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In Montreal, in some neighborhoods, one student out of five drops out of school before graduating. Behind this number, there are faces and stories that are often invisible. La Converse met four young people who dropped out of school or almost succumbed to it. Their stories intersect between the walls of an adult school in Hochelaga and the tables of a McDonald's. They tell us what pushed them out and what could, perhaps, make them stay.
7:37 p.m. The yellow sign at McDonald's in Côte-des-Neiges lights up the slippery sidewalk. It's March and, at this time, the fast-food restaurant room is still full: students, tired workers, and a few regulars who seem to know the place like the back of their hand. In a corner, three young people are laughing loudly. In front of them, empty trays, half-finished soda cups. They seem to know each other well.
I walk up with my coffee and introduce myself. They stare at me for a moment, then one of them, Malik, invites me to sit down. He is 19, Joey is 20, and Hana is 17. None of them go to school.
“I dropped out in Secondary IV,” Malik begins with a shrug. “I tried to keep up, but it was overwhelming. Helping my mom with my younger brothers meant I was exhausted when I got to class. I couldn't focus. Plus, the teachers looked at me like I was already a lost cause. Eventually, I just stopped going.”
We discuss the factors that pushed them out: lack of support, racism, poverty. “It’s weird, right?” Hana remarks. “We’re always told we have to work harder, prove we deserve to be here. But even when you do, it’s never enough.”
Joey glances at his phone, tapping nervously on the table. “Some schools just seem like they’re waiting for us to leave.”
“My son is not a lost case”
A woman approaches our table, drawn by our conversation, and asks to speak with us. Her name is Fatou. In her forties, her son dropped out the previous year. “I did everything I could,” she says, her hands trembling slightly. “I pushed him, encouraged him. But every day he came home saying he didn't feel included, that the teachers only focused on his mistakes. He ended up believing he was a failure before he even had a real chance.”
Lines of worry etch themselves onto her face, testament to fatigue and life's hardships. She sighs, “As parents, we constantly tell our children that education is the key. But if the school itself closes the door, what message are we supposed to give them?”
A brief silence falls over the group before Malik breaks it: “We’re doing what we can. We work, we survive. But it feels like we’re waiting for a genuine opportunity to succeed.” Joey nods in agreement. “Even if I wanted to return to school, it’s not that simple. I have rent to pay. I can’t just quit my job.”
Hana shrugs. “Sometimes I think about going back too. But I’m afraid they’ll still see me the same way—like I’m already a lost cause.”
The McDonald's is beginning to empty. Fatou gives me a final, lingering look before departing. “My son isn’t a lost cause. None of these young people are. They just need to be seen differently.”
Malik, Joey, and Hana finish their drinks. Tomorrow, they’ll return to their routines. Perhaps some will find their way back to school. Others will continue searching for alternatives.
And the system will continue its course, often leaving them behind...
School drop out, an indicator of inequalities
Like them, hundreds of young people vanish from school rolls in Montreal each year. These students leave with no diploma, often driven out by a system that appears to overlook them.
Statistics from the Institut de la Statistique du Québec indicate that 15% of Quebec students dropped out before graduating between 2022 and 2023. However, this overall percentage conceals significantly higher rates in disadvantaged neighborhoods such as Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, Saint-Michel, and Montréal-Nord, where nearly one in five students leaves school. These young people are all too often recent immigrants, racialized individuals, or those marked by poverty, leading them to believe that they are invisible and unimportant.
Furthermore, data from the Quebec Department of Education shows that boys drop out more frequently than girls (18% compared to 12.3%), and that school dropout is linked to precarious economic circumstances. In Montreal, the reasons for leaving are varied: some are exhausted from struggling alone, while others feel abandoned when their absence goes unnoticed.
