National
The elements of Marc Garneau – A special report from Paul Wells

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He was trained to admit every error. Then he went into politics. A feature interview with the retiring MP for Notre-Dame-de-Grâce—Westmount
Introduction
When you resign your seat in the House of Commons, you get to keep your phone for 90 days. The deadlines for cleaning out your offices on Parliament Hill and in your riding are tighter but still civilized. Soon Marc Garneau will leave his constituency office on the third floor of a nondescript office building in Westmount, the affluent anglophone enclave west of downtown Montreal, for the last time. But there’s no rush, so he met me there on Monday.
Trying to get politicians to speak frankly while they’re still in office is not always rewarding, It gets easier quickly once they leave. So I thought a visit with Garneau was worth the drive to Montreal, even though he’s been cagey in his remarks to journalists since he announced his retirement on March 8. I’ll cut to the chase: His interview with me wasn’t the work of a rebel either. Garneau remains a gentleman and a Liberal. He offered only praise for Justin Trudeau. But on several issues — communications philosophy; the handling of the Freedom Convoy occupation of Ottawa; and the proper attitude toward one’s own fallibility — he drew occasional sharp distinctions between his attitude and the Trudeau government’s.
I took the scenic route to get to that stuff. Garneau was the first Canadian to fly in space. He was a national celebrity before Trudeau finished high school. And while that’s a historic distinction, Garneau shares with many more parliamentarians a long career outside politics that preceded, and informed, his career in elected office. Not all of that is the stuff of every conversation, but this one was valedictory in tone. I thought it best to start at the beginning.
This is an unusually long post on the Paul Wells newsletter. I figured I owed everyone a good feature read. I’m leaving the paywall off. You can help spread word about the writing I do by sharing this with a friend or with your networks.
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1. Water
I began by asking him about the year and a half he spent as a combat systems engineer on the HMCS Algonquin. When he arrived on board, it was the newest destroyer in the Canadian Navy.
“It was what I had dreamt of from the beginning of my life,” he said. “My first love was the Navy.” His father’s family was francophone Quebecers, soldiers from way back. His father fought in the infantry in WWII and was posted in Germany for two years as the Cold War settled in. “I crossed the ocean with my parents in 1956 coming back from Germany,” he said. “We came back on a ship that was on its last voyage, the Samaria, and I just fell in love with the ocean. A few years later, we went back to England on the Empress of Britain. Those confirmed for me that I wanted to be in the Navy.”
The Algonquin, a big boat with 280 crew, spent three months doing exercises as part of STANAVFORLANT, NATO’s multinational Standing Naval Force Atlantic, which would pretend the Soviet Union was up to various kinds of risky business and figure out ways to respond. Off Puerto Rico he led tests of the new Sea Sparrow missile system. Around Newfoundland’s outports, the Algonquin took the province’s lieutenant governor on an annual tour.
Young Garneau wasn’t particularly interested in moving up the ranks. “I’m an engineer. I didn’t want to be the ship captain. I wanted to be the engineer that kept the equipment going. That may not sound very exciting. But for me that was exciting, because it’s quite a job to keep all that equipment operational in case you had to go into conflict.”
2. Air
Advancement for its own sake held no appeal. But when he saw a nondescript ad from the National Research Council calling for applicants for Canada’s first astronaut corps, that sounded better than a promotion. “Wow. The idea of possibly going into space just blew me away. At the same time, I thought my chances [of being chosen] were pretty close to zero.”
In May of 1983 there were 4,200 applicants. Six months later, six remained. It became clear pretty soon the program wasn’t just looking for technical expertise but for — well, for heroes. Or at least for people who wouldn’t screw up the illusion.
“They wanted us to write essays about why we thought that we were particularly well suited. Did we realize that we would become public figures? And were we ready for that? And did we think it was important for Canada? Medical [exams] like you’d never had before. Every single thing checked, because you had to be 100% fit. Then they brought us in for the last week and and they subjected us to a whole bunch of things.
