COLUMN: Canada’s Frenetic Race to Rearm: Between a Gold Rush and Technological Disillusionment

When Innovation Becomes a Matter of Survival

Faced with this urgent situation, Canada is betting everything on disruptive technologies. Autonomous drones, satellite detection systems, artificial intelligence for threat analysis, and cyberdefense to protect critical infrastructure: these are the priorities of Defense Research and Development Canada (DRDC), the agency tasked with modernizing the military. “We need to skip a technological generation,” explains a DRDC official. “We don’t have time to evolve our systems incrementally. We need quantum leaps.” Among the flagship projects: the development of combat drones capable of striking long-range targets without endangering pilots; quantum radars to detect hypersonic missiles; and electronic warfare systems to jam enemy communications. “The Arctic is our top priority,” the government insists, as Russia and China step up their incursions there. “We must be able to monitor, detect, and deter. Without that, we lose control of our territory.” ” Yet these ambitions clash with a harsh reality: Canada no longer has a defense industry worthy of the name. “We depend on the United States for 90% of our critical equipment,” acknowledges a parliamentary report. “If Washington decides to cut us off, we’re paralyzed.”

I look at these projects. These drones. These satellites. These algorithms. And I think to myself: this is good. It’s even necessary. But is it enough? Because Canada, today, isn’t starting from scratch. It’s starting from a wasteland. An industrial wasteland. A technological wasteland. A skills wasteland. Because while other countries were investing, innovating, and preparing, we were asleep. We were resting on our laurels. We believed that war was just a bad dream. That defense was a luxury. And now, we’re waking up. We’re waking up with a start. We’re waking up with a hangover. And we’re realizing that the world has changed. That war has changed. That our enemies have changed. And that we have nothing. We don’t have the factories. We don’t have the engineers. We don’t have the companies. We have nothing but promises. Plans. PowerPoint presentations. And billions flying out the window on projects that may never come to fruition. Because reinventing an industry isn’t like pressing a button. It isn’t like signing a check. It’s like planting a tree. It takes time. It takes patience. It takes perseverance. And Canada, today, no longer has any of those three things. All it has left is panic. The panic of realizing that it has missed the mark on everything. That it has let everything slip away. That it’s already behind in the war of tomorrow.

SMEs on the Front Lines, but Unarmed

The Carney administration is counting on the private sector to save the day. “We want to create a Canadian military-industrial complex,” he declares, drawing inspiration from the American model that gave rise to giants like Lockheed Martin and Raytheon. $85 billion is to be invested by 2030 to boost local production: submarines, maritime patrol aircraft, armored vehicles, drones, and ammunition. “Quebec and Ontario are well-positioned to benefit,” notes Radio-Canada, citing companies such as CAE (flight simulators), Roshel (armored vehicles), and MDA (space technologies). Yet the reality is far bleaker. “Our SMEs lack critical mass,” admits one expert. “They depend on major U.S. corporations for intellectual property, supply chains, and certifications. One small hiccup in our relations with Washington, and everything falls apart.” Worse still: Canada is sorely lacking in skilled labor. “Our training centers are operating at 80% of their capacity,” admits RBC. “We don’t have enough instructors, enough engineers, or enough technicians. And with competition from American giants, we can’t compete on salaries.” The result: talent is fleeing south. “We train experts, and they leave for the United States,” sums up a professor at the University of Quebec in Montreal. “It’s a vicious cycle.”

I think of these small and medium-sized businesses. Of these entrepreneurs. Of these engineers. Of these workers who, today, find themselves on the front lines. Who find themselves having to save a country that has ignored them for years. Who find themselves having to innovate, produce, and compete with giants that are decades ahead. And I tell myself: it’s unfair. It’s even cruel. Because Canada, today, isn’t giving them the resources. It’s giving them promises. Rhetoric. Billions that will take years to materialize. Because rebuilding an industry isn’t like building a bridge. It isn’t like launching a program. It’s like reviving an ecosystem. It takes years. It takes investment. It takes a vision. And Canada, today, has nothing but a sense of urgency. The urgency to catch up. The urgency not to be crushed. The urgency not to be dominated. But urgency isn’t enough. Because small and medium-sized businesses—they need stability. They need predictability. They need to know that, in five years, in ten years, they’ll still have orders. Contracts. A market. And today, Canada can’t guarantee them that. Because today, Canada is racing against time. Racing after technology. Racing after talent. And it risks missing out on everything. Because an industry isn’t something you can simply decree. It’s something you build. Step by step. Brick by brick. And Canada, today, no longer has time for that.

