I am not really sure who wants to hear this story but for the longest time I’ve been dying to tell it.
We are going to have to go back to the 70’s where I am a girl growing up on a street that sits between two distinct communities one known as Montreal West and the other as Ville St. Pierre. On the East side the kids were English, the cars were Volvos and the lawns were manicured on the West the kids were French, there were few cars and Apartment walkways were mostly gravel and dirt. Our street, Hillcrest, was positioned in the middle with only a handful of kids living there at the time who were mostly English speaking. For as long as anyone can remember the French kids from “down the hill” were fighting the English kids and vice versa.
The small group of Anglo kids from Hillcrest had to traverse down the hill to the nearest corner store for candy, freezies, and the usual childhood provisions. This trek was frequently accompanied by some sort of conflict which was clearly not severe enough to deter us as we would happily return on a daily basis. In fact, if things were dull or we were just plain thrill seeking, we would poke at the proverbial beehive with some name-calling and consequently run like hell. Once we had arrived safely at “our” park, we would feign relief that we had survived another trip “down devil’s hill”.
There was a pool at the bottom of the hill through the dank smelling tunnel. Though we were shy and awkward in our second language, due to logisitcs, we were enrolled in French swimming lessons and got used to responding to horrifying mispronunciation of our names. For instance, my name is Lee-Ann but to this day it remains an inside joke in my family to say “Saute Layne Saute! Jump!” There I was, standing atop the high diving board hearing the instructor call out these words and wondering who she was talking to . It was my Mother who finally got my attention and reminded me that it was me they were calling “Layne” and that it was in fact my turn to jump. Layne officially became my Ville St. Pierre name. We went to afternoon free swim and even made“friends” with some of the local boys whose creepy habit of groping us under water and tackling us in the park ultimately lead to a unanimous decision to find a new pool.
The next logical choice was the Montreal West Pool. We were already familiar with the atmosphere of Montreal West as we had been intimidated by its kids who told us that we didn’t have the right to play in “their” parks. They explained at length that we were not residents of their town and went on to tell us that we could even check with their parents if we didn’t believe them. We certainly didn’t want any reinforcement from their parents on this matter, we took their word for it and quietly vanished. We were aware that the atmosphere of exclusivity was even more rigidly maintained at the pool.
We had heard rumors from other outsiders who described the public humiliation of being turned away. When you are thirteen this is just about as humiliating as it gets. So, we had to devise a plan! How were we going to navigate the pool border? We knew that they were so stringent that the life guards kept a phone book nearby and would quiz you, look you straight in the eye and ask ...name? address? phone number?? One hand on the phone like Quick Silver ready to strike. We decided to use the names, addresses, and phone numbers of the people for whom we baby sat. This was a terrifying concept as we lived with the constant threat that they would actually dial the listed number and verify our authenticity. At least in those days the phones were rotary and this would have afforded us enough time to escape being caught in a bold face lie: caught red handed, revealed as a Montreal West imposter and uncovered as a lowly Ville St. Pierre resident! Rumor had it that not only would you receive a public lashing for this unthinkable crime but all access to any Mo West facilities would be permanently revoked! Fortunately, this never happened. Our plan worked. We made it past those life guards that first summer and soon after became pool regulars who no longer required verification. I remember how great it felt to belong. To feel welcome and most importantly to no longer feel like an intruder.
We made friends with Montreal West kids, went to school there, participated in Canada Day Parades and volunteered our time at the Community Center. We had jobs in the shops and restaurants and were active in the baby sitting circuit. We managed to avoid the awful truth that we were not real ‘Montreal Westers’ and hence were able to slip under the radar and enjoy the rights and freedoms that Mo’ West parks, pools, and community offered. I felt enriched by the friends and experiences I had.
So, let’s skip forward several decades and come back to the present time June 2008. I have returned to live on the same street where I grew up and am faced with similar a situation from my childhood only now instead of kids telling me I can’t play in their parks or the pool telling me I have no right to swim in it, I have concrete barricades denying my neighbors and myself the right to car access on their streets. A barricade that has solidified an intangeable sentiment that those of us who live here have sensed for generations. It is now a visible monument that seems to read “This barricade is symbolic of a class divide: STAY OUT!”.
The truth is, doctors, lawyers, and families reside behind the barricade as do students, singles and seniors. People from varying socio-economic backgrounds and ethnocultural groups. It is a vibrant, refreshing community neither gay nor straight, white nor black. A unique pocket in Montreal where neighbors are friends. The streets boasts cute cottages, stately homes, tidy duplexes and apartment buildings all sharing the same sidewalks. It is a wonderful place to live!
