Preparing for the next Arctic sovereignty crisis: The Northwest Passage in the age of Donald Trump

The “understanding”

The dispute between Canada and the US over the status of the Northwest Passage dates to the early Cold War. Since at least the 1950s, Canada has asserted and exercised control over the waters of the Arctic Archipelago. The federal government labelled these “historic internal waters” in the early 1970s—meaning that they are as Canadian as any inland waters, without any automatic right of transit for foreign vessels. ⁷ The precise extent of that historic claim was made clear with the drawing of straight baselines in 1985 by the government of Brian Mulroney, and those lines continue to mark the extent of Canada’s maritime sovereignty today.

For its part, the US has neither accepted Canada’s historic claim nor its use of straight baselines. Instead, American Arctic policy is shaped by a longstanding desire to preserve the freedom of the seas to the maximum extent possible. As such, Washington accepts Canadian jurisdiction to its internationally recognized territorial sea of 12 nautical miles, which surrounds the Arctic mainland and each individual island. Within the archipelago, where those sections of territorial sea overlap in straits narrower than 24 nm, an international strait allows for navigation. ⁸

This emphasis on the freedom of the seas and the attendant navigational rights stems primarily from Washington’s need to protect the commercial sea routes on which the American economy depends. Access to the global sea lines of communication is equally important to the US Navy, which naturally requires access to the world’s oceans to project American power and maintain America’s global security system. ⁹ As such, the American position vis-à-vis the Northwest Passage has less to do with the passage itself and more to do with the precedent that American recognition may set for other, more important, waters around the world. ¹⁰

This legal disagreement has occasionally devolved into very public disputes. In 1969 and 1970, the voyages of the American icebreaking tanker SS Manhattan caused a popular outcry in Canada over sovereignty and pollution concerns, forcing the government of Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau to pass the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act in the face of vocal American opposition. In 1985, the issue came to a head once again with the transit of the US icebreaker Polar Sea. When the American government refused to request Canadian permission to transit, the resulting dispute led to the Mulroney government’s declaration of straight baselines in September of that year (coming into force on 1 January 1986). These transits are well-documented turning points in Canada’s Arctic maritime history—but they are also outliers. ¹¹ Since the 1950s, this legal and political disagreement has been very well managed. Neither Canada nor the US has ever sought out conflict in the Arctic. Instead, both have been content to keep the issue dormant, agreeing to disagree as a way of avoiding damage to the bilateral relationship.

Even when the issue has come to a head, as was the case in 1969/1970 and 1985, the two countries have found ways to step back from a mutually destructive political battle. The best example of this is the 1988 Agreement on Arctic Cooperation, which continues to govern American icebreaker operations in Canadian Arctic waters today. Drafted in the wake of the Polar Sea’s transit, it was crafted in response to Canada’s demand that the US request permission before future voyages, and the American insistence that it could do no such thing without setting a damaging global precedent. The agreement ensured that the US would request Canadian consent before such transits, but it was worded in such a way as to allow the Americans to frame those requests as seeking permission not to transit per se, but to conduct research while transiting. ¹² It was a subtle nuance in the wording, but one that allowed both states to frame the issue in a way they could live with. This kind of friendly diplomatic dance, to make everyone look like a winner while avoiding the core issue, is not an easy manoeuvre, and is only possible between states with the kind of close friendship and long history of cooperation and mutual respect that characterizes the North American partnership.

The implicit understanding underlying the Agreement on Arctic Cooperation was that both states sidestep, rather than focus on, the politically challenging sovereignty issue. This general framework for dealing with Arctic sovereignty actually dates to the early 1950s, and was at times described by the Canadian government as a “modus vivendi” ¹³ or, in Secretary of State for External Affairs Joe Clark’s words, a “gentleman’s agreement.” ¹⁴ It was an implicit understanding which framed the boundaries of the discussion and the actions either party might take. In the words of the Advisory Committee on Northern Development in 1969, it was a way of allowing “each country [to maintain] its position while refraining from asserting it in such a manner as to embarrass the other publicly.” ¹⁵

