"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."

-- Martin Luther King

As the first female lieutenant governor in Quebec's history, Lise Thibault acknowledges she is a role model for young women across the province.

As the first wheelchair user to be sworn in as the Queen's official representative at either the provincial or federal level in Canada, she is also a role model to people with disabilities across Canada.

I arrived in Quebec City in a small Beachcraft turboprop airplane only slightly larger than the flatbed of my pick-up truck -- which meant disembarking onto the tarmac with no bridge to provide shelter from the elements. Although it was still early in October, we disembarked in a biting cold wind and pelting rain.

Entering the terminal, cold and wet, I headed straight for the coffee shop. After a quick café au lait -- I was, after all, in Quebec City -- I jumped into a warm cab and headed into town. I was looking forward to my visit.

During the drive into town, the sun's rays began to poke through the clouds. The trees were cloaked in fall colours -- vibrant reds, oranges and yellows carpeted the hillsides for as far as the eyes could see. I could see Château Frontenac towering over the historical walled city -- street after street of grey stone buildings, each hundreds of years old. With its combination of natural beauty and period architecture, it is not surprising that Quebec has been designated a world heritage site by the United Nations.

I was in Quebec City to interview the Queen's representative for the province, Mme Lise Thibault. Wanting some time to wander the city, I had arrived early. The offices of the lieutenant governor are located across the street from the provincial legislature. I entered 1050 des Parliamentaires through the front door, using a ramp that was noticeably new but nevertheless blended perfectly with the historical architecture. Inside, the offices were graced with fifteen-foot ceilings, richly paneled walls and a decor suited more to Europe than to North America.

The entire ground floor of the building is devoted to the offices of the lieutenant governor. As I wandered the marbled hallways, I was impressed with both the art and the architecture. Mme Thibault's assistant, Marie-Claude Harvey, escorted me to the anteroom, and as she retreated from the room I took note of my surroundings. The anteroom was furnished in 18th-century-style furniture, fitting for a lieutenant governor's office. The room was not cluttered -- there was a couch, a few chairs and a writing desk with a guest book awaiting visitors. The floor was a rich hardwood, red cedar in colour. The windows, thanks to the lofty ceilings, were high, and opened the room to the bright sunlight that had by this time overtaken the clouds.

Soapstone carvings -- gifts of thanks for Lise Thibault's participation at various functions over the past several years -- were perched on windowsills and tables along the walls. Gold-plated keys and municipal crests from more than a dozen Quebec communities were prominently displayed in a glass-enclosed coffee table in the centre of the room. A bronze bust of Sir Wilfrid Laurier, Canada's first francophone prime minister, sat on a pedestal in one corner of the room; an embroidered collage of provincial coats of arms sat framed and mounted on an easel in another corner.

I glanced at the titles of the books that lined a twin set of bookshelves along one of the walls -- again, a large number represented different regions and events in Quebec's history. Other books included one on golf and a few on flower arrangements and gardening, in French and in English. It was a room designed to make guests feel comfortable while they waited. It was also intended to highlight the history and beauty of Quebec and Canada.

Lise Thibault is Quebec's twenty-seventh lieutenant governor. She was sworn in on January 30, 1997. Appointed by Prime Minister Chrétien, she is serving a five-year term as the Queen's representative in Quebec. "I am a strong supporter of women in leadership positions," Mr. Chrétien says. "If you look across the country, you will see that I have made a strong effort to promote women."

Mr. Chrétien explains his choice of Lise Thibault: "I have known Mme Thibault for many years. She has been active in Quebec in many community and social issues. She is an accomplished person."

Indeed, her list of accomplishments is extensive. Shortly after the birth of her second child in 1964, Lise became active at the local school, participating on parent advisory committees as both a regular member and a member of the executive. Over the years she has been active in civil rights issues, particularly women’s rights, and with a host of local and provincial voluntary organizations. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, she hosted a nationwide television show and wrote several books. She was also active politically.

Throughout all of her life, Lise has been committed to a united Canada. She was the president of the Canada Day festivities in Quebec in 1983 and 1984. She was vice-president and co-founder of the "Quebecers for No" Committee leading up to the Quebec referendum in 1980. And she has been active with the Liberal party, both provincially and federally, for more than two decades.

