The Elephant’s Pirouette

In an election as massive and messy as a Canadian federal one, nuance rarely survives. Yet somehow, out of this unwieldy national ritual, emerged a gesture so precise and telling it bordered on poetic: Pierre Poilievre lost his seat.

That singular fact is, for me, the clearest sign of the surprising wisdom embedded in this election. It’s like watching an elephant perform a pirouette. You can’t help but ask—how is such art even possible?

Before the campaign began, my theory was simple: the towering Conservative lead wasn’t about love for Poilievre, but fatigue with Trudeau. Canadians weren’t necessarily shifting rightward—they were simply tired of the prime minister’s face on their screens, his carefully calibrated empathy, his tendency to emote rather than decide. The weariness calcified, for many, when Trudeau visited Mar-a-Lago. Predictably, trump called him “Governor”—a humiliation for all Canadians. That trip, tone-deaf in the extreme, marked the end of Trudeau’s political viability. He didn’t seem to grasp how trump would spin such a move—as submission. Trudeau had to go.

But that didn’t mean Poilievre was beloved. Quite the opposite. He had risen not on inspiration, but inertia—benefiting from the cyclical appetite for change that sets in after two terms of any government. And I suspected that the more Canadians saw and heard him, the less they would like him. On election night, that hunch proved correct—spectacularly so.

The Liberal Party, for all its flaws, remains an adroit political machine. First, it did the hard thing: removing an incumbent leader who had clearly lost the public’s trust. Then it made a strategic pivot, grasping that this election would not be about policy, but about existential leadership—about who could best defend Canada from the looming menace of a second trump presidency. They chose Mark Carney, a candidate who in almost every respect is trump’s opposite: intelligent, methodical, experienced, competent, decent. (Full disclosure: I voted for Chrystia Freeland in the leadership race. I was clearly wrong.)

Crucially, the Liberals blurred the policy lines between themselves and the Conservatives, narrowing the election to a binary choice of leadership. And it worked. What had seemed destined to be a three- or four-way vote-split realigned into a two-party race. Progressives moved away from the NDP. Singh, like Poilievre, lost his seat.

To be clear, the Conservatives still had a relatively strong night. They gained in popularity and in seats. The desire for change is real and growing. But they were ultimately undone by their leader’s deep unpopularity—especially in Quebec. And in a campaign focused on gravitas, trust, and moral steadiness, Poilievre’s gleeful combativeness wore thin.

Sometimes, democracy astonishes. Not because it always gets everything right—but because it occasionally gets the mood, the message, and the moment exactly right.

This was one of those times. An elephant just did a pirouette.

Proud of Canadians

I’m proud of Canadians. Even the politicians. This federal election campaign has been unusually substantive, marked by a tone of seriousness and purpose. Canadians, in turn, have responded with unprecedented numbers turning out for advanced polling. There’s a sense of civic engagement in the air that we haven’t seen since 1988—when Canadian sovereignty was also on the ballot, in the form of the proposed free trade agreement with the United States.

That fall, I had just returned from a year of graduate studies in Switzerland, after three years studying political science at McGill. I decided it was time to get real-world political experience, and a friend of my mother’s connected me with a Liberal candidate running on the South Shore of Montreal. Like him, I opposed the free trade deal. It wasn’t that I was against trade; I believed in international commerce. But I felt there needed to be safeguards. The fear, widely shared at the time, was that free trade with the U.S. would make us culturally, politically, and economically dependent on the ravenous giant to our south.

Thirty-seven years later, that fear seems less like paranoia and more like prophecy.

In 1988, both major parties offered versions of Canadian nationalism. Brian Mulroney’s Progressive Conservatives argued optimistically that Canada was ready to compete with the world, including the U.S., and that free trade would unleash our economic potential. The Liberals, under John Turner, argued defensively that the deal would lead to irreversible changes we’d be unable to resist—pressures that would compromise our sovereignty, culture, and policy independence. Both messages, in their own way, were nationalistic. One was hopeful; the other, cautionary. The hopeful one won by a landslide.

As it turns out, both were also right. In the decades that followed, Canada experienced growth and prosperity—but also wage stagnation, cultural dilution, and a deepening economic dependency on the U.S.

