Canada, ‘glorious and free,’ but for how long?

At the end of April, Mark Carney was elected prime minister of Canada, securing the fourth straight term for the Liberal Party. His victory follows a prolonged collapse of confidence in Justin Trudeau’s Liberal Party and a surging far-right populism under Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre.

Carney’s win, while modest in ideological scope, is notable for what it represents: a national rejection of Trump-style bombast and a search for stable leadership during a period of economic aggression and rhetorical hostility from the United States.

The campaign unfolded against the backdrop of a sharp rightward shift in Canada’s political landscape. As recently as January, Poilievre’s Conservative Party led the polls by 25 points and made significant inroads into working-class strongholds long held by the New Democratic Party (NDP), including Hamilton and Windsor. The NDP’s vote count dropped from 3 million to just 1.2 million, reflecting a dramatic wave of class dealignment.

Working-class voters, disillusioned with a stagnant status quo and failed center-left promises, increasingly turned to faux-populist messaging that spoke — however disingenuously — to their economic anxieties.

Both Carney and Poilievre attempted to redefine Canadian patriotism as a bulwark against Trump. But it was Poilievre, a representative from oil-rich Alberta, who most explicitly modeled his rhetoric on Trump’s, railing against “radical woke ideology” and promising to slash public programs.

His messaging was potent — until Trump’s own words and policies became too extreme to ignore. In February, Trump announced a sweeping new round of tariffs on Canadian goods: 25 percent across the board, with higher rates on key industries like steel, aluminum, automobiles and energy. These tariffs, paired with escalating threats — including Trump’s claim that Canada should become America’s 51st state — ignited a nationalist backlash in Canada that ultimately doomed Poilievre’s campaign.

Carney, by contrast, positioned himself as a sober technocrat: competent, unflappable and internationally respected. Having led the Bank of Canada through the Great Recession and later served as governor of the Bank of England during Brexit, Carney was already known for managing economic crises.

In this election, he promised to defend Canadian sovereignty with retaliatory tariffs, a $2 billion fund for the auto sector, and new trade diversification strategies. More than any specific policy, Carney offered a break from the spectacle — an image of Canada as calm, resilient and economically independent.

The trade war initiated by Trump, however, is not just a bilateral skirmish. It represents a deeper fracture in North American politics. The U.S. and Canada have long been bound by a network of trade agreements, beginning with the 1965 Auto Pact and evolving through NAFTA and its successor, the USMCA.

Yet in 1988, Conservative Prime Minister Brian Mulroney set Canada on a path of integration with the United States when he and then-President Ronald Reagan worked out a new free trade agreement. The Liberals branded it the “Sale of Canada Act,” arguing the nation would yield its sovereignty. In 2024, the two countries exchanged $762 billion in goods. Canada is the leading source of U.S. crude oil and natural gas, and its auto parts and resources are deeply embedded in American supply chains. The imposition of tariffs not only disrupts this integration, but also undermines decades of cooperative economic governance.

Trump’s decision to target Canada has triggered retaliatory measures and cultural backlash. American goods are being boycotted. Crowds booed the U.S. national anthem at hockey games and vice versa. Carney declared that Canada was experiencing “the most significant crisis of our lives” and would need to reorient to the rest of the world.

His proposed solution rests on familiar liberal strategies: infrastructure investment, diplomatic engagement with Europe, and tighter integration into global trade networks. Significantly, Carney made his first foreign visits as prime minister to Britain and France, signaling a pivot toward transatlantic partnerships. 

If Carney could direct a reparation of Atlanticism, torn asunder by Trump, this could have stabilizing effects on democracy in the international order. He has called the trade war an “opportunity to build a new Canadian economy,” promising investments in health infrastructure, trade corridors and digital networks — $20 billion over four years. Another $18 billion has been earmarked for defense, including plans to expand military infrastructure in the Arctic as climate change opens new shipping lanes and strategic vulnerabilities.

But these strategies carry risk. Carney’s plan for international diversification includes mending trade relations with China and India — countries where democratic norms and labor protections remain tenuous. If economic realignment is reduced to technocratic hedging and bilateral deals, it risks entrenching global capital while ignoring the workers caught in its gears. While Canada seeks alternatives to U.S. dominance, it cannot afford to replicate the same extractive, top-down economic logic elsewhere.

Domestically, Carney’s economic philosophy is one of cautious optimism rooted in market orthodoxy. His plan to stimulate private investment through capital surpluses and modest public spending reflects the same logic that has dominated liberal policymaking for decades.

Yet that logic has failed to address the structural grievances that drive working-class alienation: stagnant wages, unaffordable housing and precarious employment. The NDP’s collapse reflects this disconnect. Unless the left can offer a material politics rooted in class solidarity, it will be eclipsed by nationalist Trump-replicants like Poilievre, who weaponize frustration into political gain.

Though Carney has signaled he will stand up to Trump, the effect of Trump’s trade wars will damage the U.S economy. Some estimates suggest the U.S. could lose over 200,000 jobs across agriculture, manufacturing and retail as costs rise and global supply chains fracture. Small businesses — nearly half of the U.S. workforce — will struggle with increased borrowing rates, inflationary pressures and diminished consumer demand.

Thus, despite instituting retaliatory tariffs against the U.S, Carney declared he will be cautionary, stating if Canada’s response is too severe it could hurt Canadian workers.

To rebuild a stable international order and protect democratic sovereignty, democratic societies may need to look beyond managerial expertise. Technocratic governance, while often competent, is unlikely to fully address the social and economic dislocations that fuel movements like Trumpism. Instead, there is a growing case for stronger cross-border coalitions among workers — alliances that can advocate for fairer wages, climate resilience, digital rights and more equitable trade rules.

Such efforts would benefit from public institutions capable of balancing market forces: public banks, cooperative utilities and industrial strategies that prioritize labor interests rather than simply incentivizing private capital.

Carney’s election offers meaningful insights for the U.S. and its allies. His victory suggests that right-wing populism is not inevitable, and that a steady, liberal appeal can still win broad support. At the same time, it underscores the limitations of centrist politics in an age marked by deep inequality. Carney may help stabilize Canada in the near term, but absent a broader rethinking of economic priorities, his leadership may not fully address the grievances that have made figures like Trump — and Poilievre — so resonant.