The Order of Jacques Cartier: A Secret Society in French Canada
Origins and Purpose
The Order of Jacques Cartier (L’Ordre de Jacques Cartier, OJC) was a secret society founded in 1926 in Hull, Quebec, Canada. It was created by a group of French Canadian nationalists who sought to protect and promote the interests of French Canadians in an era where English-speaking elites dominated Canadian politics, business, and social institutions.
At its core, the OJC aimed to strengthen the economic, political, and cultural power of French Catholics in Canada, countering the influence of Anglo-Protestant institutions. It operated in secrecy to shield itself from opposition and ensure its influence remained undetected by those who sought to maintain the status quo.
Structure and Operations
The Order was highly hierarchical and clandestine, modeled after the Freemasons. Members used pseudonyms and communicated in coded language to avoid detection. The group operated in cells, and only a select few at the top knew the full scope of the organization’s activities.
It sought to place loyal French Canadians in key positions in government, media, and business. Members worked behind the scenes to advance pro-French policies, secure jobs for fellow Francophones, and resist assimilation into English-speaking Canada.
Influence and Legacy
The OJC played a major role in shaping the Quiet Revolution of the 1960s, a period of massive social and political change in Quebec. Many of its members became influential politicians, journalists, and civil servants who advocated for Quebec’s modernization and autonomy.
However, as Quebec nationalism became more mainstream, the need for a secret society diminished. By 1965, the Order of Jacques Cartier disbanded, as many of its goals were being openly pursued by political movements such as the Parti Québécois and institutions like the Société Saint-Jean-Baptiste.
Controversy and Secrecy
Because of its covert nature, the Order has been compared to other secret societies like the Freemasons or the Illuminati, though it was primarily focused on protecting French Canadian interests rather than global power. Critics accused it of fostering ethnic favoritism and exclusionary practices, but its supporters saw it as a necessary force against Anglo domination.
Today, the Order of Jacques Cartier remains a little-known but significant part of Canadian history, representing the underground struggle for French Canadian survival and self-determination in the 20th century.
The Breakfast Revolution: Jamie Oliver, PM Nelly Furtado, and the Fiddle of Hunger
The brisk Canadian morning was alive with the energy of change. Prime Minister Nelly Furtado, freshly elected on a platform of hope and nourishment, stood at a podium in Toronto’s Nathan Phillips Square. Beside her, celebrity chef Jamie Oliver adjusted his scarf against the chill, his eyes sparkling with determination. Together, they were unveiling a groundbreaking initiative to revolutionize breakfast and lunch programs in Canadian schools.
“Every child deserves a full belly and a fair shot at life,” Nelly began, her voice resolute. “Starting this year, we’re ensuring that no child in Canada goes hungry. With Jamie’s expertise, we’ll deliver nutritious meals that fuel their minds and bodies.”
Jamie stepped forward, holding up a colorful menu featuring hearty oatmeal, fresh fruit, whole-grain sandwiches, and vegetable-packed soups. “This isn’t just food,” he said passionately. “It’s love, it’s opportunity, and it’s health. Canada, we’re going to cook up a brighter future!”
The crowd cheered, but not everyone was celebrating.
In Ottawa, former Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was tuning his newly purchased fiddle. He had stepped back from politics but not from the spotlight. The news of Nelly’s bold initiative reached him as he prepared for an elaborate party at his estate. He waved it off with a dismissive laugh.
“Let them cook,” he joked to his guests, echoing a distant Marie Antoinette. “I’ve got my own rhythm to play.”
Meanwhile, across the nation, the reality was stark. Food insecurity gripped millions. Families struggled to make ends meet, food banks overflowed, and grocery store shelves grew sparse. Nelly and Jamie’s program faced logistical nightmares: funding shortfalls, resistance from corporate food giants, and supply chain issues exacerbated by climate change.
In a small church in Montreal, Father Sebastian knelt before the altar, his heart heavy with the weight of his congregation’s suffering. That Sunday, he opened his Bible to Revelation 6, reading aloud:
“When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, ‘Come!’ I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, ‘Two pounds of wheat for a day’s wages, and six pounds of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!’”
The words echoed through the small chapel, a chilling reminder of the famine’s grip. “The scales are tipping against us,” Father Sebastian said solemnly. “But we must hold fast to hope and act with courage.”
Back in Toronto, Jamie and Nelly worked tirelessly. They hosted community fundraisers, rallied volunteers, and pushed legislation to secure resources. Slowly but surely, the program began to take root. Schools in low-income neighborhoods became hubs of nourishment and care.
But the challenge persisted. Trudeau’s parties became a symbol of excess, a stark contrast to the struggles of ordinary Canadians. His fiddle-playing was mocked in the press, a modern Nero fiddling as his country faced a crisis.
One evening, as Nelly reviewed reports late into the night, Jamie brought her a cup of tea. “We’re not just feeding kids,” he said. “We’re planting seeds of resilience. It’s hard now, but the harvest will come.”
Father Sebastian’s congregation began to grow as people sought solace and solidarity. He encouraged them to volunteer, to share what little they had, and to demand action from their leaders.
