I created this site in 2020 as a place to share ideas and perspectives shaped by a long career in public policy, strategic planning, communications, association management, government, and politics.
When I launched it, I did not fully appreciate how constraining to self-expression it could be to work within Ottawa’s mainstream policy and institutional ecosystem.
Writing carefully, moderating tone and always colouring within the lines may be necessary, even appropriate, but over time it is also limiting. That is why this site did not become the safe place for unvarnished expression I had hoped it would be.
As I write this, I’m in a different place, I’ve left full-time association management and have moved to a different stage of my professional life: One where I can choose, who I work with, what projects I lend my time to and the causes I advocate for.
And with that, I’m reclaiming my own voice — the ability to write and think freely, without the need for perpetual moderation and compromise. This site now reflects that intention more clearly.
I still expect to post the occasional quick take on breaking news, but the emphasis will remain on more considered opinion and longer-form analysis, written honestly and in my own voice.
While the news cycle will shape some of what appears here, my focus will increasingly be on a smaller number of issues of particular concern to me: governance and leadership, mental health and wellbeing in institutional settings, public policy and democratic practice, and the human consequences of how we design and manage our institutions.
And from time to time, I may still share thoughts on a book or two that have little — or nothing at all — to do with public policy.
This site is, at its core, a place to think out loud — freely, honestly, and for me, in a reclaimed voice.
If you’re interested in subscribing, please use the form below.
Part of this success can be explained by circumstance. Donald Trump’s repeated threats against Canada triggered a powerful wave of national solidarity which shows no sign of waning.
But it doesn’t fully explain Carney’s political success.
The question the is, what is it about Carney’s approach that makes it work? And what does that tell us about the current state of our parliamentary democracy?
Carney himself offered part of the answer months ago at the World Economic Forum in Davos. There, he argued for a policy of “variable geometry” — a form of realpolitik built on constant adaptation to shifting power dynamics.
Internationally, the approach was widely praised. It helped solidify his domestic image as a pragmatic, credible, and highly competent leader. That same approach now appears to be taking hold at home.
Across multiple policy areas, a pattern has emerged. Ambitious commitments are announced, then softened, reframed, or quietly set aside as priorities shift. Early signals on climate ambition have given way to a stronger emphasis on “competitiveness.” Promised regulatory clarity on emerging technologies like artificial intelligence remains tied up in extended consultations. Positions on foreign conflicts have shifted in tone and emphasis within days as political and economic pressures evolve.
Individually, these look like tactical adjustments. Taken together, they form a pattern and reveal a deliberate approach to governing – hard-nosed, calculating and grounded not so much in principles as much as in opportunity.
Government consultation offers a good example. In some cases, it expands political space and time — extending timelines without forcing decisions. In others, it contracts — particularly when broader input might constrain executive flexibility.
The contrast with the ongoing CUSMA review is striking. During the 2017–2018 renegotiation, Canada relied on broad, continuous consultations to build a unified and well-prepared negotiating position. Today, many stakeholders describe a more centralized, less transparent process.
A year in, the pattern is clear. When speed and control matter, consultation narrows. When delay is useful, it expands. What emerges is a form of variable governance.
The Carney approach does not operate in a vacuum. It is made possible by the environment in which it unfolds. It is this environment that distinguishes Mark Carney’s domestic realpolitik from the brass tacks pragmatism of a Jean Chretien.
We now live in a political and information ecosystem where attention is fragmented and memory is short. Issues cycle rapidly. Narratives turn over quickly. New announcements displace old ones before they can be fully evaluated.
In that environment, constant repositioning is not punished. It is normalized and forgotten.
And as an economist, Carney knows voters respond rationally. Faced with information overload, they rely on shortcuts — ideology, reputation, perceived competence — to make sense of politics. Increasingly, governments are judged less on coherent policy trajectories than on general impressions.
The shift is subtle but significant, as accountability shifts from programs to perception, and from trackable commitments to reputational cues.
This is where Carney’s approach dovetails with its environment.
His political strength does not rest on the success of his decisions – it is much too soon to draw definitive conclusions on the government’s policy directions. His success rests on the strength of a brand – foresight, competence, seriousness, control –that he has been able to fashion.
And as long as that perception holds, consistency and outcomes matter less.
A recent example illustrates the point. On February 28, Carney was among the first Western leaders to support U.S. military action against Iran. Within days, as consequences and criticism mounted, the government shifted toward a position emphasizing international law and negotiation. At the same time, it rolled out measures to mitigate the economic fallout of a conflict whose geopolitical and economic fallout were wholly predictable.
