Heroes in My Head

by Judy Rebick

  At the annual general meeting we made two other big changes. We increased the president’s term from one to two years. It meant that I was the first NAC president to serve for three years, one one-year term and one two-year term. The second issue we agreed on was getting more women of colour onto the executive committee. Having lobbied for employment equity at the federal and provincial levels, as well as developing an affirmative action program at CHS to get more deaf people into management positions, I was an expert in the field. But it was difficult to achieve affirmative action in a mostly voluntary organization.

  After a lot of discussion, we decided to designate at least one member at large from the more populous provinces and one vice-president who was an immigrant woman, woman of colour, disabled woman, or Indigenous woman. If someone from one of these groups did not fill the position, the position was left empty. We also designated one vice-­president from Quebec — that had always been a tradition but now we formalized it.

  The transformation of the executive was dramatic. For the first time we had a representative of women with disabilities in the person of Joan Meister from British Columbia, a trade union activist, and former president of the DisAbled Women’s Network (DAWN). We also had strong leadership from women of colour, including Carolann Wright-Parks, a Black activist originally from Halifax, now an anti-poverty activist in Toronto; Felé Villacin, a very sophisticated immigrant activist who worked with domestic workers; Winnie Ng, an indefatigable activist who had a long history of organizing immigrant women in the labour movement; Amy Go, who had worked with immigrant women and the Chinese Canadian National Council; and Flora Fernandez, who worked in a shelter in Montreal.

  The following year, Sunera Thobani, a brilliant and articulate young woman from BC who would take over as president, joined the executive. The vice-president was Monique Simard from Quebec; Sandra Delaronde was the designated VP; and Yvonne Stanford, an anti-war activist from Alberta, and Shelagh Day were also VPs. Along with Trish Walsh from Newfoundland, who had led the occupation of the secretary of state’s offices, and my old friend and comrade Jackie Larkin from BC, it was a feminist dream team. We would need that strength in the months to come.

  * * *

  In August 1991, the Supreme Court of Canada struck down the rape shield law. Enacted in 1982 after fierce lobbying by women’s groups, the rape shield law prevented the questioning of a rape victim about her sexual history. The Supreme Court ruled that this restriction violated the rights of the accused. Justice minister Kim Campbell announced that she would rapidly replace the law.

  NAC member groups that worked on violence against women called together a number of women’s groups to develop a proposal for the minister. We decided that the key problem in rape cases, which resulted in a very low rate of conviction, was the question of consent. Most accused rapists claimed they believed there was consent and then it was his word against hers. Since the sexual assault laws would have to be rewritten, we decided to push for the inclusion of consent in the law. NAC and the Legal Education Action Fund (LEAF) got a meeting with Campbell and invited key representatives from grassroots violence against women groups to attend. It was a diverse and powerful group, a sign of how sophisticated the women’s movement had become. Campbell was so eager for our support, she called me herself to talk about the meeting in advance.

  This was the first time I had worked with Lee Lakeman. Lee was legendary in the women’s movement. She had established one of the first women’s shelters in Ontario in 1972, by moving into the basement of her own home and turning the main floor into a shelter. After moving to Vancouver, she joined Vancouver Rape Relief, which maintains a militant approach to ending violence against women to this day, although not without controversy, most recently for its trans-exclusionary politics. She was tough and did not suffer fools easily. Most of what I had heard about her was negative. She fought fiercely for what she believed in and she didn’t think much of NAC, which she saw as an organization of mostly middle-class, privileged women who didn’t focus enough on issues of violence. Once I realized that a large proportion of NAC member groups were anti-violence groups, I agreed with her. And now that I was finally dealing with my father’s abuse, I was more able to address the issues associated with violence against women and children than I had in the past.

  Our meeting started with the bureaucrats. They informed us that Campbell was anxious to pass a law before Parliament rose for the Christmas holidays. They agreed with our position on consent, but it would be impossible to draft an acceptable law which included a definition of consent before the holidays. We argued that without a definition of consent, they would not have our support.

  Lee asked them to leave so we could consult among ourselves before meeting with the minister. I was shocked by her chutzpah. These were senior bureaucrats, including the deputy minister, and she basically ordered them out of the room.

  I knew how to stand up to the government, even to a minister or prime minister, but negotiations were not my strong point. Lee was a tough negotiator and I respected her expertise on the issue so I supported her. Not only did she insist that we keep our position on consent, but she felt we couldn’t legitimately claim to represent the women’s movement with so few women in the room.

  When justice minister Kim Campbell arrived, we let the lawyers among us explain how we could include consent in the law. Lee and I made clear that a law that did not define consent would not be acceptable to us. Our experience told us that a definition of consent would result in more convictions in sexual assault cases. It was the only time in my life that I witnessed a minister change her mind in front of a lobby group.

  “Okay, my lawyers will work with your lawyers and come up with a definition of consent that will pass muster,” Campbell said.

