‘When the doubters are loudest, that’s when we’re winning: The imagined thoughts of Justin Trudeau

'I don’t know if it’s possible that I can stop being the prime minister of Canada. Is there a Canada if I am not its prime minister?'

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Published Dec 21, 2024  •  Last updated 2 hours ago  •  4 minute read

'We’ve seen all of this before. Problems come up, we promise to address them, and then everything’s fine and I keep being prime minister.' Photo by Sean Kilpatrick/The Canadian Press

It’s been a particularly eventful week for Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. After the surprise departure of cabinet ministers Chrystia Freeland and Sean Fraser on Monday, Trudeau has been faced with the loudest-ever chorus of voices calling on him to resign, including from more than one third of his Liberal Party caucus.

Nevertheless, Trudeau has stayed on, has reshuffled his cabinet, and has dismissed the dissent as being akin to a family fight around Christmas. According to one Liberal MP, Wayne Long, Trudeau has become “delusional” and is now living in a “false reality.”

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In Dear Diary, the National Post satirically re-imagines a week in the life of a newsmaker. This week, Tristin Hopper takes a journey inside the thoughts of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.

Monday

Hello, Diary. They’re doubting me again. You’d think they’d learn. They doubted that I could beat Patrick Brazeau in a boxing match. Wrong. They doubted that I could defeat Stephen Harper. Wrong. They said it would be electoral suicide if an entire portfolio of blackface photos became international headlines in the middle of a federal election campaign. Wrong.

They said my premiership would demolish the economy. They said politics would destroy my personal life. They said “elect Justin Trudeau and there will be jihadist rallies in the centre of Toronto and your car thief will have his own car thief.” Wrong, wrong and double wrong.

When the doubters are loudest, that’s when we know we’re winning.

Tuesday

Hey Diary, let me tell you a secret about Ottawa. These people, these … politicians … they’re all just fake. I grew up here; I know the type. They shake the right hands, they say the right things, they’d sell out their own mother for a chance to be parliamentary secretary.

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But you know what they lack? Boldness. Decisiveness. Courage.

To me, leadership is doing what sounds right even when seemingly everything is against you: The news media, opinion polls, byelection results, foreign governments, GDP figures, aggregated crime statistics, even the laws of thermodynamics. These are distractions. These are excuses.

You’re never going to make meaningful change if you’re hung up on the details. You’re not a leader. You’re a bean counter. And bean counters lose.

Wednesday

Bonjour, Diary. I’m reminded of that nursery rhyme where the chicken thinks the sky is falling. The Little Chicken, I think it was. Lately, I feel like I’m surrounded by Little Chickens. A nut falls on their head and they think the world is coming to an end.

“Oh no, the Americans are threatening a trade war. We could be plunged into recession.”

“Wah, the deficit is unsustainable. I peed my pants.”

“Moan, affordability and per-capita GDP have noticeably declined during our tenure and now I’m going to lose my riding.”

We’ve seen all of this before. Problems come up, we promise to address them, and then everything’s fine and I keep being prime minister. That’s how it’s always worked. That’s the formula. And we can’t mess with a winning strategy just because a bunch of Le P’tit Chickens are having panic attacks.

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Thursday

Good evening, Diary. One thing I don’t get enough credit for is my thick skin. If, say — Chrystia Freeland — were to undergo one millisecond of the pressure I’m under, she would crumple into a sobbing pile of off-the-rack sheath dresses.

So it doesn’t bother me whatsoever when I hear people say that I’m out of touch. That I’m delusional. Because I know this country better than anyone else.

And I know they will all come to their senses. The voters will realize what they’ve done. They’ll realize their ingratitude, their infidelity. They’ll realize they abandoned the one man who truly loves them to pursue a suitor just as empty and hollow as their own warped moral compass. And you know what, Diary? When they come back I won’t hold it against them. I won’t even mention that they were gone. I’ll just give the Canadian electorate a great big hug and tell them everything’s going to be fine.

Friday

It’s all second-nature now, Diary. The cabinet swearings-in, I mean. I see the wide-eyed faces of the new ministers and realize this is all new and exciting to them. “It’s him. It’s really him. It’s Justin Trudeau, swearing *me* in as a cabinet minister.” Oh, to have that spark again. That naïve, juvenile, dunce-like confidence that you aren’t surrounded by self-interested phonies who will all betray you at the first opportunity.

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I try to remember my own experience of this. There must have a been a time when I was a junior minister like them; a newcomer to politics just starting his climb up the ladder. That’s how these things usually go. But try as I might, the recollections aren’t coming; I’ve always been where I am.

I know I am the prime minister of Canada. I don’t remember not being the prime minister of Canada. I don’t know if it’s possible that I can stop being the prime minister of Canada. Is there a Canada if I am not its prime minister? I … don’t know.

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