Today’s election feels like the inverse of 1988. Once again, Canadian sovereignty is part of the national conversation, but this time the threat isn’t a trade deal—it’s the political chaos seeping northward from the United States. And it has had a galvanizing effect. All of our major party leaders, regardless of ideology, have been forced by circumstance to strike a more unifying, forward-looking tone. This is how political leaders should behave: trying to build broad support by offering hopeful visions, not seeking power by dividing their opponents. This campaign is about how to make Canada stronger, more resilient, and fairer—not about who to blame for what’s broken.

That’s a sign of democratic health. The surest symptom of democratic decay is when politicians focus on wedge issues, stoke grievance, and pander to fear. Canadians, to their credit, seem unwilling to go down that road.

That’s why, I believe, Pierre Poilievre’s once-ascendant campaign has faltered. He built his brand around anger and antagonism. That approach resonated briefly, but when the national mood shifted—when Canadians began to look for hope—he couldn’t shift with it. Mark Carney, by contrast, has offered a consistently optimistic, constructive message. That positivity may well be the secret sauce of his continued success. Poilievre has tried to soften his tone in recent weeks, but it doesn’t come naturally to him, and it shows.

Voting should not just be a civic duty. It should be a hopeful act—a declaration that the future can be better, and that we can build it together. Politicians who trade in anger and cynicism don’t deserve to lead. And when they do win, as we’ve seen in the United States, the consequences can be catastrophic.

This election, Canadians appear to be choosing differently. That gives me hope—not just for the outcome, but for the country itself.

Yes, We Are Canadian

Not something in our character, 
To shout it out with pride.

Part of being Canadian,
Is a reluctance to take sides.

Our balance is our strength,
With steadiness and grace.
On skis, on blades, in a canoe,
No challenge we won't face.

We seek the quiet middle,

We’re a mix of many kin.
Stand tall as a Douglas Fir, 

Strong as a prairie wind.

We love in many languages,

We work in many fields.

Our voices and our values,

Express our shared ideals.

Yes, we are Canadian,

It's all we want to be. 

We sing it from the Rockies,

From the ice floes to the sea.  

Yes, we are Canadian,

It's all we want to be.

Nothing 'gainst the USA -

Just not a place for me.

We know who are our friends,

We honour every creed.

The flag we raise means unity —

Our symbol the maple leaf.

Our homes are always warm,

Our arms are always open.

With hearts vast as the wilderness,

Our spirits can't be broken.

We seek the quiet middle,

We’re a mix of many kin.
Stand tall as a Douglas fir, 

Strong as a prairie wind.

We love in many languages,

We work in many fields.

Our voices and our values,

Express our shared ideals.

Oui, nous sommes Canadiens,

Notre amours vaste comme cette terre, 

Nous le chantons des Rocheuses,
Jusqu’au bord du mer. 

Oui, nous sommes Canadiens,

Et c'est là qu'on vieillit.

Rien contre les États-Unis,

Mais ce n'est pas notre pays.

Yes, we are Canadian,

It's all we want to be. 

We'll sing it from the Rockies, 

From the ice floes to the sea.  

Yes, we are Canadian,

It's all we want to be.

Nothing 'gainst the USA -

Just not a place for me.

Now

According to the sage 

Past and future 

Memory and projection

Are figments of mind 

And the universe 

Gives birth anew

All the energy of creation

Coalescing in a single moment

We call now.

The Battle Royale

Like people born with different temperaments and talents, countries—shaped by geography, climate, history, and culture—excel at different things.

Canadians are great at hockey, curling, and being apologetic.

Norwegians excel at cross-country skiing and polar exploration.

Russians dominate chess, figure skating, ballet—and submitting to autocracy.

Americans are great at many things, but in one domain they are the undisputed world champions: consumption.

One estimate suggests the average U.S. household consumes over 15% more than the next closest country, and nearly four times more than what the Earth can sustainably provide.

China, meanwhile, holds a commanding lead in production. It accounts for nearly 32% of the world’s manufacturing output—double that of the second-place United States.

