I see Globe and Mail columnist Lawrence Martin is joining the chorus of Canadians thanking Donald Trump for re-igniting a sense of Canadian nationalism. As gratifying as it was to see such a visceral, countrywide reaction to such an obviously unwarranted (and illegal) act of aggression, and as necessary as the reaction was, I’m a bit wary about basking in this surge of Canadian nationalism.
For one, I don’t know how substantive it will turn out to be. It has the feeling of a sugar high, like the unity Canadians felt at the onset of the pandemic. Within 2 years, that unity had collapsed into anger, paranoia, and an occupation of Canada’s capital. Its aftermath is now wrecking our politics.
Certainly, Canada has been threatened, and Canadians reacted appropriately. But we also haven’t been asked to really sacrifice anything yet. Reorienting the Canadian economy and society away from the US is absolutely essential. But (and here’s the old economist in me talking), it’s going to cost. A lot. And that’s a conversation we as a country have yet to have.
Personally, I think it’s a price with paying because the alternative is subjugating ourselves to (let’s be honest here) a fascist government. But, as with Covid, not everybody will see things that way.
As Linda McQuaig points out, deeper integration is very appealing to some right-wing groups and businesses. It’s the easy way to make money. But let’s be clear: deeper integration with an authoritarian country would necessarily eviscerate Canadian democracy. The consequences of deeper integration today are fundamentally different from what many could have imagined in 2001 and 2002, the last time deep integration was really on the Canadian policy radar. Back then, pro-integration advocates could at least argue plausibly that we were dealing with a rational state that respects the rule of law, sovereignty and human rights. No longer.
(An aside: McQuaig and other free trade critics are being proven 100% correct in the fears they raised 20-30 years ago. Trump’s threat to Canadian independence is, in many ways, the free trade chickens coming home to roost. The risk of US integration-driven prosperity (which did happen) was always the potential loss of Canadian sovereignty.
Brian Mulroney sure did like to roll the dice with the future of the country, didn’t he?)
My worry: Unless politicians are explicit about the existential and moral risks posed by Trump (subjugation by a fascist power) and make clear that his regime is a moral abomination on the level of the worst in history, many Canadians will balk when they’re asked to actually sacrifice. Because at a certain point, it’s so much easier (if morally compromising and soul-destroying) to go along to get along.
Only a shared sense of purpose, not reactive nationalism, will keep us from repeating the slow collapse of Canadian unity in the face of Covid. We need — and our politicians need to provide — both a full accounting of Trump’s threat and a nation-building project, presented in a way that will allow Canadians to understand and accept the costs it will entail. If you’re looking for a way to evaluate a political party or leadership, these are some pretty solid criteria.
Since Trump’s election I’ve written and talked a lot about what Trump means for Canada. But about a week ago it occurred to me that I hadn’t really said anything about Canada’s plan to retaliate should Trump follow through on his tariff threat. Strange, considering that’s pretty much been the exclusive focus of our politicians and almost all of the public debate.
On reflection, I haven’t weighed in because I don’t think the tariffs are the real problem. They’re something to be addressed, but as part of a bigger issue. They’re not the whole ball game. It’s the age-old difference between tactics and strategies, between fighting a battle and winning the war.
Plus, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that retaliation won’t address the deeper, existential problem facing Canada: that Trump, the Republicans and the United States feel completely free to violate a treaty to demand concessions at all.
Across-the-board tariffs would be a shock to the Canadian economy, no doubt. But the truth is, we could adjust to any tariff level. It might be difficult, and the resulting economy might not be as prosperous as before, but we could adjust.
What we can’t adjust to is the toxic uncertainty that Trump has injected into the relationship. If the threat of tariffs is always hanging over our heads, every action we take, every problem, domestic or international, that we try to tackle will make us wonder if we’re about to summon the Wrath of Trump.
(Full credit: This point was nicely made in a virtual panel I attended yesterday at the Balsillie School of International Affairs at the University of Waterloo. I’m not sure what. the attribution rules were for the event, so I don’t think I can identify the speaker.)
