Nancy's Notes

I have spent the last several hours listening, reading, and trying to separate confirmed fact from broadcast momentum. There are now widespread reports, including from Al Jazeera citing Israeli sources, that Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has been killed. It is unquestionably a historic moment. But history is not the same thing as clarity.

The United Nations Secretary General has warned that military action carries the risk of igniting a chain of events no one can control in one of the most volatile regions in the world. He went further and said that the peace of the world could be significantly impacted by today’s events. That is not rhetorical language. That is diplomatic alarm.

Let me also be clear about something else. Ayatollah Ali Khamenei presided over a regime that has brutally suppressed its own people and destabilized the region for decades. That truth does not require hesitation. But more than one thing can be true at the same time. A regime can be oppressive, a leader can be dangerous, and a military escalation can still be strategically reckless. Those realities do not cancel each other out.

Here is where I struggle. If Iranian nuclear capability was significantly degraded last June, as we were told, why is this moment suddenly urgent? If the threat was contained then, what changed now? And if it was not contained then, were we misled? These are not partisan questions. They are questions of credibility. I know to say distraction as in Epstein for Trump and Palestine for Israel is not the factual based presentation I strive for but I can’t help going there.

The President has used the word war. If this is war, then Congress has a constitutional role. That role does not disappear because timing is sensitive or intelligence is classified. If unelected members of a cabinet can be cleared to receive intelligence, then elected representatives of the American people can be cleared as well. Going to war cannot be a matter of executive instinct alone.

And if the Supreme Leader is in fact dead, what does that actually change? He was eighty six years old so the regime would be keenly aware of his life expectancy. Iran is a layered system with succession planning. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps retains operational power. Removing a figurehead does not automatically dismantle an institution. It can just as easily radicalize it further.

Retaliation has already spread beyond a single battlefield. Cities in the region are feeling the impact. Military bases are on alert. The Strait of Hormuz sits there as an economic tripwire. Twenty percent of the world’s oil moves through that corridor. This is not a contained event.

Trump promised no new wars. He promised a focus at home yet today we are hearing the language of war. I am frightened by the scale of what is being set in motion. Not because the Iranian regime is defensible. It is not. But because decapitation is not the same thing as strategy. Regime change is not a slogan. It is a mechanism. And that mechanism has not been explained.

A king may be gone. Perhaps removing a king feels decisive but it is not the same thing as winning the game. The board remains, the pieces remain, the alliances remain, the grievances remain and the institutions that hold power inside Iran remain. Strategy is not the capture. It is what follows. And that part has not been explained. Is this the beginning of yet another forever war, one that slowly widens until alliances are pulled in and treaty obligations are tested? If this escalates and American forces are struck directly, NATO consultations are not theoretical. Canada is not a spectator in that scenario.

The world is watching because this may not be only about Iran. It may not be only about the Middle East. The economic shockwaves, the alliance structures, the great power calculations, the precedent being set about leadership strikes and regime change, all of it extends far beyond one border.

The question is no longer whether a king has fallen. The question is how far the consequences of that move will travel.

I know. I am forever trying to find a fairy tale to explain modern politics. Maybe it is because fairy tales make hard things easier to see. Maybe it is because the stories we were told as children were never really for children at all. They were about power, risk and survival. So bear with me.

Yesterday at the Economic Club of Canada, Pierre Poilievre delivered two speeches inside one.

The first was Gravitas Pierre. He managed to present himself as measured and calm. Quoting Marcus Aurelius and saying Donald Trump was wrong about trade. Calling the “51st state” line unacceptable. Proposing an all party committee on the USMCA review. Speaking about stability and focusing on what Canada can control at home.

I listened carefully. I always do. I have written before that if you believe the government is getting something wrong, then tell us what you would do differently. That is fair. So I was prepared to hear him out.

The second speech was Strategic Contrast Pierre. That was the part aimed directly at Mark Carney. That was where he warned against declaring a permanent rupture with the United States in favour of a strategic partnership with Beijing. That was where he said Canada’s prosperity and security are inseparable from a stable relationship with the United States.

