Forty years ago today, Canada became officially bilingual. Broadly, the federal government would serve French-speakers as well as English-speakers in the language it taxed them in. It would allow its employees to work in either English or French. How did this happen?

It started with Quebec's "Quiet Revolution." In 1960, Jean Lesage's Quebec Liberal party defeated Maurice Duplessis' corrupt, inward-looking Union Nationale. Ensuing intellectual ferment sapped Quebec's co-domination by the Catholic Church and Anglo business. Dissatisfaction with Quebec's power elites took on anti-Canada tones, with mail-box bombs and talk of separatism.

Pressed by Le Devoir publisher Claude Ryan, prime minister Lester Pearson named a Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism (the "B and B Commission" or, after its co-chairmen, "Laurendeau-Dunton" Commission). Its job: propose steps to "develop ... an equal partnership between the two founding races, taking into account the contribution made by the other ethnic groups. ..."

The B & B Commission's bombshell 1969 report became the bible for language reform. On Sept. 7 that year, after bitter parliamentary debate, it led to proclamation of the Official Languages Act. The act made English and French Canada's two official languages with equal status, rights and privileges in all (then) 181 federal departments and agencies.

Many Canadians, elected or public servants, played vital roles in making this reform work. As commissioner of official languages, I knew all the key players, and can testify that they acted with uncommon courage and commitment. Obviously, Pierre Trudeau and secretary of state Gérard Pelletier backed language equality unflinchingly. Public Service Commission chairman John Carson and Treasury Board secretary Al Johnson were stars. Several premiers, notably Ontario's John Robarts, adopted recommendations through sheer patriotism. We were all cheerful targets of anger, disinformation, and plain old scruffy politics.

Why mention courage? Because country-changing stakes drew passionate adversaries. Cynicism in French Canada, fury in parts of English-speaking Canada, and fear of marginalization among "ethnic" groups made linguistic justice a lightning rod for discontents.

Trudeau appointed me commissioner in 1970 -- a seven-year "language ombudsman" post. I took up my job on April Fool's Day. On my first day, a bailiff served me a warrant from a former Supreme Court judge accusing me of treason.

Like it or not -- and I admit I loved the fray -- I became a handy symbol of official "bilingualism."

Many Anglos saw me as a linguistic Quisling, a jumped-up nobody (which I was!) who sold out Canada to the Liberal party. Luckily, French Canadians knew me from my years as a commentator on Quebec TV and radio -- a (rare) Anglo bird who could argue in French.

I saw two strategic goals: 1) anchor the credibility of the Official Languages Act, and make its reforms irreversible; 2) establish the commissioner's job as undeniably non-partisan. I told my colleagues that by achieving both, we should aim to make bilingualism "boring" -- no longer a constant melodrama, but a normal part of Canada's "woodwork."

In my first annual report to Parliament, I outlined my personal approach to language reform: "non-political humanism"; the healthy predominance of French in Quebec (a shocker to Trudeau's Liberals); and informal diplomacy.

My "diplomacy" downplayed legalities. Ignoring the act's coercive sections, I aimed to seduce, not threaten. I reminded my colleagues always to apply common sense, imagination and generosity. Our exacting legal adviser Royce Frith occasionally winced, but gamely agreed.

Public support was vital. As a former journalist, I delighted in raising hell in favour of linguistic fair play. I blew our budget wildly out of whack through good humoured, information campaigns: our Safari Kit on "surviving bilingualism" went to all 400,000 public employees; we produced 2.5 million copies of our Oh Canada! kit for kids.

But behind the circus façade, I consulted widely: party leaders, premiers, MPs, mandarins, NGOs, unions. Most of my "provocative" statements found well-primed allies.

Memorable events? Quebec's 1970 terrorist "October Crisis," dramatizing the need for reform. The 1971 census, leading to my cage-rattling special report to Parliament denouncing neglect of French-speaking voters. And the 1976 air-traffic-control crisis, which I helped mediate. It nearly blew up that year's Montreal Olympics over French in the cockpit.

Since those exciting times, Canada has had five other language commissioners. Each has brought his or her remarkable talents to improving linguistic justice.

Federal politicians and officials have also backed this goal.

Maybe "bilingualism" is not quite boring yet. But we're certainly getting there: Canadians now tell surveys that they consider our official languages a core value of Canada's nationhood.

Keith Spicer, a former Citizen editor, was Canada's first commissioner of official languages (1970-'77). He now writes from Paris.