on her sister. But that was not all. My wife Catherine then told my daughter Sophie, if you ever tell your father anything about my family, I will punish you and make your life hell.
Whenever we were invited to le jour de l'An celebration, I was made to pay 10 times the amount of money as others did. When, I questioned this policy, I was told, that it was a sort of fine, because I was not a Quebecois.
But, I was in for a bigger shock. I found that every time I bought something that I needed, it would suddenly disappear. When I asked my wife if she had taken it, she would tell me that I must have misplaced it. Months later, I would discover it in the home of my sister-in-law or my brother-in-law. When I would tell my wife about it, she would say: It does not belong to you, because you are not a Quebecois. Even the money you earn belongs to me and not to you, because of that. It was a shocking example of the brainwashing that was taking place in Quebec.
In the 1980s tante Francoise's son Andrea Jacques was getting married, and invitations for the wedding were sent out to 13 members of my wife's family. My wife was number 13, in a family of 14 children. My wife and I were left off the list of wedding guests, because you've guessed it, I was a maudit emigre in the eyes of tante Francoise.
My brother-in-law Fernand Jacques was living a mile and a half away from my house and his son John Pierre Jacques was getting married. My wife and I were invited to the wedding, but my two sons, Pierre and Louis were not. Mind you all his second wife's nephews were invited. My son was going on 20 years of age, so he was an adult. But, they claimed that he was not invited because he was below age. In the preceding summer, the second wife of my brother-in-law Fernand Jacques, Michelline Legault had invited all her side of the family, that is nephews to a party for John Pierre Jacques, but none of my sons knew about it, or were invited. When I attempted to get an answer as to why this happened, I was told in no uncertain terms that my children were not Quebecois. But Even John Pierre Jacques was not born in Canada, but Cleveland, OH, USA All the time, my wife was aware of what was going on, but chose to keep quiet about the matter for the sake of her family.
I broached the subject of family unity with my wife and found out that the family to a Quebecois/Quebecoise meant something totally different to all other peoples. To the Quebecois/Quebecoise, family meant, father mother and siblings. It did not include husband/ wife, or the offspring of a marriage. Thus, what people normally take to mean family in normal society is not norm in Quebecois society? It is something, which comes out of Native American society, where a person's family is not his or her, husband/wife and children but only his/her parents and siblings.
In the early 1980s my next-door neighbour Andre Maheux sold his house and was moving away. On the day of his moving, he brought out all his furniture etc. I immediately noticed that among them were a garbage container and an Edge-Trimmer with my name written across them. I asked Andre, how he got the Garbage Can and the Edge Trimmer with my name written on them? Andre replied, that he had bought it like that from Canadian Tire. My wife who was standing nearby chimed in, and said, he could have bought it from Canadian Tire my your name written on it! Boy, this was the limit. Again it was all to do with the protection of race.
In May 1980, not long after the first Quebec Referendum on sovereignty, we head for a Cabane a Sucre (Sugar Shack) in Regaud, so that we could enjoy ourselves. On the way through Regud, I was suddenly pulled over by a Surete de Quebec officer who said he wanted to check my car. He asked me to try my brakes. my lights and anything else that he felt was needed. When it was finished, I asked him his name? And he started to get nasty and call me a maudit anglais, and used the words Calice and Tabarnac in every sentence. So, I wrote down his badge number and his name on a piece of paper. We then carried on to the Sugar Shack without any further interruptions and enjoyed the fare. A few days later my wife asked me where I had put the piece of paper with the policeman's name and badge number on it? I told her that I had put it in the chest of drawers. A week later, I had a little time, so I could write to Quebec Minister of Justice about the incident. I looked in the chest of drawers and could not find it. So, I asked my wife, if she had taken it? She replied that I must have misplaced it.
Ten years later, my wife told me proudly how she had destroyed the piece of paper with the policeman's name and number on it. She said, I was only protecting my own race from the enemy. I replied, am I the enemy? She replied you and all the English are the enemies of the Quebecois. Was I shocked! It reminded me of the movie: "The Day Will Dawn," in which Franchot Tone and Veronica Lake acted. The girl that an Englishman had married was supposedly an Austrian, but in fact a Nazi spy, working for the Abwehr (German Military Intelligence) in Britain. She would go on the moors during the night and light fires to direct the Luftwaffe bombers that were bombing Britain. The Englishman was against the war, and did his best to avoid enlisting in the forces. Until one night he caught his wife lighting pyres to lead the Luftwaffe aircraft in their bombing raids on Britain, he got out his gun, one that he had never used before and shot her in their barn.
My wife and I decided to separate, and she hired one Jacques Mongeau a Metis (Quebecois) lawyer who was Le president of the Commission Scolaire Baldwin-Cartier in the West Island of Montreal. Mongeau phoned on three occasions and asked to speak to my wife who wasn't home. So, in order to identify himself asked him to give me his name, but he simply slammed down the phone. On the third occasion when he phoned, I recognized his voice, and asked my wife if I could speak to him. I told Jacques Mongeau that it was a criminal offence to phone and then refuse to give your name as the call then constituted an anonymous call. Mongeau then replied, by saying that the English made law, and I do not respect it. But he enlarged on his anti-English bias further by telling me: when Quebec becomes Independent, we will close all the English schools. I told him that I would inform the press of his statements, to which he replied that, I will deny everything and then I will sue you! Here was a true Metis (Quebecois) showing how truly dishonest he really was.
So, if one talks about the accommodation of minorities in Quebec, they have to be joking or having us on. So it's quite clear that in Quebec, there is absolutely no tolerance for anyone who is not a Quebecois. It is to all intents and purposes an AMORAL SOCIETY, bereft of honour, truth and justice, which have long been absent. If I do not use the term Francophone, it is because the Quebecois are a Metis people from Quebec who speak Joual a form of French patois.
In July 1990, I had to make a choice, to live under conditions of servitude or to give up everything and leave? A man may possess all the goods in the world, and yet be unhappy to the point that the only choice left is to leave. You may give up all these goods, but never give up your freedom! Liberty is not negotiable! It is the only thing worth saving in this life. The choice you make will be based upon what is good for you, the person, and not what you continue to possess in an aura of slavery.
Kenneth T. Tellis