That’s the real purpose of Trump’s tariff threat. They’re not designed to secure US manufacturing or border security. Remember: Trump is fundamentally an ignorant narcissistic sociopath. He cares only for himself. He doesn’t understand (or care about) policy. He doesn’t care about any of this.
What he cares about is power and domination. And that’s what these tariff threats are designed to secure: compliance from Canada and Mexico on anything and everything. The purpose of these all-purpose tariff threats is to destroy sovereignty.
That’s the game. That’s the problem.
And this isn’t just a Trump thing. He’s supercharged it, but increased uncertainty is what you get when one undermines the international legal system, as the US has been doing for a few years now.
It’s also not something that retaliation can fix.
Hard truths in uncertain times
The hard truth: only minimizing exposure to the US can address the US threat to Canada. As I’ve written elsewhere, Canada-US integration, once our greatest asset, is now our greatest vulnerability.
So, what to do? The first step is to recognize that the game has changed fundamentally. This requires breaking habits learned over the past 40 years. In the 1980s, our response to uncertainty over US protectionism was to negotiate a trade agreement, the 1988 Canada-US Free Trade Agreement. It was succeeded by the North American Free Trade Agreement (including Mexico) and then the United States Mexico Canada Agreement (USMCA). Now, we’re gearing up to renegotiate the USMCA, as required by the treaty.
Today’s uncertainty, though, is completely different from what we faced in the 1980s. Back then, the uncertainty we were dealing with centred on whether the US would go more protectionist. Now, we’re uncertain if the United States will honour any agreement it makes. Remember, these tariff threats are illegal.
When you can’t trust your partner, a new or better treaty won’t help at all. Instead, you can expect that the larger partner will use their coercive power to force the smaller partners to accept conditions that limit their room to maneuver. The USMCA already has clauses restricting monetary policy (what does that have to do with trade? Nothing.) and the ability to negotiate a trade agreement with China, the world’s other economic powerhouse.
If step one is to recognize the situation you’re in, step two is to abrogate the USMCA in order to preserve our room to do what we need to do to protect ourselves from the real problem: an untrustworthy United States.
Minimizing our exposure to US threats will require diversifying our trade relationships and building up the Canadian economy along east-west-north lines to make it more inward-focused and resilient to external shocks. And there’s certainly much to be done in both areas (a subject for another post).
This does not mean we should ignore the United States and US interests (no matter how crazy), even if such a thing were possible. We still have shared interests, such as in security. Although fewer than before: It will be harder to justify joint international operations with a partner that has no respect for multilateralism and human rights. The suspicion would always be that the US is fighting out of rank self-interest, not to preserve a community of states or human rights.
But we need to pursue these interests in this new environment, focused always on protecting Canadian sovereignty and our ability to promote Canadian-defined interests.
So: Abrogate, diversify, reinforce. Work with the US on issues of common interest while abandoning the dream-turned-fantasy that deeper integration can be had without sacrificing Canadian independence.
To repeat: Whether or not Trump imposes a tariff tomorrow, no matter its size, the threat of tariffs will remain.
Neither appeasement nor a better trade agreement can fix this hard problem. The United States has destroyed the trust and shared values needed to sustain an integrated economy. We can mourn this needless catastrophe, but we have to recognize it for what it is and act accordingly. Otherwise, Trump will drag Canada down the same nihilistic path as he has the United States.
When the Covid pandemic began in early 2020, like many people I bought a copy of Albert Camus’ The Plague. It was for the pandemic what Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism was for the first months of Trump 1 in 2016: something to grasp onto as we tried to make sense of a tragedy unexpectedly thrust upon us.
I don’t know about anyone else, but I found Camus’ novel an enormous comfort as we dealt with our own plague. Plagues happen. They eventually end. Even the way that the people, experts and authorities dealt with Camus’ plague mirrored what was happening in our own societies: the reluctance to believe until the evidence becomes undeniable, the panic, the lockdowns, the people trying to get past the lockdowns, the heroic doctors trying to figure it out while comforting the dying. Also, the price gouging and the desperation of the people to pretend like everything’s normal, going to restaurants, enjoying the expensive wine, having a great time at the theatre. Until, of course, someone dies during the production, which casts a temporary pall on things.
