Trump's Trade War With Canada Triggers "A River of Regret"
In the quaint towns by the St. Lawrence River, Trump's significant influence may play a pivotal role in determining the results of a national election.
TroibNews 
GANANOQUE, Ontario — The Canadian officer who stopped me had a question that caught me off guard.
After dinner on an island in the St. Lawrence River, I had just turned my rental car out of the Gananoque marina. Had I been speeding? Constable Gibson of the Gananoque Police Service seemed to be concerned about something else.
“You know there’s a border, right?” she asked. “The reason I pulled you over is because you were getting out of a boat with a backpack.”
The tiny police force was worried I might be entering Canada illegally, potentially carrying contraband in my worn JanSport. I spent the next half hour trying to clarify that I was a journalist, focusing on the escalating tensions between Canada and the U.S. that had brought me to a dinner gathering on one of the Canadian islands that night.
“I’m sure you understand with all the craziness going on that we have to check and make sure,” a second officer named Mike, who sported a bald head and a gray goatee, informed me.
I was quite aware of “all the craziness.” Since Canada’s federal election kicked off a month ago, I had been covering the relationship between the two historically allied nations that had recently become strained. President Donald Trump’s comments likening Canada to a “51st state” had stirred anger among Canadians, turning what seemed to be a solid lead for the Conservative Party into a steady rise for the Liberals ahead of Monday’s election. In the Thousand Islands region, where American and Canadian islands dot the St. Lawrence River, a surge of nationalist sentiment was emerging, while tourism from Canada to the U.S. had slowed to a trickle, threatening a seasonal industry with already slim profit margins.
As the islands awakened for summer, residents of these closely-knit communities found themselves navigating a new reality shaped by a political crisis far beyond their control. “The fish can’t see a border,” a number of locals from both sides mentioned about the river where they have built their lives. Yet, the inhabitants of towns like Gananoque and Kingston in Ontario, along with Cape Vincent, Clayton, and Alexandria Bay in New York, had growing concerns about the future of what was once a shared community.
I suggested the officers contact Susan Smith, a proud Canadian resident of Sagastaweka Island, the editor of Thousand Islands Life magazine, and my host for the evening, which they promptly did. After verifying my story with her, they let me go, explaining that they were simply doing their jobs. Officer Mike noted that the context for their duties had shifted significantly since January, when Trump initiated his first act in the trade war. My encounter with the police, occurring on my last night in Canada, served as a stark reminder of the fraying relationship between the two nations. There was a heightened sense of unease; friendly exchanges that used to evolve into lifelong friendships and even marriages now fell short of being as uncomplicated as merely carrying a passport.
“Gadzooks,” Smith later emailed me. “This is a first for us! Never had a call from a cop.”
The Thousand Islands boast a total of 1,864 islands straddling a 50-mile stretch of the St. Lawrence River. During my reporting, I drove nearly 100 miles along the coastline, visited only two islands, and spoke to just 17 residents. Yet, everyone I encountered—on both sides—used the word betrayal. Betrayal of a long-standing partnership, of shared ideals, of a lifestyle along the river. Confusion, however, also prevailed. Why did this upheaval occur when it did? What feels different now compared to Trump’s first term?
“For Canada, it is like being in a long-term relationship and waking up in the morning to a spouse who is furious with you because of the things you did and didn’t do in their dreams while they were sleeping,” Peter VanSickle, a Gananoque resident with a background in corporate real estate, remarked.
On a windy Friday, VanSickle took me out on his aluminum and steel-reinforced boat, presenting me with a bright orange life vest for our trip around the river. Maritime laws permit crossing back and forth between sections of the river owned by Canada and the U.S. as long as you don’t dock or anchor on either side. However, even on our tour of the Canadian shoreline, VanSickle pointed out homes and islands owned by Americans.
“There’s Steve and Nancy Friot’s place,” he said, noting that Steve Friot is a senior judge for the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Oklahoma, also owning a vacation home on the Canadian side.
“If I’m dealing with friends I have in the States, nothing’s changed; the border doesn’t exist,” VanSickle continued. Yet, he admitted he would be more hesitant to cross over to the American side or visit American islands. “We’re going to be a lot more hesitant about going over and checking in because you don’t know what’s going on. You’re rolling the dice on what the outcome of [crossing] is. Maybe 90 percent of the time it’s fine. But even if there’s just a problem 10 percent of the time, that’s a huge risk.”
