It is December 6th, and I remember.
I was 13 years old when Marc Lépine opened fire and murdered 14 women for being at engineering school when he wasn’t. He blamed feminism for the situation he was in, and murdered these women for being in non-traditional jobs, for being there.
Every year, the memorials I go to are different. Some are quiet - I remember several winters in the snow, holding candles and reciting names like a talisman against violence.
Geneviève Bergeron, 21 years old. Hélène Colgan, 24 years old. Nathalie Croteau, 24 years old.
When I was younger, they seemed impossibly mature and sophisticated. I used to imagine them laughing and enjoying university, cut down without warning. Now that I’m 35, they seem so young, and I wonder if they were afraid.
Self reblog from last year. Still worth reading. Still remembering.
Something interesting about the Montreal Massacre—for years after it happened, feminist scholars did not use his name. They refused to allow people to glorify a shooter as a hero/martyr/lunatic etc, as they so often do. For the first few years, he didn’t get his fame…which I think is remarkable and something we should do for every occurrence like this one.