The upshot is that the fat cat invites the starving cat to the palace where she lives. On the day before, there had been a great feast at the palace. Sadly, the huge amount of food left on the floor has now attracted a host of scavenging felines. The result is the sultan requests that archers be brought in to do away with the scavengers. The end.

What this has to do with the controversy involving premier Danielle Smith’s visit to Saudi Arabia in the fall of 2025 is no doubt unclear. I’ll get to that.

Prince Abdulaziz bin Salman, the Saudi minister of energy, evidently met the premier of Alberta in November 2023, when Calgary hosted the World Energy Congress. The prince and the premier toured a few pavilions together and had a sufficient meeting of minds that the former invited the latter to visit him in Saudi Arabia.

Premier Smith accepted, and the visit occurred. While in the Middle East the premier met an impressive roster of dignitaries, including the Saudi artificial intelligence boss and officials from OPEC.

Months later, back in the Alberta Legislature, Opposition leader Naheed Nenshi asked Smith about some missing receipts. Where she’d been and the list of receipts didn’t jibe. Her explanation was that the oilfields and other spots she’d visited weren’t accessible by commercial aircraft. She’d flown on private jets. This might have seemed a trivial matter, but since the government voyageurs had managed to rack up $64,000 in expenses in Saudi Arabia, for which Albertans were on the hook, Nenshi wasn’t ready to drop the topic.

No one from the UCP side was (or is) offering to have the cat assayed, so we’re still dealing in hypotheticals.

And then there was the cat. A sharp-eyed individual had noticed that in a McDougall Centre office there was a new golden statue of a cat. It appeared in the background of a photo that included the premier. A question was put to the premier: “What’s with the golden cat?” And the answer was: “Oh that. Just a little something from Prince Abdulaziz…?”

The cat was a hefty looking specimen standing on all fours. Inevitably people speculated what it was made of. The initial eyeball assay was that it was made of gold. In the old Arab tale of the two cats, then, this would have been the sultan’s cat rather than the scavenger.

Albertans started doing some math. The cat was hefty, not something you could shove in your purse. Chunky, not light. At the current price of gold (around $7,000/ounce), the cat was one heck of a gift! As news of the statue spread, the possible value bounced around. Some said the cat might be worth millions. More-conservative types said, “Nah. $300,000 tops.” Also unclear was whether the premier or the province owned the cat. It should have been the province, but it wasn’t clear.

When the Opposition leader brought up the trip and the receipts in the Legislature, inevitably the subject came around to the cat.

Initially the government attempted to brush it off. Members portrayed Nenshi’s concerns as a rube-like fuss launched by someone who doesn’t get out much. But wait a minute. Nenshi was the mayor of Calgary for 11 years. And he was awarded the title of the World’s Best Mayor in 2018, for which he got a pretty handsome statue of his own (albeit stainless steel). Anyway, the man has been around, and he wasn’t letting the golden cat escape from public attention quite yet.

The next thing the UCP government had to say about the cat was that it wasn’t gold at all. No, it was a copper cat with a touch of gold paint. Worth maybe a few hundred dollars. One pundit pegged its real value at $80. No one from the government side was (or is) offering to have the cat assayed, so we’re still dealing in hypotheticals.

And I must say I have a hypothetical or two. When the cat went from being solid gold to being (maybe) copper with a paint job, it changed my view of the Saudi royal family’s generosity. And of the esteem in which on our premier is held.

Oh, heck. What should we give that politician from Canada

I don’t know. What about that old copper kitty the maid found at the bazaar

Is no one concerned about the implications of this…?

But, then, it might be a damn long time before any Albertans are asked to visit Saudi Arabia again. Like the sultan in the Arab folk tale, the leaders of that country aren’t exactly known for their sentimentality. And next time the Saudis might suggest that our premier rent a car. Drive in the desert for a few days and see how high and mighty she feels.

Fred Stenson has published 20 books. A new novel, Carpenter Creek, is forthcoming from Thistledown Press in fall 2026.

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I feel the headache coming on, and I haven’t even mentioned “notwithstanding” yet. To legislate in this way, denying or suspending some aspect of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, is called “invoking the notwithstanding clause.”