And this is where the real debate lives. No serious Canadian wants a rupture with the United States. It is our largest trading partner, our defence ally, our neighbour in geography and history. Our supply chains are integrated. Our energy systems are connected. Our agricultural exports move south and beyond.

But integration is not immunity.

The current government’s argument has not been to replace Washington with Beijing. It has been that the global order is shifting, that American politics has moved toward protectionism and transactional leverage, and that Canada must diversify accordingly. Diversification is not betrayal. I see it as more of an insurance.

Out here in Western Canada, we understand insurance. Farmers hedge against drought. Energy producers hedge against price swings. You do not tie your entire year to one unpredictable weather system and call that loyalty. You plan for volatility.

Which brings me back to the fairy tale.

In The Three Little Pigs, one pig builds with straw because it is quick and easy, assuming tomorrow will look like yesterday. The second builds with sticks, sturdier but still dependent on the hope that the environment will remain manageable. The third builds with brick, not because he dislikes the wolf, but because he understands that the wolf is a structural fact.

The wolf does not respond to sentiment. It does not care about tone. It tests whatever stands in front of it.

That is the divergence in front of us. One diagnosis says this disruption is temporary and the old house will stand again with a bit of calm and cooperation. The other says the disruption is structural and that we must reinforce before the next gust of wind arrives.

Recalibration means strengthening ties with Europe, building alliances with other middle powers, reinforcing defence commitments, expanding trade in Asia beyond any single country, and building economic sovereignty at home so leverage runs both ways. That is not anti American. It is pro Canadian.

I know some readers assume they already know which political box I sit in. Over almost fifty years of voting, they would likely be surprised. I have voted based on leadership and competence each time. I do not cheer for jerseys only.

So yes, I listened to Pierre Poilievre with an open mind. He deserved that. He showed discipline. He moderated his tone. He stepped more seriously into foreign policy territory. But be assured I am NEVER going to be a Poilievre supporter. I am just making sure I listen so I can write from an objective position.

Lowering the volume is not the same as reinforcing the structure. Canada is a trading nation of almost forty million people woven into global capital markets, defence alliances, and supply chains. Our farmers, our energy workers, our manufacturers, our ports, and our Arctic sovereignty depend on resilience in a world that is less predictable than it was twenty years ago.

We can prefer the house we remember, the one that felt sturdy enough in calmer weather, or we can acknowledge that the storm patterns have changed and build accordingly. Canada does not get to rely on fairy tales about how things used to work. It gets consequences if it misjudges the wind.

I thought I ordered three lemons. Just three. Not a citrus stimulus package. Not a small Mediterranean export strategy. Just three lemons to go with chicken tenders and maybe a Caesar salad if I was feeling ambitious. Apparently what I actually ordered was bulk optimism.

The delivery arrived and I opened the bag to discover mesh sacks. Plural. Lemons. Limes. Enough vitamin C to carry a minor nation through flu season. I stood there staring at the counter like I had accidentally opened a roadside produce stand in my own kitchen. At no point did I check the price. At no point did I notice the word “bag.” At no point did I pause and think, self, this is Costco. Since when do they deal in singles? No. I clicked confidently.

This is entirely on me.

Somewhere in the digital grocery universe there is an algorithm that absolutely knew what it was doing. You want three lemons? Of course you do. Here are three bags. And while we’re at it, have two sacks of limes. Go big or go home.

And somewhere in all of this citrus abundance there is probably a subtle political lesson, because sometimes you think you’re ordering just a little change and then the truck backs up and unloads wholesale transformation onto your front step.

I do occasionally wonder if some folks in the United States thought they were ordering three lemons and instead received an entire warehouse of unpredictability. Maybe they didn’t read the quantity carefully. Maybe they assumed how different could it be.

Meanwhile, up here, I would argue Canadians are fairly savvy shoppers. When we placed our order for Carney, we knew we were getting steady hands, spreadsheets, and bulk fiscal frameworks. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t single-serve drama. But we checked the label. We understood the sizing. We knew it was going to arrive in institutional quantities of policy.

