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Category: Chairman’s Desk

Those who think the Epstein files will sink Trump are missing a key truth about the president and conspiracy theories

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Donald Trump is reportedly in the Epstein files.

To anyone paying attention, it’s less a revelation than a grim confirmation. And now — the big question: is this the beginning of the end of Donald Trump’s political career?

It all started after Attorney General Pam Bondi came up empty-handed following the long-hyped release of the Epstein files, the promised reckoning fell flat. For all the buildup, the documents were scant. The smoking gun absent. And the ensuing reaction had all the hallmarks of a terminally splintering movement.

The podcast bros in the manosphere turned sour.

Photographs and video footage of Donald Trump and Jeffrey Epstein standing and laughing together looped on TV like it was the moon landing.

And all Trump could manage, in the initial phase of the scandal, was the feeblest and most suspect of responses: “Are you still talking about Jeffrey Epstein? This guy’s been talked about for years … Are people still talking about this guy?”

They were. In fact, it was all anyone in the MAGA world could talk about.

And who could blame them? Not only was their movement engulfed in the moral contradiction of President Trump, but their entire belief system had been turned inside out. Because the man they sent to fix the rot at the heart of American democracy was seated beneath it the whole time.

Given this moral whiplash and cognitive dissonance, people believed it was the death knell.

They were incorrect.

Don’t get me wrong — Trump is thoroughly bruised from this. But he is far from beaten.

There’s no question this scandal and the lurid facts still buried in the Epstein files, will continue to dog him. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s committed a crime, but it is certainly an unmitigated political disaster, if true.

But the more important takeaway — the one that will shape how this all plays out — has less to do with the scandal itself and everything to do with the nature of Trump’s response. It underscores a deeper truth about the MAGA political machine: it isn’t vulnerable to conspiracy — it is built on it. And therefore, Trump is always playing with a loaded deck.

When the Wall Street Journal reported last week that Trump had sent Epstein a birthday letter allegedly featuring a “bawdy” sketch of a naked woman, Trump didn’t go quiet. He went nuclear — suing the Journal for $10 billion.

It was textbook Trump: when under siege, go on the attack. Distract. Flood the zone. And so, his response followed a familiar pattern — reframe damning news not as fact, but as partisan sabotage. It energizes the base. It forces a test of loyalty: “Believe me, or believe them.”

The result? Legal peril becomes persecution. Indictments become proof he’s feared by the elite and therefore generate political capital. And even criticism from ideological allies becomes ammunition in his insurgent identity.

Trump knows how to alchemize scandal into grievance — and grievance into power.

But those are just the tactics. The more revealing question is: why do they work?

The answer is that conspiracy is no longer a fringe impulse in American politics — it’s foundational. According to polling, over 50 per cent of American adults believe in at least one conspiracy theory. And Trump understands that better than anyone.

The most durable trait of conspiracy thinking is its elasticity. It adapts. It never stops moving. The target shifts. The logic recalibrates.

If the messiah doesn’t show up in a spacecraft on the day of the rapture, it’s not because the prophecy was false. It’s because she changed her mind at the last minute.

Trump doesn’t just exploit this tendency — he embodies it. He is its avatar.

And so, if you believed there was a deep-state cabal orchestrated by Epstein, or that the CIA was gathering kompromat on the powerful, it’s not a stretch to believe Trump’s association with Epstein could be nothing more than a frame job. That he was the dupe. Or even the decoy.

Because the belief isn’t just in a conspiracy — it’s in conspiracy itself. An omnipresent, unknowable force is always working in shadows. And within that framework, Trump isn’t a hypocrite. He’s a martyr.

Even his latest attack at President Obama — amplifying a debunked claim about a coup in the wake of the 2016 campaign — points to the same playbook: inject doubt, deepen paranoia, expand the conspiracy.

Distraction is the game. Division is the strategy. And Trump is still playing from the same old loaded deck.

Mark Carney needs to explain to Canadians how we’re going to pay for our national defence

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It wasn’t so long ago that Canada perennially cashed in on its so-called “peace dividend.” The logic went like this: while our tanks might rust, the salaries of our Armed Forces members stagnate, and our ammunition stockpiles dwindle, the government could reallocate military spending toward areas of more immediate concern — entitlement programs, infrastructure and other “flavours of the day.”