  I was elated. But Lee was not yet satisfied. She would not let the minister leave without agreeing to pay for a national meeting of anti-violence groups every year. Campbell agreed. Lee understood this was a rare moment where we had a lot of power. The minister wanted this bill to be her legacy, especially after what she saw as the disaster of the failed abortion law, where she introduced a new abortion bill that was defeated in the Senate. She wanted to be seen as a champion of women and needed our support to get the bill through Parliament. Lee sensed that and pushed. It blew my mind.

  We had scheduled a press conference right after the meeting so we got to announce the agreement and put further pressure Campbell to make good on her word.

  At the press conference, a LEAF lawyer explained the proposal for the new law. A Toronto Star reporter asked her, “So is this a No Means No law?”

  Seeing a front-page headline I stepped in. “We’re talking about a law which says no means no and yes means yes and before you initiate sexual contact it’s your responsibility to find out if it’s yes or no.”

  “Proposed rape law’s message: No means no,” read the Toronto Star headline, and the article’s lead sentence was “Canada could soon have a new rape law with a stern warning for men: No means no.” It was front-page news, not only because it was a bold move on the part of a woman justice minister, but also because NAC had never agreed with the Mulroney government on anything before. It was a remarkable coup for us, made possible only by a collective effort led by the anti-violence activists.

  In the spring of 1992, the new rape law was passed in the House of Commons with rare unanimous consent. While it was an important victory at the time, we’ve found out since that the problem is much more deeply rooted and defining consent was not enough to secure more rape convictions.

  * * *

  During this time, Marcia and I began the process of integration. I had to accept that each of these personalities was part of me, and instead of resisting their anger, fear, and desire for more fun, I had to learn to allow for those feelings and desires. As a result of this work, more and more memories were beginning to emerge.

  A key mem
ory was something that took place after we moved to the three-bedroom apartment on East 94th Street in Brooklyn. I got the room off the kitchen. I remember always being scared in that room. In the sessions with Marcia, the alters showed me why.

  This room was on the opposite side of the house from my parents’ bedroom. My father had much more freedom there than in the tiny basement apartment at my grandmother’s house. I remember he would tell me to lie on my stomach and rub himself against my back. I felt as if I was suffocating. Then one day he turned me over and forced open my legs. In therapy I heard only the voices of the alters, not his responses.

  “What are you doing, Daddy?” said Mary in her sweetest voice.

  “I don’t like this, Daddy. Can’t I lie on my tummy?” pleaded Lila.

  Then Lobo appeared, trying to slip out from under him to run away.

  “I’m afraid, Daddy.” It was Sophie. “I really, really don’t like this. This is really bad. I think you should stop. Mommy will be mad at you.”

  Then HIM: “Stop it, you bastard! Stop it right now!”

  “I’m sick, Daddy. Really sick.” Trouble this time. “I’m gonna puke. I’m gonna puke.”

  Then Porsha started to scream and scream and scream.

  It was like listening to a play. One after another the personalities would appear and then disappear with another one taking his or her place. Marcia had explained that I had created the alters to defend myself against the abuse, but this was the first time that I actually saw how they did it. Each tactic of resistance was represented by another personality. When one didn’t work, another took up the battle. Finally, Porsha was successful.

  “I didn’t stop screaming,” Porsha said proudly. “He tried to put his hand over my mouth but I bit him. That served him right.”

  He stopped. He stood up beside the bed just before my mother came to the door.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” my father told her. “I was having my coffee and she just started screaming and wouldn’t stop.”

  “I hate it here, Mommy. I don’t want to stay here anymore. I hate it! I hate it!” Porsha told her. That’s when my mother agreed to move me in with Lenny. Little Alvin would stay in the room off the kitchen.

  To this day I don’t know if that was the last time my father abused me. No other scenes of abuse emerged in therapy, and once we moved to Toronto I have almost no memories of my father inside the house. I imagine that this was too close a call and he decided to stop.

  The main thing I remember about the house on East 94th Street was the nightmares. I often woke up screaming, convinced that monsters were coming out of the wall. I can still see the shadows in the room I shared with Lenny. My father came in to comfort and quiet me by turning on the light. “See,” he would say, “no monsters.” But somehow I wasn’t comforted.

  My mother never came.

  Nineteen

  The Final Confrontation

  While privately I was in the process of reintegrating my fragmented self, publicly I was working with NAC to prepare for a series of constitutional negotiations, for what later would be known as the Charlottetown Accord. Blaming the defeat of the Meech Lake Accord as a failure to communicate with Canadians, Mulroney’s government decided to set up a series of constitutional conferences to debate each of their primary proposals in the Canada Round. NAC was among the seventy-five community organizations invited. In addition, there were about fifty places for “ordinary Canadians” who applied by mail and were chosen by lottery. The other 220 participants were experts and politicians.

