Nestled in the heart of North America, Quebec stands out like a flamboyant maple leaf in a forest of evergreens. It’s a province that prides itself on its distinct culture, language, and, apparently, a political system that’s taken a sharp left turn into the land of unanimous decisions. Imagine a room full of politicians from multiple parties, all nodding in perfect harmony, like a choir hitting the same note every single time. Sounds like a utopia, right? Or maybe it’s just a little too perfect. For many years now, Quebec’s National Assembly has been making headlines—not for fiery debates or scandalous betrayals, but for something far stranger: every decision, big or small, has been passed with complete unanimity.
This province has perfected the art of synchronized nodding, with every single vote—over 1,200 and counting—passing like a choreographed dance routine.
Welcome to Quebec, the province where democracy dons a red beret and marches in lockstep to a tune nobody else can hear. Picture a place where the National Assembly, a supposed bastion of debate, operates like a Politburo meeting—every vote unanimous, every dissent squashed, and every voter left scratching their head. Since 2020, Quebec’s parliament has churned out decisions with the kind of synchronized precision that would make a North Korean military parade jealous. From budgets to language laws to a carbon tax nobody seems to want, it’s all “oui” and no “non” in this peculiar corner of North America. If you’re wondering how a province with four or five political parties can agree on everything, you’re not alone. Spoiler alert: it’s not because they’ve found the secret to world peace.
But the real kicker? The one party that dares to challenge this monolithic machine—the Conservative Party of Quebec (PCQ)—got a whopping 500,000 votes in the 2022 election, yet walked away with zero seats. That’s right: half a million voices, silenced by a system that rewards conformity over representation. And just when the PCQ’s leader, Éric Duhaime, had a shot at a seat in a by-election, Premier François Legault waved his magic wand and postponed it for six months. Because, apparently, elections are only cool when they don’t threaten the status quo.
The Unanimity Unicorn: A Parliament Without a Pulse
Quebec’s National Assembly is like a rare Pokémon in North American politics: a legislature with multiple parties that should, in theory, spark fireworks. You’ve got the CAQ’s center-right swagger, the Liberals’ federalist finesse, Québec Solidaire’s eco-warrior vibes, and the Parti Québécois’ separatist dreams, plus a sprinkle of independents for spice. It’s a recipe for chaos, right? Wrong. Since 2020, this crew has voted unanimously on everything. Over 1,200 votes—budgets, healthcare tweaks, Bill 96’s French-first flex—have passed without a single dissent. That’s not compromise; it’s a conspiracy to make politics boring.
Imagine a debate where everyone agrees before the mic’s even on. “Raise taxes?” Hands up! “More bike lanes?” Hands up! “Make poutine the national sport?” Hands up, plus a standing ovation! It’s like watching a room of bobbleheads powered by the same battery. Compare that to Ontario, where 30-40% of votes split like a bar fight, or British Columbia, where parties bicker over who gets the last Timbit. Even the U.S. Congress, a hot mess of gridlock, has more spine than this. Quebec’s Assembly has turned diversity into a one-note samba, and the tune’s getting old.
Why the groupthink? Some say it’s Quebec’s collectivist streak—unity over conflict, like choosing maple syrup over ketchup chips. Others whisper about backroom deals, where the CAQ’s majority (90 seats from 2022’s 41% vote) strong-arms the rest into submission. Either way, it’s a democracy on autopilot, cruising straight past the voters’ exit sign. A 2025 poll found only 42% of Quebecers think their government gives a hoot about them, down from 55% in 2020. Trust’s in the gutter—58% say MNAs chase party agendas, not public good.
Voter turnout in 2022 was a limp 66.1%, and by-elections since have dipped below 50%.
Yet the Assembly keeps high-fiving itself, oblivious to the grumbling masses.