And since I apparently cannot write anything without making it political, here is a small note to my fellow Albertans. When that promised, or threatened, referendum list finally lands in front of us, read the fine print. Carefully. Because as I have just demonstrated in spectacular citrus fashion, one small word like “bag” can make a very big difference.

Did I learn a lesson? Yes. Will I still order from Costco as though it might suddenly embrace minimalist quantities? Also yes. But next time I click “three,” I will make absolutely certain I know whether I am buying garnish… or governing philosophy.

In the meantime, if anyone needs lemons, I appear to be running a very well-stocked democracy.

I said I would watch it so that I could write about it. I did. It was not easy to sit through, but I did promise… It was not easy, but if we are going to speak honestly about leadership, we have to be willing to watch, to hear, and to reflect.

Credit where it is due. Donald Trump did not go completely off the rails. He delivered a long speech and stayed mostly within the prepared lines. His supporters likely felt reassured. He appeared energetic. He appeared controlled. That alone probably achieved part of what the night was designed to do. But performance is not the same as truth.

Before anything else, let us clear up one small but telling idea. Presidents do not win Olympic hockey games. Teams win hockey games. Athletes win medals. Leadership is direction, steadiness, and truth spoken with responsibility. Nations are not defined by borrowed victories.

Much of the speech repeated claims that have already been challenged by independent fact checkers. On Iran, the president suggested that the country has never publicly said it would forgo nuclear weapons. In reality, Iranian officials have made such statements more than once in public forums. What is said behind closed doors remains unknown, but publicly, those words have been spoken.

On crime and immigration, a tragic killing was once again linked to open borders. Available reporting indicates the accused in that case was born in the United States. It was a terrible crime. It was not proof of a broken border. The repeated claim that thousands of murderers were allowed into the country under a single administration has also been shown to distort long term data that spans multiple decades and presidencies.

And then there were the moments that revealed something deeper. One observer described the speech as a tedious, tiresome performance in which the president seemed to be boring everyone, perhaps most of all himself. Another pointed to the more troubling theme of the night, his continued effort to erode confidence in democratic elections. Claims that cheating is rampant, that opponents only win through fraud, and that the system itself cannot be trusted are not small political talking points. They strike at the foundation of democracy itself.

Facts matter. Especially when spoken from the most powerful podium in the world. Still, facts alone are not what stayed with me. What stayed with me was tone.

There were moments in the speech meant to show empathy. Veterans were honoured. Service was recognized. Sacrifice was acknowledged. These moments matter and they should.

But empathy cannot be selective. In the same speech, other human beings were reduced to categories, to threats, to problems. Immigrants spoken of not as people with stories, but as dangers. Undocumented does not erase dignity. It does not erase humanity. A leader cannot elevate the humanity of one group while diminishing another. Compassion is not something that can be divided and distributed only where it is politically convenient.

Leadership is direction. Leadership is steadiness. Leadership is truth spoken with responsibility. While the speech framed America as broken, Canada continues its quieter work. The measure of this country called Canada has never been based on how loudly it declares strength. It is measured by whether its institutions hold, whether its facts stand, and whether its people remain bound by a shared commitment to dignity.

The United States has long been seen as a beacon. Imperfect, yes, but a light. A country that, despite its struggles, tried to move forward and in doing so inspired others to believe that democratic institutions could endure. Yet listening last night, one would think it was a shattered and hopeless place until one man arrived to rescue it. That is the part that troubles me. When a nation begins to believe that everything before was failure, that everything around it is a threat, and that only one voice can restore greatness, something deeper begins to change. The light does not grow stronger. It begins to flicker. And when that light flickers, it is not only Americans who feel it. The world does. As many have said this week: “I would rather be a citizen of Canada with a silver medal than a citizen of the United States with a gold medal.”

I grew up on the coast. Lighthouses were never symbols to me. They were real, solid and necessary. They stood through storms, through darkness, through uncertainty. They held their light so others could find their way. The tragedy is now that a nation is allowing a light to dim in believing that a loud voice can be more important than what has been their compass and direction for almost 250 years.

