Some men grow a beard on holiday, but think better of it when they get home, and shave it off. Not Justin Trudeau. He thinks a vacation beard can change him. In fact, the beard has rendered his life untenable. He no longer knows who he is.
Until now, Justin’s life has been ever-so-easy; he was Pierre Trudeau’s son. People praised him even when there was no reason. Being in the public eye so much, Justin became all about the performance arts. He was like Robert Redford playing the all-American boy in “The Way We Were” when Barbra Streisand asks, “Do you smile all the time?”
As a result of this privileged background, Justin never learned how to lead, how to attain goals by working with and through others. He can’t even seem to speak smoothly in public any more. At the mic, his sentences are punctuated with short, stuttering intakes of breath. Surely a former drama teacher should know that he has to breathe deep from his diaphragm. Even his wife, Sophie Grégoire, doesn’t seem to want to appear with him in public. When was the last time you saw her at his side?
What little gravitas he enjoyed left long ago with principal secretary Gerry Butts. Justin now has nothing to offer other than this quixotic mission to put Canada into a non-permanent seat on the UN security council. As for halted commerce across the land, hereditary chiefs who can talk forever because to them time is like a blanket with no end, it is becoming apparent that Justin will be a two-term prime minister. Come the next election, he will cede his job to Chrystia Freeland, and disappear from daily view.