The Carbon Tax Comedy: Voters Say “Non,” Parliament Says “LOL”
Nowhere does this unanimous nonsense shine brighter—or burn hotter—than the carbon tax saga. In April 2025, Canada’s federal government scrapped consumer carbon pricing, and provinces like Ontario and Alberta jumped ship faster than rats from a sinking canoe. Quebec, though? Its Assembly stood tall, unanimously voting to keep its cap-and-trade system, a carbon tax dressed up in green tights. Every MNA, from CAQ bigwigs to Québec Solidaire’s tree-huggers, cheered like they’d saved the planet. Plot twist: they mostly just ticked off their voters.
Quebecers weren’t subtle about their feelings.
A March 2025 poll showed 68% wanted the tax gone, blaming it for gas prices that make filling a tank feel like a second mortgage.
Another survey in April pegged opposition at 65%, with only 25% playing along. Even Montreal, where eco-chic is practically a dress code, saw 60% say “no thanks.” Rural folks? A whopping 75% in places like Gaspé and Saguenay were ready to storm the Bastille over it. Yet the Assembly’s response was a collective shrug, as if the public’s a pesky mosquito buzzing around their green halo.
The fallout’s no laughing matter—unless you’re into dark comedy.
Gas in Quebec averages $1.49 a liter, while Ontario’s at $1.12 and Alberta’s at $1.15.
That’s 30-35 cents extra per liter, or $15-20 more per fill-up for your average minivan. Drive 20,000 km a year? That’s $400 gone, poof, like a magician’s rabbit. Small businesses are eating dirt too—carbon pricing adds 5-7% to costs for truckers and farmers. In Trois-Rivières, a diner’s menu now lists “carbon surcharge” next to the fries. In Rimouski, a hardware store’s threatening to close because delivery costs are choking them. Heating’s no picnic either—cap-and-trade slaps 2 cents per cubic meter on natural gas, tacking $100-200 onto yearly bills. With inflation at 3.2%, it’s like the Assembly decided wallets needed a timeout.
Where’s the Money Going? Fridges and Flops, Oh My!
So, where’s all this cash disappearing to? Buckle up, because the carbon tax doesn’t just vanish—it flows into a fund that’s had more rebrands than a pop star. It started as the Green Fund, a noble-sounding piggy bank for eco-dreams. Now it’s the Electrification and Climate Change Fund, a mouthful that screams “we’re serious about green, honest!” Every penny from Quebec’s cap-and-trade auctions—$1.2 billion in 2024—lands here, supposedly to fight climate change and electrify the province. Sounds great, right? Except the spending’s a masterclass in “what the actual heck.”
Take the fridge fiasco. The fund’s coughed up cash for programs to yank perfectly good refrigerators out of corner stores and replace them with “energy-efficient” models. Never mind that swapping a working fridge for a shiny new one burns more carbon than letting the old one chug along. It’s like trading your car for a unicycle to “save gas.” These initiatives, part of the fund’s push for efficiency, have been mocked for costing thousands per store while barely denting emissions.
One shop owner in Sherbrooke reportedly spent weeks chasing subsidies, only to find the new fridge’s “savings” didn’t cover the paperwork headache.
Then there’s the parade of failed green ventures. The fund’s backed projects that sound cool on paper—think biofuels and niche renewables—but crash harder than a sugar high. A 2020 report flagged several duds, like a biomass plant that went bust after eating millions, leaving taxpayers with a pricey pile of wood chips. Another gem? Subsidies for “innovative” startups that vanished faster than a Montreal parking spot, with little to show but fancy logos and empty promises.
Critics estimate 20-30% of the fund’s projects since 2015 have either flopped or delivered negligible green gains, yet the Assembly keeps tossing cash like it’s confetti at a parade.
The fund’s defenders say it’s not all bad. It’s bankrolled Montreal’s REM light-rail (which has become a laughing matter due to numerous break outs), pushed 50,000 EVs onto roads in 2024 (mostly for rich people that had no need for subventions), and funded wind farms that at least look pretty. But when emissions are rising and gas costs more than a craft beer, it’s hard to cheer for a fund that’s playing roulette with your paycheck. It’s like paying for a chef who burns half the meal but swears the garnish is world-class.