To get one’s head around the concept of “notwithstanding” isn’t easy. As a word, it seems to work against itself. The “withstanding” part seems simple; just a modified way of saying “standing with.” We get that, right I stand with you on the matter of children not being allowed to throw stones at one another on the playground. I find “notwithstanding” much more difficult to get my ahead around. If it’s easy-peasy for you, well, carry on. No sense wasting your time.

In its more normal use, notwithstanding isn’t hard to fathom. E.g., “Notwithstanding the rainstorm, the teams continued to play baseball.” Trust me, the Charter’s notwithstanding clause is not so simple. It’s more like: “We stand with you on the safeguarding of our sacred rights and freedoms—until we don’t.”

To get one’s head around the concept of “notwithstanding” isn’t easy. As a word, it seems to work against itself.

As I searched for a helpful definition of the political use of the word notwithstanding, I was delighted to find a reference to Wayne’s World. Some of you won’t get this reference, so pardon me as I explain. In the 1990s, comedians Dana Carvey and Mike Myers came up with a sketch for the comedy show Saturday Night Live. Dana played Garth, and Mike played Wayne, two teenage stoners who create a TV show called Wayne’s World that they broadcast from Wayne’s parents’ basement. It was a huge hit and went on for years, became a movie etc. If it’s something new to you, use Wayne’s World as a search term on the internet, and you’ll be watching a sketch in about a minute. One of Garth and Wayne’s signature moves was to say something that sounded out of character for them; i.e., serious or respectful. Then they’d pause and both would say, “Not!”

And that’s exactly how Alberta’s use of the notwithstanding clause part of section 33 works: “We agree to abide by the rights and protections of Canadian citizens as set out in the Charter—Not!”

When a word is troubling me, I look up its origins. The etymology of “notwithstanding” is an eye-opener. It doesn’t come from the modern world, as I thought for sure it would. I was looking for a definition like “a bureaucratic term invented to fuzzy up a simple concept.” But it’s actually a very old word (Olde and Middle English): widstandan. The ancient meaning was “to stand against or resist.”

A lovely thing in one of the etymologies I consulted was that the “wid” part of “widstandan” contains a very old connotation of the word “with”: that is, “with” as negative! Who knew So, when you say to someone “I’m with you on that,” and they stomp off, you might just be dealing with a historical etymologist.

So, in other words, the folks who invented the notwithstanding clause really did mean that it should convey the idea that we’d stand with one another on these grave matters of our rights and freedoms as Canadians—until such time as someone might wish to use the negative connotation of “with” and not be with you at all.

In the present instance of Alberta’s using the notwithstanding clause of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms—or, at least the first time Alberta used it, as this government has since invoked the clause three more times—the UCP government is saying (and this is not a direct quote):

“We do acknowledge that Alberta teachers have a Charter right to organize, which includes the right to form and join unions (under freedom of association). But we thought the teacher strike had gone on rather too long, so we used s. 33 of the Charter to force teachers back to work.” The notwithstanding clause had never been used in Canada to end a strike before.

When some new use of the notwithstanding clause is found, it generally goes to the courts for further argument and analysis. So someday, somewhere far down the road, we can probably expect a decision by the Supreme Court of Canada that (no matter what the decision is) will be of little use to the Alberta teachers who went on strike last fall and were ordered back to work. But it might help teachers’ unions and other unions in the future.

Will Garth and Wayne of Wayne’s World be invoked in the eventual Supreme Court decision Likely—not.

Fred Stenson has published 20 books. A new novel, Carpenter Creek, is forthcoming from Thistledown Press in fall 2026.

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It was hard to imagine worse times would come for the UCP, but they did. That is, the book ban.

First came complaints from parents and religious leaders about inappropriate books in Alberta school libraries. Did the UCP know there were graphic novels in Alberta school libraries that contain visual depictions of sex between teenagers…? The consensus among UCPers: these books must be removed. Banning them seemed even better.

But first some boundaries had to be set, a bureaucratic framework for the action. The premier put her minister of education on the job, and he produced a doozy: a ministerial directive that spared no detail. “Explicit sexual content” was defined and minutely described: which body parts would be allowed to touch or enter which other body parts. The bit about “artificial sexual organs or substitutes” was an eye-opener. It was somewhat of a relief when the minister added “non-sexual acts” would be okay, as would “non-explicit sexual acts.”