“If you pick up the phone, no one will pick you up ”
That's what Malia almost experienced. I meet her in front of Eulalie-Durocher High School. The sky was gray that Thursday, and the air hung heavy with end-of-day fatigue. Groups of students slowly trickled out of the building. Some hurried towards home, while others lingered by the entrance, finishing their conversations. This school, nestled in the Mercier—Hochelaga-Maisonneuve neighborhood, serves as a crucial refuge for those seeking a second chance, a final stop before potentially dropping out entirely.
With a bag slung over her shoulder and headphones resting around her neck, Malia, 19, originally from South Africa, has grown up and still lives with her family here in Hochelaga. She agrees to talk, her initial hesitation gradually giving way to comfort as our conversation unfolds. “I almost gave up so many times!” she says with a nervous smile. “In regular high school, I felt completely lost. Teachers didn't even know me, and when I faced problems, there was no one to turn to.”
She pauses, watching the remaining students trickle out. “My mom always stressed the importance of school. But how do you stay motivated when you feel like you can't keep up with everyone else?”
Malia scratches her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. “In high school, I just let go. I stopped attending. I worked dead-end jobs, went out late, and thought, ‘What’s the point?’ No one in my family had pursued higher education, so giving up seemed easy.”
Her eyes harden with a newfound resolve. “But one day, a teacher noticed, repeatedly, that I was leaving his class mid-lesson. At the start of one class, he pulled me aside and said something that stuck with me: ‘You know, Malia, if you pick up the phone to quit, no one here will call you back. But if you stay, we will fight this with you.’”
A soft laugh escapes her lips. “That really resonated with me. No one had ever spoken to me like that before.”
Following a long conversation with this teacher, Malia decided to return to school, but on different terms. “I came here to Eulalie because it’s not like regular high school. Here, we’re with other adults, and there’s less judgment. We’re here to learn, but at our own pace.”
She gestures towards a small group of friends laughing nearby. “There’s genuine support among us. When I struggle with something, there’s always someone willing to help. I’d never experienced that before.”
Malia glances at her phone, checking the time. Before leaving, she adds, “I want to finish high school and pursue a DEP. I’ve even found something that truly motivates me: special education. Before, I never imagined having a goal like this. Now, I’m really determined to achieve it.”
She looks at me and smiles. “There are so many young people like me who leave school because they feel isolated within the system. But here, I realized that sometimes just one person believing in you can make all the difference.”
Adjusting her bag, she shakes my hand and walks off into the street, soon disappearing into the flow of other students.
“Revdec is a dream for dropouts”
To gain insight into the reasons behind youth dropping out of school, I spoke with Nassera Éloire, coordinator of Revdec, a Montreal community organization with four decades of experience in fighting school dropout. Alongside her was Cyril Guiot, a psychosocial worker at Revdec. Located in Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, the organization welcomes around forty young individuals aged 12 to 16 each year, who have either already dropped out or are of high risk.
The early spring air was still crisp despite the pleasant weather that day. Upon arriving at Revdec's premises, I was warmly greeted by Nassera, who offered a cup of hot coffee and set me up in her office. A few minutes later, Cyril joined us, his smile infectious. He added his perspective, and our conversation continued as a trio.
Nassera and Cyril explained that Revdec originated in the 1980s, the vision of Michel Jacques, a now-deceased religious member of the Brothers of Christian Schools and an educator deeply involved in the Hochelaga-Maisonneuve community. His aim was to provide young people with a space to “take charge of themselves and grow by focusing on their strengths.” Interestingly, the organization's name was chosen by the first young people welcomed there.
“They said RevDec was a dream for dropouts,” Nassera shared.
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A dream, yes. But above all a response to what the system does not see. Because, for those who pass through the doors of Revdec, the dropout did not start with the ballots.
“School is never the real reason,” says Nassera with certainty. It's never academic. The school problem is a consequence. At its core, it's something else: social anxiety, bullying, trauma, missing diagnoses. If the young person is not good with themself, it cannot work at school.”
Cyril also mentions a factor that is often overlooked: the consequences of social networks on self-perception. “For some young people, what they see on their phones is reality. They think that everyone sees the same thing as them. That what is circulating is the absolute truth.” As a result: the comparison becomes constant, and the image they have of themselves can collapse at the slightest comment or look online.
