How does looking for ways to force sick people to speak their second language protect French?
Just over two years ago, Premier François Legault accused the media and groups representing Quebec’s anglophone minority of spreading “disinformation” about Bill 96 compromising access to health-care services in English.
Health services topped a long list of concerns among English-speaking Quebecers about the fallout from the law to strengthen French in Quebec. Other not-insignificant grievances included the equality of the two solitudes before the courts, and giving Quebec’s so-called language police unfettered search and seizure powers to ascertain whether businesses and organizations were communicating in French. But the right to be served in English when in cardiac arrest, giving birth or receiving cancer treatment — especially in institutions built, supported and nurtured by the community — has always been considered sacred.
Legault insisted that health care in English would not be affected by the new law.
His statement sounded unequivocal. But anglophones who had actually read the fine print of Bill 96, or had been burned before by the premier’s empty promises about the rights of English-speaking Quebecers, remained skeptical.
Sure enough, Legault’s statements have been exposed as gaslighting two years later.
The OQLF expanding its jurisdiction to the health system is an alarming and dangerous new precedent. How does looking for ways to force sick people to speak their second language protect French, anyhow?
The memo that Santa Cabrini issued to staff about how to ensure adherence to Bill 96 speaks volumes about what’s at stake. The hospital reminded its personnel they must first address patients in French, and to make sure all signs, notes, documentation and records are in French.
“The working language must be French at all times,” the hospital stated, although it noted that “if users do not speak French, they may ask to be addressed in another language.”
So much for “there is no change at all,” as Legault vowed, when it comes to accessing health care in English. Quite the contrary.
Bureaucrats clearly had one mother of a brainstorming session imagining all the possible scenarios: an operator at the 811 health hotline dealing with an English-speaking adolescent in a state of psychosis; making sure the companion of a teen seeking an abortion understands the after-care instructions; the English-speaking parents who must consent to an emergency medical procedure for their French-speaking child. How benevolent!
But how could ministry minions ever envision every circumstance that could arise, whether in an ambulance or an ER or a clinic, even if their guidelines were 310 pages long? At best, this level of meddling will give rise to delays in accessing care as health-care professionals work their way through this pedantic flow chart. At worst, it will result in people being unfairly denied the services to which they are entitled out of paranoia, ineptitude or misinterpretation.
Frankly, it’s an insult to members of the English-speaking community — not to mention members of the Italian, Polish, Chinese or Jewish communities, who have all built, supported and nurtured hospitals that today benefit all Quebecers — that they are being turned into second-class patients and disenfranchised.
It’s not about a patient being able to speak French, as the Santa Cabrini missive and the ministry directives suggested. Most anglophones these days are bilingual. Many Italian-Montrealers are trilingual. It’s the principle of the matter. Whether in the examination room or the operating theatre, when at one’s most vulnerable, one should be able to be treated in the language one is most comfortable with, that one understands best. No questions asked — without having to prove anything or beg for it.
This is, after all, the gold standard of care. To be able to explain symptoms to a doctor, understand diagnoses, ask informed questions and comprehend instructions about medications or disease management — regardless of language.
That’s why if you’ve ever gone to the Jewish General, in diverse, multiethnic Côte-des-Neiges, you’ll hear a steady stream of announcements requesting speakers of languages from all over the globe: Hindi, Arabic, Swahili, Tagalog, etc.
Instead of health bureaucrats inventing useless new protocols for triaging patients’ linguistic abilities, how about deferring to the common sense of the doctors, nurses and technicians offering the care? But no, the chilling effect of requiring health providers to determine a patient’s eligibility for service in English (or Italian, or Mandarin, or Yiddish) and the fear of being reported for doing so erroneously will further curtail access to care.
Hospitals and doctors’ offices are supposed to be safe spaces, not political wedges or vectors of exclusion.
Despite Legault’s vehement assurances that nothing has changed and promises that English-speaking patients won’t be refused service in their language, endless hospital directives, ministry guidelines and francization plans have been concocted to do just that.