Point to whichever geopolitical disaster from recent history you like, one thing is painfully clear: the dividend has been spent. But the problem isn’t just that our leaders have been slow to acknowledge this new reality — it’s that they’ve been even slower to act on its implications. Because the inverse logic now applies: in a more volatile world, there is a crisis fee to pay. A big one.

At last, we appear to have a government willing to foot the bill. In real terms: a staggering $150 billion annually on defence within the decade — amounting to five per cent of our GDP.

Unsurprisingly, there’s no shortage of speculation on how to raise this money. Perhaps we bring back victory bonds. Hike the GST. Cut spending in other federal programs and redirect to military funding. Tax more efficiently. Find lost revenue.

Everything is on the table because the current fiscal status quo doesn’t come remotely close to covering the new defence spend. A recent C.D. Howe report estimates the federal government would run a $311-billion cumulative deficit over four years if it follows through on its promise without raising the money.

But while solving the “how” is essential to pulling our weight globally, it’s overshadowed by a deeper political question. What’s missing in all of these proposals is an honest reckoning with who will bear the cost. Because one way or another, Canadians will — whether through higher taxes, reduced services, or both.

And that’s why this moment is so fraught.

There’s a reason past governments punted this issue: defence costs don’t show up for the public at the gas pump or grocery store. And asking Canadians to pay more while they are barely hanging on is a hard sell.

Which brings us to the defining challenge of this early era of the Carney government: not how much financial capital the government needs to fund its ambitions, but how much political capital it is willing to spend — and when — to make that happen. In this sense, the defence spending debate is not just a policy test, it’s the canary in the coal mine for Mark Carney’s entire premiership.

It’s hackneyed to say a politician is a product of their timing. Everyone is. But some politicians make that truth more visible than others, and Carney’s political fortunes are a monument to the importance of timing.

It’s no exaggeration to say the prime minister rode into office on a wave of ideal campaign conditions: a new Donald Trump presidency, a reawakening of Canadian nationalism in response, a country newly hungry for experienced global leadership.

And now, good timing has rolled into even better timing. Instead of a baptism by fire in the House of Commons or daily media maulings, Carney gets a summer to plan, build, and breathe. His chief opponent doesn’t even have a seat. The honeymoon isn’t just intact — it’s enchanted.

But all that only underlines that Carney’s biggest opponent isn’t a rival party, but two dangerous instincts.

First, to rest. After two hard fought campaigns (first a leadership, then a general election) the Carney camp could be forgiven for thinking this is the time for a well-deserved break. Second, and more consequentially, the advice — especially from unpracticed strategists — to hoard political capital rather than spend it, to not exhaust one unnecessary dime in order to maintain popularity.

Both sentiments are dead wrong. Not simply because of the truism that honeymoons eventually expire and that the warm, fuzzy feelings of unity will fade. It’s the more enduring political truth: you must make the hard choices early, while the wind is at your back, before moving on to anything more aspirational.

And there is no choice more consequential — or more defining — than deciding how much political capital to spend and when.

Because this isn’t just a question of budgets or trade-offs. It’s a question of leadership. Whether Carney will be remembered as a product of fortunate timing — or as a prime minister who recognized that when fortune came knocking, he didn’t wait — he moved.

Now is that moment. The moment to spend political capital boldly, and to speak plainly with Canadians about how we will pay for our national defence. Before fair winds give way to storms.

Two crises. One message. Only one rang true. In crisis management words matter — but only if they are conveyed with passion and concern

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Earlier this month, after the tragic crash of flight AI171 in Ahmedabad, India, en route to London, Gatwick, Air India CEO Campbell Wilson said what needed to be said.

He “first and most importantly” expressed “deep sorrow,” stated that the airline would be “focused entirely on the needs of our passengers, crew members, their families and loved ones,” and calmly relayed all the known facts available at that early stage.

The remarks should have elicited no reaction beyond solemn respect. At that moment, attention should have been squarely fixed on the devastation facing the families and the urgent investigation into what could have caused such a tragedy.

But many observers noticed Wilson’s words sounded familiar. Too familiar.

In fact, they were nearly identical to those delivered by American Airlines CEO Robert Isom just five months earlier — after the collision of Flight AE5342 with a U.S. military helicopter over the Potomac River. Strip away the specific details of each incident, and what remains is a speech duplicated line for line. Wilson’s remarks weren’t just reminiscent of Isom’s — they were a carbon copy. In short: they were stolen.

For such a blatant, unforced error, for such a galling lapse in judgment, one might have expected heads to roll or, at the very least, a formal apology to be issued.

