Inverness
I was nine at the time of the 1995 Quebec referendum. I saw the ‘No’ partisans win by the smallest margin. On the living room table, a champagne bottle bought for the occasion remained unopened. For years, it remained in the basement, waiting for the next attempt. Beside it, a Quebec flag, stolen from the Sept-îles city hall - where my parents, staunch separatists, met - laid, folded.
Nearly twenty years later, it was Scotland’s turn to attempt the inconceivable. Ahead of the vote, moments of hopefulness, apprehension and uncertainty conjured up memories of Quebec’s earlier attempt at secession. Falconers, a self-named group of young people between 16 and 25 who hang out in Falcon Square, Inverness, didn’t change their routine. But they knew that their first trip to the polls was going to be historic. Their decision would define them and their community.
Across the Atlantic, Inverness’ namesake in Quebec is a village that has welcomed waves of autonomy-seeking newcomers: disenfranchised Scottish farmers in the 1860s, French settlers in the early 1930s and young hippies in the 1970s. Each have left their trace. Eight-generation Scottish descendants continue to meet weekly in the community hall, playing cards underneath a portrait of a young Queen Elisabeth. Farmers still organize the annual “beef fair”, which sees the village’s population rise to tens of thousands for a weekend. Former beatniks and bohemians now fight to keep the small elementary school open. Filled with nostalgia, some that once lived there and left, such as my dad, return. When he packed his bags and moved back there, my father left the unopened bottle of champagne behind.
Inverness
Photos by Laurence Butet-Roch
Inverness, Scotland and Inverness, Quebec
Work in progress