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Last week, I found myself standing behind a young man at the pharmacy who I suspected might be a university student, based on his age and the school swag he was wearing. He sounded like a typical out-of-province student struggling a little with his French, but remained steadfast in speaking it.

The minute he informed the pharmacist of his home address (in Hamilton, Ont., for those wondering; I had no intention of eavesdropping, but that pharmacy’s layout doesn’t afford people much privacy), she immediately switched to English. The pharmacist was no doubt trying to accommodate him and help with their communication, once his address confirmed what his accent and slight unease with French probably made her suspect.

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The young man, however, wasn’t having it. Despite the unofficial prompt to switch languages, he stuck with French. In response, the pharmacist casually switched back to French and they continued their back-and-forth in that language. When he was asked a followup question, another pharmacist walked up to them and, once again, addressed him in English upon hearing his accent.

Again, the young man wouldn’t budge. Understanding his cue, the pharmacist switched languages and the remainder of the conversation was in French. The young man’s French capabilities weren’t fantastic, but neither were they bad. Even if he occasionally fumbled while searching for a specific word, he was clearly determined to speak French, and speak it he did. This despite the many “outs” he was given by the two pharmacists, who would have quite happily helped him in English.

Since I was the only person waiting behind him, and since I was showing no signs of impatience, there was no reason for any of them to try to speed up the process by switching languages. The order was successfully placed for his prescription. In French.

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On my way back home, while entering my condo building’s elevator, one of the tenants shouted out to me (in English) to hold the door. “No problem,” I responded as I held it for him. While in the elevator, we did what most people do and discreetly sized each other up. Noticing I had a French book in my hands, the man immediately switched languages. (I’m reading Le français en déclin? Repenser la francophonie québécoise by Jean-Pierre Corbeil, Victor Piché and Richard Marcoux, demographers and specialists in language statistics who say the status of French in Quebec is far more optimistic than some would have you believe.) Exiting the elevator, he wished me a “bonne soirée.” He had clearly read the title of my book and, assuming I was French speaking, politely addressed me in French this time.

Anecdotes like these are a dime a dozen in Montreal. They quietly happen every single day all over town. Montrealers switch languages to accommodate each other, to show respect for one another, to demonstrate civility and kindness and concern for people’s feelings and sense of belonging. It’s second nature to most of us. And mostly — it’s worth repeating — we speak French in public.

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I sometimes wonder if those who constantly complain about “outsiders,” English speakers or allophones anglicizing Quebec ever notice how hard non-francophones in this city work at speaking French. Do they know how many conversations take place every day in which English speakers with thick accents address each other in French in public, even when they can clearly tell neither of them is a native French speaker?

The vast majority of anglophones and allophones I know go out of their way to address French-speaking Quebecers in their mother tongue, and are proud to speak French. I suspect language zealots ignore that inconvenient truth because it pays politically to solely pay attention to the tiny percentage that chooses not to.

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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