To others, he was an over-polished politician whose tenure was defined by censorship, economic mismanagement, and the weaponization of state power against his own citizens. His resignation marks the end of an era—one defined as much by lofty rhetoric as by policies that left a deep mark on civil liberties and public trust.

So, what’s Trudeau’s Canada after nearly ten years? A land of progressive aspirations or a dystopian Pinterest board?

Few things capture Trudeau’s tenure better than his government’s legislative war on free speech. Let’s start with the dynamic duo of digital overreach:

Bill C-10: “Regulating the Unregulatable”

The saga of Bill C-10 began innocently enough. Trudeau’s government framed the bill as a noble effort to modernize the Broadcasting Act. After all, the law hadn’t been updated since 1991, back when Blockbuster was thriving and the internet was just a nerd’s dream. The goal, they said, was to “level the playing field” between traditional broadcasters and streaming giants like Netflix and YouTube.

Sounds fair, right? Not so fast.

The devil was in the details—or the lack thereof. The bill gave Canada’s broadcast regulator, the Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC), sweeping authority to police online content. Originally, user-generated content like vlogs, TikTok dances, or indie films were supposed to be exempt. However, midway through the legislative process, Trudeau’s government quietly removed those exemptions. Suddenly, your cat video could be classified as “broadcast content,” giving bureaucrats the power to decide whether it met Canadian cultural standards.

Critics, including legal scholars and digital rights groups, raised the alarm. They argued that the bill’s language was so vague it could allow the government to dictate what Canadians saw, shared, or created online. The specter of state-controlled algorithms choosing what gets promoted on platforms was too close to censorship for comfort.

But the government dismissed the concerns, painting critics as alarmists. In Trudeau’s Canada, wanting clear limits on government power apparently made you a conspiracy theorist.

Bill C-36: Hate Speech or Debate Killer?

Not content to merely oversee what Canadians could create, Trudeau’s administration went a step further with Bill C-36, a supposed weapon against online hate speech. If Bill C-10 was about controlling the medium, this bill was about controlling the message.
What Did It Do?

• Reintroduced a controversial section of Canada’s Human Rights Act, allowing people to file complaints over online hate speech.
• Allowed courts to impose hefty fines and even jail time for offenders.
• Gave the government the power to preemptively penalize individuals suspected of potentially committing hate speech—a sort of Minority Report approach to thought crime.

The problem? The bill’s definition of “hate” was so expansive that it could potentially criminalize unpopular or offensive opinions. The bill didn’t just target clear-cut incitements to violence; it targeted anything deemed likely to expose individuals to “hatred or contempt.” Critics feared that “hatred or contempt” could mean anything from political dissent to sharp critiques of government policies.

Even more alarming was the prospect of a “snitch culture.” The bill encouraged private citizens to report each other for suspected hate speech, potentially turning disagreements into legal battles.

David Lametti, Trudeau’s Justice Minister, defended the bill, claiming it struck the right balance between free expression and protection from harm. But when legal experts and civil liberties groups united in opposition, it became clear that balance was not the government’s strong suit.

In 2022, when truckers and their supporters descended on Ottawa to protest COVID-19 mandates, Trudeau didn’t meet them with dialogue or even his trademark smile-and-wave. Instead, he dusted off the Emergencies Act, something no prime minister had dared touch before. Overnight, financial institutions became Trudeau’s personal enforcers, freezing accounts of protesters and anyone who dared to support them.

Deputy Prime Minister Chrystia Freeland, Trudeau’s second-in-command at the time and a walking, talking LinkedIn connection to global elites, eagerly played bad cop. Under her direction, the financial clampdown turned Canada’s banking system into a political weapon. It wasn’t lost on critics that Freeland’s cozy ties to global financiers made the whole thing look like an international crackdown on dissent.

The Media Muzzle: Subsidizing Obedience

Also on the chopping block was journalistic independence. Trudeau’s government rolled out legislation forcing media outlets to register with a government body to qualify for funding. On the surface, this was marketed as a lifeline for struggling journalism. Because nothing says “press freedom” like reporters dependent on government handouts, right? It’s a classic move: offer financial aid with one hand and hold the leash with the other.

Critics were quick to point out the slippery slope. When the same entity paying the bills also sets the rules, the line between journalism and government PR gets blurry fast. Trudeau, of course, framed this as support for democracy, but the result was a media landscape nervously eyeing its next paycheck while tiptoeing around criticism of its benefactor.

Big Brother Gets a Twitter Account

Then came the surveillance. Under Trudeau’s watch, Canadian intelligence agencies dramatically expanded their social media monitoring. Initially, this was framed as a necessary tool against extremism. But “extremism,” much like “disinformation,” is a flexible term in the hands of those in power. Activists and protest groups—voices traditionally central to democratic discourse—suddenly found themselves under the microscope.

Imagine logging onto X to vent about a new housing policy, only to realize your tweet has been flagged by a government algorithm. The message was clear: dissent might not be illegal, but it was certainly inconvenient.

Disinformation: The Government’s New Buzzword

Trudeau’s pièce de résistance was his crusade against “disinformation.” This word became the Swiss Army knife of excuses, used to delegitimize critics and corral public opinion. Do you have a bone to pick with government policies? Disinformation. Questioning pandemic mandates? Disinformation. Unimpressed with Trudeau’s latest photo op? You guessed it—disinformation.

To hammer the point home, his administration launched a series of public awareness campaigns, ostensibly to educate Canadians about the perils of online misinformation. These campaigns, dripping with paternalistic condescension, often blurred the line between fact-checking and outright propaganda. The subtext was unmistakable: dissent, even if rooted in genuine concerns, was a threat to national cohesion.

Canada’s New Normal: The Fear of Speaking Freely

The cumulative effect of these policies wasn’t subtle. Everyday Canadians began censoring themselves, not out of respect for others but out of fear of stepping on the wrong bureaucratic toes. Content creators hesitated to tackle divisive topics. Activists wondered whether their next rally would land them on a government watchlist. What was once a robust marketplace of ideas began to resemble a sparsely stocked shelf.

And yet, Trudeau’s defenders remain loyal, arguing that his policies were noble attempts to safeguard society. However, as history has repeatedly shown, the road to censorship is paved with the promise of safety, but its destination is a society too scared to speak.

The Legacy of Controlled Speech

So what’s the verdict? Is Trudeau a misunderstood guardian of democracy, or is he the wolf who prowled under the guise of a shepherd? It’s hard to champion inclusivity and diversity when fewer voices are allowed to join the conversation. Canada may someday reckon with the full implications of these policies, but the damage is already visible.

And as Canadians tiptoe around their digital platforms, one question remains: how free is a democracy where everyone whispers?