For me, Camus helped to make the unknowable knowable. For me, this was enormously reassuring. It’s the not knowing that gets you. This is one reason I recommended the book to my parents, who I think found it similarly helpful.
But even more than the way it made the nightmare somewhat effable, I took from The Plague a way to live during a pandemic. There are many lessons one can take from this deeply philosophical and moral book. But for me none was more important than Camus’ assertion, through his point of view character, Dr. Rieux, that our job is not to spread the plague. Our job, in short, is not to do harm to others.
In acting so as not to do harm to others, we’re not only ensuring that we do not become a tool that hurt others. As Camus points out, we are also acting in a way that acknowledges reality. Because our other job is not to shy away from the reality of our situation. That other people don’t acknowledge reality doesn’t change our own individual, moral obligation to the truth, to our fellow humans. This is why my partner and I continue to mask, five years into a seemingly unending pandemic, even as everyone around us, including our workplaces and our governments, carry on as if doing so isn’t spreading the plague, maiming and killing literally countless people. Our governments, our societies, have also given up on counting, because to count is to acknowledge reality.
While others’ decisions have left us trapped in an unending plague, they have not changed the underlying moral calculus: to be true to reality, and not to spread disease. There is strength in a moral code.
Since last summer I’d been thinking of writing a longer piece along these lines to mark the upcoming fifth anniversary of the declaration of the global covid pandemic. Life intervened, but I may still flesh this out (with maybe actual direct quotes?). But I’m writing these notes today, Sunday, January 19, 2025, because of course Camus wrote The Plague as a political allegory for the rise of, and fight against, fascism in Europe. And tomorrow is the inauguration of Donald Trump.
Of Trump all we need say is what one of my Brock University colleagues noted at a public panel a couple of weeks ago: every reputable political scientist agrees that Trump is an authoritarian. The only question is whether he’s also a fascist.
Already, through unprecedented levels of donations to his inaugural ball or fishy legal settlements, media, tech and industry have signalled their fealty to Trump, with several tech oligarchs invited to ascend to his dais for the inauguration. US media has bent the knee. The Republican-controlled US Supreme Court has made him a king, placing him above the law. The Republican party has demonstrated no desire to stand up to him. Many Americans are holding out hope that possible losses in the upcoming 2026 midterms will curtail Trump, but the Democrats have been singularly unimpressive in rising to meet the magnitude of Trump’s challenge. And don’t forget that Trump is not just a cause, but a symptom of US authoritarianism, the culmination of a scorched-earth, anti-government and anti-Democratic politics that dates at least back to Newt Gingrich’s 1995 government shutdown.
While one wishes US citizens the best in their upcoming struggle to restore their Republic, the rest of us cannot count on their success. We must prepare for the US authoritarian, fascist plague to batter our shores for years to come.
Canadian failure and the coming fascist storm
In Canada, we can already see Camus’ allegory in play. Our leaders, without exception, wasted the last eight years under the assumption that Trump 1 was an aberration. No matter that the US under President Biden continued many of Trump’s openly protectionist policies, or that a never-to-be President Harris would have used the USMCA’s renegotiation clause to get Canada and Mexico to enact potentially long-reaching policy reforms in the two countries. To his lasting credit, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau responded forcefully to the first major outbreak of Trumpism in Canada – the February 2022 Ottawa Occupation – when Ottawa’s Mayor and Ontario’s Premier effectively deserted the city. But his government did precious little to otherwise protect the country. Bill C-18, the Online News Act, which attempts to provide sorely needed funding to Canadian news media, both recognizes the problem caused by a poorly informed public while also being utterly insufficient to deal with the magnitude of the problem.
Meanwhile, the Conservative Party’s current leader owes his leadership to the Occupation, the previous leader having been forced out for not being supportive enough of the occupiers. The current leader, in turn, has borrowed the grievances and language of the occupiers, seeing in them his path to power.
