Context In the midst of all that is going on in the world, Canada just had a federal election. Normally, Canadian politics isn’t something that gets the blood racing, but these are not normal times, and this was not a normal election. In the course of my work, I find I am more routinely keeping an eye on the flow of global politics, but over the last couple of years I have started to focus a lot more on the threats facing Western democracies, both from the corrosive effects of digital platforms but also with the increasing intensity and impact of influence campaigns waged by autocratic states. I was getting increasingly worried that the underpinnings of our democracies were crumbling, and we seemed ill equipped to counter the challenges we were facing, and as a result, I tried to focus my work, where I could, on some areas that could contribute to our collective defence. All the while, the Canadian government was staggering along, with a beleaguered administration that just never quite got its stride again after the pandemic. We have a politician here leading the opposition who had made denigrating Canada into a full time, 2 year project, baiting the increasingly unpopular Prime Minister and drilling into Canadians that our country was broken, despite our better-than-the-global-average recovery from the pandemic, global supply shocks and inflation. A lot of Canadians came to believe him, and even among those of us who didn’t, there was little enthusiasm to support a Prime Minister that seemed to be holding on long past his due date. And the polls were grim. Support for the Liberal government was at historic lows, and while they held on in Parliament with the support of a coalition party, survey after survey showed that the next election would be an extinction-level event for the ruling party, with a crushing majority for the Conservatives forecast whenever the writ might drop. Goal17 is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Honestly, for my part, while I found the Conservative remedies completely unconvincing, I was becoming somewhat resigned to the fact that they would take power, and I felt that, perhaps, it would be best for them to have a term in power if only to prove that they couldn’t just wave a wand to make the world’s problems disappear. I started to think it might be worth them winning just to prove to Canadians that the simple platitudes they were offering to fix our “broken” country had no substance to them, so we could move on. But then, a few things happened. Trump got elected. The joke about making Canada the 51st state stopped being a joke. Vance travelled to Europe to tell the German military it should be okay with fascism. The US started slapping tariffs on Canada. And then the Liberal government experienced a rapid, unscheduled disassembly. Suddenly the copy/paste of Trump’s talking points into the Canadian Conservative leader’s speeches felt like less like a sign of admiration, and more like a Manchurian candidate. I decided on the night that J.D. Vance spoke at the Munich Security Conference that I wanted to be involved in some small way to contribute. The challenge was that, as a resident of downtown Toronto, any campaign door-knocking I could do would be preaching to the converted. I was aware, however, that the misinformation war was unfolding online. The Plan My partner, Beth - who has worked extensively in social media strategy - convinced me that if I wanted to reach a lot of people in a short amount of time, the only choice was to try TikTok. Beth pointed me towards several accounts that had begun focusing on political content as the election drew near and had grown rapidly and achieved significant reach in very little time, which suggested it would provide considerably more reach than knocking on the doors of my liberal neighbours. To say I was skeptical would be an understatement. In my view, TikTok was a democratic destabilization machine controlled by the Chinese state, which didn’t really make it a great candidate. The alternatives, however, were not great. The Platforms The social media landscape in 2025 is a dumpster fire. No matter what reason you have for using social media these days, you are probably unsatisfied with the experience, and are most likely generally worse off for using it, whether that be for personal reasons or professional. I had been experimenting with Substack for some time, and putting an ungodly amount of effort into researching, writing and recording posts. While the platform benefits from having great tools for writers and isn’t burdened (yet) with advertisements, I found myself topping out at around 130 subscribers, with every new subscriber a hard fought battle. It seemed to me that it was a great place to bring an audience, but not a platform where you could easily build an audience. I decided early on that I would try to use my professional network on LinkedIn to try and direct people over to Substack, by posting about my new articles there. It was only then that I realized how hollowed out LinkedIn had become. Firstly, because LinkedIn tries to encourage a posting frequency in their algorithm that is unsustainable for thoughtful production, it has become a hellscape of self-serving humble bragging, with only the rare post rewarding the reader with any actual insight or value. The worst part is that we all seem to know it. Professionally, we know we should at least appear to engage, so there are a smattering of likes and performative comments, and nothing more. The engagement on my posts linking to my articles was shockingly low, with numbers that were only a fraction of the number of connections I had. But worse than that, the “click-through” rate was so low that at first I thought Substack’s analytics were lying to me. On a LinkedIn post with a decent number of likes and even a few comments on the topic, Substack’s analytics would show that almost no one had actually clicked the link. Instagram doesn’t even seem to know what it is as a platform any more. In response to TikTok’s onslaught of content from people you don’t know, Instagram threw away what was previously its insurmountable competitive advantage: its social graph. Combined with aggressive efforts at monetization by Meta, it is simply a platform for scrolling through advertisements, interspersed with cross-posted TikTok videos from people you don’t know, with bubbles at the top where the few friends you have active on the platform post coffee pictures and conspiracy theories. Twitter, which now has a name you can’t start a sentence with, is only useful for finding out what its owner is doing, and what other white supremacists think about what he’s doing, is totally unfit for any sustained effort, besides being harmful for your mental wellbeing. I stopped using Facebook during the pandemic, when it proved to be ground zero for radicalizing its users and turning them against vaccines and democracy. After being attacked mercilessly by a mob after I suggested to an acquaintance that vaccines didn’t cause autism or allow Bill Gates to track us, I decided I was done on that platform. Zuckerberg’s decision to end fact-checking and ban actual news sources from the platform sealed the deal for me. I had never really used TikTok, mostly because the combination of an addictive algorithm, its ability to “understand” you at a deep level and its connections with the Chinese state had always been incredibly problematic for me, but also, simply, that I didn’t believe it to be a platform where any serious content could exist. Also, in the context of Trump’s announcement that annexation of my country was on the table, it was worth considering who owned each of the platforms and what their agendas were. All of the platforms were owned by adversarial governments. The CEOs of Meta, X and TikTok all attended Trump’s inauguration, and given Trump’s fixation with Canada and China’s ongoing feud with the Liberal government and documented attempts to interfere in Canadian democracy, one had to assume that there could be interference in political discourse on all of these platforms. Finally, while I had friends and family on Instagram and Facebook (100-200 connections), an old Twitter account with about 150 followers and a LinkedIn network of around 1500 connections, I had exactly zero followers on TikTok, as I would be setting up an account for the first time. But, I was determined. No matter how small the contribution to the discourse, I wanted to do something, even if it was only correcting some misinformation, to help in the election. Oh, and one other note; I was, and am, fully aware that maybe the problem with engagement on the things I’ve written wasn’t an algorithmic problem or a platform problem. It was also possible that I’m just boring. Playing to the Algorithm Beth laid out a simple formula for me. She was adamant that if I followed the formula, I would see results and the algorithm would respond, but if I didn’t, and I deviated, or slacked off, the algorithm would be merciless. She also suggested that because there was so much attention on the election, that the time was now: if I harnessed a national conversation in the moment, the impact would be multiplied. The formula was simple: you need to post three videos per day, every day, connecting with issues and topics as they arise. You need to find the hashtags for your topics, and respond to every early comment on your posts as they come in, while posting comments on the posts of a few, related, creators around the same time that you post your own videos. While this was obviously a difficult pace to maintain, I was determined to give it a shot. Given my experiences on other platforms, my expectations of a new platform with zero followers were pretty low. My very first post, however, got over 300 vi