Nancy's Notes

Look, Canada’s on fire—literally and figuratively. We’ve got a housing crisis, Arctic sovereignty threats, and the United States acting like it’s shopping for countries on Facebook Marketplace. And yet, Pierre Poilievre keeps waking up angry at the CBC like it personally foreclosed on his childhood treehouse. I grew up in a time and place where there were three TV channels. That’s it. CTV, CBC English, and CBC French. If the wind shifted or your antenna got bumped by a curious raccoon, you were down to fuzz. The CBC wasn’t just part of my childhood—it was the soundtrack. The Friendly Giant, Chez Hélène, Bobino, and Mr. Dressup raised more Canadians than any government childcare policy ever did. CBC Radio was on in the kitchen before school and on the long drive to the cottage. As It Happens, Quirks and Quarks, The Vinyl Café—these weren’t just shows. They were national rituals. Now people want to scrap it. They say it’s “irrelevant” or “biased.” Right. Because we definitely don’t need publicly funded journalism, cultural programming, or national coverage in 2025—what with all the totally unbiased, not-at-all algorithmically poisoned content people are getting from TikTok and YouTube conspiracy influencers. And those who claim it’s just a mouthpiece for the Liberals? Curious logic. The CBC isn’t perfect, but it’s one of the last institutions that still bothers to show up in Iqaluit, Prince Rupert, and Wabush. It covers Indigenous voices without needing to hashtag it for clicks. It broadcasts in eight languages in the North. It gives us The Fifth Estate, Marketplace, The National, Still Standing, Sort Of, Bones of Crows, and even Run the Burbs. It finds you where you are—radio, TV, streaming, podcast, app, and yes, even YouTube. And let’s put this “Liberal propaganda” thing to bed. This Hour Has 22 Minutes has roasted Trudeau so many times they could legally call it a BBQ. Meanwhile, George Stroumboulopoulos—yes, the leather jacket CBC guy—has openly supported electoral reform and even praised elements of Conservative climate policy when it was rooted in market mechanisms. Shocking, I know: nuance. It’s about silencing a voice that tells Canada’s story—all of it, even the uncomfortable parts. The CBC must remain. Because without it, there’s no This Hour Has 22 Minutes, no The Current, no The National, and no real alternative to American noise. You want to defund that? Be honest. It’s not about budget cuts. It’s about silencing a voice that tells Canada’s story—all of it, even the uncomfortable parts.

Pull that thread called CBC from the Canadian tapestry, and you don’t just lose programming—you unravel a shared national identity.

I really had something entirely different I wanted to talk about today. But apparently, the algorithm has spoken—and now we need to address the epidemic of people claiming to have read Mark Carney’s book ‘Values’ based solely on a single meme and a hunch. Welcome to Canada’s most exclusive book club: So, Mark Carney did write a book. You’ve probably heard of it because someone in your Facebook feed quoted one line—something about moral capitalism or climate finance or how the market doesn’t know your Grandmother’s worth unless she’s a condo. Now, let’s be clear. Saying you “read Values” because you saw a meme with Carney’s face and a pull quote is like saying you read ‘War and Peace’ because you skimmed the Wikipedia plot summary and still have no idea who Prince Andrei is. ‘Values’ is 600+ pages of economic philosophy, global finance, climate risk frameworks, central banking minutiae, and yes, actual moral reflection. It’s the kind of book that says “read me” only if you think “quantitative easing” sounds like a fun Friday night.

And no, it doesn’t come with pictures. Or a TikTok summary. Or a chapter called “How I’ll Beat Pierre Poilievre at Debate Club.”

It’s dense. Like, make-a-strong-coffee-and-question-your-educational-background dense. Carney isn’t trying to write a self-help manual. He’s trying to argue that we’re in a values crisis because we’ve confused price with worth—and he does this with charts, footnotes, and the occasional side-eye at neoliberalism.

Here’s what the book is actually about: How markets took over our morals, why climate change is an economic risk (not just a weather inconvenience), the failure of leadership in a crisis (hi, 2008), the need to rebuild institutions with integrity. (Yes, he means government. Yes, that includes Canada.), and how, for the love of Milton Friedman, we need to measure more than GDP.

It’s part memoir, part manifesto, part “here’s how I kept the world from collapsing (twice).” But it’s definitely not beach reading—unless your idea of a beach read involves international monetary policy and a deep dive into climate finance disclosures.

