By Brent Dempsey / The Dempsey Pen
We’re in the middle of something big—something that most people feel but don’t fully understand. They call it a tariff war, a global reshuffling of power, trade, and control. But to me, it feels more like a tug-of-war between countries trying to secure their own future while leaving the rest of us scrambling for stability.
Canada is stuck in the middle. With trade tensions heating up between the UK, China, and the U.S., and with conflict casting a long shadow across the world, we’re facing a resource crunch that affects everyday life—from the gas in our cars to the lumber that builds our homes. The U.S. talks about reshoring manufacturing, making everything at home. But what does that mean for us? When one superpower pulls in, the ripples leave countries like Canada dry—low on supply, delayed on shipments, and fighting for leverage we never really had to begin with.
Add to that the fentanyl crisis, which is tearing through our communities like a silent war. It doesn’t make headlines like a bombing or a border skirmish, but it’s just as deadly. We lose brothers, sisters, children. While leaders posture over pipelines and auto parts, real people are overdosing in parking lots. Where is the global action? Where is the accountability?
The auto sector—once a symbol of strength in North America—is caught in this storm. Tariffs on steel and aluminum, battery shortages, and political tensions threaten jobs on both sides of the border. And our oil and lumber industries? Either pushed down by international policy or stalled by climate and market pressure. We’re bleeding opportunities.
The truth is, we need each other more than ever. No single country can survive this era of isolation. Canada can’t afford to be self-reliant if we’re cut off from critical partnerships. But we also can’t keep bending to every decision made in Washington, Beijing, or Westminster.
We need leadership that puts our people first, that builds real alliances—not out of dependency, but out of shared vision. We need bold new trade deals that include health, sustainability, and people—not just profits. We need the World Health Organization to step in not just when there’s a pandemic, but when our streets are flooded with poison. We need innovation, compassion, and courage.
So here I am—a writer, a witness, and a Canadian—saying enough is enough. We have the minds, the land, the resources. What we need is the will. It’s time to stop waiting for the world to hand us our future and start carving it with our own hands. If we want to survive the coming storm, we need to stand up, speak out, and start working together—because the cost of silence is too high, and time is running out.
Absolutely, Brent. Here’s a continuation and expansion of the essay with even more depth, emotion, and fire—keeping your tone honest, grounded, and Canadian.
I’m not a politician. I’m not an economist. I’m a guy who pays attention. I watch what’s happening to my neighbors, my province, and my country. I see the shelves getting thinner, the cost of living soaring, and industries that once built this country now being auctioned off piece by piece. And I ask myself—where are the people who are supposed to protect us in all of this?
We talk a lot about sovereignty these days—who owns what, who controls what. But what good is sovereignty if we can’t afford to heat our homes, feed our families, or treat the sick? What good is waving a flag when the jobs have been outsourced, the mills have gone silent, and our young people are dying in alleyways from synthetic poisons that cross borders more easily than our own ambulances?
This isn’t just about economics. This is about survival. And survival means partnership. Real partnership. Not the kind where we’re invited to the table just to smile and sign. The kind where our voices are heard. Where we build trade with heart, not just numbers.
Canada has always been rich in resources—oil, timber, water, grain. But what we’re running short on now is something harder to measure: leadership. Vision. Unity. We can’t go toe-to-toe with China alone. We can’t outmuscle the U.S. in auto manufacturing. We can’t outpace Europe in green tech unless we stop trying to go it alone.
The fentanyl crisis alone should’ve sparked global alarm years ago. The source lines are known. The shipping routes are known. And yet, day after day, funeral after funeral, nothing is done. And if you think that’s not tied to trade, to war, to money, think again. The drug trade thrives in shadows. Shadows built by instability, corruption, and a lack of global accountability. If we’re going to talk trade deals, let’s talk about human lives too.
Let’s talk about lumber towns in B.C. drying up. Let’s talk about Alberta oil workers forced into layoffs while foreign investors squeeze our own markets. Let’s talk about how we need each other—within our own borders and beyond them.
And let’s talk about building new work—not just waiting for jobs to come back. Let’s foster tech in Indigenous communities, boost renewable energy in rural towns, support small manufacturers with real incentives—not red tape. Let’s make “Made in Canada” mean something again, not just for pride, but for purpose.
I don’t have all the answers. But I know we can’t keep doing nothing. We can’t keep nodding along as our leaders sign deals that weaken us, not strengthen us. We can’t let another generation drown in drugs, debt, and division.
I write because I still believe in this country. I believe we’re more than polite apologies and pretty landscapes. I believe we’re fighters. Survivors. Builders. And I believe that if we speak loud enough, write boldly enough, and act together, we can change the course we’re on.
The world is shifting. Alliances are breaking and rebuilding. The storm is coming—but maybe, just maybe, Canada can be the lighthouse.
So here’s my challenge—to every reader, every policymaker, every young Canadian watching the world burn and wondering where they fit in:
We don’t wait for change. We write it. Build it. Live it.
And we start right here.
Absolutely, Brent — here’s Part 3 of your essay, expanding the heart of your message with urgency, clarity, and conviction. This version brings it home with boldness and keeps your voice front and center: passionate, personal, and powerful.
People ask, “Where’s it all heading?” Honestly, I think a lot of us are too afraid to say it out loud—but here it is: we’re at a global breaking point. Between the wars being fought overseas and the silent wars happening right here at home—fentanyl, poverty, homelessness, inflation—we are staring down a future we don’t recognize.
The U.S. wants to bring everything back home. China’s setting up trade routes on its terms. The U.K. is scrambling to reassert itself post-Brexit. And Canada? We’re like the kid caught between three older siblings fighting over the dinner table. We sit quietly, wait our turn, and hope we still get a plate.
But hope alone isn’t strategy.
We need to redefine what “Canadian independence” means. Not just political independence—but economic, social, and spiritual. Not just waving flags on July 1st, but building systems that take care of our people all year long.
The fentanyl crisis? That’s not just a drug problem. It’s a symptom of deep national neglect. A loss of connection. A generation numbing their pain because nobody’s listening. That’s on all of us. We need community centers, not more jails. We need addiction recovery backed by real funding—not lip service. And we need mental health care that doesn’t require you to nearly die before someone hears you. I know—because I’ve lived it.
And while all of this is happening, our supply chains are weakening. We don’t manufacture the basics anymore. Try ordering car parts, appliances, or even lumber. Everything’s delayed. Prices are up. It’s not just inflation—it’s disconnection. From our roots. From production. From each other.
We need to get back to making things. Fixing things. Growing things. And we need to do it here. I’m not saying we cut ourselves off from the world—but we can’t keep outsourcing our identity. We need to build again—auto plants, sawmills, greenhouses, solar tech, mental health clinics, local media, and trust.
So I’m here, putting my name on this—Brent Dempsey. A Canadian writer, advocate, and survivor. I’ve seen the damage that silence causes. That’s why I started The Dempsey Pen. Because words matter. Stories matter. And if we don’t start writing our own narrative, someone else will write it for us—and we might not like the ending.
This isn’t just about trade. It’s about the soul of our country. Are we going to be known as the nice neighbor who stayed quiet while the world reshaped without us? Or are we going to rise up—not in anger, but in determination—and demand more for our people?
Our young people deserve a future with hope. Our elders deserve dignity. Our workers deserve fair wages. Our addicts deserve a second chance. And our small towns, like mine in Port Hardy, deserve the same respect and opportunity as Bay Street or Parliament Hill.
So what’s next? That depends on all of us. We need to keep talking. Writing. Organizing. Building. Not later—now.
Because if not us, who?
And if not now, when?