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A tiny spark of hope in another soul-crushing round of CRTC hearings: Peter Menzies

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From the MacDonald Laurier Institute

By Peter Menzies

It was as if the internet — the most democratizing, weird, wonderful, frightening and important technological development in communications since the printing press — had never been invented.

Earlier this month, halfway through answering a question from the House of Commons Industry committee, Annette Verschusen abruptly removed her headphones, stood up, unplugged, and walked out.

It was shocking.

And yet, in a rascally sort of way, I admired it. Yes, yes, the former head of Home Depot Canada and the chancellor of Cape Breton University recently had to resign as chair of Sustainable Development Technology Canada and is under investigation by the Ethics Commissioner for approving hundreds of thousands of dollars in Green Fund grants to her own company, NRStor Inc. But still, who among us hasn’t fantasized about acting out in similar fashion when the blinding light of revelation strikes and it suddenly dawns on you: “WTF am I even doing here? I don’t need this shit.”

And, in your fantasy, you just get up and leave. Like Verschusen did.

I confess I once harboured a similar impulse towards the end of an arduous Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC) hearing along the lines of the three-week-long epic that concluded Dec. 8.

Part of my despair was likely due to being tired. Everyone who appears before a CRTC panel (I was a Commissioner for a decade) deserves one’s full attention and there are thousands of pages of required reading in the weeks leading up to and in the evenings during a hearing.

Then there’s the hearing room. Seemingly designed by Dante Alighieri to sap the will to live from those condemned to work within it, the room’s about the size of an elementary school gym. There are no windows or art and the ambiance complements the soulless mid-century Soviet architectural style of Gatineau’s public buildings.

But — and I hesitate to confess this — it was the relentless rent-seeking that made my mind wander during breaks and impishly imagine what would happen if I just unplugged my laptop, got up, walked out through the crowds, got a cab straight to the airport and never came back. Because eventually, most CRTC hearings devolve into two broad categories. One is a series of presentations from large, protected and profitable companies explaining the dire consequences if they don’t get their way. The other is a seemingly endless parade of well-meaning groups begging for the large companies’ money lest their roles as cultural saviours are diminished. It’s predictably tiresome, tedious and exhausting. But the stakeholders know that commissioners come and go on a regular basis, so no cause to worry about them getting wise to the game.

I was reminded of that inappropriate thought while monitoring the final week of this most recent hearing. When I wasn’t watching, I was reading transcripts and experiencing it all in a mildly PTSDish sort of way.

This hearing was the first of three scheduled to implement the Online Streaming Act (Bill C-11) which amended the Broadcasting Act for the first time since 1991 in order to “modernize” it by — absurdly, in my view — defining the internet as broadcasting and putting it lock, stock and barrel under the authority of the CRTC, which was first formed in 1968 to make sure Anne Murray and Terry Jacks got fair play on the radio airwaves.

This first phase — in which offshore streamers such as Netflix and Disney+ made their regulatory debut — was supposed to be about three things:

  • Defining the cutoff line — $10 million, $25 million or $50 million in annual revenue — the CRTC would use to study which companies must buck up and fund Canadian content;
  • Deciding how much those companies would have to pay;
  • Determining how many different funds should get the loot and how many groups would be involved — BIPOC, Indigenous, LGBTQ2S, etc.

It wasn’t the debilitating boredom of it all that was the most difficult to overcome. Nor was it the acronym-laden banter between the panel and stakeholders that rendered the discourse incomprehensible to ordinary Canadians. And while the manner in which consumers’ interests were disregarded was beyond frustrating, that wasn’t the worst part.

The seriously soul-crushing aspect was that this hearing looked, sounded and felt exactly like CRTC broadcasting hearings have looked, sounded and felt for 30 years.

It was as if the internet — the most democratizing, weird, wonderful, frightening and important technological development in communications since the printing press — had never been invented.

It was a funereal procession of grim-faced presenters from large, often outrageously profitable domestic companies involved in providing telephone, mobile, internet, cable and broadcasting crying woe are we, declaring the industry to be in “crisis,” demanding “urgent” relief from their regulatory burdens and threatening the jobs of thousands of workers should they not get their way. They even got the ball rolling on a whole new fund for local news production lest democracy die. Because, without them, of course it will.