The speech was called the State of the Union. But the state of the union, beyond the name of the speech, now feels like a shoreline where the lighthouse light is fading. A world without a steady beacon is a far more dangerous place.

And when the storm rises, it is not the loudest voice that guides us home. It is the lighthouse that still has the strength to shine.

I have travelled to many warm places in my life, the Bahamas, Hawaii, Florida, different corners of Mexico, beautiful places, all of them. But happiness is not always about beauty. Sometimes it is about belonging. And for reasons I cannot fully explain, when I arrive in Puerto Vallarta, something inside me settles. My breath feels deeper. My body feels lighter. The noise of life softens.

I have been going there for decades now, long enough for it to become part of my story. Over time, our connection has grown even more meaningful, as my youngest son’s life has become intertwined with this beautiful community through someone he cares about deeply who was born and raised there. What was once simply a place I loved has become something more personal, more rooted.

Some people say they have a spirit animal, something that grounds them, something that feels like home in a complicated world. I have something different. I have a spirit place on this planet. Puerto Vallarta is that place for me. It is where I feel most myself, most at peace, most whole.

Just a week ago I was there again. I walked familiar streets. I listened to the sounds that now feel like memory. My husband could not be with me this time, and yes, his absence was felt, but my joy was still real, because this place itself brings me calm.

I am not writing about headlines today. There are many voices doing that. I am writing about something else, but rather about connection, about loyalty, about the places that steady us when the world feels loud.

There is something about time there, the way it slows, the way the air feels softer in your lungs, the way your body remembers how to rest and your spirit remembers how to heal. It is not just escape. It is restoration.

This morning, I had already planned to book my next visit. As I watched events unfold and uncertainty filled the day, I paused but I did not change my mind so book I did. That trip is still a couple of months away, and I believe, as I always have, that things will be okay. And so, I will return. Not recklessly. Not blindly. But intentionally.

Because Puerto Vallarta is not just where I vacation. It is where I breathe differently. And because the people there, kind, resilient, generous people will be facing difficult economic days again after already rebuilding from so much loss after Covid. Tourism is not just leisure there; it is livelihood, dignity, and hope. My presence will not change the world, but perhaps, in a small way, it contributes to theirs.

Some may not understand this choice. That’s alright. We each choose what brings us peace, especially as life teaches us how precious joy truly is.

I cannot fully explain the magic of Puerto Vallarta. But if you know, you know. And when calm returns, so will I.

Nancy

There are moments when Alberta feels less like a province and more like a windsock in a prairie gale. This week was one of those moments. Our premier stepped up to the microphone to unveil a fall referendum and managed to say a great deal while explaining very little. Nine questions, we are told. Nine. Immigration, courts, federal powers, social programs, constitutional rewrites. A political weather system moving in all directions at once. Many of the ideas being floated are either already within provincial jurisdiction, legally impossible, or constitutionally fantasy. But clarity was never the objective. Distraction was.

And the direction keeps shifting. Let us start with immigration. We are told newcomers are overwhelming housing, healthcare, social programs. The familiar refrain. Yet in very recent history, in 2024, this same premier asked Ottawa to increase immigration to Alberta. At the time it was economic growth. Now it is crisis. Apparently policy, like a prairie gust, changes depending on which way the wind is blowing. How convenient.

While Albertans worry about emergency room closures, crowded classrooms, and grocery bills that now require emotional preparation, we are handed a referendum roadmap that reads like a constitutional storm warning. Provinces choosing judges for the Court of Kings bench, opting out of federal programs while still collecting federal money. Provincial laws overriding federal law. It is less cooperative federalism and more atmospheric disturbance.

Canada works, not perfectly but fundamentally, because we share a baseline. The same rights, the same protections and the same understanding that geography should not determine whether your child gets healthcare, education, or dignity. Pull that thread and the fabric weakens.

