‘NO AMOUNT OF TRAINING CAN PREPARE YOU’
The problems started for Sylvain Chartrand after he was taken hostage in Bosnia. He had joined Canada’s parttime reserve forces in 1989 to serve his country and pay for his studies. His first sixmonth tour, in Cyprus, went well.
But the Balkans conflict was a very different type of battle. On surveillance missions in 1993 as part of a UN peacekeeping force, Chartrand’s unit was fired upon. They saw villages burned to the ground, soldiers killed, the bodies of murdered children.
“No amount of training can prepare you for something like that,” he said.
Worst of all was the sense of helplessness. Under orders not to fire, they were witnesses to widespread sectarian violence and ethnic cleansing who were powerless to act.
Chartrand’s convoy of four armoured vehicles got stuck in a dead-end roadway while on patrol in summer 1993. All the civilians suddenly disappeared. In their place came Serbian militia brandishing weapons and shouting. One held a grenade. Another held an AK-47 assault rifle to the temple of Chartrand’s sergeant. They refused to let Chartrand’s unit go, demanding they hand over their Muslim interpreter and military equipment. The Canadians debated opening fire.
After several hours, they were able to leave, with their equipment and interpreter. But that encounter, combined with the other horrors he witnessed, would leave the 23-year-old Chartrand forever changed.
He started having trouble sleeping. He had flashbacks and nightmares, and would wake in a panic. He became hypervigilant, seeing danger everywhere. He was constant- ly fatigued. He went to military doctors who said they couldn’t treat him because he was in the reserves. He found out later through his medical records that they had diagnosed a stress-induced disability — today quickly recognized as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) — but didn’t tell him.
With no idea what was ail- ing him, Chartrand’s condition declined. He had to take a medical leave from his job and the reserves. He started videotaping all events with his young son because he couldn’t remember anything. He buried himself in work to stop the dreams and flashbacks from returning. Many of his colleagues took to the bottle.
Imagine what it’s like, he wrote to the Minister of Defence, to have your grandparents cry when they see you, and ask: “‘What have we done wrong? What’s going on with you?’ ... And your son says: ‘Why is daddy always sleeping on the sofa?’ ”
In 2007, a civilian doctor diagnosed PTSD within two minutes of hearing Chartrand had served in Bosnia. The diagnosis was a relief, but PTSD can be difficult to overcome if it is not treated soon after onset. Chartrand has been unable to work for the last five years. He has trouble sleeping and suffers from anxiety issues and fatigue. Three years ago, he was refused $800 in compensation for an eightweek hospital stay related to his condition. A military official told him they could help him if “both his legs had been shot off,” but not as a PTSD sufferer. “I don’t care about the money,” Chartrand said. “I just want fair treatment.” He started a hunger strike, collapsing after four days. He was compensated.
Chartrand is mostly angry that he reached out to the military for help, and was refused.
“I felt like it was a betrayal,” he said at his home in Mirabel. “When we entered the army, we knew there were risks. But when something happens, you expect them to take care of their soldiers.”
Chartrand has become a tenacious and vocal critic of the Canadian government, working with the non-profit Canadian Veterans Advocacy organization to improve the quality of life for the nation’s retired soldiers, and to honour police officers, firefighters and paramedics.
“I have to help,” he said. “That’s why I joined the military. That’s why I went to Bosnia.”