“We had to give presentations in front of the selection board. Any attempted humour was met with a stone-cold face. I remember coming out of it thinking, ‘I’ve totally bombed this.’ But they’d all been trained not to react to anything.
“Do you remember somebody called Keith Morrison?” I sure do. TV reporter and anchor, CTV to the CBC to NBC. He actually interviewed me once, when that was an odd thing to do, and I remember he was good at it. “Well, Keith was hired for the week. And he put us through our paces, sort of doing the interview thing. So that was another thing they wanted to know, if you’d be able to do that. They had us in social settings, like a cocktail kind of thing. [They wanted to see] whether you were relatively comfortable in the company of total strangers, that kind of thing. So it’s a pretty thorough week. And by the end of that, they said, ‘Look, stand by your telephone between five and seven on the third of December and you’ll get a call.’ We’re 20 at that point. ‘It’ll either be to say, sorry you didn’t make it, or, you made it.’ And I was fortunate to be one of the six chosen. They called about six o’clock. They didn’t beat around the bush. ‘Look, you made it. Congratulations. Keep it private and we’ll trot you out on the following Monday.’ Which they did.”
When you know what happened next in Garneau’s career, all this prodding and profiling and media scrutiny takes on a different meaning. He started to meet prime ministers.
Pierre Trudeau: “Man of powerful intellect. Everyone knows that. There are warmer people than Pierre Trudeau. But very cordial.”
Brian Mulroney: “Mulroney had just been elected. He wanted to meet Ronald Reagan right away… I was summoned, along with two of my crew members, Bob Crippen and Kathryn Sullivan. Which, by the way, is a total no-no. You do not take the next crew that’s going to fly in three weeks out of their bubble of training and getting ready. Except if it’s POTUS. Reagan thought it was good idea, so we were summoned. I spent time in the Oval Office with with Reagan, whom I liked right away, and Mulroney, whom I also liked right away…. I was even at the Shamrock Summit a couple of months later in Quebec City. I wasn’t quite so happy with what PMO told me to do, which is to come up through the floor on a thing that was raising me up with smoke and lighting on me, dressed in my flight suit, and having to say, ‘Take me to your leader,’ which the crowd liked. And I thought, ‘I’m making a fool of myself here.’”
On the first trip, Garneau was a payload specialist, which meant he had responsibility for a suite of Canadian scientific experiments and little else. But he had two audiences he wanted to please. NASA was the first. “I had to make a good impression so that, based on a sample of one, they’d say, ‘Okay, he did pretty well. Let’s keep inviting Canadians to fly.’ And quite a few Canadians have flown.”
Canadians were the second audience. “I wanted Canadians to be proud of me.”
Both audiences gave him the thumbs up. Today there’s a high school in Toronto named after him. In 1992 Garneau and Chris Hadfield reported for training to become mission specialists, with much broader responsibility for mission success. It took another year of training before Garneau was eligible for his second flight, in 1996. His third and final mission was at the end of 2000. There were Russians waiting at the International Space Station when the shuttle Endeavour delivered Garneau and the others. Relations with Russia were as warm as they’ve ever been. “It was more than cordial. Frankly our lives depended on one another.”
It was a longer acquaintance with higher stakes than most of us ever experience. “One of the things I loved the most about NASA was that if you fuck up” — he paused before using the salty word — “you confess. That is the culture there.”
Probably this does not need to be spelled out, but here goes anyway. This culture of honesty was not a simple preference. Shuttle crews rode a lake of liquid fuel and twin towers of solid fuel at speeds their own ancestors could not have imagined. If a bug slipped into the system it could kill them and set spaceflight back decades, as indeed it did, twice. Owning up to error was the primary method of keeping colleagues, and the dream of spaceflight, alive.
“I did hundreds of simulations. I was the first non-American CAPCOM ever. CAPCOM’s the guy who talks to the crew in orbit for Mission Control. And we did hundreds of simulations. I covered 17 missions, just as CAPCOM. And after every simulation, where the crew, perhaps, had not picked up the problem and had not reacted properly to it, we’d do a post mortem.