Then comes equalization, that perennial lightning rod. The myth says Alberta subsidizes the country. The reality is simpler. Canadians pay federal taxes based on income. Higher incomes contribute more. That is not punishment. That is math. Every functioning country redistributes to ensure no region falls below a basic standard of services. Alberta itself redistributes internally every single day. A small rural county with a lower tax base does not receive less healthcare because Calgary generates more revenue. We pool resources so dignity is not determined by postal code. That is not charity. That is how a country functions.

But facts do not whip as dramatically as fear.

When deficits grow and budgets tighten, it becomes easier to point outward. To Ottawa, to immigrants, to the courts or to anyone standing downwind. Distraction is cheaper than governance. Shift the narrative and hope no one checks the instruments.

And yes, the comparisons to the United States are becoming harder to ignore. Not identical. History never copies perfectly. But the tone is familiar. Institutions questioned. Courts framed as obstacles. Grievance sharpened into identity. We are watching a version of that script drift northward.

Meanwhile, south of the border, the United States Supreme Court has reminded a would be king that power has limits. The tariff chaos continues, and this particular ruling will not significantly change Canada’s current position because the tariffs affecting us sit largely outside that decision. So while Washington wrestles with its own turbulence, our immediate economic impact remains limited.

Which means we have no excuse not to focus on what is happening here. Countries rarely collapse in dramatic explosions. They erode quietly. One reframed narrative at a time. One redirected frustration at a time. One gust that nudges the heading just slightly off course.

I have lived in Alberta most of my life. I know its stubbornness and its generosity. I know the prairie sky that can look calm one minute and dangerous the next. This province built energy, farms, businesses, communities. It did not build walls. It did not thrive by chasing every passing storm front.

The referendum spectacle will continue. The budget will land. Oil prices will be blamed. Immigration will be blamed. Ottawa will be blamed. Everyone will be blamed except the people holding the controls.

And while all of that noise fills the air, I find myself thinking about heading.

About a country still moving forward. A country led federally by a Prime Minister who understands that steady hands matter more than dramatic gestures. That governing is not about whipping up wind, but about holding course.

Because somewhere between the prairie horizon and the national fabric, something is being tested. Not whether storms exist. They always will. But whether we chase them.

Aviation teaches you that not every wind is your enemy. Some lift you. Some slow you. Some force you to adjust in flight. And sometimes the wisest decision is to stay steady, keep control, and avoid turning turbulence into a spin. Pilots have long said there are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old bold pilots. The lesson is simple. Respect the wind. Hold your heading.

The world has enough storms right now. Alberta does not need to become one.

I fell asleep with the television on last night. Not a wise decision in a world that insists on making news while normal people are trying to rest.

At some point in the night, I woke up, not fully awake, not fully asleep, to voices drifting from the screen and two things lodging themselves firmly into my half-conscious brain.

The first: a report that former Prince Andrew had been arrested in connection with the Epstein case. Now, that is not something one processes at three in the morning with clarity, and I will save any deep dive for later, likely in a few days, after coffee, after facts, and after the fog of overnight headlines lifts. But in that strange space between sleep and wakefulness, one thought quietly surfaced: Well… at least somewhere, someone appears to be taking the Epstein file seriously.

Despite the light tone of this post, that matters. Encouraging, even. Though I will admit I hold no particular illusions about how such accountability would unfold in the United States. That, however, is a deeper conversation for another day, and it will come.

Because the second thing filtering into my brain was something entirely different, a dramatic advertisement announcing Donald Trump’s first State of the Union of his second term, scheduled for February 24th. And just like that, sleep was over. I stared at the ceiling, wondering how this could possibly be his first. The man has spoken, declared, rallied, commented, re-commented, repeated, and re-repeated so continuously that the idea of a “first” feels almost philosophical. At what point does constant talking simply become background noise?

Which, naturally, triggered the internal spiral. I have to watch it. No, I absolutely cannot watch it. But how can I write if I don’t watch it? But why would I watch when I already know the script?
But what if something shocking happens? But what if nothing does and I lose two hours I will never get back listening to applause on cue?