A Race Against Time to Control the Far North

The Arctic has become the main battleground of the new Cold War. As the ice melts, new sea routes are opening up, and with them, new rivalries. Russia, China, and the United States: all want to control this strategic region, rich in resources and geostrategic locations. “We must be present, visible, and a deterrent,” insists the Carney administration. “Otherwise, others will do it in our place.” To achieve this, Ottawa is relying on Arctic patrol vessels, surveillance drones, quantum radars, and satellites. “We will invest heavily in detection and deterrence,” promises the prime minister. Yet the challenges are immense. “Our Arctic infrastructure is virtually nonexistent,” admits a general. “We have no deep-water ports, no airstrips, no reliable communication networks. And the climate makes everything ten times more complicated.” As a result, Canada once again depends on the United States to monitor its own territory. “We share responsibility for the defense of North America with Washington,” notes a DRDC report. “But if one day the Americans decide that the Arctic is no longer a priority, we’re left defenseless.”

I think of the Arctic. Of those white expanses. Of those icy waters. Of that immense, empty, vulnerable territory. And I tell myself: this is the real test. The real challenge. The true litmus test. Because the Arctic isn’t a border. It’s a mirror. A mirror that reflects what we’ve become. A country that thought it could rely on others. A country that thought geography would protect it. A country that thought war happened somewhere else. And today, the Arctic is bringing us back to reality. It reminds us that sovereignty isn’t something you simply declare. It’s something you defend. That territory isn’t something you inherit. It must be controlled. That a nation does not rest on its laurels. It must fight. And Canada, today, is not ready. It is not equipped. It is not organized. It is playing catch-up—with time, with technology, with allies. And it risks losing everything. Because the Arctic is not an option. It’s not a luxury. It’s a necessity. It’s a matter of survival. And if Canada doesn’t wake up, if it doesn’t fight, if it doesn’t get organized, then others will do it in its place. And then, it will no longer be a matter of sovereignty. It will be a matter of existence.

When Bureaucracy Stifles Innovation

Canada’s biggest obstacle isn’t a lack of money. It isn’t a lack of will. It’s bureaucracy. “Our procurement processes are slow, cumbersome, and inefficient,” admits a senior official. “On average, it takes us ten years to go from identifying a need to receiving the equipment. In a world where technology evolves by the month, that’s an eternity.” The result: projects get bogged down, billions are wasted, and equipment arrives too late. “We’ve lost $15.3 billion due to delays and cancellations,” reveals an audit. “Because our rules are too complex, our certifications too slow, and our decisions too political.” In an effort to break this vicious cycle, Ottawa has created a Defense Investment Agency tasked with speeding up the processes. “We want to bring speed to execution,” explains an official. “Otherwise, we’ll always be playing catch-up with others.” Yet the old demons persist. “Every department has its own rules, its own priorities, its own lobbyists,” sighs a contractor. “The result: we spend more time fighting among ourselves than fighting the enemy.”

I think about this bureaucracy. About these rules. About these processes. About these wasted years. And I tell myself: this is the real enemy. Not Russia. Not China. Not cybercriminals. But ourselves. Our inability to decide. Our inability to act. Our inability to innovate. Because Canada, today, isn’t short on money. It isn’t short on will. It’s short on speed. It’s short on agility. It’s short on the ability to say: enough. Enough reports. Enough committees. Enough meetings. It’s time to act. It’s time to get things done. It’s time to deliver. Because war today isn’t won with PowerPoint presentations. It isn’t won with five-year plans. It’s won with drones taking flight. With satellites monitoring the skies. With soldiers fighting on the ground. And Canada, today, is still debating. Still negotiating. Still dithering. While others are taking action. While others are innovating. While others are winning. And that is the worst kind of defeat: losing because we couldn’t make up our minds. Losing because we didn’t dare to act. Losing because we thought time was on our side. When in fact, it’s slipping through our fingers.

When an Ally Becomes a Risk

Canada relies on the United States for 90% of its critical military equipment. Aircraft, missiles, communication systems, drones—almost everything comes from across the border. “We are in a relationship of total dependence,” acknowledges a DRDC report. “If Washington decides to cut us off, we’re paralyzed.” Yet this dependence is not without risk. “The United States could restrict our access if we sideline its major contractors,” warns RBC. “We’re caught in a vise: either we buy American and remain dependent, or we try to break free and risk retaliation.” The Carney administration is trying to strike a balance. “We want to reduce our dependence, but we cannot cut ourselves off from the United States,” explains an advisor. “We must build partnerships, not walls.” Yet the reality is harsh: “Without the Americans, we cannot defend the Arctic,” admits a general. “Without them, we can’t monitor our coastlines. Without them, we can’t protect our airspace.” The result: Canada finds itself in an untenable position. “We’re a sovereign country on paper,” sums up an expert. “But in reality, our defense depends on another country. And that’s a problem. A problem that could cost us dearly. Very dearly.”

