Chronicle on a haystack

Thursday morning, 8 a.m. Like hundreds of thousands of Quebecers of all ages, from all walks of life, my heart has stopped beating. The tears flowed, inexhaustible, out of nowhere. For Karl Tremblay, but also for a whole people that Les Cowboys Fringants have been singing about for 27 years.

All the radios were broadcasting On my shoulder, a hymn that splits you in two because it is so beautiful. We sobbed alone together, surprising tears, coming from very far away. As if we were crying all the tears accumulated since the start of the pandemic.

Thursday evening at L’Assomption, in Montreal and on the Plains, we, the subjects of Karl’s songs, were gathered to experience the pain that overwhelmed us. A surge of feelings, to celebrate the big brother of an inconsolable nation. All generations combined, we expressed our grief. Even politicians found the right words. In this era of oversized individual identities, the Cowboys spoke of collective identity. They were comforting.

The group, born in the middle of the post-referendum blues, will have touched more than just its generation. Through the voice of Karl and the words of Jean-François Pauzé, he is a marker of our lives, a sensitive radar, an irreverent field sociologist who communicates with his subjects of analysis.

The Cowboys are our friends, and Karl was our brother. Big or small, depending on our age. The one we love unconditionally, who moves us, makes us laugh. The one who expresses our deepest desires consoles us.

Quebec is a family, with its tutelary figures. We are tight-knit. This is our strength and our weakness. In business, in culture, in politics, family figures have always abounded. From René Lévesque to Céline Dion, from Guy Lafleur, the whimsical son, to Ginette Reno, the saucy aunt. The brother’s hut, different from that of the son, belonged, as we now know, to Karl Tremblay. Not an idol; a brother of party and support. With him, we were not alone.

In Pauzé’s words, the image of the brooch often recurs. Image of solidity cobbled together with the means at hand. The hay spit, solid, but not tight, a metaphor for our creativity to temporarily solve problems. In Winter is coming : “ Tie your hat with a brooch, darling, winter is going to be tough this year. » In On my shoulder : “ A world that everywhere holds together with a pin “. Karl understood that the brooch is the magic wand of his country…

It’s been a rough week. A few days before Karl’s death, the political family was distinguished by a haywire announcement and a winking scandal.

François Legault, the father of the family, and the rich uncle, Eric Girard, Minister of Finance, have granted a subsidy which could reach 7 million for the arrival of the Los Angeles Kings in Quebec for two preparatory matches. At a time when the common front unions are going on strike, when these women and men who care for us and educate us are rightly demanding better conditions. At a time when food banks are starving. After the deputies collected their salary increases. Don’t compare, they say. But it is nevertheless an insulting image that of these subsidies to multi-millionaire players, while our public system is collapsing, and those who carry it at arm’s length are not recognized and paid their fair value, so that the most vulnerable struggle with. Pôpa’s judgment is very disturbed by these times.

In Montreal, the virtuous aunt, Valérie Plante, has a clique of spendthrift friends who are part of a chic social club, the OCPM. Surprised with both hands in the dish, at the moment when the mayor was preparing to once again overtax harried taxpayers, Dominique Ollivier and Isabelle Beaulieu lost themselves in haywire arguments, like delinquent teenagers. The aunt will remain affected for a long time, and the citizens, even more cynical.

These scandals are born from ill-informed decisions which are family, village-based. The father is confused, the aunt is falsely naive. The adults in the family fool us with their visionless stories. Karl, the big brother, told us real stories. Our story, with sincere characters, enlightening flashes. He exposed our weaknesses so that we could become stronger. “ Together, we are afraid of nothing “. He looked like us, brought us together. He was the best of what you expect from a family.

“ Everything hangs with a pin “. But the songs of Jean-François, performed by Karl, propelled by Marie-Annick and Jérôme, united us. The Cowboys sing about what’s wrong, what’s going wrong, what’s going wrong. They talk about all the reasons why we might hate each other collectively, but which, under their caring gaze, make us stronger.

This week, politicians denied the family, abused their position of power. We come away even more disillusioned than we were with politics. Yes, winter is coming. “ Attach your hat with a brooch ». It will be rough. Who will give us the strength to come together?