At Revdec, young people are not treated as cases to be solved, but as people to be listened to. Nassera describes the organization as a “break from school”, a complete alternative, designed to breathe new life and a structure for young people who have lost their footing. They are offered two types of courses: a short-term program, lasting a few weeks, and a long-term program, which can last an entire school year, depending on the needs.
They come four days a week. In the morning, they study some school subjects, sent by their home school. In the afternoon, there are workshops: sport, arts, discussions, prevention. And above all, every week, personalized psychosocial follow-up is carried out.
“We don't punish a young person who has trouble arriving on time,” says Cyril. We understand that this is its challenge, and we are building around it. There is no single path here, just adapted paths.” Some young people say it themselves: here, for the first time, they don't feel judged. “It seems like I have the right to be me,” one of them told the team.
An accessible organism, a system that is slow to react
Despite its valuable offerings, Revdec alone cannot fully address the shortcomings of the broader school system. The organization remains modest in size, and its capacity to host young people is limited by its available resources.
Nassera looks at me with a wry smile, stating almost fatalistically, “Revdec is small. Compared to the vast number of high school students in Montreal, we are but a drop in the ocean.”
Nevertheless, Revdec remains accessible to anyone who reaches out: the young people themselves, their parents, schools, or even the DPJ. The process simply involves being registered at a school and completing a form available on the organization's website.
However, the crucial element often missing is timely intervention. “Even when a young person stops attending school, it can sometimes take several months before a parent, school, or social service contacts us,” Nassera laments.
By the time the school registers a prolonged absence, a report is made to the DPJ, and intervention occurs, the connection between the young person and the school may already be severed.
Furthermore, financial instability casts a shadow over the team's efforts. “We are fortunate to receive a grant, primarily from the Department of Education, but it is not recurring. We must reapply every year. This constant need to create new projects for funding prevents us from fully focusing on our core mission.”
Changing the rules, not the youngings
Yet, despite these obstacles, they maintain faith in the possibility of change.
Nassera envisions a school system that needs fundamental rethinking: one more attuned to individual needs, more flexible in its learning approaches, and ultimately more humane. “If a young person requires four or five years to complete their first cycle, that should be acceptable. The crucial thing is that they reach the finish line.”
She also underscores the transformative power of relationships. “What truly makes a difference is someone who remains present, even when the young person withdraws. Someone who refuses to give up on them.”
Another critical point she raises is the detrimental impact of overly rigid rules that stifle the progress of many young people. She illustrates this with the example of students who, despite significant absences, are passed from one grade to the next, only to find themselves blocked at the start of Secondary III due to incomplete prior cycles. Adding to this are age-restricted programs, forced transitions between cycles, and excessively slow response times within the school network.
These accumulated administrative barriers effectively close doors for young people who simply needed a little more time or some tailored adjustments.
Before my departure, Nassera shares a final thought, a message she often conveys to the young people she supports: “The most important thing is that they retain hope in themselves, that they build confidence, and that they can find happiness and fulfillment. That is our primary goal for them, even beyond a diploma. Just keep things positive.”
It is possible to come back
Each young person we met, each speaker heard reminds us of one simple thing: dropping out does not only happen at school. It is played out in the way we look at young people or not, on those who are fading away. And if organizations like Revdec manage to bring them back, it is because they do not wait for them to be “repaired” to welcome them.
Dropping out of school is often seen as an individual defeat. But for those who have experienced it, it is not necessarily an abandonment. It's a leak. Tiredness. A way of saying that something is wrong. And sometimes, all it takes is a place where you're really waiting for you to get the momentum back.
There are so many young people who are being let go without offering them a real alternative. Not everyone will have the chance to benefit from Revdec's help. The people I met told me several times that, if the school system, institutions, decision-makers, and even citizens allowed themselves to look at these young people differently, maybe, collectively, we would stop losing them in silence.