AUBUT: How Canada broke its own economy

https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-how-canada-broke-its-own-economy/69526

Published on: 

04 Dec 2025, 12:30 pm

 

 Economically, how did Canada get to where it is, where investors either sit on what money they have left or have fled to friendlier countries, leaving behind a stagnant economy and an ever more expensive welfare state? The answer lies in the long arc of Canada’s political economy from Confederation to the present. It is a story that began with nation builders who understood the link between sovereignty, growth and disciplined ambition, then shifted toward a governing class that mistook ideology for insight and lost sight of the limits of its own knowledge.

Canada’s early economic strength rested on a simple principle. Government existed to create the physical and legal foundations that private risk-takers could build upon. The National Policy of the late nineteenth century, whatever its flaws, reflected that belief. Tariffs funded the state because there was no income tax. Ottawa’s central mission was straightforward: open the land, build the railways, secure trade routes and make settlement possible. The Canadian Pacific Railway and the later transcontinental lines formed the backbone of national development because government provided the guarantees, the land grants and the political will, while private companies took on the capital and operational risks. This was not central planning. It was the state acting where markets could not yet reach and then stepping aside.

By the 1930s the limits of tariffs and external borrowing were obvious. The Depression made capital scarce, private borrowing expensive and foreign lenders reluctant. Canada needed a domestic institution that could provide liquidity during crisis and long-term capital for national projects. The Bank of Canada, created in 1935 and nationalised in 1938, became that instrument. From the late 1930s to the early 1970s the Bank frequently purchased government debt using money it created. Any interest paid on those bonds flowed back to Ottawa as Bank profits, which meant the borrowing was effectively interest free. This was sovereign credit in the plain meaning of the term. It did not eliminate market discipline. It allowed the state to finance long-lived public works at minimal cost while private markets continued to operate in every other sphere.

This era produced the most sustained expansion in Canadian history. War mobilisation was financed without crippling the country. Post-war reconstruction created roads, ports, power systems, a modern military and a continental industrial base. Projects included the TransCanada Pipeline, the St. Lawrence Seaway and the opening of the vast resource of iron ore in the Labrador Trough as just several examples. All key elements of a modern self-sufficient industry-based economy with the surpluses exported. Unemployment remained low. Inflation was modest except for brief bouts linked to global commodity cycles. Debt, contrary to modern myth, fell as a share of GDP through the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s. It was not coincidence that these were the decades in which Canada became a fully developed nation. In the 1960’s Canada was well on the way of becoming a fully self-sufficient powerhouse.

The turning point came in the 1970s. There was no single law in 1973 or 1974 that barred the use of the Bank of Canada for public financing. The shift was ideological and procedural, not statutory. Central banks worldwide embraced a new orthodoxy: fight inflation through tight money, treat markets as the sole legitimate source of public finance and distance monetary policy from elected influence. Canada followed suit. The Bank reduced its share of federal debt holdings. Ottawa turned increasingly to private bond markets. Deficit financing continued, but now interest flowed to financial institutions rather than cycling back through the central bank.

The timing proved disastrous. Two global oil shocks, first in 1973 and again in 1979, pushed fuel prices to historic highs. Inflation surged through cost pressures, not through excess money creation. Energy permeates every sector of a modern economy. When oil quadruples in price, transport, food, manufacturing and construction all absorb the shock. Wage demands follow. Businesses raise prices to stay afloat. Inflation expectations hardened. Central banks, unwilling to distinguish between cost-push and demand-driven inflation, raised interest rates sharply. Mortgage rates in Canada rose above twenty percent. Borrowing became punitive. Companies shed workers. Investment stalled.

Through the 1980s Canada continued to run deficits while interest rates remained high. That combination guaranteed a rising debt burden. Federal debt climbed steadily and peaked in the early 1990s at levels that threatened fiscal stability. The damage was not the result of the absence of competent Finance Ministers. Many were serious operators by the standards of the time. The damage came from a regime change in Ottawa and at the Bank of Canada. Sovereign credit was abandoned. Markets were treated as the sole funding channel. The state kept its hand on the throttle through spending and regulation while refusing to use the monetary tools that had once kept borrowing sustainable. The economy became more difficult to manage yet governments became more confident in their ability to steer it.

The 1990s saw a partial correction. Paul Martin imposed fiscal discipline, balanced the budget and shrank the federal debt ratio. Yet the country remained inside the post-1970s framework. The Bank of Canada operated as an inflation-targeting institution. The state no longer used its central bank to finance nation-building projects directly. Growth stabilised, but the structural shift remained unaddressed.

After 2006 Ottawa continued to treat monetary sovereignty as taboo. The final sale of Canada’s gold reserves under the Harper government confirmed this mindset. In a fiat system gold was not required for operational monetary policy, but the symbolic consequence could not be ignored. A country that once held substantial reserves now held none. It reflected a governing class that viewed sovereignty through a narrow financial lens and saw no reason to maintain the tools that had once underpinned national strategy. This symbolic erosion became substantive in the decade that followed.

The real rupture came after 2015. The long erosion of merit became unmistakable. A Prime Minister with no grounding in economics, trade or finance handed the most consequential portfolio to a journalist with no training in monetary policy, capital markets or national accounting. Senior bureaucratic ranks became dominated by political loyalty, ideological alignment and fashionable academic thinking. Expertise was replaced by messaging. Prudence was replaced by activism. Policy portfolios once run by professionals became instruments of political identity.

The result followed with grim predictability. Canada entered the 2020s with an energy strategy grounded not in engineering or economics but in climate narratives and regulatory zeal. Carbon taxes and pipeline constraints raised the cost of fuel not through scarcity but through deliberate policy choices. A modern economy cannot escape the mathematics of input costs. When energy policy forces fuel prices upward, every other price follows. Inflation rose even before global shocks arrived. Deficit spending surged during the pandemic. The Bank of Canada resumed large-scale purchases of government bonds but not as part of a national development strategy. Instead it was a crisis reflex that underwrote consumption rather than investment. When inflation accelerated, the Bank again raised interest rates, repeating the dynamic of the early 1980s but without the industrial strength Canada once possessed.

Investors responded rationally. Capital left for jurisdictions with stable regulatory frameworks and predictable policy paths. Domestic firms hesitated to expand. Foreign companies scaled back operations or withdrew entirely. Productivity declined because investment collapsed. Meanwhile the welfare state grew costlier because demographic pressures mounted while the tax base stagnated. The consequence was not ideological. It was arithmetic. A country that undermines its productive sectors while expanding its dependent sectors will run deficits, accumulate debt and lose competitiveness.

