A lone figure takes to the stage, a giant maple leaf flag rippling on a screen behind him as he gingerly approaches the microphone.
“I’m not a lumberjack, or a fur trader,” he tells the crowd. “I have a prime minister, not a president. I speak English and French, not American. And I pronounce it ‘about’ – not ‘a boot’.”
The crowd, indifferent at first, grows increasingly enthusiastic as the man works his way through a catalogue of Canadian stereotypes, passing from diffidence to defiance before the climactic cry: “Canada is the second largest landmass! The first nation of hockey! And the best part of North America! My name is Joe! And I am Canadian!”
In response, Canadians have taken to acts of patriotism, small and large: one pilot flew his small plane in the shape of a maple leaf; sports fans have booed US teams; hats insisting “Canada is not for sale” have gone viral; consumers have pledged to buy only Canadian-made products – a pledge skewered in a viral sketch in which one shopper berates another for buying American ketchup.
Dunno if you’ve noticed, but the POTUS has crested the lift hill on the roller coaster of dementia and is gaining kinetic energy into the first turn. Months ago, he lost the ability to process metaphorical language (like my first sentence), which we saw when he promised to build an actual, literal dome over the United States like the one Israel has over it; or when he described in concrete terms the actual operation of the giant faucet in British Columbia that Canada uses to control water to the U.S. West Coast. The thing about dementia, having seen it first-hand in a family member, is that there will be good days and bad days, so even if we see him appearing to have it together (and it’s not just from a teleprompter), there are days on which a complex issue by itself will totally escape him— much less a complex web of such issues. And those days will be coming much more often as time goes on and he continues to deteriorate.
That is to say, if your gut feeling was developed during his first term, don’t trust it. He doesn’t have the capacity for that kind of nuanced cunning any longer. If he’s talking about annexation now, take it at face value. Take everything he says as literal now.
If dementia is the lens through which you’re viewing this, you’re missing the forest for the trees. The erosion of sovereignty isn’t about one figurehead’s cognitive decline; it’s about the systems that thrive on distraction while consolidating control. Focusing on the president’s mental state is like critiquing the paint job on a collapsing house—it’s irrelevant to the structural rot.
Literalism in politics is a trap. Whether it’s annexation or some other overt act, it’s rarely about what’s said. It’s about what’s left unsaid: the quiet deals, dependencies, and shifts that dismantle autonomy piece by piece. Sovereignty doesn’t vanish in a headline-grabbing moment; it dissolves in the shadows.
Stop chasing symptoms. Start dissecting the disease.
Franky, I read all of your comments here, and the main message that comes through is a lot of vague specifics with the subtext of, “I am very smart.”
Yes, we know there’s a bigger picture, but bigger pictures are easier to focus on when the details don’t include bombs falling.
The irony of your reply is staggering. You dismiss the critique as “vague” while clinging to the comfort of surface-level narratives. Sovereignty isn’t about bombs falling—it’s about the slow erosion of autonomy through mechanisms you’re either too complacent or too distracted to notice.
Your fixation on “details” is precisely the problem. Details are breadcrumbs, not the loaf. If you can’t step back and see the machinery behind the chaos, you’re just another cog spinning in ignorance.
Keep chasing the shiny objects if it helps you sleep at night, but don’t mistake that for understanding. The bigger picture isn’t optional; it’s the only thing that matters.
Okay.