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.
The annexation idea feels like a shortcut—a way to simplify a complex web of issues into something tangible, like borders or armies. But sovereignty isn’t just about physical lines; it’s about the erosion happening under the surface through economic and cultural dependency. That’s where the real fight is, and it’s already well underway.
I get the gut feeling, but relying on it risks missing the bigger picture. Armed annexation might make for dramatic speculation, but it distracts from the subtler, more insidious ways control is exerted. Let’s focus energy on understanding and addressing those deeper systems rather than chasing unlikely scenarios.
Here’s the thing: sovereignty is slipping away quietly, not with a bang but with a shrug. That’s worth more attention.