Since the Arctic re-emerged as a region of potential strategic and economic importance in the 21st century, there have been two Arctic policies produced by the White House, both of which restate Washington’s official position that the Northwest Passage is an international strait. ¹⁶ The US Navy and the Department of Defense have, likewise, produced official policies highlighting freedom of navigation in the region as a vital national interest. ¹⁷ While these documents reliably reiterate the American challenge, that disagreement is always noted in moderate terms, more intent on maintaining a longstanding position than attacking Canadian sovereignty. Presidents Barack Obama and George W. Bush may have restated the American position, but they never acted on those statements—nor even suggested that they would. For instance, in President Bush’s 2009 Arctic policy, the Northwest Passage is clearly defined as an international strait, though the “Implementation” section of the document immediately following makes no reference to any need for action to force the issue. ¹⁸

One of the most recent examples of this system for minimizing discord came in June 2010 when the government of Prime Minister Stephen Harper changed the Northern Canada Vessel Traffic Services Zone Regulations (NORDREG) to make reporting mandatory for most vessels in the Northwest Passage. ¹⁹ Contravention of NORDREG became a serious offence, carrying a maximum penalty of a CAD$100,000 fine and one-year imprisonment. ²⁰ In practice, there was little real change, given that voluntary compliance with NORDREG was already believed to be at 98 percent. ²¹ Still, the new legislation granted Canada a level of control which the US government felt exceeded its jurisdiction as a coastal state. As such, the State Department notified Ottawa that it viewed the legislation as inappropriate, given that—in Washington’s view—“the Northwest Passage constitutes a strait used for international navigation.” ²²

This was a reiteration of a longstanding American position. What is notable is not that the State Department made the effort to note its disagreement, but that it was done so quietly. There was no effort to embarrass Canada or to highlight the issue publicly. This tactic is reminiscent of the 1980s, when, during the height of the Canadian–American negotiations following the voyage of the Polar Sea, the US delegation reluctantly admitted that there was no way around an official protest of Canada’s straight baselines, though American negotiators told their Canadian counterparts that “if a diplomatic note creates political difficulties … we are prepared to use a different vehicle.” ²³ When the inevitable protest was made, it was done as discreetly and inoffensively as possible, and only a low-key démarche was issued. ²⁴

Canada has long benefited from this kind of American willingness to avoid a public challenge, though the US has gained as well. Since the 1950s, Canada has supported—both politically and logistically—the operations of American icebreakers, civilian craft, and even submarines in those waters, adroitly sidestepping the question of permission without ever seeking to leverage access to the Arctic for political gain. ²⁵ This mutual trust, understanding, and sympathy for the other’s core political and legal requirements is at the heart of 80 years of Canadian–American relations in the North, and has resulted in a stable and productive framework for bilateral cooperation in the region. The Achilles heel of this system, however, is its reliance on nuanced diplomacy, based on an understanding and appreciation of the other side’s red lines. Maintaining this system requires effort and forbearance on both sides.

Relations in the age of Donald Trump

Since his election in 2016, President Donald Trump has taken US foreign policy in a different direction. Traditional assumptions about how the US manages its relationships with friends and allies have been called into question by the president’s statements on the strategic utility of NATO, the trading relationship with Canada and Europe, and the generations-old assumption that Canada and the US are stronger when working together. In the Trump era, Canada is often framed as a competitor which “takes advantage of [the US].” The country’s “meek and mild” prime minister, derisively referred to as “Justin,” is accused of “killing the United States on trade.” ²⁶ While the “fairness” of the NAFTA system and Canadian–American relations more generally can be debated, what is relevant is the president’s transactional approach to these dealings and his need to “win”—as opposed to reaching mutually beneficial outcomes. This has been the case even when that win means beating friends and allies. The need to win, at the expense of another state, represents a new focus on zero-sum dispute resolution. Recent trade negotiations with Canada and Mexico, as well as comments made about European trade practices, make it clear that the Trump administration has little interest in mutually beneficial arrangements. Today this “America First” approach dominates American diplomacy.

The president has also demonstrated an unprecedented lack of empathy for Canadian diplomatic difficulties—even when there is a clear nexus to American security and foreign policy interests. Trump’s silence regarding the Saudi boycott of Canada, following Ottawa’s light criticism of the Kingdom’s treatment of Samar Badawi and others, indicates a modern low in American diplomatic support. ²⁷ This pattern was repeated in December 2018 by the US government’s delayed and limited criticism of the Chinese arrest of two Canadians following Canada’s detention of Huawei CFO Meng Wanzhou on behalf of the US. ²⁸

President Trump has offered very little comment or direction in regards to the Arctic, except with some effort to open up oil and gas development in Alaska. ²⁹ However, the issues surrounding the potential challenge to the Canadian position in the Arctic are not the result of his specific attention, but rather his disregard for the “special relationship” and the direction this then provides to his officials who give policy meaning to his overall instructions.

