Missing the days of yore in Alberta

EDMONTON — Outside the Alberta legislature, a sea of deep blue flags snaps in the stiff October wind, held aloft by a crowd of about 1,100 people that has gathered for one last hype-up hurrah together before Monday’s referendum. Most of the flags bear the province’s crest; many are emblazoned with a variety of slogans, all of them defiant.

“Send A Message to Ottawa.” “Live Free or Die.” “We’re Done — Alberta First.”

On the steps of the grand Beaux-Arts building, which looks not unlike Manitoba’s, separatist influencer Adam Derges, host of a podcast called The Army of Great Men, is giving a speech. Some people talk a lot about the costs of separation, he says, but not enough about the rewards. Or: the values of the people gathered here are not in line with rest of Canada.

“I don’t know about you, but I miss the good ol’ days,” he declares.

At this, the crowd cheers. Derges has not specified exactly what “the good ol’ days” means, but for this audience, he doesn’t have to. This speech is designed to motivate those here who already believe that Canada is irrevocably broken, that the life they earned or deserve has been stolen by Ottawa, that the only solution is to leave confederation.

Or at least, to threaten to leave.

It’s a strange Saturday afternoon in Alberta’s capital, just two days to go before the referendum. The night before, thousands of people dressed in maple-leaf garb streamed into Edmonton’s Expo Centre, where Prime Minister Mark Carney came back to his hometown for a rally hosted by former deputy premier Thomas Lukaszuk’s Forever Canadian campaign.

Now, it’s the separatists’ turn. A little over an hour before their rally was set to begin, a vicious windstorm screamed over the city. Gusts reached nearly 100 kilometres an hour and knocked out power in some neighbourhoods; but it died down just as the 3 p.m. start time approached, so the rally went on as planned.

For the most part, the attendees, some of whom arrived by bus from Calgary, are relaxed, even friendly. Those in the front, just by the legislature steps, sit on lawn chairs; those in the back mingle, chatting about everything from family to hockey and also how Canada would soon be under the control of Communist China.

They are all supporters of the separatist vote, but there is some variation in what they see as their ultimate goal. The most dominant slogan is the one about sending Ottawa a message; one woman carries a flag declaring for a Republic of Alberta, but also a sign that reads “I am Canadian. I will not sit down. I will not shut up. I want my country back.”

One man with a salt-and-pepper beard moseys around the rally. In this sea of blue, he stands out in a custom red jacket, on which is printed an apparent Alberta state crest with stars-and-stripes, a stylized bald eagle, and the banner “Alberta USA.”

Sensing an interesting character, some reporters flock to him for comment. If Alberta were to become a U.S. state, he tells them, everything would be cheaper, with more freedom, and better than in Canada.

Up on a paved courtyard overlooking the legislature grounds, a handful of pro-Canadian protesters stand by a glass railing, trading occasional barbs with passing separatists. One man, bearing an Alberta flag and holding a camera, is embroiled in a heated debate with one of the protesters; he’s filming the interaction for his YouTube channel.

“Give me one reason to have hope in the future of Canada,” he calls out.

At this, the protester he was arguing with walks away; but another young man steps forward. He cuts an unassuming figure, wearing blue jeans and a worn brown hoodie. In one hand he holds a small blue Alberta flag handed out by rally volunteers; but affixed to his backpack is the Forever Canadian campaign’s maple-leaf banner.

“I’ll give you a reason,” he tells the YouTuber.

His name is Geoffrey Pike, and in many ways, he’s not unlike most of the folks at the rally. He’s 30 years old, and works in construction. He was born in Alberta, lived for a bit in British Columbia, and came home to this, the province he loves. He works hard, has struggled, does his best to get by — and he is, very much, proud to be Canadian.

Where he finds hope in Canada, he tells the YouTuber, is in the people. There are a lot of good, hard-working people in the country, he says. Yes, people are frustrated, and often for very valid reasons. But there’s no reason to break up the country over those things.

At this the YouTuber’s demeanour visibly softens. That’s the first good answer he’s heard, he says. The two chat for a few minutes, and the conversation is measured. Canada was “set up in such a fragile way from the beginning,” the YouTuber says; they could build something better, with more checks and balances, and a better system for Indigenous people.

There’s something else the YouTuber brings up as a point of frustration.

“The convoy was rolling through, and everyone was ridiculing us for having Canadian flags,” the YouTuber says. “We tried to unify in Canada, and then they ridiculed us, they called us racists when they saw Canadian flags. The shoe’s on the other foot now, we’ve got a different flag, and they hate us now for that.”

Pike shrugs. “I would never let someone using the flag like that prevent me from using my flag.”

The man gazes at him. “I think you’re one of the more reasonable people I’ve ever met, honestly.”

For the next two hours, Pike weaves through the rally, speaking with anyone who comes up to him. I come across him again and again, each time in conversation with a different group of two or three people. He speaks calmly, asks questions, listens to what they say. He doesn’t pretend to have all the answers for their anger; he also doesn’t let his own take over.

When one grey-bearded man gets in his face, raving about European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen and the New World Order, Pike turns and walks away, stating firmly that he is done with the conversation. The man chides him for getting emotional.

“Of course I’m emotional,” Pike calls back, over his shoulder. “I love this country.”

As I watch him, I realize I’m seeing something quietly remarkable, and maybe a little forgotten. Pike came to the rally, he tells me later, not knowing what would happen. He didn’t have a grand plan to change minds. Yet in his patience, and his willingness to listen while holding firm to his convictions, he demonstrated something important.

We can still talk to each other. We are still more alike than different. We can, in most cases, still find common ground.

“Maybe this is a good place to have these conversations, because you’re never going to see that guy again,” he says. “It’s just easier to relax, maybe.”

As the rally sidles toward its close, I spot Pike again, this time back on the courtyard above the grounds. He’s chatting with a fresh-faced 18-year-old man in a cowboy hat; they’re even laughing a bit, like friends. The teen cast his ballot in the advance vote already: he voted to begin another referendum to leave Canada.

It was the first time the teen had voted in anything, he adds. Pike thanks him, with a genuine positivity. He should always vote for everything he can, Pike tells him. He should always make sure to participate in the society around him. The young man seems pleased that his interest in the nation’s affairs is recognized.

“Nobody is patriotic until someone tries to leave,” the teen says. “Where were all the Canadian flags before?”

melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca