The Generation That Outgrew Quebec Nationalism

I moved to Montreal to live in 1975. An old-stock francophone from Ottawa, I felt at home the moment I arrived. Despite being a stranger to the city—I spent hours walking up and down Saint Laurent Boulevard, the city’s dividing line between east and west, English and French, rich and poor—I knew this was where I belonged. I didn’t recognize the names of the streets or the exotic smells, but there was an undeniable connection with the people I passed, a sense of belonging that was both comforting and exhilarating.

Today, as immigrant-wary nationalism slowly poisons Quebec politics, I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice.

I do not forget that Quebec remains a truly exceptional place. Politically and culturally, this quasi-country has a complexity that is unique within Canada. This was true forty years ago, and it remains true today. Canada has often been described as having too much geography but too little history. Quebec, on the contrary, abounds in historical upheavals: the Battle of the Plains of Abraham, the Lower Canada Rebellion, the Quiet Revolution, not to mention two referendums on a potential split with the rest of Canada. The persistent feeling of being in a perilous position, of Quebec in North America being that “cube of sugar beside a gallon of coffee,” as novelist Yves Beauchemin once described Quebec’s situation within North America, explains why culture is so strong and politics so vital here.

Quebec requires a commitment to collective life that is unparalleled elsewhere in North America and, indeed, in many other parts of the world. Not all Quebecers share the same sense of attachment, but everyone, allophone, anglophone, or francophone, is involved. This is what makes Quebec so culturally rich and politically captivating.

What the turbulent past few decades have taught me, however, is that Quebec is built on a geological fault line. “The collective stubbornness,” in René Lévesque’s words, that has kept Quebec alive is also what threatens it in the long run. The desire to preserve what is unique and fragile too often encourages insularity and mistrust of others. And while this is the way Quebec has survived in the past, this model of survival has long been outmoded.

The younger generation, in particular, wants none of it. They refuse the white (francophone) identity politics that have re-emerged over the past decades. They want the complex, multifaceted, and multicultural world that the internet promises every day. Self-withdrawal—fiercely manning the barricades, the default position for the protection of French Quebec—is not in the cards.

And this is not just second-generation immigrants speaking. More and more young francophones de souche agree with Frédérick Desbiens, former president of Quebec’s Provincial Youth Parliament. A native of Saint-Adolphe-d’Howard in the Laurentians, Desbiens entered post-secondary college in 2012, just as the Parti Québécois returned to power. A sympathizer of the sovereignty cause, he nevertheless turned against the PQ over Bill 60, the Charter of Quebec Values. “For me, it was the end of something,” he said. “I could no longer identify with the movement, or the dream, because, clearly, it no longer included a good part of the Quebec population.”

Over the past twenty-five years, young people have abandoned the patriotic chants and edifying stories of French Canadian resistance in favour of solidarity with their own cohort, shaped by globalization, social networks, and cultural diversity. And, as if that wasn’t difficult enough, they demand the right to live at least part of their lives in English. “We’re drawn to Game of Thrones, Friends, Saturday Night Live,” says Desbiens. “People say we should consume more Québécois culture, but for us, it’s a bit limited.”

As for other issues young people care about—diversity, the environment, the future of the internet, and artificial intelligence—these are all neglected by current governments. The generation gap has rarely been this wide. It’s no longer just a matter of opposing cultural tastes or left–right divides. The gap relates to how a younger generation sees Quebec society as a whole. “We don’t live in the same reality,” Desbiens explains.

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Quebec has arrived at an important crossroad. Québécois music, Québécois literature, Québécois films, the immense cultural output that is produced here, year in and year out, keeping us safely tucked into our own sense of self and of which we are justifiably proud—that great wall just isn’t enough anymore. We have arrived, as the poet Gaston Miron once said, “at what is just beginning”: a new start, but one which has very little to do with the world Quebec imagined fifty years ago.

We are staring at a new Anglo-American domination, but one, for the very first time, that we aren’t looking to protect ourselves from. This time, we are sticking our heads into the lion’s mouth. We aren’t defending ourselves from what could lead to the eventual disappearance of the “cube of sugar” because, for the first time, domination—via Game of Thrones, the internet, and social networks—does not feel like oppression. For youth, at least, it offers a world of endless possibilities.

Quebec has arrived at a point in time where it must find a new survival mode, in other words. The old defence mechanisms no longer do the job. The Maria Chapdelaine model (1840–1960), which implied a lonely, rural existence shackled by the dogma of the Catholic Church, has long been obsolete. The national liberation model (1960–2000), which followed, is now outdated as well. That model implied freeing Quebec from Anglo domination by creating a francophone alternative, be it in business, in the arts, or in politics. Far from being reductive, Québécois culture was then extremely liberating. It celebrated what had never been celebrated before: the life and times of francophone Quebec. For the first time, American and English Canadian culture felt a little wan in comparison.

