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‘Dream Interrupted’: A Referendum Within a Rollercoaster Ride
This article was originally published in Policy Magazine.
On the 30th anniversary of the 1995 Quebec Referendum, veteran journalist Francine Pelletier reflects on the political, cultural, and emotional legacy of that pivotal moment in Quebec’s history, and what inspired her to write Dream Interrupted: The Rise and Fall of Quebec Nationalism (Sutherland House, Toronto, 2025), an English adaptation of Au Québec, c’est comme ça qu’on vit: La montée du nationalisme identitaire (Lux Éditeur, Montréal, 2023). Here’s her Policy Books Synopsis.
Thirty years to the day after the 1995 referendum that nearly produced an independent Quebec, I remember exactly where I was and how it felt.
I was covering the vote for The National Magazine, stationed at the Windsor Hotel in Montreal, broadcasting live to English Canada. The country was holding its breath. Early in the evening, as the “Yes” votes surged ahead, even Peter Mansbridge looked shaken on air. For me, the night captured the heartbreak of a province divided within itself and estranged from the rest of Canada. It was a moment that has never left me, and one of the experiences that compelled me to write about how Quebec nationalism has evolved with time, not necessarily for the better.
Dream Interrupted is part memoir, part political analysis—a reflection on my own personal journey as well as on Quebec’s political course over the past 50 years. It’s a rollercoaster ride that starts with hope and ends with disillusionment, though there are still some bright spots on the horizon.
Specifically, the book examines the rise of identity-based nationalism in Quebec over the past three decades, building on the themes explored in my 2022 documentary, Battle for Québec’s Soul. From the aftermath of the 1995 referendum to the mid-point of the Coalition Avenir Québec’s second term in 2024, the book traces a long, subtle shift from the progressive civic nationalism of René Lévesque to the conservative ethnic nationalism of François Legault. What began as an unfortunate outburst has grown today into a clear political pattern. While still progressive when compared to many places in Canada, Quebec has once again become inward-looking and fearful of the outside world.
A significant part of my motivation for writing this book, as well as making the film, comes from the widespread reluctance among many Quebecers to recognize that this transformation has indeed occurred.
The change began with Jacques Parizeau’s remarks about “money and ethnic votes” on the night of the 1995 referendum. By blaming much of the defeat on outsiders, the Quebec Premier evoked a past of “us and them”, a past when foreigners were considered threats to French-Canadian survival. Though this was certainly not Parizeau’s intent, a seed was planted that night that would continue to grow over the next decades, ultimately burgeoning into Legault’s controversial Bill 21, which prohibits teachers and daycare workers from wearing religious symbols. Bill 21 is the most visible sign of Quebec’s born-again conservatism but as the book explains, there are many other examples, including the conservative transformation of the Parti Québécois itself.
A significant part of my motivation for writing this book, as well as making the film, comes from the widespread reluctance among many Quebecers to recognize that this transformation has indeed occurred. There is a persistent belief in Quebec that little has changed since the Quiet Revolution (1960-1976) and that we remain on the same forward-looking path that turned Quebec from a “priest-ridden province” into a progressive cultural powerhouse.
In the book, I explore what I call the Quiet Revolution syndrome—a tendency to overlook or deny any unfortunate developments, assuming that all manners of conservatism and backwardness are safely behind us. This belief – that we were literally born-again during the 1960s — often blinds us to the possibility that these past attitudes may in fact be re-emerging.
I argue that ethnic nationalism has quietly but surely reasserted itself in Quebec. The shift I describe isn’t about Quebecers themselves—who remain as generous, welcoming, and exuberant as ever, while also deeply concerned about their future as French speakers in a predominantly English-speaking continent. Rather, the change lies in the dominant political discourse which has reshaped the definition of what it means to be a “good Quebecer” and a “good nationalist.”
The issue of identity is deeply personal to me as it profoundly altered the course of my life. In the early chapters, I recount the identity crisis that propelled me from Alberta to Montreal in the fall of 1975. I felt I had to move to Quebec to secure my own survival as a Francophone, to live in three dimensions rather than just one, embrace not just a language but an entire culture, with its customs and its critical mass of people. It’s a decision I have never regretted. Quebec opened up a vibrant world that shaped me in ways I could never have imagined.
That world, however, began to shift in discomfiting ways when provincial politicians began invoking “Quebec values” to justify restricting the freedoms of religious minorities, particularly Muslim women. It was then that I realized how much had changed. This book chronicles precisely how this unfortunate shift came about.
Francine Pelletier is a veteran reporter, columnist, and documentary producer. She also teaches journalism at Concordia University in Montreal.