And even as Trump completed his vile political resurrection on November 5, Canadian leaders and pundits have been tortuously slow to recognize Trump II for the existential threat that political scientists, for our part, immediately recognized him for, years ago. Trudeau’s surprise trip to Mar a Lago, by displaying subservience rather than acting as the equal head of a sovereign state, humiliated both himself and Canada.
The government’s initial attempts at appeasement were no better: rented Black Hawk helicopters and proposed joint strike force have all the earmarks of an improvised response to an imaginary problem, designed to distract Trump with trinkets but not to actually improve Canadians’ security. They’re a bribe.
The problem here is that Trump doesn’t care about policy. He doesn’t care about the Canada-US border, where fentanyl and large scale illegal immigration aren’t big problems. He cares about domination. Most importantly, his (likely illegal) tariff threats signal, combined with his 51st state rhetoric, that he’s interested in undermining Canadian sovereignty. Canadian independence and Canadian democracy are on the menu.
In a few recentpieces and presentations, I’ve outlined what I think Canadian leaders need to do in order to respond to the US threat. Our current and prospective leaders have, to date, failed to rise to meet the day. Former Finance Minister Chrystia Freeland has come closest in her resignation letter and recent Toronto Star oped, although I’ve yet to see a vision for Canada that reflects the strength of her view of Canada-US relations. Of our provincial and territorial premiers, their very position limits their ability to fill the federal leadership vacuum. In any case, the days of Bill Davis are long gone.
The politician who’s come closest to proposing a vision that fits the enormity of the challenge is former Prime Minister Jean Chrétien. That a 91-year-old two decades out of power has best read the situation tells you all you need to know about how lacking Canada is in effective leadership.
Fascism and the truth
Which brings us back to Camus.
For all the death and devastation, The Plague is, ultimately, a hopeful story, both in terms of the plague and as an allegory for fascism. Despite initial resistance, the government comes through and works to fight the plague. The plague recedes.
The Covid pandemic has not followed the same playbook. Governments and their publics have decided to ignore the reality of the plague, condemning individuals to death and societies to continued disruptions and destabilization, from things such as long-term disabilities due to the still-mysterious Long Covid. We failed to meet the challenge.
A society can only alter the course of a pandemic (rather than letting it master us, burning through a population and reach its own, possibly devastating, equilibrium) by recognizing reality and choosing the moral path. Do our job: don’t spread the plague. That’s the lesson from The Plague.
The lesson from the Covid pandemic is: your efforts might not work. The plague may continue indefinitely. Enough people may decide to take leave of reality and live in denial.
The same is true of our current fascist moment, in the United States as in Canada. The United States may not recover its democracy. Or it may be transformed in ways that we can’t even currently imagine. Canada may end up as a 51st state in all but name, subservient to the US power.
But whether or not our leaders are able to rise to the occasion doesn’t change our own, individual obligation: not to spread the disease, of covid, of authoritarianism, of fascism. In the novel, Dr. Rieux and his compatriots did not make their efforts conditional upon ultimate victory. They did what they did because it was their moral obligation to fight disease and to stop it from spreading.
I’m writing this mostly for myself, on the brink of what feels like an irreversible, epochal change that will touch the lives of every Canadian. For the first time in my lifetime – over 50 years – the institutions in which we’ve lived our lives, and which have given our lives structure and even meaning, are in flux. As someone who studied Canada-US relations at the doctoral level, I don’t know what’s coming. Only that when the underlying rules change, almost anything’s possible. And chances are the changes will end up ruining a lot of lives, a lot of communities.
But we understand this disease, fascism. It seeks to destroy knowledge and compassion. It scoffs at the rule of law. It disdains democracy. It will seek to turn us against one another, to divide and conquer. It believes that raw economic and military power should decide all. It sees us as little people, as means to others’ ends.
