I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this growing insistence that the world should be divided into “natural” spheres of influence, that geography somehow grants permission for domination. America here. Russia there. China over there. As if power follows longitude lines. As if maps, rather than people, decide who belongs to whom.
Part of the problem, I think, is how we look at the world. A lot of people see it flattened, rectangles on screens, Mercator projections that distort size, distance, and relationship. I’m a globe person. The room I’m sitting in right now has four globes in it. I like maps too, but globes tell the truth in a way flat maps don’t. They force you to see proximity, curvature, connection.
So when people start talking about “natural” spheres of influence, I want to say grab an actual globe.
Because once you do, the story takes on a different view. If Europe is part of the Russia sphere then why not Greenland? If Asia is supposedly one sphere, what does that make Australia? New Zealand? Are they suddenly “Asian” because a strongman says so? Or are they only included when it’s convenient to someone else’s power narrative? Or are these just places waiting to be assigned.
The Americas, after all, are only called the Americas because someone named them that. Geography didn’t vote.
I heard a comment last night, in reference to Venezuela, framed in a tone that immediately rang a bell “that the U.S. were there in Venezuela and they were going in to help the repressed people.” And suddenly, all of it lined up.
As many of you know, I’ve spent a lot of time in Canada’s North, much of it alongside Indigenous peoples, through education, research, and volunteer work and of course aviation. I’ve listened to residential school survivors. I’ve worked in spaces shaped by the Truth and Reconciliation Calls to Action, always asking the same question: what can I do that actually makes a difference?
And one thing has always been unmistakable. The moment someone says, “we’re here to help,” the dynamic changes.
Indigenous peoples in Canada know exactly what that phrase has meant historically. It was spoken by churches, governments, and corporations. By people who arrived convinced they were superior, convinced they knew better, and uninterested in the cultures, governance systems, and sovereignty already in place.
“We’re here to help” has never meant help. It has meant assimilation, extraction and control.
We soften that history now. When we hear Hudson Bay Company we think of striped blankets and heritage branding. We rarely talk about the Hudson’s Bay Company as a corporate force that exploited Indigenous labour, disrupted economies, and entrenched colonial power structures. That part of the story is uncomfortable and essential.
Because it’s the same logic we’re seeing again. Venezuela, Latin America, The Middle East, and Greenland. Different places. Same posture. The help is always conditional. You can have it as long as you accept our economic priorities, our political systems and our cultural expectations. As long as your land serves our needs. As long as resistance can be reframed as instability or ignorance.
Greenland is potentially a more modern example. A small Indigenous population on a vast landmass rich in strategic value. We’re told the United States needs it for “security,” despite already operating a military base there and having full access through allied cooperation. The people of Greenland never asked for this. Historically, they never have to.
And now that logic is edging closer to home. They haven’t yet said “we’re here to help” about Canada. Instead, they’ve said something just as revealing. That we can’t survive without them.
That our economy depends on them. That our future depends on them. That our sovereignty is negotiable because of proximity, resources, or reliance. The ‘we’re here to help’ comes next. And that’s the danger.
Because once you accept the premise that you cannot stand on your own, you’ve already surrendered something essential. Canada does not need saving.
I am deeply proud of this country, imperfect, unfinished, and still learning. Proud of our commitment, however incomplete and flawed, to reconciliation. Proud that “Canadian” is not defined by race or religion. Proud that our identity is not built on supremacy.
So no, you don’t get to redraw this tapestry. You don’t get to tell us who we are, what we need, or who benefits from our land.
This land is my land. Not your land!
And to our Prime Minister, keep getting on the plane. Keep building alliances. Keep doing the unglamorous work of protecting sovereignty in a world that seems increasingly eager to repeat its worst instincts. Because we’ve seen this pattern before. And to Donald Trump and those who think like him: don’t tell us you’re coming to help or that we need you. We know exactly how that story ends.
Nancy's Notes 