Notwithstanding this list of accomplishments and her eminent credentials, the appointment of Lise Thibault was not without its critics. Then-Quebec Premier Lucien Bouchard denounced the unilateral nature of the appointment process, claiming that the premier should be consulted prior to the prime minister making his nomination. Given Lise Thibault's federalist and Liberal credentials, it is surprising that Mr. Bouchard did not publicly take issue with the particular person who had been appointed. Did the fact that she has a disability temper his criticism, or was it something else?

"I have faith in life. Life always knows where to put you"

As I was ushered into her office, Mme Thibault came out from behind her desk to greet me, shaking hands and smiling warmly. It was a natural gesture, one I sensed was truly genuine. The office, like Lise Thibault, wasn't pretentious. There was no imposing furniture, no floor-to-ceiling, book-lined shelves, no plush carpeting, tapestries or oil paintings. Like her anteroom, the office was tasteful, elegant, uncluttered.

There is no doubt that Lise has a gift for relating to people. Her natural elegance and charm immediately puts visitors at ease. When she spoke, her voice was serene, reflecting a self-confidence that comes from years of experience in dealing with people. Lise is a philosopher at heart. After all that she’s been through, she no longer has anything to prove. To describe her in one word, I would say "regal." Her personality suits the position of Queen's representative.

Recognizing that our time together was limited, we wasted little time with small talk. We began the interview by discussing why, given her passion for social change, she accepted the position as lieutenant governor. "Because I believe in life," she says. "It is only by saying yes that we can realize what is possible in life. When you say 'no,' you will never 'know.'"

She points out that "when someone asks you to do something, you must realize that they have a network of people they could turn to. When they ask you, you want to serve them because they think that you are the best person. In this case, the prime minister asked me from his network."

It is a belief that has evolved over the years as she immersed herself in a wide variety of causes, from raising a family to women's rights, journalism, administration and, eventually, politics.

Shortly after accepting the position in 1997, Lise stated in an interview with the Quebec press that she would like to bring a renewed sense of values to the job. She emphasized that her priority would be to meet Quebecers from across the province. She would not spend a great deal of time in the capital; instead, she planned to travel across the province, meeting with individuals and groups. She has kept her promise. In the three years since assuming her position, Mme Thibault has logged more than 450,000 km of travel, much of it by car, meeting with people from all walks of life.

"I take my role as mentor seriously," Lise says. "I say, don't wait to be perfect. Everyone needs someone to look up to... Many people today are desperate because society has beaten them down. Humanity needs role models."

Of her disability, Lise says, "My wheelchair is only a tool I use, no more significant than another person's glasses." She doesn't let the chair dictate her activities or her priorities. She does, however, acknowledge that physical access remains a problem in many places in Quebec but that, given her profile, she can play a role in addressing access issues.

Over the years, Lise Thibault has ridden the crests and troughs of many waves. In 1993, she was appointed as president and director-general of the Quebec Office of Disabled Persons (OPHQ), only to be fired two years later (with two years remaining in her mandate) by the newly elected Parti Québécois. She ran as a Liberal candidate in the 1981 provincial election and the 1984 federal election -- and was unsuccessful both times. She has two children, but lost the ability to walk as a result of the birth of her second child. Lise says that life -- adversity as well as success -- has taught her to believe in destiny.

After leaving the OPHQ in 1995, Lise returned to her home in Saint-Hippolyte, where she focused on taking care of herself and her family -- her husband, two daughters and five grandchildren. Looking back, she believes this was a rejuvenation period, preparing her for the rigours of lieutenant governorship. "I have faith in life," she says. "Life always knows where to put you." She believes there is a reason for her becoming the lieutenant governor at this time.

"You can either lift your head or fall to your knees"

She was born Lise Trudel on April 2, 1939, in Saint-Roch-de-l'Achigan, where her father owned and operated a small hotel. She is the eldest of four sisters. Her desire to help others developed at home -- at a very early age. "By the time I was five years old, I was already taking care of my younger sisters. I did it because I wanted to. I enjoyed it."