“And that culture of honesty and openness, which you absolutely need in the space business — you can’t have people making excuses or trying to hide things — that’s what I love the most. And I wish it existed in all facets of life, including the one I ended up in.”
3. Earth
Garneau first ran for Parliament in 2006, just west of Montreal Island, and lost, in the first of three elections when losing was most of what Liberals did. He was interested in Outremont in a 2007 by-election. So was Justin Trudeau. Stéphane Dion was the leader, though, and he thought a political scientist was just the ticket. Dion’s designated nominee, Jocelyn Coulon, did not fare well.
In 2008 Garneau inherited the Liberal nomination, essentially a Wonka golden ticket, in Westmount, as solid a Liberal fortress as any in Canada. Only a catastrophe could lose Westmount for the Liberal. In 2011 it almost happened — Garneau beat the New Democrat by only 642 votes in the party’s worst national defeat in since Confederation. Soon Peter C. Newman had a book out proclaiming the Liberals were history.
“There’s something intimate about being only 33 [MPs in the Liberal caucus], Garneau recalled. “We got to know each other in a kind of a relationship that you don’t get when you’re 150 or 160. So I really enjoyed the collegiality of having that small, small group. Although of course I was hoping it wouldn’t last too long.”
In 2013, Garneau, who hadn’t been interested in commanding a ship, decided to try his chances with a political party. He ran for the Liberal leadership. He had competition.
“I personally believe that I had good policy that I put in the shop window. What I didn’t have — what I still don’t have — is charisma. I’m not interested in charisma, by the way. I’ve lived my life very well without charisma. And I’m not saying the electorate chooses on a superficial basis. But there was something about Justin Trudeau that was incredibly appealing to people.”
Garneau bowed to the inevitable and dropped out of the race. Eighteen months later he was co-chair of the Liberal Party’s “International Affairs Council of Advisors,” with a threefold mission: Figure out the party’s foreign policy; teach foreign policy to a leader with extremely limited experience in the field; and be seen showing interest in foreign policy. The group met regularly. “Trudeau only came occasionally to meet everybody and to sort of stir stir things up and have a really good discussion,” Garneau said.
4. Fire
As co-chair (with Andrew Leslie) of Trudeau’s Council of Advisors, Garneau figured he had a good chance to become foreign minister. He got Transport.
“You know, I’ve lived 17 years of my life abroad. And I love foreign policy. I wasn’t expecting Transport. And it turned out to be a job I loved. Although at first I thought, ‘Why’d he put me in transport?’
“When I got the call that, you know, ‘The Prime Minister wants to meet you,’ I thought — This is after the vetting process, ‘Are there any skeletons in your closet?’ — I thought, ‘What’s he going to put me in?’ I thought, Defence because of my background. I was in the regular forces. Or I thought, then, maybe Industry, because I was the president of the Canadian Space Agency and I worked for the Minister of Industry, Science and Technology at the time. And maybe even Foreign Affairs, because he’d had me in this job for the past two years. I wasn’t expecting Transport.” Garneau chuckled at the incongruity of it. “But now, after a little while, I saw the logic of it. I was in the Navy, ships, so I know the marine environment. I know the air environment. And so there is a certain logic to it. And it’s a job that I came to love.” He held the post for five and a half years. Only David Collenette and Lionel Chevrier lasted longer.
The new governing caucus had five times as many MPs as the Liberal caucus it replaced. “It was a heady experience,” Garneau said. “And there was a certain amount of chaos, which is understandable because it takes a couple of years to learn the basics of your job.”
It must have been a management challenge for the Prime Minister’s Office, I ventured. To have a finance minister, health minister, justice minister, defence minister who’d never been Members of Parliament before, let alone cabinet ministers. How did the PMO handle that? “It was a little bit like when you see kindergarten children all tied up with ropes, going down the street.”
