The Bruce Report

Does it say something about us when the only occasion at which Canada’s national anthem can be played without fear of igniting ideological warfare is a hockey game involving one or more of the Leafs, Habs, Senators, Oilers, Flames, and Canucks?

Personally, I like the old tune. And while it probably shouldn’t be incorporated into CBC Radio’s “Obama Playlist”, it beats the hell out of God Save the Queen, a little ditty I was forced to chirp in grade school during those anglophilic years before our nation even had a flag to call its own.

In truth, we Canadians do a lousy job brainwashing our impressionable youth with the trappings and rituals of patriotic devotion. In the early 1960s, you may recall, Progressive Conservative Leader John Diefenbaker thought the whole idea of replacing the British ensign with a distinctly Canadian banner was abominable. The Great Flag Debate, as it was known, raged in Parliament for months before the task was finally pushed off to a committee given instructions to generate a suitable design, pronto. “We were given all of six weeks,” its co-creator John Matheson once complained.

So, maybe, it should come as no surprise that, every once in a while, a parent worries when his or her child is denied the opportunity to sing O Canada at school. What’s wrong with us, they hector, that we take such a lackadaisical attitude to these symbols of our nationhood? Have we no pride? Have we no purpose?

At least, this seems to be the crux of a steamy, little battle shaping up between an incensed mother and one Erik Millet, the principal of Belleisle Elementary School (with a student body of precisely 214) in Springfield, near Sussex. The head master, it seems, elected to dispense with the singing of the national anthem, each morning before the commencement of classes, a couple of years ago. And Susan Boyd is fit to be tied for myriad reasons, not the least of which is that this is the first she’s heard of the decision.

“Respect for your country is something that should be instilled at a very young age,” she told the Saint John Telegraph Journal recently, after having been informed by her daughter that the anthem hasn’t been sung regularly at her school in some time. “For years, elementary school students have stopped and stood where they were when they heard O Canada. I’m afraid that will be lost.”

Millet, for his part, defends his position that the early morning ritual is offensive to a couple of parents. “Whether it’s for religious or family reasons, this is a public education system,” he said. “It’s secular, and we’re serving the public. Is it right or is it fair for children who are not allowed to sing the anthem to be forced to?”

What’s more, he said, “We thought we could give more prominence, more importance to the anthem than playing a taped version over a crackling PA system. I want to be very clear our decision to change the time, location and frequency is to provide an enhanced experience for the students.”

Except those, presumably, who are not allowed to participate for the aforementioned “religious or family reasons”.

Regardless, the brouhaha has attracted the oh-so-helpful attention of at least one federal cabinet minister, the Honourable Greg Thompson of Veterans Affairs. Apparently, he’s even more outraged than Boyd. “We love our country,” he thundered. “Every child should have the opportunity to participate in the national anthem regularly. It’s important for community leaders and principals to recognize that. This is something every parent should be concerned about.”

Really, Mr. Thompson? Should I?

As a parent of two adult children, both of whom experienced the dubious delights of a New Brunswick public education, I’m more concerned about the quality of math, science and reading instruction. I’m more concerned about the lack of history, geography and civics courses available to young people. And I’m a darned sight more worried about the pathetically low level of linguistic pedagogy in Canada’s only officially bilingual province than I am about the number of kids who are mumbling the lyrics of a song that wasn’t even the country’s official anthem until 1980.

On the other hand, Mr. Millet, what kind of progressive logic ignores the will of the majority? If most parents in your neck of the woods would prefer their kids to sing O Canada before they get down to their A-B-Cs, accommodate them. And as for those few children, whose parents refuse to permit their little darlings to raise their voices high, tell them what my father told me when I complained about God Save the Queen.

“If you don’t like it chief, don’t sing it.”

She’s 22, earns straight “As”, belongs to a dozen campus organizations, and believes, with the bullet-proof bravado of youth, that she is strong and smart beyond compare and that almost everyone else, outside her circle of friends and fellow travellers, is either heroically weak or invincibly stupid. So why, then, does she (I’ll call her Wendy) weep like an abandoned child whenever she ponders her fate in the workaday world that waits for her?

