Article
Comment
Leading
9 min read

Canada’s long hot summer of decline

Courage is needed when a country starts to fall apart.

Emerson Csorba works in deep tech, following experience in geopolitics and energy.

An aerial photography of a huge plume of smoke from a forest fire.
Jasper National Park on fire.
National Parks Canada.

In July 2024, wildfires blazed across large swathes of Alberta, engulfing much of the town of Jasper. As the smoke drifted to the City of Edmonton, air quality worsened considerably, reaching 10+ out of 10, or “very high risk,” on the air quality health index.  

The smoke confined much of the city of one million inhabitants to their homes – keeping stoves, television sets and other electrical appliances off to deal with the mid-thirties Celsius heat. Many wore masks when daring to venture outside. Scenes were, as in the past, apocalyptic – imagine the movie Bladerunner 2049.  

In 2016, the first major fire occurred in Fort McMurray, which led to a successful evacuation of 90,000 residents with photographs depicting what looked like hell on earth. This fire, covered by the international press, was at the time a one-off. It has since become the norm during Canadian summers.  

The fires are emblematic of the state of Canada.  

Now, metaphorical fires of all sorts – breaking of the healthcare system, surging housing costs, immigration without a plan, and decreasing civility in political debate – are spreading across Canada.  

It is noteworthy to witness just how rapidly Canada’s situation has degraded. It is a testament to the quickness – not unlike the spreading of a forest fire, ignited by an errant cigarette – with which a small group of individuals within a government can inflict lasting damage on a country.  

Indeed, the last decade for Canada has represented a backward turn. It is a regression from earlier domestic and international success, in which many across the world looked to Canada as a beacon of hope. Our international standing has diminished noticeably.  

This unexpected looking back to better times is well captured in the song “The Boys of Summer.” I often listened to The Ataris cover of the Don Henley classic when playing travel baseball across Canada and the US in my teens.  

The narrator reflects nostalgically on a summer romance. What was once present is now gone:

“Don’t look back, you can never look back/I thought I knew what love was, what did I know?/ Those days are gone forever/I should just let them go but…”.  

The story is much the same for Canada. What appeared so promising as recently as the early 2010s – the country on the rise economically and with a solid reputation internationally – has given way to decline and crumbling of vital social services. For example, healthcare median appointment waiting times now average 27.7 weeks (about 6 and a half months), though higher in the provinces of the Maritimes and Alberta. 

Internationally, Canada no longer enjoys a privileged relationship with the United States. The relationship will become even more fraught should former President Trump re-assume the role of President while Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is in power.  

Looking to China, Canada suggests the need for “dialogue,” a foreign policy nevertheless ten years out-of-date, and despite Canada serving as China’s international punching-bag.  

We have become afraid to not be invited, rather than to step forward with courage. 

We are, of course, in a darkening period in world history. Evil appears to be more strongly at work in the world now than in recent memory.  

The coronavirus pandemic was a turning-point, in which American and Chinese relations began to fracture. This was followed two years later by the Russian invasion of Ukraine and close to two years after this, the 7 October massacre of Jews by the terrorist group Hamas.  

In the United Kingdom, the murder of three girls in Southport has given way to nationwide riots, spreading through social media and its network effects.   

The dividing lines between identity-based groups domestically, and alliances internationally, are becoming clearer and more rigid. This is the trend since the pandemic crisis. Earlier tolerance of “grey” areas of difference is giving way to “black and white” division between nations and groups within them.  

Canada is therefore no exception to the crises facing democracies in the political West. Yet Canada’s failures are notable, given the shining light of political moderation, of government effectiveness, and of international collaboration that Canada historically is.    

Most notable and concerning within Canada is the lack of courage among political leadership. Canadian leadership fails to speak and act boldly domestically or internationally. Prime Minister Trudeau reportedly avoids cabinet meetings and one-on-one meetings with ministers, hiding whenever problems emerge. This is the opposite of courage.  

