When police arrived on the evening of January 21, 2022, at the Covey Hill Orchards in Franklin, the bloodstains on the ground were still fresh. Josué (not his real name), a temporary worker, had a bloody face and a hole near his lip that would require five stitches that night.
The two owners of the premises were in an advanced state of intoxication. One told the police that Josué had fallen to the ground. The other, Maxime Beaudry, said he did not see what happened.
However, it was he who punched his employee in the face 5 to 10 times, including when he was unconscious on the ground.
At least, these are the facts that will be reported at the Salaberry-de-Valleyfield courthouse, more than two and a half years later. On September 9, Mr. Beaudry pleaded guilty to the charge of assault causing bodily harm during that January evening when he had invited the workers under his authority to celebrate a birthday.
He was sentenced to 175 hours of community service and will remain on probation for two years. Interviewed by The Dutyhe said he did not wish to comment on the matter and wanted “only to turn the page.”
On the evening of the assault, in January 2022, a colleague of the worker used a translation application to make the police understand that it was the boss who had hit him hard. They then called an ambulance.
“I remember he hit me twice, then I lost consciousness and woke up in the hospital,” Josué said in an interview. He asked that his identity not be given because he has been without immigration status for a year and a half and fears that authorities will try to deport him.
He leaves the hospital with his cheek stitched up and the taste of blood in the back of his throat, with one of the managers of the farm where he is staying with three colleagues. They are then only a small team whose employer has extended the work contracts from the previous summer, to maintain the maple grove.
Leave the farm, lose your job
In the hours that followed, community workers arrived, then the police returned to the scene.
“We were terrified, but the police convinced us that it was dangerous to stay there,” Joshua recalls.
“The workers were traumatized, they couldn’t believe what had happened,” says Melvin Méndez, who, along with Leticia Beita, took three of the four workers to a shelter. Today, they both work for the Oscar Romero Foundation, for the Vision ML project, which supports temporary workers in the region.
Even with the sharp pain of his broken nose, Josué “doesn’t want to file a complaint so he can keep his job,” says Méndez.
Slowness and obstacles
“At that point, I don’t know yet if I’m just going to have to leave,” explains Josué: “I really didn’t know what was waiting for me.”
If he says it today with spite, it is because more than two and a half years after the physical attack, he is still caught in the bureaucratic maze. Poorly equipped and traumatized, he keeps falling through the cracks of the net that is supposed to protect him.
When they leave the farm for a community shelter, the three unfortunate companions must first regularize their migratory status: their presence in Quebec is directly linked to Maxime Beaudry’s business, because they hold closed permits.
Within weeks, they were granted open work permits for vulnerable workers, a federal government program. Joshua formally reported his employer to the police, and the criminal investigation began.
But his new permit only lasts for one year and so it expires well before justice is served, both in criminal court and in the other instances he is addressing.
Deprived of care
In the meantime, he is trying to get health care. With the help of Mr. Méndez and Mr.me Beita, he gets an appointment with a doctor who refers him to a specialist in a hospital.
His health insurance card expires before he can see it.
When he receives his new work permit, which will allow him to renew his health insurance, he seeks help to re-register with the Régie and when this is done, he then has to wait several months.
In the fall of 2022, while working under this open permit, he began to bleed profusely from his nose and was absent from work as the bleeding continued.
He finally received his health insurance card on November 16, 2022. He went to the hospital: “I was told that the waiting list was very long, that they were going to put me on it, but that my card would expire soon.”
In fact, he always fell “between the cracks,” as Mr. Méndez says.
As a result, he has yet to undergo nose surgery, which several different doctors have confirmed is necessary. “I have trouble breathing, even more so in the winter,” he says in an interview punctuated by this sometimes labored breathing. He has difficulty swallowing saliva and food.
A life stopped
The following months were no easier. “I was really not well. […] Once I saw a car that looked like [celle de Maxime Beaudry] and I panicked. Another time, we were at Walmart with my partner [ancien travailleur du verger] and I thought I saw him. We went out quickly. I was still really afraid that the boss would find me, I ended up not wanting to go out into the street anymore,” says Josué.
“How can we leave him in such a state and without status?” denounces Viviana Medina, community organizer of the Montreal Immigrant Workers Center (CTI).
“Everything in this story led him to continue in extreme vulnerability and then to pass to the ‘other side’, to remain without status,” continues M.me Medina.
“The emergency right now is my status,” says Joshua. He works in construction, paid ” cash ” as he explains: “It’s not my choice, but I have no choice.” He is the “breadwinner” for his mother, sister and niece in Guatemala.
During the validity of his vulnerable person work permit, he could have looked for another employer willing to hire him: “I’m afraid of going back to a closed permit, something could happen to me again,” explains the young man. Supported by the CTI, he is now asking the federal Minister of Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship, Marc Miller, to use his discretionary power to restore his status.
“My situation in Guatemala was not so bad. I wanted to make some money and leave after three or four years of contracts. […] Now all these problems don’t let me continue my life, I don’t feel free.”