The air in Quebec in the early 1960s crackled with a palpable energy, a quiet hum that belied the profound transformations about to sweep through our society. It was a time when the old ways, steeped in tradition and the pervasive influence of the Church, began to give way to a fervent desire for modernity and self-determination. I recall the morning the telephone rang, a call that would forever alter the course of my life: Premier Jean Lesage himself, inviting me, a professor of economics, to join the newly reformed Conseil d'orientation économique. There was an urgency in his voice, a shared vision for a Quebec that would be "Maîtres chez nous," masters in our own house.
My early career had been dedicated to the hallowed halls of academia, at HEC Montréal and the Université de Montréal, where I nurtured young minds in the intricacies of economics. But this invitation from Lesage was different; it was a summons to the heart of a burgeoning revolution. I joined a team, an "équipe du tonnerre," brimming with intellect and an unwavering commitment to reshape our province. We worked tirelessly, laying the groundwork for an economic renaissance, recommending the creation of institutions like the Société générale de financement and championing the pivotal nationalization of electricity. These were not mere policy decisions; they were acts of profound belief in Quebec's capacity to chart its own course, to build a modern state from the ground up.
The spirit of the Quiet Revolution permeated every aspect of public life. We sought to democratize our institutions, to adapt them to the demands of a rapidly industrializing and urbanizing society. Education, once largely the domain of the Catholic Church, became a central battleground. There was a clear understanding that for Quebec to truly flourish, its people needed access to a modern, secular education system that could equip them for the future. The discussions were intense, the resistance at times formidable, but the momentum for change was undeniable.
It was amidst this dynamic period that a new, vital need emerged: a specialized institution to train the public administrators who would be the architects and operators of this burgeoning state. In 1969, the Quebec government entrusted me with this monumental task, the creation of the École nationale d'administration publique, or ENAP. It was a challenge I embraced with every fiber of my being. I envisioned a place where the brightest minds could be forged, where the principles of efficient and ethical public service would be instilled, and where the future leaders of Quebec's administration would be equipped to serve with excellence.
The early days of ENAP were a whirlwind of activity, a blend of idealism and practical construction. From securing premises to developing curricula, every decision was imbued with the weight of its importance for the future of our province. I served as its first director general, guiding its initial years and watching with immense pride as its first cohorts of students embarked on their journey. It was a demanding role, one that often saw me traversing the distance between Montreal and Quebec City multiple times a week, but the sense of purpose was an unwavering fuel.
To see ENAP come to life, to witness it become a beacon of public administration education, was one of the proudest achievements of my professional life. It represented the tangible manifestation of a collective dream, a testament to the belief that a well-trained, dedicated public service was essential for a modern, self-governing Quebec. My memoirs, in their entirety, are not just a chronicle of these public endeavors, but also a reflection on the personal journey that led me to these pivotal moments, from my youth and early career choices to my studies abroad and my deep involvement in popular education. They are, in essence, an insider's account of a truly transformative era, a glimpse behind the curtain of the Quiet Revolution.