I don’t know what forms this disease will take. I don’t know what Trump will try to do, in the United States or to Canada. I only know that he, and the United States so long as the Republicans are in power, will seek only to dominate. But while these actions and reactions will cause much unneeded devastation and harm, our own obligation – our task – remains the same. As individuals, as citizens, as democrats, our job is to resist any efforts to dominate us, and to ensure that we in turn do not dominate others. We must honour the truth and be compassionate to our neighbours. These values must be reflected in our everyday lives, in our work and in our politics. Time to mask up.
Taking a cue from Paul Krugman, here’s Donny Benét, with a song that captures perfectly our awful moment. It goes hard.
Last night I was part of an in-person panel co-hosted by the St. Catharines Public Library on, as the title says, what Canada and the world can expect from a Trumpified US. There was, unsurprisingly, a lot of interest in the event — it was fully registered, with a waiting list. Judging from the turnout and the questions we fielded, people are understandably very worried about what’s going to happen after next Monday’s inauguration.
Local TV was also there to do a segment, coincidentally the same camera guy who videoed a 2016 panel on Trump (post-election, per-inauguration) that I’d also organized at the Library. He told me that that first panel had stuck with him, including how his initial belief that we were being somewhat alarmist faded quickly as the madness of Trump I took hold.
Regarding the event itself, as a former colleague who attended put it, “People found the session enlightening, if a bit disturbing.”
Which sounds about right. You’d be hard-pressed to find a legitimate political scientist who can see any silver lining in what’s about to happen. Yet, if anything, there continues to be a relative lightness to most of the public pronouncements about the coming Trump 2.0 administration, and deeds are not matching words. Pundits are gaming out Trump’s 51st state nonsense, as if the same (democratic) political rules will apply after next week. The Liberals are taking their sweet time choosing a new leader. Just today the federal government accused Elon Musk of political interference in Canada, but with no plan to, you know, actually do anything about it. The federal Conservative leader is passing the time talking to a disgraced, far-right psychologist and has yet to emerge from his three-word-sloganeering pupa stage.
What I’m saying is, there’s an appetite for honest, sober analysis that lays out exactly what we’re dealing with. A good start for people would be Kim Richard Nossal’s 2023 book, Canada Alone: Navigating the Post-American World. Though it’s exactly about our moment, written by one of Canada’s leading scholars of Canada-US relations, it’s been conspicuously absent from the Canada-Trump discussion.
Below are my opening comments, lightly edited. They’re adapted mainly from two articles I’ve written for The Conversation (which, it should be noted, has been publishing excellent and accessible academic analysis on what Canada can expect from Trump). It even gave me the opportunity to revisit my 2005 MA Major Research Paper on the negotiation of the Canada-US Smart Border Accord.
Thank you all so much for coming out and thank you to the St. Catharines Public Library for hosting this panel. Just the sheer number of people here shows that there’s a lot of interest and real concern about what’s going to happen to Canada when Trump assumes power in just under a week.
From 2005 to 2011, my PhD and before that my Masters’ work, focused on Canada-US and North American politics, and on the question of the conditions under which Canada can exert significant policy autonomy in the shadow of its neighbour, which is also the world’s most powerful country. And all of a sudden, this is the big question of the day, and probably for the next four years at least.
There’s a lot to say about what Trump and the authoritarian turn in US politics means for Canada and the world, but I’m going to keep my comments brief, because I’m interested to hear your questions and concerns. In my time I want to highlight two things. First, what makes this moment so dangerous for Canada, and second, how the country should respond.
It’s worth keeping in mind that we are in uncharted waters. The Canada-US relationship has been so stable for so long that it feels almost natural, like a fact of life. And over that time Canada has enjoyed peace, prosperity and a healthy degree of independence, built in large part on the Canada-US relationship.
But it was a product of its times and context. And in a way, as I’ll show in a moment, it was already fading. But Trump’s re-election means that this old-style relationship is likely gone for good. As a result, Canada is now more exposed to raw US power than any time in its history.
I’ll give a few of examples of what I mean, but basically it comes down to trade agreements that aren’t really trade agreements, and, more fundamentally a lack of shared norms related to the rule of law and sovereignty.
