Canada Was the First Test

How the US Is Replacing Institutional Alliances with Executive Rule

The collapsing relationship with Canada should be alarming to Americans—not just as a diplomatic crisis, but as a profound revelation of how foreign policy functions in a post-democratic framework. What we're witnessing isn't merely tension between allies; it's the deliberate replacement of institutional relationships with the personal whims of a sovereign executive.

While Canada has long been the butt of jokes to Americans—the polite neighbor to the north, the straight man in our cultural comedy—this casual dismissal has obscured a crucial truth: Canada is a critical component of the U.S. national security architecture. As a steadfast ally, a culturally bonded nation, and a peaceful presence along our 5,525-mile northern border, Canada provides something invaluable that no military expenditure could replace: a secure flank that allows America to project power globally without worrying about threats from the north.

This partnership has been consecrated with blood. Canadian soldiers have fought and died alongside Americans in conflicts spanning a century—from the trenches of World War I to the mountains of Afghanistan. These weren't abstract commitments to vague alliances; they were concrete sacrifices made by real people with names, families, and futures they never got to experience.

On September 11th, 2001, when America faced its darkest hour and closed its airspace, Canada opened its arms. Operation Yellow Ribbon diverted 238 aircraft to Canadian airports, where thousands of stranded Americans found refuge, shelter, and kindness from strangers who treated them not as foreigners but as neighbors in need. In Gander, Newfoundland, a town of 10,000 welcomed nearly 7,000 diverted passengers, housing them in schools, community centers, and private homes without hesitation.

This wasn't diplomatic calculation. It was human decency expressed at a national scale.

Canada's participation in the Afghanistan War was costly and painful—a commitment made not out of self-interest but out of solidarity with a wounded ally. Between 2001 and 2014, 158 Canadian soldiers died in Afghanistan, a significant sacrifice for a country with a military a fraction the size of America's. The impact was so profound that Ontario renamed a section of Highway 401 “The Highway of Heroes” to commemorate the route taken by fallen soldiers returning home from that war—a war they joined to bring justice to the thousands of Americans killed on 9/11.

Canadians engaged in that sacrifice as friends to Americans. Because that's what friends do.

Now, if you want to understand the psychology of Canadians today, understand the deep betrayal they are feeling. Imagine standing by a friend through their darkest moments, only to have them turn on you arbitrarily, insulting you publicly, threatening your livelihood, and suggesting that your home should become their property. This isn't a policy disagreement—it's a betrayal of trust at the most fundamental level.

The 25% tariffs imposed on Canadian imports weren't just an economic measure—they were an insult wrapped in a policy. The justification—that Canada is responsible for fentanyl trafficking and illegal immigration—is so divorced from reality (Canada accounts for less than 1% of both) that it can only be understood as deliberate humiliation rather than genuine policy.

When Trump refers to the Prime Minister of Canada as a “governor” and suggests—perhaps joking, perhaps not—that Canada should become the 51st state, he isn't engaging in hardball negotiation. He's declaring that Canada's sovereignty itself is conditional, subject to his approval rather than international law or historical precedent.

This approach has done nothing to improve the lives of Americans. It has, however, succeeded in radicalizing Canadians against America—transforming one of our most reliable allies into a nation where citizens are removing American products from store shelves, booing the American national anthem at hockey games, and finding renewed patriotic unity in opposition to the United States.

This pattern is horrifying other democratic allies who watch and wonder: if this is how America treats Canada—its closest ally, largest trading partner, and most culturally similar neighbor—what does that mean for them?

But to understand what's really happening, we need to look beyond the immediate diplomatic consequences to the underlying transformation of governance itself. This isn't just bad foreign policy—it's the international manifestation of a domestic project to replace institutional governance with personal rule.

The hallmark of the liberal international order has been its institutional nature—the idea that relationships between nations are governed by treaties, agreements, and mutual interests rather than the personal whims of leaders. This system created unprecedented stability and prosperity precisely because it was predictable, rule-based, and larger than any individual.

What we're witnessing now is the deliberate dismantling of this system in favor of one where international relationships are based on personal loyalty to a sovereign individual rather than institutional commitments between nations. Just as DOGE is systematically replacing career civil servants with personal loyalists domestically, our foreign policy is replacing institutional partnerships with personalized relationships of domination and submission.

This explains why Trump's actions toward Canada seem so counterproductive from a traditional foreign policy perspective. If the goal were advancing American interests as traditionally understood, alienating our closest ally would be obviously self-defeating. But if the goal is replacing institutional relationships with personal ones, then forcing Canada into a position of supplication becomes the point.

The same pattern has played out with NATO, where the emphasis on “paying bills” transforms a mutual defense alliance into a protection racket. It's visible in our approach to Ukraine, where support for a sovereign nation's defense becomes conditional on personal deference rather than strategic interest. It manifests in our withdrawal from international agreements and organizations, replacing the predictability of treaties with the variability of personal preference.

This transformation isn't accidental—it's the international application of Curtis Yarvin's neoreactionary vision, where governance isn't about institutions but about direct personal control. In this framework, there are no allies, only vassals. There are no partnerships, only hierarchies of submission. There are no treaties, only temporary arrangements subject to sovereign whim.

What makes Canada's case particularly revealing is how unnecessary it is from any traditional strategic perspective. There is no rational American interest served by antagonizing Canada. There is no policy goal achieved by threatening its sovereignty. There is no security concern addressed by imposing arbitrary tariffs.

The only purpose served is the demonstration of sovereign power itself—showing that even our closest relationships can be disrupted at will, that no institutional commitment is binding, that personal loyalty trumps mutual interest. It's governance as performance art, with Canada serving as the unwilling canvas.

The unified Canadian response—where approval for the Liberal Party has surged from the brink of electoral defeat to near parity with the Conservatives in a matter of weeks—suggests they understand instinctively what's at stake. Across political lines, Canadians recognize that this isn't about policy disagreements but about whether national sovereignty itself remains meaningful in the face of arbitrary power.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And when America treats its closest ally as a potential possession rather than a sovereign partner, it's not just breaking diplomatic norms—it's replacing the entire foundation of international relations with something fundamentally different and profoundly dangerous.

For Americans watching this unfold, the question isn't whether we should support this policy or that one. The question is whether we still believe in a world where relationships between nations are governed by something more enduring than the momentary impulses of any single individual—whether we still believe in the possibility of friendship rather than mere domination in our international affairs.

Because that's the choice we face: not between tough or gentle diplomacy, but between an international order based on mutual respect and one based on submission to the sovereign. Canada is just the first test case in this transformation. It won't be the last.