TL;DR: (too long didn’t read for us older folks) Here’s the facts folks-‘Values’ is not for the faint of brain. You didn’t read it if you just quoted one paragraph on Twitter (X). It is not a vibes-based book. It’s a “let’s fix capitalism before it eats us all” kind of book. Apparently, reading ‘Values’ now means confidently misquoting it while claiming Mark Carney said: ‘We need to abolish capitalism,’ ‘Canada should be run by bankers,’ or my personal favourite—‘The WEF controls your thermostat.’ Hate to break it to you, but if your take on ‘Values’ fits on a bumper sticker or was shouted by a guy with a YouTube channel called ‘Woke No More,’ you didn’t read the book—you read the comments.”And if you did read it? Respect. You’ve earned your honorary PhD in Boring Things That Actually Matter. So if you are part of that group that read the book cover to cover I invite you to next weeks review-‘that 2008 Financial Crisis documentary you still haven’t watched but definitely think you understand.’

“Claiming you read Values is the new ‘I have a friend who’s an economist.’ You didn’t. You just scrolled past a quote while rage-posting about the WEF and thought, ‘Yeah, that’ll do.'” 

“The Soundbite and the Snake Oil”

In the year 2025, political literacy has been reduced to a TikTok attention span and the average voter is now expected to decode global trade policy in between ads for protein powder and VPNs. Enter Pierre Poilievre, Canada’s very own algorithmic populist, who recently declared victory over tariffs that didn’t even apply to us. “Why didn’t they remove tariffs on Canada?” he thunders, eyebrows clenched, finger stabbing at some imaginary Trudeau ghost. The crowd roars. The clip goes viral. Nobody checks the footnotes. Well, here’s the boring reality: Canada wasn’t hit with the reciprocal tariffs Trump just suspended. Why? Because they were never applied to Canada in the first place. These were April 2 specials—aimed at, well, most of planet Earth. The usual suspects. Everyone from Asia to Europe to South America got hit. Canada? Not on the guest list. Meanwhile, the real trade obstacles—Trump’s separate steel, aluminum, and auto tariffs—are still very much alive, looming over Windsor like a damn thundercloud. But nuance is boring. Context doesn’t trend.

While Poilievre scripts his media hits tighter than a Netflix true crime doc, Mark Carney does his press conferences live. Unfiltered. No handlers in his earpiece whispering “pivot back to inflation!” If he stumbles, he stumbles in public. Because actual leadership isn’t supposed to be a performance—it’s a process. One that involves answering actual questions in real time, not hiding behind a curated digital fortress. Yes, Carney might drop a stat, or hell, even fumble a French verb mid-sentence. But at least it’s him doing it—not some backroom ventriloquist with a social media degree. Poilievre, meanwhile, doesn’t answer questions. He performs monologues. If Carney is playing chess with Trump, Poilievre is playing Mad Libs with your attention span. And look—we get it. The electorate is tired. Between inflation, housing, and watching the planet roast like a rotisserie chicken, people don’t have time to cross-reference tariff policy with international trade law. But here’s the ask: Please. Listen past the soundbite. Ask what’s not being said. Look at who’s being allowed to skate, and who’s being grilled for breathing wrong. Because when one guy’s feeding you catchphrases and the other’s braving the minefield of live accountability, the difference isn’t just stylistic—it’s moral.

And if we don’t start listening with our heads instead of just our scrolling thumbs, we may wake up to a country where the truth doesn’t just get ignored—it gets outlawed. .

All because we confused the loudest guy in the room with the smartest. Again.

We’ve rallied. We’ve researched. We’ve argued with our cousins in the comments. But we are mostly talking to our own demographic.

And let’s be real—We’re mostly just talking to ourselves.

Meanwhile, Pierre Poilievre is counting on Gen Z and younger Millennials to be: – too busy– too burnt out– too cynical.

Here’s the thing:
A lot of them have never even heard of Mark Carney.
Not their fault. He wasn’t on their radar. Until February, he wasn’t even in the ring. But now he is.
And it’s on us to make the introduction. So share ONE thing today with someone under 35. Post it. Text it. Drop it in a group chat. Slide it into a TikTok. Bring it up when they’re home doing laundry, or when you’re talking about Easter dinner plans, or when they casually mention rent just went up again.

They don’t need a TED Talk. They need real talk—with bite. Something quick. Something sharp. Something that says:
“This guy? He’s the adult in the room. And he gets it.”

Because they’re not just the future. They’re the firewall.
Against chaos. Against collapse. Against a guy who once thought Bitcoin was a personality trait.

Let’s go. You’ve done the hard part. Now just pass it on. 