A lot has been made about Trump’s continued and wholly offensive and utterly inappropriate threats to Canadian, Mexican and Greenland’s sovereignty. And last week he said that he’s going to use economic coercion to bring Canada in line.
I wrote most of the following remarks [ed. note: everything on why Canada’s vulnerable to the US] back in mid-November, just to give you an idea of how predictable all this has been.
Most importantly, we have a trade agreement with the United States that doesn’t provide us with any actual protection. The United States for decades has used the carrot of access to its market, or the stick of removing this access, to get other countries to amend their laws so that they favour US interests and goals.
But trade agreements, like the 1994 North American Free Trade Agreement, take that card off the table. And for Canada and Mexico that reduces the United States to the status of an important party, but not one that can tell Canada what to do. Which preserves policy autonomy even as our two economies became ever-more deeply integrated.
But! Back during Trump 1, the United States forced the renegotiation of NAFTA, to include, among other things, a renegotiation clause, that would automatically reopen it every six years. Which means in 2026. This renegotiation clause guts the autonomy protection that normal trade agreements provide. It means that every six years, the United States, whether it’s run by Democrats or Republicans, will be able effectively to go through our regulations, decide what it doesn’t like, and put that on the table. At stake: our access to their market.
And this is what’s allowed under our treaty, let alone Trump’s almost certainly illegal tariff threats.
Here’s the catch. Because trade agreements now cover so much more than tariffs, there’s nothing that this power won’t be able to touch. Do you think that Teslas should have to face regulations that make them not trap passengers inside a burning car, as happened in Toronto a few months ago? Me too, but those regs could easily find their way onto the chopping block, all in the name of market access.
Second, trade politics. Whenever the United States get protectionist, the federal government likes to trot out the fact that we’re the number one trading partner of 19 US states and I’m sure number two in a whole bunch others. The reason they lobby US officials using this number is because they want to show them that if you hurt Canada economically, you’re just hurting yourself. And it’s true.
The problem, though, is that that only works if politicians care what happens to voters. And in an authoritarian system, the links between voters and power are muted at best. The Republicans will care if Elon Musk’s interest are hurt. They won’t care if Democratic Detroit slides into the sea. So that’s gone. This is where we’re headed. (And you’ll notice that I’m referring to the Republicans, and not just Trump. This is because the Republicans are now an authoritarian, far-right party, with or without Trump. That’s our reality.)
Third, our regulatory state, the rules that keep our water clean, our medicines safe and our cars from being deathtraps, could very well come under attack. Trump, backed by an enthusiastic Republican Party and the Republican Supreme Court, has signalled his intention to dismantle the regulations that have kept Americans safe and the economy functioning for a century. Think things like pesticides on strawberries and lead in toys. Given the tight relationship between our two countries, are we going to recognize their (non-rules)? And given our integration, how long will it be before US companies, to say nothing of own companies, start lobbying Canada to lower our own regulatory thresholds in the name of competitive disadvantage?
You want to go really dark? We can do that: We already have Elon Musk interfering in our politics in a way that is completely inappropriate for a member of a foreign government. Now, consider what a lawless Trump, one with his personal generals on his side, with the might of Silicon Valley at his disposal, might do to Canadian political opponents who displease him. For all the talk of the United States as a beacon of democracy, they have a long, and recent history, of abetting coups and assassinations in countries that step out of line. We’d be foolish to think that something similar couldn’t happen in Canada.
Democracies are comfortable with dissent; we know how to process it. For authoritarians, dissent is treason. Why would an authoritarian United States feel comfortable with a healthy democracy on its border?
That’s some of why the current moment is so dangerous for Canada. So, how should our leaders respond?
The whole 51st state thing points us to the big challenge facing Canada over at least the next four years. Which is: Because they’re next door, we have to respond to US demands, no matter how crazy or destructive they may be. So, how do we respond in a way that promotes and protects Canadian sovereignty and Canadian interests, without giving away the store?