In fact, Wendy occupies a troubling demographic in our region: A growing legion of university and college kids who will, through no fault of their own, graduate clutching a sheepskin in one hand and a massive I.O.U. in the other. Over the past decade, student debt (which now averages a whopping $15,000 per person, per year) has deepened – in many instances beyond the point of no return on an investment that society still insists must be made, regardless of the consequences.

But those consequences are not only personal (poverty, bankruptcy, despair); they’re also broadly economic, and they cut to the heart of what it means to be a truly competitive province, region, nation in a knowledge-loving world where ideas and skills move across borders, rewarding the fleet and nimble and punishing the slow and clumsy. Indeed, what happens to the rest of us when all the Wendys dry their eyes, wise up, and high-tail it out of their country for better pickings (and better opportunities with which to pay their debts) elsewhere in the global economy?

It’s not a hypothetical question. In Atlantic Canada, commercial productivity is down, dramatically. So are the numbers of people available to fill skilled and technical positions in professions and industries economists assert are crucial to long-term competitiveness. Meanwhile, wage and salary levels here lag those in almost every other part of the nation, and everywhere in the G-8. It’s a vicious cycle that spirals in inverse proportion to the mounting financial burdens we allow our children to shoulder long before they enter the workforce.

Under the circumstances, solutions are not easy. Still, one seems painfully obvious: Eliminate, or radically reduce, tuition rates for undergraduate courses of study in this region, if not right across Canada. 

Now, before the howling imprecations from the right side of the political divide commence, allow me to elaborate. First, there are immediate social benefits stemming from any scheme that puts money back into the pockets of young scholars. Those with the wherewithal to study do so more quickly and efficiently than those who are forced to assume onerous, distracting levels of public and private debt. The result is that the former tends to graduate sooner, with degrees more closely calibrated to their interests and gifts – making them better, more job-ready employees – than the latter. To use the language of economics, tuition relief reduces the incidence of costly externalities (prolonged under-employment, joblessness, and systemic labour shortages in key industries, among others).

Second, debt-free graduates are more likely than their sallow-skinned, money-hungry counterparts to seek advanced credits; and they are more likely to seek them in fields of study which promise rewarding, lucrative, permanent work. Moreover, if that work is available in Atlantic Canada, every credible economic development think tank insists that, for the first time in a generation, new cohorts of educated young people will stay, not flee for their economic lives.

Predictably, there is the question of who pays. Just as predictably, the answer is: We do. We working men and women, who send our taxes to Ottawa to ensure, among other things, that our children obtain at least the same opportunities we’ve had, must foot the bill through the ministrations of our governments. And nationally, collectively, this will amount to billions of dollars a year. But how cheap that price is – what a bargain it becomes – when measured against the cost of doing nothing.

If all this sounds crazy, then half of Europe is clinically insane. The tuition-free college model enjoys a long and successful history in places like Sweden, Norway, Finland, Germany, France and the United Kingdom. And, for each of these jurisdictions, costless access to higher education (though not always universally applied) has generated priceless economic advantages, including a motivated, skilled and bountiful workforce; the highest gross domestic products in the western world; and diverse and sophisticated cultures, which have become, at various times, secular Meccas for the globe-trotting creative class, whose reserves of fluid wealth are exceeded only by their ingenuity.

Do we Atlantic Canadians deserve any less? Or should our strong, smart children continue to suffer – their opportunities, and ours, savagely curtailed by insupportable debt – at the hands of the heroically weak and invincibly stupid among us?

Our Wendys are waiting for our answer.

This commentary appears in the November-December, 2008 edition of Atlantic Business Magazine. For the finest business journalism on the East Coast, visit www.atlanticbusinessmagazine.com

Wading into the debate over early French immersion in New Brunswick is a little like walking barefoot into a snakepit. Which is exactly what an ad-hoc committee comprised of the province’s leading Francophone businesspeople, educators and cultural figures did the other week – with the predictable results.