Clearly, we all know the choreography. The entrance, the aisle walk, the rising, the clapping, the camera cuts and the solemn nodding. The commentators already drafting their reactions before the first sentence is spoken. Somewhere between politics and theatre lives the State of the Union, part governance, part performance, part endurance test for the rest of us. And yes, I chuckle, because we are, undeniably, living in a ridiculous world.

It also made me think, inevitably, about leadership styles closer to home. Our Prime Minister communicates often, but not always with words, and sometimes more than people realize, yet without the theatrical drumroll. Fewer grand entrances, fewer standing ovations, more steady cadence. Less spectacle, more signal. Different style entirely. As I am someone who has never been accused of using too few words, perhaps there is a lesson in restraint. Then again, perhaps not. We all speak in our own rhythms. Some rhythms require fewer trumpets.

But politics never pauses for long, and yesterday delivered another reminder: the floor crossing in our own Canadian House of Commons.

This is not new. Floor crossings have happened many times since Confederation. Sometimes quiet, sometimes dramatic, always controversial. Conviction, strategy, timing, the explanations change, but the practice does not. Canadian parliamentary life has always included movement across the aisle.

What fascinates, as always, is the reaction. Courageous when it helps your side. Outrageous when it does not. A principled decision one moment, a betrayal the next, depending entirely on where one happens to sit. Canadian politics may be calmer than some, but it has never been free of irony.

And yet, today feels oddly light. Perhaps it is the snow outside, that deep winter stillness wrapping everything in quiet, like a kind of national chicken soup for the soul. The world feels softer in the cold. Headlines seem less sharp. Even political theatre feels, momentarily, muffled by falling snow.

So yes, this has been a lighter reflection than most. I did not expect to wake in the night to royal headlines, and that story, serious, complex, and far from finished, will deserve its own careful examination soon enough.

But for now, here at home, life continues. Snow ended and cold weather warning tempered with sunshine. Coffee is brewing and the television is still talking. The truth is on February 24th I will likely be watching that State of The Union address hands hovering over the keyboard, watching… or not watching… in this strange, serious, occasionally absurd world we all share.

Because in times like these, when the noise is loud, the snow is deep, and the theatre never really stops, sometimes the sharpest clarity comes not from outrage… but from a quiet smile, a steady pen, and the simple refusal to mistake performance for substance.

Canada is not the same country it was even a few short years ago. The world has shifted, alliances are being tested, and the comfortable assumptions we once lived under are fading faster than many expected. Today’s announcement of Canada’s new Defence Industrial Strategy is not simply about military spending or procurement. It is about sovereignty, resilience, and understanding that defence is not just a cost of nationhood, it is part of its foundation.

For most of my life, ‘defence’ was something Canadians rarely discussed. We spoke proudly about peacekeeping, diplomacy, and cooperation, but not about readiness, industrial strength, or whether the people wearing our flag on their shoulder had what they actually needed. That silence is ending, and it should.

Much of today’s public conversation gravitates toward what is visible and dramatic. Fighter jets capture imagination. The F-35 versus Gripen debate feels strategic, consequential, even exciting. But a military is not built on aircraft alone. It is built on systems that work, equipment that functions, and the quiet reliability of tools that must perform when everything else fails. A howitzer may not sound impressive. A serviced vehicle does not trend online. Functional communications do not make headlines. Yet these are the bones of readiness, and without them, nothing else matters.

For too long, too much of our equipment has simply aged. Ships, vehicles, bases, aircraft, and even the tools used by our reserves, some dating back generations, have been stretched beyond what should ever have been acceptable. Serviceability is not jargon. It is the difference between preparedness and vulnerability. When Canadians serve, whether at home, in Latvia, in the Arctic, or alongside NATO partners, they deserve equipment that works every time, not just eventually.

I often speak about aviation because it is part of my family’s story, but our connection to service has never been only about airplanes. In my family, there have been soldiers, artillery, pilots, water specialists (engineering corps) and others who served in ways that were not always visible but always essential. That lens shapes how I see this moment. A military is defined not by its most glamorous equipment, but by the strength of every piece working together.

