At some point everybody breaks – teachers run out of classes. The key is not to do it in front of ten year olds – if you ever think of returning – because North American people are supposed to keep emotions to themselves, like cards… If you do break, find somewhere secluded. He broke down by the gardens, at Mont-Royal, crying and eating poutine.

Breaking down after your first experience with prejudice – your twenty-three year run come to a shocking end – is certainly different than breaking down after your # thousandth experience with prejudice – your run never having existed – for example, but a brush with prejudice is still a brush with prejudice, if only a taste. 

You can cry in your poutine and not have to compare it to the reason why other people are crying in their poutines: he escaped the party where people wouldn’t talk to him for being an anglophone: it didn’t exactly end in his imprisonment, or block his access to employment, and education, but still: it was something new.

Either he would be sad, and continue to cry with delicious foods, or would take it out on someone.

The cashier on Sainte-Catherine, for example, who received a number of people demanding service in English that day, called this anglophone a certain amount of things at that party, attacking someone to assuage her insecurities, as was often done to her.

The most prejudiced Montréalers just swallow political ideology more than others – hate these people, because that’s why you aren’t a millionaire: it has nothing to do with our predatory system, or those lobbyists – and issues that really affect that person dissolve. She attacks one of his group, he attacks on of hers, she attacks his…

Prejudice against an anglophone is easy to build because real offenses have been committed against Francophones in Montréal: It’s easy for the politician to turn all anglophones into violent aliens, unlike the Franco-Québecois, scary, changing each individual anglo the strolling silhouette of a human: Fries.

I didn’t do shit during my political mandate, because anglophones

I didn’t do fuck all as a father, because the government

I didn’t do anything as the Premier of Québec, because Ottawa 

The unquestioning recipient of strategic ignorance is still to blame: someone is now crying in their poutine, adding unnecessary salt, because of their actions: whether or not the attacker attacked out of maliciousness, or ideology, they still attacked. And here sits the attacked, crying into fries, building up prejudice against all Franco-Québecois, repeating the cycle in a different shade, back and forth. This game of violence only benefits those in control: to have the lower and middle classes drain passion by attacking each other, the collective reserve of personal justice is drained, and real issues are avoided, such as the sale of our water.

He stood up, and finished the poutine – tears and all.

We attack people called fries to make us feel better, but we ignore who turned democracy into an oligarchy: restaurant owners don’t care whose bones are being ground for the gravy, just that bones are being ground for the gravy.

word by Liam Lachance

colour by Anaïs Massini 

Author: Word and Colour

words inspired by colour wordandcolour.com

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