After insisting, in an “open letter to Anglophones”, that early French immersion is emblematic of New Brunswick’s status as Canada’s “only officially bilingual province” – and chastising Shawn Graham’s government for precipitously dumping the program in favour of new “Intensive French” and “Core” curricula in the English primary and secondary school systems – it called for a moratorium on further government action until 2009 when, presumably, cooler heads might prevail.

Within days, however, the Saint John Telegraph-Journal published an editorial which said, among other things: “The Anglophone school system today runs counter to the equality of opportunity Premier Louis J. Robichaud proclaimed more than 40 years ago. While the segregation produced by early immersion has been limited to Anglophones, it does no good for the Francophone community. The streaming produced by early immersion is creating a unilingual underclass, with all the resentments one might expect among those who have been denied the opportunity to learn a skill that is essential for government employment. Provide all students access to an effective education.”

By juxtaposing the words, “Robichaud”, “segregation”, and “underclass”, the newspaper effectively co-opted the rallying cries of the previous generation of Francophone activists who fought successfully for fairness and equity in a system that had been patently unfair and inequitable. Now, it seems, is the time for the poor, downtrodden Anglophone. The pendulum swings, and the moderates had better duck lest they lose their cooler heads.

In fact, this is one of those rare wedge issues that manages to divide Anglophones, Francophones, and cultural warriors of all linguistic stripes and proclivities. If there is such a thing as a no-win, zero-sum public policy option, this is it. Still, the bottom line is simpler than it seems.

Early French immersion is indisputably the best, most effective way to teach English kids their second language. Buckets of research all over the world support this conclusion if only because youngsters learn faster and more enduringly than teenagers and adults. But, here’s the thing: So what?

I can make an equally persuasive case that, under the right circumstances, home schooling produces more literate, numerically accomplished, and civically engaged students than institutionalized classroom learning. Unless, however, my government supports my efforts, recognizes my credentials, and fast-tracks my demonstrably superior pupils to circles of higher education, my argument means nothing.

The problem with early French immersion in this province, at this time, is that it is not working for most people (except as a publicity stunt for those wedded to the theory, if not the practice, of linguistic achievement). That’s a huge shame, to be sure. But it’s also the cold, hard truth. The majority of English children are stuck in the profoundly dysfunctional core program and are, as a result, falling behind in every academic area that matters to a world in which brain power increasingly supplants raw power as the gold standard of economic success. Math, science, history, geography, and, yes, language, are languishing in understaffed, under-equipped, overburdened schools.

Those who do have access to early French immersion have it because their circumstances are efficacious: they are the right age for admission; they live in cities or built-up rural areas; they have money; they come from doting, nurturing parents. This renders them a fortunate minority in a publicly and pathetically funded school system. In effect, they benefit from a private education in everything but name.

The issue is not about language, per se, but education and equal opportunity. The provincial government’s determination to improve access to French instruction runs tandem to its desire to elevate the quality of learning across the board. The assumption that its withdrawal from early immersion amounts to a repudiation of those crucial victories won during the Robichaud era is flat wrong.

If anything, it supports them.

It’s rare when Canada’s self-proclaimed national newspaper lauds New Brunswick as a glittering example of national virtue. But there the Globe and Mail was, earlier this week, declaring in all its paternalistic glory, that ours truly is the country’s “most genuinely bilingual province.”

Naturally, the hickory stick of Upper Canadian vilification must also drop. And so it did on the lash-reddened back of Education Minister Kelly Lamrock, whose decision to terminate early French immersion (EFI) in the province has outraged many. As the Globe scolded, “The provincial government must now engage in consultation, and the result should not be a foregone conclusion. It has an opportunity to reconsider its rushed ending of this valuable program.”

The “opportunity”, of course, is the recent judgment of Justice Hugh McLellan of New Brunswick’s Court of Queen Bench that the provincial government acted precipitously when it declared its intentions regarding EFI before fulfilling its promise to consult fully with residents.

Still, I’m not sure what “full consultation” denotes, let alone requires, any more than I understand what the Globe’s excellent editorialists mean by “rushed ending” and “valuable program.”

You could argue, for example, that the people of New Brunswick have been marvellously well consulted on the proposed termination of a system that has failed more children than it’s helped, produced more functional illiterates in both official languages than even its most strident sceptics have feared, and driven a near-fatal spike into the heart of public education in this province, currently bifurcated by independent streams of “have” and “have-not” pupils.