  On January 17, 1992, on the way to the conference in Halifax, which was to deal with the division of powers among the provinces, I ran into Judge Rosie Abella on the plane. Abella was not yet a Supreme Court justice, but she had a high profile because of her work as Commissioner of the Royal Commission on Equality in Employment in the 1980s. I’m not sure how I had made her acquaintance, but I knew her well enough to call her Rosie. She was the chair of the conference so I decided to approach her. She was sitting in business class and I asked her if she would be open to chatting with me.

  Soon after the plane took off, Rosie slipped back into economy and took the empty seat next to mine. We chatted for a while and then I explained our position.

  “We’re worried about the devolution of power to the provinces that some of the premiers are proposing,” I said. “We’ll never get a national child care program if it is up to each province. We need a strong federal government. At the same time, we realize that Quebec wants more power, and as a nation within Canada they should have it. Our position is to give Quebec the powers they want but to keep a strong federal state. Different powers for Quebec.”

  “Is it fair constitutionally for Quebec to have more power than the other provinces?” she asked. “You know a lot of people have opposed this as special powers for one province.”

  “We think it’s fair. None of the other provinces claims to be a nation as Quebec does. Our framework is that Canada is a nation of nations, each of which has the right to self-determination. By treating all the provinces equally we wind up with a devolution of power, which is certainly not what women want and I don’t think most people in the other provinces want it either. I know you understand treating everyone the same does not produce equality.”

  “That position is being put forward by some academics as well,” she said. “What I can promise is that I’ll make sure there is open space for a discussion.”

  She kept her promise.

  I arrived in Halifax convinced that the government would stack the conference with people supporting its position. But we had supporters from the labour movement, other advocacy groups, and academics as well. Needless to say the Quebec delegates were pleasantly surprised that anyone outside the province would support their position.

  The presence of ordinary Canadians changed the tone of the discussion. Instead of the usual Kabuki-style theatre of polemic debate, each group had to convince individual citizens who didn’t hold a strong a position. Persuasion rather than gang warfare dominated the debate. It was refreshing.

  During the introductory remarks in the workshop I was in, a middle-aged woman from New Brunswick said to me, “Get away from me. I’m sick of hearing about Quebec. They are always demanding things and making things worse for the rest of us.”

  But in the workshop Senator Gérald Beaudoin from Quebec explained that the province didn’t really want to take anything away from the rest of Canada; it just wanted autonomy in certain areas. I explained that what we were proposing was that Quebec would get the powers it wanted but the rest of us would keep a strong central government. It was a win-win situation where everyone got what they wanted.

  After listening to the discussion, the woman from New Brunswick changed her mind: “Well, I don’t mind if Quebec gets what they want, as long we in New Brunswick get what we want.”

  When we brought the resolution to the floor, Thomas d’Aquino from the Business Council on National Issues, who became our primary opponent in all the conferences, tried to raise a point of order to defeat our motion. Rosie Abella ruled him out of order.

  Much to our astonishment, our proposal won the conference by a significant majority. Thereafter, almost all the conferences resulted in the rejection of the federal government’s positions and proposing solutions more to our liking. Most important was the decision at the Calgary conference to adopt proportional representation in the Senate and at the Toronto conference where the focus was on self-government for Indigenous peoples.

  After the final conference in Vancouver in February, there was a new energy around the constitutional conferences, best expressed by Toronto Star columnist Michele Landsberg: “Wait a minute — how did constitutional conferences, once the national soporific, suddenly become a wellspring of new energy? A sea-change has happened, a lifting of the doom cloud. ‘It’s the women,’ my husband
kept exclaiming, as he watched the five conferences on TV. ‘They’re turning it around.’”

  We were elated, but the legal responsibility for constitutional reform lay with the premiers and the federal government. They discussed the proposals that emerged from the conferences behind closed doors and came back with something altogether different. In the end, the Charlottetown Accord rejected our proposal for different powers for Quebec, instead supporting the devolution of power. It also supported an elected Senate but left it to the provinces to decide how to elect their senators, and recommended a form of self-government for Indigneous peoples. NAC opposed the Accord and successfully organized for the No side in a referendum on the matter.

  * * *

  During the Charlottetown Accord conferences, my brother Leonard visited my parents in Florida and told them that I had remembered my father’s abuse. I was furious at him for breaking a confidence, but mostly I felt helpless and devastated. After almost twenty years, I started smoking again.

  I knew now that I had to talk to my mother. In January 1992, in the middle of these intense conferences, I had a speaking engagement at a National Organization for Women conference in Miami. Fort Lauderdale, where my parents lived, wasn’t far away. Alvin agreed to come to Florida at the same time to lend me support.

  Marcia felt I was not yet ready to confront my father. The week before I left, I had a somewhat prophetic dream. I am sitting with the family around a big round table. Suddenly, an angry personality emerges and begins screaming at my father. He is taken aback but looks resigned. I am out of control and say to Leonard, “Get me out of here,” and he does.

  Alvin and my mother arrived at my hotel just after lunch. My mother looked a little uncomfortable but otherwise calm. We kissed on the cheek as usual.