If we just try to appease them and give them whatever they want, then we’ll be end up being a de facto 51st state. And that’s kind of what the federal, Ontario and Alberta governments have been doing to date, with their haphazard border deals and natural resource proposals. Not great.
The first lesson is from the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. It’s hard to believe now, but in the 1990s, the United States didn’t really pay a lot of attention to its northern border with Canada. At the time, they were all about making North America a borderless economic space. Then 9/11 happens, and all of a sudden, security went from being a minor issue for the US to the only thing they cared about. Then, as now, this securitization of the border threatened Canadian exports to the US.
But also, then, as now, while the United States wanted action on the border, they didn’t really know what they wanted beyond, security. You know who did? Canada. Because the federal government had been bugging the US for years to modernize the border to make things run more smoothly. And so, when the United States said, we have to do something, Canada had what became the Smart Border Accord ready to go. And it had some security parts to it, but because of Ottawa’s forethought, it was designed mainly to protect the economic relationship, which is what we cared most about.
The lesson here is: Always have a plan ready for what we as a country want out of the relationship. That way you’re not left just reacting.
That’s lesson one. Our second lesson comes from the birth of Canada itself. One of the reasons Confederation happened at all was because the United States abrogated the free trade agreement that had been in place between it and the Canadian provinces. In response, instead of just looking south for salvation, the founding provinces looked east and west. And we got Canada as a result. Not a bad result.
The lesson here is: To respond to US uncertainty, look east, west and north. We need to build up the country. This should include internal free trade, reorienting our energy infrastructure to flow east-west rather than the now-unstable North South, revitalizing our internal communication infrastructure, including platform regulation and support for the CBC.
Now, none of these is a panacea. And they will also require substantial effort and investment on a scale we haven’t seen in Canada since the 1960s. But the reality is, Trump is going to cost Canada one way or another. And while we can’t avoid this challenge, we can choose how we react to it. And we can choose to react in a way that builds up and improves the country and doesn’t just give in to whatever Trump wants today.
US election night at the Sens-Sabres game. In retrospect, the perfect alternative to a passive night in front of the TV awaiting the self-immolation of the world’s most powerful country.
Posted inCanada-US relations|TaggedCanada-US trade, Donald Trump|Comments Off on My presentation for the panel, Donald Trump and US Authoritarian Turn: Implications for the United States, Canada, and the World
Like a lot of people, my reasons for finally ditching Musk’s cesspool are political and personal. Politically and morally, I can’t justify supporting what has become an overt white-supremacist, pro-authoritarian site.
Of course, Musk’s spent the past two years burnishing his fascist, white supremacist credentials. And to my discredit, I’ve tolerated it over that time. My reasoning, or rather my rationalization, was basically careerist: as an academic, Twitter remained (and even now remains) the primary means of communication among scholars, politicians and media. When it comes to political social media, Twitter remains the dominant player.
The re-election of the nakedly authoritarian Donald Trump to the US presidency has made it impossible to maintain this hypocritical stance. Trump’s presidency will lead to needless death and suffering. It will make the world a cruder, meaner place, not least in Canada, a country of which I’m quite fond. The next several years are going to force all of us to explicitly choose to support democracy and human rights, or rank authoritarianism. This is not a time for equivocation that accords undue respect to the people, companies and forces that would destroy our democracies. I left Facebook when it was implicated in a genocide. I could hardly do less here.
My decision isn’t just high-minded. To be frank, I don’t like what Twitter, more than any other social media platform, brings out in me. One of the last things I quote-tweeted, negatively, was an editorial written by someone I knew way back when in university. Friendly, part of the same group back in the day, but we hadn’t kept in touch: that kind of relationship. I like the guy. He’s a talented writer, who just happened to have written an article in an area — Canada-US relations — in which I earned a doctorate, and whose argument I thought was completely wrong.
My response, on reflection, was pithy (thank you, Twitter character limit) but in-bounds. He sent me a DM justifying his editorial, I responded with my point of view, and that was that. We’re both adults. We both put words out there for others to consider, debate and even disagree with.
But my initial tweet still bugged me. Not that I was wrong, or even that unfair, but what am I even doing here?