The day the concrete blocks were erected at the top of the hill residents came home to find a Montreal West Security guard in the street explaining the situation. “You can’t go through” he said. He began the day jovial and enthusiastic handing out fridge magnets but within a few hours was emotionally exhausted. He was met with harsh words, intense emotions, crying and despair. I was on foot carrying a coffee as I passed him on my way home early that day. I felt my pulse quicken as I deduced the situation but didn’t want to give my emotions away. He stood smugly with a barricade supporting Mo West resident and I tried to maintain my dignity. He took the liberty of asking if I had brought a coffee for him. I politely said no, accepted the fridge magnet and raced home to alert others of the shocking and offensive turn of events. I witnessed several others try to get through and watched their flagrant emotional reaction and realized the impact that this was having on peoples lives. I was particularly saddened when a fellow dog owner walked past visibly shaken saying “I don’t even have a car man but this is just too much. How can they go and do this? It’s not right”. The security guard was unaware of the enormity of the situation and he left his post apologetic and humbled.
Certain barricade supporting Montreal West residents have made threatening, demeaning comments to pedestrians walking past the concrete blocks. When a group of VSP residents went out into the streets in protest carrying anti-barricade signs, they were sneered at, laughed at, ridiculed or worse, ignored. On the other hand, a large contingency of Mtl. West residents continue to express shame in their town and are willing to sign petitions and phone City Hall to show opposition to a clearly abusive and unnecessary situation.
It is confusing and unsettling to me that things have gone this far. After forty years no progress has been made. We live in a world where walls are coming down and we make claims about a desire for peace and justice. This barricade stands in opposition to the rights and freedoms that Canada is so proud of. The city of Montreal’s campaign for ‘one island one city’ touted enabling all Montrealers access to all services, libraries, pools, streets, etc. But the de merged town of Montreal West maintains its status of exclusivity for its citizens alone leaving others to feel that familiar sense of alienation. It has occurred to me to contact Amnesty International as it feels we have received no support from local politicians despite continued efforts from residents who have been fighting this battle for 20 years. But mostly I am compelled to write, to share, to expose a part of my own humanity. This is a place where freedom reigns and it is something that can never be barricaded.
Living Behind the Barricade by Lee-Ann Matthews
“There can be no peace without justice”
Martin Luther King Jr.
We are going to have to go back to the 70’s where I am a girl growing up on a street that sits between two distinct communities one known as Montreal West and the other as Ville St. Pierre. On the East side the kids were English, the cars were Volvos and the lawns were manicured on the West the kids were French, there were few cars and Apartment walkways were mostly gravel and dirt. Our street, Hillcrest, was positioned in the middle with only a handful of kids living there at the time who were mostly English speaking. For as long as anyone can remember the French kids from “down the hill” were fighting the English kids and vice versa.
The small group of Anglo kids from Hillcrest had to traverse down the hill to the nearest corner store for candy, freezies, and the usual childhood provisions. This trek was frequently accompanied by some sort of conflict which was clearly not severe enough to deter us as we would happily return on a daily basis. In fact, if things were dull or we were just plain thrill seeking, we would poke at the proverbial beehive with some name-calling and consequently run like hell. Once we had arrived safely at “our” park, we would feign relief that we had survived another trip “down devil’s hill”.
There was a pool at the bottom of the hill through the dank smelling tunnel. Though we were shy and awkward in our second language, due to logisitcs, we were enrolled in French swimming lessons and got used to responding to horrifying mispronunciation of our names. For instance, my name is Lee-Ann but to this day it remains an inside joke in my family to say “Saute Layne Saute! Jump!” There I was, standing atop the high diving board hearing the instructor call out these words and wondering who she was talking to . It was my Mother who finally got my attention and reminded me that it was me they were calling “Layne” and that it was in fact my turn to jump. Layne officially became my Ville St. Pierre name. We went to afternoon free swim and even made“friends” with some of the local boys whose creepy habit of groping us under water and tackling us in the park ultimately lead to a unanimous decision to find a new pool.
The next logical choice was the Montreal West Pool. We were already familiar with the atmosphere of Montreal West as we had been intimidated by its kids who told us that we didn’t have the right to play in “their” parks. They explained at length that we were not residents of their town and went on to tell us that we could even check with their parents if we didn’t believe them. We certainly didn’t want any reinforcement from their parents on this matter, we took their word for it and quietly vanished. We were aware that the atmosphere of exclusivity was even more rigidly maintained at the pool.