You could also argue that the politics of linguistic identity have infected a debate which should be concerned not with whether English-speaking kids must learn French, but how they should learn the language well enough to function bilingually as doctors, scientists, teachers, politicians, and. . .yes, even newspaper writers.

You could argue these points, and many others. But here’s where the Globe makes an indisputably sensible argument: “One moral of the story may be that politicians should be careful of what they promise in the way of consultation.”

How many times over the past two years have we been treated to the New Brunswick government’s bold visions of a self-sufficient future, its vaunted predictions of  “transformational change”, its determination to shake off the fiscal chains that bind it to Ottawa’s moneybags? How many times has it attached to each of these proclamations the public relation’s caveat, “Of course, only if you, the people, agree”?

But do we, the people, really agree? More to the point, do we actually believe that the Graham regime, or any other, is genuinely persuaded by what we have to say; that it will do exactly what we tell them because we, after all, comprise a homogenous monolith, like-minded and determined to have our way in every way?

This government continues to fiddle at the fringes of public approbation precisely because our voices are varied, complex, diverse, pluralistic and at odds with one another; and because that’s what governments do when they have no intention of reforming the foundations of electoral participation in the system that installs them.

Failing this type of reform – this truly “transformational change” – there will always be people who feel they’ve been under-represented or maligned. There will always be the rage of the disenfranchised, the fury of the forgotten, and the madness of the privileged few fulminating at the loss of public perks to which they were never entitled. It is the way of things in an imperfect democracy.

But, imperfect as it is, it is still ours to improve. And while we teach our children how to read, write and speak French and English, we can also teach them history, politics, literature, philosophy, science, and math. And as we debate how best to consult with our duly elected representatives, we can teach ourselves the rudiments of our society, the mechanics of our governments, and become better acquainted with the cornerstones of our public conscience.

Then, one day, we may wake up to a new headline in Canada’s self-proclaimed national newspaper: New Brunswick is the country’s most genuinely civil province.

A friend writes that she bemoans the decline of English language studies across the continent. Once upon a time, she says, kids learned Shakespeare. They knew what Dickens meant when he penned, “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”

Now, they know only instant messaging, facebook, youtube, myspace, gmail, VOIP. They speak in atavistic code and write in runes no one over the age of 35 can decipher without a Rosetta Stone carved by a 14-year-old.

To prove her point, she sent along a sampling of sentences composed by American high school kids enrolled in creative writing courses. In fact, this little nugget has been making the rounds of the Internet since 2001. Nevertheless, it is hilarious:

“His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.”

“Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.”

“She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.”

“She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.”

“He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.”

“Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.”

“He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.”

“The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.”

“The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.”

“McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.”

“From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 5:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.”

“Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.”

“The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.”

“Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.”

“They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.

“He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.”

“Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.”

“The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.”

“He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.”

“The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.”

“It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.”

“He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.”

Now, I agree, these are among the worst constructions I’ve ever read. But what’s really frightening is that, with not much effort and a little imagination, I can turn these disjointed metaphors into a coherent, if utterly bizarre, short story. Check it out:

“Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

“Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

“He spoke with the wisdom that came from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

“She, on the other hand, had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up. And though her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever, she grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

“He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree. He had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while. But he was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

“The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity had come as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine. They had lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth. He would never forget that day when the little boat gently drifted across the backyard pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

“From the attic had come an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 5:00 p.m. instead of 7:30. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do. He fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

“That’s when he saw her for the first time, a ballerina who rose gracefully en Pointe extending one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools. He was deeply in love.”

Now that’s real writing, baby.

Hollywood, call me – we’ll do lunch.

How long before Kelly Lamrock, New Brunswick’s besieged Minister of Education, finds himself at the receiving end of another barrage of useful advice pertaining to the waste receptacle into which his policies should be inserted?

Having “endeared” himself to many Anglophones and Francophones over the past few weeks on the matter of early French immersion in the province’s English school system, the brave (foolhardy?) MLA now wants to elevate educational attainment rates by testing the bejeezuz out of those who consistently fail to make the grade in national and international assessments.