Did the control ever chafe? “I had some times where I felt one way and and I felt that the centre did not necessarily agree with it. Yeah. That comes from the dynamic. If you’ve got your mandate letter, and you interpret that mandate letter the way you feel it must be implemented — you know, the vast majority of the time, no problem. But there was the odd occasion. You’ll forgive me if I don’t go into details on it. But I was very conscious of the fact [that] you have a chief of staff, your chief of staff is a key person for you. But that chief of staff reports to you, but also must report to the chief of staff of the Prime Minister. I made an indirect reference to it in my parting speech, that I sometimes made their life difficult because I might have wanted to go one way whilst the center didn’t necessarily want to go that way.”
We had been talking for more than an hour. I asked Garneau about the Freedom Convoy of January and February 2022, which has been on my mind. Specifically, I asked Garneau about his Liberal caucus colleague Joël Lightbound, who held an astonishing news conference in the second week of the Ottawa siege to say the Liberals’ COVID policy “stigmatizes and divides people.”
“I definitely took very much note of it,” he said of Lightbound’s surgical sortie. “Some of what he said is true. There were people on the Hill that were not extremists. They were just there because they felt that their rights were being not respected.” He faced his share of verbal abuse as he made his way to and from the Hill, but even still —
He paused. “I’ll be very candid. I don’t think we handled it as well as we could have.”
In what sense? “I think there was a sense that, ‘We’re not going to talk to you people. You’re just a bunch of troublemakers.’ I had always been brought up to not avoid dealing with difficult issues. This was an incredibly difficult issue.” Another pause. “So that’s just my personal comment.”
The other thing I wanted to ask him about was the tremendous controversy he and two other back-bench Liberals have stirred up over the interaction between Quebec’s newly beefed-up language law and Bill C-13, which proposes amendments to the federal Official Languages Act. This has put Garneau and his colleagues squarely on the side of Montreal’s anglophone population against a majority of Quebec’s elected politicians. And it’s brought Garneau in for some unaccustomed criticism. Barely two weeks before he resigned, he was complaining about the rough ride from Quebec commentators on Twitter.
12:40 PM ∙ Feb 18, 2023
Garneau’s comments on this were long, and would constitute inside baseball for most readers outside Quebec, but he didn’t like seeing Quebec’s language laws incorporated by reference into a federal bill. “I have very rarely disagreed with my party, but I disagreed with them on that.” It got worse for Garneau when he read 88 amendments introduced by the Bloc Québécois, five of which said that in case of a conflict between federal and provincial legislation, Quebec’s should predominate. Those amendments were eventually rejected, but by then Garneau was already on the record with his concerns. “I’m always ready to face criticism, but it got personal. And I think that’s sad.”
The controversy has been a much bigger deal inside Quebec than outside, but Garneau insisted it’s not why he’s leaving politics.
The reason I’m leaving is because I made that promise to my wife, and to my family. I actually told him after the 2019 election that that was my last election. I had been reappointed to Transport. And I thought, ‘Okay, this is a lovely way to finish.’
“Then in January of 2021, to my great surprise, the Prime Minister [shuffled Garneau.] I think it was motivated by the fact that Navdeep Bains pulled out. The Prime Minister, I personally think that he said, ‘Okay, I want François-Philippe to take over from that. And there’s a bit of musical chairs and I ended up in foreign affairs.
“But seven months later, an election was announced. And I felt, in all good conscience, that after seven months in that portfolio — to now say, ‘Sorry, I’m leaving,’ when I had been the fourth appointed in under six years, it just wouldn’t have been right.
“Now, if the prime minister had told me, ‘Mark, after this election, you won’t be in the cabinet,’ I wouldn’t have run. But he didn’t tell me that.
“I ran hoping to go back into that job. Because Lord knows there were things that I wanted to do. With respect to Afghanistan, China, the Indo-Pacific strategy, I’d been working all that stuff. But the bottom line was that he said, ‘You’re not in cabinet anymore.’
