CHELSEA, QUE.—It was a jarring juxtaposition. 

There was our slender, peripatetic prime minister, Mark Carney, running in Hyde Park with Finland’s prime minister, Alexander Stubb, last week—along with their two equally fit wives—chatting amiably as they jogged. 

Carney was on yet another foreign trip—his 16th in just one year in office—drumming up new trade partners for Canada, rekindling old friendships in London (including with King Charles) and bonding with the leaders of five Nordic nations, who seemed delighted to welcome him. Indeed, Norway’s Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre called him “an honorary Nordic.”

Around the same time, United States President Donald Trump, rumpled and fake-tanned, joked with House Speaker Mike Johnson, in Washington, D.C., about a Florida Republican congressman facing a terminal illness. Trump momentarily stunned Johnson when he disclosed that the congressman “would be dead by June”—a diagnosis not previously made public. (After some jovial banter, Johnson later clarified that Trump had enlisted White House medics to treat the man, who is expected to recover.)

People, of course, are used to Trump’s coarseness—he recently called California Governor Gavin Newsom “mentally deficient” because of a dyslexia diagnosis—and, if anyone still pays attention, it is mostly to see how low the U.S. president will go. He rarely disappoints.

Such video glimpses of political leaders, mostly in the form of clips on social media—may appear ephemeral, but they profoundly shape public impressions; more, certainly, than a leader’s policies, more, even, than the impact of those policies on individual lives. Trump is evidence of that, clinging to his base and the simpering sycophants around him, despite the economic stress he is inflicting on ordinary Americans.

Most voters, especially those in the meandering middle, either like a politician or they don’t—and initial impressions are hard to dislodge. Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre, for instance, can travel the world, delivering low-key speeches laying out his continued adherence to Milton Friedman and the Calgary school of economic thought—as he did recently in London and Berlin—yet many will only remember the sneering, apple-chomping bully who briefly put Okanagan journalist Don Urquhart in the national spotlight.

Poilievre’s new staff—now that the hostile Jenni Byrne is sidelined—understands that their man is widely disliked, and urgently needs an image makeover, and Poilievre himself has apparently been convinced. Hence a relaunch of a familiar product: Poilievre, the sober, co-operative, thoughtful conservative. 

His trip to the U.S. last week was fairly low-key, and probably useful for him, at least, educational in the way that most travel is. However, he did not open any new trade corridors, or convince the Trump administration to return to the original terms of the 1965 auto pact which initially favoured Canada. 

If he would stop getting in his own way, voters might listen to his prescriptions for a new, tariff-free relationship with the U.S., however improbable that sounds under Trump. But, two minutes into Question Period on any given day, the opposition leader often blows up his advisors’ efforts. Mr. Apple is back, greatly amused by his own bon mots, accusing the prime minister of all seven cardinal sins and, recently, of single-handedly tanking the Canadian auto sector, to boot.  

Does anyone who has been paying the slightest attention believe that? Does Trump not bear a tiny bit of the blame? Poilievre is free to offer solutions, alternate approaches to the crisis seizing the industry— and he did that last week—but he loses his audience instantly when he descends to the cartoonish exaggerations. And he does; he can’t help himself.

With polls indicating strong support for Carney’s continued travels to foreign capitals, in hopes of pivoting from our economic dependence on the U.S., Poilievre crows in the Commons: “Where’s Waldo?” He accuses Carney of “political tourism” claiming he “prances around abroad while Canadians pay a price at home.”

It is true that improvements in the cost of groceries, housing affordability, and job creation have been meagre, but solving these problems is exactly why Carney is abroad. It may or may not pay dividends, but most Canadians are willing to give him a chance, and tune out Poilievre’s predictable harping.

While the opposition leader struggles with his transition to likability, Carney keeps winning over audiences with cute videos, glimpses of warmth and humour shared both with other world leaders, and with ordinary people in the small towns and cities he regularly visits. It works because his wry humour feels authentic, and his ease with people of all ranks is natural.

For instance, in Japan recently, Carney opened a press conference with new Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi with a few words in Japanese—a gesture that left her laughing and clapping in delight and surprise. The prime minister later explained that he was not-at-all fluent, but retained a memory of the language from 30 years ago when he worked in Japan. 

Whether this persuades more Japanese auto-makers to expand operations in Canada is doubtful, given Trump’s attempts to block imports of Canadian-made cars, but it is smarter than insulting, belittling, and threatening every leader in the world, except for Russian President Vladimir Putin. 

In the same way, Carney’s new friendship with other northern nations is helped by a long-standing promise to invest up to $40-billion in Arctic security and his sharp pivot away from a U.S.-dominated world order. Since Davos, he has become a middle-power influencer—perhaps the leading one—and this wasn’t lost on his Nordic hosts.

Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen told Carney she can’t recall another speech that sparked so much comment in her country, still rattled by Trump’s threats to take over Greenland. Her Icelandic counterpart, Prime Minister Kristrún Frostadóttir, expressed her “gratitude for the leadership Canada has shown” given the current void in global leadership.

These efforts on Carney’s part, the obvious respect he commands abroad—and even in the U.S.—help him at home. They reinforce the positive image he established early with his surprising interview with American talk show host Jon Stewart (“You’re attractive, but we’re not moving in with you”). More recently, he assured King Charles that despite being recognized as honorary Nordic, “don’t worry. We’re still part of the Commonwealth,” eliciting a royal chuckle.

Carney’s easy wit and ability to laugh at himself, to perform like the antithesis of the buttoned-down central banker everyone expects, has won him impressive support, and not only among Liberals. While many voters, both on the left and right, disagree with and disapprove of some of his initiatives, few dislike him personally with the intensity directed at former prime minister Justin Trudeau and Poilievre.

Charm, of course, can wear thin. It did with Brian Mulroney, who shared a puckish humour (alongside a brooding anger), and it certainly did with Trudeau, who, it may be hard to remember, brought glamour, energy, compassion, and great hair to a political arena grown stale in 2015. 

There are blemishes on Carney’s otherwise immaculate image: his muddled retreat on the environment and enthusiasm for more oil production; his initial approval of Trump’s war in Iran, although he has been back-pedalling at an Olympian pace. Then there are the ongoing financial pressures facing so many Canadians and the “major projects” that are supposed to boost the economy, but are still mostly plans. 

But, despite all this, Carney’s personal approval ratings are off the charts. If an election were held tomorrow, the Liberals would win north of 200 seats—a resounding majority. And why?

Because Carney represents Canada so well in the world: he is intelligent, confident, and friendly all at once. He doesn’t put on airs, nor does he appear to be driven by rigid ideology, old grievances, or a desperate need for power, like so many politicians. It is easy to imagine him serving five years, then moving to some quieter job without regret—indeed, with some relief perhaps.

As long as this initial impression lasts, he will retain the support of voters of all political stripes. And it will be hard for rivals to diminish his appeal. 

Susan Riley is a veteran political columnist who writes regularly for The Hill Times.

The Hill Times