I think about this dependence. This submission. This inability to defend ourselves on our own. And I tell myself: this is the real danger. Not Russian missiles. Not Chinese drones. But our inability to be self-reliant. Our inability to be sovereign. Our inability to be masters of our own destiny. Because Canada, today, is no longer an ally. It is a client. A client that depends on others. That begs. That pleads. And that is humiliating. Because a nation isn’t defined by what it buys. It’s defined by what it produces. By what it innovates. By what it defends. And Canada, today, no longer produces. It no longer innovates. It no longer defends itself. It buys. It waits. It hopes. And that is the worst kind of betrayal: betraying its own sovereignty. Betraying its own independence. Betraying its own ability to defend itself. Because a country that cannot defend itself is no longer a country. It is a protectorate. A vassal. A colony. And Canada, today, is becoming just that. A country that has forgotten how to fight. A country that has forgotten how to win. A country that has forgotten how to exist.

When Innovation Becomes a Matter of National Pride

Despite the challenges, signs of hope are emerging. Canadian companies such as MDA (space technology), Roshel (armored vehicles), and CAE (flight simulators) are beginning to make their mark on the international stage. “We have the talent, we have the ideas, we have the will,” says Roman Shimonov, CEO of Roshel. “We just lack the resources.” The government is relying on public-private partnerships to accelerate innovation. “We want to create an ecosystem where startups, universities, and the military work hand in hand,” explains a DRDC official. Promising projects include autonomous drones for Arctic surveillance, AI-based cyberdefense systems, and smart munitions capable of striking targets with surgical precision. “We can become a leader in certain niche areas,” says one expert. “But the government must play its part. It must invest. It must provide support. It must buy Canadian.” Yet time is running out. “We have five years to make up for twenty years of lost ground,” sums up a general. “If we fail, Canada will be nothing more than a spectator on the world stage.”

I think of these hopes. Of these companies. Of these engineers. Of these soldiers who, despite everything, continue to believe. Continue to fight. Continue to innovate. And I tell myself: this is Canada’s true strength. Not in its billions. Not in its speeches. But in these people. These people who refuse to give up. Who refuse to submit. Who refuse to believe that all is lost. Because Canada, today, still has a chance. A chance to wake up. A chance to fight. A chance to win. But to do that, it must stop dithering. It must stop debating. It must stop believing that time is on its side. Because time, today, is against it. It’s against us. It’s pushing us from behind. It’s telling us: Hurry up. Because war doesn’t wait. It advances. It evolves. It changes. And if Canada doesn’t run, if it doesn’t fight, if it doesn’t innovate, then it will be too late. Then it will have lost everything. Then it will be nothing more than a memory. A country that thought it could rest on its laurels. A country that thought peace was a given. A country that forgot how to defend itself. And that wouldn’t be a defeat. It would be a tragedy.

The Choice That Will Define a Generation

Canada stands at a crossroads. On one side lies sovereignty: a modern military, an independent defense industry, and the ability to defend itself. On the other lies submission: increased dependence on the United States, under-equipped armed forces, and a territory vulnerable to foreign ambitions. “We must choose,” declares Mark Carney. “Either we become a nation that matters, or we become a country that begs.” Yet the path is fraught with obstacles. Bureaucracy, a talent shortage, technological dependence, a lack of long-term vision: the challenges are immense. “We have the means, we have the will, but we lack time,” sums up a general. “And in a race against the clock, every day counts.” So, will Canada manage to reinvent itself? To rebuild an army worthy of the name? To create a defense industry capable of competing with the American and European giants? “Anything is possible,” replies an entrepreneur. “But everyone has to get moving. Now.” Because war, today, is no longer won with speeches. It’s won with drones that fly. With satellites that monitor. With soldiers who fight. And Canada, today, has no choice left. It must run. It must innovate. It must win. Otherwise, it will have lost everything.

I conclude this article thinking about that choice. About that race. About that urgency. And I tell myself: Canada can no longer afford to make mistakes. No longer afford to be slow. No longer afford to hesitate. Because today, it’s no longer about the budget. It’s no longer about politics. It’s about survival. About sovereignty. About dignity. Because a country that cannot defend itself is no longer a country. It’s a protectorate. A vassal. A colony. And Canada, today, is gambling with its future. Not in five years. Not in ten years. Now. Right this moment. Because war doesn’t wait. It advances. It strikes. It destroys. And if Canada doesn’t wake up, if it doesn’t fight, if it doesn’t get organized, then it will have lost everything. Then it will be nothing more than a memory. A country that thought it could rest on its laurels. A country that forgot how to win. A country that betrayed its own sovereignty. And that wouldn’t be a defeat. It would be a disgrace. A disgrace that will weigh on us for generations. So today, I choose to believe. To believe that Canada can still fight. That it can still win. That it can still exist. But for that to happen, it must stop talking. It must stop making promises. It must start taking action. Because time, today, no longer belongs to us. It’s slipping away from us. It’s slipping through our fingers. And if we don’t seize it, if we don’t take control of it, then it will be too late. Then we will have lost everything. Then we will be nothing more than a country that thought it could sleep while others fought. A country that thought peace was a given. A country that forgot what it means to be sovereign. And that would not be a tragedy. It would be a betrayal.

Signed, Jacques Provost