In 1953, at the age of thirteen, Lise hurt her back in a tobogganing accident. With no neurologist available, Lise received her ongoing treatment from an orthopaedic doctor. Although she was not paralyzed, her spine was damaged. The resulting pain was frequently so severe that throughout the remainder of her high school years Lise was often stuck in bed, sometimes for months at a time. "That's how I did my studies," remembers Lise. "But I had a happy life. A lot had to do with my family and friends. In my family, when someone was in pain, there was always someone there -- not to take the pain away, because it was still our responsibility -- but for support."

Lise married René Thibault in 1959, after graduating from high school. On October 28, 1960, they had their first child -- a daughter named Guylaine. Unfortunately, with Lise's chronic back pain the pregnancy was difficult, and the labour and delivery caused increased pressure on her spinal cord. Lise's doctor told her that having another child would likely cause permanent spinal cord damage and result in her never being able to walk again.

For the young, newly married Lise, this news was not welcome. In 1960 Quebec was still at the beginning of what is known today as the Quiet Revolution; despite this emerging autonomy of the political process, the church continued to play a major role in both the state and the family. Large families weren't encouraged -- they were expected. Not being able to have more children was almost considered sacrilegious.

French-Canadian Catholic women living in rural Quebec in the early 1960s were morally prohibited from using any form of birth control. In 1963, Lise became pregnant with her second child. She chose to go ahead with the pregnancy. "I did not have an abortion because I believe in life. I decided, whatever happens, I will have the strength to get through it," says Lise.

Lise had nine months to consider the consequences: paralysis, likely never walking again, and instead, using a wheelchair for the rest of her life. She never changed her mind.

It takes a certain type of personality – and a strong faith, for sure -- to make this type of decision. The outcome would be both positive and negative. How many others would have let the negative be their guide? Lise chose to focus on the positive -- another child -- and let the negative take care of itself. How many other people would consciously continue on a course when they knew the outcome would be paralysis?

"If we only take the time to see what we still have left, we will see how much we have, compared to what we have left behind us," Lise says.

The pregnancy, as predicted, was not easy. Lise was confined to bed almost immediately, and remained there for the duration of the pregnancy. On February 2, 1964, Lise gave birth to a healthy baby girl, Anne-Marie. The birth left her paralyzed from the waist down.

Did she regret her decision not to have an abortion? "Not at all." In fact, although one might expect that in recounting this story Lise would focus on her own feelings, her own physical and emotional adjustment, she didn't. Instead she focused on Anne-Marie. Lise emphasized that her greatest concern was not the fact that she could no longer walk. Her greatest concern was for her daughter -- that she not grow up feeling guilty for the price her mother had paid for her life.

"Today this baby is thirty-six years old and a mother of four. She is well adjusted," says Lise. "She never, never thought, 'My mother is in a wheelchair because of me.' She has done well to never think this way. She has been part of my joy and all of the great things in my life."

In total, Lise spent twenty-two months -- before and after the delivery -- in bed. During this time her family was her support network. While Lise was still in hospital, Anne-Marie was cared for by Lise's mother and her sisters.

When she was finally released from hospital, Lise and René moved in with her parents. Her mother and her sister continued to play a central role in their lives, taking on much of the care of the baby and helping Lise put her life back together. In 1965 Lise was not only the mother of two young children, she was also learning how to live life using a wheelchair. Fortunately, with all the time Lise spent taking care of the children and being with René, there wasn't much left for brooding over her personal circumstances.

"When you get punched in the nose, you have two choices: you can either lift your head or fall to your knees," Lise proclaims.

She attributes her attitude to her upbringing by her parents and her grandparents. Her maternal grandparents were farmers and devoutly religious. Her paternal grandparents were also farmers. Her father left the farm as an adult and opened his own hotel. Lise recalls working with her parents as early as six years of age. The result was a strong-willed, value-oriented, young woman. Her injury didn't slow her down.

Taking on many challenges

Lise recalls what it was like being a woman with a disability, a wife and mother of two in the mid-'60s. "The first time I went shopping by myself, my husband dropped me off at the mall. After shopping for half an hour I was exhausted. I went outside to get a taxi. The taxi driver said it would cost an extra three dollars for my wheelchair!"

