shocking quebec @Jamal514
The guy was holding a megaphone.
From his seat in the stands of the Marcel-Bédard Arena in Beauport, Que., he was on my case and he was unloading on me. His insults were not about my hockey skills or my style of play. His screams were only about the colour of my skin, from the beginning to the end of the game — non-stop.
“Hey, monkey! … Africa sucks! ... Coach, you have 19 yellows and one negro on your bench!”
Sitting on the bench with my team — les Olympiques de Hull in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League — I drew upon all my strength to remain completely impassive. None of my pain, my frustration or my anger would appear on my face.
I wanted to honour what my parents had always taught me at our home in Pierrefonds, Que. — never give oxygen to a coward. Do not allow him to breathe. If you act as he wants you to, you justify his purpose. Be proud of who you are. Do not let anyone walk over you. Do not let a weak person weaken you. Even as I was counting the steps separating me from the guy, and the time it would take me to get to him.
I’m not going to lie — I was close to tears. And the insults kept raining down. I was just 17 years old in the spring of 1995, still a child. It was my first season in junior hockey. That night, in our first game of the semifinal series, I had only one shift on the ice. So I was not a factor in the game.
I played hockey all my life — minor hockey in the West Island, junior hockey in Hull, and seven seasons in the NHL. But by the age of 10 or 12, my teammate Jason Doig — who is also a black man — and I had already heard whispers, uncool comments and questions, like “why don’t you play football or basketball instead of hockey?” You can also imagine that I heard all sorts of ignorant comments during my years in the NHL.
Playing on opposing rinks has always been difficult. Playing in Val-d'Or was difficult. Playing in Chicoutimi was difficult. Playing in Laval was difficult. Over the years, people have shouted racist insults at me. Thrown bananas at me during a game. But that evening in Beauport, I will never forget.
That was the night that I endured the most pain. It was probably my most difficult moment ever emotionally. Other incidents were usually the work of a single idiot. Someone would put a stop to it and we all moved on quickly. But this time was different. It felt like the 1950s. While I was motionless on the bench, thoughts jostled in my head. I could not understand, first of all, why no security guard was doing anything.
Why did many other spectators, instead of condemning the behaviour of this oddball, choose to laugh and encourage him Why did they side with him? Most of all, I wondered what the captain of the opposing team, Ian McIntyre, was thinking on the bench across from ours. He could hear the racist cries of the Harfangs’ fans.
Ian is black.
The racist incident I’ll never forget - CBC Sports
The guy was holding a megaphone.
From his seat in the stands of the Marcel-Bédard Arena in Beauport, Que., he was on my case and he was unloading on me. His insults were not about my hockey skills or my style of play. His screams were only about the colour of my skin, from the beginning to the end of the game — non-stop.
“Hey, monkey! … Africa sucks! ... Coach, you have 19 yellows and one negro on your bench!”
Sitting on the bench with my team — les Olympiques de Hull in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League — I drew upon all my strength to remain completely impassive. None of my pain, my frustration or my anger would appear on my face.
I wanted to honour what my parents had always taught me at our home in Pierrefonds, Que. — never give oxygen to a coward. Do not allow him to breathe. If you act as he wants you to, you justify his purpose. Be proud of who you are. Do not let anyone walk over you. Do not let a weak person weaken you. Even as I was counting the steps separating me from the guy, and the time it would take me to get to him.
I’m not going to lie — I was close to tears. And the insults kept raining down. I was just 17 years old in the spring of 1995, still a child. It was my first season in junior hockey. That night, in our first game of the semifinal series, I had only one shift on the ice. So I was not a factor in the game.
I played hockey all my life — minor hockey in the West Island, junior hockey in Hull, and seven seasons in the NHL. But by the age of 10 or 12, my teammate Jason Doig — who is also a black man — and I had already heard whispers, uncool comments and questions, like “why don’t you play football or basketball instead of hockey?” You can also imagine that I heard all sorts of ignorant comments during my years in the NHL.
Playing on opposing rinks has always been difficult. Playing in Val-d'Or was difficult. Playing in Chicoutimi was difficult. Playing in Laval was difficult. Over the years, people have shouted racist insults at me. Thrown bananas at me during a game. But that evening in Beauport, I will never forget.
That was the night that I endured the most pain. It was probably my most difficult moment ever emotionally. Other incidents were usually the work of a single idiot. Someone would put a stop to it and we all moved on quickly. But this time was different. It felt like the 1950s. While I was motionless on the bench, thoughts jostled in my head. I could not understand, first of all, why no security guard was doing anything.
Why did many other spectators, instead of condemning the behaviour of this oddball, choose to laugh and encourage him Why did they side with him? Most of all, I wondered what the captain of the opposing team, Ian McIntyre, was thinking on the bench across from ours. He could hear the racist cries of the Harfangs’ fans.
Ian is black.
The racist incident I’ll never forget - CBC Sports