This brings us back to the question that opened this essay. Canada’s economic deterioration was not mysterious. It was the long-term consequence of abandoning sovereign credit, embracing a regulatory culture that treated markets as subordinate to ideology and filling the machinery of government with people who lacked the knowledge and humility required to manage complex systems. When merit declines, confidence often rises. This is the Dunning–Kruger effect in national form. Leaders who know least believe they know most. Leaders who know most understand the limits of their knowledge and tread carefully.

Canada once understood those limits. It built railways and ports when private capital could not. It used the Bank of Canada to finance growth efficiently. It kept regulation within the bounds of practicality. It relied on people with real experience to run portfolios that required expertise. In later decades it did the opposite. It regulated at every turn, spent without discipline, taxed energy out of ideological conviction and placed heavy responsibilities in the hands of those who did not understand their own tools.

The outcome is the economy Canadians now face. Investment has fled. Productivity has fallen. The cost of living is rising. Debt is growing. The welfare state has expanded faster than national income. None of this was inevitable. It is the product of choices, institutions and leaders. Canada can recover what it lost, but not until it recovers the one thing that sustained its greatest successes: a governing class chosen for competence rather than conformity.

 Alan Aubut is a retired geologist, based in Nipigon.

AUBUT: Oil is not what you think it is

https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-oil-is-not-what-you-think-it-is/69069

The real science of hydrocarbons upends a century of political mythology — and opens the door to limitless synthetic fuel.

 

 

Published on: 22 Nov 2025, 2:30 pm

 

Hydrocarbons are among the simplest compounds in chemistry yet among the most versatile in application. They are chains of carbon and hydrogen that occur in nature in every physical state: gases like methane and ethane, liquids like octane and kerosene, and solids like paraffin wax. For more than a century, the dominant narrative has been that petroleum — the primary source of hydrocarbons used by industry — originated exclusively from ancient life compressed in sedimentary basins. The term “fossil fuel” has carried both scientific weight and political baggage. Yet the evidence is not so one-sided. Hydrocarbons also form abiotically (without the involvement of living organisms) in volcanic environments, at hydrothermal vents, and in Archean black shales that predate life itself.

The fact that hydrocarbons occur both biogenically and abiotically matters. It demonstrates that they are not rare substances tied solely to the decay of past ecosystems, but natural products of the Earth’s geochemical processes. In other words, hydrocarbons belong to the planet as fundamentally as iron or quartz. This recognition is critical because it reframes hydrocarbons not as pollutants or dwindling relics of prehistory, but as building blocks of modern society that can be manufactured, recycled, and sustained.

The stability of hydrocarbons explains why they dominate natural reserves. Alkanes, with only single carbon-carbon bonds, resist chemical breakdown under heat and pressure. 

That is why petroleum is composed largely of these stable molecules. Alkenes and alkynes, with double and triple bonds, are more reactive and thus less common in geological deposits. Yet the fact that they exist at all, both in biological systems and in high-energy abiotic environments, demonstrates the diversity of hydrocarbon chemistry available to nature.

It is also worth noting that hydrocarbons appear beyond Earth. Methane lakes on Titan, plumes on Enceladus, and simple hydrocarbons detected in interstellar clouds prove their formation is not limited to biology. If hydrocarbons are a natural product of the cosmos, there is no reason to see them as finite curiosities on Earth. The real limitation is not their existence but our imagination and capacity to produce them efficiently.

History repeatedly shows that assumptions of scarcity are poor guides to the future. In the late nineteenth century, the scientific establishment largely agreed that heavier-than-air flight was impossible. Lord Kelvin himself declared in 1895 that “heavier-than-air flying machines are impossible.” Yet within a decade, the Wright brothers flew at Kitty Hawk, and by the First World War, aircraft had changed the nature of war and commerce.

Similarly, within a single generation, the horse and wagon — once the backbone of transport — had been displaced by the automobile.

This lesson should not be forgotten. Today’s pessimists warn of dwindling petroleum reserves, climate catastrophe, and the urgent need to abandon hydrocarbons altogether. These Malthusian voices dominate the media and shape government policy. They see limits where innovation sees opportunity. 

Just as balloons and kites hinted at the possibility of powered flight, so too do the natural processes of hydrocarbon formation and the proven chemistry of synthesis point toward a future where hydrocarbons can be produced on demand.

The chemistry of synthetic hydrocarbons is not speculative. It has been understood for nearly a century. In the 1920s, German chemists Franz Fischer and Hans Tropsch developed a process that converts carbon monoxide and hydrogen into liquid hydrocarbons using metal catalysts. Known as Fischer–Tropsch synthesis, the method was scaled during the Second World War to produce synthetic fuel when Germany faced blockades. South Africa later relied on it during apartheid when oil imports were restricted, with plants still producing hundreds of thousands of barrels per day.

Fischer–Tropsch is only one of several pathways. Methanol-to-gasoline processes can convert syngas into high-octane fuel. 

Biomass gasification can turn agricultural residues, forestry waste, or even sewage into hydrocarbons. More recently, renewable electricity allows for electrolysis of water to produce hydrogen, which can then combine with captured carbon dioxide to form synthetic hydrocarbons. This is the basis of e-fuels, already being piloted in places like Chile, where wind power drives the conversion of atmospheric carbon into liquid fuels for transport.

These technologies prove that hydrocarbons are not bound to geological timescales. They can be produced in factories, tailored for use, and scaled with demand. The bottlenecks are cost, efficiency, and infrastructure, all of which improve with innovation and investment. The suggestion that we have found all economically viable petroleum reserves is no more realistic than saying all diamonds or all gold have been discovered. 

Even if natural reservoirs are ultimately finite, the chemistry to recycle and reproduce hydrocarbons ensures their future is open-ended.

This has immediate relevance to modern society. 

Industrialization and agriculture both depend heavily on hydrocarbons. Tractors, fertilizers, transport networks, plastics, and energy storage all rely on them. Far from trapping humanity in poverty, hydrocarbons have been central to lifting billions out of it. In the past fifty years, the global population has grown rapidly, yet this is not because people are reproducing at wildly higher rates. It is because survival has improved. Infant mortality has declined, lifespans have lengthened, and societies once mired in subsistence farming now enjoy the productivity of mechanized agriculture and global supply chains.

Hydrocarbons made this possible by fueling industry, enabling fertilizer production, and driving transport.

Advanced societies are already adjusting to stable populations, with birth rates in many countries falling to replacement or below. This is not evidence of decline but of adaptation. As more people live long, secure lives, reproduction naturally balances. The challenge ahead is not runaway growth but ensuring that developing regions have the same chance to rise out of poverty. Hydrocarbons — natural, synthetic, and recycled — are indispensable to that task.