Page two of the directive got into “non-explicit sexual content.” Again, no detail was spared. First of all, “non-sexual content means content that is not sexual in nature.” That’s pretty clear. The same catalogue of body parts is mentioned. But page two lists exceptions. Body parts and activities can be depicted if relating to medical conditions, examination and treatment and the understanding of human development. Another exception is religious scripture—I suppose meaning those kinky bits in the Old Testament.

Ayn Rand’s wooden prose and romantic scenes have a dual effect. They put your teenagers off both sex and reading.

But then the minister made a very important distinction. Sexual depiction is allowed if it “is for information and is not narrative.” There. He pinned it down. The dangerous smut occurs in fiction: novels and stories. Mind you, I’m not sure what we’ll do with smutty personal diaries, which, technically, are non-fiction. But I’ll move on.

To show that the Alberta government is not entirely against healthy romance between young people and their little gestures of fondness, it produced another list of those things young people can be shown doing in the name of affection: hand-holding, perhaps a chaste kiss. But for kids below Grade 10, even non-explicit sexual content is out. I guess there will have to be a ruling on books with hand games: pattycake, hand-stacking and thumb-wrestling—especially if these books are in narrative form.

At any rate, the school libraries of Alberta would have until October 1 to comply with the directive.

Things quickly went awry. A document appeared on social media: a list of books the Edmonton Public School Board said it would have to remove from its libraries to comply with the ministerial directive. It has 221 books by over 90 authors!

On the EPSB list were several titles by Canada’s Nobel literary laureate, Alice Munro. Another title was the Governor General’s Award-winning novel The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood—arguably the most read Canadian novel in history. Beloved Canadian First Nations authors made the list. So did George Orwell’s famous anti-fascist novel 1984. A surprise for me was to find US author Ayn Rand’s novels The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged. Rand’s mid-20th century novels are regarded highly by America’s political right for their stout defence of selfishness and greed. Danielle Smith was in fact annoyed by Atlas Shrugged’s proposed banning. She told a reporter that the book should be “mandatory reading in high school.” I personally read Shrugged in high school and, trust me, Rand’s wooden prose and romantic scenes have a dual effect. They will put your teenagers off both sex and reading.

When the EPSB list became public, our premier called the board’s action “vicious compliance.” I tried to think of another example of “vicious compliance” but couldn’t. I’ll fall back on a quote I remember from Canadian publishing legend Jack McClelland about book banning: “You set your sights on Larry Flynt [publisher of Hustler] and you hit Margaret Laurence every time.”

I think the dagger moment in all of this was when Atwood herself heard news she was banned in Alberta and posted online a little story she’d written to comply with the directive. Her tale is about a perfect Alberta couple that manages to have five perfect children without having sex.

The premier came back with a plaintive little line to the effect that all her government really wanted gone were the four graphic novels. Then I guess that’s what they should have said. Hindsight, eh?

Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.

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I’d been told to arrive early, in case either side tried to pack the house. The day was skillet-hot and a considerable swath of western Canada was on fire. Nonetheless a long line of folks was already forming. News coverage put the crowd at 500, wearing “cowboy hats, belt buckles and jeans.” Pardon me, but that’s a Yellowstone fantasy. It wasn’t a rodeo. People came in assorted attire. I got a seat near the front. Soon it was standing room only. Someone said the fire code had been reached.

The speakers—a UCP “A-Team”—took the stage: premier Danielle Smith, Brian Jean, Rebecca Schulz, RJ Sigurdson and local MLA (and moderator) Chelsae Petrovic. During intros I became aware that, for perhaps the first time in my life, I was at a political event where “my side” was in the majority.

The speakers began their spiels on mining, particularly the disputed Grassy Mountain project. They gave their takes on the Oldman River: whether selenium from coal was a risk to fish and people. All swirled to the conclusion that mining was fine. They claimed to have looked at every aspect, to have read peer-reviewed this and peer-reviewed that. They admitted to a few challenges but were still pro-mining. Often mentioned were the terrible, onerous mega-lawsuits threatened by Aussie coal moguls, who’d received promises and wanted their investment back with interest, plus billions more for inconvenience. Gina Rinehart et al. should be allowed to continue to moil for Crowsnest coal, lest we be sued into oblivion.

Sitting there, I mused that the advent of democracy might have been like this: shouting, fists shaking, wild.

