"Je Me Souviens" But Not Enough: Finding History in Vieux-Québec

 Je me souviens.

"I remember." That's the motto for the province of Quebec, and something that resonates in the hearts and minds of Canadians everywhere. Rightly or wrongly so, Quebec and its people have a strong association with the country's history; they are the proverbial guardians of Canada's French heritage. And whether you see it as a good thing (as a rallying cry to maintain history and culture) or a bad thing (as a means to hold on to old grudges from centuries past), there is no denying that something is being remembered in Quebec City, at all times.

So when I had the chance to finally visit Quebec City in October 2014 for a family vacation, I was very excited. This was something I had been wanting to do for a very long time. Sure, I had been to Quebec numerous times in the past, growing up - but the last time was over ten years ago, back when I had little respect or appreciation for Canada and its history.

This time, especially with a secret desire to glean some firsthand knowledge for historical fiction-writing purposes, would be different. This time, I thought, I would be inspired.

Just a small bonus: This is the hotel that I stayed at on one of my earlier childhood trips to Quebec. It's right on the edge of the Plains of Abraham.

In the past, I have had some very fruitful "research trips," as I like to call these excursions. I'd been to Boston and London, and while neither was a fully immersive experience, I came home with a deeper sense of the history and culture of these places and the significance they had to the people who lived there. In Boston, walking the Freedom Trail, I could see the birthplace of the American Revolution; meanwhile, in London, I felt myself transported to a different world.

Quebec, for me, was going to be the mother lode. What else could it be? This was where I wanted my stories to be set. I was a history enthusiast with a mission: to show the world that Canada was - and still is - important. That even two hundred years ago, we were something, and all one had to do was go to Quebec, the pinnacle of Canadian historical preservation, to see it.

For the most part, I wasn't disappointed. There is, in Vieux-Québec (i.e. the Old City of Quebec), a certain quaintness that I could easily envision working in the 18th century. There were old houses (some dating to the 18th century or even earlier - a rare sight, given the British bombardment of 1759), cobblestone streets, and the same narrow alleys and steep pathways that the city's past inhabitants navigated on a daily basis.

One of the several routes connecting the Upper Town and Lower Town. And yes, it is as steep as it looks. That doesn't deter locals, though: I saw a whole group of schoolchildren running down the sidewalk after their classes let out for the day.

Part of the foundations from some of Québec's historic buildings.

Not only that, but if I was willing to look closely, there were some very overt nods to a time gone by. For instance, in the Upper Town, I stumbled across one of Vieux-Québéc's odder landmarks.

This, mes amis, is a cannonball stuck in the roots of a tree in an otherwise unspectacular alleyway. There are two different stories as to how it got there: one is that it was a cannonball left from the British bombardment of Québec during the Siege of 1759 around which the tree grew; the other is that the ball was deliberately placed there when the tree was younger and smaller to discourage vehicular traffic from running over the roots. Both versions of the story are equally plausible - although I am rather romantically inclined to go with the first. After all, that was what I was in Quebec for: to discover some hint of what life was like in the 18th century. And finding an authentic cannonball from the period would certainly help there.

I also discovered, not surprisingly, that Canada and its government could have a rather biting sense of humour and irony. For evidence of this, I present to you the Duke of Kent House.

This building now houses the French Consulate in the city of Québec. And while it has certainly been expanded from its original 18th century size, this was also the place where the French signed the capitulation documents in September 1759, formally surrendering Québec to the British. Perhaps no offhanded jab was intended in the Duke of Kent House being adopted by the French Consulate, but given that many Québécois still bear resentment towards France for giving them up all those years ago...I can't help but wonder if there was. Either way, this simply could not be coincidence, in my mind, and would be a worthwhile avenue to explore.

All this being said, given my interest in Quebec during the Seven Years' War - and the 1759 campaign in particular - it's only fair that I really go to the mother ship itself: the Plains of Abraham. Now called Battlefields Park, this area just outside of the city walls has been preserved and is open to the public, serving as a site for many events great and small throughout the year.

Sculptures of Generals Wolfe and Montcalm - the British and French commanders respectively during the Battle of the Plains of Abraham - on the façade of Québec's parliament building. These were two out of many such sculptures depicting famous figures from the province's history.

This was not my first visit to the Plains of Abraham. Like many other Canadian schoolchildren, I came here on a trip with my classmates, and took part in a rather half-hearted re-enactment of the battle. So I was definitely looking forward to returning here to get a renewed look at the place.

And this was when my dream veered sharply off course.

