It was a hot day last summer. I can't remember now whether I heard any sirens, but when I look out of the window, I see an RCMP vehicle, lights flashing, parked at the side of the road behind an old minivan, right in front of our house on the opposite side. An RCMP officer steps out and leisurely goes up to the minivan. They're never in a hurry, they're in control of the situation. He talks to the driver, window rolled down. Then he asks the 4 or 5 men, I don't remember their exact number anymore, to step out of the van.

They talk more. The RCMP officer goes back to his car. The men wait in the heat. After a while, a second RCMP vehicle will arrive, later an unmarked third one. More talking, between the officers, and the officers and the men, mostly their driver. More waiting.

I'm in the house, witnessing all this. Not sure whether I should intervene, and how? What can I do in this situation? Can I be of help to the men who've been stopped? I wonder whether they were attempting to get to the US? As is well known by now, the number of irregular border crossings to the US has gone up, with traffickers often involved, while comparatively very few refugees now try to cross the other way into Canada. But I have no way of knowing. And I don't need to know. The fact is, the men who have been caught must be in distress, afraid. I decide to focus on that.

So I step out and make my way to the RCMP car. I ask what is happening, even though I know that the officer is not going to tell me anything. Can I do anything to help, I ask, maybe bring some water for the officer and the men? He says they have water, and he does, too. He tells me not to worry, that we are safe. Little does he know that I'm not at all worried about my own safety, I am concerned about the men who have just been intercepted. But I feel powerless to do anything more, so I go back to the house.

After a while, the men are allowed back into the van. After much back and forth between the now three or four RCMP officers, as well as the driver in the van, and much waiting in between, the two cars that arrived later take off. The minivan also drives off. Finally, the original RCMP vehicle leaves.

In this rural location at two kilometers from the border, where nothing much ever happens, the scene I witnessed feels almost unreal. And yet, the human suffering is real, and the power the RCMP officers have to change the course of these men's lives to the worse is very real, too. As real as my lack of power, except to make a caring gesture in offering help and water.

We could not do much during our visits at Roxham Road when it was still open. But we knew our presence there, and our small gestures of offering water in the summer and hats, scarves and mittens in the winter, made a difference to many. So I can only hope that my friendly offering of help maybe touched those men, even though I wasn't even able to interact with them directly.

Hope

About a month ago, I was walking along Covey Hill Road with my daughter and son, both adults. We were taking a leisurely stroll when an RCMP car passed us in slow motion, then turned around and pulled up alongside us. After rolling down his window, he politely asked us what we were doing on the road. I replied, in French, that we were out for a walk. Then I asked him why he was asking that question, and he explained that people were worried about border crossings and had called them to let them know that a group was walking nearby. I told him that I often walked on Covey Hill and that obviously the people who were worried weren't very good physiognomists.

This event, which in itself seemed insignificant, came a few days after we had received, by post, an RCMP pamphlet addressed specifically to border residents, encouraging them to phone them if they saw people who seemed suspicious, i.e. carrying backpacks and struggling to express themselves in the two official languages. A description that raises questions, given that many legal newcomers do not speak either of the official languages well. (The Legault government's budget cuts to French courses for new arrivals won't help matters).

In other words, a foreigner automatically became a suspect, to be denounced.

As I was responding to this officer, I was also thinking that appealing to the public to report people was not the best way to create a friendly atmosphere and good neighborly relations. I wondered why people would report others to an authority without knowing who they were or why they were there.

I then thought that perhaps a society that no longer listens to its citizens creates individuals who are eager for attention and consideration, even at the expense of another human being, provided that for a few moments they have an ear that approves of them and encourages them, thanks them, and recognizes them. That when you feel like a pawn in a chess game you can't control, the other person, the weaker, the worse off, is the only thing you have to eat. A poorly governed world that is leading us to planetary, social, humanitarian and environmental disaster while claiming to be taking measures to remedy the situation, a world like this creates citizens in its own image: citizens who misunderstand who is to blame, humans who dehumanize what is foreign to them in order to better assert their superiority, who lie to themselves in the belief that the small power they are granted is proof of their importance.

I was thinking that civil wars begin by exploiting fear of the other, by encouraging denunciation, that our neighbors to the South are going to pay the price, and that we should ask ourselves whether we are not following their example.
 
I also thought of my grandfather, a member of the Resistance, who died in a concentration camp after being given away by a good citizen who followed the recommendations of the forces in power.

Dominique

(Translation of the original French blog 'Les bons citoyens')

Il y a à peu prés un mois, je prenais une marche sur le chemin Covey Hill, accompagnée de ma fille et de mon fils, tous deux adultes. Nous marchions tranquillement lorsqu’une voiture de la GRC nous dépassa au ralenti puis fit demi-tour et s’arrêta à notre niveau. Après avoir descendu sa fenêtre, il nous demanda, poliment, ce que nous faisions sur la route. Je lui répondis, en français, que nous nous promenions. Puis je lui demandais pourquoi il posait cette question et il expliqua que les gens s’inquiétaient des passages à la frontière et les avaient appelés pour leur faire part de la présence d’un groupe qui marchait non loin de là. Je lui dis que je marchais très souvent sur Covey Hill et que visiblement ceux qui s’inquiétaient n’étaient pas très physionomistes.