Courage, a distinctive Canadian virtue so well proven in WWI Battles of Vimy Ridge, Passchendaele and The Somme, or the Battle of the Atlantic in WWII, is in short supply. Yet, if there was ever a distinctive Canadian quality, it is courage, often in times of crisis.  

In my time abroad, I have been struck by an increasing Canadian refrain on just wanting to “be at the table,” but without considering what our contributions at the table will be. We have become afraid to not be invited, rather than to step forward with courage.  

What are individuals to do when they see their country falling apart? And what are they to do when looking at their country’s regression from some distance, as members of the global Canadian diaspora?  

A compelling example is given by the philosopher Robert Adams in his retelling of the story of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer, a German theologian, left for New York on 7 July 1939, where he was received by American friends providing safety from Nazism.  

Yet, within days Bonhoeffer found his time in New York “almost unbearable,” noting that “If trouble comes now, I shall go right back to Germany. I cannot stay out here alone; I am quite clear about this, for after all, over there is where I live.”  

Bonhoeffer later reflects “I have made a mistake in coming to America. I must live through this difficult period of our national history with the Christian people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people.”  

Adams uses Bonhoeffer as an example of vocation, highlighting belonging, caring and participation in social processes as key elements of a vocation. Returning to Germany was not necessarily what was best for Bonhoeffer (he would later die in the waning period of the war in Germany, while he would have carved out a prestigious academic career in America). But Adams notes that Bonhoeffer would have felt it wrong had he not returned.  

In short, Bonhoeffer belonged with his democratically minded neighbours in Germany. He cared about the restoration of his country. And he knew that he must participate in the fight against evil enveloping Europe.   

It often takes leaving your own country to understand it more clearly. I have learned during my time abroad that Canadians are understated and yet highly competent, open-minded and hopeful. 

Canada has a powerful diaspora, whose global influence is well captured by former Globe & Mail newspaper editor John Stackhouse in his book Planet Canada. Years ago, the “Canadian Mafia” was the tongue-in-cheek name given to Canadians who simultaneously led multiple major British institutions such as the Bank of England, University of Cambridge, Royal Mail, Wimbledon, Associated British Ports, UK National Lottery, Heathrow Airport, and Canary Wharf, not to mention leading the BBC’s International reporting.  

In recent years, many age-mates and friends served in leading roles in top think tanks and UK institutions such as No 10 Downing Street, helping to design and implement UK technology innovation policy, or crafting health and social care policy while helping spearhead the UK vaccination campaign to hard-to-reach minority groups.  

The senior-level of Canadian leadership in the UK was followed by many early or mid-career Canadians serving in influential UK leadership roles. 

But just as Bonhoeffer returned to Germany, or as Israelis returned immediately from jobs in technology, finance, academia and other sectors in America and the UK to serve their country in the fight against terrorism, now is the time for many within the Canadian diaspora to return to Canada.  

Such is the damage that has been inflicted on the country over the last decade, and the future plight, should Canada’s brightest not dedicate themselves fully to the Canadian cause as part of defending the long-term good in the wider world.  

It often takes leaving your own country to understand it more clearly. I have learned during my time abroad that Canadians are understated and yet highly competent, open-minded and hopeful. There is a palpable energy and desire to contribute meaningfully – not apathetically – among Canada’s Gen Zers.  

Canada’s young people balance their own diverse ethnic origins with an abiding love of Canada. They want to make Canada better.

Canadians must not only show up at the table but contribute – with confidence – when at the table. The focus must be to participate, and then win the prize. 

Just as the narrator ends on a high in “The Boys of Summer” – saying “I can tell you, my love for you will still be strong/After the boys of summer have gone” – there remains considerable hope for Canada.  

But this hope must translate into critically minded participation in Canadian life. This critical spirit toward leadership and institutions is one part of courageous, confident and sometimes even assertive action in the world.  

