Ballot Boxes and Borscht

Just over 13 years ago today (October 30, 1995, to be exact), I sat in front of my television along with millions of other Canadians to watch the results of the Quebec referendum on sovereignty.

To provide sustenance, I made a huge pot of sommer borscht, because how better to stand vigil for a country's multiculturalism than by consuming a product of it. I went through one, two, three, four, and five bowlfuls of the stuff in an attempt to calm my inner turmoil.

And turmoil there was. I thought then, as I do now, that Canada was a darn good place to live. And not only did I want the Canada I knew to remain its unified self, from sea to sea to sea, but I also wanted the folks in Quebec to want the same thing.

Some of you may remember how tense that evening was as Peter Mansbridge interpreted authoritatively the results that trickled in, teetering first one way and then back again, see-sawing back and forth between a country united and a country divided.

At the end of the evening, with a "Yes" vote declared, I felt that a victory had been achieved. But it was a hollow victory. With only 50.58% of the votes cast for remaining in Canada, I couldn't help but think one thing.

Half of Quebec still wants out. Now what?

I'm reminded of that evening tonight, on the eve of the 2008 presidential election. Because no matter what happens tomorrow, approximately half (if polls are to be believed) of America will feel anger, frustration, and quite possibly a real sense of fear about the fact that the other side won the day.

This election has been heated and close. It might simply be by virtue of proximity, but I cannot remember this kind of interest and passion regarding a presidential election - both from Americans and those abroad - in my lifetime. There's a sense that there is something big at stake here, that the future of this nation rests on tomorrow's vote.

And with so much riding on this next presidency (or the impression among voters that there is), the elation of the winning candidate's supporters will be matched tear for tear, shout for shout, by the despair of those who find themselves on the losing team. They will feel not that they have simply lost this year's championship and that they merely need to rally for next year's contest (Palin 2012!!), but that the centre will not hold, that the country will descend to the depths of an abyss from which it cannot emerge.

So, on the one hand, I'm definitely glad it will all be over tomorrow. I'm tired of the snide comments, the baseless accusations, and the sandbox-worthy power struggle. But at the same time, I know that it will certainly not be over tomorrow. There will be initial jubilation and disbelief, followed by wary glances from each side at the other.

Because now they'll have to work together if they're going to get anything done. The losers will have to swallow their pride and decide to do the best they can with the little they've got. The winners will have to resist the urge to gloat and instead extend words of kind invitation.

Otherwise it will just continue to be a country where half of the people want out but have no place to go and this nation divided will become more entrenched in their respective positions of Us vs. Them.

With no ability to cast a vote, I am as helpless as I was the night Quebec residents voted for their future. But I can make soup, or at least a pot of tea, and stand vigil once again. And hopefully, in 13 years, I'll remember tomorrow night as more than just a hollow victory, but a victory that ushered in a time of real cooperation, change, and hope.