Why did I care that some editorial is wrong enough to retweet it along with my own comment? Writers and reporters and editors make ridiculous pronouncements all the time. More importantly, why did I think it necessary to call out this editorial in the first place? In a medium built to generate ephemera, privileging pithiness over dialogue and deep engagement? As Emo Philips says, “I like Twitter because it combines my two favorite forms of communication: texting, and throwing a note in a bottle out into the sea.” This is not writing that’s meant to last. Short-form social media may very well be the lowest form of expression.
My reflection on my response to that editorial forced me to confront that, for me at least, my engagement with social media has been driven significantly by insecurity, a desperation to be part of the larger conversation, whatever that may be.
In my experience at least, it can be incredibly frustrating to have a deep understanding of important issues and yet not be involved in the public debate to the extent that you’d like. If you let it fester, it can eat you alive, leaving you angry and bitter. I’ve seen colleagues grapple with this dynamic.
Of course, there’s always been a well-policed academic pecking order, but social media’s promise of democratic engagement combined with its publicness makes it even worse. It turns a lot of academics into clout-chasers, begging for new followers. We become our own PR agents, promoting our latest book or article or job, always self-promoting, and trying to shove our way to the front of whatever the current debate’s about. And, of course, every time you open Twitter, or Mastodon, or Bluesky, or LinkedIn, you’re reminded that someone else is doing better than you, which feeds into a negative-reinforcing inadequacy spiral.
The reality isn’t just that people on social media tend to paint rose-coloured pictures of their lives. It’s that, no matter what we achieve, there’s always someone out there who’s doing better, or more. Constant comparison is a recipe for misery, at least in my case. I think it hits particularly hard in your fifties. I’ve heard it described that this is the decade in which you start to realize that, chances are, you won’t be able to fulfill all of your goals or realize all of your ambitions.
On reflection, what I didn’t like about Twitter, and what I don’t care for about social media in general, is how this clout-chasing, this constant comparison, this always striving to be part of other people’s conversations, had me chasing these things that, previously, I’d never really cared about.
My writing has always been almost entirely self-driven. I’ve never written out of ambition, to get a job or to win an award. I write to figure out what I think and because I love writing, in and of itself. I share my writing because it’s what you do as a writer and because I think I have something worth saying. At heart, though, it’s my art, my preferred form of self-expression.
And as for loftier ambitions, I have a healthy self-regard for the quality of my research, writing and opinions. As Max Weber noted over a century ago in Politics as a Vocation (yes, I am showing off a bit to prove my point), these are simply table stakes for all academics everywhere. Academics need to believe that their research is important, no matter what anyone else thinks. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to do their job.
But I have also tried to work on the principle that the best place to make a difference is wherever you happen to be. And I’m doing my best to make a difference. I’m not advising the prime minister on Canada-US relations (though I truly hope that they’re reading Kim Richard Nossal), but I do have a couple of opeds lined up and am doing regular radio interviews to highlight my concerns about Canada’s future. Most importantly, I’m organizing panels to trying to help my fellow Niagara residents and Brock colleagues understand what’s going on. And I’m talking through these issues with my students in class. Along the same lines, my book, The New Knowledge, may not revolutionize International Political Economy, but it’s a solid book that’s garnered positive responses from pretty much everyone who’s read it. That it has resonated with graduate and doctoral students has been particularly rewarding.
Those are the things I want to focus on: writing for writing’s sake, and helping out where I can. So, while I will still on Mastodon and Bluesky, and also LinkedIn, I don’t plan on engaging on them as deeply as I had on Twitter. Some people thrive in the clout-chasing environment. I’m not one of them. And while it has its advantages, using Twitter has been a surefire way to eventually make myself miserable and to distract myself from the joys of doing the work.
I have to say, it feels pretty great to be finally rid of it.
(I spent Election Night in Buffalo watching the Sabres dismantle the Senators. In retrospect, it was definitely the smart move. Sabres: Exciting team, and the tickets cost a quarter of what you’d pay in Toronto.)
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