Bars, Breasts, Babies: Justice L'Heureux-Dube and the Boundaries of Belonging

• Author: Rebecca Johnson
• Pages: 143-161

Nine

Bars,

Breasts, Babies: Justice L'Heureux-Dube

and

the

Boundaries

of

Belonging

REBECCA

JOHNSON

Social change

will

not

come

to us

like

an

avalanche

down

the

mountain.

Social change

will

come

through

seeds

growing

in

well-prepared

soil—and

it is we,

like

the

earthworms,

who

pre-

pare

the

soil.

We

also seed

thoughts

and

knowledge

and

con-

cern.

We

realize

there

are no

guarantees

as to

what

will

come

up.

Yet

we do

know

that

without

the

seeds

and the

prepared

soil

nothing

will

grow

at

all.—Ursula Franklin

Ursula Franklin's "earthworm theory" reminds

us of the

crucial roles played

by

those

who

prepare

the

soil, those

who sow the

seeds

of new

thoughts

and

concerns.

In

this paper,

I

would like

to

share with

you

some

of my

observa-

tions about

Justice

L'Heureux-Dube

as

"earthworm"—about

some

of the

vis-

ible

and not so

visible ways

she has

participated

in

preparing

and

seeding

the

soil

for

change.

I am

particularly interested

in her

actions

in

those struggles

for

change involving

the

complex processes

of

construction,

the

processes

of

building:

of

building categories,

of

building communities,

of

building

nations. And, there

is of

course another

set of

processes embedded

in

that

business

of

building:

the

business

of

excluding.

As a

starting point

for

think-

ing

about Justice L'Heureux-Dube

and

these earthworm struggles over

con-

struction,

I

would like

to

share with

you one of my

experiences

as a

breast-

feeding

mother.

The

Experience

In

1998,1

found myself

"with

child."

Still believing that children need

not

lead

to a

whole scale reorganization

of

one's

life,

I

continued making plans

as

usual.

I

finished

teaching,

got my

marking done

and

grades submitted,

did a

final

check

of my

email, drove myself

to the

hospital,

got

admitted,

and had a

143

144

ADDING FEMINISM

TO LAW

baby.

A few

weeks later,

I

hopped

on a

plane with

my

little Alex,

and flew to

Bristol,

England,

to

join

my

husband,

who had

left

the

week

after

the

birth

to

take

up an

eight-month contract there. (Hindsight makes

it

clear

to me

that

postpartum disconnection

was

interfering with

my

usual processes

of

ration-

al

thought,

but

that

is

another story.)

Shortly

after

my

arrival,

I

found

out

that Madame

le

juge

was

scheduled

to

speak

at a

conference

in

Bristol

a few

weeks later.

I had

clerked

for her

sev-

eral years earlier,

and was

delighted

at the

prospect

of

catching

up

with her.

So,

on the

appointed day,

I

packed

up the

baby,

and

headed

off

to the

confer-

ence.

I did

worry about

the

propriety

of

showing

up

with

a

baby, but, given

that

my

entire support network

was

back

in

Canada,

I had no

alternative.

If I

were

to go,

Alex would have

to

come with

me. To my

relief,

Alex

was a

perfect

baby, sleeping most

of the

time.

I

happily spent

the

afternoon sitting beside

the

judge,

and

listening

to the

presentations.

At the end of the

day,

she

sug-

gested

that

my

husband

and I

meet

up

with

her for

dinner

at a

great restau-

rant

she had

found,

one

that

had

very nice pub-style food.

We

arrived

at the

scheduled time,

and sat at a

table

in the

nearly empty restaurant. Because

there

was

plenty

to

talk about,

we did not

initially note that

the

service

was

slow,

particularly given

the

lack

of

crowd. Finally,

a

waiter

did

approach.

But

he did not

take

our

order. Instead,

he

told

me

that

I

could

not be

served,

and

to

leave.

The

problem?

The

eight-week-old

baby

I had

been

oh-so-discretely

nursing.

He was

under fourteen. Their liquor licence

was

clear:

no

minors.

To

say

that

I was

shocked

and

humiliated would

be to

under-tell

the

tale.

I was

stunned

and

completely unable

to

form

a

coherent response.

But

in

that moment

of my

darkest trauma, Madame

le

juge drew herself

up to her

full

height (which

is an

imposing

5'1"),

and

blurted

out in a

French-accented

tone

of

outrage, "You can't kick

her

out! That

is a

violation

of her

human

rights!" But,

as

sometimes happens, Justice

L'Heureux-Dube

was in

dissent:

we

found ourselves

out on the

street.

Yet

the

human spirit

is

resilient.

We

walked

the

streets until

we

found

a

kinder, gentler restaurant with

a

different

liquor licence,

and a

pleasant

evening

was had by

all,

full

of

scintillating

and

witty conversation.

At

least,

I

hope

my

part

in the

conversation

was

that.

Because,

to be

honest,

I

can't

recall

any

details

of the

subsequent conversation. What

I do

recall vividly

was the

intense

and

nearly overwhelming sense

of

gratitude

I

felt

for the

response

of

the

judge

at my

moment

of

expulsion.

Her

response

had

repelled

and

dis-