Then the booing, hissing and shouts began. In response to the most dubious statements, small signs shot up: “Lie.” Liar.” “Betrayal.” It got loud. At times very loud. Your humble correspondent confesses he didn’t attempt journalistic neutrality. I had my own signs. I did a bit of shouting.

At times it got thunderous—and what a good feeling for a person who has listened to long miles of speeches about the essential harmless goodness of Alberta’s extractive industries. Having grown up a few hundred metres downwind of an “experimental” sour gas plant—from which my family often ran for their lives—I was exhilarated to hear folks of all kinds criticizing the provincial government at volume.

The illustrious panel began exhibiting signs of ire and discomfort. They might never before have faced a room so largely in disagreement with them. The pro-coal part of the crowd wasn’t cowed. They’re Albertans too, staunch and tough. They clapped and cheered when they felt their side had scored. But Anti-Coal had the numbers.

Sitting there, I mused that the advent of democracy might have been like this. At school we were shown square-bearded Athenian men in white tunics walking calmly to this or that side of the room, voting with their feet. But maybe it wasn’t like that. Maybe it was like this: shouting, fists shaking, wild. In any case I felt democracy had finally come to my place, and I was there to see it. Your humble scribe.

At one point Jean jumped to his feet and leapt into the crowd, like a rockstar, to give a guy his business card. Jean was roaring like a bull. Basically, he was saying: I’m everything to everyone! I snowmobile. My relatives are First Nations! Don’t tell me I don’t know about the environment. I’m from the oil sands! (I’m still confused by that one. I’ve screwed up landscapes bigger than this…?)

A favourite point by the government speakers was that the selenium problem is over-amped. Not a problem, really. These assertions got the loudest boos. This is one subject I have researched thoroughly. A recent study of the coal dust blowing from a mine in BC into Alberta’s Crowsnest Lake (from which a branch of the Oldman descends) found selenium in excess of what’s safe for fish. Some of the netted fish had deformed spines and gills. The crowd, which can also read studies, would not sit there quietly and be told that selenium in lakes and rivers is safe. Nor could they be told science was on top of the problem.

Ultimately, it came down to premier Smith. She spoke last and answered many questions from the audience. I must admit she’s good at remaining dignified and cool. Her body language said: You won’t rout me!

Some in the crowd seemed disgusted at both sides. The rude audience offended their sense of decorum. I won’t apologize, but I understand their point. Southern Albertans believe in manners. In our defence, we’ve been ignored and legislated against and polluted and lied to. Whatever we registered on the Rudeness Scale was a result of being smirked at and imperiously brushed off—not just that night but for decades.

To quote Joe Flaherty and John Candy playing hillbillies on SCTV: “It blew up real good!”

Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.

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Premier Smith also demands that there be no federal emissions cap. Alberta’s oil and gas industry must be allowed to emit freely. As for Planet Earth: “Burn, baby, burn!”

She hasn’t yet said if there will be an Alberta Oath of Allegiance in which citizens must deny the existence of global warming. But neither has she ruled it out.

The premier wants her own provincial pension plan and reckons that all of Canada should pay for it. When Alberta was booming and was the go-to place for Canadians wanting to make quick money, these “Albertans” overpaid into the federal pension system. Though a lot of those people are back in Newfoundland, Smith wants their pension payments to flow back into an Alberta Pension Plan. It should be mentioned that few pensionable Albertans want anything to do with Danielle’s Alberta Pension Plan.

Smith and her UCP cozy up to Trump despite the fact that our province could wind up being the next Puerto Rico.

But that’s beside my point. The point is that Smith and her UCP are, generally speaking, gung-ho and fearless. They cozy up to US president Donald Trump despite the fact that our province could wind up being the next Puerto Rico. As Monty Python said in a movie, they (that is, Trump and Co.) fart in Canada’s general direction.

So, fearless—except for one thing. Danielle Smith and her UCP are mortally afraid of being sued.

Back in 1976 Peter Lougheed’s government came up with a policy that slammed the door on future coal mining. When the UCP came into power in 2019, they felt much warmer toward coal. Across the border, on BC’s Elk River, a roaring coal operation was making good money for the BC government—and also making a lot of residual selenium that was killing fish in the rivers. That water shouldn’t be imbibed by humans lest, among other things, their hair falls out.