I've been on a historic battlefield before: Bunker Hill in Boston. There, I remember being able to stand on top of the hill, look down towards the harbour, and have the whole battle just mentally "click" into place. I could envision the British assault, the colonial defence...the actual hushed solemnity that one associates with a site of bloodshed.

Surely, given my passion for the subject and my strong sense of mission re: Canadian history, this would be almost like a sacred site for me. If I could bring myself to feel for a battle fought on foreign soil - and feel sympathy for the side I was raised to revile - then doubtless I would feel that again here. At home. And many times more.

Instead, I felt nothing.

I can't explain it. Even now, a few months later, I still can't put into words what came over me. When I stepped out from the city walls to look at the Plains, all I saw was a public park. No more, no less.

I tried to feel more than that. Really, I did. I started walking slowly and determinedly along the edge of the park, staring intently into it, earning strange looks and prodding questions from the others in my party. "Do you want to go down into the park?" they asked. I wanted to. But the slope going down into the field was steep, it was about to rain, and I knew that in everyone else's eyes, this really was just a park. So instead, I kept walking and staring, caught up in my own existential crisis on the Plains of Abraham.

What sort of a Canadian history buff would I be if I couldn't bring myself to feel? What sort of a Canadian would I be, altogether, if I could feel more for an American battlefield than my own?

I will say, however, that I found myself inexplicably drawn to this copse of trees. Perhaps I subconsciously remembered it from that school re-enactment all those years ago.

I still don't know why I was unable to feel the same sense of transportation into the past that I did at Bunker Hill. Perhaps I was choked by my own expectations - feelings, after all, could not be forced, and if there was one thing I knew, it was that I was forcing them. Perhaps I felt that the site I saw simply could not be what I had had in my imagination. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, I felt that the Plains had been changed, somewhere in the intervening two hundred and fifty years, into a tourist attraction: a place far removed from its bloody beginnings.

Whatever it was, all I know is this: in the moment when I ought to have felt it most, "Je me souviens" did not happen for me.

Epilogue

Fortunately for us, the story does not end here. I did find something to honour and remember in the end - just not what I expected. There was, near the Plains of Abraham, a war memorial dedicated to Canadians who had fought and died in the World Wars and the Korean War.

And there, I saw that it was not just past conflicts, but more recent ones, that Québec was remembering. At the base, I found a bouquet of flowers dedicated to Corporal Nathan Cirillo, a Canadian who, just days earlier, had been killed in a terrorist attack in Ottawa.

Je me souviens, indeed.

Image Credits

All photos (c) Kita Inoru

Six Months In: Things I've Learned as a Gallery Interpreter at the Royal Ontario Museum

In terms of my volunteer work at the Royal Ontario Museum, I have recently hit a personal milestone: I have completed my time as what's called a provisional Gallery Interpreter (i.e. a trainee volunteer) and am now officially an active member of the ROM's Department of Museum Volunteers. I do get some perks from this: best one being my own ID badge/key card so I don't need to trouble fellow volunteers to let me in each time I show up for a shift.

The ROM's famous Rotunda Ceiling mosaic. The text reads: THAT ALL MEN MAY KNOW HIS WORK

So what's a Gallery Interpreter, you ask? What we do is go out into the galleries with a small specimen or artifact that visitors could interact with. Engagements take the form of a short Q&A session, where we use guiding questions to offer information about both the object(s) we have, and the surrounding relevant museum displays. I myself spend most of my time in the two Canadian galleries at the ROM - the Daphne Cockwell Gallery of Canada: First Peoples; and the Sigmund Samuel Gallery of Canada - with one specimen each: a miniature replica birchbark canoe in the first, and a late 19th-century French-Canadian maple sugar mould in the latter.

A "period room" set up in the style of 16th century England in the Samuel European Galleries at the ROM. This is an example of one of my favourite parts of the museum, albeit not where I actually work.

Officially, I have only been a Gallery Interpreter since this past July, but before that, there had been more rigorous training where I had gone out into the galleries accompanied by a more experienced GI (as we're called for short), meaning that I have been out and about in those galleries for approximately half a year by this point. And in this half a year, I have learned a lot of valuable lessons along the way: things that I am sharing with you now as some of my favourite highlights thus far in my life as a Gallery Interpreter at the ROM.

1. Nothing quite beats working with historical objects.

Especially when said objects just happen to be particularly old, or beautiful, or relevant to your field of interest. I still remember when, in the early stages of my training (i.e. before I was even in the galleries), I was given a demo from an instructor on how one of these Q&A sessions would work. The gentleman had a piece of mosaic with him, and I was to pose as the "visitor". I knew going into the dialogue that the mosaic was used in the ROM's Ancient Roman gallery, but imagine my surprise when I discovered that the fragment I was handling was actually 2,000 years old, and a genuine artifact! And since our initial training included objects from both the ROM's Natural History and World Culture collections, I'm sure that's not even the oldest thing I handled by the time I was done.

