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Grounded -The PM’s plane is transformed into a metaphor

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PAUL WELLS

Posted with permission from Paul Wells Substack

I stopped by the Conservative Convention on Thursday night, just briefly. The mood (which I ascertained by asking several Conservative acquaintances “What’s the mood?”) was cautiously optimistic. The Conservatives I met — a random sample, skewed older because I haven’t met a new generation of Conservative activists — sounded pleased with Pierre Poilievre’s summer. But they also figure they’re getting a second look because voters have given the Liberals a hundred looks and they always see the same thing.

Later, word came from India that Justin Trudeau’s airplane had malfunctioned, stranding him, one hopes only briefly. It’s always a drag when a politician’s vehicle turns into a metaphor so obvious it begs to go right into the headline. As for the cause of the breakdown, I’m no mechanic, but I’m gonna bet $20 on “The gods decided to smite Trudeau for hubris.” Here’s what the PM tweeted or xeeted before things started falling off his ride home:

One can imagine the other world leaders’ glee whenever this guy shows up. “Oh, it’s Justin Trudeau, here to push for greater ambition!” Shall we peer into their briefing binders? Let’s look at Canada’s performance on every single issue Trudeau mentions, in order.

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On climate change, Canada ranks 58th of 63 jurisdictions in the global Climate Change Performance Index. The country page for Canada uses the words “very low” three times in the first two sentences.

On gender equality, the World Economic Forum (!) ranks Canada 30th behind a bunch of other G-20 members.

On global health, this article in Britain’s BMJ journal calls Canada “a high income country that frames itself as a global health leader yet became one of the most prominent hoarders of the limited global covid-19 vaccine supply.”

On inclusive growth, the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development has a composite indicator called the Inclusive Growth Index. Canada’s value is 64.1, just behind the United States (!) and Australia, further behind most of Europe, stomped by Norway at 76.9%.

On support for Ukraine, the German Kiel Institute think tank ranks Canadafifth in the world, and third as a share of GDP, for financial support; and 8th in the world, or 21st as a share of GDP, for military support.

Almost all of these results are easy enough to understand. A small number are quite honourable. But none reads to me as any kind of license to wander around, administering lessons to other countries. I just finished reading John Williams’ luminous 1965 novel about university life, Stoner. A minor character in the book mocks the lectures and his fellow students, and eventually stands unmasked as a poser who hasn’t done even the basic reading in his discipline. I found the character strangely familiar. You’d think that after nearly a decade in power, after the fiascos of the UN Security Council bid, the first India trip, the collegiate attempt to impress a schoolgirl with fake trees, the prime minister would have figured out that fewer and fewer people, at home or abroad, are persuaded by his talk.

But this is part of the Liberals’ problem, isn’t it. They still think their moves work. They keep announcing stuff — Digital adoption program! Growth fund! Investment tax credits! Indo-Pacific strategy! Special rapporteur! — and telling themselves Canadians would miss this stuff if it went away. Whereas it’s closer to the truth to say we can’t miss it because its effect was imperceptible when it showed up.

In a moment I’ve mentioned before because it fascinates me, the Liberals called their play a year ago, as soon as they knew they’d be facing Pierre Poilievre. “We are going to see two competing visions,” Randy Boissonault said in reply to Poilievre’s first Question Period question as the Conservative leader. The events of the parliamentary year would spontaneously construct a massive contrast ad. It was the oldest play in the book, first articulated by Pierre Trudeau’s staff 50 years ago: Don’t compare me to the almighty, compare me to the alternative. It doesn’t work as well if people decide they prefer the alternative. It really doesn’t work if the team running the play think it means, “We’re the almighty.”

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There may yet be years — two, anyway — before we get to vote in a general election. Obviously much can change. I’ve made it clear, just about every time I’ve written about specific Poilievre policies, that I’ve seen no reason to be optimistic that a change of government would guarantee any improvement in public administration. But what we’ve seen elsewhere — most spectacularly in provincial elections in Quebec and Ontario in 2018 — is that sometimes voters stop caring about that question. They have a simpler question: After a decade in power, does the government in place even notice large, obvious things?

