The author is a historian, sociologist, writer and retired teacher from the University of Quebec at Chicoutimi in the history, sociology, anthropology, political science and international cooperation programs. His research focuses on collective imaginations.
In the Saguenay of the 1930s, the cultivable territory was entirely occupied, the last clearings having been carried out on the shores of Lac Saint-Jean. Industry and cities occupied a prominent place and the time for colonization was over. Except for the clergy.
Taking advantage of the effects of the “Great Depression” which afflicted the townspeople, the bishopric thought the moment favorable for a major offensive aimed at directing the unemployed towards the west and the north of the region. The poor were thus encouraged to settle in the middle of the bush a good distance from Lac Saint-Jean, on land that was most unsuitable for agriculture.
Representatives of the good elites joined in with some government emissaries who assured the volunteers of substantial help in the form of subsidies, equipment, fertilizer and above all good roads. Compliant newspapers described the great virgin spaces gorged with resources, the prosperity which awaited the daring, the future “granary of the province” which these lands of Cain would become.
In the following fifteen years, a dozen settlement centers emerged, plunging hundreds of families into extreme poverty. More lucid minds who visited them left disturbing testimonies of the kind of primitive life to which the colonists, in total isolation, were reduced: no school, no priest, no doctor, few neighbors, childbirths without assistance, sometimes days without eating.
The promised aid did not come, or came too late, just like the paths which were to connect the new lands to the old ones. It was on the backs of men, through the forest, that everything had to be transported over distances sometimes reaching more than fifteen kilometres. Several families gave up, but others clung on and managed to survive by relying mainly on the forest economy. It was not until the early 1960s that the high clergy abandoned their colonizing crusade.
Nearly 75 years after the foundation of these remote and unknown settlements that my work as a historian had made known to me, I had the curiosity to visit them. Settlements named Saint-Thomas-Didyme, Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, Saint-Stanislas, Girardville, Sainte-Élisabeth-de-Proulx, and others. I was curious to see what had become of the descendants of the founders’ generation. In the end, I toured it three times, the last with friends whose curiosity I had piqued with my stories. We spent a few days there.
The fighting spirit of the people
Like me, my friends were surprised at what they saw. Not broken, vanquished, extinct beings, but survivors and more precisely resuscitated people who would have felt very offended to be pitied. The years of hardship came to an end in the 1970s thanks to technical advances that made it possible to advance agriculture and bring a little ease. Then came the industrial cultivation of blueberries and, more recently, cranberries and haskap. Off-farm work (construction of roads and dams, logging, etc.) continued to generate additional income.
The fighting spirit of the population did the rest. Churches have been saved. Others have been, so to speak, converted. In Saint-Stanislas, the building has become a community center in which a restaurant, a cinema, a library, a climbing wall and (all the same…) a small prayer room have been set up. As everywhere, we were warmly received by curious and dedicated volunteers. We had a long exchange during which the officials told us their story. They then told us about the many projects they were planning. Our presence had been noticed in the village and curious people joined us. At the end of our visit, we said goodbye to a lively and laughing crowd.
Almost everywhere we were treated to this kind of welcome. In only a few places, poverty had kept its rights: abandoned church and presbytery, no gas station or convenience store, deserted or dingy houses. But families resisted and seemed to come to terms with their fate. Some spoke of “restarting” their church.
In all the villages, the residents were eager to tell us about the attractions of the place: here, a property entirely (and strangely) transformed into a Wild West village, there a pretty park along a river, well-maintained walking paths, elsewhere, a a brand new little dam which is the pride of the villagers — I thought of the very modern Péribonka pulp factory of which the inhabitants were once proud and for which Louis Hémon had shown no interest, greatly upsetting his guests.
Another element that deserves attention: what could be called tolerance, openness, serenity. The villagers are very curious about strangers and welcome their interest in their community. Where great crops thrive, a few Mexicans have taken up residence; they are entitled to the same consideration as other residents. In Girardville, the parish has fully recovered from a tumultuous schism which tore it for a long time between Catholics and Protestants; they now live in harmony. These survivors may have a sour memory of the circumstances of the initial settlement; it’s the contrary.
Light
They quickly become intimate; old people tell their dreams, it’s moving. Life has regained its health in the fardoche. A robust life, more restless than one might think.
Shadow Quebecers, did I say? We should rather speak of light. From the marginals that they were, the majority of these modest settlements have become, in their own way, living centers, connected to others. This is a great lesson in vision, courage and hope.
PS – Taken from the bottom of an old tombstone: “Only the sweetest memories should be kept from the past. »