Mark Carney has survived his first meeting with Donald Trump, by the skin of his teeth. The central banker-turned-prime minister of Canada had a private meeting followed by a press conference earlier today with Trump, who, now in his second (third? honorary lifetime?) term as president, continues to run the country like a hostile real estate takeover.
Carney — whose successful campaign focused on how to repudiate Trump — is no Trudeau. Where Justin spent his time shirtless paddleboarding and crying on camera in three official languages, Carney is all buttoned-up pragmatism. He spent years keeping global markets from spontaneously combusting. He speaks in footnotes and forecasts. He looks like the guy who'd quietly dominate a high-stakes poker game at Davos while explaining bond yields to a confused hedge fund intern.
And Trump — well, we know who Trump is. He freewheeled through their press conference on Tuesday, starting out by mentioning the “new and improved Oval Office” (due to the abundance of “24-carat gold,” in case anyone could mistake his meaning) and ending up at California wildfires and Wayne Gretzky.
Canada sending Carney to deal with that was a bit like sending an economist to a WWE match and hoping the spreadsheet can reason with the steel chair. Nevertheless, Canadian commentators assured everyone before the big meeting, the vibes are what are important here. And from those vibes, we can make some solid conclusions.
Trump opened the joint press conference with the usual grab-bag of flattery, self-congratulation, and thinly veiled campaign material. He mentioned a couple of times that he had watched Carney’s debate performance and been impressed by it. Carney, ever the well-lacquered adult in the room, offered a few polished platitudes about partnership and NATO before settling into the role of bemused guest star on a reality show he didn’t audition for.
Talk turned to trade. Trump described NAFTA as “probably the worst deal in the history of the world,” then, when asked by a reporter in the room what concessions had been made during the private meeting, replied simply: “Friendship.” (“That’s not a concession,” the reporter responded, to which Trump responded that his mother has relatives in Canada and that they have great hockey players, which is either a sign that he got nothing substantive out of Carney and needed to turn to distractions or a sign that he doesn’t know what the word “concession” means, according to how generous an interpretation one might want to draw.)
Carney, showing the face of a man mentally slow-blinking in Morse code for help, only interjected twice during the conference. One was when Trump resurrected the whole “51st state” shtick, saying that he “still believes” it would be a good idea. Carney diplomatically explained that “some places are never for sale,” like the White House or Buckingham Palace, and that Canada is “not for sale, won’t be for sale ever, but the opportunity is in the partnership and what we can build together.”
“Never say never,” Trump responded. Carney trained his eyes subtly on the floor.
There were digressions. Biden — so much about Biden. China. A mystery factory that’s apparently opening very soon. Obama’s library in Chicago. DEI. Wokeness. The CHIPS Act. Gavin Newsom. The Houthis, who apparently “don’t want to fight any more”. An announcement about a “really, really positive” thing “about a certain subject, a very important subject” coming “on Thursday or Friday,” and, like all the other digressions, absolutely nothing to do with Canada.
“I’m on the edge of my seat,” Carney replied, to laughter in the room, when Trump made that particular aside. It was delivered with just enough goodwill to simultaneously flatter the president and sound sardonic to those of us perhaps a little more attuned to Canadian humor.
This was no Zelensky ambush — those all-important vibes remained buoyant throughout, suffused with the kind of vaguely cordial energy you get when one half of the duo is trying to keep things statesmanlike, and the other is thinking about how best to slip a shiv between the ribs. And right on cue, as he took the final question, Trump pulled out the verbal knife he’d been warming in his sock.
“We don’t want cars from Canada,” he announced breezily, after Carney had spent time talking about trade. In fact, the U.S. will make it so economically difficult for their neighbor to sell cars at all that Canada “won’t be making them eventually”. The same goes for aluminum and steel.
Carney blinked, fixed his gaze on the middle distance, and said nothing. Because what do you say, really, when the man you’ve just spent 25 minutes flattering in front of the global press has finally delivered an insult he’d been carefully concealing under his belt the whole time?
In the end, no deals were signed. No fires were started (in California or otherwise.) Carney escaped without selling Alberta or taking too much of a hit. If this was the new baseline for U.S.-Canada relations, it’s clear who’s doing the steering — and who’s quietly applying the brakes. And it’s also abundantly clear, as it has been for years, that you can be as nice as you want to Donald Trump, but he’ll still aim for your shins as you walk out the door.
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