Quiet Acts of Solidarity: A Canadian Boycott & A Choice

Entry No. 00
Dear Faithful Companion,

In recent weeks, a subtle but undeniable shift has unfolded across our nation. Shelves in our local shops and grocers have changed; certain American goods have grown scarce — some absent by deliberate choice, others by circumstance. For many Canadians, this has not been a season of grand declarations, but rather a moment of quiet consideration: to ask where what we consume comes from, whose hands shaped it, and what it means to keep one’s commerce close to home.

In our own household, the matter was never one of blind nationalism nor rigid deprivation. Instead, it became a measured practice of preference — an intentional act without the need for fanfare. If a Canadian alternative stood upon the same shelf as an imported counterpart, why not take it in hand? If the Ontario farmer’s produce could be chosen over fruit that travelled continents, why not place it in the basket? These decisions, though modest in scale, carry the weight of intention — and intention, multiplied quietly across thousands of households, can shape the course of a nation.

Jesse and I have spoken often of this lately. We know that our own modest choices will not single-handedly re‑balance trade or reverse decades of economic drift. Yet we also know that no great change was ever wrought without small acts, repeated steadily over time. To buy from a neighbour is to keep a neighbour working; to seek out a Canadian vintner or distiller is to invest in a craft born of our own soil. Even the LCBO has shifted its offerings, moving away from the familiar Kentucky bourbon and California wines toward lesser‑known treasures of our provinces. Such shifts may not be trumpeted in headlines, but they mark a quiet victory for the Canadian table.

This has not been without its challenges. Some local goods come dearer in price; others ask us to step away from the comfort of the familiar and try something new. Yet in these very challenges lies a virtue: the opportunity to learn, to taste, to expand our understanding of the abundance within our borders. In the easy convenience of years past, a click on a digital cart was enough to summon anything from anywhere. Now, we pause — to ask where it was made, who made it, and whether the true cost, in more than just coin, is one we wish to bear.

Our forebears knew the value of building with what the land provided. In their day, self-reliance was necessity; today, it is a choice — one that binds us to their spirit of resourcefulness. A gentleman may dine on the bounty of the world, but he should never neglect the harvest of his own garden.

We are not alone in this awakening. Friends, neighbors, and colleagues are finding themselves more conscious of their purchases, even if they do not speak of it as solidarity. This is not the noisy solidarity of slogans and rallies, but the deep, enduring solidarity of daily action. There is no shame in buying what one needs from abroad when necessity dictates, but there is an uncommon pride in first seeking to keep one’s coin in the service of one’s own community.

And perhaps that is the truest expression of a gentleman’s influence: the choices he makes when no one is watching, the standards he keeps without demanding that others follow. He does not preach — he practices. His loyalty to local craftsmanship, his preference for his own nation’s industry, his mindful stewardship of resources — these are the quiet works that strengthen a people from within.

Verbum Ultimum

The pages of history will not dwell on the absence of Kentucky bourbon or California wine from our shelves in March 2025. But they may recall that in this season, Canadians — without marching or shouting — quietly turned toward themselves. In kitchens and markets, we began to rediscover our own makers, our own growers, our own vintners. Such changes rarely announce themselves; they slip in quietly, like the slow growth of a tree. And yet, when we look back years from now, we may see that this was the season when the roots of our economic sovereignty began to deepen.

The gentleman’s role in such times is not to stir the crowd, but to strengthen the hearth. To let his example ripple outward without noise or demand. For it is in these quiet acts that a people remember who they are — and what they might yet become.

Until next we meet, with ink as my witness and virtue as my guide.
JCB