In both the Saudi and Chinese disputes, there are no direct benefits (and there are certain pitfalls) to America in intervention. Yet, beyond the narrow case-by-case national interest assessment, the US has traditionally provided that diplomatic support on the understanding that solidarity with friends and allies offers long-term benefits. The Trump administration does not approach the bilateral relationship in this holistic fashion, focusing instead on opportunities and irritants on a case-by-case basis. As such, the president has not hesitated to do serious damage to the overall relationship and cast aside much of the existing stock of good will in his public quest for the resolution of comparatively minor issues, such as softwood lumber, steel, and dairy imports.

This worldview and bargaining process stands in stark contrast to the system of careful and nuanced diplomacy which has long maintained the “gentleman’s agreement” in the Arctic, a framework which purposefully eschews winners and losers, and systematically avoids confrontation to preserve a status quo. Maintaining this requires an approach to bilateral relations that prioritizes mutual understanding and conflict avoidance, rather than decisive victory for either party. Evidence from the first two years of President Trump’s foreign policy suggests that this diplomatic culture is not only absent, but replaced by a new approach which is taking American policy in precisely the opposite direction.

The mechanics of a dispute

A FONOP, along the lines outlined by Secretary Spencer in 2018, would fit neatly within the Trump administration’s “America First” approach to foreign policy. It would reinforce America’s longstanding position on the law of the sea and the status of the Arctic waters, while demonstrating the president’s no-compromise approach to defending national interests. The impact on Canadian–American relations would be profoundly negative, but likely no more so than labelling Canada’s steel industry a potential security threat or repeatedly threatening to destroy the Canadian automotive sector. ³⁰

The act of challenging Canadian sovereignty would be a relatively simple process. The Northwest Passage is ice-free for over a month each summer, and a US Navy surface ship could transit without icebreaker assistance. The US recently deployed the USS Harry S. Truman Strike Group into waters north of Norway at approximately the same latitude of the Northwest Passage, showing it has the connectivity to operate in the High North from a communication and command perspective. ³¹ In his public comments, Secretary Spencer referred to a surface vessel; however, a nuclear-powered attack submarine (SSN) could undertake such a voyage at any time of the year. Even if submerged, a submarine could serve the purpose, provided its presence was broadcast in some way. Indeed, the Navy has used submarines for such tasks before. In 1960, USS Triton travelled through the Indonesian and Philippine archipelagoes during its circumnavigation of the globe, a signal to those countries of America’s refusal to accept excessive claims to sovereignty over archipelagic waters. ³² While not an official FONOP (since that program officially began in 1983), the transits served the same purpose. Using either a surface vessel or a submarine, the US would advertise its voyage, highlight its position on the status of the Northwest Passage, and expressly refuse to request permission to transit. That kind of action would create headline news and force a response from the Government of Canada, initiating a major diplomatic crisis.

The use of a submarine could have more of an impact because Canada lacks the ability to track such vessels, adding insult to injury. The history of US submarine operations in the Canadian Arctic is opaque; however, these voyages were a regular occurrence during the Cold War—and may well have continued past the fall of the Soviet Union. As was the case with American surface traffic, they have always fallen within the broader diplomatic framework governing Arctic cooperation. These missions were never intended as a challenge, and the available documentation suggests that they were normally undertaken with Canadian knowledge and cooperation. Yet, changing that system would require only the desire to do so.

A freedom of navigation voyage would certainly renew the dispute, but even without such an obvious catalyst, the issue could be brought to the fore unexpectedly. While the Arctic has remained off the Trump administration’s agenda during its first two years, it should be remembered that in the months preceding the voyages of both the Polar Sea and the Manhattan, Canadian policymakers remained blissfully unaware of the crises that lay ahead, and were generally unprepared to deal with them. ³³ Neither does there need to be a good reason for the public airing of grievances which accompanied those two Cold War voyages. The Polar Sea “crisis” was somewhat exaggerated and drawn out by Canadian media attention, partially the result of it taking place during a slow news season. ³⁴ With a mercurial American president disposed to view compromise as a sign of either losing or being taken advantage of, it might take very little to provoke a fresh dispute if the issue is framed in the wrong way by cable news.

