MARCH 1994
Elodie is sitting at the back of the courtroom in the Palais de Justice, Véronique on one side of her, Maggie on the other. She’s holding both of their hands for moral support, awaiting the judge’s decision. Bruno is seated next to their lawyer in the row right in front of them, his back straight as a board, a nodule of sweat trickling down his thick neck. Huguette and Francine are in the row behind her.
“This case is very sensitive,” the judge says. “The lawyers for the defendants have pointed out that the religious orders in question are elderly and have lived with great stress, anxiety, and shame since these petitions were filed. These troubling accusations call into question their very lives’ work.”
Elodie can feel her face getting hot. Her palms are damp.
“The Duplessis orphans are seeking group damages from three sources: the religious orders, the Quebec government, and the medical establishment,” the judge explains. “Let’s address the religious orders first. They are accused of falsifying records, making false diagnoses, illegally interning children in mental institutions, forcing them to work without remuneration, depriving them of a proper education, and subjecting them to corporal punishment and mental cruelty.”
Elodie tunes out the judge, her mind wandering to Claire, her best friend from the orphanage. She’s never seen her at any of the Duplessis Orphans Committee gatherings, which may mean she was never sent to one of the asylums. Elodie prays that to be the case. Still, she thinks of her constantly. Where is she? What does she look like now? She still imagines her as she was then: always with her hair in braids, missing her two front teeth. They’d been friends from the time Elodie could walk and talk. Other girls came and went, but Claire and Elodie remained, more inseparable as the years passed. They promised each other that whoever’s mother came for them first, they would take the other with them.
Elodie remembers one of their last conversations before she was sent away. They were coloring under Claire’s bed. Elodie was drawing one of her families—a yellow-haired mother, plenty of brothers and sisters. Claire said, “I think I know why my parents gave me away.”
“Why?”
“My thumbs. Look.” She held out both her hands, revealing two bent thumbs. “They don’t straighten.”
Elodie was awestruck. She reached out and tried to straighten them for her, but Claire was right; they wouldn’t budge. “Have they always been like this?”
“Yes. And also this.” She pulled off her sock and thrust out her foot, as though proud of her abnormalities. “My fourth toe doesn’t grow.” The toe was just a nubbin, about an inch shorter than the others. “I’m deformed,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And people always want perfect babies.”
Elodie’s wish for Claire is that she got out unscathed, without ever having seen the inside of an institution.
“The religious orders in question list the following points in their defense,” the judge says, “which I will now read to the court.”
Elodie tunes back to the proceeding.
“First, we cannot judge the past by today’s values. All societies evolve over time. What was once considered normal and morally acceptable may seem cruel and unfair to a new generation.” He glances up briefly to acknowledge the gallery and then resumes reading. “Corporal punishment and child labor were the norm back then.”
“Bullshit,” Francine says from behind her.
“Second,” the judge continues, “the nuns were the only ones who would care for the abandoned children. No one else wanted them. They devoted themselves to this task with limited means and did the best they could based on the knowledge available to them at the time.”
There’s an outburst of angry twittering in the gallery behind Elodie. A couple of orphans are swearing in loud whispers. Elodie sneaks a glance behind her at Huguette. Her expression is stoic.
“Although some members of the religious orders have acknowledged that there may have been some isolated instances of abuse, they worry, as do I, that by proceeding with a class action suit, we will be setting a precedent that would put the church on trial and risk denigrating the entire Catholic faith.”
“What about how they denigrated us?” someone cries out.
“Furthermore, progress in psychiatry is a recent phenomenon,” the judge says, ignoring the heckling. “The distinctions made today between mental handicap and mental illness were much less clear in the fifties—”
“You’re telling us they couldn’t tell the difference between a normal kid and one who was mentally challenged?” someone yells. “This is a joke!”
