To my family, Brexit seemed laughable. Now I don’t think the threat of Alberta separation is funny

To my family, Brexit seemed laughable. Now I don’t think the threat of Alberta separation is funny

My social feeds promise an ‘Alberta governed by Albertans.’ The similarity in political rhetoric is eerie

This First Person column is the experience of Rosie Costen, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

The plate of homemade brownies couldn’t make up for the growing pit in my stomach.

It was my first trip back to the U.K. since moving to Canada as a nine-year-old. I was catching up with a friend while our parents spoke about the surprise Conservative majority in the U.K and the upcoming European Union membership referendum which was 11 months away.

The British tradition of sarcastic humour turned the conversation’s tone into a mocking one. It was filled with jokes about how white middle-aged English men would blame foreigners for something as small as stubbing their toe, and that politicians still held a grudge with the French for invading in 1066.

The room was full of laughter but I know a joke can be used to hide real anxieties and I felt uneasy. My stomach started to ache; not just from the brownies.

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Throughout that visit in 2015, the Brexit campaign gained traction with competing ads debating the merits of severing a four-decade long European relationship. When we returned to Canada, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe the offhand jokes at the kitchen table hadn’t been very funny.

That’s what I’m thinking about these days in Alberta.

After that U.K. trip, I followed Brexit closely. As a teenager, I read about it voraciously — diving into the arguments for and against. I was baffled by the assumptions so many people were making, even in Canada.

For example, before the vote, I had dinner with my then boyfriend’s parents. They were curious about Brexit and asked for my opinion. I said my reading had only turned up negatives and that trusted academics and scholars were sounding alarm bells about the devastating economic, political and social effects Brexit would have on the country.

An awkward silence hung in the air. They pressed further, cutlery abandoned, assuming there must be some good reason for a country to want to leave such an interconnected association like the European Union.

Not being one to mince words, I repeated that all I had seen from the ‘Leave’ campaign was that they hated foreigners and felt the country would be restored to a former glory if there were less of them in Britain; that it was a referendum on emotions, not evidence.

I returned to my food, attempting to relieve the tension. But I could tell from their expressions that my answer wasn’t quite what they expected.

These memories came rushing back as the independence debate erupted here in Alberta.

My family emigrated to Canada in 2008 and now the majority of my 27 years have now been spent here with a view of the Rockies from Calgary. I work at a university supporting graduate students and hope to be a neurologist one day. I have a Canadian husband and luckily he has managed to keep up with my family’s banter.

I see Instagram and Facebook posts promising an "Alberta governed by Albertans." The pit in my stomach has returned. Substituting just a few words makes the rhetoric of improved public services, control of natural resources and heightened border control practically indistinguishable from the pro-Brexit platform.

This feeling deepened hearing Alberta Premier Danielle Smith argue that the "duty to consult" with First Nations was never meant to “prevent citizens from making their voices heard.” Her statement echoed then U.K. prime minister David Cameron’s insistence that people must “have their say.”

My biggest concern is the lack of alarm from everyday Albertans.

My social media feeds are filled with memes and sarcastic tones about "seppies" or separatists and their ignorance. Posts attempting to point out the logical flaws in their arguments remind me of the thoughtful, albeit ineffective, articles I had read leading up to the Brexit vote.

I saw Brits make light of the referendum so often, it became a staple of every comedian’s routine. But their jokes weren’t accompanied by reminders to actually talk to your friends and family or to connect with your neighbours and share your perspective if you were voting remain. The humour helped them cope but also distanced them from the reality that the referendum may not go in their favour.

Brexit happened and the leave campaign won. Obviously, Alberta's vote is not quite the same. This vote starts the process, with a second vote promised if the leave side wins a majority. But the similarity in rhetoric and promises is frightening.

As the referendum approaches, I am urging those around me to take it seriously.

Chatting with a younger co-worker in the office kitchen, I realized that they had no idea the referendum vote was actually happening. They knew about the citizen petitions but didn’t realize that the October referendum included a question on separation. They had seen memes about the separatist movement but read nothing about the dangers of independence. I wondered how many others were holding such a casual attitude.

Since then, I’ve talked about it with anyone who is willing to listen.

I feel compelled to ensure that people approach this vote with the sincerity it demands. I have one foot on either side of the Atlantic but the British one is the worse for wear these days.

Nation states don’t mean much to me but people do. I have seen my friends’ hopes for home ownership and political stability in the U.K. dashed. My grandparents’ retirement funds have been forced to stretch further and further as energy prices rose and the U.K. government has cut funds for health care and seniors homes.

If the threat of separation really is just a joke, I still don’t want Alberta to be the punchline.

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Rosie Costen is a patient advocate for those living with endometriosis and works at a university supporting graduate students. In her free time, she enjoys dancing, listening to podcasts and thrifting secondhand clothes.