Laurent Carbonneau
Quebec and secularism are tightly bound together in the Canadian political imagination. From the Bouchard-Taylor Commission on reasonable accommodation to the Parti Québécois’ abortive 2014 Charter of Values and last year’s Bill 62 (passed into law by a Liberal government), the implementation of a secular vision of Quebec society has been an important political debate over the last decade. Quebec politicians on the left and right, sovereigntist and federalist alike, see religious neutrality as a key element of the province’s political culture.
The Anglophone media and politicians in the rest of Canada have had an uneasy relationship with Quebec’s efforts to legislate public secularism. On the one hand, there is (most of the time) a healthy respect for Quebec’s national institutions and autonomy, and for the concept of religious neutrality and secularism. On the other, however, there is legitimate concern for the rights of ethnic and religious minorities in Quebec who wish to continue to wear religious garb in public.
Quebec politicians and commentators communicating the desire for secularism to Anglophone audiences almost inevitably point to the Quiet Revolution as a justification for Quebec’s efforts. Current PQ leader Jean-François Lisée, then a Minister in Pauline Marois’ short-lived PQ government, wrote in the New York Times in the midst of the Charter of Values debate that, “[t]he charter is actually just the next logical step along the path of secularization. Until 1960, when its authority began to dip, the Roman Catholic Church held much sway in Quebec.”
This story, or one much like it, is the story Quebecers tell themselves about their own history. It adequately summarizes the feelings of many Quebecers towards the Church: an ogre standing athwart our history, stealing children and ruining families, until it was slain in a social shift whose crowning moment was the 1960 provincial election. Accompanied, of course, by the ascendancy of an activist and secular social democracy, a new political consensus whose substance would dominate Quebec politics for a generation, and whose symbolism endures. The notion of a clean break with the clerical past, along with its values and trappings, is central to the political self-conception of Quebec today. The term Grande noirceur, used to refer to the era from the 1930s to the 1950s when Maurice Duplessis was premier, is a good indicator of how Quebecers think of their pre-Quiet Revolution past.
I don’t think, however, that the popular view of a relatively clean break between clerical and secular eras of Quebec’s social development is strictly accurate. Continue reading