Referring, last week, to New Brunswick’s abysmally poor showing in a recent Canada-wide achievement exam, the minister said: “In the light of repeated low academic scores, we must act urgently and at as early an age as possible. If we intervene now before kids get into kindergarten, we’re not wasting time coming up with a plan after they’ve already arrived and are struggling. Indeed, a child who cannot read by the end of Grade 2 is at risk, not only of dropping out, but, more importantly, of losing [his] passion for learning and belief that [he] can learn. This plan is about insisting on better results in literacy, math and science.”

Specifically, “this plan” is about assessing the progress of children, through standardized evaluations, at the pre-school level, and in Grades 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, and 11. Once implemented in September, the program will make New Brunswick’s public school system the most thoroughly scrutinized in the nation. And then what?

Some are already sceptical. According to Monique Caissie, vice-president of the province’s francophone teachers association, “adding more tests is not the answer. Studies show that this is really not the way to go. Instead, we should focus on adding more resources and staff so that teachers can spend more time and attention on working individually with students.”

But, in a way, they are both correct.

Standardized tests, when properly and intelligently administered, are excellent means for obtaining crucial information about what works, and what does not, in any type of school system. From these, one hopes, wise policies flow. Curricula can be adjusted. Instructional techniques can be sharpened.

On the other hand, examinations go only so far without a financial commitment commensurate with the pedagogical challenges that need addressing. What good are tests if the provincial government’s approach to classroom reform remains clay-footed? What utility is there in conducting regular assessments absent of the political will to spend money on real, tangible solutions?

One solution that strikes me as indisputably sensible is a comprehensive program of early childhood education offered by both the Anglophone and Francophone school systems. The National Education Association in the United States finds that, “high quality early childhood education represents one of the best investments our country can make. Research shows shows that high quality education before a child turns five yields significant long-term benefits. One study found that individuals who were enrolled in a quality preschool program ultimately earned up to $2,000 more per month than those who were not. Young people who were in preschool programs are more likely to graduate from high school, and to own homes

“Other studies show similar results. Children in quality preschool programs are less likely to repeat grades, need special education, or get into future trouble with the law. Early childhood education makes good economic sense, as well. A high-ranking Federal Reserve Bank official pegs its return on investment at 12 per cent, after inflation.”

Of course, to work in New Brunswick, any form of ECE must be provided universally without consideration for specific linguistic, economic, or geographic circumstances. It would, in fact, cost millions, if not billions, a year to maintain. Moreover, the program might take decades to produce convincing results.

There you go, Mr. Lamrock: Another eminently smart, thoroughly untenable idea. And it’s not even yours.

You’re welcome.

There is something oddly poignant about a government that, upon finding itself in the frying plan, unfailingly jumps into the fire.

Health care, post-secondary education, French immersion – you name it, and Shawn Graham’s Liberals have almost willingly embraced one broiling controversy after another in recent months. Kelly Lamrock’s tagline, “I will not back down”, now serves a political culture that’s either too passionate or too stubborn to consider any policy options except the most incendiary ones.

What, then, shall we expect from the Education Minister’s involvement in a national literacy conference in Fredericton this week? Will he redeem himself to the chattering classes who expect change in New Brunswick, but not at any price? Or will he, once again, burn himself in effigy to the bemusement of the province’s silent majority?

It doesn’t take much to politicize an issue, especially one as touchy as public education. But is literacy immune to such rank defilement? After all, everyone understands the benefits of reading and writing. Everyone agrees that the alternative is insupportable. And everyone knows that New Brunswick brings up the rear in national testing. (Statistics Canada indicates that 60 per cent of people in the province over the age of 16 are functionally illiterate, compared with 47 per cent in the country as a whole).

As far back as 1988, a study by the Canadian Business Task Force on Literacy estimated the annual cost to business of illiteracy in the workforce at $4 billion, and the cost to society at $10 billion. Commenting on this report, the 2001 edition of the Annual Review of Adult Learning and Literacy, stated: “The [task force] hypothesized that many errors required work to be redone and that many accidents in the workplace resulting in loss of life or property could be attributable to illiteracy.”