Cet événement, qui semblait en soi, insignifiant, arrivait quelques jours après que nous ayons reçu, par courrier, un pamphlet de la GRC adressé spécifiquement aux frontaliers, encourageant ceux-ci à leur téléphoner s'ils étaient témoins de personnes paraissant suspectes, c’est à dire portant des sacs à dos et peinant à s’exprimer dans les deux langues officielles. Une description qui questionne considérant qu’il y a bon nombre de nouveaux arrivants légaux qui ne parlent pas bien les deux langues officielles. (Les coupes budgétaires du gouvernement Legault dans les cours de francisation offerts aux nouveaux arrivant n’arrangeront pas les choses).

Globalement, l’étranger devenait donc une personne automatiquement suspecte, à dénoncer.

Tout en répondant à cet officier, je me disais aussi que faire appel à la population pour que celle-ci s’adonne à de la délation n’était pas la meilleure façon de créer une ambiance conviviale et de bons rapports de voisinage. Je me demandais quelles étaient les raisons qui poussent un être humain à signaler des individus à une autorité sans avoir aucune idée de leur identité ni de la raison de leur présence.

J’ai alors pensé que peut-être qu’une société qui n’écoute plus ces citoyens crée des individus avides d’attention et de considération, même au dépens d’un autre humain, pourvu que pendant quelques instants, ils aient une oreille qui les approuve et les encourage, les remercie et les reconnaisse. Que lorsqu’on ne se sent plus que comme un pion au sein d’un jeu d’échec que l’on ne maîtrise pas, l’autre, le plus faible, le plus mal en point, est la seule prise à se mettre sous la dent. Qu’un monde mal gouverné qui nous conduit à la catastrophe planétaire, sociale, humanitaire et environnementale tout en prétendant prendre des mesures pour y pallier, un monde de cette sorte crée des citoyens à son image : des citoyens qui se méprennent sur les coupables, des humains qui déshumanisent ce qui leur est étranger pour mieux affirmer leur supériorité, qui se mentent à eux mêmes en pensant que ce micro pouvoir qu’on leur accorde est la preuve de leur importance.

Voilà, je pensais que les guerres civiles commencent par l’instrumentalisation de la peur de l’autre, par l’encouragement à la délation, que nos voisins du sud vont en payer le prix, et qu’il serait bon qu’on se demande si nous ne sommes pas en train de suivre leur exemple.

J’ai aussi pensé à mon grand-père, résistant, qui est mort dans un camp de concentration après avoir été donné par un bon citoyen qui suivait les recommandations des forces au pouvoir.

Dominique

Last winter I was walking in a wooded area near my home when I came upon a medium sized black suitcase. As I live very close to the border I assumed that it had been left by an asylum seeker.  Where had this person come from? Was it a man or a woman? Where were they going? Where were they now?  Why had the case been abandoned? I lifted the case and decided to take a peek inside but immediately felt like I had trespassed on the owner’s privacy so I quickly zipped it up.
It felt strange to leave it there but it felt stranger to try to remove it. It was upsetting to think that someone had been separated from their few possessions while surely seeking refuge. Later that day I told my story to a friend who suggested donating the contents to a charity. It seemed like a good idea but something kept me from going back to get it, as it felt wrong to be interfering with someone’s belongings. Still curious, I did go back to check on the case a few days later and it was gone. I was relieved that I had not moved it. I had come close to someone in a difficult situation without meeting them or knowing anything about them, except that probably all their worldly possessions had spent a few days in the woods about 100 metres from my  home. 

Ann

L'hiver dernier, je me promenais dans un bois près de chez moi lorsque je suis tombées sur une valise noire de taille moyenne. Comme je vis très près de la frontière, j'ai supposé qu'elle avait été laissée par un demandeur d'asile.  D'où venait cette personne ? S'agissait-il d'un homme ou d'une femme ? Où allaient-ils ? Où se trouvent-ils à présent ?  Pourquoi la valise avait-elle été abandonnée ? Je soulevai la valise et décidai de jeter un coup d'œil à l'intérieur, mais j'eus immédiatement l'impression d'avoir violé l'intimité du propriétaire et je refermai rapidement la fermeture éclair.

Il était étrange de la laisser là, mais il était encore plus étrange d'essayer de l'enlever. Il était bouleversant de penser que quelqu'un avait été séparé de ses quelques biens alors qu'il cherchait sûrement un refuge. Plus tard dans la journée, j'ai raconté mon histoire à une amie qui m'a suggéré de faire don du contenu à une charité. L'idée me semblait bonne, mais quelque chose m'empêchait d'y retourner, car il me semblait anormal de me mêler des affaires de quelqu'un. Toujours curieux, je suis retourné voir la valise quelques jours plus tard et elle avait disparu. J'étais soulagée de ne pas l'avoir déplacée. Je m'étais rapproché d'une personne en situation difficile sans la rencontrer ni rien savoir d'elle, si ce n'est que toutes ses possessions matérielles avaient probablement passé quelques jours dans le bois à une centaine de mètres de chez moi.

Ann  (traduction du blog anglais 'The black suitcase')