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Four years after the attacks on the Grand Mosque of Quebec, it is far from the spotlight that Quebecers of the Muslim faith in the Old Capital were finally able to obtain their Muslim cemetery. After more than 22 years of waiting, the long-awaited cemetery opened on June 11, 2020.
“The entire Muslim community in Quebec knows that the cemetery exists, and all of Quebec City knows it too. What we avoided was the press — because a cemetery can't be advertised like that, it's done in a simple way,” says Boufeldja Benabdallah, president of the Islamic Cultural Center of Quebec (CCIQ) and co-founder of the cemetery.
At the scene, near the highway in Sainte-Foy, he said a prayer in front of the modest tombs covered in snow, marked with numbers engraved on small green plaques. “This summer, we will add headstones and trees,” he said at the entrance to the cemetery, delimited by a green fence.
It has been more than seven months since the Muslim cemetery in Quebec opened its doors, without noise. However, its construction was the subject of divisions, in particular following the attack on the Quebec mosque.
This is evidenced by the reactions to the cemetery project, which was originally supposed to be built in Saint-Apollinaire. On July 16, 2017, the population expressed their refusal in a referendum. Numerous hateful acts against the CCIQ followed after another, including The fire of a car and the sending of Parcel containing racist remarks.
Just under six months earlier, on January 29, 2017, the terrorist entered the Islamic Cultural Center in Quebec City and murdered six men, in addition to wounding eight others. That Sunday, Ibrahima Barry, Mamadou Tanou Barry, Khaled Belkacemi, Khaled Belkacemi, Aboubaker Thabti, Abdelkrim Hassane, and Azzedine Soufiane never returned home after the evening prayer. That Sunday, they fell under the bullets of hate.
Sadly, the attack at the CCIQ was a trigger. “We realized that there was no place where the victims could rest,” says Nader, a young Muslim civil servant who preferred to keep his last name quiet. The families all had to have the remains repatriated, except for one deceased, who was transferred to the Montreal Muslim Cemetery, located in Laval.
At the time, the idea of a cemetery was not new, but the tragic circumstances of the attack revealed the province's need for one. More than three years later, when the cemetery finally opened, the community did not want to attract attention. It is time for sobriety, for meditation, for spirituality.
“From day one, we buried two men. Their last wish was to rest in the city where they had lived, raised their children, and grown old. They were worshipers of the Grand Mosque,” says the cemetery's co-founder.
The first died at the age of 60, a month and a half before the cemetery opened. His last wish was to be buried there. Buried temporarily on the grounds of a funeral home, he was transferred a month and a half later to become the first worshipper buried in the Muslim cemetery in Quebec City. The other is a close friend of Boufeldja, “like a brother.” Aged 80, he died two days before the inauguration. “On the opening day, we ended up with two funerals. Both were brought in, but the first person who made the wish with his family was put to the tomb one minute before the other.”
Since then, nine adults and four babies have been buried there.
A desire for discretion
After the opening, several deaths hit the Muslim community in Quebec City. The main thing was to meet the demand of people who wanted to be buried in Quebec City, says Jihad*, who prefers not to mention his last name.
“There was a desire to experience this between us, to keep it intimate. Death is very intimate in itself. And among Muslims, it's also very modest,” adds the 28-year-old self-employed woman.
“For us, death is an eternal home. Everyone thinks about the house where they live. Well, we also think about our eternal home. That's why it's important,” explains Jihad, who believes that there was unnecessary harassment against this request, which is “so simple”. For the young woman, having a place where her deceased can rest in peace is essential. She feels that it is “crazy” that such a simple request not only took so long, but also made so much noise.
“My parents' generation came here to live better, not to convert everyone! It's already a lot of work, taking care of yourself and your community,” Jihad jokes about the accusations of proselytism aimed at Muslims in Quebec. “We've always wanted to see this cemetery open,” she says.
A 22-year wait
Photo: Lela Savic
The steps to build this cemetery began in 1998, Mr. Benabdallah tells us. Why did we have to wait so long? Beyond the distrust of public opinion, long administrative procedures explain these delays, especially for the land, believes the co-founder of the cemetery. “We started to make requests, but we were still struggling with the zoning issue,” he said.
In fact, every cemetery project involves several administrative steps. Large amounts of money must also be raised during the process, which requires rigor and bureaucratic knowledge.
Another element also complicated matters: it was necessary for the land to be able to belong to the community in perpetuity. “In our religion, the ground where someone is buried belongs to them until the end of time,” explains Mr. Benabdallah.
This is why he absolutely wanted to buy land and not have to depend on a funeral company, which could have resold it.