The greatest obstacle is not technical but ideological. For decades, Malthusian narratives have warned of overpopulation, resource exhaustion, and environmental collapse. These views consistently underestimate human ingenuity. In the 1960s and 1970s, predictions of mass starvation due to limited agricultural yields failed to account for the Green Revolution. In the 1970s, dire warnings of peak oil missed the coming revolution in exploration and unconventional extraction. Today’s forecasts of hydrocarbon scarcity or inevitable climate disaster risk making the same error.

The way forward is not denial of environmental challenges but refusal to accept despair as policy. Synthetic hydrocarbons offer a path that meets energy needs while reducing reliance on natural reserves. They allow for recycling of carbon, integration with renewable power, and compatibility with existing engines and infrastructure. In short, they provide hope where Malthusianism offers only austerity.

The analogy to heavier-than-air flight is not casual. At the turn of the twentieth century, even after controlled flight had been demonstrated, many experts dismissed its utility. They could not imagine a future where aircraft would become routine. 

Today, a similar blindness afflicts debates about hydrocarbons. Critics see only pollution and decline. They cannot imagine hydrocarbons as a renewable resource, manufactured as easily as steel or concrete.

Yet the chemistry is settled. The technology is proven. The economics improve with each advance. What is required is the recognition that hydrocarbons are not a curse but a gift — one that humanity can manage wisely and reproduce sustainably. 

The future of hydrocarbons is not about running out but about learning to recycle and reuse. Just as metals are melted and recast, so too can hydrocarbons be broken down and remade. 

Far from being a dead end, hydrocarbons are the foundation of a brighter, more prosperous future.

Hydrocarbons are natural products of Earth’s geochemistry, not aberrations. They occur both from ancient life and from abiotic processes that continue today. Their stability makes them abundant in nature, and their chemistry makes them amenable to synthesis. History shows that what is dismissed as impossible can become commonplace in a generation. Just as the Wright brothers disproved the skeptics of flight, synthetic hydrocarbons will disprove those who insist we must abandon them.

For Canada, the opportunity is clear. With its resources, energy, and expertise, it could become self-sufficient in hydrocarbon production. Doing so would ensure energy independence, economic resilience, and a hopeful path forward. Malthusian pessimism has held sway for too long. It is time to reject policies that handicap innovation and instead encourage bold thinking.

Canada has always faced grim realities. Much of the country spends half the year below freezing. We adapted by finding new ways to stay warm, extend the growing season, and build thriving communities despite the climate. Innovation was once our hallmark, and it can be again.

The future belongs to those who see hydrocarbons not as a problem to escape but as a foundation to build upon. By treating hydrocarbons as natural, recyclable, and renewable through synthesis — unlike batteries, which falter in colder climates — Canada can lead the way in ensuring prosperity for future generations. Like the Wright brothers who turned doubt into flight, we too can rise to the challenge and build a brighter, self-sufficient future.

Alan Aubut is a retired geologist, based in Nipigon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AUBUT: From rocks to rights: A life shaped by Canada’s divide

 https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-from-rocks-to-rights-a-life-shaped-by-canadas-divide/68033

Rocks may have built my career, but it was Ottawa’s bureaucracy that forged my politics. 

 

 Published on: 05 Oct 2025

Many of you may wonder why someone from Ontario has anything to say to a Western Standard audience. I must agree with you. My story illustrates how we too often paint with far too broad a brush. Ontario is the third largest province by area and the largest by population. Yet most of that population is in a relatively small area centred on Toronto. I live far from the city that considers itself the centre of the Canadian universe, yet too often I am painted with that brush.

Northwestern Ontario differs sharply from Southern Ontario, in climate, geography, and outlook. Yet much is shared with broad swaths of western Canada. Just because I live in Ontario does not mean I share the same views as those in Southern Ontario, nor do they share mine. My life experiences, the ones that shaped me, were lived in Western Canada.

I went to university in Thunder Bay, not far from where I grew up beside the Trans-Canada Highway in a rural area surrounded by Boreal Forest and underlain by the Canadian Shield. I loved being outdoors and still do. Growing up miles from neighbours shaped my independence and resilience. I once considered engineering, but lacking confidence in math, I turned instead to fields that meshed with my love of the outdoors. Science and geography appealed to me, but I could not see myself in forestry. Rocks, however, fascinated me. They told the story of how landforms were created and provided the building blocks of society. As a result, I registered in the geology program at Lakehead University. Time has shown me that unlike most geologists who stumbled into the field by accident, I chose it deliberately.

University was an eye-opener for a country boy. In a twist of fate, that is where I met my wife. We had attended the same high school but never really connected until then. We were married in 1975, during my third year at university.

It was at Lakehead that I stumbled into my first act of activism. In my final year, one required course, Physics of the Earth, was taught by a semi-retired physics professor. The assignments were very difficult, including calculating how fast the moon is moving away from Earth. There were only five of us in the class, and after each lecture, we pooled our efforts, but always failed when the problems were reviewed. Near the end of the term, the professor noted that one classmate who had skipped first-year physics might not pass. I blurted out that I had taken first-year physics and still doubted I would pass. I pointed out that the problems assigned were well beyond our training and that it was unfair since this was a mandatory course for graduation. The professor was stunned but began reviewing the problems with us. One appeared on the final exam. We all passed, and all graduated.

When I graduated in 1979, jobs for geologists were scarce. One option was further study, and my marks were strong enough for graduate school with a teaching assistantship. I applied to three universities, all out West, since that was where the work was. We chose Edmonton, where I began studies at the University of Alberta. We packed all our belongings into a Ryder truck and moved.

After a year and a half, before formally finishing, I was offered a full-time job with Pacific Petroleum in Calgary, not long after it had been acquired by Petro-Canada. Our move to Calgary was another turning point. Alberta was booming, and though I was trained in hard-rock geology, petroleum demanded a different skillset. I was thrust into a world of sedimentary basins, drill cuttings, and seismic data. At first, I felt adrift, yet this discomfort forced me to learn quickly. I discovered that geology is as much about problem-solving as it is about theory, and that adaptation is often the most valuable skill. Calgary also gave me a window into Western culture and industry, broadening my perspective beyond Northern Ontario.

Not long after, I was offered a job with Inco, then the dominant player in nickel. Although its main operations were in Sudbury and Thompson, it had a small mine an hour west of Thunder Bay that needed an underground geologist. For my wife and me, the decision was easy. We could be near family again, and I could return to my core training. The negatives were a pay cut and a struggling nickel market. I started work at the Shebandowan mine in May 1980. Joining Inco brought new challenges. At Shebandowan, the realities of underground geology demanded discipline. 

