It was almost 11 p.m. on a Friday evening, and what were these few dozen college students doing? They weren’t having a drink in a bar, they weren’t were chilling not in a park, they did not watch a series on Netflix or play online on their video console (the idea that we generally have of the activities of a Cegep student on Friday evenings).
Posted yesterday at 11:00 a.m.
They blackened pages of texts of their own: stories, poems, texts of humor or songs. Romane hasn’t slept all night. She wrote, practically non-stop, for 24 hours. The column that I “ordered” him had to be 2000 words. Or was it a criticism? It would not be surprising on the part of this great reader.
It was Gilbert Forest who invited me to speak to CEGEP students last week, as part of the 32e intercollegiate writing marathon. Cégep André-Laurendeau’s head of socio-cultural activities has been in charge of this event since the very beginning. It was his last marathon. He is due to retire in a few months.
I was there for a workshop on chronicling and criticism. And to suggest a subject to the students. I suggested three. They could critique a work that has recently inspired them, for better or for worse. They could write a column on the reality show Double occupation : have we talked about it too much or, on the contrary, all the excuses are good to denounce bullying?
They could also reflect on a question that I often ask myself: should we be concerned about young people’s lack of interest in Quebec popular culture, or are we alarmist when we fear the long-term impact of this disaffection ? I formulated this last subject in such an approximate way that the CEGEP students baptized it, at my suggestion, “the fuzzy subject”.
For an hour and a half, I answered questions from about twenty CEGEP students, all as relevant as each other.
The first student who raised her hand asked me something, with a term—perhaps inspired by philology—that was foreign to me.
“I could pretend I understood your question, but I’m going to need a dictionary!” I answered into the microphone. My ignorance at least amused them.
The honorary president of the marathon was none other than Claude Meunier. I found that ironic. Two days later, his photo (in Popa de The little life) precisely illustrated my report on young people and the future of popular culture. “All I know of The little life, it’s the expression ‘steak, corn, potatoes’”, specified one of the marathon runners, reading his column aloud. A student of Korean origin, whose parents may have wondered one day what was Chinese about this “pie”.
Had his parents arrived in Quebec without knowing a word of French? Here he delivered with the aplomb and the spirit of a seasoned humorist a text in which he explained where he came from, where he was and where he was going. As well as why people my age shouldn’t be overly concerned about his cultural habits. Maybe he doesn’t watch Quebec TV, like most young people his age, but he listens to Émile Bilodeau and Les Louanges, and he thinks it’s “brilliant”.
Another participant, also of Asian origin, revealed that she had not been immersed in Quebec culture in her youth either. Her cultural identity was built through school and the books she found in the library. She admitted to worrying about her own inclination towards works in English, but recalled that she had chosen to be there, and to spend the night there, to write fiction or opinion pieces in French, a language to which it is attached.
I also spoke to three Afro-descendant girls who questioned their legitimacy in being able to express themselves on the subject of the future of culture, implying that they did not feel Quebecois enough. Because we haven’t made them feel it enough?
Is this popular Quebec culture I was telling them about interested in them? Obviously not enough.
I said “Wow” four or five times after hearing CEGEP students read their texts. They must have found, especially for a columnist, that I lacked vocabulary. Already they had understood that I was not strong in philology. I confided to them, very awkwardly, how much they had impressed me. It’s not that I expected you to be amorphous or jaded, but, finally, you understand… They understood.
I learned from their reflections not only that they have a sense of beginnings, of falling and that they have varied interests (from Noémie says yes from Geneviève Albert to the films of Thomas Vinterberg), but also that they are not their parents. It doesn’t matter whether they or their parents were born in Busan or Gaspé, they have their own codes and their own referents. Some Quebecers, others international, as they have the culture of the planet at their fingertips.
What I especially remembered is that they are terribly lit and inspiring. They come from everywhere, from Joliette (where they run a film club) or from Jacmel. They are Quebec. The one I meet every weekend at Mount Royal. This perpetual festival of colors. It was almost midnight. I returned home, galvanized by these students. Full of hope.