For most of my lifetime and those of my parents and grandparents Canada and the United States have shared what was arguably the closest bilateral partnership in the democratic world. From NORAD to NAFTA, from shared sacrifice in war to shared prosperity in peace, the so-called “undefended border” symbolized far more than geography. It reflected a shared identity: two societies rooted in Anglo-constitutional traditions, free enterprise, and democratic norms.
I still remember attending a gala performance at the Grand Théâtre de Québec that ended with Prime Minister Brian Mulroney and President Ronald Reagan, joined by their wives, singing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” Their cabinet ministers looked on approvingly from the balconies above our seats. It was not merely a charming anecdote; it captured the spirit of the era. The Reagan–Mulroney partnership was grounded in clarity of purpose: deepening economic integration, modernizing trade rules, strengthening defence cooperation through NATO and NORAD, and presenting a united front against authoritarian adversaries. That alignment laid the foundations for free trade, expanded joint security capabilities, and a coordinated approach to countering totalitarian powers such as the Soviet Union and, later, the People’s Republic of China.
Today, that certainty feels gone.
To many Canadians, the message coming from Washington now seems unmistakable: friendship is conditional, transactional, and often unpredictable. The old assumption that Canada and the United States shared a secure and prosperous destiny in North America no longer feels safe. As in any deeply asymmetrical relationship, when the stronger partner pulls away abruptly, trust erodes. What once felt like a permanent bond begins to feel fragile.
When people feel rejected, they rarely retreat quietly. They look elsewhere. Nations are no different. History shows that strained alliances often produce ill-considered “rebound” relationships and that is the danger Canada now faces.
The most troubling potential suitor is the People’s Republic of China.
Only a short time ago, Canada–China relations were at their lowest point in generations. The arrest of Huawei executive Meng Wanzhou and Beijing’s retaliatory detention of two Canadian citizens the “two Michaels” exposed the coercive nature of the Chinese Communist Party. For a moment, it appeared Ottawa had absorbed a hard lesson about the CCP’s contempt for the Western liberal order.
Yet the pendulum is swinging back. Canada’s ambassador in Beijing has spoken openly of “stabilizing and improving” relations. Prime Minister Mark Carney has met with Xi Jinping to discuss enhanced cooperation. Officially, this is framed as pragmatism. In reality, it reflects something more uncomfortable: economic necessity combined with strategic loneliness.
As Washington threatens tariffs, disrupts auto-sector supply chains, and treats Canada less like a partner and more like an irritant, Ottawa is hedging. The recent push to accelerate West Coast pipeline access explicitly prioritizing Asian markets over American ones speaks volumes. If Canada cannot reliably ship its resources south, it must ship them elsewhere. And China, with vast demand and few environmental scruples, is waiting.
The CCP stands in direct opposition to Canada’s democratic values. But economic dependence and strategic fear can soften moral clarity. A renewed Canada–China rapprochement would likely begin with energy, minerals, and food sectors where Canada has abundance and China has insatiable need. Long-term supply contracts, preferential investment, and strategic stakes in Canadian infrastructure would soon follow.
If China entrenches itself economically in Canada’s Pacific provinces, it gains political leverage as well. That influence could extend to shipping regulations, Arctic transit routes, and access to dual-use infrastructure. From Washington’s perspective, the prospect of Chinese influence stretching from the Arctic to the Panama approaches should be deeply unsettling.
A Canada drifting toward a neutral “middle-power” posture might grow hesitant about U.S.-led intelligence sharing or Indo-Pacific security initiatives. Even modest Canadian disengagement would weaken the Western alliance. Beijing, adept at elite-capture diplomacy, would exploit the opening cultivating influence through think tanks, universities, boardrooms, and trade forums. Canada might remain a democracy, but a constrained one, increasingly caught between two giants.
Canada still shares more history, culture, and values with the United States than with any other country on Earth. But alliances are sustained by trust and reciprocity, not nostalgia. For the first time in 70 years, many North Americans are asking whether political leaders truly understand that.
This drift is not inevitable. But the window to reverse it is closing.
When the United States signals that conformity matters more than partnership, smaller allies are pushed to look elsewhere. That outcome serves no one. America does not benefit from a compromised or resentful Canada. Canada does not benefit from replacing a democratically with a totalitarian patron. Continental defence, Arctic security, the Great Lakes industrial basin, and the entire North American economic ecosystem depend on a functioning Canada–U.S. alliance.
If the Can-Am relationship continues to fray not because of genuine national interests but because of political theatrics and personal vendettas the resulting vacuum will not remain empty. China will move to fill it quietly, patiently, and permanently. Some progressive commentators already celebrate the Canadian prime minister’s outreach to Beijing as a “turning point.”
It may be one but not the kind we should welcome.
The choice before Canadians and Americans alike is stark: renewal or drift, partnership or estrangement. History has given North America a rare gift—neighbours who are also close friends. Squandering that gift would not only be tragic. It would be dangerous.