Not long after, Inco was bleeding money and ordered cost cuts. I was the most junior geologist in Ontario, but my work was solid enough that I was transferred rather than laid off. The exploration department was busy and needed people, though a hiring freeze was in place. Since I was already on staff, I was moved to exploration. I opened a Thunder Bay office and at first worked alone. Over time, it grew, and by the late 1980s, I supervised close to 20 people and managed the largest exploration budget in Ontario. Those were heady days. The optimism was captured by the Timbuk 3 song “The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades.”

By the 1990s, the industry was evolving quickly. I was transferred to Thompson, Manitoba, to lead the exploration team for Central Canada. Then, exploration budgets shrank, and my career pivoted toward resource estimation. Computers were reshaping the field, and I seized the chance to master them. From building models to analysing data sets, I became one of the early adopters who could bridge geological insight with emerging software and applied them in ways that few others attempted at the time. It was demanding but also deeply rewarding, and it positioned me for later international work. That willingness to adapt and innovate became defining threads of my career.

The company policy was that one could retire with a full pension after 30 years of service. Toward the end, I was counting the days, but I cannot complain about the opportunities. After Vale acquired Inco in 2006, bureaucracy only worsened. Still, I was able to work abroad in Western Australia and Indonesia as an internal consultant on resource estimation.

I retired in 2010 but took up consulting, specializing in resource estimation. The discovery of chromite in Northern Ontario in 2008 should have been transformative. These deposits in what became known as the Ring of Fire hold world-class potential, and I was quickly involved. Yet instead of rapid development, we faced an ever-thickening wall of bureaucracy. Governments layered regulation upon regulation, slowing progress to a crawl.

For me, it was a bitter lesson in how opportunity can be squandered when politics overwhelms practical industry. It also planted the seed of political engagement, as I could no longer ignore how decisions made far from the North stifled growth. 

With COVID-19, consulting dried up at the same time my enthusiasm for geology was fading. I turned increasingly to writing about issues I once took for granted. Freedom was being chipped away.

In 2021, I ran as a candidate for the People’s Party of Canada, the only party aligned with my moral and ethical compass. I finished a distant fourth but earned about 2,500 votes in a riding where the Liberals, NDP, and Conservatives traditionally dominate. The system favours the big three, but I learned much about what it takes for small upstarts. Since late 2021, I have been editor and primary author of an online newsletter, first called The Purple Wave and now rebranded as The Amethyst Trail.

I may be getting along in years, but my desire is to leave this world better than I found it. The optimism of the 1980s may be gone, but it does not mean we cannot recover it. History has shown that cycles of decline are followed by cycles of renewal. 

The warnings in George Orwell’s 1984 feel less like fiction and more like instruction for those in power, but they also serve as a reminder. Canadians still have the means and the duty to stand against creeping control. What matters is whether we are willing to actively exercise the freedoms we still have rather than surrender them through silence and submission.

 I want my two surviving sons, and by extension all Canadians, to inherit a country that reclaims its spirit of independence, innovation, enterprise, and fairness. The path will not be easy, but neither was the work of previous generations who built this country from wilderness and rock. If they could forge prosperity under harsh conditions, so can we. I intend to continue to explore how we can push back against a narrowing horizon and instead look outward with confidence. The battle may be daunting, but we must stand together and declare, “not on my watch.” My future writings will continue exploring how Canada can reclaim its freedom and purpose, and I hope you will join me on that path.

Alan Aubut is a retired geologist, based in Nipigon.

 

 

 

 

AUBUT: Trust betrayed, duty denied

 https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-trust-betrayed-duty-denied/67844

When law becomes plunder: How Canada’s rulers exempt themselves from the standards they impose.

 

Published on: 27 Sep 2025

 

At the heart of any free society is a fragile compact: those entrusted with authority must exercise it with duty to the people they serve. Without trust, duty becomes hollow. Without duty, law degenerates into coercion. Civilization depends on the alignment of law, ethics, and morality. When politicians exempt themselves from that alignment, citizens are left with rules that punish the weak while shielding the powerful. That is not justice. It is betrayal.

Canada today suffers from exactly that betrayal. Politicians at every level — municipal, provincial, and federal — appear accountable but in practice live with impunity. Citizens are bound by codes of conduct, contracts, and professional standards that demand honesty, diligence, and fairness under penalty of losing careers and reputations. Professionals like doctors, engineers, and geoscientists face suspension or loss of licence if they act dishonourably. Politicians, whose decisions affect millions, face almost no such risk. Their “codes of conduct” are little more than window dressing, enforced by commissioners who answer to the same councils or legislatures they are supposed to police.

This double standard leaves politicians insulated from consequences that would end the career of any ordinary professional. Cabinet ministers preside over billions of dollars disappearing without explanation. Mayors and councillors hold in-camera meetings to appoint their allies. Integrity commissioners submit reports to the very bodies they are supposed to scrutinize. In every case, accountability is treated as optional.

I experienced this firsthand in Nipigon, where the council imposed a Municipal Accommodation Tax that conscripts small businesses into unpaid government service. By-law 1940 forces accommodation providers to calculate, collect, remit, and account for a tax under threat of penalty, with no compensation. When I challenged this in court, I argued that to compel labour without fair pay is no different in principle than indentured servitude. The judge dismissed that claim because the Municipal Act was silent on compensation. But silence cuts both ways: nothing in the law prohibited fair compensation either. The court preferred to interpret absence as denial. In so doing, it sanctioned coercion not on the basis of justice, but on the basis of omission.

This is where law without ethics becomes indistinguishable from tyranny. Frédéric Bastiat warned of “legal plunder,” when the law is twisted into an instrument of theft rather than protection. Friedrich Hayek warned in The Road to Serfdom that once government uses law to direct labour and resources without consent, freedom begins to erode. Both men understood that when law departs from morality, freedom collapses. That is the path Canada is on.

The injustice is magnified by the imbalance of risk. As a professional geoscientist, I lived under a code of conduct that held me personally accountable for honesty and integrity. A breach could cost me my licence and livelihood. The same is true for doctors, lawyers, engineers, and countless other professions. Citizens live with real penalties for real misconduct. 

Politicians, however, are insulated. Cabinet ministers preside over billions of dollars vanishing. Parliament is prorogued to avoid scrutiny. Mayors and councillors make appointments behind closed doors. Conflict of Interest Acts are so narrow that they institutionalize conflicts instead of preventing them. Integrity commissioners submit reports to the very councils they are supposed to police. There is no independent enforcement, no binding penalty, no real accountability.

This is not merely a technical flaw. It is a moral one. Trust is not optional in public service. It is the bedrock upon which authority must stand. When politicians violate that trust, when they refuse to uphold their duty to the people, they attack the very legitimacy of law. Citizens see one set of rules for themselves and another for those in power. That is how respect for institutions dies. And without respect, compliance becomes fear-based rather than voluntary. The law ceases to be law and becomes only rule by force.