This is why the philosophical shift matters. Canada is no longer focused solely on buying defence equipment. It is speaking about building it, sustaining it, and controlling it. Investing in Canadian industry is not isolation. It is sovereignty. A country that cannot maintain or produce the tools of its own defence slowly becomes dependent, and in today’s world, dependence carries consequences.

But sovereignty does not mean standing alone. The opposite is true. The phrase today that echoes most clearly through the press release and speech is simple but powerful: “like-minded allies.” In a world where the rules-based order is weakening and global instability is rising, who we stand with matters. Canada builds where we are strong, partners where collaboration strengthens us, and buys where necessary, always ensuring Canadian control and Canadian benefit. Strength at home, strength with allies. Both are required now.

That reality is especially true in the North. Canada’s Arctic is no longer a distant, quiet expanse on a map. It is strategic, contested, and central to our future security. Building real Arctic capability means thinking differently about mobility, surveillance, infrastructure, and sustainment in one of the most demanding environments on earth. It means readiness that reflects geography, climate, and the world as it is now.

When I supported Mark Carney last April, it was because the global environment was shifting quickly and Canada needed steady, serious leadership. What none of us could fully predict was just how turbulent that environment would become, nor how clearly Canada would begin repositioning itself within it. No leader delivers everything. No strategy solves every problem. But clarity, discipline, and purpose matter. Not reaction. Preparation.

This strategy is about more than defence. It is about confidence. It is about jobs, industry, innovation, and the realization that Canada can still build, still lead, and still stand firmly on its own feet while standing shoulder to shoulder with trusted partners. Defence capability and economic strength are not separate conversations. They are the same conversation.

Yes, fighter jets matter. Modern aircraft matter. But so do artillery systems, cyber capability, logistics, shipbuilding, space, and the steady rebuilding of readiness across the board. Real security is built piece by piece, system by system, decision by decision, alongside those who share our values and our resolve.

And here is the truth that now sits quietly beneath all of it.

Canada has woken up.

We no longer assume the world will remain stable. We no longer assume others will carry the burden. We are rebuilding readiness, strengthening sovereignty, and turning our attention north, where the Arctic is no longer just a frontier, but a defining responsibility. The realities of the North demand different thinking, different equipment, and preparedness that reflects the world as it is, not as it once was.

In my own life, when I choose the people I trust, the people I stand beside, they do not have to think exactly like me. They may challenge me, question me, even disagree with me. But they must share something deeper. Values, stability and reliability. A sense that when the moment comes, they will stand, not waver.

Nations are no different.

Canada will stand strong, build at home, defend its North, and move forward with “like-minded allies.”

And this time our beloved Canada is wide awake.

On this Family Day, I found myself reaching back to Christmas 2011. My oldest son had just graduated high school, my youngest was finishing elementary school, and tucked in with their gifts was something far less exciting to young boys at the time, a poem that I had written them.

I am not sure it meant much to them then. But today, in a world that feels more complicated and demanding, those words feel different even to me. Maybe this is parenting. We plant seeds and hope that someday they take root.

The photos I am sharing are not of the men they are today; they would never agree to that, but of the little boys who once filled our home with noise and laughter. The boys who grew into two fine young men, I could not be prouder of.

We were never a traditional family. Eclectic, unconventional, a little unusual and perhaps that is exactly what family is meant to be. Through my strong opinions and very sharp views of the world, my family has always been there. They listen, they challenge, they tolerate, and somehow we remain anchored to one another.

Our children face a different world from the one we knew. More complex, more uncertain, more demanding. All any parent can do is hope they gave us something steady, a compass, a foundation, a quiet inner voice to guide us when the world feels loud.

Today, I am sharing the poem exactly as I wrote it. Not one word changed.

To My Sons…. Did I tell you?

Now that you are almost grown, I look back and ask myself….

Did I tell you all that I meant to tell you, all that I felt was important?