Democracy’s Dysfunctional Disco
This unanimous obsession isn’t just quirky—it’s a middle finger to democracy, wrapped in a fleur-de-lis bow. Take the Conservative Party of Quebec (PCQ), the only crew trying to break the mold. In 2022, they snagged 530,000 votes—13%, not bad for a party led by a radio host turned rabble-rouser, Éric Duhaime. Yet, thanks to Quebec’s first-past-the-post nonsense, they got zero seats, while the Liberals’ 14% nabbed 21. Half a million voices, poof, vanished like a cheap parlor trick. The PCQ’s been screaming about the carbon tax and government overreach, but the Assembly’s too busy harmonizing to notice. They even had a shot at a by-election in Arthabaska—polls showed Duhaime leading—until Premier Legault hit snooze on it for six months, because apparently democracy’s only urgent when it suits him.
But let’s not pin all the laughs on the PCQ’s sad trombone. The real hilarity is how the Assembly’s turned “representation” into a punchline. Voters say, “Cut the tax!” and MNAs reply, “How about a wind turbine instead?” It’s like ordering poutine and getting kale salad. The CAQ, with its iron grip, sets the script, and the others—Liberals, Québec Solidaire, PQ—play along like backup dancers. Québec Solidaire’s so green they’d tax oxygen if they could, but even they won’t touch the tax’s unpopularity. The Liberals are too busy licking their 2022 wounds, and the PQ’s dreaming of a sovereignty sequel nobody’s watching. Result? A parliament that’s less “voice of the people” and more “karaoke night with one song.”
What’s the Endgame for Québec?
Quebec’s unanimous train is wobbling. Those 200 protesters could grow—imagine 2,000 chanting outside Legault’s office, waving empty wallets. Online, #UnanimitySucks is picking up, with jokes about MNAs sharing one brain cell. The CAQ’s mumbled about tax tweaks—rebates, maybe rural breaks—but they’re too busy posing with wind turbines to commit. The PCQ’s still knocking; if Duhaime snags that delayed by-election, he’ll be the Assembly’s court jester, lobbing truth bombs at the yes-men.
On the policy front, the carbon tax is a ticking time bomb. With gas prices stinging and inflation biting, the Assembly might have to throw voters a bone—maybe a rebate or rural exemption. The CAQ’s floated “adjustments” but hasn’t budged, probably because they’re too busy patting themselves on the back for their green credentials. Meanwhile, Quebec’s economy could take a hit. High fuel costs are already pushing up prices—grocery inflation hit 4% in 2025, partly due to transport costs. Tourism’s wobbling too; why visit Tadoussac when driving there costs an extra $50 compared to Ontario?
Still, Quebec’s unwavering support for Liberal Mark Carney in the federal election—despite a decade of what many call destructive Liberal policies across Canada—offers little hope for change. It’s a head-scratcher that highlights the province’s older population, who turn out to vote in droves compared to the younger, grumpier generations, clinging to the status quo like it’s a warm poutine on a winter day. They seem content to keep the dictator who dangles a $500 cheque every now and then, ensuring the same old song and dance continues while the youth, stuck with $1.49-a-liter gas and fridge-swapping schemes, can only roll their eyes and hope for a future where their votes might actually matter.
In the end, Quebec’s not just a province—it’s a cautionary tale. Its parliament’s Soviet-style unanimity, its sidelining of half a million PCQ voters, and its stubborn love for a loathed carbon tax show what happens when democracy gets too cozy with control. The Conservative Party, for all its flaws, is the only one calling BS on this charade. Whether they break through in 2025 or 2026, one thing’s clear: Quebecers deserve a voice, not a script. Until then, they’ll keep paying $1.50 a liter and wondering why their votes don’t matter.
Remove Ads