The quiet removal of a placard in a Washington museum might seem a trivial act—just another shifting detail in the vast tapestry of history. But for Canadians, tracking these small moments across the border is not a matter of idle curiosity. It’s a front-row seat to the subtle, sometimes invisible, ways authoritarian tactics shape collective memory and, ultimately, the health of democracy itself.
When the Smithsonian took down its reference to former president Donald Trump’s impeachments, citing exhibit standards, the move echoed far beyond a single gallery. The question it raised—who decides what is remembered, and how—cuts to the heart of how societies shape their narratives. For authoritarian leaders, controlling history is more than a matter of pride; it’s a lever of power used to reframe events, erase uncomfortable truths, and legitimize their grip on authority. Princeton’s Julian Zelizer pointed out that such moves are rarely isolated, instead forming part of a broader strategy to influence how citizens view their country and its leaders.
Trump’s era, defined by a politics of division and the relentless push to project strength, has offered up lessons in narrative warfare. Whether through public statements, pressure on institutions, or direct action, the effort to steer the historical record is no longer subtle. The Smithsonian, while denying White House interference, found itself at the centre of a storm over whether it was whitewashing the past to appease political winds. Critics like Timothy Naftali, former director of the Nixon Library, warn that once historical red lines are erased, it becomes harder for citizens to situate themselves truthfully within their own story.
Canada is hardly immune. Around the world, regimes in China and Russia have long demonstrated how the manipulation of memory—through censorship, the disappearance of inconvenient figures, or the outright banning of events—serves as a cornerstone of authoritarian rule. As Jason Stanley, a leading voice on the subject, argues: “If they don’t control the historical narrative, then they can’t create the kind of fake history that props up their politics.” For Canadians, the lesson is clear. The fight over whose history is told is not just an American drama; it’s a warning close to home.
Some may argue that Canada’s institutions are inherently stronger or that its politics are less susceptible to such tactics. But complacency is a luxury that democracy cannot afford. As Senator Cory Booker warned in the U.S. context, when leaders and citizens hesitate to draw lines against the erosion of truth, history will remember those who stood aside. Canadians need to recognize that museums, schools, and public debates are all battlegrounds for memory—and that defending them is a patriotic act.
The path forward demands vigilance. Supporting transparent, well-funded public institutions, demanding accountability from leaders, and ensuring a diversity of voices in our historical record are not just good practices—they’re vital to the health of Canadian democracy. If recent events in the U.S. teach anything, it’s that the politics of memory is never neutral and never safe from political interference. For Canadians, the most valuable lesson is that safeguarding our history is, in the end, safeguarding ourselves.