Other more recent studies cite “costs due to lost productivity, excessive supervisory time, poor product quality, difficulties in training illiterate workers or problems related to employee morale” and “costs related to loss of consumption in the marketplace because people cannot understand or gain access to information about a company’s products.”

Still, just because the costs of illiteracy are overwhelmingly conceded, it doesn’t necessarily follow that so, too, are the remedies.

There is, for example, a school of thought that insists public dollars are better spent on early childhood education (ECE). Get the kids when they are young and impressionable, the argument goes. Forget about the adults who are either unwilling or incapable of acquiring written language skills.

“In an economy still dominated by natural resources, where 50 per cent of the population lives and works in rural areas, many functionally illiterate adults have been able to get by, even to build secure and prosperous lives,” asserts a recent Saint John Telegraph-Journal editorial. “If experience hasn’t taught them the value of reading and writing, what hope does government have of changing the situation through voluntary programs?”

It’s certainly a point, albeit a blunt one. Others counter that the success of ECE programs depends, at least to some extent, on the quality of a home’s so-called “learning environment.” They refer to studies which conclude that a child’s acquisition of reading and writing skills accelerates in direct proportion to the amount of support and tutelage he or she receives from mom and dad.

That’s hard to guarantee when the parents in question have difficulty parsing the cooking instructions on a can of soup. It’s harder still in families that display a generational ambivalence to “story time”, or any other time beyond the morbid influence of the boob tube.   

So, what’s the priority? Look after the kids, or their parents? Build an educated workforce for the future at the expense of an aging, illiterate one now? Divert money for adult literacy programs to a new and vigorous ECE system to compensate for the decline in home-based learning? Or is there some, yet-to-be articulated method for achieving better literacy scores across all demographic groups without breaking the bank?

Mr. Lamrock, you may want to sit this one out, at least until all the experts have had their say.

Unless, of course, you really do enjoy the smell of your own burnt flesh.

What has happened to civil debate in this province?

When you disagree with a government policy, is it now acceptable to state that its architects are “behaving like fascists”?

When you dispute the wisdom of a public program, is it fair to characterize those responsible as “amateurs” or “nuns at a picnic”? (Whatever that means, though it surely can’t be good for nuns, elected officials, or even picnics).

If you are a certain former deputy minister who served under the Louis Robichaud government (he knows who he is), and the source of the aforementioned quotes, petulance is oxygen. Or so it seems from a ridiculously over-played, front-page screed in the Saint John Telegraph-Journal the other day. Let’s just say that the good fellow objects to Kelly Lamrock’s prescriptions for French second-language learning in the English morass we love to call “education”.

Now, before I climb too high on that horse I use to cast my twice-weekly aspersions, I concede that I have not always been circumspect in my own commentaries. Occasionally, I have said too much, gone too far, assumed too much, concluded too quickly. In short, I’ve been flat wrong more times than I care to admit.

But I have never used the word “fascist” to describe a democratically elected representative in this or any other jurisdiction of Canada. And I never will.

Once, while tired and emotional, I characterized Stephen Harper’s predilections as somewhat “Hitleresque”. That was during a family party in the middle of nowhere, and my mother (who was born in 1936) quickly disabused me of my conceit. I believe her exact words were, “It’s too bad that you so love to hear the sound of your own voice.”

Men and women of good conscience can disagree. In fact, in our society, they should; discord often yields progress. I, for example, do not accept the argument that early French immersion in this province is working for most kids in the English school system. Educational attainment rates (or, more precisely, failure rates) in both the second-language and core programs are egregious.

Today, we are matriculating children who can’t factor a binomial, parse a sentence in either official language, name the second prime minister of Canada, distinguish between a province and a territory, and discern that Cape Breton is actually part of Nova Scotia. Do I exaggerate? One young person of my acquaintance recently asked me if he needed a passport to visit a friend in Montreal.

This is not the fault of early immersion, per se, but rather of its implementation and execution in a system already burdened with so many other fundamental educational challenges. They are all of a piece; all are symptoms of an insidious disease that this government is trying to cure in its game, if imprecise, way.

