Carney's First Act revisited
All of Parliament is a stage, and the ministers and media, merely players
As always analysis here reflects my own thoughts and observances. It does not reflect those of my employers, or professional associations. In fact some people in my office really wish I would shut up - so, there’s that, too.
It was May 14, 2025.
Outside, Ottawa was thawing.
Inside West Block, it was sweltering.
Reporters stood shoulder to shoulder in a narrow hallway, behind a velvet rope outside the heavy wooden doors of the Cabinet room.
Waiting.
And waiting.
Ministers, freshly appointed the day before, were expected to pass through. Some might stop to take questions. Most wouldn’t.
The scene resembled a red-carpet event, with all the cameras and boom mics. Except the carpet was vintage, the walls were powder blue, with white Romanesque pillars. Parliament is more like a neo-Gothic castle than a Hollywood venue.
There is no glamour behind the ropes in Ottawa — only sweaty journalists in sensible shoes and spring coats. So, no, we aren’t much for fashion. But we were about to get a glimpse of what kind of government Canada is wearing
.
Mostly, we were relieved to be back on the beat after the long prorogation and snap election.
Then we were offered an unexpected treat.
We were told that our cameras could enter the Cabinet room — a rare opportunity to collect photos of ministers together in a space few get to see.
Such photos are precious to the media, collected, cherished — and recycled — on the days we’re shut out, blacklisted, or stonewalled, but still need a picture for our story.
After the Secretaries of State left, our photographers and ENG camera operators were let in. They were instructed to squeeze into the slim gap between the chairs of the seated ministers and the wall, and aim their lenses at the newly elected Prime Minister.
There was a pleasant clatter of DSLR shutters, set to burst, snapping at a furious speed.
Then we saw why we’d been invited in.
It was not just a new Cabinet photo op.
Prime Minister Mark Carney opened a red folder and, smiling, he said: “It is my pleasure to deliver this tax cut.”
As quickly as they had been ushered in, the cameras were told to leave.
No questions. No answers.
Outside, a mess of confusion among the journalists. What had Carney just signed?
Photographers flipped their cameras, turned on their viewfinders, and zoomed in on the document.
The paper, dated March 14, read simply: “I hereby instruct that the fuel charge be removed as of April 1, 2025 and that the April 2025 Canada Carbon Rebate be issued.”
English on the left, French on the right, the Canadian coat of arms in red ink at the top, Carney’s signature at the bottom.
It all had the familiar air of President Donald Trump signing an executive order.
Except we’re Canada.
And Canada doesn’t have executive orders.
So what had we just been called in to witness, exactly?
Was there some arcane parliamentary mechanism we didn’t know about — one that allowed a Prime Minister to cancel legislation with the stroke of a pen?
What was that paper?
Journalists are curious by nature.
But when curiosity is met with evasion, we quickly descend into suspicion.
Had we just been handed a story? And was it even real?
Carney didn’t come out to play that day.
He ghosted the scrum (although he’d given interviews to British media).
Finance Minister François-Philippe Champagne was pinned with the question in the hall, but he couldn’t say what the document was. (Nor could he explain why there wouldn’t be a federal budget in 2025 — a decision reversed after a few days of public backlash — but that’s another story.)
That left Audrey Champoux, Carney’s press secretary, standing just past the ropes. Reporters called out to her, still hoping for an explanation. She looked cautious. And a little like she knew.
Well, just because you can't get answers on the Hill, it doesn't mean answers can't be found.
Reporters scrambled. Constitutional experts were called. And as it turned out, the paper Carney had signed had no legal weight.
Opening the doors to photographers had seemed like a moment of transparency. Instead, it was theatre.
And we, the press, were meant to be part of the staging.
We were meant to report a narrative about a ‘can-do’ Prime Minister who delivered on a tax cut on his first day in office — no questions asked. (literally). Just project that carefully choreographed image for you — the public — of “the grown-up in the room who gets things done.”
Except — none of it was true.
The grown-up in the room was only play-acting with a prop.
I could have printed my own copy of that paper and signed it myself for all it was worth.
That was Carney’s First Act.
The MSM called it out.
I filed it away.
But it’s something worth talking about again and thinking about.
Because that wasn’t normal.
It was a quiet breach of democratic practice. Faking a scene.
Lying without telling a lie.
It only looks harmless when you’ve forgotten what harm looks like.
Which is so easy to do in this post-truth era.
I look south of the border to the U.S., to Turkey, Hungary, or the Philippines, where democracies have failed. We are all learning how easy it is to accept what was once unthinkable.
Because that’s how democracy erodes.
Not with a coup.
With one little white lie at a time.
Faking a document, pretending to have executive powers?
That’s something I haven’t seen before.
As the days unfold I ask myself — are these other things I am witnessing also a gap between presentation and reality. There are people - politicians, legal experts - warning me to pay attention. It’s a conversation worth having.
So yes, I’ve been obsessed with C-5 but I haven’t really gotten to the core of what I think the problem is. So I’ll like to unpack that this weekend.
Stay tuned.
What were you actually trying to say? It was lost in a flood of rhetoric that you accused the government of doing. Want to be better. Be concise.
So, how did he do it? I got my carbon tax rebate? Honestly, how did he do it? Did you figure it out?