There has been at least one bright spot amid Donald Trump’s mean-spirited manoeuvres: the rise of an unabashed Canadian nationalism, no longer shy of raising its flag or even its fist. “Elbows up, Canada!” is now standard fare at every anti-Trump demonstration north of the 49th parallel.

Never one to back down from a fight, Quebec has joined Canada’s active resistance to Trump’s tariffs and threats of annexation. The fear and uncertainty that has gripped Canadians around job losses, inflation and market volatility caused by the despotic U.S. administration — not to mention its attacks on democratic institutions, free speech, higher education and due process — are equally felt by Quebecers.

This unprecedented crisis is bringing French Quebec and English Canada, the perennial odd couple, closer together. Not only do we share a common foe in Donald Trump; we share, for the first time in our 266-year history, fear for our survival. English Canada now understands what it means to be apprehensive about one’s own existence — which is precisely what drives nationalism, for better or for worse. Nationalism is built not only on pride but on the fear of losing one’s identity. Now, both sides, English and French, alongside First Nations, Métis and Inuit, are obliged to confront these existential woes.

Quebec’s cultural frailty within North America — being “a cube of sugar beside a gallon of coffee” as novelist Yves Beauchemin once lamented — is a major vulnerability. Canada’s Achilles heel is very different: it’s too much like the rest of America. While this indistinctiveness was the basis of an unusually close relationship between Canada

and the United States, the time has come to stand up and be counted. Canada, which can no longer assume the U.S. has its back, needs to draw a sharper line between itself and its unruly neighbour. And no one understands this more than Quebec.

The fact that Canada is asserting its independence while Quebec’s own sovereignty movement is in decline also facilitates an English-French rapprochement. Had sovereignty been a popular option when Canada-U.S. relations imploded, it might have given the Parti Québécois the opportunity to hold a long-promised third referendum. But sovereignty has lost steam over the years, particularly among the younger generations. According to a recent poll, only a third of 18-to 34-year-olds are in favour of sovereignty. If Quebec’s youth no longer dream of “mon pays” then there is little hope of reviving that dream in the foreseeable future.

What happened? The socio-political context today is vastly different than the one that spurred the sovereignty movement 50 years ago. At the beginning of the Quiet Revolution, in the early ’60s, Quebec was home to a poor, barely literate French-speaking population, cowed by the Catholic Church and dominated by an Anglo-American business class. There was much to change and rally against, and indeed, within a couple of decades, Quebec had transformed itself into a very different place: a progressive, secular and mostly middle-class society in charge of its own laws, businesses and culture. The sovereignty movement’s problem today is that it has no real enemy to rage against, no fiery dragon to slay.

And then, there is everything else. The utopian dreams of the ’60s and ’70s have given way to dystopian nightmares. The planet is dying, American autocracy is at our door, and the world built in the wake of the Second World War to guarantee justice, freedom and equality for all is crumbling. What else can we do but stand up and hold on tight to our better angels? This fight is bigger than any one nation or goal. The world is being reprogrammed, and we need to throw our hats into the ring. I think most Quebecers understand this. This is a fight that we can only wage together.