On assertiveness, Canada can learn from its ally Israel. In his recent speech to U.S. Congress, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu spoke boldly on behalf of the rising scourge of antisemitism facing the Jewish people. He highlighted the nefarious influence of totalitarianism.  

Most importantly, he highlighted our shared democratic struggle. Indeed, Israel’s success in the fight against evil in the form of totalitarianism is a precursor to the success of other democracies such as the United States, Canada and the UK in the same fight: “Our enemies are your enemy, our fight is your fight, and our victory will be your victory.”  

Whatever one thinks of Netanyahu, he stood up forcefully for his nation and for the Jewish people in the face of evil seeking to undo the values underpinning our democracies.  

While likely to be more moderate in tone, Canadians must nevertheless participate boldly in the world, regaining our characteristic courage. 

 In reflecting on his tenacious service, St Paul asks “Do you know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it.”  

Canadians must not only show up at the table but contribute – with confidence – when at the table. The focus must be to participate, and then win the prize.  

Canadian renewal is possible, but this demands that Canadians abroad return home – like Bonhoeffer – bringing their experiences, learnings and networks acquired as members of the Canadian diaspora with them. Indeed, these help form the basis for courage.   

This return is one key step in Canadians contributing to victory – along with British, American, French, German, Israeli and other allies – in the fight against darkness. We must light our lamps within the darkness, keeping awake at home in readiness to put out the fires coming our way from over the foothills.  

Article
Comment
Feminism
Migration
Trauma
6 min read

“Defending our girls” is less about safety, more about scapegoating

The men who finally care about violence against women — just in time to blame immigrants for it

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A protestor holds a blue smoke canister towards the camera lens.
An asylum hotel protester, Epping.

Something has profoundly shifted in the way we are speaking about male violence against women and girls. Or perhaps I should say, the shift is precisely that we are speaking about male violence against women and girls.  

Wait.

Would you allow me to slightly amend that statement once more?

I say ‘we’ are talking about it, what I really mean, if I may be so blunt, is ‘men’. Men are talking about male violence against women and girls.  

Therein lies the shift. 

Women have been speaking about this epidemic of violence for years, they have been having endless conversations about the complexities of their own sense of sexual safety, relentlessly sounding the alarm. And, all too often, being ignored. It has so commonly felt as though women could scream about this topic at the top of their lungs and be met with an exasperated eyeroll. Perhaps that’s ungenerous of me, maybe the lack of political interest has been more about despondence than disbelief. Either way, it has continually appeared as though male violence against women and girls has sat, slumped and hopeless, at the bottom of the political agenda.

Until now, that is. Now, it is the crux of many campaigns, sitting right at the forefront of multiple political conversations. One conversation, in particular.  

Earlier this year, Conservative MP, Robert Jenrick, wrote an article in which he stated that he fears for his daughters’ safety, not wanting them to live near ‘men from backward countries who broke into Britain illegally and about whom you know next to nothing’. Political party Reform UK has a concern for women’s safety sitting at the forefront of their campaigns; again, Nigel Farage (leader of Reform UK) has continually suggested that it is the immigrant communities in the UK who are posing the threat. Signs that read ‘defend our girls’ have been ever-present at many of the anti-immigration protests that have happened throughout the summer months, the same phrase was chanted by those taking part in the ‘Unite The Kingdom’ march, organised by far-right activist, Tommy Robinson.  

So, we have a direct line being drawn between immigration and the epidemic levels of violence against women and girls. A common enemy is a powerful thing, isn’t it? A uniting thing? An energising thing, even? This line from A to B (‘A’ being the violence and ‘B’ being people who have come to this country from another) is one that I cannot draw myself. I find no biblical nor sociological justification for doing such. In fact, I’m hit with quite the opposite. 

I’ll get biblical, but shall we start with the sociological?  

Violence against women – be that physical, verbal, sexual, financial, or any other nuanced kind – is a tragic reality here in the UK, as well as globally. We know this and there can be no denying it.  

One in three women will experience domestic abuse.  