A Canadian response

If the US Navy chooses to conduct a freedom of navigation voyage in the Northwest Passage, a quick response would be essential. There is little that Canada can physically do. Stopping a nuclear attack submarine is beyond the Canadian Forces’ capabilities, while forcibly stopping an icebreaker or surface warship would be politically impossible since this would require a boarding party, an inconceivable move for any Canadian government. Less conventional measures could be tried. Canada could issue the US Coast Guard or Navy a fine under NORDREG regulations for failure to file a sailing plan, provide position reports, or issue a final report. Given the American government’s assertion that it is operating within an international strait, it is safe to say that these reports would not be filed. If the offending vessel traversed a marine protected area without permission, it could also be fined for doing so. ³⁵ Although these fines would never be paid, the act itself would highlight Ottawa’s jurisdiction and effective governance. The most important element of the Canadian response would not be regulatory, but diplomatic and legal, played out amongst diplomats and in the sphere of public opinion.

The most dramatic legal option available to Canada would be to refer the question of its historic title and straight baselines to the International Court of Justice (ICJ), a judicial organ of the United Nations which adjudicates legal disputes between members. This option has come up before. It was raised as a threat by the American government in the early 1960s, and by the Canadians in the 1980s. ³⁶ Each time, it was seen as too risky a venture, since, in the words of Joe Clark, “you lose and that’s it.” ³⁷ The reluctance to take this route is easy to understand. For Canada, a loss would mean serious—potentially fatal—damage to its legal position. Politically, any prime minister that “lost” Arctic sovereignty would be branded with that failure for life. For the US, even a victory would be unsettling, as that would open the Northwest Passage to foreign transit, which would mean free access for Russian submarines and, in the future, potentially Chinese and other foreign vessels. For those reasons, neither Canada nor the US have ever been anxious to try the case at the ICJ.

In the 21st century, reconsidering this approach might be worthwhile. Today, Canada could probably avoid many of the risks of adjudication, and have its cake while eating it too. While actually fighting this issue in court would be a terrible risk and a last resort, simply making the offer to do so would position Canada well for the public relations battle sure to follow. Canada would be seen as confident in its position and willing to resolve the dispute within a framework set by international law. The dangers inherent in such a “bluff” would be limited by the almost certain American refusal to actually agree to adjudication. To begin with, the US is not a party to the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), and therefore is not subject to the mandatory dispute resolution mechanism, nor can it avail itself of any of the UNCLOS-created instruments such as the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea. As such, Canada could not force the issue using UNCLOS instruments. Successive American governments have also been extremely averse to using any international bodies on maritime issues, such as the ICJ, and none more so than the Trump administration. In October 2018, US national security advisor John Bolton openly called for the US to reduce its exposure to binding ICJ decisions, calling the court “politicised and ineffective.” ³⁸ A course reversal on such a deeply held prejudice is almost inconceivable. The result would be Canada emerging as an aggrieved international citizen, and the US unwilling to finish a fight it had started.

This perception would play an important role in the dispute that would follow. In making its case for Arctic sovereignty, Canada would focus on winning public support by playing up not only the strength of its legal position, but the interrelated environmental and security issues that would strike a chord with a public audience and even elements within the American government. In the 1970s, Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau and his government rejected an outright declaration of sovereignty in the wake of the Manhattan voyage, in part owing to concerns that Canada would appear greedy and acquisitive, limiting any international support for the move. Instead, the government pursued environmental regulations, which became the Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act (AWPPA). Léonard Legault, then a legal adviser to External Affairs, argued that doing so meant that rather than dealing from a possessive, territorial, acquisitive point of view, Canada’s actions were seen as noble and progressive—both in Canada and with large segments of the American and international public. ³⁹ The AWPPA was hailed by editorials in The Washington Post and The New York Times, while the majority of American newspapers surveyed by Canadian Foreign Service officials were either pro-Canada or at least not overtly opposed to the Canadian measures. ⁴⁰ This widespread acceptance strengthened the government’s hand in dealing with Washington. When, in an April 1970 phone conversation with Trudeau, Secretary of State William Rogers threatened to challenge the new law publicly, the prime minister warned Rogers that Canada would respond to any American challenge and would “have the world on our side.” ⁴¹