In isolation, this looks like recalibration. Seen as part of a pattern, it suggests something else: the ability to occupy successive, difficult-to-reconcile positions without bearing sustained political cost.
The issue is not simply Carney’s style; it is the absence of effective political counterweights.
When opposition parties chase the story of the day — often set by the same accelerated media cycle — they reinforce the system they should be chipping away at. What is missing is not outrage. It is organized memory.
Effective opposition in this environment requires discipline. It requires tracking commitments over time, systematically connecting statements to decisions, and showing the real-world consequences — economic, social, human — of policies.
Not through one-off political hits, but through sustained, methodical work and fresh and credible communication strategies
Because this is the real battleground.
Carney’s governing approach is not just adaptive. It is also well suited to an environment where scrutiny struggles to keep pace.
Put plainly: it takes advantage of a system under strain, where brand perception trumps reality. Nothing will change until that changes.
As long as opposition parties — especially the official opposition — confuse reaction with strategy, the playing field will continue to be tilted in favour of the government.
For the opposition parties, the task ahead is more demanding. It is to rebuild continuity, slow the cycle and make commitments traceable, outcomes intelligible and accountabilities clear.
And a democracy where power can move faster than the scrutiny applied to it is a democracy whose foundations begin to crack.
As a result of yesterday’s election, the coming months may offer an extraordinary teachable moment: a real-time look at what it takes to dismantle institutions that have been reshaped over years to serve personal political interests. In that sense, Hungary may provide an early glimpse of the kind of transition other democracies — including the United States — could one day face.
For more than a decade, Orbán positioned himself as one of the leading architects of an alternative to liberal democracy. Within the European Union, he repeatedly blocked collective action, including support for Ukraine. At home, he made opposition to immigration a defining political axis, reshaping public debate well beyond Hungary’s borders. Abroad, he cultivated ties with Moscow while aligning himself closely with the American right, presenting himself as a model for Trump-era politics.
His election loss, unthinkable a year ago, therefore, carries meaning far beyond Hungary. But the core question remains: Elections remove leaders, they do not on their own transform the systems that sustained them.
In Hungary, that system became deeply embedded over time through constitutional changes, media consolidation, and the development of dense political and economic patronage networks.
What is often described as “Orbanism” is not simply a political movement. It became an architecture of power, built deliberately and designed to endure.
There are clear parallels beyond Hungary. Comparisons between Orban’s Hungary and the United States under Donald Trump are not just about political affinity. They reflect a similar approach to power, one that bends state institutions to personal ends, running roughshod over established norms.
This is why this moment matters and why the real test begins now.
Hungary is entering a phase that is far more complex than the election itself. The incoming prime minister, Péter Magyar, is not an outsider, he is a former insider who broke with Orban’s regime. As such he may be better positioned than most for the massive challenge ahead.
A fully functioning liberal system after years of eroded norms and weakened checks and balances cannot be restored by government decree. Institutions do not reset on their own. And the ecosystem of interests — political, economic, media, institutional — that formed around the regime does not dissolve with the defeat of its patron.
This is what makes Hungary a test case. Not simply for the defeat of an illiberal leader, but for what comes next.
Orban was not operating in isolation. He was part of a broader transnational network linking figures as varied as Donald Trump, Marine Le Pen, and Vladimir Putin. Yet that alignment did not protect him at the ballot box. The internationalization of illiberalism, it turns out, does not guarantee its durability.
That reality complicates a broader narrative that has taken hold in recent years: that the liberal democratic order is in irreversible decline. There is truth in that diagnosis. The vulnerabilities exposed over the past decade are real.
But Hungary points to something more nuanced and more historically relevant.
Democracies are not static systems. They absorb pressure. They bend. At times, they drift far from their own norms. But they also retain the capacity to course correct.
Recent developments — in Hungary, but also earlier in Poland and Brazil — suggest that such corrections are possible. They may be incomplete, fragile, and even reversible. But they are real enough to challenge the idea that democratic systems are simply on a one-way road to decline.
None of this means that liberal democracy is emerging strengthened from this period. It is not. But it does suggest that it is not as easily displaced as some have argued.
For observers beyond Hungary, the stakes go well beyond one election. The question is no longer whether systems like Orban’s can be defeated. It is whether they can be unwound.
The answer will take time. But it may offer valuable insight into the kinds of challenges other democracies will face.
Because while the fall of a leader is visible, the traps he leaves behind for his successor are not.
And that may be the true significance of this moment — not what it closes, but what it opens: a difficult, uncertain, but instructive process of political and institutional course correction.