2. The fascination applies to visitors as well.

I daresay some of the giddiness that comes from working with historical artifacts might seem to come just from my being somewhat of a history enthusiast. However, it's not just me or fellow museum volunteers and employers who get like that: the visitors do, too. For instance, while the miniature birchbark canoe I work with is a replica, I stand near some First Nations birchbark canoes that are well over a hundred years old. And people love it when I point that out!

One of the original First Nations birchbark canoes at the ROM. I work with a smaller, miniature version when I chat with visitors.

The same sort of thing happens with the maple sugar mould as well. Many visitors are fascinated by the fact that not only am I holding an artifact from the late 19th century, but that (with gloves and my supervision) they are welcome to touch it as well. GIs are trained to make sure that artifacts are handled with care at all times (for example: cupping our hands below the visitor's to catch any objects that might fall), so it's a fun and safe experience for everyone involved.

3. Some people just want to be taught.

I've seen this a number of times already in the past six months. The intent for the GIs is to engage with visitors in a conversation, and the Q&A idea stems from that. However, I have had several instances where visitors who are interested don't want the preamble. They'll come right up to me, point at what I'm holding, and ask, "What is that?" Depending on the overall tone of the conversation so far, I sometimes respond by asking for guesses, but it certainly has happened where I end up just telling them directly, and the visitor is very appreciative for the information. This happens a lot with the maple sugar mould in particular, since it's not as immediately recognizable an object as the birchbark canoe. I can see how trying to guess what it is can be rather intimidating, actually.

19th-century French-Canadian maple sugar moulds at the ROM.

4. Sometimes, I am the one who gets taught - and that's even better.

Just about every single GI has had an encounter like this: a visitor comes by who turns out to be an expert in the field relating to the object in question. I hear a lot of these stories coming from the Natural History sections of the ROM in particular, especially relating to children who are currently in their dinosaur/animal enthusiast stage.

I myself have had a similar experience with the miniature birchbark canoe. One woman I met turned out, in fact, to be First Nations herself (specifically Ojibway) and made similar miniature canoes as a hobby. So she was the one telling me a lot about the process she used: soaking the birchbark to make it pliable, sewing it with sinew (the ROM's replica uses thread), and even beading her canoes for decoration. That was definitely a rewarding experience, and I hope to have more in the future!

5. Being a GI can be a great chance for cultural exchange.

Folk musicians from the ROM's Polish Heritage Day in the summer of 2014, one of many such Heritage Days devoted to Canada's many ethnic communities as part of the ROM's summer activities.

 The ROM receives visitors from all over the world - and even if it didn't, Canada is a sufficiently multicultural nation for us to meet visitors from all sorts of ethnicities and cultural backgrounds. What this means is that some of the conversations I have had as a GI focus around comparisons between cultures: Canadian and the visitor's culture of origin.

Some such instances that come to my mind right now include a Swedish visitor talking about woodworking techniques while looking at the birchbark canoes, an East Asian family comparing the qualities of birchbark as a construction material compared to bamboo, a Brazilian family comparing the handiwork of Canada's First Nations peoples with their own indigenous crafts, yet another Brazilian visitor telling me about how rubber is made from tree sap harvested like Canada's maple sap is, and visitors from maple-producing parts of the United States giving me tips and pointers on some of the inner workings of the business.

And that's just scratching the surface!

6. Sometimes, the visitor's more interested in me than in the objects.

I've had cases where overseas tourists are more interested in sharing to me about their thoughts on their trip to Canada thus far than anything directly related to the objects I'm working with. And that's fine - if everyone is comfortable and at ease, I am more than willing to listen and, hopefully, provide further positive memories for them to bring home.

There's also been one occasion where I was in the First Peoples gallery with the birchbark canoe, and a visitor asked me if I was First Nations myself. I told him that no, I wasn't; I'm actually Chinese. He was surprised, since he thought that if I was working in a First Nations-related gallery, I would likely have to be First Nations myself. That's the sort of question that gave me pause to think for quite a long time afterwards.

7. Because, like it or not, politics does get involved sometimes.

Perhaps this is a lesson that's rather gallery-specific, as I have only had this sort of thing happen to me when I'm in the First Peoples gallery. Many visitors are genuinely curious about the place that the First Peoples have in Canada, and I, being a visible ROM worker, naturally become a magnet for those questions.

Modern-art sculpture inspired by the traditional Plains First Nations eagle feather headdress: the wapaha.