“And so, at this point, I felt it would be really not acceptable for me to say, ‘Okay, thank you for electing me three weeks ago, I’m leaving.’ So I felt I needed to put in some time. To my great personal satisfaction, I was given two things that I really enjoyed. One was to be chair of the Indigenous and Northern Affairs Committee, which I think has an important role with respect to reconciliation. And the other one was kind of unexpected… medical assistance in dying, where I was co-chair with a senator on this special mixed committee.”
That committee presented its final report in February. Garneau resigned three weeks later. He was already in the history books before he ever ran for office. Would he run now, in the atmosphere of today’s politics, if he were just starting out? Is there still room in politics for an engineer who just wants to make things work better? These are eternal questions, and I had already asked Garneau enough questions for one day.
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Alberta
Alberta’s oil bankrolls Canada’s public services

This article supplied by Troy Media.
By Perry Kinkaide and Bill Jones
It’s time Canadians admitted Alberta’s oilpatch pays the bills. Other provinces just cash the cheques
When Canadians grumble about Alberta’s energy ambitions—labelling the province greedy for wanting to pump more oil—few stop to ask how much
money from each barrel ends up owing to them?
The irony is staggering. The very provinces rallying for green purity are cashing cheques underwritten not just by Alberta, but indirectly by the United States, which purchases more than 95 per cent of Alberta’s oil and gas, paid in U.S. dollars.
That revenue doesn’t stop at the Rockies. It flows straight to Ottawa, funding equalization programs (which redistribute federal tax revenue to help less wealthy provinces), national infrastructure and federal services that benefit the rest of the country.
This isn’t political rhetoric. It’s economic fact. Before the Leduc oil discovery in 1947, Alberta received about $3 to $5 billion (in today’s dollars) in federal support. Since then, it has paid back more than $500 billion. A $5-billion investment that returned 100 times more is the kind of deal that would send Bay Street into a frenzy.
Alberta’s oilpatch includes a massive industry of energy companies, refineries and pipeline networks that produce and export oil and gas, mostly to the U.S. Each barrel of oil generates roughly $14 in federal revenue through corporate taxes, personal income taxes, GST and additional fiscal capacity that boosts equalization transfers. Multiply that by more than 3.7 million barrels of oil (plus 8.6 billion cubic feet of natural gas) exported daily, and it’s clear Alberta underwrites much of the country’s prosperity.
Yet many Canadians seem unwilling to acknowledge where their prosperity comes from. There’s a growing disconnect between how goods are consumed and how they’re produced. People forget that gasoline comes from oil wells, electricity from power plants and phones from mining. Urban slogans like “Ban Fossil Fuels” rarely engage with the infrastructure and fiscal reality that keeps the country running.
Take Prince Edward Island, for example. From 1957 to 2023, it received $19.8 billion in equalization payments and contributed just $2 billion in taxes—a net gain of $17.8 billion.
Quebec tells a similar story. In 2023 alone, it received more than $14 billion in equalization payments, while continuing to run balanced or surplus budgets. From 1961 to 2023, Quebec received more than $200 billion in equalization payments, much of it funded by revenue from Alberta’s oil industry..
To be clear, not all federal transfers are equalization. Provinces also receive funding through national programs such as the Canada Health Transfer and
Canada Social Transfer. But equalization is the one most directly tied to the relative strength of provincial economies, and Alberta’s wealth has long driven that system.
By contrast to the have-not provinces, Alberta’s contribution has been extraordinary—an estimated 11.6 per cent annualized return on the federal
support it once received. Each Canadian receives about $485 per year from Alberta-generated oil revenues alone. Alberta is not the problem—it’s the
foundation of a prosperous Canada.
Still, when Alberta questions equalization or federal energy policy, critics cry foul. Premier Danielle Smith is not wrong to challenge a system in which the province footing the bill is the one most often criticized.
Yes, the oilpatch has flaws. Climate change is real. And many oil profits flow to shareholders abroad. But dismantling Alberta’s oil industry tomorrow wouldn’t stop climate change—it would only unravel the fiscal framework that sustains Canada.
