Someone I’ve been thinking about a lot these past few days is my grandmother. Not because we were particularly close — in fact, I barely knew her, growing up in another province — but because in moments like this, it feels natural to reach back. To draw a line between ourselves and the generations before us who endured uncertain, transformative times.
I picture her working in her kitchen in the lead-up to and during the Second World War, listening to the radio. Hearing the voices of leaders like Prime Minister King or Winston Churchill as they tried to steady a world tilting off its axis. Did she know, I wonder? Did she understand, in real time, that everything was changing? That she was living through a period that would reshape the world?
I can’t help but think she did. And for that, I have a newfound respect for her. Because I certainly feel the weight of this moment, and yet, like her, I have little choice but to keep moving forward. To fold the intricacies of this shift into my daily routine. A new global order mixed in with the laundry, the dinner prep, the meetings, and deadlines. To process the enormity of what’s happening while still earning a living, showing up, and carrying on. It’s not a small task.
And yet, after listening to Prime Minister Carney’s speech yesterday, following Donald Trump’s announcement of devastating tariffs on Canada’s auto sector and threats to punish us for pursuing trade with the EU, I felt it even more. I can’t be the only one who sensed the ground shift beneath us as he said the words we all knew were coming, but had not actually been said out loud by our leader yet.
“The old relationship we had with the U.S., based on deepening integration of our economies and tight security and military cooperation, is over.”
With this, Prime Minister Mark Carney said the quiet part out loud. A hundred-plus years of friendship, cooperation, and relative stability, undone in the span of two chaotic, bruising months.
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It’s hard to wrap your head around. It’s grief, really. And like any loss, we’re not all going to process it the same way. Some of us will deny it. Some will feel rage or sadness. Some will cling to what was. But Carney’s tone yesterday wasn’t angry or dramatic. It was steady. Measured. Almost parental. He knows we need to move swiftly and with purpose, from denial to acceptance. Because the sooner we accept that the relationship we thought we had is gone, the sooner we can start building something new. Something better.
And beyond our own borders, this speech was a signal to the world. Canada is not going to be complicit in the democratic backslide happening to our south. We’re not looking the other way. We’re not playing nice while rules are being rewritten without our input. We intend to lead, with principle, with values, and with clarity, in a world that badly needs all three.
And then came the line that made me sit up a little straighter. An unscripted moment, answering a question from a reporter.
“I note President Trump’s comments. I don’t take direction from them.”
Honestly? That was more than diplomacy, it was a masterclass in establishing boundaries. Clear. Calm. Unbothered. It was a reminder to all Canadians, whether we’re dealing with bullies on the world stage or toxic dynamics closer to home: you can acknowledge something without accepting it. You can hear the noise without letting it control your next move.
It’s like Canadians are getting a two-for-one deal. Prime Minister and personal life coach. What could be better?
Carney is not only steering the country through political and economic upheaval right now, he’s modelling the kind of grounded leadership this moment demands. Not reactive. Not emotional. Just clear-eyed, steady, and unshaken. In a time when it feels like everything is up for grabs, that kind of presence is powerful. Comforting.
The reaction around the world has been swift and, in many corners, quietly celebratory. Because beyond the message to Canadians, Carney’s speech was a message and a roadmap to the world.
We are no longer simply protecting our own economic interests. We are standing for something bigger than ourselves. Our actions carry global weight. And with that comes responsibility. Not just to preserve our own democracy, but to protect the very idea of it. Canada is stepping into its full potential, just as America falls short of its own.
But here’s where we must be vigilant. We must fully internalize the lessons we’ve learned of a democracy collapsing beneath us.
We must be patriotic, not nationalistic.
We must remain humble, respecting the sovereignty of others and learning from them.
We must reject the fantasy of exceptionalism, because that myth is what ultimately undid America.
We must embrace the paradox of tolerance. It is not only okay to reject intolerance, it’s necessary.
We must strengthen our democratic institutions, not just against foreign interference, but against the corrosive influence of corporate power.
Canada has been in training for this moment since it’s inception. And as our Prime Minister said yesterday, “We have to live the lessons of recent months — first, that we have to look out for ourselves, and second, that we have to look out for each other.”
It’s okay to feel uncertain. It’s okay to grieve. But make no mistake. We are not lost. We are not alone. And we are not backing down. Our ancestors have been here before, standing at the edge of change, unsure of what came next. Now, we know what they must have felt. And we know how they got through it. That same determination lives in us. It’s in our blood, in our bones, in the quiet resolve that pushes us to keep going — even when the world feels unfamiliar.