What It Means to Be Albertan

I grew up Albertan. I am Albertan. And there is a fierce loyalty in that identity that lives in my bones. Not as a slogan. Not as a flag on a truck. As something earned through weather, work, conflict, and time.

To be Albertan means being tough. Not performative tough. Real tough. The kind built from long winters, hard work, boom-and-bust cycles, and learning early that nobody is coming to save you. It means speaking when something feels wrong. It means holding your ground when your values are tested.

But that toughness was never just about me.

If you believe in dignity for yourself, you owe it to other people too.

The pride I grew up with was collective. We did not only look out for ourselves. We looked out for everybody, even when we felt frustrated, overlooked, or unsupported.

Because we are Canadians. Because community matters. Because leaving people behind was never the deal.

We showed up when barns burned. When floods hit. When jobs disappeared. When families struggled. We worked hard to get ahead, and when we had extra, we shared it. No speeches. No performance. That was just the culture.

The Alberta I grew up in carried country and Western values rooted in fairness and loyalty. It meant protecting people who get targeted. It meant punching up, not down.

Strength was never about being cruel to others. It was about responsibility.

There is a quiet steadiness in Albertans. Most of us do not need to shout. But when ethics get tested, when hate starts getting normalized, when cruelty starts getting excused, silence stops being an option.

And that is where I find myself now.

When Donald Trump rose to power, something shifted. People felt emboldened to say uglier things out loud. Misogyny got louder. Racism got bolder. Hostility toward marginalized people became more normalized. That energy did not stay in the United States. It drifted north and started warping conversations here too.

I am not someone who chases conflict. I would rather keep the peace. But this moment does not allow indifference. Staying quiet helps nobody. Being Albertan taught me that when something is wrong, you speak. You stand. You hold the line.

Somewhere along the way, people tried to twist Alberta pride into something uglier. Cruelty got moulded as toughness. Hate got framed as honesty. Selfishness got dressed up as freedom.

That is not the Alberta I know.

The Alberta I know is tough, yes. Proud, yes. Loud when necessary, yes. But it is also generous, protective, and loyal. Rooted in the belief that if one of us is being crushed, none of us should look away.

That is the pride I grew up with.

That is the pride I still carry.

And I am not letting anyone rewrite what it means.

And let me be clear about one more thing.

Separatism is not Alberta pride.

Turning our backs on the rest of Canada is not strength. Storming off because we feel disrespected is not grit. Pretending we are stronger alone is not frontier spirit. The Alberta I was raised in believed in standing tall inside this country, not rage-quitting it.

We challenged Canada.

We argued with Canada.

We demanded better from Canada.

But we did not abandon Canada.

Being Albertan is not about running. It is about staying. About building. About fighting for the whole, not just ourselves.