“In this great misfortune, there was an understanding”
It was after the attack, in 2017, that this long process picked up speed. “This accelerated [its] creation. In this great misfortune, there was an understanding [of our situation],” said Mr. Benabdallah.
So, Régis Labeaume, the mayor of Quebec City, finally decided to use his influence to help the community after the attack. Discreetly, he mobilized his employees to find municipal land at cost. Its aim was to avoid fuelling polemics and debates.
We contacted the office of the Mayor of Quebec to get Mr. Labeaume's reactions, but Mr. Labeaume did not give any interviews until February 8. In December 2017, during the sale of the land, he Was speaking on this subject: “I deliberately acted quickly because I did not want us to have a debate on this.”
A quest for dignity
Before June 11, 2020, Muslims in and around Quebec City had no place to bury their dead. “It was an additional headache not to be able to bury them here,” says Nader. The young man now lives in Ottawa, but grew up in Quebec City, where his family still resides.
Before the opening of the Quebec cemetery, the family of a deceased had several choices: expatriate the body for the modest sum of $15,000 to 20,000, transport it to Montreal to bury it in the only Muslim cemetery in Quebec, or even bury it in a Catholic cemetery and see Muslim rites adapted to Catholic tradition. Beyond the adjustments that they involve, these possibilities are expensive. Transporting remains can be a problem for a number of reasons.
First, some modest households do not have the necessary funds and must call on their loved ones or the community to achieve this, some even sometimes launching crowdfunding campaigns. Then, according to Muslim rites, the body should be buried as quickly as possible. “According to Islam, it is good to be buried where you die. Nearly 90% of people are buried in Quebec,” explains Jihad.
Since the inauguration of the Quebec cemetery, Muslims in the city have been able to bury their deceased as close as possible to their traditions, but also close to family and loved ones. “If a member of my family were buried in my country of origin, Lebanon, I would not be able to visit the grave regularly. I would not grieve in the same way.
We want to be able to bury our dead next to where we live,” summarizes Nader. The fact that his parents are beginning to age forces the family to think about their death, and therefore the place of their burial. For him, it is logical and natural that they should be buried in Quebec. “Living most of your life in a place and not being able to be buried there is strange,” he believes.
Close the loop
More than a place of eternal life, this cemetery therefore represents the culmination of a quest, the symbol of integration. “I am happy that we have closed the loop. Because we are fully-fledged citizens. We are Muslim citizens of Quebec. We love Quebec so much that we want to be buried here! ” exclaims Boufeldja Benabdallah fervently.
“For some, it was a celebration. We are really part of the fabric of Quebec City,” says Nader, who is however more critical of obtaining the cemetery. For him as for others, the cemetery is in fact only a step towards equality, and the same problems of racism and Islamophobia persist in Quebec.
“The tragedy of 2017 did not come out of nowhere. A certain context explains what happened. The climate of hate is still there. When you go for a walk in Quebec City, and even elsewhere, the concern remains,” regrets Nader. Countdown to the insults shouted in the streets; the veils torn off; the curious, inappropriate, benevolent or otherwise remarks; the prejudices and the discrimination.
“The history of the Muslim cemetery in Quebec City is a striking example of systemic racism,” says the young man. Like him, many denounce the 22-year obstacle course they had to endure for a simple request.
“Living in peace is all the community has been asking for since it existed,” says Nader. Simply live and die peacefully.
*To respect the anonymity of this person, only his first name has been disclosed.
To go further:
- According to Statistics Canada, 300,000 Muslim citizens live in Quebec. At the Muslim cemetery in Quebec City, 850 people can be buried. At the Hamza Muslim Cemetery in Laval, there are nearly 500 occupied places, and nearly 3,500 vacancies. At the Laval cemetery, the Muslim square has 400 spaces under development, and 300 occupied. A few other squares exist within Catholic and multi-confessional cemeteries, but these are not adapted to all Muslim burial rites. In Sherbrooke, if a Muslim cemetery project is carried out, nearly 400 people could be buried.
- In Sherbrooke, a Muslim cemetery has also been waiting for over 20 years. The land purchase agreement was signed in November 2020. Nearly $120,000 still needs to be raised in order to complete the work before the cemetery can open. “It's not an accessible process. It requires a lot of resources and expertise that our community did not have,” explains Mohamed Golli, the spokesperson for the Islamic Cultural Association of Estrie (ACIE), which is responsible for the project.
- The Muslim Burial Association in Quebec can be a valuable help for bereaved families. It offers help with organization and administrative procedures, but also for collecting the funds necessary to pay the costs.