The escalating tensions along the border are not merely abstract for residents of the river; they’ve altered the political landscape as well. VanSickle, previously a “reluctant Conservative” due to some dissatisfaction with former Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, has shifted his support to a continued Liberal government.
“[Conservative Leader Pierre] Poilievre seems like the barking dog,” VanSickle, 69, commented. “The car stops and then you don’t know where to go.”
Not every resident shares such clear frustrations. Gananoque Mayor John Beddows, an independent who prefers not to align with any party, takes a more philosophical, wait-and-see attitude.
“If you want to ask me what I think of President Trump’s second term, ask me in 20 years,” he remarked during a stroll around town. “It’s the consequences. Did it achieve what was intended? If yes, to what degree, and what were the second-, third-, and fourth-order effects?”
A clear sign of the growing rift between the two communities lies in their flag displays. On the American side, Canadian and American flags continue to fly together. In contrast, the Canadian side lacks any American flags, with Canadian flags ubiquitous—hanging in windows, on cars, and adorning shops.
In Cape Vincent, N.Y., three American retirees sat together in a well-decorated living room, discussing a topic they rarely addressed before: the border.
Rob Russell, a forensic psychologist; Rich Sauer, a former school superintendent; and Geoffrey Culkin, the ex-director of training for the New York State Police, are lifelong friends in the Thousand Islands community. They refer to their gatherings as a “coffee klutch.”
In recent weeks, their discussions have frequently turned to Trump. This conservative enclave is represented by Republican Rep. Claudia Tenney, with prominent Republican Elise Stefanik’s district nearby. Nevertheless, the retirees, two identifying as independents who typically voted Republican, expressed concern about the implications of Trump's policies on their region. They discussed rumors that Horne’s ferry, which connected Cape Vincent to Wolfe’s Island in Ontario, might cease operations due to its owner’s passing and a noticeable decline in tourism to Canada.
Sauer and Culkin, feeling compelled to witness the changes for themselves, took a trip to Canada several weeks prior. They noted the crossing was smooth, as no other cars were trying to enter Canada—a situation they had never experienced before. Once in Canada, they visited two restaurants in Kingston, hoping to foster goodwill with locals.
“We went to buy drinks and tell them we’re sorry,” Sauer shared. “You would expect for some kind of edge or resentment, or somebody to make a comment. But everyone was just so receptive.”
“My car didn’t get keyed,” Culkin added.
The friends plan to return on a similar mission.
“One of the things that we learn in early childhood is that if you hurt somebody, you apologize,” Russell stated. “And I felt a strong need to apologize, not for some self-serving reason, like, ‘Oh, we want your tourist dollars here.’ I don’t care about that. I’m apologizing because what we did to you was wrong, and it was mean-spirited, and I regret that it happened. I think that we owe them an apology.”
All three acknowledged that such regret is not a common sentiment across the American side, where support for Trump’s hardline economic tactics remains strong. On the Canadian side, opinions diverge sharply on which political party is best equipped to address rising threats from the U.S. Kingston, a college town, has consistently voted Liberal, while the neighboring district, which includes Gananoque, has supported the Conservatives since 2004 and is poised to do so again in the upcoming election.
The Thousand Islands offer a picturesque backdrop that could inspire mystery novels in winter and lively summer festivities. Most island residences are empty year-round; permanent residents tend to inhabit towns along the shore. Yet, from late May to early September, these quiet communities and islands fill with visitors from around the globe.
This influx of tourism is critical for the survival of many local businesses, but recent months have threatened this lifeline. According to U.S. Customs and Border Protection, the number of travelers entering the U.S. from Canada fell by almost 900,000 in March compared to the previous year—marking a 17-percent decline, the most significant recorded drop unrelated to COVID-19.
On the American side of the Thousand Islands, about 15 percent of spending comes from Canadian visitors, Corey Fram, director of the Thousand Islands International Tourism Council, explained. A sharp decline in Canadian tourists could spell disaster for summer tourism-dependent businesses already struggling to stay afloat. Operating from New York while representing interests on both sides of the river, Fram had to shift his marketing strategy in response to the changing dynamics.
“I’ve stopped showing American images and icons in my Thousand Islands branding to Canadian audiences on social media networks, because that allowed for some of that negative sentiment to fester,” he explained. “We’re showing American portions of the destination to our U.S. audience and Canadian portions to our Canadian audience.”
At the same time, Fram is exploring a new concept: fostering unity in the face of adversity. He shared a mockup of an advertisement featuring a group of American and Canadian islands viewed from above on a clear summer day, with the tagline: “Where we’ve always met in the middle.”