By the year’s end, the Breakfast Revolution was no longer just a program—it was a movement. Communities rallied around their schools, gardens were planted, and children began to thrive. Nelly and Jamie’s vision had sparked a fire that even the black horse of famine could not extinguish.
And as for Trudeau? The fiddle sat untouched in a corner, gathering dust, a silent witness to the power of those who chose to feed the future rather than feast on the past.
Back to the Garden: PM Nelly Furtado’s Universal Health Care Revolution
Canada had long been proud of its universal health care system, a legacy of Tommy Douglas, the prairie preacher turned politician who envisioned a nation where no one would suffer for lack of care. But over the decades, the dream had soured. The system, once a beacon of hope, was now burdened by bureaucracy, underfunding, and the influence of pharmaceutical giants.
Tommy Douglas had imagined a system rooted in prevention, community care, and holistic well-being. Instead, it had become a reactive machine, treating symptoms with expensive drugs while ignoring the root causes of illness. Behind the scenes, the Rockefeller-backed shift to petroleum-based medicine had steered health care away from natural, food-based remedies. The American Medical Association (AMA) and the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) had exported their model of profit-driven care to Canada, betraying the original vision.
It was into this fractured landscape that Prime Minister Nelly Furtado stepped, guitar slung over one shoulder and a binder of bold reforms in the other.
The Diagnosis
Nelly began her campaign for health care reform by traveling across the country, listening to Canadians. She met farmers struggling to sell their organic produce, elders lamenting the loss of traditional remedies, and doctors frustrated by a system that forced them to prescribe pills instead of promoting wellness.
“Health care isn’t just about hospitals and drugs,” Nelly said at a town hall in Saskatoon, Tommy Douglas’s hometown. “It’s about how we live, what we eat, and how we care for each other. We’ve forgotten that food is medicine, and it’s time to remember.”
Her words resonated. Canadians were tired of seeing their health care system propped up by multinational pharmaceutical companies that prioritized profits over people. They were ready for something new—or rather, something old.
The Plan: Food as Medicine
Nelly’s “Road to Healing” Plan was revolutionary, but deeply rooted in history and tradition.
Food as Medicine Clinics: Every province would establish community-run clinics where nutritionists, naturopaths, and traditional healers worked alongside doctors. These clinics would prescribe fresh produce, herbs, and lifestyle changes before resorting to pharmaceuticals.
National Organic Farming Initiative: Farmers would receive subsidies to transition to organic, glyphosate-free agriculture. Local food production would be prioritized, ensuring that every Canadian had access to fresh, affordable produce.
Education for Healing: Schools would incorporate nutrition and natural medicine into their curriculums, teaching children how to grow, cook, and use food to maintain health.
Pharmaceutical Accountability: A windfall tax on pharmaceutical companies would fund the transition to holistic health care. Drug advertising would be heavily restricted, redirecting focus to wellness rather than dependency.
Traditional Medicine Recognition: Indigenous healing practices, alongside immigrant and cultural remedies, would be integrated into the health care system, honoring Canada’s diverse heritage.
The Resistance
The backlash was swift. The pharmaceutical industry launched a massive PR campaign, warning Canadians that Nelly’s plan would lead to chaos. “Unscientific!” they cried. “Dangerous!” they claimed.
But Nelly was ready. She countered with data showing the skyrocketing rates of chronic illnesses linked to poor diets and environmental toxins. She shared stories of communities that had healed themselves through food and natural remedies.
Most importantly, she invoked Tommy Douglas.
“Tommy didn’t fight for this system so that corporations could profit while Canadians got sicker,” she said in a fiery speech to Parliament. “He fought for a system that cared for people, that prevented illness, that healed. This isn’t a betrayal of his vision—it’s a return to it.”
The Healing Begins
The first Food as Medicine Clinic opened in Nova Scotia, where fishermen and farmers worked together to supply fresh, local food to patients. Families learned how to cook nutrient-dense meals, and chronic conditions like diabetes and hypertension began to decline.
In British Columbia, Indigenous elders taught workshops on traditional plant medicine, sharing knowledge that had been suppressed for generations.
In Saskatchewan, the heartland of Tommy Douglas’s vision, farmers celebrated the return of government support for organic farming. Fields once doused in chemicals now teemed with life—carrots, kale, herbs, and berries that nourished the land and the people.
A New Vision for Health
Three years into her term, Nelly Furtado stood before a packed crowd in Ottawa. Behind her, a banner read: “Healing Canada, One Meal at a Time.”
“We’ve spent decades treating our bodies like machines, fixing parts when they break,” she said. “But we are not machines. We are living, breathing beings connected to the earth, to our communities, to our food. When we heal those connections, we heal ourselves.”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Across the country, Canadians were healthier, happier, and more connected to the land. The pharmaceutical lobby had lost its grip, and the health care system was no longer a reactive machine—it was a proactive force for wellness.
Tommy Douglas’s dream had been restored, not just as a system of universal care, but as a system of universal healing. And under Nelly Furtado’s leadership, Canada was once again a beacon of hope for the world.
