Quebec cuts two support programs for women victims of domestic violence

While 60 women have been killed by their spouse or ex-partner since 2020 in Quebec, including 13 last year, the provincial government has ended two programs to help victims of domestic violence. A shock wave for survivors and defenders of women victims of physical, sexual or psychological violence. Explanations.

“It seems like we are deconstructing piece by piece the things that were put in place to help women victims of violence. It's quite disturbing to see that you are moving forward and then taking a step backwards,” says Louise Riendeau, from the Reunification of Homes for Women Victims of Domestic Violence. Like her, several representatives of community organizations that support women victims of violence say they are incomprehensible. They denounce the end of two government programs in Quebec, while the fight against violence against women is presented as a priority by the government.

However, in Canada, in 2022, there were nearly 120,000 victims of intimate partner violence (IPV) among residents over the age of 12, 78% of whom were women or girls. That increased by 163% from 2014 to 2022, according to Statistics Canada. But this is just the tip of the iceberg, as it is estimated that 80% of IPV incidents are not reported to the police and therefore not counted. The actual number of victims of their partner is therefore much higher.

Caught up in the cycle of violence, survivors often need time — and multiple iterations — to be able to save themselves before it's too late. Then began a second fight, that of reconstruction. Broken and isolated, these women suffer from post-traumatic stress, have lost their homes, sometimes have children — they are extremely vulnerable and in need of help.

A path then begins — during which they will no longer benefit from two government programs described as particularly necessary by specialized organizations. The first ended in September 2024 and was part of the pilot project Rebuild, launched in 2021. It allowed women to benefit from the representation of a specialized lawyer in the event of a conflict of interest. A strategy used by some perpetrators of violence to prevent their spouse from using a lawyer is to contact dozens of lawyers before her. However, according to their code of ethics, lawyers who have been contacted by one party cannot agree to represent the other party. The Retelephone line, which has been offering four hours of free legal consultation to victims of domestic or sexual violence since 2021, remains in service.

The second program allows immigrant women who are victims of IPV to benefit from the services of an interpreter when they are not sufficiently comfortable in French or English. Launched in 2020, it had already been in danger in March 2024, but had been renewed for one year, until March 31.

“It's not enough just to translate like Google Translate! ”

“From January 2024 to March 2025, 35 interpreters were asked 88 times to work in contexts of domestic violence,” explains Emmanuel Siake Nganka, head of the interpreter bank at Maison Internationale, an organization that welcomes thousands of people each year.

At the end of the month, it will no longer be possible for organizations that support these women to benefit from the services of an interpreter free of charge. Responders fear that they will have to resort to less expensive methods, but which could be dangerous for victims.

“The people we support are not numbers, they are people we follow for the long term. We welcome people from different parts of the world: Latin America, Central Africa, Middle East, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan. Among them, there are women victims of domestic violence who do not speak French or English”, begins, visibly annoyed, Mame Moussa Sy, director general of the organization.

“The interpreters financed by the MIFI [Editor's note: the Ministry of Immigration, Francization and Integration] have special training on what these women experience. It's not enough just to translate like Google Translate! There is also the intercultural dimension, because words do not have the same meaning everywhere”, continues Mame Moussa Sy.

How will these vulnerable people be able to tell what they are going through if they cannot find words? “We'll figure it out,” sighs the director general. “We'll ask a cousin or a neighbour to translate, but looking for free in such cases is dangerous. A loved one may, intentionally or not, break confidentiality. There is also a conflict of interest, because in some cultures, a woman who wants to leave the home is frowned upon, and a non-neutral translator can distort the message so that she stays with her husband,” he points out.

This observation is also made by Amina Najat, an interpreter of Dari, a language spoken in Afghanistan, and Urdu, a language from Pakistan, where she lived for about 15 years.

For these women, knowing that we speak their language is a relief

“Sometimes interpreters are the first people these women talk to freely,” she explains. In particular, she remembers a mother who was a victim of domestic violence for whom she acted as an interpreter: “This woman only spoke her mother tongue. She was controlled by her husband, isolated, without any support. She didn't even know how to take the bus alone,” she said.

Very religious, the victim was faced with a profound dilemma: “She did not know what to do: 'Who am I listening to? My husband? My family? Are my parents encouraging me to stay with my husband? Or my children who keep telling me: 'You've already put up with so much, you can continue.'' Around her, no one considered breaking up as an option. There is a real culture of silence," the interpreter continues. "Women are taught to say nothing, to keep everything to themselves. Even talking to a friend carries the risk of spreading the story.”