Critics sometimes respond that “we all pay taxes,” as though the burden of taxation justifies any burden imposed by government. But that misses the point. Paying taxes is not the same as being conscripted into unpaid service. There is a profound moral difference between parting with money and surrendering labour. One is a transaction while the other is servitude. That distinction was invisible to the court in my case, which lumped my claim into the same category as objecting to income tax. But it is precisely that blindness — treating fairness as irrelevant — that demonstrates how far law has drifted from its ethical foundation.

The problem extends beyond taxation. Across the country, we see law weaponized as a tool of political punishment. Consider the ongoing prosecution of Tamara Lich and Chris Barber, leaders of the 2022 Ottawa protests. Charged with mischief, their trial has dragged on for more than a year, reportedly the longest in Canadian history for such an offence. Even before a verdict, they have endured the punishment of process: restrictions, stress, and endless expense. The Ontario government pours taxpayer money into prosecuting them, while citizens watch the spectacle of state power deployed against dissenters. This is lawfare: punishment by procedure. The message is clear — resist, and the state will grind you down.

When combined with the lack of accountability for politicians themselves, the picture is grim. Lawfare punishes the weak, while immunity shields the strong. Together, they create a two-tiered system where justice is no longer blind but rigged. It is not conspiracy. It is systemic design. Politicians have built rules that protect themselves and punish others, all while cloaking the imbalance in the language of law.

Why do people accept this? Fear, resignation, and habit. Most citizens comply because penalties are harsh, and resistance feels futile. Judges defer to statutes rather than principles. Media outlets, many subsidized by the governments they are supposed to scrutinize, distract the public with trivialities while burying scandals. A culture of resignation takes hold: unfairness becomes normal, and dissenters are dismissed as cranks. Yet history shows that civilizations cannot survive when law is stripped of morality. Rome fell when corruption rotted its institutions. Democracies collapse when citizens lose faith that the law serves them. Canada is not immune.

The remedy is not more laws. We already have enough statutes, codes, and regulations to drown in. The remedy is a restoration of trust and duty. Politicians must be held to at least the same ethical standards as professionals. If a geoscientist can lose his licence for dishonesty, why should a minister keep her office after losing billions of public dollars? If a doctor can be barred from practice for misconduct, why should a mayor remain in office after violating fiduciary duty? The imbalance must end. Trust without accountability is not trust at all. It is fraud. Duty without consequence is not duty. It is theatre.

The law must be more than a mask for power. It must embody justice, fairness, and morality. Bastiat, Hayek, and others warned what happens when law becomes detached from ethics: liberty dies, and coercion fills the void. My case in Nipigon may be small in scale, but it is a symptom of a much larger disease. When small businesses are conscripted into unpaid service, when citizens are punished for resisting, and when politicians live above the rules they impose, the law ceases to protect. It becomes plunder.

Civilizations live or die on the strength of their laws. But laws must be rooted in trust and duty, not just power. If Canada continues down the path of legal plunder and political impunity, if our leaders continue to betray trust and deny duty, the outcome is certain. The people will cease to respect the law, and the law will cease to deserve respect. That is the road to serfdom. That is the betrayal we face.

So, what can we do? We cannot turn away when others fight for fairness. Each of us must begin by living with honour ourselves. If we are not willing to hold ourselves accountable, how can we expect to elect honourable people? I believe in doing the right thing, fearlessly. When Americans like Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., and, most recently, Charlie Kirk, spoke out against injustice and sought peaceful conversation, they were murdered for their courage. 

Their sacrifice should remind us that doing the right thing carries risk, but doing nothing is also a risk to our identity. 

Canada used to mean courage, honesty, and fairness. We need to reclaim that. Speak up. Look for candidates who believe in honour and duty, not self-interest, and only vote for them. Join in community action. Talk to neighbours, and even to strangers. 

If we allow injustice to become routine, we will lose more than laws. We will lose what it means to be Canadian.

 

 

 

 

AUBUT: When law becomes plunder

 https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-when-law-becomes-plunder/67477

How municipal accommodation taxes turn business owners into unpaid servants.

 

Published on: 14 Sep 2025

I run an accommodation business in Nipigon, Ontario. Like most small business owners, I and my meagre staff sweep the floors, change the lightbulbs, reconcile the books, and greet guests after long days because that is what it takes to keep the doors open. What I never signed up for, and never consented to, was becoming an unpaid tax collector for the Township. Yet they enacted a bylaw that demands I, and my staff, do so. Every motel and short-term rental must now calculate, collect, hold, and remit a Municipal Accommodation Tax (MAT) while absorbing all administrative costs. The penalty for refusing is fines and interest. There is no opt-out, and most importantly, there is no compensation.

I went to court to challenge this. I argued a principle that should be self-evident: in a free society, nobody should be compelled to perform labour for the state without fair compensation. Judges, clerks, lawyers, and municipal staff are all paid for their work. A specific case in point, and one I described to the judge, is that of Property Tax. The Municipal Property Assessment Corporation, an Ontario Crown Corporation, decides what a home or business is assessed at. They all get paid. The municipality has its employees prepare the tax invoices and manage the collection of those taxes. They all get paid. 

Why should small business owners, forced into government service, be the only ones expected to work for free? The judge’s answer was devastatingly narrow. Because the law does not explicitly require municipalities to compensate providers, the court would not create that right. Case dismissed.

Some will shrug and say it is just a small tax, but administration is work. Anyone who runs a business knows that new compliance duties eat up hours and dollars, hours that cannot be spent serving customers, and dollars that cannot be spent hiring staff, maintaining rooms, or lowering rates to be competitive. In larger chains, head office absorbs the pain. In small towns, it is the owner and a handful of employees doing double duty. We are told this is a “civic obligation,” as if it were the same as jury duty: brief, rare, and state-managed. It is not. This is continuous, transaction by transaction, and entirely outsourced to private hands. International standards define forced labour as work exacted under menace of penalty and not offered voluntarily. That is the plain reality here. Refuse, and you are penalized. There is no voluntariness, and there is no compensation. 

There is only the command and the cost.

If this policy had been hammered out with public input and industry consultation, the outcome might have looked different. It wasn’t. The by-law was shepherded by a council built on appointments, not elections, with key steps handled in-camera, behind closed doors. 

Accommodation providers were given an “information session,” but no meaningful plan for how MAT would actually deliver more visitors. Every local provider signed a petition opposing implementation under these terms. It was ignored. When I raised this democratic deficit in court, I was told I lacked evidence. Of course I did, because the very processes that would supply it were conducted in secret. That is a closed loop: hide the records and then dismiss critics for not having them. If you wonder why cynicism takes root, start there.