I see the Liberal caucus will be in London, ON this week. Here’s a chance for them to practice noticing large, obvious things. MPs would do well to walk around the city’s downtown core after dark, east of Richmond St., between Dundas and York. If they travel in small groups they’ll probably be safe.

While they witness what a Canadian city looks like in 2023, they might remind themselves that their unofficial 2015 election slogan was “Better Is Always Possible.” And ask themselves how much trouble they’ll be in if voters still believe it.

Lately when I write about the Liberals I upset my Liberal subscribers and when I write about Conservatives I upset my Conservative subscribers. I know it can feel like shtick, but it reflects my conviction that the partisan joust, and the genuine feelings that underpin it, are easier to address than the wicked problems of a chaotic time. And therefore way too tempting to an entire generation of political leadership.

For the Liberals, the challenge has been obvious since 2019: Does Justin Trudeau learn? In 2015 he ran as a disruptor, a guy who had noticed large, obvious things — interest rates were low! Small deficits were more manageable than they had been in years ! — and was willing to be cheeky in ignoring the other parties’ orthodoxies. Stephen Harper and Tom Mulcair were reduced to sputtering outrage that the new kid was making so many cheeky promises on fighter procurement (whoops), electoral reform (never mind), admitting Syrian refugees, legalizing cannabis, and more.

Since about 2017, inevitably, the Trudeau government has undergone a transition that’s common when disruptors become incumbents. He is increasingly forced to defend the state of things, rather than announcing he’s come to change it. He’s changed positions from forward to goal. All his opponents need to do is notice the big, obvious things he seems unable to see. The biggest: It’s become punishingly difficult for too many Canadians to put a roof over their head.

The old Trudeau would have done big, surprising things to show he could see such a thing. The Trudeau who ejected every senator from the Liberal caucus and broke a decade’s taboo against deficit spending would shut down the failed Canada Infrastructure Bank this week and put the savings into a national crisis housing fund. Or, I don’t know, some damned thing.

But of course, the surprising Trudeau of 2015 hadn’t been prime minister yet, had he? This hints at a question a few Liberals are starting to ask themselves. Does he have any juice left in him for more than pieties? He might still have some fight in him, but does he still have the job in him?

He’s already been in the job for longer than Pearson and Diefenbaker were. His indispensable right hand has been chief of staff longer than anyone who ever held the job. They have, for years, already been noticeably eager to administer lessons to others. Would they view a Liberal election defeat as their failure — or ours?

Would a prime minister who views a G-20 summit as a learning opportunity for every country except Canada view an election defeat as anything but further proof that Canada never really deserved him anyway?

 

 

 

 

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C2C Journal

Charlie Kirk and the Fragility of Civic Peace

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By Patrick Keeney

The brutal assassination of Charlie Kirk was shocking not only for its violence but for the chilling aftermath – the revelling on the left, the mendacious reporting, and the calls for more political violence.

Kirk embodied a conversational politics now rare. As founder of Turning Point USA, he brought millions of young people to conservatism by touring campuses and inviting critics – not just supporters – to the microphone. He strode into the lion’s den of higher education, taking hostile questions with civility, good humour, and reasoned argument rather than rancour.

“Disagreement,” he liked to say, “is a healthy part of our systems.”

It wasn’t necessary to share his convictions to recognize his courage and composure.

The reaction to Kirk’s death on September 10 at Utah Valley University was particularly disturbing. News outlets and social media overflowed with callous gloating and demands for further violence. “He got what he deserved” was among the milder responses. A conservative group logged more than 50,000 such comments in four days. Democratic members booed a motion for silence in Congress. A Secret Service agent called Kirk’s death “karma.”

How did it become virtuous to cheer a fellow human being’s death? Part of the answer lies in what literary critic George Steiner called the passing of the tragic vision. In The Death of Tragedy (1961), Steiner argued that tragedy – once the highest expression of human dignity amid suffering – had perished in Western culture, and its loss was civilizational.

