The first vote I ever cast was in the 1995 referendum in Quebec. I was living in Montreal, attending McGill University, and my vote seemed – and in fact proved to be – important in determining the very squeaky outcome of that fractious and exhausting political drama. How close we came, that October day, to throwing in the towel on our country as we knew it. In the end, the argument for unity tipped the balance, though not by much, and we all staggered on, emotionally battered but resigned – a miserable married couple retreating to separate corners of the vast and lumpy king-sized bed that is Canada.
Today, I find myself a Canadian living in Britain – a Scot by blood and heritage if not by passport. I live in the London, where we don't get a vote on Scottish independence, and in fact are urged by our leaders to "leave the matter to the Scottish people." This is what the Queen has opted to do, having weighed in on other issues of sovereignty before and lived to regret it (her much-criticized 1987 comments in support of the Meech Lake Accord spring to mind).
But when I hear this cool, detached sentiment, I am filled first with sadness, then rage. It is the rage of a helpless and frustrated child watching her parents divorce and being told by a series of patronizing adults, "It's got nothing to do with you." Well of course it's got to do with me, I want to hiss. I live here, don't I? It's my home, too, isn't it? What about my self-determination? Who's going to worry about that once the world's been split apart?
Children of divorce get particularly worked up about this stuff. We can't help it. We've seen the carnage that can ensue when one or both partners blithely choose "independence" and "freedom" over the patient effort of staying together and working it out. I'm not saying good things can't come from choosing to go it alone, but when I see a horde of teenaged boys, bare chests painted with the St. Andrew's cross, braying their jubilant contempt for Westminster, my mind instantly flashes forward 20 years. There, I see the same bunch of boys, now overworked middle-aged men with paunches and wives and children, grumbling in a pub about taxes and those bastards in Holyrood.
The point is not that an independent Scotland won't work, but that it's not going to fulfill the expectations shining in the eyes of those angry, optimistic boys. Expectations like: This is a war and we will win our freedom! Any poor souls who enter into a painful and protracted divorce are dreaming if they think they will be miraculously reborn once decoupled from their dull, unsexy spouse. The lads should be careful what they wish for.
And then I think, with a working mother's yawn and a shrug, at least if they stay, they'll have us to resent. Someone to complain about to their mates and define themselves against when they feel middle-aged and slightly defeated. A partner to help shoulder the economic burden, bring them soup when they're sick and – when needed – take the blame for their dissatisfaction.
I know that's not the most inspiring argument of all time, but that's more or less what's happened between Canada and Quebec.
After decades of referendums and constitutional debate, Quebec now seems content being the grumpy husband harrumphing behind his newspaper. And everything's so much calmer since we stopped asking him to declare his commitment on paper. We may not be having crazy sex or shouting our love from rooftops, but we're undeniably better together than we would be apart.
Scotland is different. Alex Salmond originally wanted a slightly more complicated referendum question. His proposed choices were roughly leave, stay or renovate the house into a duplex and live in separate apartments. David Cameron, like so many arrogant spouses who think their poorer, less-successful other half will never have the guts to go, called Salmond's bluff and insisted on a Yes/No vote. Now the people of Scotland are packing up their bags and humming a Nancy Sinatra tune and Cameron is freaking out, promising to take them on a Caribbean vacation and sign up for ballroom dancing – anything. Just please, please don't leave me all alone with this horrible legacy.
It really is a depressing spectacle to watch.
You might not think the birth and break up of nations is based on such blatant emotional psychology as this, but you'd be wrong. While peaceful affluent countries ought to be built on rational considerations such as tax policy, currency, economic stability and shared hobbies, in fact that's not really how it happens. Countries, like married couples, tend to get together for reasons of simple geography: They were co-workers or biology lab partners. When they break up, it's often for much more emotional reasons such as, "You're suffocating me and I need space," or "I have an urgent desire for other major trading partners in my life."
But when it comes to matters of heart, nations, just like married people with mortgages and kids, ought to think with their heads. Scotland can learn from the lesson of Quebec. Hang in there and tough it out. Your children will thank you for it.