Susie Smith's home on Sagastaweka Island epitomizes this spirit of connection. For years, she has hosted dinner parties that draw a diverse mix of people from both sides of the border.
During a gathering one evening in mid-April, excluding one journalist, seven individuals from three generations of Americans and Canadians came together: her husband Marceli Wein, daughter Janet Staples, Janet’s husband Jeff Staples, their son Eliot Staples, his girlfriend Sacha Crosby, and family friend Olivia Goodfellow. Eliot, showcasing his dual citizenship with pride, wore a Super Bowl XXXIX sweatshirt representing his beloved New England Patriots. The group engaged in lively discussions about hockey playoffs, with Jeff proudly wearing a t-shirt from his company, On the River Construction, featuring a logo that merges American and Canadian flags.
As night descended, the conversation shifted from personal stories to political commentary.
“It does feel strange, this summer versus last summer,” Janet observed. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s because of the unknown of everything,” Jeff replied. “There’s an unsettling — not sure…”
“Trump cloud,” Janet added.
“I’ve not once gone to the grocery store where someone beside me hasn’t said, ‘That’s made in the USA, you know,’” Smith noted.
“If you do go to the U.S., you kind of have to justify it—if you tell people, there’s a sort of, ‘Hmmm,’” Crosby commented.
“[Americans] are underestimating the anger.” They all concurred.
The discussion shifted yet again.
“I think what I’ve seen since this all started is how unified Canada has been,” Crosby remarked. “All of a sudden, every single person agrees on the same thing; I’ve never known that. Every single person has Canada pride.”
The conversation transitioned once more, touching on favorite Canadian Broadcasting shows, Marceli’s family history of surviving the Holocaust, and how he rebuilt his life in Canada. They exchanged heartfelt stories about community, differences, politics, immigration, and the bonds that tie neighbors together. It highlighted what it means to be part of a family split by an often-invisible barrier—one that now feels much more significant.
As darkness fell, I boarded the boat with Eliot and Jeff, who kindly dropped me off at the marina. Just as I was about to leave, a police officer asked if I knew there was a border.
Navid Kalantari for TROIB News
After dinner on an island in the St. Lawrence River, I had just turned my rental car out of the Gananoque marina. Had I been speeding? Constable Gibson of the Gananoque Police Service seemed to be concerned about something else.
“You know there’s a border, right?” she asked. “The reason I pulled you over is because you were getting out of a boat with a backpack.”
The tiny police force was worried I might be entering Canada illegally, potentially carrying contraband in my worn JanSport. I spent the next half hour trying to clarify that I was a journalist, focusing on the escalating tensions between Canada and the U.S. that had brought me to a dinner gathering on one of the Canadian islands that night.
“I’m sure you understand with all the craziness going on that we have to check and make sure,” a second officer named Mike, who sported a bald head and a gray goatee, informed me.
I was quite aware of “all the craziness.” Since Canada’s federal election kicked off a month ago, I had been covering the relationship between the two historically allied nations that had recently become strained. President Donald Trump’s comments likening Canada to a “51st state” had stirred anger among Canadians, turning what seemed to be a solid lead for the Conservative Party into a steady rise for the Liberals ahead of Monday’s election. In the Thousand Islands region, where American and Canadian islands dot the St. Lawrence River, a surge of nationalist sentiment was emerging, while tourism from Canada to the U.S. had slowed to a trickle, threatening a seasonal industry with already slim profit margins.
As the islands awakened for summer, residents of these closely-knit communities found themselves navigating a new reality shaped by a political crisis far beyond their control. “The fish can’t see a border,” a number of locals from both sides mentioned about the river where they have built their lives. Yet, the inhabitants of towns like Gananoque and Kingston in Ontario, along with Cape Vincent, Clayton, and Alexandria Bay in New York, had growing concerns about the future of what was once a shared community.
I suggested the officers contact Susan Smith, a proud Canadian resident of Sagastaweka Island, the editor of Thousand Islands Life magazine, and my host for the evening, which they promptly did. After verifying my story with her, they let me go, explaining that they were simply doing their jobs. Officer Mike noted that the context for their duties had shifted significantly since January, when Trump initiated his first act in the trade war. My encounter with the police, occurring on my last night in Canada, served as a stark reminder of the fraying relationship between the two nations. There was a heightened sense of unease; friendly exchanges that used to evolve into lifelong friendships and even marriages now fell short of being as uncomplicated as merely carrying a passport.
