🌞Good morning Canada. Weekend thoughts.
There was a time when the internet felt trivial in the best possible way. We collectively obsessed over the rice saga, a cat giving birth under someone’s bed, the Toronto raccoon funeral, or The Dress. None of it mattered, and that was the point. ✨️Platforms could concentrate the attention of millions on a single, harmless absurdity.
✨️What changed wasn’t our behaviour. It was the business model.
Elon Musk didn’t just buy a social media company; he bought an attention‑allocation machine. And he understood something fundamental: ✨️attention is political power. Outrage is profitable. Engagement is revenue.
The same systems that once amplified silliness now amplify conflict because conflict keeps people scrolling.
That raises a question Canada has barely begun to confront.
✨️When a trillionaire(?) owns a communications platform, controls its incentives, shapes what is amplified, and openly participates in politics, at what point does platform ownership become a political contribution?
Canadian election law regulates donations, third‑party advertisers, and in‑kind contributions. If a corporation handed a political party millions of dollars’ worth of advertising, targeting, or preferential access, regulators would intervene.
So why don’t we apply the same scrutiny to influencer ecosystems, partisan podcasts, recommendation algorithms, and social media platforms that function as de facto political broadcasters?
This isn’t about alleging wrongdoing. ✨️It’s about acknowledging that our laws were written for a world where political influence flowed through money, not metrics.
If influence can now be purchased through attention rather than donations, and delivered through algorithms rather than campaign offices, then we have to ask whether we’re regulating the right thing.
The old internet monetized curiosity.
✨️The new internet monetizes political engagement.
Democracy may need to catch up.
You get your coffee ☕️ or tea 🍵 I'm getting a glass of wine 🍷
#cdnpoli