Bright lights,
French city

>> Montreal’s job market can be brutal
and bizarre for unilingual newcomers

by DAVID RAVENSBERGEN

Since the recent publication of Journal de Montréal reporter Noée Murchison’s daring exposé on the willingness of downtown retailers to hire a unilingual anglophone, Montréal’s dormant language debate has come lurching back to life. To Parti Québécois head Pauline Marois and the guardians of francophone heritage, the article was a call to arms. Bill 101 must be tightened, and small businesses made to comply. In the opposite corner, the skeptics at The Gazette sent out an undercover reporter of their own, who was quick to point out that French service is attainable everywhere in the city, including resolutely anglo neighbourhoods like NDG. The debate continues, but the only group who has yet to weigh in are the unilingual anglophones in question. It’s time to break the silence.

Like many before me, I came to Quebec from British Columbia, following the trail carved out by friends, old roommates and bands like Wolf Parade. Drawn by vague notions of Montreal’s rich culture, supportive arts community and cheap rent, I set out eastward in search of a new life. A few friends cautioned that I would have a terrible time finding a job if I didn’t speak French, but I convinced myself everything would simply work out. Having studied French from grade four until my first year of university, I thought reawakening the old verb conjugations would be no problem, and that after a few awkward purchases at the local boulangerie I would be happily flexing my new-found fluency. Besides, I wasn’t interested in work. I had visions of quaint cafes, potluck dinners and late-night snowball fights on the way home from the bar. Maybe I’d even join a band.

Coupons, call centres and craigslist

When I arrived, I got an apartment and set about fawning over the charming architecture and abundance of live music venues. Of course my bank account began to plunge, and financial reality quickly asserted itself. I needed a job. I reluctantly picked up the newspaper, flipped to the classifieds and began my search. I soon learned that call centres form the backbone of the local anglophone economy. Various ads promising flexible hours, competitive pay and a pleasant working atmosphere vied for my attention, but I saw through the lies. Spending my days in a cubicle harassing people on the phone did not compute with my vision of Montreal. So I turned to Publi-Sac, a local spam outfit that delivers bags full of coupons and brochures door to door. I managed to score a job with a rival company, and began my career in flyer distribution in Laval the next day.

Surprisingly, the work wasn’t that bad. With no need to interact with the public, I roamed around the suburbs listening to French lessons on my headphones. Since the wage was a piece rate, I pushed myself to move at a constant jog, and it paid off. When my boss made remarks suggesting I was too stupid to read a photocopied map, I swallowed the urge to beat him with my university diploma and kept working. After about a week, however, things started to turn sour. Days of running up and down stairs were taking a terrible toll on my knees, and it became increasingly difficult to keep a steady pace. The end came when a man on the sidewalk asked what I was delivering. I showed him one of the brochures, and he looked me in the eye and said, “It’s too bad you’re not doing something useful.”

The truth was too much to bear, and I gave my notice that afternoon.

Over the next few weeks I glued myself to craigslist, landing a couple of under-the-table days hauling rug shipments on Parc Ave. A friend gave me the number of someone he had worked for in the past, and the voice on the other end offered me a position as a scalper’s assistant. The plan was to camp in a van overnight outside the Bell Centre so we could each buy the maximum number of Celine Dion tickets as soon as the box office opened in the morning. The head scalper promised to pay a hundred bucks cash, and provide “pizza, beer and all the weed you can smoke,” but he balked at the last minute when he couldn’t come up with the necessary capital. Crestfallen, I turned to the general labour listings once again.

Pride, dignity as obstacles

When I came across Murchison’s article, my faith in the elusive anglophone job was renewed. Intrigued by her method, I decided to disguise myself as a reporter to find out what kind of work my fellow anglos were doing. My first subject was Brad Lee, a jazz drummer from Armstrong, BC. Lee arrived in Montreal in 2005, and spent a year and a half hauling trash for rubbish removal specialists 1-800-GOT-JUNK? Whenever he encountered a customer who only spoke French, Lee would call his boss and get him to translate over the phone. With the help of some good-natured laughter and a well-timed “Merci,” the phone tactic worked surprisingly well. But the job also featured a special form of humiliation.

“Every morning we had to park at a major intersection, put on bright blue afro wigs, climb on top of our van and wave at cars,” Lee says.