The Ontario Superior Court’s reasoning turned on legislative silence. The Municipal Act authorizes the tax and the regime; it does not speak about compensating those compelled to administer it. From the bench, that silence meant no right to compensation. This is the flaw that should alarm every small business in Canada. If the legislature fails to protect you, the courts will not. They will not weigh fairness. They will not consider the obvious analogy that municipal staff who collect property taxes are paid while private businesses are not. They will not recognize that compelled work is still work, even when cloaked in the rhetoric of civic duty. The message is stark that unless the law hand-writes your dignity into the margins, you do not have it.

More than a century and a half ago, Frédéric Bastiat wrote The Law. He warned that when government uses the force of law to take from some and transfer to others, it becomes legal plunder. Nipigon’s MAT regime is a textbook example. The Township found a revenue stream and the cheapest way to collect it: outsource the labour to small businesses and pay them nothing. Staff who process property taxes get a wage and benefits while we get orders and penalties. That is cost-shifting by statute, not partnership, and it corrodes the very idea that law should protect the equal dignity of persons.

Supporters will argue that government can require duties of citizens. True. But the classic examples such as jury duty and limited emergency service are bounded, public, and supervised by the state. Collecting a continuous municipal tax on every booking, month after month, is qualitatively different. It is an ongoing administrative function of the municipality, executed at the private expense of businesses that never wanted it, never volunteered, yet cannot refuse. The fact that the duty is imposed by by-law does not transform the nature of the work. Renaming a mandatory charge a ‘donation’ doesn’t make it voluntary or charitable.

One reason we are here is Canada’s constitutional blind spot around economic liberty. The Charter protects life, liberty, security of the person, and equality, but courts have consistently refused to treat the right to earn a living or the right to fair compensation for compelled labour as core Charter interests. Even our “security of person”, at least so far, when it came to the Covid response, has similarly been denied us. That may be doctrinally tidy, but it is practically incoherent. 

A society that says work equals dignity then turns around and declares the dignity of small business owners purely discretionary, contingent on whether the legislature remembered to write it down. I am not saying the Charter guarantees a wage for every civic duty. I am saying that when government outsources a continuing administrative function to private citizens, with penalties for refusal, courts should scrutinize that arrangement as something more than a benign civic obligation. There is a line between the common good and conscription. MAT crosses it.

We were told MAT would mean more heads in beds. That is a good slogan but it is not a plan. Local operators asked for concrete detail: what programs, what marketing, what targets, what accountability? Instead, we got a collection system first, and a vision later — maybe. 

The nearby community of Terrace Bay enacted a MAT for their accommodation providers in 2020. At the “information session” in 2023, a representative was there to provide supportive evidence for their program. Three years after implementation, the representative admitted that while money was collected, not one concrete activity had been launched to increase stays. Yet the independent “tourism entity” got 50% of the money raised and spent it on nothing concrete other than paying the salaries of its employees. The uncomfortable truth is that MAT revenue can become just another pot of money with diffuse accountability, especially when oversight is entangled with local relationships and appointments. If you want a partnership with business, you start with transparency and consent, not secrecy and compulsion.

Some will dismiss this as a tiny-town squabble. They shouldn’t. The logic that carried the day in court — that if the statute is silent, your labour is free — scales to any jurisdiction that wants to shift administrative costs off the public ledger and onto private backs. And a lot of municipalities have jumped on the bandwagon, not because they believe it will work but because it is another source of revenue where the legislation makes sure even unwilling victims of the proposed help receive little to none. Today it is MAT. Tomorrow it is another fee, reporting regime, or levy collected by “designated providers” under penalty. If you run a restaurant, a shop, a bed-and-breakfast, ask yourself how many hours you can surrender before your business model collapses. Then ask why the government gets those hours for free.

There is a simple, principled fix. If municipalities want private businesses to administer a tax, they should either pay for the work through a clear, published administration fee, or permit providers to deduct a reasonable percentage to cover their costs. Pair that with genuine consultation, public oversight of spending, and performance targets tied to tourism outcomes. If MAT truly drives value, prove it — and compensate the people doing the paperwork.

I have joined a national small-business advocacy group to push for provincial reform. I will keep pressing for transparency and fair dealing in my community. I will keep saying, without apology, that compelled unpaid labour is wrong, whether you dress it up as partnership or hide it inside a by-law. And I am asking readers — business owners, employees, and citizens — to demand the same from your councils and your MPPs. Freedom is not only the absence of chains. It is the right to control your labour, to say yes or no, and to be fairly compensated when the answer is yes. When law forgets that, it stops being protection and becomes plunder. Nipigon has reminded us how quickly that can happen. The remedy will not come from the courthouse. It will come from people who refuse to mistake compulsion for duty and who insist that government, at every level, treat their time with the same respect it grants its own.

Alan Aubut is a retired geologist, based in Nipigon.

 

 

AUBUT: From apathy to agency, rebuilding Canada’s democracy

https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-from-apathy-to-agency-rebuilding-canadas-democracy/66959 

Practical, peaceful reforms to restore legitimacy, empower citizens, and turn voting into a tool for real change

 

Published on: 23 Aug 2025

Canada's political system, like many others in the West, is showing signs of institutional fatigue and public disengagement. Yet for those still committed to the nation and its potential, the question is not whether to resist or retreat, but how to build, how to create functional, forward-looking systems rooted in civic responsibility and institutional renewal. 

As previously discussed in the article Canada's One-Way Political Conversation Has To Be Challenged, our country is trapped in a state of entropy, drifting between preservation and destruction with no meaningful building underway. We seek a future in which citizens are empowered, heard, and respected, not managed or pacified. Building requires structure, not slogans. It demands functional democratic tools that restore legitimacy and create real pathways for reform. 

Our goal is not to burn the system down, but to reintroduce vitality where apathy and cynicism have taken hold. This piece examines what practical, peaceful methods can succeed within Canada's existing system to restore meaningful democratic participation and give every citizen a voice worth using.

Canada's political system, like many others in the West, is facing a legitimacy crisis. Turnout remains low, especially among younger voters, and public trust in government institutions is eroding. Scandals, cronyism, and top-down governance have led many Canadians to conclude that their vote no longer matters. 

The sense of shared nationhood is fraying, and with it the belief that government still acts in the common interest. It is tempting, in the face of such dysfunction, to call for radical solutions. But history and principle both warn us that violence or coercive force, even when cloaked in moral urgency, corrupts what it seeks to save. The only sustainable path forward is one that builds, not destroys.

To build within a system suffering institutional decay requires identifying what levers of influence still remain and using them precisely. Canada’s existing electoral and legal frameworks are not beyond salvage. Rather, they are underused and misapplied. The voting system is treated by many as a futile exercise between the lesser of evils. But if restructured correctly, the act of voting can become the most potent tool of democratic reform available.