Another time, Lise wanted to buy groceries at the local Steinbergs. "It was totally inaccessible. I talked to the manager and he said, 'Why don't you make a list and give it to your husband to do the shopping?'" The philosophy of Independent Living was non-existent in Canada in the 1960s.

Life went on, and so did Lise. From 1964 to 1972, as the kids grew and started school, Lise immersed herself in various school committees, first as a member, then secretary and finally as president of her local school's parent advisory committee. She wanted to ensure that her children and others received a quality education.

She never let the limitations imposed on her by the lack of access prevalent in the 1960s keep her from getting involved in the same activities as other parents. Over the course of the next thirty years, this became a personal philosophy of sorts. Lise is better known for her accomplishments in mainstream issues than for anything she did in the field of disability. Indeed, until assuming her position as president of the Quebec Office of Disabled Persons, Lise had little to do officially with disability issues.

She did, however, get involved in other civil rights issues. While women's rights organizations had begun to form in communities across North America in the 1960s, in 1970 there were still no women's groups in most of Quebec. Recognizing the benefits of such a network, in 1971 Lise helped found the Saint-Ferdinand-de-Fabreville Farming Wives' Circle, of which she was vice-president until 1973. In 1973, after moving to Laval, a suburb of Montreal, Lise once again undertook a campaign to mobilize the women of her community. She founded the Femmes d'Aujourd'hui Women's Club to assist women to develop personally and professionally. For the first three years she also managed the organization's newsletter. Within two years, membership in Femmes d'Aujourd'hui rose to more than 500. Lise remained president until 1979.

While social activism kept Lise busy, as volunteer work it didn't help pay the bills. Although her husband René had a good job with Bell Canada, Lise wanted to contribute financially to the household. So from 1973 to 1978 Lise worked as an adult educator with the Miles-Îles and Des Écores school boards. She also embarked on her career as an author. She has written six books: De belles et bonnes choses, volumes one and two, contain a wealth of information, from gardening tips to healthy recipes to interior design. She followed these with four books on Gobelin tapestries. Lise is indeed a woman of many talents and diverse interests.

In 1978 Lise began a seven-year stint as a television journalist, writing and hosting weekly broadcasts with Télé-Métropole and Radio-Canada networks. The nationally televised shows were educational in nature, dealing with family, home and community topics. They emphasized working with your hands to improve quality of life. "To become truly human, you must work with your hands," says Lise, whose mentor was Lanza del Vasto, a Belgian psychology professor who one day simply quit everything and moved to India, where he became a friend of Mahatma Ghandi. Lise learned a lot from del Vasto. "Hands are so connected to your mind. When we work with our hands we become creators. When we become creators, our intellectual life and our cultural life benefit. When hands are not busy, the mind and heart are preoccupied. Hands must create, support and elevate. They must take care."

In 1979 and 1980, notwithstanding her already numerous responsibilities, Lise felt compelled to get involved with the Quebec referendum on sovereignty. A strong federalist, she helped to organize the provincial strategy to say "no" to separation. Lise Thibault, Jean Noël-Lavoie and Jeanne Sauvé (who later became Canada's first female governor general) together founded the pre-referendum "Quebecers for No" Committee; Lise served as the vice-president. She went on to become president of the Laval "No" Committee leading up to the May referendum in 1980.

Lise was the Liberal party candidate in Quebec's 1981 provincial election, and a Liberal candidate in the federal election in 1984. Although unsuccessful in both campaigns, Lise remained active in the Liberal party, serving on three committees. From 1981 to 1984, she was a member of the Political Committee; in 1983 and 1984 she chaired the Family Subcommittee; and, in 1986 and 1987, she chaired the Communications Committee.

She did all of this as a volunteer while continuing to write books and host her television show. However, following her defeat in the 1984 federal election, her television show was cancelled. We are left to wonder if her political orientation was a factor.

Lise again increased her volunteer workload to occupy her time. In the fall of 1983 she was appointed Quebec provincial president for the Canada Day celebrations. Lise was in the office almost every day for six months, unpaid, to ensure that events across Quebec would be a success. She also involved herself with other, less political, organizations, joining the boards of the Canadian Red Cross, Quebec Division, and the Marie-Paule de Sainte-Véronique Foundation. Through it all she continued to focus on helping individuals achieve their best.

