FIFTY NINE

Mathieu Murphy-Perron is dead on about last night’s election results and this morning’s reactions.

 “On va continuer” he recited, and then poof, there was nothing. That was the PQ’s campaign: fleeting, frightened, doomed, a shadow of its past self. He eventually pulled it together and offered a “de se battre” but it was far too late. Everybody watching could already tell, this PQ had vanished forevermore into that interstitial space between knowing that they need to need to continue and failing to know what they must continue towards.

I shed no tear in their downfall. My heart goes out to the boomers that were raised alongside the party and who never ever questioned it, as I know they must be terribly sad on this day, but their undying and uncritical loyalty birthed a monster that needed to be slain.

Nor do I even remotely rejoice in the absurd victory of one of the most corrupt political parties in the history of the western world. A party led by a man who resigned from his functions as health minister to immediately work for a lobby group labouring to privatise healthcare. A party that stubbornly incited one of the greatest social unrests in North American history. A party that implements regressive tax reforms like that of the Health Tax that disproportion ally affects women and racialised communities. A party that is enthusiastically committed to the destruction of our natural resources for the smallest pittance of economic gain. A party that is so unaware of Aboriginal rights that they failed to answer a questionnaire by the Femmes Autochthones du Québec. A party that gladly reels in the spoils of the Anglo vote all while offering them nothing in return.

Yet so many of my contacts on Facebook are rejoicing: making jokes about eating pasta, proudly announcing that the movers need no longer whisk them away, cursing off the “separatists” in the most undignified of manners, and general Canadiana chest-thumping.”