Let’s Talk About Political Polls (Yes, Those Polls)

Okay, okay—nobody wakes up excited to read about polling methodology unless you’re the kind of person who finds joy in spreadsheets and C-SPAN reruns. But bear with me, because in the absolute fever dream that is the 2025 Canadian federal election, understanding political polls is like learning how to read the tea leaves in a haunted house—you might not like what you see, but at least you’ll know when the floor’s about to collapse.

Now, first things first: the heavy hitters in Canadian political polling. In rough order of reputation and reliability, we’ve got:

Leger, Nanos, Mainstreet, Abacus, Ipsos, Angus Reid, and Liaison.

These firms are all members of the Canadian Research Insights Council (CRIC), meaning they’re bound by strict ethics, privacy guidelines, and the eternal curse of being corrected on Twitter by armchair psephologists.

Let’s get one thing straight: polls can be biased. But responsible pollsters account for that by including margins of error. That’s the ±3% you see in the fine print, usually ignored by people who post “OMG LIBS DOWN 2 POINTS” like they’ve just cracked the Enigma code.

Now, a lot of people love to scream: “The polls are bought!”
Well—yes. Obviously. Pollsters are companies. They’re not some monk-like order quietly collecting voter intention in the wilderness. They sell a product: data. Whether it’s Jean-Marc Léger or Nik Nanos, these people run services intended to turn a profit. And who buys that product? Political parties, governments, media outlets—all of whom need this information. Campaigns use it to decide where to send the leader and how to spin the next attack ad. Governments use it to test the public temperature before announcing things like tax credits or poorly branded climate plans. And media? They need it for clicks. “New Poll Drops” is almost as big a deal as “New Stock Numbers.” The important thing is not who commissions the poll, but whether the methodology is sound, the data is public, and the transparency is there—which, in the case of CRIC-certified firms, it is. You’re allowed to be skeptical, but maybe aim that skepticism at how we interpret polls, not at the fact they exist.

Now, to address the elephant in the war room: 338Canada. You’ve probably heard someone say, “Well, 338 says the Liberals are going to lose…” Cool. 338 is not a poll. It’s a poll aggregator. Think of it as a very sober oracle who takes all the polls, mixes in past election results, demographic trends, regional factors, and the whispers of the political wind, and then spits out seat projections. So no, 338 doesn’t have secret knowledge. It’s just very, very good at reading the collective mood swings of Canada’s pollsters.

Why does all this matter? Because in a chaotic election year—where we’ve got a freshly-minted Mark Carney trying to reboot a shell-shocked Liberal brand, Pierre Poilievre auditioning for the role of Canadian Batman villain, and Jagmeet Singh looking increasingly like the best man at a wedding he wasn’t invited to—the numbers actually help cut through the noise. But here’s the thing: polls are not predictions. They are snapshots. Blurry, maybe a little drunk, and taken under questionable lighting—but snapshots nonetheless.

So before you scream into the void about a single poll showing the Greens at 12% in Nunavut, remember this: The map is not the territory. The poll is not the election. And the truth? Well, it’s somewhere between the margins of error and a Tim Hortons drive-thru in Moncton. Because if you’re relying on polls to save your party, your party’s already halfway to hell—you’re just arguing over the playlist. In the end, polls don’t shape reality—they just measure how warped it’s become. 

So this post looks for some audience participation…

Media Strategy Deathmatch: Poilievre vs. Carney

If politics is theatre, then Pierre Poilievre is the angry solo act at an open mic night—jeans too tight, veins too visible, shouting down hecklers he personally invited. His media strategy is simple: control the narrative, kill the questions, and if a journalist so much as breathes unapproved air, accuse them of being a Trudeau-funded parasite. His press conferences are less Q&A and more hostage situations for microphones. Mark Carney, on the other hand, floats in like the ghost of central banks past—articulate, measured, and slightly annoyed that he has to explain monetary policy to people who think “fiscal restraint” is a type of keto diet. He doesn’t fear the media. He treats them like analysts at a quarterly earnings call: welcome, but don’t waste his time. If Poilievre wants to defund the CBC, Carney wants it to pivot to Bloomberg.

Carney holds pressers. Poilievre holds grudges.
Carney takes questions. Poilievre takes names.
Carney reads the Globe. Poilievre doomscrolls Rebel News.
One plays chess. The other demands to know why the queen has more power than the king.

And spare us the crowd-size flexing, Pierre. Anyone can pack a barn full of rage in Alberta. Try holding court in downtown Toronto without blaming immigrants, bikes, or central bankers for your vibe. In short: if you’re a journalist, Carney will challenge your premise. Poilievre will challenge you to a cage match in a parking lot outside a Canadian Tire.

