Quebec's separatist movement took a massive blow on Monday when the Canadian province's election results were tallied. With upward of 70% of eligible voters casting their ballots, the rejection of the ruling Parti Québécois, the province's largest separatist party, was extreme. After 18 months ruling as a minority government, the PQ lost to the Liberal party, which secured a majority in parliament.

The election results are being called stunning, with good reason. When the PQ's leader Pauline Marois called the election on 5 March, it was hers to lose. The polls indicated she could well be headed into a majority government, with its support growing.

The election was supposed to be run on the proposed Quebec charter of values, a hugely contentious bill that the PQ vowed to pass into law with a majority. In the past year, Marois had declared multiculturalism a failure (citing Britain as an example of one of its glaring misfires) and argued that those working in the civil service should not be allowed to wear "conspicuous religious symbols", including kippahs, turbans and hijabs. Critics of the charter warned it would be an infringement of both the Quebec and Canadian human rights charters, calling it a misguided attempt to enforce secularism and majority tyranny.

Others still saw it as nothing more than a way to shore up support among voters outside of Montreal, the province's largest city, which is decidedly multicultural and functionally bilingual. But the appeal appeared to work, with polls indicating a surge of support for the charter among rural, white Quebecois, ironically, the very people who have the least amount of contact with the religious minorities the charter would directly impact.

It was an extremely strange moment of xenophobia in a province generally thought of as one of the most progressive parts of north America, noted for its trailblazing stances on gay rights, universal daycare (the only Canadian province to have it) and anti-war sentiment. But French-speaking Quebeckers feel a sense of cultural threat about language which, by many statistical accounts, gets whittled away year by year by English.

A turning point came when the PQ, once a centre-left party with roots in the labour movement, unveiled its star candidate: Pierre Karl Péladeau, CEO of Quebecor, one of the province's biggest corporations, which runs much of the Canadian media (including Sun News, a far-right TV channel modelled on Fox News). At the announcement of his candidacy, Péladeau raised his fist and spoke of an independent nation of Quebec. This immediately raised questions: what was the PQ doing with Péladeau, long a foe of his unionised employees?

More importantly, did this mean Quebec would have to endure another referendum? This became the PQ's endgame. Marois repeated her answer: probably not. But she couldn't promise that she wouldn't hold one, as her party's own platform clearly calls for one to be held once the "winning conditions" are in place. And that was too much for Quebec voters to endure. Reminders of the economic fallout from the last referendum – 1995, when the federalists won by a razor-thin margin of less than 1% – left many voters recoiling at the thought of another acrimonious push for secession from Canada.

Thus Monday's election effectively became a referendum on having another referendum. The PQ suffered a humiliating defeat, with Marois losing her own seat. And the Liberals, a party that probably deserved to be knocked out of office for at least a decade after corruption charges and their tone-deaf approach to dealing with the 2012 student protests against tuition hikes and austerity, are back, this time with a clear majority.

Marois announced her resignation on Monday night, with which Quebec's separatist movement was handed a massive setback. And as with many parliamentary elections, this one will be remembered less about who people voted for than what they voted against. Quebec now has to make do with the lesser of two evils.