The future must balance ambition with reality. Cleaner energy is essential, but not at the expense of biting the hand that feeds us.
And here’s the kicker: Donald Trump has long claimed the U.S. doesn’t need Canada’s products and therefore subsidizes Canada. Many Canadians scoffed.
But look at the flow of U.S. dollars into Alberta’s oilpatch—dollars that then bankroll Canada’s federal budget—and maybe, for once, he has a point.
It’s time to stop denying where Canada’s wealth comes from. Alberta isn’t the problem. It’s central to the country’s prosperity and unity.
Dr. Perry Kinkaide is a visionary leader and change agent. Since retiring in 2001, he has served as an advisor and director for various organizations and founded the Alberta Council of Technologies Society in 2005. Previously, he held leadership roles at KPMG Consulting and the Alberta Government. He holds a BA from Colgate University and an MSc and PhD in Brain Research from the University of Alberta.
Troy Media empowers Canadian community news outlets by providing independent, insightful analysis and commentary. Our mission is to support local media in helping Canadians stay informed and engaged by delivering reliable content that strengthens community connections and deepens understanding across the country.
Crime
Veteran RCMP Investigator Warns of Coordinated Hybrid Warfare Targeting Canada

Sam Cooper
Central to this strategy is fentanyl—a substance whose reach now extends far beyond Canadian borders.
Fentanyl overdoses. Dirty money flooding real estate. Election interference. Foreign-backed antisemitism igniting across Canadian campuses. These are not isolated crises, warns Calvin Chrustie, a veteran RCMP national security and transnational crime investigator. They are interlinked weapons in an accelerating campaign of hybrid warfare targeting Canada—one that is hollowing out state institutions, fracturing social cohesion, and damaging our alliances. In the view of Chrustie, like other North American experts recently interviewed by The Bureau, adversarial regimes are exploiting Canada’s systemic vulnerabilities to destabilize the country from within, with consequences extending into the United States, Australia, the United Kingdom, Taiwan, Japan, and beyond.
In a sweeping interview with the Macdonald-Laurier Institute, Chrustie laid out a sobering account of how foreign states—chiefly China and Iran—are combining their intelligence capabilities with organized crime networks and proxies such as Mexican cartels to exploit Canadian systems. The Bureau has analyzed Chrustie’s comments and connected them to broader findings in its investigations into transnational crime and state-sponsored influence operations.
At the heart of Chrustie’s warning is a shift in how adversaries like China and Iran operate. No longer relying solely on spies or cyberattacks, they are weaponizing organized crime—leveraging fentanyl trafficking, corruption, and influence operations to destabilize democracies.
“Hybrid warfare is the blending of military and non-military means to weaken or destabilize a target,” Chrustie explained. “For hostile states, transnational crime is a tool—just like cyberattacks or disinformation. China, Russia, Iran, North Korea—the CRINKs—use TOC to raise money, create chaos, and undermine our institutions. TOC is no longer just criminal—it’s geopolitical.”
Fentanyl, in this context, is not only a public health catastrophe but a deliberate weapon.
“It’s about destabilizing communities, overwhelming public services, and hollowing out social cohesion,” he said. “Just like the Soviets used propaganda and the KGB used disinformation, modern adversaries use drugs, money laundering, and crime networks to erode their adversaries from within.”
This erosion now extends beyond physical harms into the social and political realm. Chrustie pointed to radical protest movements and the rise in antisemitic incidents on Canadian campuses as evidence of convergence between TOC and foreign influence operations.
“These aren’t disconnected trends,” he said. “The same threat actors behind fentanyl and money laundering are often involved in radicalization efforts. Iranian networks, for example, have long been tied to money laundering and extremist financing. And those networks are not operating in isolation. They’re aligned with China and the Mexican cartels.”
Chrustie argued that radical activism and identity-based polarization are being amplified not just by ideology, but by illicit foreign-backed financing and digital manipulation. “We’re talking about convergence,” he said. “These networks exploit every vulnerability—from public health to political discourse. Failing to connect the dots between TOC, extremism, and foreign interference means we’re always reacting too late.”
