Campaigns are inherently cynical. They trade on the worst of human instincts, the ones that tell you to be afraid or angry. At best, they trick you into thinking that real, measurable change can happen in four years. At worst, they can hold society back from any progress at all. We ran that risk this time with the possibility of re-electing a government so bigoted they promised to set up a literal hotline for “barbaric cultural practices.”



Just call it, “Help, My Neighbour Is Brown.” It’s okay. We all know.

The good news is the country didn’t fall for racist rhetoric. It wasn’t enough for the conservatives to stay in office merely by suggesting that the niqab was a threat to our existence. It’s just clothing and, thankfully, few of us were ignorant enough to listen.

But we shouldn’t have been surprised that they tried to use it.

It’s easy, then, to think that a Liberal majority government suggests a less cynical world. Our new prime minister is a self-professed feminist, LGBT supporter, pro-pot, and really fucking cute, like a sexy, tousled baby.

“Have faith in yourselves and in your country,” Trudeau said in his victory speech. “Know that we can make anything happen if we set our minds to it and work hard. I am not the one who made history tonight — you are.” Moi? Go on.



On paper, it’s a good scene and those are inspiring words—no wonder the rest of the world is talking about our new PM like he’s made of maple syrup and fresh snow.

But you should still be cynical.

On election night, I got a lot of flack for tweeting obnoxiously about Trudeau’s win, his drama teacher cadence, his low-key fuckability, his goofy earnestness. I literally could not help myself. It's like a sickness, I know.