But none of this dissuaded the brave UCP government when the Australian coal companies came calling, wanting to start new operations along Alberta’s Eastern Slopes. The government founded a committee of investigation to look into new coal mines. Though the committee recommended against it, the UCP rescinded 1976’s Lougheed coal policy anyway. People living downstream from these possible new mines stood up and roared. It would take much more than a column to describe the many facets of that anti-coal resistance. But one example was Lethbridge city council voting nine to zero against coal development upstream of their water supply.

All Alberta’s government had to do at that stage was say no. But, very oddly, they did not. In fact, in all sorts of ways, they’ve said yes. This is where we get back to the subject of fear.

At the suggestion that the Alberta government might back out, Australian coal companies threatened lawsuits. A famous Aussie litigator was dispatched to Alberta. The Aussies also engaged a long-historied Alberta law firm to represent them. In these threatened lawsuits, some rather gaudy financial compensation numbers were floated.

The interesting thing here is that a lot of wise legal heads were saying, “Let the Aussies go ahead and sue.” The history of such suits is that there would indeed be compensation demanded and paid, but that it would be much smaller than the asked-for amounts.

But the UCP government, normally so brave, froze. Deer in the headlights, as we say. Another analogy might be that the government was like a loud braggart who, at the sight of a snake, curls on the ground and cries.

This contradiction sent me into research mode. My question was: is there such a thing as fear of lawsuits And by gosh, there is! Liticaphobia. There’s even a branch of psychiatry that deals with it. Psychotherapy. Hypnotherapy. Prescription drugs. I seriously think the premier and her affected cabinet ministers should seek help. Further into my research, I discovered that liticaphobia is not equally spread across the landscape. There are hotspots. The US as a whole is such a hotspot, globally speaking. And, within the US, the most affected region is the state of Florida.

This was my eureka! moment. Where has Alberta’s premier gone most often of late Florida!  My advice is obvious. Alberta’s politicians should cease going to Florida immediately. It is hoped that, if they follow my advice, they will soon be brave enough to face the Australian miners in court.

Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.

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I wrote about the amygdala in 2014 because it was coming up on election time in Canada, and a study had emerged suggesting that people with larger amygdalas tended to vote conservative whereas those with smaller amygdalas tended to vote Liberal or NDP.  Before conservatives shout out: “More proof that we’re smarter!” that wasn’t quite what the study found. Amygdala size isn’t about IQ. The evidence suggested that big-amygdala people tend toward black-and-white decision-making. Politicians, parties and plat-forms are either obviously good or obviously bad. If big-amygdala people don’t like something about a candidate, his hair for example, that’s it for him. Small-amygdala people are more inclined to admit that moral and legal issues usually involve gray areas that require navigation.

During 2024, particularly during the US presidential election, I found out more about the amygdala that seemed to describe what was going on.

The amygdala, to put it simply, is the part of the brain that attaches emotion to event. A dangerous looking individual comes running at you out of the darkness. You freak out. You run away or destroy him with judo chops. Either way, it was the amygdala that punched the fight-or-flight button. Given less extreme stimuli, the amygdala is still responding emotionally all the time. Many parts of the brain may be determining how we feel about something later, but in the moment, how and how much we feel is up to our two tiny cerebral peanuts.

Then I read something new. I discovered that the wee amygdala plays a role in human lying.

If you’ve been raised to believe that lying is bad and wrong—and most of us have—then lying makes you feel bad. In brain terms, lying causes an emotional upheaval in the amygdala. Anxiety is unleashed, and perhaps fear, since people don’t like liars much and let you know.

But a strange thing happens in the brain if you keep on lying. The more you lie, the less commotion in the amygdala. The more you lie without public humiliation or other negative consequences, the more your amygdala calms down about it. Here’s the kicker. If you actually benefit by lying, your amygdala relaxes completely.

You can see what direction this is going. The liar who gains from lying tends to become a compulsive liar. Here, in my opinion, is the answer to why there are so many compulsive liars in politics, not just in Canada and the United States but globally. Lying politicians are present, and probably growing in number, because we have created them! We heard their lies, recognized them as liars, and voted for them anyway.

The question “why are so many liars attracted to politics?” has, therefore, two good answers.

Number one: we elect people despite their lying.

Number two: by accepting lies, we caused their amygdalas to become increasingly quiet: “Oh look, he or she, my human host the politician, lied again. Meh.”