I remember being astonished, in fact, by the lack of interest in all things Anglo when I first arrived in Quebec. People boasted of not being able to speak English as a way of demonstrating a fierce spirit of independence. While understanding the politics behind this, I found it odd to see people eager to cut themselves off from a big part of the world. A decade later, Jacques Parizeau reiterated that feeling by declaring to Time magazine, “Good Lord! I’d kick the butt of anybody in Quebec who can’t speak English. A small people like us have to speak it.”

It was only a question of time before a majority of francophones, the younger generation in particular, would come to the same conclusion. The purpose of youth, after all, is to grow. The political landscape has also changed considerably in Quebec. Let’s face it: these are not the most exciting times to be a Quebec francophone. Reassigned to our minority status since the 1995 referendum and faced with demographic decline, Quebec is no longer setting the agenda within the Canadian federation. The “national question,” as we call it here, has been reduced to incessant federal–provincial squabbles. Hardly something to write home about.

Incapable of solving pressing issues—the climate crisis, fiscal inequalities, the health care system—the political scene has never seemed so shoddy or ineffective. Why would anyone, young people in particular, be interested? Meanwhile, the digital revolution, the equivalent of a new industrial revolution, has turned life on its head. The web makes everyone an entrepreneur, a polyglot, a citizen of the world. The planet is at our fingertips. Goodbye Les Belles Histoires du pays d’en haut. Hello Instagram.

By refusing to limit themselves to homegrown culture, young Quebecers are perfectly in step with the times. As were the docile farmers of long ago and the scrappy séparatistes who came after. Are they wrong to want this? Young people might underestimate the long-term risk of assimilation for Franco-Quebecers. Youth is also about believing that what surrounds you will last forever; youth comes with a feeling of immortality. That said, they are right to add new layers to their identity and reject the purism that insists only Tremblays and Gagnons are true Québécois.

These young people are right in saying that we’ve placed too much emphasis on language in Quebec and too little on culture. We obsess over how many people speak French in the privacy of their own home, over the “bonjour-hi” greeting in downtown stores, or the font size on commercial signs, while ignoring francophone culture’s ability to attract and regenerate itself.

“You want to save French? Don’t scorn the right of these sons and daughters of immigrants to belong to Quebec and you’ll improve your odds. ‘Your’ culture won’t survive without them,” warns Joshua Pace, a young twenty-nine-year-old translator from Montreal.

Above all, the young are right in believing that the issue of French in Montreal and the issue of diversity in Quebec are “one and the same.” That was the premise behind Bill 101. By opening schools to immigrant children and making French the language of education for all, Quebec was not only addressing the demographic decline of the French-speaking population but also committing, knowingly or not, to becoming a multicultural society—a pluralist society, far from the homogeneous society envisioned by Lionel Groulx.

René Lévesque’s generation may not have foreseen this outcome, the inevitable transformation of Quebec’s identity. As Quebec integrates more and more people who have learned to speak French, but who come with different histories and cultural references, what will the new majority look like? It’s impossible to know for sure, but it’s likely to be neither entirely white nor entirely francophone, nor entirely Christian. Integration is never a one-way street; by participating in social life, immigrants inevitably influence and change it.

As the “historic francophone majority” gradually unravels, we can expect that the touchstone of Quebec nationalism, the incandescent “je me souviens,” the invocation of the French journey on American soil, will cease to carry as much weight. Every effort must be made to keep it alive. It must be valued and protected, not as a barrier to diversity, as some partisans of identity nationalism would have it, but as the trunk of a tree that keeps growing, the source of a story that has yet to end.

But when it comes to the survival of French-speaking Quebec, there’s a more urgent need: to create a culture where everyone is welcome, built on diversity rather than uniformity, the plural over the singular, the future rather than the past.

It’s this sense of community, the feeling of being in the same predicament, that has kept Quebec distinct from the rest of Canada. It’s the belief in a collective destiny and the feeling of vulnerability that has enabled Quebec to survive the constant threat of assimilation and, later, given it the courage to demand recognition and dream of its own place among nations. Today, bombarded by algorithms and propelled into a fragmented, individualized world that promises us self-fulfillment with no collective project to counter this atomization, it’s no wonder young people don’t recognize themselves in Quebec’s exclusionary expressions of pride.

Quebec today desperately needs a new collective mission, but it cannot be motivated by nostalgia. One of the leading spokesmen for neo-nationalist conservativism, sociologist Joseph Yvon Thériault, claimed in a recent article that Quebec had failed to come together as a “true society” since the Quiet Revolution. Like others in this movement, Thériault considers that this period in Quebec history had a destabilizing effect on the province, leaving a legacy of falling birth rates, an elevated rate of suicide, of children born outside marriage or civil union, and of emptying of churches. Far from a renaissance, the Quiet Revolution propelled Quebec into a state of permanent crisis, says Thériault.

I profoundly disagree with this interpretation. I have to ask: what is there to mourn? A “social cohesion” built on fear and lack of education? An “identity” rooted in ethnicity and the control of women’s wombs? A “spirituality” haunted by the fires of hell and eternal damnation? I believe, on the contrary, that the demise of the old French Canadian ethos in favour of a progressive, educated, forward-looking Quebec, precisely what the Quiet Revolution ushered in, is something that should still inspire us today.

