“When memory fades, comfort takes its place in the sand.” Yesterday, all hell broke loose in the craziness of American politics. And today? Today we mark 81 years since the hell that was Juno Beach, the day when young Canadians stormed the shores of Normandy, not for ego or empire, but for freedom. For democracy. For the world.
And yet this morning, I’m sitting on a beach in Mexico surrounded by tourists arguing over which billionaire grifter is more righteous, Donald Trump or Elon Musk. Honestly, it’s hard to believe this is what we’re actually talking about.
Yesterday, Elon Musk, under pressure, or perhaps just playing one of his usual tech-cult chess games, teased the release of the Epstein files. Yes, those Epstein files. The ones that have been passed around like ghost stories for years. The timing? Not accidental. There are very real whispers that government contracts tied to SpaceX and Tesla may be on shaky ground. And just like that, Musk suddenly found his moral compass, or his panic button. Predictably, Trump couldn’t let it go unchallenged. Musk, once held up by MAGAland as the messiah of free speech and dogecoin-fueled disruption, was now a backstabber. A traitor. And the same people who, less than 24 hours earlier, had practically deified the man were now blaming him for “betraying” Trump.
Let’s not pretend this is about principles. This is about power. Money. Blackmail. Leverage. And control. And I’ve got a front-row seat, poolside. I didn’t say much. I’ve been trying to behave. Trying to enjoy this trip without jumping headfirst into the madness that seems to follow wherever Americans gather in a group larger than three. But I swear, it’s getting harder. The level of disconnection from reality, or maybe the full submission to a manufactured version of it, is exhausting.
I hear conversations that start with Elon and end with Hunter Biden. I hear people still claiming Trump is the victim of a political witch hunt, still insisting he’s the smartest, most persecuted man on the planet. I hear praise for his “brilliance,” while ignoring the fact that he just congratulated the German Chancellor for his English, the same Chancellor who studied and worked in the United States for years and could probably recite Trump’s real estate fraud charges in fluent legalese.
And what’s most alarming is that these aren’t people without resources or access to information. Many of them are educated. Employed. Some are in positions of influence. But somehow, that hasn’t stopped them from falling hook, line, and conspiracy into the abyss of Trumpism.
It’s cult behavior, not just politically, but psychologically. Trump isn’t just a man to these folks; he’s an identity. A belief system. A golden calf with a spray tan. And now, apparently, Musk is being cast out for failing to bow deeply enough.
The irony, of course, is that both of these men have more in common than their fans want to admit: towering egos, trail of lawsuits, disdain for institutions, a thirst for chaos, and an allergy to accountability.
And all of this, this circus, this crumbling pageant of power, is unfolding on the very day we remember Juno Beach.
Eighty-one years ago, young Canadians (and their allies, men many still teenagers, landed on the shores of France in one of the most pivotal battles of the Second World War. They didn’t do it for fame. They didn’t do it to trend on social media. They did it because the world was in peril, and they answered the call.
And today? We’re watching billionaires play truth-or-dare with international secrets while half the internet cheers and the other half shrugs. The contrast is nauseating. What was once sacrifice is now spectacle. What was once duty is now branding. And we wonder why the world feels like it’s teetering.
It’s not just that we’ve allowed people like Trump and Musk to gain this kind of power. It’s that we’ve normalized it. We’ve handed them the megaphone, the microphone, the stage, and called it leadership.
And now, we’re left with a global reality that feels more like a satire. War in Europe. Authoritarianism rising. Environmental collapse accelerating. Democracy unraveling. And instead of facing it head-on, we’re consumed with loyalty tests between two of the most self-serving men alive.
The world is on fire, literally and figuratively, and we’re still arguing about which one of them has the bigger, better truth.
We owe more than this. To history. To each other. And to those who died believing we would do better.
Tonight, I’ll go to dinner. I’ll raise a glass. And I’ll keep listening, because I always do. But I’ll also remember who I am, a Canadian, a believer in democracy, and someone who still thinks that truth matters more than ego.
Because 81 years ago, our young men waded into hell for something real. The least we can do is recognize when we’re living through a cheap, hollow rerun, and call it what it is.
Nancy's Notes 