This was followed by a chorus line of vested interests explaining how important it is for the regulator to ensure lotsa cash flows in their direction lest the nation’s creative aesthetic dies under the jackboot of American cultural imperialism. And — OMG! — whatever happens don’t make me have to move to Hollywood. You know, like poor old Ryan Reynolds did.

There were, to be fair, bright parts when the companies and workers that have built success on the internet politely explained, with respect, that what the CRTC was talking about makes no sense in 2023. None whatsoever. Some even begged the panel of Commissioners to please “do no harm.”

Welcome as something — anything — “modern” was during what otherwise was a bad acid flashback to decades past, it was not enough to revive any sense of optimism. At least not until YouTuber J.J. McCullough — the penultimate presenter — showed up.

In words everyone can understand, he said that we are in “a time when there’s a huge thriving sort of forward‑looking modern youthful wing of the Canadian cultural economy and cultural space in the form of online content creators who are often very entrepreneurial, very self‑directed people that have started from very little and have become very successful.”

And that there is concern with “the idea that those people are perhaps in some way like a problem that now needs to be solved in order to sort of subsidize people that, you know, god bless them, are sort of clinging to perhaps a dream of success in a medium that there just isn’t market or public demand for any more.”

It offered a small flicker of hope that, somehow, the 21st century and all its possibilities might yet survive the CRTC’s smothering embrace.

Then again, as the saying goes, it’s the hope that kills you.

Peter Menzies is a senior fellow with the Macdonald-Laurier Institute, past vice-chair of the CRTC and a former newspaper publisher.

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Business

Losses Could Reach Nearly One Billion: When Genius Failed…..Again

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Illustration by Daniel Medina

By Eric Salzman

The smartest guys in the room fall for the same scam twice in less than 5 years

THE SCHEME: Fraud and Money Laundering

THE COMPANY: Stenn Technologies

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THE NEWS: For the second time in five years, a scam involving sexing up a boring, centuries old financing business blew up in the faces of some of the world’s largest banks

You know the old saying. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

In December, “fintech” supply chain financier Stenn Technologies and its subsidiaries Stenn Assets UK Ltd and Stenn International Ltd, collapsed, spanking investors and lenders such as Citigroup, Nexis, BNP Paribas, HSBC and private equity firm Centerbridge. Just a month prior to the blow-up, Stenn was viewed as a fintech unicorn with a robust $1 billion book of business, poised for strong growth.

As we’ve seen time and again, a unicorn can quickly die when a company’s business model screams fraud to anyone bothering to look.

Stenn Technologies claimed to use artificial intelligence and state of the art technology to analyze credit and money laundering risk in order to turn a low margin, supply chain financing business into an awesome, high return, low risk securitized product.

Here’s a quick explanation of supply chain financing:

1. A company delivers its product to a buyer and the buyer promises to pay in a few months’ time, creating an accounts receivable.

2. The company that has the accounts receivable sends it to the supply chain financier (Greensill Capital or Stenn Technologies).

3. The supply chain financier pays the company cash for the receivable minus a discount which is another business practice called factoring.

4. The buyer pays the financier the full amount of the receivable on the due date.

Supply chain financing is nothing new. It was probably around when Marco Polo set out for the Orient.

If it sounds boring, that’s because it is, or at least is supposed to be. Lex Greensill’s Greensill Capital changed that a decade ago.

Through fancy structuring, as well as four private jets, Greensill created a byzantine circular loop where money flowed around the world, much of it to Greensill favorites like steel maker Sanjeev Gupta and then back again. The operation was continuously funded by either GAM, Credit Suisse, SoftBank as well as Greensill’s own German bank, Greensill Bank AG. After a while, as more money poured into Greensill from eager investors, the company began to essentially just lend money out, mostly to Gupta while calling the transactions “future receivables.”

Greensill Capital collapsed under the weight of fraud in 2021, costing its big investors mentioned above billions. Matt reported on the story here in 2021.

Greensill’s receivable notes (the fancy structuring) were insured by a number of insurers, the biggest being Japanese insurer Tokio Marine. The insurance made investors comfortable because, if Tokio Marine insured it, the notes have to be money good, right?