Central to this strategy is fentanyl—a substance whose reach now extends far beyond Canadian borders. “There’s no denying the scale of fentanyl production in Canada. It far outpaces our internal consumption,” he said. “We know Canadian labs are supplying Australia in large quantities. And we don’t know how much is crossing into the U.S.—because we’re not meaningfully tracking it. That lack of visibility alone is a serious national security concern.”
Seizures at the border are not the solution, Chrustie argued, because they’re not the full picture. “The U.S. has robust systems for this. Canada doesn’t,” he said. “So pointing to low seizures as proof of safety is misleading—it really just tells us what we’re not seeing.”
And what we’re not seeing, he says, includes deeply compromised infrastructure. “They exploit Canada’s weaknesses, especially in places like Vancouver, where strategic assets such as ports, shipping companies and supply chain infrastructure are key hybrid warfare targets,” he said. “The intent is to target North America through Vancouver-based assets, because it’s a lower-risk operating environment.”
The financial flows enabling this system are equally opaque—and equally dangerous. Chrustie cited the HSBC cartel laundering scandal, which led to a $1.9 billion U.S. settlement, as a historic warning that was never heeded. “The same cartel networks that emerged through the HSBC probe are engaged in Canada today,” he said.
“At one point, more encrypted communication companies linked to TOC and terrorist financers were based in Vancouver than anywhere else in the world,” he added. “These platforms were used globally—by cartels, arms traffickers, terrorists, state proxies. That tells you all you need to know about how Canada is perceived by adversaries.”
So why is Canada such a prime target? Chrustie identifies four layers of failure: strategy, structure, systems, and culture.
“We lack a cohesive, public national security strategy,” he said. “Unlike the United States or Australia, Canada doesn’t clearly define TOC as a strategic national threat. We don’t have a single, unified doctrine coordinating our federal agencies—police, intelligence, border services, foreign affairs. And TOC thrives in those gaps.”
“Our institutions are siloed,” he continued. “Policing is on the front line, but CSIS, CBSA, military and CSE aren’t always integrated. Right now, the RCMP is expected to shoulder most of the burden. But that’s unsustainable. We need an all-agency model.”
Canada’s legal and regulatory systems are another weak point. “Our legal system is designed for a domestic, rule-of-law environment. It’s ill-suited to confront global adversaries who don’t play by those rules,” Chrustie said. “Disclosure rules from Stinchcombe, Charter constraints, and evidentiary burdens mean that complex prosecutions often fall apart or never proceed.”
Finally, Chrustie warned that Canadian political culture is its most underappreciated vulnerability. “Canadians are culturally indifferent to national security,” he said. “We’ve taken a maternalistic approach—shielding the public from harsh realities, hoping to avoid panic or xenophobia. But that silence has allowed foreign actors to operate here with little resistance.”
“The historical paternalist approach of governments and bureaucrats—‘we won’t discuss these issues in public, we are the experts’—that thinking is outdated,” he said. “China, Russia, Iran and North Korea are the biggest fans of that mindset.”
Asked what a real solution looks like, Chrustie offered a sweeping and urgent framework: a national strategy naming hostile states and TOC as geopolitical threats; centralized agency coordination; intelligence-led disruption operations with allies abroad; and legal reforms enabling proactive countermeasures.
“We either need carve-outs with enhanced powers for TOC-related and foreign threat investigations—or we rely more on foreign-facing disruption efforts and accept that prosecutions are secondary,” he said.
He also emphasized grassroots engagement. “The solutions are in the communities, not in the siloed offices of governments,” Chrustie said. “We need to engage business leaders, civic organizations, educators, and diaspora communities. We need to build national resilience—not just enforce laws after the damage is done.”
His closing warning was as stark as his opening diagnosis.
“Canada is a saturated and vulnerable target,” he said. “And until we stop treating this as a criminal justice problem and start treating it as an integrated national security emergency, we will continue to lose ground.”
“There is no room for spectators.”
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