But Trump, who is incapable of imagining any relationship beyond a transaction, seems to believe the world’s greatest consumers can force the world’s greatest producers to submit to their will. That’s essentially the Battle Royale he’s been staging. What he fails to grasp is that we are all both consumers and producers—and that it's in everyone’s interest to have access to the widest array of goods at the lowest cost.

In his mind, Americans can produce anything—just like he’s sold anything and everything for a buck: Bibles, sneakers, guitars, steaks, board games, bottled water, clothing. The list is too long—and too ridiculous—to recite. The irony, of course, is that nearly all of it was made in China. And most of it failed. Maybe that’s where the resentment really comes from.

But what makes this moment so revealing isn’t just the clash of consumption vs. production. It’s that, like all real conflicts, it tests deeper human qualities: discipline, values, and character.

Trump lacks these traits entirely. And because he does, he cannot understand how other nations—who possess them—might endure and even outlast his economic attacks. His obsession with the so-called “trade deficit” masks a deeper truth: being a great producer takes discipline, ingenuity, and industriousness; being a great consumer requires nothing more than a big appetite and access to lots of credit - sort of a perfect description of trump himself.

This is no contest.  

Doing Something

This week, the trump administration sent Harvard University a demand letter. At first glance, it reads like a civics lesson on federal accountability. But peel back the rhetoric, and it’s something far more sweeping: a threat, wrapped in bureaucratic prose, aimed at coercing the oldest and most prestigious university in the United States into political compliance.

The letter’s core message can be summed up with an old idiom: he who pays the piper calls the tune. The piper, of course, is Harvard. The tune, according to this administration, is whatever the federal government decides it should be.

The letter is sprawling and, in many ways, meaningless—full of vague accusations and sweeping mandates. It accuses Harvard of failing to uphold federal civil rights laws but offers no evidence or legal justification. If there were actual violations, there are courts for that. But this isn’t about justice. It’s about control.

And control is exactly what the government is after. Early in the letter, the real agenda becomes clear: a demand for full oversight of hiring practices, admissions policies, student discipline, even the source and use of all foreign funds. Harvard is to “submit to a forensic audit,” “certify reports to the federal government,” and “ensure full transparency with federal regulators.” The scope of these demands reads like a blueprint for federal occupation—only with spreadsheets and subpoenas instead of soldiers.

There’s a paragraph about “Antisemitism and Other Biases.” But it’s really just about antisemitism, specifically referencing last summer’s campus protests. The letter demands names of faculty who allegedly “discriminated against Jewish or Israeli students” or encouraged rule-breaking after October 7. I can already hear many fellow Jews cheering, “Finally, the government is doing something about antisemitism!” But I wonder how they don’t—or won’t—see that this kind of “doing something” is a grave threat to institutional liberty.

This isn’t a defense of Harvard. The university has its flaws. But that’s the point—so do all institutions. What’s chilling is not that Harvard is being asked to reflect; it’s that it’s being told to submit. And what happens when other universities—without a $52 billion endowment—receive their own letters?

Fortunately, Harvard said no. President Alan M. Garber, himself Jewish, refused to yield. In response, the federal government froze $2.2 billion in grants. But this piper, for now, won’t be bought.

The real question is: who’s next—and will they be able to say no?

At The Seder Table

I imagine it's the sort of thing American families fear might happen at Thanksgiving dinner when talk turns to politics. In this case it did indeed involve an American - a Canadian-born cousin, living in the States for a couple of decades now, married to a lovely native-New Yorker and they have two children. He works on Wall Street and became an American citizen recently. We reconnect around this time every year when he is making plans to come back to Canada to attend our extended-family seder with his parents (we had 53 attendees this year). Two years ago, when we exchanged emails, he extolled to me the magical curative properties of Ivermectin against Covid. You can probably guess where this is going.

By the way, I really like him. He's a warm, enthusiastic fellow. Smart, friendly and passionate about many things including his Jewish identity. I appreciate that. I can't say I'm innocent for how things went down. To my wife's dismay - she generally wants to keep dinner talk, whether it be on weekdays, Shabbat, or holidays - as pleasant and anodyne as possible. For her food is love, and controversy of any kind, ruins the taste. Since Passover is the only time of year when my extended family gets together this is usually not a problem. The seder is more like an annual family reunion than a religious event. Most of the time is spent simply catching up on personal news, marvelling at how the kids have grown, and for the older generation, of which I am now an official part, getting health updates. But for me, respecting my wife's wishes presents a certain dilemma at the Passover table. The seder meal is all about having a deeply memorable and meaningful experience. 