Surely, it is not beyond the pale to insist that a publicly funded school system at least attempts to benefit the majority of those it serves. It’s clear that the way French is currently taught in English elementary and secondary schools in New Brunswick fails this basic test. So does, I hasten to add, the way English is taught, and math and science and history and geography and civics.

Just as troubling, perhaps, is the way this debate has begun to mutate into a rhetorical contretemps over minority language rights, which are enshrined and protected as a matter of law. This is lamentable, because the issue is not whether French should be taught to young Anglophones; it’s how.

How do we raise those linguistic scores? How do we ensure that more English-speaking kids graduating from high school can read a sign, write a letter to the editor, converse fluidly in a language other than the one spoken in their homes?

I may be wrong when I say that at this particular moment in New Brunswick’s history, Lamrock may be right. But if I am – if I am incorrect – am I also a xenophobe, a bigot, a “fascist”? And, having been labelled as one, will I think twice about opening my mouth the next time a sacred cow gets led to the slaughterhouse?

After all, being a nun is no picnic.

Leave it to a veteran of the language wars to offer a morsel of mordant wit on the French language instruction crisis currently gripping New Brunswick’s English school system. “I’ve taught for close to 50 years,” said Jim Croll the other day. “Our kids would be better off if we sent them to Shippagan to paint barns.”

Croll, you may know, is one of two commissioners responsible for the provincial government’s French as a Second Language (FSL) review, which was released yesterday. In it, he and his colleague Patricia Lee recommended, among other things, that all FSL programs begin in Grade Five with something called “Intensive French”, followed thereafter with an “Enriched Core” program. Meanwhile, Late Immersion, beginning in Grade Six, becomes the sole form of this type of linguistic instruction in the province.

It sounds complicated, but it’s snap compared with the patchwork of core, and early and late immersion programs that have produced, if little else, a generation of high school graduates in Canada’s only officially bilingual province who can’t actually read, write or speak French. (I would argue that many can’t function well in English either, but more on this in a moment).

I don’t envy Mr. Croll and Ms. Lee their task, though I admire their courage. On the one hand, they recommend phasing out Early Immersion programs – a suggestion that’s bound to raise hackles in many quarters, including the vocal Canadian Parents for French in New Brunswick.

On the other, their prescriptions depend on a degree of cooperation, funding, curriculum development and retraining hitherto unknown in the provincial school system. Recommendation 3b, for example, stipulates that “whereas the current English Core program will be replaced with the Enriched Core program, the English Core will be phased out as the Grade Five teachers are trained in Intensive French methodology.”

Furthermore, “all teachers of the Enriched Core program [will] receive the necessary training before placement. . .[and]. . .those teachers must be reimbursed for the costs associated with their professional training.”

Beyond this, the review calls for new coordinators, linguistic specialists, teaching guides, textbooks, evaluation programs, and something that sounds very much like a multi-media public relations campaign, to whit: “Parents must be clearly and correctly informed of the second-language employment criteria for hiring purposes within both the provincial and federal governments.”

The goals – chief among them, achieving a 70 per cent French fluency rate among graduating Anglophone students – are as noble as they are lofty. But the 900-pound gorilla in the room has left his banana peels everywhere. And legislators will have to tread very carefully lest they slip and fall on their own good intentions.

The problem with Canadian governments promising linguistic facility as a matter of public policy is that it cleaves a measure of control that’s notoriously difficult to maintain. In fact, Quebec, with its overtly and well-funded Francophone cultural and educational programs, may be the exception that proves the rule. Elsewhere in this hemisphere, English is the lingua franca of global commerce and international trade. It dominates the tube, the Internet and the entertainment industry.

For this reason, some Anglophones in New Brunswick still believe, wrongly, that learning any other language is a frivolous luxury, and that government programs designed to encourage linguistic plurality are costly wastes of tax dollars. Without enumerating all of the obvious reasons why acquiring proficiency in French is an extraordinarily useful, as well as intellectually liberating, exercise, the question still remains: How?