The tragic view holds that suffering is an inherent part of the human condition. Chance, flaw, and necessity are woven into our very existence. This recognition distinguishes the tragic sensibility from utopian schemes of collective redemption. Enlightenment rationalism envisioned the world as scientifically perfectible; Marxism reinterpreted conflict as a class struggle culminating in utopia; the managerial state promised that expertise would eliminate disorder.

But when we forget life’s limits, politics ceases to be the art of prudence and compromise and becomes a fever dream of utopia. Once utopia is the aim, violence is reimagined as a form of purification. The French Revolution’s Terror, Stalin’s gulags, Mao’s Cultural Revolution, Pol Pot’s killing fields – each arose from rejecting Kant’s warning: “Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever built.”

Tragic sensibility is not fatalism. It tempers ambition with humility, recognizing that motives are mixed, victories partial, and knowledge flawed – and that opponents share our frailties. To acknowledge this crookedness is clarity, not despair. Only those who accept tragic limits can build anything lasting.

Politics lacking tragic sensibility becomes a substitute religion, promising salvation through power. Opponents become enemies; compromise becomes betrayal; violence follows. Those convinced of their righteousness feel justified in demonizing others. This tendency is especially apparent on today’s left; its ‘virtuous’ rhetoric of compassion often masks self-righteousness – and self-righteousness without humility can be deadly.

Consider Kirk’s accused assassin, 22-year-old Tyler Robinson. Raised in a stable, conservative family, Robinson drifted leftward and was recently radicalized, seemingly influenced by his transitioning roommate. He referred to himself as a leftist who loathed Trump. One can envision him then, cloaked in righteousness, believing he struck a blow against evil. The opponent becomes not a fellow human being but a symbol of oppression. Murder is no longer malice but moral necessity – the cost of purity. As Robespierre said, “Terror is nothing other than prompt, severe, inflexible justice; it is therefore an emanation of virtue.”

Canadians often imagine themselves immune to such eruptions. Yet our history tells another story: the October Crisis, the Air India bombing… seventy churches burned after unproven residential-school claims, and on-going anti-Jewish protests. Violence disguised as virtue is not alien to our soul.

Canadian academics exhibited hatred comparable to Kirk’s worst American foes. “Shooting is honestly too good for so many of you fascist c—-,” posted University of Toronto professor Ruth Marshall hours after Kirk’s death. Toronto schoolchildren reportedly cheered the news, while teachers watched passively.

This moment is perilously fragile. Social media amplifies outrage, rewarding anger while penalizing restraint. Every disagreement becomes an “existential crisis.” Every opponent is Hitler. The language of “emergency” and “genocide” floods politics, quickening the slide from rhetoric into violence.

The antidote is not repression but the recovery of tragic wisdom: we must temper politics with humility. This requires cultural renewal and virtues that allow citizens to live with differences: prudence, courage, humility, and charity. We need a civic ethos that balances rights with responsibilities, diversity with shared norms. Without restraint, pluralism degenerates into tribalism.

As Solzhenitsyn wrote in The Gulag Archipelago: “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.” This understanding counters ideologies dividing the world into pure and impure, oppressor and oppressed. The battle is within each heart – and that recognition demands humility.

Kirk’s assassination serves as a grim warning. The decline of civic peace is never accidental; it springs from ideological fanaticism, the conviction that one’s cause is so virtuous that opponents must be demonized and destroyed. Every destructive ideology cloaks itself in righteousness even as it paves the road to cruelty.

Charlie Kirk’s death exposes the danger of politics detached from a tragic sensibility. We must foster a politics tempered with humility, recognizing that our victories are partial and our understanding imperfect. Without this humble wisdom, freedom itself cannot survive.

The original, full-length version of this article was recently published in C2C Journal.

Patrick Keeney is a Canadian writer who divides his time between Kelowna, B.C., and Thailand.

