We should therefore not underestimate the effects of the closed media environment required for linguistic separation. More than any other region, Quebec speaks for itself. Most Québécois get their news from the rest of the country second-hand, after it has been interpreted literally and culturally by the province's media. This language isolation appears to be self-perpetuating: little distinctions are accentuated, while major disparities are embedded as cultural and political orthodoxy.However, language is only part of the story. Religious differences are another source of cultural diversity in Quebec. This was evident during the first half of Canadian history, when the province stood out as a separate Catholic society in an increasingly Protestant Canada. The revolutionary rejection of the province's Catholic identity over the last three generations means that the weight of cultural identity, which was once supported by three pillars—language, culture, and religion—now rests solely on language and culture, raising concerns about linguistic survival and cultural differences.More importantly, it means that Quebec's attitude toward religion is unique in Canada, as it is defined by a conscious rejection of religion. A deeply Catholic culture quickly became radically anti-clerical. Nothing like this occurred in any other province. According to Marshall McLuhan (in his bizarre review of Pierre Trudeau's 1967 book of essays Federalism and the French Canadians for the New York Times), "French Canada leapt into the 20th century without having had a 19th century." This is an exaggeration, but only slightly, and the legacy of this abrupt leap can be perplexing to non-Quebeckers.5
Outsiders may find it odd that Quebec prioritizes
militant laïcité as a separate cultural value. Secularism is not a typical Quebec value, as seen by the illuminated crucifix atop Mount Royal, which shines down on a forest of silver spires across Montreal.6 Within the present premier's lifetime, the province's hospitals, schools, and charitable institutions were still staffed in part by priests and nuns, whose prominent religious symbols and head coverings were a clear indication of Quebec's distinct society. And the province is still imbued with the legacy of its first four centuries. Rivers, lakes, cities, mountains, hospitals, universities, and metro stations all contribute to the province's historic identity.Pointing this point, however, invites the criticism that, as a non-Quebecker, you simply do not grasp La Grande Noirceur's ongoing legacy. This is, of course, correct, but it also demonstrates how rapidly even a recent mythopoeic shift can achieve legendary cultural stature. Until the 1950s, the Quebec government unofficially considered France's post-revolutionary government to be a usurping authority. Then, over a decade, the province's leadership swapped a traditional home identity for one based on a foreign country's secularism.14 One must admit that the transplant was successful: imported by a small class of Quebec intellectuals, the styles of post-war Parisian philosophy have been absorbed so thoroughly in Quebec that it is now difficult to distinguish the graft from the rootstock.15
These distinguishing characteristics of Quebec society
linguistic (by birth) and cultural (by adoption)—are true. By any standard definition, the Québécois constitute a nation. The federal parliament's belated admission of this in 2006 was simply an acceptance of reality. By the same token, Saskatchewan is not a country. Saskatchewan is unmistakably different from Ontario, and both are distinct from British Columbia and Newfoundland.16 Nobody would deny this. However, they are all distinct within the expected range of variation for such a large and diverse country. It makes no more sense to call Saskatchewan a nation than to envisage Wyoming as a nation within the United States of America.of being the next Barilla, and other winemakers would gladly sit next to great names like Zonin or Marchese Antinori. But the size of tiny, family-run production in food and wine is astonishing to consider, and it sank in as I moved from the tent of each region to the rows of tables set up with their offerings.The (slow) food conveys the message.There were numerous stages and seminar places spread over the Terra Madre grounds. Sometimes they would hold tastings or panel discussions.7But by far the most popular and active areas were the manufacturers' stands, where they engaged their churning audiences with furiously cut cheese, dried balsamic vinegar on small wooden spoons, or anchovies fastened with toothpicks. They were not only knowledgeable about their products (sometimes even in English), but they also did a lot of business. People came for the goodies, and actual programming was consumed and drunk.
Italian food production is back in the future
The first rule of going on press tours is not to complain. So, I'm not whining when I say I had a six-hour layover at Munich Airport on my way home. The gourmet entertainment at MUC was not as wide or engaging as what I had seen and experienced in Turin the previous days. Over a schnitzel and a stein of beer, I realized that my hosts at the Italian Trade Agency had done more than simply show me the best of their country's cuisine and wine industry.It also appeared to me that they had done more than simply demonstrate that excellence can, and frequently is, achieved in a nice, clean, and fair manner. I was already aware of all of this because I sing about it in the choir every day. Terra Madre demonstrated to me that smaller-scale businesses, generally family-owned or run cooperatively, can establish an economic environment that generates jobs and growth throughout Italy. Is this the return to the future of Western manufacturing or agriculture? If it is, we will all eat and drink well.In my next column, I'll feature a few specific people.
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