Your turn. Post ONE question you’d ask either Carney or Poilievre. Be clever. Be sharp. Be ruthless. And keep it under 15 words—or we assume you’re running for office and ignore you entirely.

And remember: if your question can be answered with “because Trudeau,” it’s already been incinerated in the Poilievre campaign furnace. 

“Welcome to the Bot Wars: How to Survive the Right-Wing Disinformation Machine Without Losing Your Mind (or Your Soul)” Let’s start with the obvious: something reeks in the Canadian infosphere, and it’s not the ketchup chips. It’s the sweet, synthetic stench of algorithm-fed rage bait, right-wing echo chambers, and disinformation campaigns that make your uncle’s Facebook feed look like a Russian psy-op training manual. And at the centre of this toxic storm? The Conservative Party of Canada — or at least, the very enthusiastic fan club they’ve somehow acquired online. Now, let’s be fair. I’m not saying Pierre Poilievre is holed up in a basement with a troll farm in Ottawa, personally retweeting memes about Mark Carney being a lizard in a Bank of Canada skin suit. But the vibes? Immaculately suspicious. This is politics by meme warfare. You’ve got sockpuppet accounts quoting Nietzsche to defend tax cuts for billionaires. You’ve got anonymous posters ranting about Carney’s globalist ties like they just uncovered the lost files of the Da Vinci Code. And it spreads. Fast. Faster than facts, faster than nuance, faster than a Liberal fundraising email you never opened.

So what do we do? We don’t stoop. We don’t lie. We don’t make up stories about Pierre being a deepfake creation of Jordan Peterson and Joe Rogan in a lab. (Tempting, yes. Productive, no.)

Instead, we sharpen our knives — metaphorically — and we go in with truth and contrast. Yes, Mark Carney worked at Goldman Sachs. Cool. You know who else worked there? People who stabilized the global economy after the 2008 crash. He also ran not one, but two central banks through crisis — and came out of it with his reputation intact. That’s like walking through a pit of lobbyists and emerging without a single PAC donation stuck to your shoe. Meanwhile, what does Poilievre offer? Gold bars. Bitcoin sermons. A plan to bulldoze public institutions with the smug smile of a guy who thinks a smirk is a policy. We don’t need to pretend Carney is perfect — he’s not. We should be critical thinkers. But that doesn’t mean we sit back while trolls with six burner accounts pump out AI-generated garbage about him being a UN puppet sent to microchip your dog. We combat lies with facts, yes — but we win hearts with fire, humour, and clarity.

Here’s a good line to keep in your back pocket:
“If the worst thing you can say about Carney is that he’s smart, global, and competent, I’ll take that over a YouTube-influencer-in-a-suit trying to blow up the CRA.”

So no, this isn’t about blind loyalty. It’s about intellectual survival. It’s about building a political culture where we don’t get hijacked by rage clicks and paranoia. The far-right thrives on chaos. That’s their fuel. Ours? Strategy. Substance. And yes — a little well-placed sarcasm. Because if democracy’s on fire, I’d rather hand the hose to Mark Carney than watch Pierre Poilievre roast marshmallows in the ashes.

For years, I thought I was politically orphaned. Raised by self-declared Red Tories, I grew up believing there was a place in the political landscape for people who were fiscally responsible, socially compassionate, and allergic to extremes. Turns out, that place was like Narnia—real in theory, impossible to find on a map.

“Red Tory,” they’d say at the dinner table, with pride. A term I once thought meant “liberal who liked spreadsheets” or “conservative who didn’t hate people.” It was a dignified kind of centrism—one that respected institutions but wasn’t shackled by them, that could balance budgets and still fund libraries.

But as the political spectrum bent into a pretzel over the years, that red tory identity became… well, kind of vintage. I wasn’t left-wing enough for the left, not right-wing enough for the right, and definitely not unhinged enough for Twitter/X.

Enter: Mark Carney. Is he the Second Coming of Red Toryism? I don’t know, but I’d like to believe he’s at least Red Tory–adjacent. A man who speaks in full sentences, believes in climate science and markets, and doesn’t treat nuance like a communicable disease? Be still my pragmatic heart. Carney walks into a room and doesn’t make me want to Google “How to move to Scandinavia.” He talks like someone who has read a book and written a balance sheet. He’s got that rare vibe of a person who’s balanced billion-dollar budgets and waited patiently in a Shoppers Drug Mart line during flu season. So maybe, just maybe, I’m not politically homeless anymore. Maybe there’s room again for the practical idealists, the moderate radicals, the spreadsheet socialists, the “yes to public transit, no to populism” crowd.