But nothing of the sort transpired. Wilson wasn’t fired. The airline didn’t face a media firestorm. Public reaction was relatively muted. The story barely registered outside the echo chamber of PR professionals and a handful of journalists.

And that’s what makes this episode so revealing: crisis communication — and communications more broadly — is being reshaped.

We are witnessing an uptick in copycat messaging from business and political leaders. Just last week, Hill Times reporter Stuart Benson highlighted that Prime Minister Mark Carney’s statement responding to U.S. military strikes on Iranian nuclear sites bore an uncanny resemblance to the one released hours earlier by British Prime Minister Keir Starmer. Maybe it’s a case of shared perspective. But the alignment in tone, cadence, and structure stretched the limits of coincidence.

Yet again, like Wilson, Carney didn’t pay a heavy reputational price.

Why? Because audience expectations have shifted.

In an age where AI tools can churn out polished boilerplate in seconds, we’ve grown more tolerant of prepackaged language. We’ve started to accept a kind of functional blandness. As long as the boxes are ticked, no one’s — seemingly — overly concerned about whether the words were borrowed. Originality is overrated.

But that’s precisely why the Air India case matters.

Because plagiarism wasn’t the CEO’s only problem. As many on social media noted, the CEO’s tone was flat, detached, robotic. And that’s what made it stand out in the first place. When you watch the side-by-side video comparisons of the two men delivering virtually the same message, a study in language theft turns out to also be a study in the importance of delivery.

One CEO conveys passion and concern. The other looked like he was reading terms and conditions. You can hear and feel the difference.

And that’s the lesson.

In a crisis, words matter — but only if they’re felt.

The public doesn’t just want a response; they want a response that feels worthy of the moment. That means sincerity, presence, and emotional intelligence.

Because crises are always human. They involve human failure, human suffering, and human stakes. And that means the response must do more than tick the boxes. It has to sound like it comes from a human, too.

There is a reason we reach for those hallmark cards. While the prefabricated message inside is tender and invariably clichéd, it says, again, what needs to be said. And yet, the card means almost nothing unless the handwritten note inside delivers a more genuine, personalized sentiment.

Unless the pre-written message serves only as inspiration for the real thing.

Originality may be overrated in everyday communication. But in those high-stakes moments when trust is tested and emotions are raw — it matters more than ever. A crisis is one of those moments. And leaders would do well to remember: people don’t just want to hear the right words. They want to know you mean them.

This unlikely political victor rode a desire for change. But he did more than that, too

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It was hardly a fair fight.

When the New York City mayoral race began some months ago, Zohran Mamdani had all the disadvantages you’d expect of a young, relatively inexperienced, politician. Little money. Few high-powered endorsements. Scarce volunteers. And, as he put it himself recently, “I started this race at one-per cent name recognition.”

By comparison, his chief rival, Andrew Cuomo, had all the veteran advantages: money, media clout, and a long list of establishment allies.

But that’s what a truly great, innovative campaign can do. It makes an unfair fight competitive. It levels the playing field. It rewrites the rules. And yesterday’s stunning result — Mamdani’s primary win, which catapulted him into the national spotlight as the latest rising star in the Democratic Party (not without controversy) — was proof of exactly that.

In politics, a good contrast is always useful. But at the right moment, it becomes essential. To capture the mood. To channel the frustration. To build the movement.

And only one candidate truly offered that contrast — in ideology, in energy, and in campaign style — and that was Mamdani.

As The New Yorker’s Eric Lach put it: “The race wasn’t just about old New York versus new New York; it was about the politics of the visible (tweeting, door-knocking, organizing) and the invisible (power, relationships, familiarity).”

But contrast alone is not enough. Mamdani’s campaign succeeded because of tactical brilliance that turned visibility into virality. That took his 12-hour street march from Inwood to Battery Park from just a photo-op to a social media event. That made his organic interactions with voters on the street not just feel-good moments but TikToks with millions of views.

Put another way: all the grassroots hustle in the world means nothing without a digital amplifier that converts such moments into views and clicks. And just as consequential: in today’s politics, invisibility equals irrelevance. If you’re not being seen and present on the platforms where the conversation is taking place and people are scrolling, you will stand zero chance.

Which brings us to the race’s most defining contrast: youth. At 33, Mamdani is less than half Cuomo’s age. And it showed. He used TikTok the way former U.S. president Barack Obama once used Facebook. There was an effortless savvy to his digital presence that cannot be faked. That was clearly led by people who actually use the platform. Not old-timers who think TikTok is the sound a clock makes.