We had heard rumors from other outsiders who described the public humiliation of being turned away. When you are thirteen this is just about as humiliating as it gets. So, we had to devise a plan! How were we going to navigate the pool border? We knew that they were so stringent that the life guards kept a phone book nearby and would quiz you, look you straight in the eye and ask ...name? address? phone number?? One hand on the phone like Quick Silver ready to strike. We decided to use the names, addresses, and phone numbers of the people for whom we baby sat. This was a terrifying concept as we lived with the constant threat that they would actually dial the listed number and verify our authenticity. At least in those days the phones were rotary and this would have afforded us enough time to escape being caught in a bold face lie: caught red handed, revealed as a Montreal West imposter and uncovered as a lowly Ville St. Pierre resident! Rumor had it that not only would you receive a public lashing for this unthinkable crime but all access to any Mo West facilities would be permanently revoked! Fortunately, this never happened. Our plan worked. We made it past those life guards that first summer and soon after became pool regulars who no longer required verification. I remember how great it felt to belong. To feel welcome and most importantly to no longer feel like an intruder.
We made friends with Montreal West kids, went to school there, participated in Canada Day Parades and volunteered our time at the Community Center. We had jobs in the shops and restaurants and were active in the baby sitting circuit. We managed to avoid the awful truth that we were not real ‘Montreal Westers’ and hence were able to slip under the radar and enjoy the rights and freedoms that Mo’ West parks, pools, and community offered. I felt enriched by the friends and experiences I had.
So, let’s skip forward several decades and come back to the present time June 2008. I have returned to live on the same street where I grew up and am faced with similar a situation from my childhood only now instead of kids telling me I can’t play in their parks or the pool telling me I have no right to swim in it, I have concrete barricades denying my neighbors and myself the right to car access on their streets. A barricade that has solidified an intangeable sentiment that those of us who live here have sensed for generations. It is now a visible monument that seems to read “This barricade is symbolic of a class divide: STAY OUT!”.
The truth is, doctors, lawyers, and families reside behind the barricade as do students, singles and seniors. People from varying socio-economic backgrounds and ethnocultural groups. It is a vibrant, refreshing community neither gay nor straight, white nor black. A unique pocket in Montreal where neighbors are friends. The streets boasts cute cottages, stately homes, tidy duplexes and apartment buildings all sharing the same sidewalks. It is a wonderful place to live!
The day the concrete blocks were erected at the top of the hill residents came home to find a Montreal West Security guard in the street explaining the situation. “You can’t go through” he said. He began the day jovial and enthusiastic handing out fridge magnets but within a few hours was emotionally exhausted. He was met with harsh words, intense emotions, crying and despair. I was on foot carrying a coffee as I passed him on my way home early that day. I felt my pulse quicken as I deduced the situation but didn’t want to give my emotions away. He stood smugly with a barricade supporting Mo West resident and I tried to maintain my dignity. He took the liberty of asking if I had brought a coffee for him. I politely said no, accepted the fridge magnet and raced home to alert others of the shocking and offensive turn of events. I witnessed several others try to get through and watched their flagrant emotional reaction and realized the impact that this was having on peoples lives. I was particularly saddened when a fellow dog owner walked past visibly shaken saying “I don’t even have a car man but this is just too much. How can they go and do this? It’s not right”. The security guard was unaware of the enormity of the situation and he left his post apologetic and humbled.
Certain barricade supporting Montreal West residents have made threatening, demeaning comments to pedestrians walking past the concrete blocks. When a group of VSP residents went out into the streets in protest carrying anti-barricade signs, they were sneered at, laughed at, ridiculed or worse, ignored. On the other hand, a large contingency of Mtl. West residents continue to express shame in their town and are willing to sign petitions and phone City Hall to show opposition to a clearly abusive and unnecessary situation.
It is confusing and unsettling to me that things have gone this far. After forty years no progress has been made. We live in a world where walls are coming down and we make claims about a desire for peace and justice. This barricade stands in opposition to the rights and freedoms that Canada is so proud of. The city of Montreal’s campaign for ‘one island one city’ touted enabling all Montrealers access to all services, libraries, pools, streets, etc. But the de merged town of Montreal West maintains its status of exclusivity for its citizens alone leaving others to feel that familiar sense of alienation. It has occurred to me to contact Amnesty International as it feels we have received no support from local politicians despite continued efforts from residents who have been fighting this battle for 20 years. But mostly I am compelled to write, to share, to expose a part of my own humanity. This is a place where freedom reigns and it is something that can never be barricaded.
Living Behind the Barricade by Lee-Ann Matthews
“There can be no peace without justice”
Martin Luther King Jr.
1 comment:
Great story Lee-Ann! I remember going to Royal West Academny and have some of the same experiences going down the "hill" to get some greasy poutine or ringolo's at the depaneur that was on the corner of Mount-Vernon and des Erables!
Remember that??
Fiona
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