Josephine looked at the faces before her, and the hall with its painted murals of sacred symbolic animals: owls, bears, wolverines. A small hall, well maintained but not fancy, to serve this northern indigenous community as both gymnasium and place of assembly. Perhaps as many as a hundred and fifty people had gathered here in response to her invitation. It was not a poor turnout; she doubted there were more than two hundred people in the whole settlement.
"Thank you all for coming out this afternoon on such short notice," Josephine addressed the gathering and added, "Noah and I are here to make sure you've been properly informed about the provincial referendum, and that you've all received your referendum forms."
"And to tell us which side to choose?" called a man in the front row.
"Of course not," she replied. "That's your business. But everyone of voting age in the province must have a voice in this. We hope that you will take the time to fill your forms out and submit them."
"What's the use?" someone else said. "There aren't enough of us to sway the vote."
A murmur of sombre agreement ran through the hundred-plus crowd. Josephine said desperately, "You don't know that. Not all the French Canadians are in favour of separation. Add the anglophones and immigrants who oppose it, and your vote might just be enough to tip the balance. Anyway, it's the principle of the thing. You need to be part of this process. It's your future that's being decided, too. If the Yes side wins, you could end up losing everything. Do you want to be on the losing side of history again? Believe me, I know. I'm Métis. Half-breeds, we used to be called. I'm a minority within a minority." And part of yet another minority, she added in her thoughts, if you count me being a rugaru. Both groups I belong to are caught in the middle, caught between two peoples, never feeling they truly belong anywhere. She forced herself to smile at the unhappy faces before her. "But being Métis also means I'm living proof that people can get along. That coexistence is possible. I hear some of you saying you wish the Europeans had never come from across the sea. I get why you feel that way, but I can't really say the same, can I? If they hadn't come, I wouldn't be here."
"But you hate the French, don't you? At least the ones who want to separate. That's why you're here, to turn us against them."
"I don't hate anyone. There are no bad guys here. The French Canadians who want separation are just trying to save their culture and language. I don't agree with them, in fact I think they're making a mistake. The politicians are not telling them the whole truth about the consequences of splitting this province off from the rest of the country. But I think we can all relate to their concerns. Can't we? We're all afraid that our languages will be lost, that our children will stop speaking them. That our rites and symbols and customs will die out and be lost forever. The French separatists feel the same. But a vote for separation isn't the answer, for them or for us. Under this new nation Liberté proposes we might not enjoy the same rights as we do under a Canadian government. They haven't guaranteed us anything. Rights we fought for years to gain could disappear under a new government, a new constitution and legal system. We Métis only recently gained Ottawa's recognition as a distinct people with full legal status. Do we really want to start that all over again with a different government? Do you?"
"All those agreements will be honoured," said another voice. "The officials from Quebec City told us so."
"And you believed them, these officials?"
"Why not?"
If only she could tell them about the Cabale! But even if she dared to, who in this hall would believe her? Few now believed in the ancestors' tales of men that walked as beasts. And how to convince her audience when she was unable to tell the whole truth – about the Cabale, and about herself?