He lied at every rally, in every city, and, because his amygdalas kept hearing cheers, they got more and more sedated.

Though I could be talking about a great many countries, including Canada, I am brought to this subject by the recent US presidential election. The world champion of political lying, hands down, is Donald Trump. During his first go as president of the United States, his lies were documented and counted. Here was a politician so worried about lying that he did it tens of thousands of times while in office. In the recent election, Trump kept it up. He lied relentlessly, at every rally, in every city, and because his amygdalas kept hearing cheers, they got more and more sedated.

I titled this column “The Dead Amygdala” because I believe that’s what happened. During the televised political marathon, Trump lied and lied. In response, his Republican audiences laughed and cheered. His amygdalas became so drugged by lack of any negative consequence, they upped and died!

I assume that science will get it right on my Dead Amygdala Theory. Symptoms: compulsive, monotonal lying; making no eye contact; making little sense. Who can forget the 40 minutes of a rally where The Donald didn’t speak at all. We’ll listen to music, he said. For 40 minutes, he stood there and swayed. Someone on-line aptly called it “weaving.” A surefire symptom of the Dead Amygdala: weaving.

When grandpa stops making eye contact, and sense, and starts weaving (and especially if he expresses a desire to run in the next election), it might be time for the home.

Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.

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I was listening to a radio program about weight-loss drugs. A science show. There was no advertising (since it was on CBC). But nonetheless it was a song of praise for a suite of new drugs, including current weight-loss products. I did feel a bit marketed to when the show’s authorities were saying the new drugs were amazing and had been tested extensively without finding any adverse side effects. Wonder drug was said a few times.

The part that freaked me out, though, was when the authorities on the new drugs suggested that perhaps we had arrived at the point in human history when we should simply accept that we are not lions or chimps. Since we don’t have to run down our food or climb trees to avoid predators, what in heck are we doing simulating our bipedal pre-history on machines in a gym What a poor use of time when we could replace all that sweat and effort with a pill.

It’s probably got something to do with my age, but the first words that came to mind were from Leonard Cohen’s “First We Take Manhattan.”

I don’t like these drugs that keep you thin.

What has this got to do with artificial intelligence and the state of our politics, you may well be asking. The answer is: possibly not much. Maybe I’m letting artificial intelligence, AI, get in my head, so to speak. I don’t like the name or the abbreviation. Can an intelligence that is artificial really be better than the non-artificial kind As for the abbreviation, I come from a farm background, where AI is short for artificial insemination. Is non-artificial insemination the next thing to be phased out… Something else that we’re now too advanced as a species to bother doing We’re not bonobos.

The truth about natural brainpower is that it peaks when you graduate from high school, plateaus, then nosedives.

In my old-fashioned way, I do think we should be a little concerned, though, and wary when it comes to what other aspects of human physiology might be said to have outlived their utility. The argument that the computer would phase-out dumb, repetitive jobs is antique by now. Lots of people have been rescued from mundane jobs, and have, we hope, found something else to do, maybe on a computer at home. And if you happen to be one who couldn’t find work after your dumb job was erased, there is social assistance.

We’re all happily addicted to computers now and hardly use our own brains at all. Primitive bloody things, brains, really. And the design is so inelegant. Two half-cauliflowers, stapled together. People with aging brains, such as myself, make daily (well, in truth, minute-ly) use of the “auxiliary brain.” Internet and Google be praised. Having a computer and the internet at hand is so much better than when rooms full of old people used to sit around saying, “I know her name. Just give me a minute. She was on that show. You remember. With the guy in the hat.”

The truth about natural brainpower is that it peaks when you graduate from high school, plateaus for awhile, then nosedives. This is no doubt also being considered by those seeking to optimize human potential, which is where we again come to artificial intelligence.

AI never gets tired! It isn’t forgetful! AI doesn’t sit around saying, “No, wait, wait, it’ll come to me.” Quicker than lightning, the answer comes every time. I suppose I should mention that the chatbot does make the odd mistake. It thinks I wrote War and Peace. But, hey, give it a chance.

In every scientific revolution there are embarrassing moments. Such as when Pierre Poilievre’s people used AI to find video footage to back up a heartfelt speech Mr. P. gave at the 2024 Calgary Stampede. In the video, which went out a bit hastily on X, Mr. P. was going on about what he loves about his nation. Behind his words was a masterful array of video images, brilliant crescendos of them.