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Business

Netherlands Seizes Chinese-Owned Chipmaker in Unprecedented Security Move

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Sam Cooper's avatar Sam Cooper

Court-approved removal of executive Zhang Xuezheng bears hallmarks of counter-intelligence concern

The Dutch government has taken control of Chinese-owned semiconductor manufacturer Nexperia, invoking an urgent national-security law directed at Beijing to safeguard Europe’s access to critical technology used across the automotive and electronics industries.

In a statement issued late Sunday, the Ministry of Economic Affairs said it had taken the “highly exceptional” decision to invoke the Goods Availability Act on September 30. The move followed “recent and acute signals” of such “significant scale and urgency” involving “serious governance shortcomings and actions within Nexperia” that Minister Vincent Karremans was compelled to intervene.

“The decision aims to prevent a situation in which the goods produced by Nexperia would become unavailable in an emergency,” the ministry said.

“These signals posed a threat to the continuity and safeguarding on Dutch and European soil of crucial technological knowledge and capabilities. Losing these capabilities could pose a risk to Dutch and European economic security.”

It is not known what specific information Dutch authorities gathered on Nexperia executive Zhang Xuezheng, who has been suspended from all management and board positions, but the move, approved by the Amsterdam Court of Appeal, has the hallmarks of a national security alert deemed severe by Dutch lawmakers.

Nexperia, headquartered in Nijmegen, produces semiconductors used widely in the European automotive industry and consumer electronics and is a key link in the continent’s industrial supply chain. The government said normal production will continue, but Karremans now has powers to block or reverse company decisions that could harm national or European interests.

The ministry’s order bars Nexperia and all its global subsidiaries, branches, and offices from making any adjustments to their assets, intellectual property, business operations, or personnel for one year.

Nexperia’s Chinese parent company, Wingtech Technology Co., a Shanghai-listed conglomerate placed on the U.S. Commerce Department’s Entity List in 2023, denounced the Dutch move, saying it “constitutes an act of excessive interference driven by geopolitical bias, not by fact-based risk assessment.” Wingtech said the measure “gravely contravenes the European Union’s long-standing advocacy for market-economy principles, fair competition, and international trade norms,” and “strongly” protested “discriminatory treatment toward a Chinese-owned enterprise.”

Wingtech disclosed to the Shanghai Stock Exchange that it had been notified of the Dutch order on September 30, but the government did not make the intervention public until October 12.

The Dutch government’s action marks the first time the Netherlands has used its emergency powers to seize control of Chinese-state linked company — an escalation that mirrors Washington’s strategic-industrial posture and signals Europe’s entry into a new era of techno-sovereignty.

In Britain, Nexperia’s ownership structure had already triggered alarm. In 2021, the company’s acquisition of Newport Wafer Fab, the UK’s largest semiconductor plant, was blocked by the Conservative government over national-security fears. The UK later ordered Nexperia to divest most of its stake under the National Security and Investment Act in 2022.

The controversy resurfaced this year amid the collapse of a high-profile espionage prosecution under Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s government. The Mail on Sunday reported, citing an unidentified source, that Christopher Berry—one of two men previously charged with spying for China—“sent details of the row within government on the Newport Wafer Fab semiconductor factory, which was initially sold to Nexperia but later blocked by the Conservative government over national-security fears.”

The Netherlands’ intervention follows escalating moves by allied governments to tighten control over critical-tech supply chains. Just days earlier, Beijing imposed sweeping export restrictions on rare-earth minerals, essential for cars, wind turbines, and electronics, citing “national security” grounds — mirroring Western justifications for semiconductor controls. The action drew a strong counter-threat from U.S. President Donald Trump, who warned that Washington could impose 100 percent additional tariffs on all Chinese goods if Beijing “weaponizes its mineral dominance.”

A semi-detente appeared to emerge after Trump’s weekend remarks suggesting a pause in escalation. But the Dutch government’s unilateral action underscores a global race to secure access to critical industrial components amid fears of spreading conflict in Europe and rising tensions in Asia.

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