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.