Over the course of the meetings, the victim was able to put into words what she was feeling, understand her rights, and discover the resources available to her. “It was not a magical transformation, but little by little, she regained confidence, she learned to set her limits. I also explained to her the differences between her culture of origin and that of Quebec, especially in terms of women's rights.”

This woman's story is no exception, says Amina. It is a journey that many victims make. They silence their suffering, stifling their emotions. But when they talk to a professional interpreter, they are often able to express what they are experiencing for the first time without fear of being judged. “For these women, knowing that their language is spoken is a relief. They no longer have to try to translate their pain into a language they don't know. That's one less mental load. And it all starts with the word.”

The consequences of the end of the interpreting program will be dramatic, warns Amina: “Some women will never speak. They will continue to suffer. In fact, they think that they have just changed countries, but that their destiny is still the same. Some even say that what they are going through is their fault: “I was punished, I was the one who chose the wrong husband.””

The interpreter recalls that the integration of these immigrants into their host country also involves access to rights. “Here, we emphasize feminism and the duty to integrate. Learning the language is good, but in the meantime, how do you survive? We talk about feminism, but we abandon these women... And their children suffer the consequences. These patterns of violence continue from generation to generation.”

While political discourse emphasizes the fight against violence against women, the abolition of the interpreting service is a paradox leaving in the shadows those who already have no voice.

Interviewed by La Converse, the Ministère de l'Immigration, de la Francization et de l'Intégration (MIFI) explains its decision: “Interpreting and translation activities with public services are no longer eligible for the standards of the Community Support Program (PAC) since the revision of these standards in 2023. The project is not eligible under other MIFI standardized programs, including the Welcome and Integration Support Program (PASI). The organization was informed on March 7 of the non-renewal of the funding.” The ministry thus highlights a default choice.

Alone and caught up in an interminable judicial cycle

In 2017, Caroline separated from her spouse. A divorce that, on paper, should have been amicable, but which turned into a long and arduous legal battle. “He never accepted the separation,” she confides. She quickly came up against a series of obstacles: refusal to collaborate, various manipulations, relentlessness, and voluntary stretching of the judicial process. “He made completely far-fetched requests during the negotiations that led to incessant legal proceedings," she continues, "... not to mention the numerous impacts on the children.” For four years, she faced the maneuvers of her ex-spouse. Beyond the personal consequences, a real judicial war began

Caroline has to deal with what she describes as “judicial violence”, a strategy by her ex-spouse to slow down the proceedings and exhaust her. “Financially, it really paralysed me”, she confides, mentioning the tens of thousands of dollars spent on legal fees. Her lawyer herself was surprised at the situation one day: “She told me that she had never seen this in her career.”

Caroline wearily recounts the tactics used by her ex-husband to drag things out: “At some point, he no longer had a lawyer, so he communicated with my lawyer and she had an obligation to answer him, to take the time to explain things... But he was asking the same questions in different forms. And in the meantime, I was paying the lawyer, and the bill was going up.”

After years of struggle, a new obstacle arose: her lawyer retired. Caroline then found herself without legal representation, in a case that had become so complex that no lawyer agreed to take it over. Out of resources, and without thousands of dollars in unpaid child support payments, Caroline couldn't give up. If she could not afford a lawyer, she would represent herself alone. “I wanted a trial date to conclude this saga and for a judge to decide once and for all on all the elements my ex was working on. I also wanted to see the amounts of money owed to my children released,” she explains.

During this ordeal, she found support from the Rebuild organization, which helped her to structure her case and to prepare her defense. She praised the help of their lawyers: “M Lacroix gave me confidence in my ability to represent myself alone. Thanks to this program, she receive four hours of free counseling for domestic violence, plus an additional four hours after recognizing sexual violence. “With the email exchanges, I may have had 10 hours in total,” she says. Valuable help, but insufficient considering the magnitude of the task.

“Ten hours goes by quickly when you have to put together a whole file. I was fortunate to have had a lawyer before, so I understood the system a bit better. But it's still stressful to represent yourself in court. You don't know when to speak, how to say your words, what to object about... You don't want to look like the crazy person who opposes everything either,” she confides. The Rebuild then helped her refocus and remain relevant in her interventions.

