Specifically, the column referenced buttons worn by grocery-store staff that say, “I’m learning French; thanks for speaking slowly!” to remind French-speaking consumers to give employees some grace.
From my experience, many French-speaking Quebecers tend to immediately switch language on you the minute they detect an accent, or you fumble a word. Sometimes they do it out of impatience, but mostly out of a desire to help and even use or practise their English. I can’t emphasize enough how often this happens to me and others I know.
I once interviewed a New Zealander who after moving to Quebec and after several frustrated attempts to speak the French he spent years trying to perfect — only to have staff constantly switch to English on him — filed a complaint with the OQLF! Yes, you read that right.
Many of us effortlessly navigate daily life in Montreal, switching from language to language, sometimes not even noticing — but for others, language tension is very real.
It’s why I believe initiatives like those buttons are ultimately beneficial. They can reduce impatience or even occasional hostility by certain customers, while giving newcomers the opportunity to engage in and practise French in (hopefully) a less-tense work environment.
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Many readers agreed. “An intelligent and positive approach,” said one online comment. “I’m kind of sad that it’s necessary but I agree with it,” posted another. “I think it’s a great idea,” said yet another. “At Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières, about 35 years ago, Chinese students learning French wore this kind of button when they socialized in town and the people of Trois-Rivières loved helping them.”
But, to my surprise, many readers disagreed. They found the buttons “patronizing,” “insulting” and an “appeasement” that “emboldens intolerance.”
One reader, a French speaker who dreams of Quebec independence, found the buttons “humiliating” to the wearer, and suggested that those who are intolerant or impatient should be wearing buttons that identify themselves as such.
An immigration consultant wrote a thoughtful email denouncing the buttons as treating difference as an impediment. “Not speaking a particular language, or not speaking it perfectly, is not a disability,” he explained. “Non-French speakers or those learning the language are not handicapped.”
While I can understand all perspectives, as the daughter of immigrants, I tend to see language and identity issues from a practical point of view. I ask myself: “Are these government policies or initiatives making life easier for newcomers? Are they helping them integrate quicker?” I believe the answer here is yes.
Too often, perception — shaped by what we read, who we interact with, our politics, etc. — affects how we define Quebec’s linguistic reality. To some Quebecers, tired of attacks on their own mother tongues, those buttons may feel like one more imposition. But I see them as a smart integration tool. And for those who may be inclined to scapegoat newcomers for “the decline of French” even before they get to learn the language, the buttons can remind them to ease up.
You can’t shrug away people’s fears about what they value, love and deeply want to preserve. And, by the way, that applies to every Quebecer — non-francophones included.
I will continue to applaud moves that can pre-empt confrontational behaviour and help employees who can’t possibly understand a fast-talking French speaker who uses Québécois expressions that one can only understand after being here for years. Initiatives like these are part of the solution.
Toula Drimonis is a Montreal journalist and the author of We, the Others: Allophones, Immigrants, and Belonging in Canada. She can be reached on X @toulastake
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