In defending its position today, Canada could easily frame the issue in a way that maximizes public support. That would mean taking a cue from Trudeau the Elder: downplaying questions of ownership while highlighting the environmental benefits of Canadian control, the dangers to marine mammals and sensitive areas from unrestricted shipping, and the continuing need to regulate the use of waters that have long been Inuit highways and hunting grounds. In the US and around the world, the environmental movement has grown into a powerful political actor, and Canada would certainly find common ground with American politicians and NGOs that prioritize environmental stewardship. It is clear to see why such groups would support Canada, since environmental preservation would become more difficult if the Northwest Passage were defined as an international strait, and Canadian regulations such as the AWPPA, mandatory NORDREG reporting, and those governing marine protected areas were subordinated to the right of transit passage.

In making that claim, Canada would face American arguments that its environmental concerns can be met through existing provisions in the law of the sea. Regulatory powers granted to Arctic states by Article 234 of UNCLOS, for instance, give Canada the right to enforce non-discriminatory rules for “the prevention, reduction and control of marine pollution from vessels in ice-covered areas.” Despite the seemingly broad regulatory leeway granted by that important provision, Canada’s ability to support environmental protection and traffic routing and reporting regulations—such as the AWPPA and NORDREG—would be severely limited if the Northwest Passage were deemed an international strait.

In its 2010 note protesting the Government of Canada’s mandatory NORDREG regulations, the US clearly defined the limits it feels should apply to Canadian regulatory powers supported by Article 234. Here, Washington denied any Canadian right to stop vessels from transiting the region, suggesting that mandatory routing and navigational safety measures be submitted to the International Maritime Organization for adoption, rather than legislated unilaterally by Canada. Important to Canada’s long-term control over the Arctic waters, the American government also highlighted Article 234’s applications to “‘ice-covered areas,’ namely those areas covered by ice for ‘most of the year.’” In seeking information from the Canadian government on the precise levels of sea-ice throughout the area covered by NORDREG, the US government was conveying its unwillingness to recognize such regulations in areas where sea-ice levels have been reduced to the point where they no longer meet that criteria—a serious concern as the region’s ice cover is steadily being reduced by climate change. ⁴²

Article 234 also fails to cover state-owned vessels, which would enjoy sovereign immunity from Canadian regulation were the Northwest Passage considered an international strait. This exclusion sets up a potentially significant loophole with serious strategic implications. The presence of Russian ships in the Canadian Arctic has been a concern since the 1970s, and while that fear faded with the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russian submarine activity is once again approaching its Cold War peak. For its part, China is just beginning to deploy icebreakers into the region on missions which some suspect go beyond their stated scientific purposes. ⁴³ This strategic argument—that Canadian sovereignty keeps America’s enemies out of the Arctic—has been made in the past to uncertain effect; however, it could buttress the Canadian position at a time when much of the American security community (and the broader public) already question the president’s grasp of geopolitics, global security, and second-order effects.

To avoid the undesirable image of Canada closing off the Northwest Passage to international traffic, the government would have to emphasize the country’s longstanding policy of openness in the region. As Pierre Trudeau said in 1970, “to close off those waters and to deny passage to all foreign vessels in the name of Canadian sovereignty … would be as senseless as placing barriers across the entrances to Halifax and Vancouver harbours.” ⁴⁴ Canada has long welcomed foreign ships into the Arctic on the simple condition that they abide by non-discriminatory Canadian laws and regulations. ⁴⁵ Along these lines, Canada should publicly reassure the US and the world that it has no intention of denying access to commercial craft. Privately, it should reaffirm that there will be no change in the longstanding cooperative policy surrounding submarine operations and continental defence.

