Like an episode of “The Apprentice,” Trump welcomed the new prime minister of Canada, fresh from moving into his new Ottawa office.
By Scott D. G. Ventureyra
It was the photo-op to end all illusions: President Trump and new Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, flying straight in from Ottawa, grinning in the Oval Office like two hedge fund managers pricing out a fire sale. Canadians were promised a statesman. They got a supply chain.
“He’s very talented,” Trump beamed, flashing that same smirk he used to humiliate Justin Trudeau, slap tariffs on Canadian steel, and casually suggest annexation like a golf course expansion. Carney, ever the compliant technocrat, nodded along like a first-year Goldman Sachs intern pretending to understand derivatives, except this intern might soon be managing Canadians’ digital IDs and your thermostat.
Never mind that Carney once waved the ESG banner like a Vatican thurible. He now calls Trump a “transformational president.”
Trump, never one to miss a good opportunity, clarified the power dynamic: “We don’t really want Canadian cars. Or steel. Or aluminum.” He might as well have added: “But we’ll take your Prime Minister. He comes pre-trained, and best of all — he agrees with me now.”
What happened to the man who said he would “stand up to Trump”? Evidently, he sat down. Hard. The same Carney who once preached planetary ethics from Davos now praises American border walls and fentanyl crackdowns, all while Canadians cheer like extras in a Netflix dystopia. Next step: genuflection before being sworn in as governor of Canada?
“Canada is not for sale,” Carney declared.
Trump chuckled, “Time will tell.”
It was like watching a bad reboot of Deal or No Deal, with Carney as the suitcase and Trump as the host. And the prize? Canada — minus its sovereignty, spine, and possibly Alberta.
There, beneath the presidential seal and centuries of American independence, stood Mark Carney, economic priest of stakeholder capitalism, grinning like he just got invited to Davos: Home Edition. The media called it “a productive meeting.” Americans called it Tuesday.
Liberal voters in Canada were calling it progress. The same people who clutched their pearls at Trump for years were now nodding in approval like trained seals. Annexation Enthusiasts Anonymous chirped, “See how well he did!” on social media and between the walls of obscure squash courts. “He said ‘never ever’ to Trump’s annexation joke!”
Yes — never ever. That was Carney’s Churchillian stand: two limp words, delivered with the conviction of a guy trying to return a blender without a receipt. And even that flopped when Trump shot back with “Time will tell,” reducing Carney’s “never” to a vague suggestion, like “maybe later” or “please don’t tweet that.”
The same man who promised to never capitulate to authoritarianism is now actively exploring how to roll out programmable currency and silence dissenters with Bill C-63, because nothing screams “freedom” like criminalizing mean tweets and tracking your carbon score.
Carney’s contradiction was not just political; it was acting art at its finest. Like watching a man campaign as a vegan, then take a victory lap at a Texas BBQ, praising the ribs and calling the pitmaster “transformational.”
His performance gave Mike Myers a run for his money — though unlike Myers, Carney kept a straight face while selling out a country. And speaking of elbows, remember that time we were told to keep ours up? Carney kept his down — firmly around Ghislaine Maxwell, at least in those old, inconvenient photos with his wife nearby. Now Myers’ name is surfacing in the P. Diddy trial, and Carney’s surfacing as Canada’s method actor-in-chief.
Carney’s handlers in Ottawa are rolling out The Plan™: programmable money, surveillance infrastructure, and a justice system that frees violent offenders but jails pastors protesting Drag Queen Story Hour.
In this new era, “unity” means submission and “humility” means not asking questions. Do not resist. Do not criticize. Do not notice that your Prime Minister is quoting Trump’s fentanyl talking points while calling for digital censorship at home.
Carney’s victory speech was a spiritual sequel to 1984 rewritten by a marketing team: “We are over the shock of the American betrayal, but we should never forget the lessons.” Translation: Forget economic self-determination; just scan your QR code and build back better.
Canadians, meanwhile, got played. Again. They voted for a man who promised to resist Trump’s tariffs and ended up with a friendship without benefits.
Now, with the press distracting the old boomers by the aesthetics of fist bumps and friendly banter, Carney prepares to unveil his pièce de résistance: the Online Harms Act, designed to protect democracy by silencing it.
“Elbows up,” they cried — though it is hard to raise your arms when your head is buried so deep in the sand you can taste the oil reserves.
Trump was right. Liberal leaders are easier to deal with. Especially when they come with a built-in mute button.
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