It seems that the sages who constructed the Haggadah understood the potential for things to go off the rails when you get a bunch Jews together for dinner. They tried to fill the time as much as possible to keep unscripted interaction to a minimum. When we're not reading, we're acting out ritual, and when we're not acting out ritual, we're drinking glasses of wine (and getting drunk), and in between glasses of wine we're singing songs that seem to go on forever, to the point of crying for mercy - Dayenu!

But, there is the meal, and in between bites of food, opportunity for conversation and opinionation. As I say, there is something about Passover in particular, this holiday that commemorates the Israelite deliverance from slavery in Egypt, when we think about the redemption from captivity and the meaning of freedom, that brings out the Pharaoh in me. Well that's an exaggeration, but let's say my tolerance for banal, mundane table talk is at a minimum. One year, I became so despondent listening to people around our seder table gossiping and yakking about sundry nonsense, that I unceremoniously excused myself and didn't come back (I was the seder leader). My thought was, if they don't want to make this meaningful in the spirit of the holiday, then I'm not needed. My wife was not happy with my rudeness. As usual, she was right and I apologized. 

This year, meaningful discussion wasn't a problem - back to my newly-minted American citizen cousin. The conversation started innocently enough, about what our kids were doing. One of my daughters is attending McGill and his youngest daughter is starting university next year as well, at Emory. Atlanta I exclaim. That's an unusual choice. Remember he lives in New York, lots of great universities in and around the region. I have a hunch why Columbia wasn't her first choice, but I say nothing. Yeah, the universities in the American south are exploding in popularity, he says. In response to all the antisemitism at the Ivies. Places like Emory, Vanderbilt and Rice are seeing a massive uptick in admissions because the Jewish students don't feel safe. Florida universities are the safest, he says. I'd heard that from my brother whose daughter attends University of Florida in Gainesville. She saw no pro-Palestine protests on campus when they were in full swing last summer everywhere else. I mention that. It's great what the administration is doing to go after all the antisemitism at the universities, he says. By now I'm trying my best to hold my tongue, but can't. I say, so you agree that they should be cutting federal research grants and deporting students? Absolutely, he says, it's about time the government did something. Don't you believe in free speech? I ask. It's not free speech when you're pro-Hamas, he says. It's support of terrorism, and they have every right to cancel the Visa of any student for any reason. I say, they are expressing their political views, and expressing antisemitic views, as repugnant as they are, is not illegal. Anyway, if it got out of hand and resulted in harassment and vandalism, there are laws against that, and it's the responsibility of the local law enforcement and the university to handle it. There's a danger to the federal government using its power to go after people exercising a constitutional right.

That's when the discussion got interesting. He repeated that the government has the right to cancel their Visas if they burn the American flag and express anti-American views. The problem is that the United States has been too tolerant for too long of people who have anti-American values. I responded that in fact, burning the American flag, is not illegal. But it was his use of the term 'anti-American' that was most striking to me, reminiscent of another time considered by many as one of the darkest periods in US history, particularly for the exercise of free speech. I'm talking of course about the McCarthy era, and his House Un-American Activities Committee. A time of persecution in which America had a Grand Inquisitor, and Jews especially ones working in the arts, film and entertainment, were targeted for their communist sympathies and affiliations, and blacklisted. Now we're on the other side, it seems. 

My response to my cousin, when he used the term 'anti-American' was simply; And you, I suppose, know what constitutes 'anti-American'? 

I don't remember if he responded, but recall the conversation grinding to a halt. We both smiled to show that there were no hard feelings, exchanged supportive words to reassure the other family members listening in (including my wife, who seemed to support him), that it was good to have a friendly disagreement and share different perspectives. I think we meant it, at least I did. Then I said something about how the last time we disagreed it was about Ivermectin, and I chuckled. He said, yeah, not too long ago I was travelling with my son and he wasn't feeling well, so I gave him a dose of Ivermectin and it was miraculous, he was feeling great in less than an hour.