A woman is murdered by a partner/ex-partner every four days.  

One in two rapes against women are carried out by a partner/ex-partner.  

More than 90 per cent of perpetrators of rape and/or sexual assault are known to their victims.  

One in three adult survivors of rape experience it in their own home.  

These facts are heartbreaking, stomach-churning, worthy of our indignation and fury. They do not, however, imply that the dominant threat to women are strangers who have come to UK from other countries. Such claims, while being spoken of loudly and continually, are unfounded.  

There’s almost an ‘if-only-ness’ about such claims, isn’t there? And so, if I lower my hackles, I can sympathise with wanting such claims to be true, albeit momentarily - if only we could solve male violence against women and girls so easily.  

If only it were so neat.  

Instead, we have to sit in the utterly overwhelming, and often debilitating, reality that violence is being carried out against women in every age group, every socioeconomic group (although it must be acknowledged that women who can’t access public funds, such as welfare support or housing assistance, are three times more likely to experience violence), every ethnic group, and in every corner of the country. As a woman, if a man is shouting at me while I’m alone – it makes no difference what language he’s shouting at me in, tragically, I’ve learnt to be scared regardless.  

The notion that it is an imported problem that can therefore be a deported problem, is wrong. And, dare I say it, undergirded by racism.  

It’s perhaps also worth mentioning that there is footage from the recently held ‘Unite the Kingdom’ march, during which the mandate to ‘defend our girls’ was continually chanted, of men chasing female counter-protesters down the street. While a call to defend women was chanted one minute, a call for women to expose themselves was chanted the next. Furthermore, it has been reported that 40 per cent of those arrested during the 2024 anti-immigration protests had previously been reported to the police for domestic abuse. In my home city of Bristol, it was two-thirds of those arrested.  

So, while women’s safety seems to be at the forefront of political and social movements right now, I can’t help but be deeply suspicious of the intentions behind it. It seems to me that the same people who have spent the last five-or-so years responding to women’s pleas for help with an irritated ‘not all men’ chant, are now more than happy to point at a marginalised group of people and declare ‘but probably all those men’.  

But this isn’t simply sociological, nor is it purely political. For me, there are theological reasons why I can’t help but wince at what is happening.  

I simply don’t think the Bible gives us the option of pitting one marginalised group against another; it’s clear on the fact de-humanisation can never be a tool in our societal toolbox. In fact, if we’re going to get biblical with it, vulnerable women and ‘migrants’/’foreigners’/’strangers’/’sojourners’ – they’re always on the same list.  

‘He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing’ – that’s the book of Deuteronomy. And this – ‘Do not oppress the widow or the fatherless, the foreigner or the poor. Do not plot evil against each other.’ – is the book of Zechariah.  

I could go on.  

We have a shared humanity and, therefore, a sacred responsibility to protect both the women and girls who are facing unspeakable injustice, and those who are being unfairly scapegoated for it. It’s an uncomfortable tension, I can’t deny it. It refutes quick-fixes, it raises its eyebrows at cheap blame, and it absolves any comforting notion that the problem flows from elsewhere - Christianity simply does not offer such a luxury. Compassion cannot be finite, love – as Graham Tomlin has argued – cannot be a limited commodity. 

And this is precisely why such things being increasingly carried out in the name of Christianity makes no sense to me. Surely, this cannot be espoused in the name of the Jesus who destabilises the boundaries between ‘Our Sort of People' and 'Those Others Over There?’ (to quote Francis Spufford)  

We cannot be fooled, fear and distrust on the basis of someone being different from ourselves is not – I repeat, not - a Christian value. One vulnerable group’s pain being unjustly weaponised against another vulnerable group has no hint of Jesus about it. Plus, doing so knowingly compromises the care we can offer to both groups. 

I’m getting a little weary of being told that, as a woman, this hate will ensure my safety. Both sociologically and biblically, I’ve found the grounds to call time on such a claim. 

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