In 1987, Lise was appointed to her most challenging position to date: Vice-President, Relations and Beneficiaries, of the Quebec Worker Health and Safety Board -- the province's workers' compensation board. The hours were long and the job demanding but, like so often before, Lise managed the challenges with a strong sense of values and a desire to help individuals. She worked with the board for seven years, after which the Quebec government offered her the presidency of the Quebec Office of Disabled Persons.

The OPHQ was a huge responsibility, both in terms of managing resources and in terms of managing services for people with disabilities. Unlike other provinces where disability services were spread across many departments, the OPHQ was the principle delivery arm for the majory of disability services in Quebec. Lise would oversee a staff of hundreds and a budget of hundreds of millions of dollars. Strong communications skills were required, as well as an ability to foresee and navigate an array of politically sensitive issues.

1993 to 1995 was a troubling time for health and social service delivery. In 1993 the federal government announced a new resource allocation model for health, social and education service delivery -- the Canada Health and Social Transfer (CHST). The CHST was designed to provide provinces with more flexibility to manage their own programs by allowing them to allocate resources among health care, welfare and education as they saw necessary. At the same time, giving in to fiscal pressures, the federal government reduced the transfer payments to provinces by billions of dollars. Thus, while provinces had more flexibility in allocating resources, they had fewer dollars to allocate.

Across the country, Canadians in general were beginning to experience the effects of reduced spending, being less well served in the areas of health care, welfare and education. Canadians with disabilities, who statistically were more dependent on these services than the rest of society, suffered the most. Although people with disabilities and their organizations fought back, calling on governments to reverse the trend, they were little more than faint voices in the wilderness.

With disability services in other provinces spread across many government departments, a focused lobbying effort was difficult. In Quebec, however, the OPHQ became the focus of discontent for Quebecers with disabilities.

When the Parti Québécois assumed power in 1995, federal-provincial relations were strained. People across the country were losing services and the provincial governments were quick in directing the blame toward the federal government -- the federal Liberal government. The Parti Québécois had another clear mandate: separation from Canada. These two factors did not bode well for Lise -- incumbent in a portfolio already under siege, the OPHQ president was known for her strong Liberal ties.

Shortly after coming to power, the Parti Québécois fired Lise from her job. Was she the victim of a political witch hunt, as the Liberal opposition claimed, or was this an effort to quell the unrest within the Quebec disability community?

Immediately after her dismissal Lise was replaced by Denis Lazure, a former minister in the Parti Québécois government. Lise returned to her home in Saint-Hippolyte, where she focused her energy on her family.

Promoting the value of access

Many Canadians are unfamiliar with the duties of the Queen's provincial and federal representatives. While some Canadians view the positions of lieutenant governor and governor general as primarily ceremonial, in a British parliamentary system like Canada's, they serve a very real purpose.

In a British parliamentary system, the executive functions are split between two branches: Political activities are performed by the premier (or prime minister) -- the head of government -- and the administrative activities and protocol are the responsibility of the lieutenant governor (or governor general) -- the head of state. The lieutenant governor provides the legal authority for the governance of the province. In particular, the lieutenant governor has responsibility for: forming the government, including swearing in of cabinet; opening each session of the provincial assembly; authorizing laws as they are passed by the provincial assembly (no law is deemed active until signed by the lieutenant governor); and dissolution of Parliament at the end of each Session.

In order to exercise these duties effectively, it is important that the lieutenant governor have a strong understanding of the province's political environment. She must be up to date on current affairs in the province as well as emerging issues and trends, and have an overall sense of the mood of the public as it relates to its government.

Lise Thibault takes her responsibilities as lieutenant governor seriously. Often working twelve or more hours a day, seven days a week, she has a rigorous schedule that takes her around the province and across the country. In addition to her regular duties as lieutenant governor, Lise uses her position as an opportunity to mentor and inspire people of all ages. She understands the significance of being the first female lieutenant governor of Quebec -- demonstrating to young female Quebecers that there are no longer limits on what they choose to do.

She also understands the impact she has on others with disabilities and their families. "I was at a ceremony where I had spoken about the opportunities life presents," recalls Lise. "A young couple with a disabled daughter came up to me afterward and said I was an inspiration to them for the future of their child."