In that sense, Mamdani’s campaign felt like a fresh, insurgent brand — and Cuomo’s felt like a rusted relic (with, not to mention, a pile full of skeletons in the closet).

Agree with his politics or not, this is a new, youthful expression of Democratic energy — and one the party badly needs. As Bernie Sanders recently told Politico, if Kamala Harris had deployed this more ground-style politics and “not listened to her consultants and done that, she would be president of the United States today.”

And if I’d bought Apple stock in 1984, I’d be a billionaire.

But here’s what matters: renewal is on the menu.

And that matters in a system where too many politicians refuse to leave the stage — even when scandal-scarred and long past their sell-by date. Voters were ready for something fresh. Mamdani’s campaign delivered a version of that freshness — and the results translated.

Translated into a staggering (according to his campaign) 50,000 volunteers and over a million doors knocked.

It translated into a movement.

Right on cue, the Republicans are already licking their chops. Trump tweeted that Mamdani is a “100% communist lunatic.” Fox News is on DEFCON 1. The right-wing manosphere will be podcasting about his “TikTok tyranny” by sundown.

But they should be careful what they wish for.

Because candidates who are dismissed by the establishment — but who speak directly to voters, offer real contrast, and ride momentum — have a tendency to outperform expectations.

Just ask the current president of the United States.

Mark Carney has set the tone for the G7. He knows the cost of playing it safe is irrelevance

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It would be safe — perhaps even generous — to say that Prime Minister Mark Carney is navigating a minefield of diplomatic hazards, moral compromise, and geopolitical volatility as the G7 unfolds this week in Kananaskis, Alberta.

Turn right, and you might face the Prime Minister of India — whose government stands accused by Canada of orchestrating an assassination on Canadian soil.

Turn left, and there’s the President of Mexico, a nation whose relationship with Canada was recently described as at a six-year low.

Look back, and — oh yea — there’s the orange menace to the south, who has repeatedly threatened to rip up trade deals, undermine our alliances, and repeatedly hinted at annexation.

And that’s not even counting the controversial invitees who passed.

The risks are so glaring that many have started asking what sounds like a perfectly reasonable question: with so many potential pitfalls, why risk controversy? Why roll out the red carpet for leaders with questionable democratic credentials? Why not aim for the safest possible summit and avoid unnecessary entanglements?

To those asking such questions, I would pose another: what country — and what prime minister — have you been watching?

Because to ask those questions is to fundamentally misunderstand the style, strategy, and ambitions of Mark Carney.

What the Prime Minister understands is this: Canada is not, at this moment, operating from a position of default influence. After years of missteps, drift, and diplomatic fatigue, credibility must be earned back — not assumed. And in that rebuilding effort, there are no “risk-free” moves. There is no “safe play” that leads to restored status.

It’s not a matter of risk versus reward — it’s all risk. Because the cost of caution, at this point, is irrelevance.

Carney’s mandate, as he has said repeatedly, is not to return things to “business as usual” — it’s to reset the terms entirely.

Because here’s the truth: Carney may have successfully turned the page from Justin Trudeau for Canadians. But he now needs to do the same for Canada on the world stage.

And that requires both substance and style.

Substantively, Carney made a shrewd and necessary move by pre-emptively reaffirming Canada’s commitment to meet NATO’s two per cent GDP defence target by this year — and exceed it by 2030. It wasn’t just a policy statement; it was strategic table-setting.

It was a down payment on seriousness. A demonstration that Canada is no longer phoning it in. That we understand the price of admission for a seat at the table — without being considered the freeloading distant relative that only comes calling when he needs something.

And now for the style.

If you think personality and tone don’t matter in geopolitics, just ask Donald Trump — whose animus for Justin Trudeau was visceral and deeply personal. Relationships matter. Posture matters.

So, this may well be Carney’s Nixon-in-China moment.

Precisely because of his technocratic credentials, his reputation for caution, and his short runway as a political actor — Carney has the credibility to go bold. To sit across from the world’s leaders and say: whatever grievances you had with the last guy, this is a new chapter.

That is the unique power of hosting. You get to set the table. You get to choose the tone.

And right now, Canada must seize both opportunities — not just to manage the moment, but to reintroduce itself to the world.

Now is not the time to play it safe.