Military jets (from the Russian air force) screamed through (a Russian or some invaded) sky.

A richly colourful sunset descended over the foothills (in Indonesia).

A new home for a conservative first-time owner is shown mid-build (in Serbia).

A venerable university (turns out to be in the Ukraine).

Early stages, as I say. We’ll get it right soon.

But I do have one little possibly critical thought. If a video was supposed to be wall-to-wall images of where I live and what I love, I think I might have watched it before the button was pushed to send it to the whole of X.

Maybe Poilievre didn’t look at it. Or, more embarrassingly, maybe he did.

Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.

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Some are bound to argue with my choice of year. Computers and cell phones have been around longer than that. So why have I done such a daft thing as pick the present year My excuse is that I believe 2024 will go down in history as the “Year of the Deepfake Elections.”

The term “deepfake” appeared on Reddit in 2017. But a fellow at the University of Montreal had already pioneered the technology in 2014. The idea of the deepfake is to digitally replace one person’s likeness with another. The “digital” here is important, because people started faking non-digital photographs practically the minute they were invented. But doing it on digital video and audio is a relatively new frontier.

And how quickly it has evolved. Right off the bat, deepfakes were used for blackmail and character assassination, starting with putting celebrity heads on other bodies in pornographic videos. This was the adolescent phase. Actually, “phase” is a wrong concept for something that has practically happened all at once. One of the founding fathers of the deepfake was a fellow who mingled digital video of himself with that of Barack Obama and fooled most of the people most of the time in 2017. Another deepfake milestone was when Donald Trump was seen on video encouraging the population of Belgium to exit the Paris climate agreement. In that case there was more reason to be fooled, but for once the stupid thing wasn’t being said by the real Donald.

Under the ubiquitous name AI (artificial intelligence), deepfaking is now so commonplace that your kids might get a deepfake kit this Christmas and give you a video of yourself singing “Yellow Submarine” in a clown costume the same day.

But back to elections and 2024. The reason I’m picking this as the Year of the Deepfake Elections is that, globally, over 50 countries are having elections in 2024. Canada, for the moment, is not one of them. But billions of Earthlings will vote in 2024, so it’s rather important that we know how much of the digital video and audio passing before our eyes and ears is real as opposed to concocted by AI labs on behalf of people who would like to “fix” an election. This would include the dreaded “foreign actors” we are told are tampering with our elections all the time. Never has it been so easy or so likely.

Since this seems rather important, I dug around to see if there are any accessible, reliable tools for knowing when you’re watching a deepfake and not the real article. What I found was a bit sad. Instead of some compact piece of brilliant electronic wizardry that I could point at the suspicious video, and that would then decree it “real” or “fake,” I was told the best way to avoid being fooled by deepfake material is to “watch things live.” If we’re talking elections, I assume this means I should go in person to speeches and debates. Failing that, I should watch live broadcasts. Otherwise, given a delay between a speech or debate and when I watch it, deepfakers could slip in and rejig their candidate’s dumbest statements into something smarter—or meddle with their opponents’ clips and soundbites to make them seem as stupid as possible.

In a nation 7,500 km wide, voters don’t get to live-attend much during a federal election. People with jobs and parenting duties find it hard as well to watch live TV as opposed to repeats and news-hour summaries.

Another piece of advice for avoiding being fooled by the deepfake is to “watch their lips.” If the relationship between the lip action and the verbiage starts to look like Frodo Baggins speaking Mandarin, beware. But, having worked in documentary video for a large chunk of my life, I have to ask: what about audio and video that just happens to be out of sync Is there not a risk of ditching an honest candidate because of a non-insidious technical screw-up?

So there it is, folks. That’s all the advice I could find for protecting us against the deepfake. Watch things live. Watch their lips. For the record, I do totally believe that we will never again experience an election where politicians aren’t made to appear on the internet saying things they never said. There may, however, be another line of defence. Why don’t we go back to noticing if a politician lies or not. If he/she lies, he/she will also cheat—using whatever technology is available. It’s primitive, I suppose, for this world of highly sophisticated technology. But I recommend it nonetheless.

Fred Stenson’s many books include the novels Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.

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