 This is especially the case since the history of Canada's First Peoples is a painful one: one that is based on what once was a form of cooperation between Native Peoples and Europeans, but that degenerated into oppression and discrimination before now steadily working towards some form of reconciliation and recognition. So it's understandable that some visitors are concerned, for instance, that the ROM is presenting a colonialist view on the history - particularly since so many of our artifacts come from 19th and early 20th century European donors. Other times, however, I am met with surprise that the First Peoples and their cultures have survived through the tribulation into the present day: their view was that this had all been in the past, but the ROM is careful to show the First Peoples in the present as well.

In both cases, I respond the same way: acknowledge the questions and comments, but encourage the visitors to direct them to the actual ROM curators, who could give more thorough answers than me. Particularly in the former case, things can get very touchy, very fast; and as a GI, I'm not in the position to actually discuss the ROM's political stance. So I pass it on, and hope for the best.

I will, however, reveal this much: the First Peoples gallery at the ROM was designed with the input of many First Nations advisers, and the ROM has been careful to make sure that all the current interpretations and commentaries shown are actually from a Native perspective.

Six months in, and I've already learned so much. Who knows where I'll be after another six!

Images

All photographs from the Royal Ontario Museum, taken by Kita Inoru

The Story in My Mind - How It All Began

I have mentioned, in my "About Me" page here, that I would like to go into writing historical fiction someday. I've already had a Pinterest board devoted to the subject for some time, and now I think it's high time I started saying a bit more about it here.

FYI: If you want to see the Pinterest board, it's right here:

Follow Kita's board The Story in My Mind on Pinterest.

So what do I have of it so far? To be honest, not much. I've got ideas for characters, for plot, for themes and settings, etc. but still lack a number of things that a lot of aspiring authors, I daresay, would already have worked out prior to sharing anything. A working title, for instance, would be bloody useful right about now, as would a clear decision on whether this will be a single piece or a series.

However, one thing that I think my story has that others might not is an earlier version. A previous practice run, if you will, before I decided to actually attempt any sort of formal publishing. It was, in fact, a piece of fanfiction for Axis Powers Hetalia (read: a manga/anime where the characters are all personified nations). At the time, I was working on an entire series titled Sous la Rose (French for "Under the Rose"), that would focus on Canada's history from the Battle of the Plains of Abraham in 1759 onwards. In the first installment, After the Conqueror, I focused on the remainder of the Seven Years War; meanwhile, in its sequel, Brother of Absalom, I picked up from 1763 onwards, dealing with first the political issues in both the Thirteen Colonies and Canada that brought on the American Revolutionary War, and then moving on to that war itself. While my focus, since this was fanfiction, was on the official Hetalia characters in question (Matthew Williams - Canada; Alfred F. Jones - America; Arthur Kirkland - England; and Francis Bonnefoy - France), I did something few Hetalia fanfiction authors had done at the time. I gave significant roles to human OCs (i.e. characters of my own creation that were not personified nations): namely, one Charles Arsenault.

An illustration for Brother of Absalom that was drawn for me by one of my readers: ScarletteDiscord on deviantART (http://scarlettediscord.deviantart.com/). She drew the lineart, while I coloured it. In this, you could see Matthew and Charles.

(FYI: If, coincidentally, you have read those stories before and are going, "Wait - the author's name wasn't Kita Inoru!", you're right. It wasn't. But I'm not plagiarizing either - I was just using another name at the time.)

Well then, you ask, where is it? Can we see it? Sadly...no. See, my earlier version of the story no longer exists. When, back in 2012, I became concerned that I wouldn't have the time to finish it, I opted for deleting all the online accounts where I had had it: FanFiction.net, deviantART, etc. In my mind, I'd rather destroy my work than leave my audience hanging in the false expectation that I would continue it. I'm sure, in hindsight, that I disappointed many people in doing this, but I saw it as the necessary thing to be done. And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't painful for me as well.

So why am I saying all this? Well, because, as life would have it, Monsieur Arsenault here was not having it. Nor were the other human OCs I had created. Even after I'd stopped writing, their stories still persisted in my mind - and, more importantly, they were evolving. "What if," they asked me, "there were no national personifications? What if the focus was on *us*? What would have happened?"

A situation to which, I'm sure, a lot of authors can relate.