Wrong.

At one point, Tokio had nearly $8 billion of exposure to Greensill deals. How insurers got comfortable with insuring receivables to a blizzard of shell companies that all seemed to point back to Gupta and Lex’s pockets is anyone’s guess, but when Tokio finally did a good look under the hood, they cried insurance fraud and Greensill came crashing down. Credit Suisse investors alone lost $10 billion.

At this point, we need to hear from Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott, better known as Scotty.

So now, we’re at the shame on you portion of the story.

Astoundingly, Stenn Technologies was able to pull off a similar scam just a couple of years later, posing as a fintech company, supposedly using the latest in technology to do global supply chain financing faster and better than everyone else in the business.

The victims are new, but given the high publicity of Greensill’s failure, you’d figure they would catch on.

According to Bloomberg News, “Stenn’s main backers were Citigroup Inc., BNP Paribas SA, Natixis and HSBC Holdings Plc while Barclays Plc, M&G Plc and Goldman Sachs Group also backed the transaction.”

Private equity firm Centerbridge invested $50 million in capital and valued the company at $900 million in 2022.

In 2022, TechCrunch described the secret sauce that Stenn was supposedly using to bring a 13th century business into the modern age.

Stenn — which applies big data analytics, taking a few datapoints about a business (the main two being what money it has coming in and going out based on invoices) and matching them up against an algorithm that takes some 1,000 other factors into account to determine its eligibility for a loan of up to $10 million; and on the other side taps a network of institutions and other big lenders to provide the capital for that financing.

Perhaps this multi-factor algorithm was super cool when they showed it to investors and lending partners. The only problem was Stenn, in the words of a business crime attorney who spoke to Bloomberg, “has all the hallmarks of both fraud and money laundering.”

Greensill might have been a bit hard to figure out with large, respected insurance companies insuring their notes.

But anyone who took the time to investigate Stenn Technologies by simply looking at the data they pumped out to investors weekly would have seen the scheme for what it was.

While it appears the previously mentioned institutional investors didn’t bother to investigate, Bloomberg did and the results were darkly hilarious.

Some of Stenn’s biggest suppliers were tiny companies in Thailand and Hong Kong with little in common yet corporate filings for all of them list the same Russian name as a backer. One in Singapore was accused by the U.S. of enabling payments to Russian naval intelligence and sanctioned in August. Tracing a group owned by another Russian investor that was supposedly shipping millions of dollars of goods to corporations in Switzerland and Canada led to a derelict Prague building with boarded-up windows.

Bloomberg contacted the largest 50 firms that were supposedly the buyers for what Stenn’s suppliers produced, and the bulk had no idea who Stenn Technologies or these suppliers were! A spokesman for Edion Corp., one of the biggest electronics retailers in Japan, told Bloomberg, “we have absolutely no knowledge of this matter. We really have no idea what it’s about.”

Essentially, the data produced by Stenn highlighted thousands of bogus transactions on a weekly basis to investors, lying about who was paying and who was receiving billions of dollars of funds. According to Bloomberg, investors received these details with the name of the suppliers and buyers included. Therefore, at any time, investors could have done a sanity check on these obscure suppliers to see who they were, or in this case, weren’t.

HSBC finally caught up to what Stenn was doing. Again from the Bloomberg report:

HSBC triggered Stenn’s downfall when it lodged an application to the UK courts, alleging that its officials had uncovered ‘deeply troubling issues on a large scale.’ The
invoices at the heart of the deal weren’t ‘genuine debts’ and payments to suppliers weren’t coming from ‘blue-chip companies’ but from bogus firms with similar names, according to the complaint filed by the London-based bank.

Investors are facing a potential loss of $200 million, although it could be a lot more as $978 million in invoiced-financed notes are outstanding, Bloomberg reports.

There is a bright side to Stenn’s collapse though. A senior trade finance official told The Sunday Times:

“The saving grace here is at least it’s smaller than Greensill.”

Well played.