Glancing about Lise Thibault's office, noting the accessibility features, I had decided that there were benefits to someone with a disability being the lieutenant governor. As I learned, however, the benefits didn't come easily. Despite her distinguished post, basic access is an issue for which Lise has had to advocate from the moment she assumed her position. The hardwood floors of her office, which appear to have been there for decades, were in fact installed at her request; the deep-piled carpets preferred by her predecessor were not conducive to using a wheelchair. Like sand, the carpets made it almost impossible to move, the wheelchair's tires sinking into them.

A larger problem was the front door. More than one hundred years old, the building's front entrance was accessible only by stairs. Once inside the front door, visitors were confronted with another half-flight of stairs. When Lise accepted her position, the only means of access was by entering an adjoining building and descending to the basement, where an underground passage connected to the basement of 1050 des Parliamentaires. This posed a number of problems -- indeed, simply opening the heavy doors of the neighbouring building required assistance. Not to mention the indignity of locating the only accessible entrance in the basement! It was inappropriate for Lise, as well as for any guests who might use a wheelchair.

Shortly after her appointment, the back door of Lise's office building was fitted with a ramp for moving furniture into the building. In an attempt to accommodate Lise, an automatic door opener was added. This new attempt at accommodation was as inappropriate as the previous basement access. The ramp, designed for moving furniture, was too steep to be of any use to a wheelchair user without assistance. And it was still the back door!

Recognizing both the practical and the philosophical need for an accessible front door to the office of the lieutenant governor, Lise asked the Quebec Public Works Department, the agency responsible for maintaining all provincial public buildings, to create one. The department was reluctant. This was, after all, a heritage building. What was wrong with requiring wheelchair users to use the service entrance? Lise approached Premier Lucien Bouchard for his support. Meanwhile, while public works emphasized heritage significance, several members of the media focused on the cost of the renovations, bluntly questioning its financial merits.

Still new to her position, Lise Thibault was already provoking controversy. What she and other people with disabilities considered basic rights, some Quebec media were calling an extravagance -- suggesting that the funding would be better spent on the ailing health care system.

By pointing at health care, the media were attempting to evoke public emotion. Like other provinces, Quebec had reduced funding to health care after the federal government reduced transfer payments. Had the media picked another issue for contrast, such as the cost of a referendum or the cost of private sector subsidies, would they have generated any interest? Fortunately, the premier supported Lise and the renovations were eventually completed -- without ruining the heritage value of the building or pushing the Quebec health care system into bankruptcy.

By questioning the value of access for people with disabilities, were the media placing a value on the person? Were they simply trying to arouse a controversy to sell more papers? Either way, their actions reflected an attitude toward disability. Ultimately, the journalists who criticized the expense failed to understand the significance of the issue. "If a sign were put on the front door requiring all women and francophones to use the back door, how would the media respond?" wonders Lise. "Would they see the issue as less important than health care?"

Lise has often gone out of her way to affect subtly public attitudes toward people with disabilities. Several years ago she was invited to a breakfast meeting and asked to choose the location. She chose the Ritz-Carlton for a specific reason: that was where decision makers congregated. She decided to make it her regular venue for breakfast meetings because her physical presence was itself an education for those around her. It demonstrated to power brokers that people with disabilities do work and succeed in the business world. It likely raised the issue of access in many a mind.

Lise is an avid golfer and a downhill ski enthusiast. And she uses even these moments of leisure to affect public attitude and social change. While skiing at Mont Sainte-Anne, Lise met the corporate vice president of an American company that owned a chain of golf courses across the United States. They talked about access for people with disabilities. Now, whenever she golfs in the United States, he makes a point of golfing with her.

Recently he flew from Texas to California to golf with her. This time he brought other leaders in the golfing industry, from both the U.S. and Canada. One person owned twenty-two golf courses across the United States. He was designing a new golf cart -- a single seater. He told her that two people in a golf cart was illogical because each person needs to analyze the course to his or her own particular advantage. He wanted to ensure that the new single-seat golf carts rolling off the assembly line would be useable to all golfers, including golfers with disabilities. Would she help him? So the lieutenant governor of Quebec, while golfing in California, helped to shape the future of golf across North America.