For a month, the social worker put her work aside to prepare for her trial. She gathered hundreds of documents, organized her evidence into several volumes, and refines her arguments. A titanic effort that finally paid off: while her trial was supposed to last two days, she won her case on the first day. An immense relief after four years of struggle.

When asked why she did not prefer to be represented by a lawyer from Re, she exclaims: “Ah? Could I have been represented? If I had known that I had this option, clearly, I would have taken it! She paused. “I don't know why I wasn't offered it... Maybe my file was too advanced? I have no idea.”

Despite everything, Caroline is proud to have succeeded alone. “It's a huge regain of control over my life,” she says. But she does not hide that it was a gigantic ordeal: “Going to court and facing, alone, the person who had made me experience so many horrors... It takes immense courage.”

A paradox emerges: this legal representation program has been abolished, officially due to the lack of applications. Caroline, a mother of two teenagers — like so many others — was simply unaware of its existence. Access to justice is not limited to resources: victims must also be informed.

Rebuilding: “We would have liked it to be extended to all of Quebec, rather than eliminated”

“The Commission des Services Juridiques says that there are not many cases of conflicts of interest, so [sentence II of the Rebuild project] was not necessary, except that they still represented a few hundred victims and that this service was very much appreciated”, begins by videoconference Louise Riendeau, accompanied by Justine Fortin, both responsible for the political files of the Reunification of Houses for Women Victims of Domestic Violence.

In one year, lawyers from the Rebuild project offered legal assistance in 190 cases of intimate partner violence. But according to the Commission des Services Juridiques (CSJ), the body responsible for enforcing the Legal Aid Act, cases of conflicts of interest represent 14% of cases. A need considered insufficient by Quebec, according to information from Le Devoir.

However, faced with spouses who exploit every flaw in the legal system to maintain their grip on their ex, the need persists: “When we are a victim of domestic violence, our rights are already infringed, we are already in an inequitable situation. So, we need to be represented by a competent lawyer to help us rebalance rights, wealth and shared custody of children. With the end of phase II of Rebuild, they risk having no one left to defend their rights,” insists Justine Fortin.

“We would have liked it to be extended to all of Quebec, rather than abolished,” pleads Louise Riendeau. The program was limited to Montreal, Montérégie, and Quebec City. Both women consider that the need is even greater in the regions. “In several regions, women find themselves without a lawyer, without any return from legal aid, and must make do with a list of private lawyers, who, all too often, do not take cases”, insists Riendeau.

A Facebook group to make up for the lack of resources for victims

Mariana Infante, who left her native Mexico after fleeing the violence of her ex-husband, says she is “shocked” by the end of these programs. “I think it's really unfair and I don't understand how it's possible,” she protests. As women, we are already a vulnerable group, and we see every day that our rights are never granted and that we have to fight for them not to be taken away from us. When you are a woman and you experience violence, you are even more vulnerable.”

The mother also regrets the fact that the resources are very poorly known to survivors: “I didn't even know that the Rebuild program was very poorly understood. allowed access to a lawyer specialized in the event of a conflict of interest, while I work in an organization for women. I know a lot of women who would have needed this service. So to say that they are not continuing it, because there are not enough requests, I think that is unfair.”

Mariana is aware of the acute lack of resources and communication with victims, having gone through this painful journey herself. That's why she created a Facebook group a few years ago. “To date, there are 200 members, because it's a restricted group... You need to prove that your profile is real. If someone sends a request, you have to meet that person personally to verify their identity, because abusive spouses have sometimes created false profiles to join the group,” she adds.

Within this virtual group, social workers, lawyers, psychologists and interpreters answer women's questions and assist them on a voluntary basis in their efforts. “Some legal aid lawyers have a lot of prejudices and are not trained in the issues of violence between partners. Many women have the door shut in their face because they came to the lawyer for the first time, but returned to their husbands for a variety of reasons. When they finally come back, some lawyers say, 'Look, madam, I took your case a long time ago. You left without saying anything, and now you're telling me you want a divorce.' So, even if it is a right, they end up without a lawyer at the worst possible time,” says Mariana.

Thanks to the Facebook group and the support network that Mariana created, these women find help and are directed to the right people, professionals who are committed to supporting them. Of course, Mariana Infante would prefer that this group did not exist, like all the other citizen initiatives that compensate for the poor care of these victims. “If they continue to close programs like these two, we will have to continue doing what we are doing, unfortunately, and that is worrying for our society,” she concludes.