by KRISTIAN GRAVENOR

Sometimes becoming a Montrealer can be a tricky business. So James Martin learned when he relocated here in 2000. James knows that migrating ain’t always easy. Indeed Martin’s dad escaped East Germany by blasting through a minefield on a motorcycle under gunfire, six-year-old sister in tow.

Mild-mannered James grew up in Calgary, where he gained status points by penning the famously-twisted Mr. Smutty column in the local alt-weekly, as well as authoring the best-selling guidebook Calgary the Secret City. But he found himself mysteriously drawn to the irresistible poutine-scent wafting off the island city on the St. Lawrence. Plus his girlfriend moved here, so he tagged along to live in a chintzy duplex near the Jean-Talon Market. Martin scraped by doing freelance magazine writing until he was accepted into McGill’s Master’s program in library and information studies.

Now I know a postgrad degree in library studies might seem excessive for those who consider librarians as glorified video store clerks with the right to shush you. But having once been hired as a shelver and fired for incompetence a few hours later, I can attest that library work is larger than it appears in the side mirror.

A Canadian citizen who successfully endures one full year in this province is legally a Quebec resident, which means Martin is legally entitled to pay about half the cost a non-Quebecer pays to go to university.

McGill asked for proof of his Quebecer status: a lease and a letter from an employer. Martin slapped both on the table and rushed off to buy pencil sharpeners and erasers. But McGill said that the letter from his employers (which ironically includes McGill’s Tribune) failed to specify that he was paid for his work.

Perhaps the McGill admissions person feels journalists don’t deserve to be paid for our scribbles but Martin obliged by fetching new letters stating that he was indeed paid.

McGill then ruled that the new documents arrived too late, so they refuse to credit Martin with being a Quebec resident. Thus Martin is out of school and out of pocket thousands in non-resident fees from year one.

I called up the Ministry of Education to ask why residency is determined by proof of income. Why should your passport be linked to your pocketbook? A homeless person lying in a box in an alleyway doesn’t have pocketfuls of T-4s, but I’d consider him as much, if not more, resident than most. The rules, as they exist, deem that those who forsake the working world are not recognized citizens.

The Education Ministry, a ministry worker explained, demands proof of income as a semi-random method of discerning your past whereabouts. You might have spent the last 20 years in Bamako for all they know, so your income records are only used as an arbitrary proof that you’ve actually been living here for a full year. It’s just a tracking tool, says the bureaucrat.

But the ministry leaves the job of applying the rules to the schools. And yeah, the schools score double their income if you’re a non-resident, so it isn’t exactly against their interests to make qualifying difficult.

A McGill rep promised to look Martin’s sad story but didn’t ring back by typing time.

The semi-disenfranchised Martin still hopes to return to McGill and is no doubt keeping his shelving technique sharp by constantly rearranging his Penguin paperbacks on his black melamine bookshelf. A Canadian magazine recently flew Martin to Hollywood to interview actor (?) Tom Green.

Martin has also discovered that getting a Quebec driver’s licence is another bureaucratic inferno for those who move here from another province. On his initial attempt he was given an appointment several months away, which he was unable to attend. Now he’s being told that new rules require him to take a new test sometime in the distant future.

“I love living in Montreal but the red tape is driving me crazy,” he mutters.

Comments? kgravy@openface.ca