“I had no illusions about what was coming,” recalls Professor Aurélie Lacassagne. They proceeded as in big companies, in an assembly line manner. There were three or four meetings where there were around thirty of us on Zoom.”
“The vice-rector announced to us, in English only, that we were dismissed. She spoke to us briefly about employment support, for two minutes, still in English, then she left the meeting.”
A story confirmed by Joel Belliveau, former history professor at Laurentian.
“We were asked to be present on Zoom, without much logic, in obligatory meetings, but without a clear subject in the email. We then asked the administration the purpose of the meeting, but we got no answer. After the rector’s announcement, we immediately presented the options of “reclassification†, unrelated to our career, as if in 15 or 30 seconds, we were ready to consider a whole new career as a gardener or accountant.
On the students’ side, the announcement caused the same astonishment.
“I saw it at 8:30 in the morning while watching Radio-Canada,” remembers Maël Bisson, then a second year theater student at Laurentian. I still remember the title of the article: University on the verge of bankruptcy: French is still suffering in Ontario. I just wish I didn’t find out.”
“We were celebrating the 50th anniversary of the theater program. We had to do a recitation of What if, moé ‘if I come from the North ‘stie. It didn’t make sense.”
Marie-Pierre Héroux, then a history student, recounts her “Black Monday” with still a tremor in her voice.
“2021 had been very difficult, especially with the pandemic, but these cuts came as a surprise. There were rumors of programs that might be cut. I lost all the teachers I had, as well as my two programs, history and French studies.”
Get organized urgently
For the teachers and students affected, the aftermath is brutal, sometimes dizzying.
“What struck me a lot was the dismay of many of my colleagues, at all levels,” recalls Joel Belliveau.
“Some people took it very personally. Some were depressed, even suicidal. I told them it was an accounting decision.”
—  Joel Belliveau, former professor at La Laurentienne
The historian then took the signs and engaged in a form of resistance, with the hope that the lost programs would be transferred to the University of Sudbury or the University of French Ontario (UOF), then about to open.
“It helped me. I put my energy into something positive, there was camaraderie and hope.”
For students, it is often the D system, in a hurry, to continue their studies.
“I was offered to complete my history program but in English,” says Marie-Pierre Héroux. I categorically refused, either to change the program. Finally, I applied to the University of Ottawa and was able to complete my program there.”
Maël Bisson, originally from Timmins, must also leave Northern Ontario. He has no choice. He chose Moncton, where he still lives five years later.
“I started from scratch, which resulted in a waste of time and money. I had to resume my games lessons.”
Mourning
In five years, Aurélie Lacassagne is undoubtedly one of those who have occupied the media space the most. Appointed dean at Saint-Paul University in Ottawa the following year, she became rector of the University of Hearst in 2024, before returning to Saint-Paul to resume her career as a professor.
“I had an atypical journey, but like everyone else. I’m lucky, because since January, I’ve been able to return to what I was: a teacher. That’s what I like. But it’s been five years of mazes.”
—  Aurélie Lacassagne, professor
“It’s a personal injury and a professional injury, because it was a career that ended abruptly. It was difficult for my daughters, who also grew up in Sudbury with Laurentian University where their dad was also a professor there.”
Beyond the intimate shock, these cuts have also weakened an entire cultural and Franco-Ontarian ecosystem.
“The closure of programs at Laurentian University had a cost for the Franco-Ontarian community,” continues Ms. Lacassagne. It was also difficult for institutions like Place des Arts, which the professors supported. At the Théâtre du Nouvel-Ontario, between the teachers and the students, half the room was full. Less training also means fewer writers.”
Mourning, whatever happens: this is also Marie-Pierre Héroux’s challenge.
“I recently returned to Laurentian University. I remember walking through my old hallways, passing the teachers’ offices, and shedding a tear. “Black Monday” has ruined so many lives.”
Now based in Limoges, in Eastern Ontario, she found in completing her master’s degree in history a form of outlet, almost a way of closing the wound.
“My subject concerns student movements. It’s a good way to close the loop. It was a moment that defined my identity.”
Few teachers… still teachers
Among teachers too, the wound remains raw. And the return to the profession was, for many, almost impossible, believes Joel Belliveau.
“No more than five people among the 110 dismissed became teachers again. Many are now in university administration. The market is very competitive.”
For others, the breakup was experienced differently.
“I was able to overcome that,” believes Maël Bisson. I consider Moncton, where I now remain, as a sister city with Sudbury.”
“For a month I have been the father of a little girl. Will I come back to Ontario for her future, to show her my French-speaking pride that I have not lost? Maybe.”
—  Maël Bisson, former student at Laurentian University
Aurélie Lacassagne is still waiting for her compensation check, like the vast majority of teachers.
“It will close a chapter when I receive it, but the trace, the trauma, it will stay forever.”