That said, I agree with Thériault on one point: the need to rebuild society. Quebec does need more social cohesion. It needs to bridge the gaps between the majority and the minorities, baby boomers and millennials, but it must do this while looking forward, not in the rear-view mirror. Quebec must build in keeping with history’s momentum, which unfailingly points towards pluralism.

It’s at times like this that the old dream of independence could come in handy. I’m somewhat surprised to say this. Not only are the days of national liberation long gone—we’re closing borders now rather than creating new countries—but I’ve long felt that independence was secondary to the social project it was meant to carry. Within the sovereignty movement’s two camps—those who favour independence as the primary goal, and those who prioritize the social vision it would support—I’ve always identified with the latter.

But after spending much time scrutinizing Quebec nationalism, I have come to realize that only in times of “national liberation”—the Rebellion of 1837–1838 and the indépendantiste movement of 1960–1995—has Quebec been able to look ahead, set high aspirations, and embrace the world with generosity. This last period, our own Glorious Thirty, was the only time we set aside the fear of disappearing and the fear of others. “We had bigger things to worry about,” explains Gérard Bouchard, such as “building a country we could be proud of.” Such a Herculean effort demands the very best of people as well as a broad involvement.

I feel a little like Jacques Parizeau who, travelling in 1967 to a federal–provincial conference in Banff, was suddenly struck by an insight. “Quebec will always want more,” he concluded after hours of ruminating on the train. It was the height of the Quiet Revolution and Parizeau was putting two and two together, realizing that the federal government could never agree to all of Quebec’s demands. That was his road to Damascus. He’d boarded the train to Banff a committed federalist, but he arrived, three days later, a newborn sovereigntist.

Today, I, too, apprehend extensive incursions on Quebec territory but not, this time, by the federal government—rather by Google, AI, and Game of Thrones. It’s the only true adversary facing Quebec today, and one much harder to tackle. Fifty-six years after Parizeau’s epiphany, the old bear, Anglo-Canadian imperialism, has been tamed. Quebec may not be sovereign, but it certainly “stands on its own two feet,” enjoying significant autonomy. The François Legault government can demonize federal initiatives ad nauseum, alert the population to a “frontal attack” every time Ottawa proposes legislation that affects Quebec; the truth is that monster has been slayed. Such lame attempts to fan the flames of nationalism by keeping Quebecers in a permanent state of indignation will never be enough to rally a nation.

The real threat to Quebec isn’t the Canadian federation; it’s the new Anglo-American cultural wave, which Quebec could arguably best counter by having its own borders. From France to South Korea, Iceland to Brazil, everyone today is “anglicizing,” everyone is watching Game of Thrones.

But who, outside Quebec, is afraid of losing their identity? Elsewhere, local cultures withstand the onslaught because national identity—based on history, customs, the arts, politics—is ultimately stronger than fleeting online content. Quebec’s cultural identity, by contrast, is more porous, less self-contained. It’s also changing. A new, infinitely slower Quiet Revolution—what we might call the multiculturalization of Quebec—is underway. For the past fifty years, the birth rate among native francophones hasn’t been high enough to sustain the population. The die is cast. The Quebec of tomorrow will inevitably be multicultural, diverse, and mixed—or it won’t be at all.

In the complexified world of today, survival will require more than just preserving the French language. The future depends on the vivacity and dynamism of the Franco-Québécois melting pot. It won’t be enough to simply multiply the number of French speakers. It is essential that the majority of citizens who live here identify with Quebec and its culture. Culture is the banquet; language is simply the utensil. If the banquet is enticing enough, the vast majority of people will find the right utensil.

I don’t regret the decision I made at the age of twenty. Quebec has proven a great adventure: often exhilarating, sometimes disappointing, never boring. Had I chosen a less challenging spot, no doubt I would be a different person today.

I deplore, however, the fear and political opportunism that have smothered our better angels, the dream of becoming a model society, of living in a better world. I dislike the ideological confusion we are steeped in, the blurred boundaries between past and present, left and right, between the legitimate defence of Quebec’s identity and the breach of fundamental freedoms.

I miss real political thought and bemoan the demagogy that says everything and its opposite with the same bonhomie, regardless of which ideas are being distorted or what people are being defamed. In short, I don’t always like what I see. We are living in the era of the pedal boat, it seems to me, legs churning, water bubbling underfoot, hands waving for effect. Everyone’s smiling, but who’s to say we are moving forward?

I need to believe that this political parody will soon come to an end. I know I am not alone in this. A great many people on the left, as well as the younger generation, are also looking for a new deal, something that we can all engage in, that we can build together and be proud of. Perhaps we should be patient. It’s only a matter of time before Quebec 3.0—the Quebec of augmented reality, digital natives, and global citizens—raises its flag on the deck of the old ship and sets sail once again.

Adapted from Dream Interrupted: The Rise and Fall of Quebec Nationalism. Copyright ©2025 Francine Pelletier. Reprinted by permission of Sutherland House Books.