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Banks

TD Bank Account Closures Expose Chinese Hybrid Warfare Threat

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From the Frontier Centre for Public Policy

By Scott McGregor

Scott McGregor warns that Chinese hybrid warfare is no longer hypothetical—it’s unfolding in Canada now. TD Bank’s closure of CCP-linked accounts highlights the rising infiltration of financial interests. From cyberattacks to guanxi-driven influence, Canada’s institutions face a systemic threat. As banks sound the alarm, Ottawa dithers. McGregor calls for urgent, whole-of-society action before foreign interference further erodes our sovereignty.

Chinese hybrid warfare isn’t coming. It’s here. And Canada’s response has been dangerously complacent

The recent revelation by The Globe and Mail that TD Bank has closed accounts linked to pro-China groups—including those associated with former Liberal MP Han Dong—should not be dismissed as routine risk management. Rather, it is a visible sign of a much deeper and more insidious campaign: a hybrid war being waged by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) across Canada’s political, economic and digital spheres.

TD Bank’s move—reportedly driven by “reputational risk” and concerns over foreign interference—marks a rare, public signal from the private sector. Politically exposed persons (PEPs), a term used in banking and intelligence circles to denote individuals vulnerable to corruption or manipulation, were reportedly among those flagged. When a leading Canadian bank takes action while the government remains hesitant, it suggests the threat is no longer theoretical. It is here.

Hybrid warfare refers to the use of non-military tools—such as cyberattacks, financial manipulation, political influence and disinformation—to erode a nation’s sovereignty and resilience from within. In The Mosaic Effect: How the Chinese Communist Party Started a Hybrid War in America’s Backyard, co-authored with Ina Mitchell, we detailed how the CCP has developed a complex and opaque architecture of influence within Canadian institutions. What we’re seeing now is the slow unravelling of that system, one bank record at a time.

Financial manipulation is a key component of this strategy. CCP-linked actors often use opaque payment systems—such as WeChat Pay, UnionPay or cryptocurrency—to move money outside traditional compliance structures. These platforms facilitate the unchecked flow of funds into Canadian sectors like real estate, academia and infrastructure, many of which are tied to national security and economic competitiveness.

Layered into this is China’s corporate-social credit system. While framed as a financial scoring tool, it also functions as a mechanism of political control, compelling Chinese firms and individuals—even abroad—to align with party objectives. In this context, there is no such thing as a genuinely independent Chinese company.

Complementing these structural tools is guanxi—a Chinese system of interpersonal networks and mutual obligations. Though rooted in trust, guanxi can be repurposed to quietly influence decision-makers, bypass oversight and secure insider deals. In the wrong hands, it becomes an informal channel of foreign control.

Meanwhile, Canada continues to face escalating cyberattacks linked to the Chinese state. These operations have targeted government agencies and private firms, stealing sensitive data, compromising infrastructure and undermining public confidence. These are not isolated intrusions—they are part of a broader effort to weaken Canada’s digital, economic and democratic institutions.

The TD Bank decision should be seen as a bellwether. Financial institutions are increasingly on the front lines of this undeclared conflict. Their actions raise an urgent question: if private-sector actors recognize the risk, why hasn’t the federal government acted more decisively?

The issue of Chinese interference has made headlines in recent years, from allegations of election meddling to intimidation of diaspora communities. TD’s decision adds a new financial layer to this growing concern.

Canada cannot afford to respond with fragmented, reactive policies. What’s needed is a whole-of-society response: new legislation to address foreign interference, strengthened compliance frameworks in finance and technology, and a clear-eyed recognition that hybrid warfare is already being waged on Canadian soil.

The CCP’s strategy is long-term, multidimensional and calculated. It blends political leverage, economic subversion, transnational organized crime and cyber operations. Canada must respond with equal sophistication, coordination and resolve.

The mosaic of influence isn’t forming. It’s already here. Recognizing the full picture is no longer optional. Canadians must demand transparency, accountability and action before more of our institutions fall under foreign control.

Scott McGregor is a defence and intelligence veteran, co-author of The Mosaic Effect: How the Chinese Communist Party Started a Hybrid War in America’s Backyard, and the managing partner of Close Hold Intelligence Consulting Ltd. He is a senior security adviser to the Council on Countering Hybrid Warfare and a former intelligence adviser to the RCMP and the B.C. Attorney General. He writes for the Frontier Centre for Public Policy.

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