Justin Trudeau kisses Canada goodbye

The liberal lothario was photographed kissing Katy Perry on a yacht in Malibu

Trudeau
(Photo by Buda Mendes/Getty Images for Global Citizen)

Justin Trudeau has finally found something he can’t bankrupt – a washed-up pop star. The former prime minister, now liberated from the burden of office, was recently spotted aboard Katy Perry’s yacht in California, sharing a kiss so theatrical it would have been cut by a good director.  

But Trudeau was always drawn to drama. The kind with lighting, makeup and someone else footing the bill. His life has become a soap opera, though not the kind with decent writing or respectable ratings. There was the recurring racist phase, the peace-and-love phase, the power-and-profit phase and now the Malibu…

Justin Trudeau has finally found something he can’t bankrupt – a washed-up pop star. The former prime minister, now liberated from the burden of office, was recently spotted aboard Katy Perry’s yacht in California, sharing a kiss so theatrical it would have been cut by a good director.  

But Trudeau was always drawn to drama. The kind with lighting, makeup and someone else footing the bill. His life has become a soap opera, though not the kind with decent writing or respectable ratings. There was the recurring racist phase, the peace-and-love phase, the power-and-profit phase and now the Malibu make-out phase. Once hailed as the fresh-faced heir to liberal idealism, Trudeau swiftly dissolved into a puddle of melodrama and moisturizer. 

His years in power left Canada poorer, angrier and more divided than at any point in living memory. He preached virtue but practiced vanity. He championed empathy while governing with arrogance. He turned Canada – long admired for moderation – into a running gag on the world stage. 

Spare a thought for his ex-wife, Sophie Grégoire, and their three teenage children, who must now watch their father prance around the Pacific like a man auditioning for a midlife-crisis cologne ad called “Hubris.” These are the years when a father’s guidance matters most, yet Trudeau seems intent on performing adolescence rather than parenting it. The family he once paraded for photo-ops has been abandoned, collateral damage in a career built on self-adoration. 

It’s a fitting metaphor for his time in office. Trudeau inherited a stable nation and left behind a shattered one. Under his leadership, Canada’s national debt doubled, small businesses suffocated under regulation and housing became an impossible dream for a generation. The middle class – once his favourite talking point – was gutted. Canadians now pay more taxes for fewer services, while the political elite grow fatter and smugger on their own sanctimony. 

Trudeau sold himself as a feminist reformer. But under his watch, women faced soaring living costs, record food insecurity and a healthcare system closer to Congo than Canada. He vowed to unite the country. Instead, he governed like a leader allergic to accountability, dividing Canadians into obedient followers and ideological foes. Those who questioned his mantras or mandates were branded extremists. When truckers protested, he branded them fascists, then froze their bank accounts. The man who looked like he could play the next Bond ended up acting like a Bond villain, just with better hair and worse judgment. 

And for what? To preserve his ego. The Emergencies Act he invoked wasn’t about protecting Canadians but punishing them. He turned a protest into a purge, revealing that beneath the charm and charisma lurked a control freak of the highest order. 

Canada became a cautionary tale. A country built on freedom slid into tyranny, cheered on by citizens too polite to protest. 

Foreign policy fared no better. He alienated Indiaannoyed China and amused the world with a conveyor belt of photo ops and platitudes. Diplomacy became his favorite vanity project, each summit another red carpet. When the flashes faded, so did Canada’s influence. Trudeau was never taken seriously abroad because, deep down, he never took the job seriously. 

And now, shirtless and shameless, he’s chasing pop stardom by association. As for Perry, her own decline mirrors his – from pop princess to self-parody. Once the voice of youthful rebellion, the part-time astronaut is now a Vegas lounge act in search of validation. Together, they are a duet of decline. Two faded brands clinging to each other in the hope of renewed relevance. He’s the patron saint of performative decency. She’s the high priestess of performative empowerment. Together, they are the unholy alliance of fame and fakery. 

Trudeau’s defenders will say his love life is his business. Perhaps. But this is a man who never met a camera he didn’t flirt with, who turned politics into performance and leadership into lifestyle. Privacy was never his language. Every grin, every tear, every contrived display of humility was a stage cue. Even now, his post-political life plays out like a poorly written sequel – Love Actually meets Keeping Up with the Kardashians. 

Canada deserved a statesman. It got a showman. He entered office promising “sunny ways” and left behind a long winter of division, delusion and decline. 

While the Liberal Lothario suns himself on borrowed yachts and chases pop stars past their prime, Canadians are left with the mess – higher taxes, weaker freedoms and a fractured sense of nationhood. He didn’t just betray his voters; he betrayed his family, his vows and the quiet dignity that once defined his country. The tragedy of Justin Trudeau isn’t that he lost power. It’s that he was ever given it in the first place. Katy Perry sang about fireworks, but with Trudeau, everything ends in flames.

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