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My parents once planted a Liberal sign in our front lawn. The next day, our house was egged; the day after that, our sign was stolen. My family never did call for a new one — the grass couldn’t have handled the army of replacements we’d have needed over the course of the campaign.

It was the early 1990s, and it was small-town Alberta. At that time, in that town, politics wasn’t a conversation. It was a given.Of course Ottawa’s public service is entirely staffed by overpaid morons with secret affiliations to communist organizations! Of course native people bring all their problems on themselves! Of course it’s heroic and not at all embarrassing that our member of Parliament is waging a tireless battle in defence of his inalienable right to wear a cowboy hat on the floor of the House of Commons! Of course we’re rich because Ralph!

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But in the years since I grew up and left it, Alberta has not only had a conversation about electing a different government — it actually followed through. Alberta grew up too.