The key was to attract the attention of motorists without causing any accidents. If it was a slow day, he had to stop for an afternoon “wave” as well. Lee’s former co-worker Sven Douglas confirms the story. “That was a bad job. And I’ve done a lot of bad jobs here, so I know.”

My next interview was with Calgary-born musician Ethan Collister. Much like myself, Collister originally imagined Montreal as a bohemian haven, and didn’t anticipate any trouble finding work. “At first I had a pretty idealistic sort of job in mind: part-time, perhaps artistically based, something that would nurture my creative personality and afford me plenty of leisure time to pursue my path as a songwriter,” he says.

After a few weeks of unemployment, he was obliged to lower his standards. Responding to a vague ad from a temp agency, Collister found work washing dirty festival tents with a motley collection of anglos at a warehouse in Lachine. For eight hours a day he crawled around on his knees with a small spray bottle and a cloth, scrubbing, buffing and folding large tents. He could now pay his rent, but with the addition of a two-hour daily commute little time remained for any kind of musical output.

Crushing defeats

As my investigation continued, I began to discern a common thread. Montreal exerts a strong pull on the young and creative, especially those who hail from artistically deprived cities like Calgary. But when they arrive, these roaming anglos discover that their work history is essentially meaningless. “Scott” worked as a gallery manager and curator in his native Alberta, organizing art shows and artist promotions. Newly arrived in Montreal, he came across an exhibition featuring the work of one of his best-selling artists back home. Armed with an impressive CV and a flattering letter of reference, he was on the verge of scoring a gallery job when the dreaded question struck: “Parlez-vous français?” Defeated, he set his sights on a dishwashing gig, but discovered those aren’t so easy to come by. “Managers would look at my resume and think I wasn’t serious,” he says. Eventually Scott removed his more distinguished experience, embellished his dishwashing history and found a job with a “modified” CV. Scott asked the Mirror not use his last name, fearing he might lose his dishwashing gig.

In the end, all the subjects I interviewed recognized that speaking the official language is the obvious key to a half-decent job in Montreal. Many are taking regular classes and practicing daily. But in the meantime, bills need to be paid, and the city’s famed cultural advantages remain tauntingly out of reach. And even if we anglos do manage to find a job, chances are the work will be so demeaning and mind-numbing that we’ll be forced to either learn French or return to our homes. In either case, French Montreal has nothing to fear from us.

Help me, I’m English

by DAVID RAVENSBERGEN

For anglophones accustomed to English-dominated climes, the experience of becoming a linguistic minority in Quebec can be disorienting. Decent jobs are hard to come by, and mainstream culture is tough to decipher.

To complicate matters, Montreal’s casual bilingualism makes it difficult to learn French by immersion. To ease your transition, organizations like the Quebec Community Groups Network (QCGN) provide English-language services and community initiatives for those who have yet to perfect their French.

According to a 2007 QCGN report, the pre-fluency days can indeed be trying. The survey found that although anglophones comprise just 18.5 per cent of the population in the Montreal region, they have a 24 per cent higher chance of being unemployed than francophones. Moreover, the study concluded that Quebec’s English community is increasingly diverse, with over one third of the province’s anglophones coming from outside of Canada. Combined with a lack of anglophone representation in the provincial government, the community is in need of unifying leadership.

With that in mind, QCGN is organizing a conference scheduled from Friday, February 29 to Sunday, March 2, entitled “Community Revitalization: Trends and Opportunities for the English-speaking Communities of Quebec.” Anyone with an interest in forging anglophone solidarity in Quebec should be sure to attend.

Of course, if your rent is late and you need a job, long-term community-building strategies probably aren’t at the top of your priority list. For more immediate assistance navigating the barren English job market, try Youth Employment Services (YES) Montreal, located at 666 Sherbrooke W. YES Montreal offers a wide range of services, including job search tools, resume-building workshops, self-employment strategies and French classes. With a diverse list of funders including the federal and provincial governments, YES is a non-profit organization, and program fees range from free to definitely affordable.

In response to the staggering numbers of young people in Montreal pursuing creative ambitions but unable to make a buck at their craft, YES created a special division devoted to improving the lives of financially challenged artists. They can coach you through the application process for coveted grants and loans, determine if your art could become a viable career or help you find a job washing dishes to pay for those late nights spent at the easel.