The first step is to confront voter apathy, not by blaming voters, but by acknowledging the structural failures that drive it. People don’t vote because they don’t see how it changes anything. When mainstream parties drift toward managerial sameness, the ballot becomes a ritual of consent rather than a real choice. 

Yet what is rarely measured is why people abstain. Polls only ask questions pre-approved by those conducting them, and their samples are too small and clustered to capture broad sentiment. That is why election results, imperfect though they are, remain the most trustworthy form of public data. Everyone has equal access. The sample size is sufficient. The results are binding.

To better capture public discontent, a simple, low-resistance reform would be to include a permanent ballot option, “None of the Above” (NOTA). This could be introduced through a straightforward amendment to the Canada Elections Act, requiring the Chief Electoral Officer to include a NOTA line on every federal ballot. While no such amendment has yet been formally proposed, its simplicity makes it an ideal starting point for citizen-driven legislative advocacy. The purpose is not symbolic protest, but formal accountability. 

NOTA reveals how many voters reject the offered slate entirely. It is not about encouraging disengagement, but about giving voice to the already disengaged. It makes invisible frustration measurable. And unlike spoiled ballots, it cannot be dismissed as an accident or confusion. Australia, which mandates voting and reports over 90% turnout, shows that participation can be enforced gently, through small fines or civic expectation. Adding NOTA to the Canadian ballot would provide the means for expressing legitimate discontent without discarding the democratic process.

Yet NOTA is just one piece. We must also improve our understanding of why voters are dissatisfied. One method is to conduct a scientifically sound, post-election civic poll. This would not be a media poll or a partisan survey. It would be a legally grounded exercise, much like the census, administered by a partnership between Elections Canada and Statistics Canada. 

The key features of this post-election audit would include a sample drawn from the national electors list, ensuring full coverage and legal standing. A stratified random sampling, with built-in declustering methods to eliminate geographic bias. A sample size of at least 100,000, enabling high-confidence national and regional analysis, with mandatory participation for those selected, enforced under the same principles as the census.

The questions would be few, public, and transparent. Focused on civic attitudes, not policy preferences. For example: Do you feel your vote had influence? Would you support mandatory voting? Do you believe the current system represents your interests? The results would be anonymized, published in full, and available for public scrutiny and academic analysis. This would not replace elections, but instead would contextualise them. The goal is to rebuild legitimacy through honest feedback, not manufactured consent.

Beyond polling, the core political structure itself must be opened to reform from the outside in. The mainstream parties are structurally resistant to meaningful change. Their internal systems of party discipline, whip control, and patronage make dissent nearly impossible. To break this cycle, Canadians must shift focus away from party platforms and toward structural mandates. Instead of electing ideologues or careerists, we elect individuals with one purpose, to repair the democratic framework.

This could take the form of a national federation of independent civic candidates. Each would run on a common charter, committing to basic reforms such as NOTA, electoral system redesign, campaign finance transparency, and citizen recall provisions. 

Comparable blocs have emerged in other democracies, for example, anti-corruption independents in Eastern Europe, proving the viability of loosely coordinated reformist coalitions. They would not form a party but a bloc bound by principles rather than hierarchy. Their message is not "vote for us," but "vote to fix the system." 

This stands in sharp contrast to efforts like the Rhinoceros Party or the Longest Ballot Committee, whose actions, whether satirical or performative, trivialize the very system they claim to challenge. Success would not require majority control. A dozen such MPs, elected in targeted ridings with high disillusionment, could force parliamentary debate and block undemocratic legislation. Even one well-placed MP can file bills, initiate committee inquiries, and elevate public awareness.

Strategically, this requires a digital platform, ideally open-source and transparent, to coordinate volunteers, funding, and training while decentralizing action. Civic tech tools such as NationBuilder, Loomio, or custom-built portals can provide the backbone for such campaigns. 

It mirrors how civic movements succeed globally with centralized infrastructure and local execution. Campaigns would focus on small ridings where turnout is low and loyalty weak. The target is not the most ideological but the most neglected, places where hope has eroded but not vanished. These become the proving grounds for democratic renewal.

To further support this movement, proposed legislation must be pre-drafted as simple, transparent, and legally sound. Canadians need to see that the path is not only necessary but doable. Bills should be ready to table on NOTA, post-election polling, mandatory voting, and electoral transparency. These should be made publicly available in draft form for citizen review prior to introduction, reinforcing transparency and trust. Their simplicity is their strength. The more modest and clear the proposal, the harder it is for opponents to reject it without revealing vested interests.

Crucially, all of this avoids violent confrontation, radical upheaval, or fringe ideological capture. It restores faith by building, not destroying, the civic architecture Canadians were promised but have yet to receive. It speaks to voters not as customers of political parties, but as owners of a system in disrepair.

Canada’s system does not need to be burned down. It needs to be rebalanced. That means bringing the builder back into the national conversation. For too long, we have been governed by preservers, those who manage, regulate, and delay, and destroyers, who dismantle under the guise of reform. The builder, who imagines and constructs, has been marginalised. The builder is the citizen who proposes, innovates, and advances not through protest or complaint, but through lawful contribution and principled disruption. 

We must correct this imbalance, not with slogans but with structure. A local legislative reform, public accountability tools, and citizen-driven ballot access initiatives that re-empower the electorate. Only then can democracy move from performance to purpose.

This path will not be easy. It demands civic patience, organizational effort, and strategic thinking. But it is the only path available that does not demand surrender to cynicism, violence, or authoritarianism. It is the path of citizens, not subjects. It begins with the simplest of acts, which are to vote, to speak, and to refuse to be ignored.

Alan Aubut is a retired geologist, based in Nipigon.

 

 

 

 

 

AUBUT: Canada's one-way political conversation has to be challenged

https://www.westernstandard.news/opinion/aubut-canadas-one-way-political-conversation-has-to-be-challenged/66572 

'Once a metaphor for shifting public opinion, the Overton Window has been replaced by a mechanism of exclusion — where media, government, and cultural elites now decide which ideas may enter and which must remain forbidden.' 

 

Published on: 01 Aug 2025

 The Overton Window is a political theory that describes the narrow band of ideas considered acceptable in public discourse at any given time. Originally developed by Joseph P. Overton of the Mackinac Center for Public Policy, it was designed as an analytical tool to explain why some policies gain traction while others are dismissed, regardless of their logical or moral grounding. It became a framework for understanding how ideas move from unthinkable to acceptable, and sometimes into law, by shifting what the public is willing to tolerate or support.

Overton framed his model around a "window" to capture how public perception functions: the public can see a range of ideas, but only those within the frame are considered legitimate topics for serious political or media engagement.

