Canada's day of democratic chutzpah left me standing in a pack of Bloquistes, the lone anglo nervously chanting to a slogan I couldn't make out.
I was among fifty Bloc supporters at a pub in Hull watching election results roll in. By 10:30, TV cameras beaming spotlights troved the dark pub like sharks, barely missing the Ottawa Citizen reporter who feared she'd appear on TV clapping to cries of "Dery! Dery!" for the 25-year-old Bloc candidate for Hull-Aylmer.
Really, I had no choice. Where I was standing everyone could see me, and when Mr. Dery came in and the pub rocked with clapping and yells, there's only so much I could pretend to write down to avoid looking like an anglo plant.
For me, Mr. Dery's entrance was anti-climactic. When I arrived at the barely-lit pub around 8 p.m., a man was on a low make-shift stage introducing himself as Dery and laughing, thanking the empty bar room for their support. He was young, but I had learned the candidate was only 25. There were no election signs up yet, and none that I could see on the street.
I interviewed him about his views, and phoned in quotes to the Citizen. They were surpised to hear the candidate was already there.
Then I started to wonder why he was being so casual, and why he was helping fix electrical problems in the bar.
The man I interviewed was not Dery. It was the bar's owner.
I visualized any career with the Citizen fall into the Sedan crater, then get slammed with another meteor.
I cancelled the quotes right away, of course, and they told me they hadn't gone online. The owner wasn't even a member of the Bloc. I felt like my body was under radiation levels of stress. My voice was unsteady for the rest of the evening.
When Mr. Dery arrived, the bar broke out in cheers and yells, despite Dery's loss. When Dery reached the front, his voice trembled as he thanked supporters. He looked exhausted and nodded tiredly when someone heckled against the Conservatives or Liberals. He held up his hand, voice cracking, and seemed ill at ease when the room erupted in clapping as he finished.
Since his riding was created in 1914, a Liberal has continuously held that seat, so good on Mr. Dery to come within 8000 votes of the winner.
The other parties fared worse. A few blocks down on the same street, the NDP candidate for the riding, who gained even fewer votes, conducted his post-campaign rally in a hall that looked more like a room from the MoMa than an NDP headquarters. Dozens of light bulbs on long cords dangled from the ceiling in a room devoid of shape and colour. I closed my eyes and saw dozens of tiny dots that slowly faded.
Much like each glimmer of hope for the NDP in most provinces.
In contrast, Bloc supporters were gathered at Le Petit Chicago, a pub named after Hull's former nickname when Rue de Portage was crammed with bawdy houses and booze cans. The pub existed back then under a different name. Now it's a heritage bar ordained by the past through old trumpets, glass cabinets, and one old piano in the corner. The bar's stained wood and burgundy upholstery give it a poor, drinking artist feel.
The Bloc won 50 seats in all: Quebeckers seem quite happy to vote for a party they know won't win. As one Bloc member at the rally put it, "The Bloc is not a solution. It is a tool. A way to give a message loud and clear. To get respect."
I hand it to the Independentistes for their poetic arguments. It melts my eyes a bit (soon they'll be as
romantically piercing as Duceppe's).
The bar's owner (NOT Dery), explained to me why sovereigntist emotions will never die: it's because - don't lose me here - they're like the yeast in beer, which never die. They may go to sleep for a while (the emotions/yeast) but they never die (be placated/strained out).
I didn't point out that the yeast probably die when they're consumed. That may have been insulting. But whose metaphor is this anyway.
I'll have to admit that I find Quebec nationalism a little romantic, and not in the soap opera "I got you pregnant, so now you want to go on a date" romantic. I understand why Margaret Atwood says she would have no choice but to vote Bloc if she lived in Quebec. It's the survivalist dream.
On this point, I did manage to interview a good number of people. Some of the younger ones felt uncomfortable talking to me - an anglophone from the Citizen. I don't blame them. But I didn't let them off the hook either. Some of them asked me how I "talked like them" if I'm from Saskatchewan. I said it's because there's a Quebec sovereigntist area of Saskatchewan that wants to separate with Quebec - my homeland.
Well, that's what I'll say next time I'm at a Bloc campaign. Or forget that, next time I'm at Le Petit Chicago. Friends and enemies revisited, this Friday.