This promise of continued access can be accompanied with a threat of reduced cooperation. Since the Cold War, strategists have seen the Arctic as a potential back door for Russian submarines into the Atlantic, or as a firing position for cruise-missile-carrying submarines targeting Europe or North America. Monitoring and defending the Arctic Ocean has therefore been an important consideration. During the Cold War, that task fell to the US—albeit with support from Canada and the United Kingdom. It was the Canadian military that experimented with detection systems in the Northwest Passage in the 1970s and 1980s. It was also the Canadian military that spearheaded an under-ice detection system designed to cover most of the Arctic Basin in the late 1980s. ⁴⁶ The renewed strategic interest in the Arctic annunciated by Secretary Spencer and other American defence officials in recent years would seem to require continued bilateral cooperation akin to that witnessed during the Cold War. Starting a fight with Canada would hardly encourage such cooperation.

More significantly, the ongoing Canadian–American efforts to modernize NORAD would be imperilled by a serious break in northern relations. Since 9/11, NORAD has had to adapt to rapidly shifting threat environments. In the years after the terror attacks in New York and Washington DC, NORAD turned its gaze inward, focusing on air traffic within North America. Thirteen years later, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine upended Canadian–American complacency surrounding external threats, and a reassessment of NORAD’s priorities and approaches was inevitable. Today, this ongoing study on the “Evolution of North American Defense” (EvoNAD) is looking closely at the threats posed by long-range Russian air- or submarine-launched cruise missiles. The common theme in EvoNAD discussions has been the recognition that the single-domain, aerospace, threat environment is evolving into a multi-domain one. ⁴⁷

From an Arctic perspective, the most important new domain is the maritime realm. NORAD added a maritime warning mission in 2006, and this tasking has increased in importance with the growth of Arctic shipping activity and the resumption of Russian submarine deployments into the Arctic Ocean. In a recent article, Andrea Charron and Jim Fergusson point out that making coordination and response effective will depend on two existing relationships: NORAD-USNORTHCOM, and that between the Canadian and American navies. ⁴⁸ If a binational command is to be given power to deploy national assets into the Arctic maritime domain, there will have to be a basic understanding over the waters themselves. A bitter dispute over the Northwest Passage would badly complicate NORAD planning and expansion, and damage North American security by throwing a political monkey wrench into the gears of one of history’s longest running and most effective binational defence arrangements.

In the past, Canada has pointed to the benefits of smooth continental defence cooperation as a reason for Washington to abandon—or at least downplay—its objections over Canadian sovereignty in the Northwest Passage. How effective such a strategy would be in the 21st century is uncertain. Still, it remains an important consideration, not simply as leverage to advance Canada’s position, but also because the collateral damage that a new Arctic dispute could have on the bilateral relationship could spread far beyond simple questions of transit rights and maritime jurisdiction.

Conclusions

In recent years, the effects of climate change in the Arctic have been unmistakable. The region’s sea-ice is shrinking, new shipping lanes are emerging, and large-scale resource development has begun across the circumpolar north. With this activity has come a growing American perception of strategic threat and the feeling that the US may be left behind while others develop or refine their Arctic capabilities. The US Navy, Coast Guard, and Air Force are all writing or rewriting their Arctic strategies—all three of which are due out in 2019–2020. When speaking to reporters about the trigger for this shift in American policy, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral John Richardson replied, “the Arctic triggered it,” and Secretary Spencer added, “the damn thing melted.” ⁴⁹

This new understanding of the Arctic’s strategic value creates a certain degree of tension in the Canadian–American relationship. Traditionally, the dearth of activity in the Arctic has facilitated the two countries’ successful policy of constructively ignoring the issue of sovereignty. Apparently awoken to the need for an expanded presence, the US Navy’s calls for freedom of navigation voyages threaten to explode that understanding and once again bring the dispute into the public sphere in dramatic fashion.

Traditionally, fears of such a break would be mitigated by the old diplomatic safeguards, which have served Canada and the US well for decades. However, the quiet diplomacy that has long prevented a serious break in relations and squelched disputes when they arose seems to have been replaced by a very different approach to foreign policy. Under President Trump, foreign relations with both friends and foes has been reduced to a zero-sum contest of winning individual disputes, without any regard for the need to manage or strengthen broader relationships. Within this world view, coupled with the Arctic’s growing strategic importance, it becomes easier to imagine a direct challenge to Canadian sovereignty, the likes of which would have seemed impossible only a few years ago. While issues like this one may very well be drowned out in Washington by more pressing concerns, it would be prudent to prepare for a radical departure from the norm—something that Canadians dealing with American policy today are becoming used to.