Building Bridges

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HERE'S MY TAKE

A guest column from Cardus Canada President Brian Dijkema 

There were very few weeks of my childhood in which I couldn’t see the United States. That’s not a metaphor. I grew up on the St. Lawrence River, within swimming distance of America, and, because it was Upper Canada, the marks of old American hostilities were everywhere. People in my hometown of Brockville used to hang out—and cruise around in their Firebirds and Trans-Ams—on a place called Blockhouse Island, which was so named because it once held a type of fortification that was put in place after Brockville experienced a raid from the Americans during the War of 1812.

Just down the road from us, in a place called Prescott, was another fortification—Fort Wellington. It, too, was built as a defensive structure to provide protection for Canadians, mainly made up of Loyalists who fled the American revolution, from American aggression during the war. What is fascinating about Prescott is that, for the last 85 years or so, it has been the Canadian host of the Prescott-Ogdensburg bridge, which provides one of the more beautiful, and frictionless, means of transport between our two countries.

And, dear friends, this is a metaphor. The bridge represents not just a cessation of hostilities between us, but a physical, economic, and cultural connection—even friendship—between us. It is a binational ligament, joining trade, enabling cultural exchange, and hosting a flow of traffic reminiscent of the great waterway we’ve shared for centuries.

Think about a bridge for a minute. Actually, think about driving over a bridge that is hundreds of meters above a deep and powerful river. You start out on land, and, bit by bit, move out to a point where your very presence on it is a profound manifestation of trust. Trust in the engineers who designed it, trust in the skill and construction standards of its builders and the workers who put it together, trust in the makers of the steel and concrete used, trust in the hydrological surveyors that the base isn’t going to be swept away by the current, and, ultimately, trust that your journey to the other side isn’t going to be met with guns and fortifications, but a gruff, and at base, friendly face, who ensures that you’re a person of good will and says “Welcome.” Almost all of this, it’s important to note, is unseen, unnoticed. Unless something goes wrong. And then you really notice.

If you’ve read the news these last couple of weeks you’ll probably guess why bridges are on my mind. I’ve been following the Gordie Howe bridge schmozzle for a while now. My brief political take on it is that the Americans are acting in bad faith, typical of this administration; our government has been less than forthright, if not outright dishonest, to its citizens about negotiations; and that debates over revenues for a bridge are more indicative of medieval economic models than those based on modern trade.

On that last point, governments should look only for cost recovery on bridges. The value of a bridge is not in the cash it can generate for either Canada or the US, but for the amount of trade it can facilitate with the minimal amount of friction possible. If we’re debating over revenue as a means to “get a better deal” we’re not much better than brigands, and a hell of a lot less interesting than Little John with a stick on a log challenging Robin Hood to a fight.

But I’m less worried about what you can see—the bridge debate—than I am about the unseen, slow, deterioration of the thing that has made North America great for centuries. This bridge debacle, and the new slew of questionably legal tariffs imposed on Canada this week, combined with the elbows-up posturing, is a bit like road salt on a steel bridge. It’s corrosive. No single thing is going to kill our relationship with each other but, bit by bit, almost imperceptibly, we are trusting each other less. And that means more friction, and that the flow of goods (cultural and economic) between us will thicken and slow. This is not for the greater good.

A quick word on friction. This week, the Cardus executive team had the privilege of taking a retreat where we worked with Jeff Jans on our internal operations, our long-term goals, and planning to grow more effective at our mission. One of the things that Jeff brought to our attention is that conflict, a slightly sharper type of friction, is actually a good thing. In any relationship—business, think-tank, government, even a marriage—conflict is where we raise real issues, where we resolve and remove the things that prevent us from committing to, being accountable to, and achieving the ends to which we are striving.

I’ve seen the results of an institutional culture that is conflict-averse. Resentment grows, issues don’t get dealt with, and, like salt, it too corrodes your ability to get things done properly and well. I think for a long time Canada has been avoiding dealing with some of its own issues. And as much as I think the current American approach resembles nothing so much as a zero-sum, I win you when you lose mentality, it at least has the benefit of bringing to the surface things we should have been talking about years ago: our defence spending levels, the uncompetitive nature of some of our industries and sectors, and so on.

But, as Jeff noted in our discussion, conflict is only productive if it’s done in a context of trust. At the end of the day, trust is like the towers that act as anchors for a suspension bridge: if they give out, the whole thing collapses. The big, unanswered, question is: how are we going to build that up so the next generation can benefit from the bridges between us?

One way to build trust is to spend time together. Our executive retreat this week allowed us to share our lives with one another. And spending time allows you greater space to learn people’s strengths, their weaknesses, their hopes, and their fears. It prevents making decisions based on false impressions and allows you to see what will be to the good of the other, and thus, your organization.

An American magazine commissioned my Cardus colleague Jeff Reimer, an American, and me, a Canadian, to spend time in each other's worlds and report back on what we experienced: a type of Canada/America cultural exchange. They published that this week. The results were interesting, and I encourage you to read Jeff’s take on Canada and my take on America. I’d love to know what you think.

Spending time together comes with a cost. Jeff and I are both busy, and we don’t have a lot of margin. And time, these days, is harder and harder to find. I heard from someone I trust this week that “our elites are increasingly stupid and busy.” I think she is right, and I think the two are connected, perhaps causally.

We need time to think, to reflect. Summer time—where we all take off to live out the dream of wearing shorts forever—is a great time for that. We need time, margin, to think about what we care about, what is most important in life. To reflect on how we, as individuals, and as leaders of businesses, churches, organizations, and governments can spend time on that which matters most. To reflect, I hope, on God, and His great, great love for this world, and for what He is calling you to do in it. I hope that this guest missive is being read by you in a hammock with something cold to drink beside you.

Who knows? Perhaps vacations will save the world.

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