Mr. Speaker, I am very pleased to rise today to speak to this issue, which is very important to me. I will not go on the attack, since I do not think that would be appropriate just a few days before the holiday season begins. Instead, I would like to thank the members of the Standing Committee on Fisheries and Oceans, with whom I have been working since 2021.

I want to recognize my government colleagues, of course, along with my colleagues from the official opposition and the third opposition party. Together, we talk, argue and review dozens of statements drawing on the testimony of many valuable witnesses, who are all experts in their respective fields. I want to sincerely thank those witnesses for their graciousness and their generous and valuable contributions. I also want to say a special thank you to our captain, the committee chair, the member for Avalon in Newfoundland and Labrador.

Witnesses include spokespeople from fishers' organizations or management or representative bodies, independent scientists, Department of Fisheries and Oceans scientists, top researchers, processors and other specialists in the ocean-to-table food chain. There are also professionals from the field, fishers, owners, employees, young fishers, retirees and former departmental employees. All of them have recognized and indisputable experience and knowledge, and all are clearly seasoned experts who generously offer their relevant contributions.

Now, I am going to take the liberty of making a small aside in my speech to talk about my own history, because, as the daughter and granddaughter of captains, the scion of generations of seafarers, I am not overly surprised by the range of issues and challenges facing the wonderful world of fishing today.

As soon as I was old enough to understand life, I heard my father talk about the sea and his love for it, but especially about its risks and perils, the bounty and dangers it held. He would make simple observations of the conditions or complex analyses as the vast ocean demanded. It all belonged to him, including the St. Lawrence, the estuary, the Gulf of St. Lawrence and everything that lived in them. All this was home to my father. The horizon, with its telltale lines, and the colour of the sky were his way markers. Even on land, my father stayed connected to the estuary. He would spend hours just gazing out to sea.

My grandfather was as wise as an old sea wolf, and I can vouch that he was one of them. He had plenty of sea yarns and tales to spin us. I remember many of them, obviously, and I could share a whole range of stories. My grandfather was a good storyteller, especially after sitting down with a bottle of De Kuyper gin spiced up with a drizzle of honey and a tablespoon of boiling salt water. No more than a tablespoon, he would be quick to say, because there was no need to drown it.

He would make observations about the movement of fish stocks in response to major ocean currents or about the behaviour of beluga, which taught us much more than anything else could about the health of the river and the state of the resources. From time to time, my grandfather's teachings seemed more like old proverbs, but there was a lot of truth to them.

My grandfather would tell anyone who listened that the best mariners did not know how to swim and that is why they had to be such good sailors. He also said that no one is stronger than the sea, that the sea commands respect, respect for everything that it gives, including all things mysterious. He said that we must not think we can outsmart the sea, which is a challenge in and of itself, because if we defy it or underestimate it, one day, unfortunately, it will make us aware of our own insignificance. Grandpa had a predestined path.

He was called Ligori. He hated that name. It was after the election in the late 19th century, and his grandfather wanted to call him Laurier. An argument broke out because his godfather, a Conservative supporter, was determined to be the one to name his godson. That is how the choice of name came down to either Ligori or Zothique, but not Laurier. He always said he had no choice but to become a good sailor, because when a person's name is Ligori, they have to find their talent.

He sailed his schooner three seasons of every year. Before railways and roads, these schooners were the only means of transportation, helping coastal villages grow. Considering the number of coastal villages along the north and south shores of the St. Lawrence and the gulf, there can be no doubt that the schooners of the St. Lawrence played a key role in shaping the people and their future.

Speaking of the people, my two grandfathers also ferried people back and forth between Isle‑aux‑Coudres and Baie‑Saint‑Paul in canoes in the winter, providing islanders with the only contact they had with the northern mainland. There was also a fine science to conquering the ice. Perhaps one day I will have a chance to tell members more about that. My great-uncle even composed a song about the miraculous crossing of January 15, 1929, which I recorded and performed in concert for over 20 years. Everything is connected. Like fishing and politics, artistic creation is in my blood.

All jokes aside, I still remember the precious stories and teachings of my ancestors, and, at every committee meeting, I write in my notes, as a directive or instruction of sorts, that we must not think that we are stronger, wiser or smarter than the ocean itself. Otherwise, it will show us, in this context too, just how small we really are. A good example of this is the overpopulation of seals. The day that Brigitte Bardot and a group of activists used disturbing photos showing what is, of course, a cruel reality, but also just a tiny part of a noble and natural practice used for millennia to maintain an ecological balance and provide food security for thousands of Inuit and Magdalen Islanders, my father, who was a cod fisherman, shared with me his concern that the cod in the St. Lawrence River would become more and more scarce until they almost disappeared.

The ill-intentioned exception confirmed the rule, and we all know what happened next and how it impacted resources. Twenty years earlier, my father had told me to enjoy my fresh cod, this delicacy of the sea. He knew that in 20 years or so, the prey-predator chain of human-seal-cod would be broken and the cod would disappear into the bellies of overpopulated, starving seals. The ecological balance would be upset, and it would take a long time for it to be restored.

He was right. He did not need innate knowledge, laboratory tests, measurements, or cross-Atlantic consultations. It was just an observation born of his long years on the river with the fish, marine mammals and pinnipeds, the winds and tributaries, the warm and cold currents, the surprising things he caught in new areas. He called that reading and understanding the movement of species. His ability to read those things accurately, his wisdom and respect for maritime elements, his skill in knowing how to read the sea, are qualities I hold in the highest regard, now more than ever when I talk to fishers.

My father also taught me that the sea lamprey, a veritable invader of the seabed in the Great Lakes, is also a scourge that would alter the river before long. He thought that the issues of the Great Lakes, a marine area protected and maintained by a bilateral commission between Canada and the United States, would one day be beset by the problems of an overly complex management, which would take precedence over the imperative of acting quickly to deal with the lamprey, not to mention a whole host of other issues. That brings me to my point.

The past few months have proven that his science is still sound and has helped me to grasp and offer an obvious solution, as well as to intervene on the importance of considering this solution, to bring it to light for the other members of the committee in order to fully support a clear and unequivocal request from the Great Lakes Commission itself during the study on the management of the Great Lakes Fishery Commission. This request concerned the co-management of the commission, the basis and principles of its funding, and the challenges associated with the consultations and communications when the time came to intervene effectively on the various issues faced by the commission, which was then under the DFO's watch. Incidentally, the overall budget had practically no budgetary components—

Caroline Desbiens

$550,041.00