Ideas outside the window are either invisible or instantly discredited. This was a metaphor of perception, not necessarily of action. The window could shift left or right, widen or narrow, depending on cultural change, political momentum, or media influence. But what remained implicit in the metaphor was that the public did not move through the window; rather, the window moved to adjust what the public was shown and allowed to consider.

In theory, this model explains incremental change. Ideas can be slowly normalized. What is unthinkable becomes radical, then acceptable, then sensible, then policy. Conversely, ideas can be moved out of bounds and stigmatized. The metaphor assumes a kind of passive observer — someone watching from behind the glass, granted a curated view of the political landscape.

But the events of the past decade, and particularly in Canada leading up to and during the 2025 federal election, have exposed the limits of the Overton Window metaphor. It no longer adequately describes the active mechanisms of suppression and control being exercised by institutions such as the media, government, academia, and cultural gatekeepers. A more accurate metaphor, one that acknowledges the intentional exclusion of ideas, is the Overton Door.

Unlike a window, which simply allows or restricts view, a door must be opened or closed by someone. It implies action. Control. Agency. And most importantly, permission. Where a window is passive and observational, a door is active and restrictive.

The transition from the window model to the door model marks the shift from perception management to narrative enforcement. This is not simply about framing acceptable debate. It is about blocking it altogether. The best disinfectant is sunlight but when totally blocked, the pestilence continues to fester, unabated.

Take, for example, the public discourse surrounding Islam in Western societies. While Christianity and Judaism are routinely subjected to criticism, satire, and institutional scepticism, any critical examination of Islam’s doctrinal or cultural conflicts with liberal Western values is reflexively dismissed as Islamophobic.

The core contradictions — such as those between Islamic orthodoxy and feminist ideals, or LGBTQ+ rights — are not debated; they are avoided. The door is shut.

The subject is not just discouraged but forbidden. And it is forbidden not by public sentiment alone, but by coordinated institutional behaviour. The media refuses to engage, politicians evade and academics retreat.

In 2017, British author and political commentator Douglas Murray faced widespread backlash and de-platforming campaigns following the release of "The Strange Death of Europe," in which he questioned immigration policies and highlighted ideological clashes between Islamic doctrine and Western liberal norms.

In Canada, similar observations have rarely been allowed to surface within mainstream outlets. This is not a window adjusting public perception. This is a door being slammed to prevent public participation.

Another example is the residential school narrative in Canada, particularly the explosive claims of unmarked graves. Despite the absence of independent forensic validation, the matter has been elevated to unquestionable national truth. Any demand for verification or scientific method is dismissed not as a call for rigour, but as denialism.

British Columbia MLA Dallas Brodie came under immediate fire in 2025 for pointing out the absence of confirmed remains at the Kamloops site, even though her statement was factually correct. Similarly, lawyer James Heller faced libel attacks and professional smears simply for advocating the use of forensic standards when discussing potential grave sites.

The Overton Door metaphor reveals the mechanism here: the topic has not merely moved out of the frame — it has been locked away, and those who try to access it face public shaming or institutional censure.

Similarly, discussions around race and discrimination operate on a controlled-access model. Discrimination against white populations, or the idea that affirmative policies might disadvantage others, cannot be openly questioned. Such concerns are branded as racist before they are even engaged.

In the United States, author Heather Mac Donald has faced boycotts and protests on university campuses for her work questioning race-based hiring and policing narratives. In Canada, even raising questions about differential treatment in academic admissions or job placement is enough to be blacklisted from mainstream platforms.

Again, this is not the perception-management of a window; it is the ideological triage of a door, deciding which voices may speak and which must be silenced.

In the 2025 Canadian federal election, the consequences of this door-centric media culture were fully exposed. Public debate was corralled into a tightly managed narrative: only Liberal or Conservative choices were considered viable, despite deep dissatisfaction across the political spectrum. Core issues like immigration, inflation, housing, and civil liberties were not examined in any meaningful way by legacy media. Alternative parties or independent voices were either ignored or portrayed as threats. This was not a matter of perception. It was enforcement.

Polls were wielded not as instruments of insight, but as tools of reinforcement. Methodologically flawed, unrepresentative, and statistically weak surveys were paraded as evidence of consensus. They shaped expectations rather than recorded them. And media outlets treated these polls as gospel, offering no challenge, no critique. It was as if the door had been bolted shut on electoral diversity, and the public was told to remain still in the corridor.

Even the political philosophy underpinning Western governance has been subjected to door-like control. The traditional spectrum of Hobbesian collectivism versus Lockean individualism — once central to understanding political thought — has been eclipsed by hollow left-right binaries. In reality, the most important distinction is between those who believe in centralized authority for the sake of security (Hobbes) and those who believe in limited government to protect liberty (Locke.)

Today’s progressive ideology increasingly aligns with the Hobbesian model, cloaked in compassion but oriented toward state control. The media class — aligned with this vision — acts as gatekeeper to suppress Lockean arguments. Personal liberty, self-determination, even scepticism of power, are now traits marked as suspect. When Lockean views are expressed — calls for smaller government, individual accountability, or constitutional restraint — they are often met with labels like "far-right," "extremist," or even "Nazi," regardless of whether such terms bear any factual basis.

These accusations serve one purpose: to shut the door on the conversation before it starts. Meanwhile, Hobbesian views advocating for more state power, surveillance, and social conformity face no such linguistic policing. The asymmetry is telling. One side is granted the legitimacy of concern; the other is smeared into silence.

Mr. Trudeau’s government, and now Mark Carney’s leadership, represent this evolution. Both operate within the language of equity and social responsibility, but their real impact has been the expansion of state influence, the marginalization of dissent, and the narrowing of debate. The media has been their enabler, not their critic. It is not just that the window has shifted. The door has been shut, bolted, and guarded.

This brings us to the key distinction: the window metaphor focuses on perception; the door metaphor reveals power. A window moves to adjust what the public can see. A door is controlled by someone who decides who gets to pass — a guardian at the gate there to keep the inquisitive mind out. When institutions curate the narrative so that entire subjects become untouchable, when access to debate is granted or denied based on ideological loyalty, we are no longer in the realm of social consensus, we are in the domain of information authoritarianism.

The path back from this is unclear. But recognition is the first step. Those committed to liberty, truth, and genuine democratic dialogue must stop trying to widen the window and begin demanding the door be unlatched. We do not need permission to speak. We do not need institutional framing to think. And we should not accept curated access to ideas as the price of public engagement.

Joseph Overton gave us a useful concept. But the political reality of our time has moved beyond his frame. The window is now seen for what it really was, and is: a door. And it's time to demand it be opened.

Alan Aubut is a retired geologist, based in Nipigon.