Another time, Lise met with the mayor of Montreal and took him on a tour of the city's "underground" -- a network of shops and services, including the metro, that span much of Montreal's core below the busy streets and skyscrapers. She showed him how inaccessible it was to wheelchair users. He said to her, "You teach me so much." Her response: "I try!"

Lise also met with the premier and the minister of transportation to discuss the inaccessibility of the Montreal subway. She wasn't pushy. She had a plan. "Why not make only four stations per year wheelchair accessible? It wouldn't be expensive, and eventually the entire system would be accessible."

In addition to provoking controversy with her political views, Lise has generated debate -- both within and outside of Quebec's disability community -- with her views on disability issues. "I say things now that I could never say as the president of the OPHQ," she says.

Lise believes that "organizations of persons with disabilities should only exist to give people the tools and supports they need to participate in the real world. People with disabilities must not be in a closed movement, but in the real world." Organizations that keep people with disabilities from integrating into their larger community only serve to isolate, Lise feels, significantly limiting an individual's quality of life.

Of course, it is not always easy living in the "real world." Have things changed since the days she could not shop at her local grocery store?

Although she contends that "things are much better now," Lise recalls a night in 1995 when she worked late at the OPHQ. She called a taxi, and when it arrived and the driver saw her wheelchair, he told her that if it were just a few years earlier, he would not have stopped to pick her up. When Lise asked why, he told her that in his home village in the country where he was born, he had been taught to believe that "you cannot look at, you cannot touch and you cannot speak to a person with a disability, or you will get the same type of disability as they have." Lise adds, "This was only five years ago. The driver was not a man of 70, but of 40!"

Destiny as her guide

Toward the end of our interview, Lise remarked that the biggest challenge people face is to never lose their dignity. Keep our values, share our visions and never let technology become our masters, she advises.

Lise is motivated by her desire to help others. She says she is inspired in some way by every individual she meets. "I take the time to read each letter I receive, and to respond." She remembers hearing about a personal epiphany from one of her aunts, a nun. "The greatest moment in her life was when she discovered that in each human you can see a piece of God."

Over the years, Lise has served on dozens of committees, organized public events and helped shape the cultural and political landscape of Quebec. She has received many awards in recognition of her work. In 1994, Lise was given what is perhaps her most significant award: Personality of the Year by Chatelaine magazine, which recognized her as one of eight Quebec women "whose influence has been felt inside and outside Quebec."

As someone who has already dedicated more than 50 years to helping friends, family and her fellow citizens, Lise Thibault is an inspiration to all Canadians. Not because she uses a wheelchair, but because of her passion for life and commitment to helping others.

Her public profile has provided her with opportunities to highlight critical social and community issues as they arose in Quebec and across Canada, and she has not let these opportunities pass her by -- often meeting with decision makers and confronting their attitudes and perceptions in a very visible way.

Motivated by her philosophy of never saying no to opportunity -- and believing even challenges to be opportunities -- Lise has not shirked what she considers her calling, to promote an inclusive society and improve the well-being of her fellow citizens. Her experience and insight have made her a much sought-after commentator on a variety of issues.

Lise Thibault also clearly understands that, as a woman and as a person with a disability, she has a responsibility to act as a role model for others.

One of her personal credos is: "You will be more successful in life if you do things you truly love to do." And even in the face of adversity, from her commitment to her second child to her fight for public access and opportunity for women and people with disabilities, Lise has remained dedicated to what she considers her responsibilities. As with so many other things, she saw these obstacles as her destiny -- an opportunity to make a difference.

Interestingly, her career has followed a consistent cycle. Her participation in each of her major work-related activities has lasted seven years. She worked for seven years on school and education-related issues. She followed this with seven years in community advocacy of women's issues. She wrote her books over the course of seven years. For seven years she was a television host. At the same time, she worked for seven years organizing social and cultural events. And she worked on the Quebec Worker Health and Safety Board for seven years.

In the Bible, the number seven represents completeness; in the case of Lise Thibault, seven years has marked a complete cycle in a particular area of interest before a door opened to another opportunity.

At 61, with two years left in her term as lieutenant governor, the obvious question is: where will she go from here?

With destiny as her guide, no matter where she goes, Lise is bound to influence those around her.