And that's where I am now. Trying to figure that all out and write it down for you all to see. The changes, as it turns out, have been astounding: the characters have taken drastically different paths than they did in my earlier Sous la Rose stories. Some now live where they had died, and new faces have joined the cast. It's been a lot of fun just thinking it out so far, and I invite you now to join me as I delve into the world of 18th century Quebec to see what these guys (and girls!) have to say. :)

Victoria Day and La Journée Nationale des Patriotes: One Holiday, Two Sides of History

May Long Weekend, May Run, May Two-Four...whatever you decide to call it, Monday, May 19, 2014, is Victoria Day in Canada. For many, it's simply a time for general spring-related festivities: going up to the cottage for the first time in the season, gardening, barbeques, and fireworks.

But there's far more to the holiday than that if we were to look into its history. Victoria Day was first declared as a holiday in 1845, and was celebrated on Queen Victoria's actual birthday - May 24.

Statue of Queen Victoria outside the British Columbia Parliament Buildings in Victoria, B.C.

Changed to the first Monday prior to May 25 in any given year in 1953, it now also serves as the day on which the ruling British monarch's birthday is celebrated, regardless of whether he or she was actually born then. Queen Elizabeth II, for example, was actually born on April 21, but her "official" birthday is still marked on Victoria Day in Canada. Because of this, where there are at least two flagpoles, federal buildings, airports, and military bases will fly both the Canadian flag and the Union Jack on that day.

(Note: I actually have yet to see this arrangement in person; if anyone has, and has photos, please let me know in a comment - thanks!)

Therefore, it is fitting - and likely no coincidence - that this year's Victoria Day will coincide with a royal visit as the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall take part in a tour of the Maritimes and Manitoba from May 18 through to May 21, 2014. For those in Canada who like to uphold its British heritage and the historical ties with the British monarchy, there is no better way of celebrating Victoria Day.

However, there is, at least, one part of Canada where the story is significantly different: the Province of Quebec. There, Victoria Day (which translates to "Fête de la Reine" - "the Queen's birthday" - in French), has a very different name: La Journée Nationale des Patriotes (National Patriots' Day).

A poster produced for La Journée Nationale des Patriotes in Quebec. You can see here the tricolour flag of the Patriotes, as well as the slogan of one particular branch, called the Fils de la Liberté (Sons of Liberty): "En Avant!"

La Journée Nationale des Patriotes commemorates the Patriotes: French-Canadians who participated in the ultimately unsuccessful Lower Canada Rebellion against the British colonial administration in 1837-1838. The outcome of this rebellion was the merging of Upper Canada (English-speaking) and Lower Canada (French-speaking), and many French-Canadians feared that this would ultimately lead to their assimilation into English-Canadian culture. Because of this, the Patriotes represent the need for Quebec to uphold its own distinctive culture and identity. When the holiday was instated in 2003 by the Premier of Quebec, Bernard Landry, he proclaimed that this would allow Quebecers "to underline the importance of the struggle of the patriots of 1837–1838 for the national recognition of our people, for its political liberty and to obtain a democratic system of government."

How does any of this mesh with a holiday that, for many, seems to be a celebration of Canada's British heritage, and Canada's position as a constitutional monarchy and a member of the British Commonwealth? Well, while Queen Victoria is remembered as Canada's "Mother of Confederation", since the nation was first granted its independence in 1867 during her reign, there is no doubt that, in popular consciousness, she is still the figurehead of the British Empire during the 19th century. A representative, if you will, of the British and Anglophone hegemony in Canada that arguably still persists today. Yet Canada is not just English; it is French, First Nations, and many other cultures besides.

Given this, La Journée Nationale des Patriotes is Quebec's message to the rest of Canada, and one that could be echoed by many others here who have been relegated to the sidelines over the years: we still exist, and our history is just as important as yours.

So no matter what you decide to call the holiday that is marked across Canada on Monday, May 19, 2014, know that its very existence is a testament to our nation's diversity in culture, and in history.

Note: I would like to thank a friend I had a few years ago, Jean-Philippe Bonneville from the Montreal area, for first introducing me to La Journée Nationale des Patriotes. I hadn't heard about it at all until he mentioned it to me back in 2011, and that's become the core inspiration for this post.

References

Department of Canadian Heritage. "Victoria Day".  Government of Canada, 1 May 2013. Web. 17 May 2014.

Office of the Premier of Quebec. "Congé férié à l’occasion de la Journée nationale des Patriotes". Gouvernement de Québec, 24 Nov. 2002. Web. 17 May 2014.

The Canadian Press. "Prince Charles, Camilla set to arrive in Halifax for whirlwind tour." CBC News. 18 May 2014. Web. May 18 2014.

Image Credits

Photograph of British Columbia Parliament Buildings (c) Kita Inoru (taken 25 May 2011)

Poster for La Journée des Patriotes (c) Journeedespatriotes.qc.ca (retrieved 17 May 2014)