Did I tell you or was it lost in the shuffle of our everyday lives, the busy full days when I taught and didn’t know it. What did I teach? Was it strong? Was it good? Will it root you in something real that will allow you to grow with a firm and sound foundation?
Did I tell you to love, not with a fair-weather love, but with a love that accepts and cherishes unconditionally? Love not with a quick and passing love, but with a love that is a quiet peace within your heart.
Did I tell you to be thoughtful? Not to be a martyr or doormat to be trod upon, but to be aware of other people and their needs, to meet others with awareness and within your own framework be able to meet them halfway and on occasion go the other half joyfully.
Did I tell you to be courteous, not to display empty manners with no meaning but to live the courtesy born of caring? And to express this caring through the small formalities and customs born of the years.
Did I tell you to be bold? To be not afraid of the unknown, but to live life to the fullest, and meet each new experience with joy and anticipation.
And did I tell you to be cautious? To temper your daring and sense of adventure with good judgement and consideration.
Did I tell you to serve other people if only in a small way? There is growth and satisfaction in being part of something larger than yourself and your life will be richer for knowing this.
Did I tell you to maintain a sense of the past? To recall and uphold all that is best and meaningful in our country and in our society. But never be afraid to speak out where you don’t believe or where there is room for improvement. Work for what you believe, but work in a positive way within a structure of order and reason.
Did I tell you to find a part of nature that speaks to you then know it intimately and well. For some it is a mountain peak, for some a windswept beach. Find your own and in it find your restoration.
Did I tell you to laugh, to dance, to sing? There is a lot in life that is hard, but take it as it comes and find the good…and make time to dance.
Did I tell you to be creative and explore the seed within you? Find your creative spirit and let it grow.
And did I tell you the challenge of being a man-the challenge of balancing your worlds?- the need to achieve and the need to nurture-the need to be strong and the need to be tender-the need to meet the tests that life brings yet always keep love at the centre: letting it be the star by which you set your sail.
Did I tell you these things as we went along the way? If I did then I am humbly grateful. If I did not than you must choose for yourself. If it has meaning than accept it and make it your own. If it does not, discard it. Your life is yours to build as you choose
And did I tell you….That I hope it will be a good life

For a few days, my writing stopped, not because there were no words, but because some moments demand silence before they deserve language. Canada has just lived through one of those moments. Like so many across this country, I have been trying to process the weight of it, the grief of it, the humanity of it.

Today is not about the tragedy itself. Today is about what rose in response.

Look at this image. When I first saw it, I thought it might be artificial, something constructed, something symbolic. But it is not. It is real. It is raw. It is what grief looks like when a country stands together.

In this photograph are leaders from different political parties, people who challenge each other daily, who disagree deeply, who debate fiercely. Yet here they stand, hand in hand, united not by ideology, but by humanity. In grief, in respect, in shared responsibility for the people they serve.

This is Canada. This is what Canadians look like when it matters most. We are a country shaped by distance, by cold, by hardship, by geography that has never made life easy. Survival here has always required resilience. But resilience alone does not define us. Compassion does. The choice to stand together does. The understanding that there is a time for debate and a time for unity does. And in this moment, unity came first.

Our Prime Minister reached across political lines. The Leader of the Opposition stood beside him. The Governor General stood with them. Leaders from different regions, with different perspectives and philosophies, came together to say one simple thing to a hurting community: Canada is with you. You are not alone.

It matters not just to those directly affected, but to every Canadian watching, and to the world beyond our borders. Because this is who we are when it counts. Not divided, or political. Just humans in shared grief.

Yes, the debates will return as they should. Democracy demands disagreement. But democracy also demands wisdom, and wisdom means knowing when the fight pauses, when compassion leads, when humanity must come before politics.

This image has already been shared widely, and so it should be. Not as a symbol of sorrow alone, but as a reminder of strength, of dignity and of a country that, in its hardest moments, still chooses unity over division.

Canada is sovereign, resilient, and compassionate.

And in this moment of grief, we are standing together.

I could not be prouder to be Canadian.

The world has long known this about Canada. But if anyone, anywhere, has forgotten, and for those who still do not recognize what civility and grace look like, consider this your reminder.

This Is Who We Are!!