Coopérative fédérée’s annual meeting is a big event: over 350 delegates, hundreds of interveners, bankers, civil servants and curiosity seekers. Let me tell you a secret: being up there on the podium all day, with lights glaring and cameras focused on my every expression, can be quite intimidating. I have the disturbing impression of sitting on a dentist chair, go figure?

Actually, I’m sharing these feelings to better situate you in the context. Because this year’s annual meeting was quite agitated. For example, let me tell you what happened between eleven and noon, yes, at that precise time.

It all started with Georges Farrah, the federal MP for Îles-de-la-Madeleine as well as parliamentary secretary in charge of rural development, who came to deliver a message on the government’s behalf. A solid speech in which he stated his commitment to getting personally involved in establishing fiscal measures to benefit agricultural cooperatives.
The delegates believe in his sincerity, but are insistent. Ernest Gasser, a young dairy farmer, reads, with great conviction, a supporting resolution. His accent, a combination of English, French and German, all of which he masters fluently, is rather appealing. “Minister Farrah, what’re you going to do about Cooperative Investment Plan (CIP)?” Applauds from the crowd. The parliamentary secretary, instantly promoted to Minister by the audience, re-affirms his commitment.

Now it’s time for the president of a small dairy cooperative located in l’Isle-aux-Grues to harangue the ‘Minister’. He seems like an affable fellow, must be the insular climate. “To make good cheese, Mr. Farrah, it takes investments and the CIP is an essential tool!” Well said! The MP nods approvingly. All’s well with the world…

“Any other comments or questions?” asks Denis Richard, visibly pleased to see his flock supporting a cause in which he firmly believes.

Yes, you – on the right. Microphone number 1...

Uh, oh! The person slowly heading for the mike, I know who he is, he’s a good dairy producer. Although I’ve talked to him often and each time with renewed pleasure, I can’t remember his name. What exactly does he want to talk about? CIP? Border protection? Mad cow? Ukrainian wheat?

None of the above. In a soft-spoken voice, he begins to recount his story, or rather that of his neighbours’ children. It’s a story about the second house down the road, he says, they’ve been accused of illegally growing cannabis, assault, violence and associating with known felons; another one who lives up the road steals from his parents, produces and sells pot; finally, there’s the one who lives near town, he sells it and smokes it and utters death threats. These kids have fallen into criminal activity and are supported by rascals involved in small-time organized crime.

The huge ballroom of the Montreal Sheraton falls silent. Not a word. Only the farmer, under the harsh spotlights, continues his testimony, his voice growing weak with emotion.

In the meantime, the still-standing Georges Farrah begins to fidget. He understands the seriousness of the situation. He glances my way, powerless, desperately searching through his extensive political experience to find the right words.

The man’s testimony is coming to an end, heavy with emotion. There doesn’t seem to be a dry eye in the crowd. The story takes a dramatic turn. This dairy farmer’s own children, believed to be above and beyond the reach of organized crime, have also fallen into the trappings of the criminal lifestyle. Just like his neighbours’ kids. The end.

It’s time for Georges Farrah to respond. Expectation fills the air. Mr. Farrah, destabilized and helpless, doesn’t even try to avoid the issue. Finally, the only words that he can find convey his deepest solidarity: I too have three children!

A long silence follows; the president asks that the meeting be adjourned for lunch. The dairy farmer, numb, his head hanging down, is quickly surrounded. His suffering is obvious. Some comment on his courage while others hear his cry of desperation.

But if you want my opinion, this is not about desperation, nor is it about courage, it’s a story about love, the love of a father for his children, and heartfelt grief…