Underlying the challenge is a more fundamental failure, which has everything to do with language if not exactly specific varieties. Literacy levels in both English and French are abysmally low in New Brunswick. Without a culture of “learning” that extends beyond the classroom and into people’s homes, it’s certain that John and Jean  will continue to test poorly in whichever tongue they’re charged with mastering.

Still, we have to start somewhere. And, love it or loathe it, this report is at least that – a start. I would only hope that Jim Croll manages to retain his grumbling sense of humour. I suspect he’s going to need it.

Given the marvelous rapprochements obtained last week, you have to wonder what all the fuss has been about in the cloistered halls of New Brunswick’s ivory tower these past few months.

First, the faculty association and administration of St. Thomas University all but kissed and made up by agreeing to binding arbitration in their dispute over wages and work load. Classes resumed, and students turned their attention to the onerous chore of making up for lost time. (Those who spent their enforced sabbatical at all-night keggers were lost to begin with, with or without the strike).

Then, Premier Shawn Graham unveiled his plan of action for New Brunswick during a Hollywood reception masquerading as a provincial address. Speaking before a crowd of more than 1,000 at an arena in Fredericton, he backed away from the most controversial recommendations in the Miner-L’Ecuyer report on post-secondary education, insisting that the University of New Brunswick and the University of Moncton will keep their Saint John and northern satellite campuses, after all.

“I am very pleased to announce that the University of New Brunswick in Saint John will remain the University of New Brunswick in Saint John,” he said. “UNBSJ will retain programs like liberal arts while expanding with new program offerings to meet emerging economic opportunities in the Port City and beyond. . .  The Université de Moncton has a unique role as our province’s francophone university and will continue to fulfill its important mandate in the northeast and northwest of the province. They will also provide new applied learning at the university level to meet the needs of emerging economic opportunities.”

But before we break out the champagne, it’s well worth considering the rest of the premier’s remarks on higher education in the province. What, for example, does the following bode: “Over the coming weeks, the Working Group on Post-Secondary Education will complete its review of the report of the Commission on Post-Secondary Education and deliver its final recommendations. Each of New Brunswick’s four universities has an important role to play; each brings particular strengths. First, the Working Group will propose that each university have its role, mandate and critical mission articulated in legislation.”

And what, pray tell, does this mean: “The University of New Brunswick will soon be creating a commission to review the relationship between the Fredericton and Saint John campuses and to make recommendations for improvement. Our government supports this important initiative. . . The Working Group also envisions much greater co-operation between universities and community colleges. Where appropriate, first- and/or second-year university courses will become more available across the province.  Strengthening this relationship will also help build the necessary critical mass to make our universities more competitive and sustainable.”

Are these not recipes – though clearly watered down – for the same sort of institutional soup envisioned in the PSE report?

Still not convinced? How about this nugget from the address: “To build a more integrated post-secondary education system we will explore opportunities at a number of levels, including shared facilities, administrative and educational integration. These initiatives are part of a strong commitment to achieve a better balance between theoretical and applied learning. New partnerships will be formed to expand applied learning opportunities between community colleges and universities, including applied degrees, diplomas and certificates.”

So, then, when is a polytechnic not a polytechnic? When it’s a “new partnership. . .between community colleges and universities”?

It’s clear the premier has a plan, and it still borrows heavily from the very recommendations that sent so many people into paroxysms of rage on the front steps of the Legislative Assembly and in the Op-Ed sections of daily newspapers last fall. The difference now – and it’s a key difference – is that the effort to reform the system is being led by those who know it best: educators and administrators from New Brunswick.

All of which suggests that the debate was never about the concept of a polytechnic stream, but rather the execution. One of the first rules of political discourse is that you never threaten to dismantle an institution on which people’s careers and livelihoods depend. You promise to “augment” it; make it better, more “inclusive”, more “relevant” to current needs and conditions. That’s how banks became insurance companies, and why credit unions now issue credit cards.

The provincial government’s new approach towards education reform is certainly smart. Only time will tell if it’s wise. As they say in the cloistered halls of the ivory tower, when one door closes another opens. And sometimes it swings both ways.