Maybe Red Tories weren’t extinct—just waiting for the right guy with an Oxford brain and a Bay Street backbone to dust off the label and make it cool again. Call it what you want—Red Tory, sensible centrist, adult-in-the-room—but if Carney’s leading, I’m following. 

I can’t stop thinking about the board game Risk and Donald Trump’s obsession with world domination. You know the board game Risk, I’m sure, where you gobble up continents, stack tiny armies, and throw diplomacy out the window in favor of brute force and dumb luck. It’s a game for people who think “foreign policy” means yelling louder. In other words, it’s basically Donald Trump’s foreign policy manual. Trump isn’t running a country—he’s playing a game. And we’re all the plastic pieces. Greenland is back on the menu. Basically, he tried to buy it from Denmark like it was beachfront real estate? Greenland, in his mind, is prime Risk real estate: cold, resource-rich, and sitting there not making him any money. A total waste. Then there’s Panama. The Canal is crucial in Risk—it’s the shortcut to domination. In real life, Trump’s been making noise about “reasserting control over global trade routes.” Translation: slap tariffs on everything that floats and threaten infrastructure like it’s a negotiation tactic from The Art of the Deal: Dictator Edition.And what about us here in Canada. Tariffs are back, naturally. This time, he’s calling them “economic retribution.” Steel. Cars. Semiconductors. Solar panels. If you can manufacture it, he can tariff it. This isn’t trade policy—it’s a toddler flipping over the game board because he’s not winning fast enough. Ukraine? Remember the 24-hour peace plan he bragged about? Clock’s still ticking. Putin hasn’t budged, NATO’s on edge, and Trump’s main contribution so far has been alienating allies and whispering sweet nothings to authoritarian regimes. Turns out global conflicts don’t respond well to vibes and golf claps. And Gaza? The man treats it like a cable news segment—loud, messy, and ultimately disposable. He’s managed to escalate tensions, undermine humanitarian efforts, and offer absolutely nothing resembling a solution. Just slogans, ultimatums, and the kind of clarity that comes from never actually reading a briefing. Because here’s the thing: Trump doesn’t want a resolution. Resolution is boring. Peace doesn’t sell hats and crypto. Peace doesn’t get cheers. What gets cheers is conflict, chaos, domination—Risk. He’s not leading. He’s playing. And he’s the kind of gamer who hasn’t slept in days, refuses to read the rules, and still thinks he’s one move away from winning the whole damn thing. “Problem is, the world isn’t a board game—and we’re not his pieces.”

“Welcome back to Dispelling the Rumours and Managing Disinformation, where facts slap fiction in the face before breakfast.”

So, Mark Carney once invested in American oil and gas. Scandal! Someone sound the national anthem in reverse and burn his toque! Or—hear me out—maybe we all take a collective breath and admit that unless you’ve got every dime locked into a GIC at a credit union in Hanna, you might not be the patriotic investor you think you are.

Let’s get real. In the pre-Trump, pre-apocalypse, somewhat-functioning-democracy version of the United States, investing in American companies wasn’t controversial—it was basic common sense. You know, before the U.S. decided to cosplay as a failing empire and we all had to start checking our news apps with one eye closed.

And while we’re on the topic, how many Canadians actually know where their investments are? Like, really know. Because unless you’ve got your RRSP in a shoebox under your bed labeled “100% Maple Syrup Stocks,” there’s a good chance you have exposure to U.S. markets. Apple? Amazon? Microsoft? Hello? These aren’t headquartered in Winnipeg.

Let’s also not forget that most of us don’t sit down and build our investment portfolios from scratch like Gordon Gekko (if you know you know) with a Canadian flag. We have advisors, pension funds, index funds—and those funds? They go global, baby. Including our dear neighbours to the south, with whom we share a border, a trillion-dollar trade relationship, and about seven Tim Hortons franchises in Buffalo.

So yeah, Carney invested in U.S. energy. Big whoop. He also ran the Bank of Canada, led the Bank of England, and tried to keep the global economy from going full Mad Max. He’s basically the adult in the room while everyone else is arguing over what brand of maple syrup counts as “true north.”

Let’s stop pretending this is a scandal and admit what this really is: a very selective outrage party thrown by people whose own TFSAs are probably 30% American tech and 10% “wait, I thought Tesla was Canadian.”