“Please take your seat, sir,” the judge instructs. “What we have here is an impossible situation. These orphans are looking for a scapegoat. Since they were abandoned and don’t know who their biological parents are, it seems to me they’re taking their frustrations out on the only parents they’ve ever known, the nuns who cared for them.”
“He’s calling those monsters parents?” Maggie mutters, rummaging in her bag for a Kleenex. She finds one and angrily blows her nose.
“Both the plaintiffs and defendants want desperately to be heard,” the judge says, his tone dispassionate. “The former claim they were mistreated, the latter wish to explain their side of things. But the truth has become distorted over the last forty years, making it impossible for the judicial system to serve justice in this case.”
A wave of disappointment travels through the gallery, and Elodie can feel the collective sagging of spirits in the room. Véronique puts her arm around Elodie’s shoulders, as though holding her together.
“Regarding the claims against the religious orders,” the judge concludes, “the Court of Quebec rejects the plaintiffs’ applications to pursue a class action suit on behalf of the Duplessis Orphans Committee. It is simply not the appropriate avenue.”
Elodie doesn’t move. Bruno and the lawyer turn around to face them. “We’re going to appeal,” the lawyer says.
“And we still have the criminal cases,” Bruno adds. “It’s not over.”
“It’s just the beginning,” the lawyer promises. “Don’t be discouraged.”
“As for the plaintiffs’ claim against the government,” the judge continues, “they accuse the government of failing to act as legal guardian for all the orphans and failing to ensure they were cared for and educated. The government has not responded to these charges, other than to reiterate the arguments of the religious orders, in which case the court must concur.”
Elodie is on her feet, making her way to the exit. The judge is still delivering his verdict. “It is the medical association’s position that it is not responsible for any decisions made by hospital management, particularly ones made more than thirty years ago, when all hospitals were run by the church. Again, the court concurs—”
Elodie bursts through the doors, Maggie and Véronique close on her heels. The moment she steps outside, TV cameras surround her and a microphone is shoved in her face. “What’s your reaction to the decision?” Radio-Canada.
She looks around for Bruno or the lawyer, someone equipped to speak on her behalf. Maggie is touching her elbow, steadying her. “You don’t have to say anything,” she says into her ear.
“Are you a Duplessis orphan, madame?” CKAC.
Elodie stares down at the microphones and takes a breath. Her heart is beating rapidly. “I’m disgusted by the judge’s decision,” she says, her voice shaky. “All we want is a public apology. Justice for our suffering and our stolen childhoods. I was diagnosed mentally deficient. Do I look mentally deficient to you? No, but that was how they got rid of us back then.”
“What’s next?”
“Our lawyer will appeal,” Elodie says, realizing with some shock that she is actually speaking articulately in front of a camera and all these people are hanging onto her every word, as though she is some kind of an authority or expert. “We still have the criminal complaints,” she says, her voice gaining confidence. “If they think we’re going to give up and disappear, they’re wrong.”
The questions continue to come at her like bullets. You’re saying you’ve filed a criminal complaint against the church? For what? Can you tell us what crimes you believe were committed against you?
“The first crime against me was failure to provide an education” Elodie says, looking over at Maggie and Véronique, who are watching her from the sidelines. Maggie is beaming, the proud mother. Véronique winks at her. “They deprived us not only of schooling, but of basic life skills,” she continues, really finding her footing now. “I wasn’t prepared for the real world when I got out. I had no way to cope with life. The nuns treated me as if I didn’t exist, never gave me even the slightest bit of human affection. I was tortured in every way possible. It’s unforgivable, and I won’t rest until those crimes are acknowledged.”
“Can you spell your name, please?”
“Elodie Phénix,” she says, her voice stronger, more certain. She looks directly into the camera and spells her name. “E-l-o-d-i-e. P-h-é-n-i-x.”
As she does so, her determination crystallizes. This is just the beginning, she thinks. She will continue to fight. She will do whatever she is called on to do until there is a satisfactory resolution—whatever the hell that looks like.