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Chloe Bercovitz

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“Before Bill 9 was implemented, I would use the prayer room during my break.”

On September 1st, Bill 9 took effect, expanding Quebec’s legislation on secularism. The National Assembly has changed, fundamentally, the way that those belonging to a religious minority may exist in CEGEP.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Dawson student Lamiah to better understand such changes. “It’s not easy,” she told me.

Laicity is overwhelmingly rooted in Quebec’s political identity, dating back to the Quiet Revolution of the 1960s. During this period, the government began taking control of systems that had previously been governed by the Catholic Church. Religious authority was no longer meant to determine the functioning of public institutions. Laicity was, in this sense, a safeguard for freedom and equality.

The manner in which the bill affects Cegep students is primarily tri-fold: religious practice is prohibited on campus, requesting religious absences has become far more convoluted, and full-face coverings are no longer accepted — as per the National Assembly of Quebec’s “An Act respecting the reinforcement of laicity in Québec.”

Anyone receiving service from a higher-education institution ought to leave their face uncovered. Should this not be complied with, the college has the right to refuse a student service.

As for religious holidays, students who cannot attend an exam or class due to a religious observance may be denied accommodation if it “conflicts with the requirements of their program of study,” according to the National Assembly.

For many, however, the most transformative and heartbreaking change lies in the total ban of prayer rooms. Overt religious practices are no longer permitted on campus. Students are now expected to retreat to a formal place of worship during times of prayer. 

Yet, praying multiple times a day is common for many. The government of Quebec outlines that being a CEGEP student is on average a 35-hour commitment. For a student who spends most of their day at CEGEP, I ask: how could leaving campus for each moment of prayer possibly be realistic? Right now, many students are resorting to empty classrooms, which are hard to find and far, far from a long-term solution. “I don’t know of any mosques nearby that I can get to quickly enough during breaks,” she says.

Laicity, as per its definition, is meant to entail religious neutrality within a state. Bill 9 dictates what religion ought to look like in the public sphere. And while the law does apply formally to all religions, such restrictions disproportionately affect Quebec’s many minority religions. According to Social Studies Professor at York University Dr. Amélie Barras, laicity is rendered quite ambiguous in cases such as Bill 21, which restricts one’s appearance. She questions whether the state is indeed exhibiting neutrality, or rather, imposing a particular conception of how a secular person should appear and behave. Lamiah used the term anti-religion: “Separating religion from institutions is one thing, but stopping people from practicing their faiths is terrible.”

She had always hoped to become a teacher as well, but feels as though this dream has been stolen from her ever since Bill 21.

So then, who gets to define laicity? Barras points out that those most affected by secularism laws in Quebec are unrepresented in oral consultations on the matter. For Bill 21, The Islamic Center of Quebec hoped to participate. They were denied. Another definitional loophole lies in the fact that many Christian symbols are often treated as part of Quebec’s cultural heritage — and not as religious. Therefore, can secularism ever be truly neutral when its boundaries are defined without the voices of those most affected?

For Lamiah, the answer to this question seems increasingly clear. In essence, separating religion from the state should never seperate students from their identity while at school. This semester, it has become harder for her to practice her faith. She described becoming sadder, which in turn affects her studies.

The question of neutrality is crucial. On paper, a policy may apply the same rule to everyone, but that cannot mean that everyone will experience it in the same way. A student who does not need a prayer room will never experience its removal in the same way as a student who used it every day. A student whose religious holidays never conflict with an exam will never have to negotiate an accommodation. And a student who does not wear a religious garment will not experience restrictions on religious appearance in the same way as someone who does.

Lamiah’s hope, right now, is for everyone to share her anger. In that, what is unsettling stretches far beyond the scope of what the law prohibits: even those who may not feel personally affected by Bill 9 should consider what could come next. Her fear is not only what this law changes, but what our future might lead to.