“Gadzooks,” Smith later emailed me. “This is a first for us! Never had a call from a cop.”
The Thousand Islands boast a total of 1,864 islands straddling a 50-mile stretch of the St. Lawrence River. During my reporting, I drove nearly 100 miles along the coastline, visited only two islands, and spoke to just 17 residents. Yet, everyone I encountered—on both sides—used the word betrayal. Betrayal of a long-standing partnership, of shared ideals, of a lifestyle along the river. Confusion, however, also prevailed. Why did this upheaval occur when it did? What feels different now compared to Trump’s first term?
“For Canada, it is like being in a long-term relationship and waking up in the morning to a spouse who is furious with you because of the things you did and didn’t do in their dreams while they were sleeping,” Peter VanSickle, a Gananoque resident with a background in corporate real estate, remarked.
On a windy Friday, VanSickle took me out on his aluminum and steel-reinforced boat, presenting me with a bright orange life vest for our trip around the river. Maritime laws permit crossing back and forth between sections of the river owned by Canada and the U.S. as long as you don’t dock or anchor on either side. However, even on our tour of the Canadian shoreline, VanSickle pointed out homes and islands owned by Americans.
“There’s Steve and Nancy Friot’s place,” he said, noting that Steve Friot is a senior judge for the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Oklahoma, also owning a vacation home on the Canadian side.
“If I’m dealing with friends I have in the States, nothing’s changed; the border doesn’t exist,” VanSickle continued. Yet, he admitted he would be more hesitant to cross over to the American side or visit American islands. “We’re going to be a lot more hesitant about going over and checking in because you don’t know what’s going on. You’re rolling the dice on what the outcome of [crossing] is. Maybe 90 percent of the time it’s fine. But even if there’s just a problem 10 percent of the time, that’s a huge risk.”
The escalating tensions along the border are not merely abstract for residents of the river; they’ve altered the political landscape as well. VanSickle, previously a “reluctant Conservative” due to some dissatisfaction with former Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, has shifted his support to a continued Liberal government.
“[Conservative Leader Pierre] Poilievre seems like the barking dog,” VanSickle, 69, commented. “The car stops and then you don’t know where to go.”
Not every resident shares such clear frustrations. Gananoque Mayor John Beddows, an independent who prefers not to align with any party, takes a more philosophical, wait-and-see attitude.
“If you want to ask me what I think of President Trump’s second term, ask me in 20 years,” he remarked during a stroll around town. “It’s the consequences. Did it achieve what was intended? If yes, to what degree, and what were the second-, third-, and fourth-order effects?”
A clear sign of the growing rift between the two communities lies in their flag displays. On the American side, Canadian and American flags continue to fly together. In contrast, the Canadian side lacks any American flags, with Canadian flags ubiquitous—hanging in windows, on cars, and adorning shops.
In Cape Vincent, N.Y., three American retirees sat together in a well-decorated living room, discussing a topic they rarely addressed before: the border.
Rob Russell, a forensic psychologist; Rich Sauer, a former school superintendent; and Geoffrey Culkin, the ex-director of training for the New York State Police, are lifelong friends in the Thousand Islands community. They refer to their gatherings as a “coffee klutch.”
In recent weeks, their discussions have frequently turned to Trump. This conservative enclave is represented by Republican Rep. Claudia Tenney, with prominent Republican Elise Stefanik’s district nearby. Nevertheless, the retirees, two identifying as independents who typically voted Republican, expressed concern about the implications of Trump's policies on their region. They discussed rumors that Horne’s ferry, which connected Cape Vincent to Wolfe’s Island in Ontario, might cease operations due to its owner’s passing and a noticeable decline in tourism to Canada.
Sauer and Culkin, feeling compelled to witness the changes for themselves, took a trip to Canada several weeks prior. They noted the crossing was smooth, as no other cars were trying to enter Canada—a situation they had never experienced before. Once in Canada, they visited two restaurants in Kingston, hoping to foster goodwill with locals.
“We went to buy drinks and tell them we’re sorry,” Sauer shared. “You would expect for some kind of edge or resentment, or somebody to make a comment. But everyone was just so receptive.”
“My car didn’t get keyed,” Culkin added.
The friends plan to return on a similar mission.
“One of the things that we learn in early childhood is that if you hurt somebody, you apologize,” Russell stated. “And I felt a strong need to apologize, not for some self-serving reason, like, ‘Oh, we want your tourist dollars here.’ I don’t care about that. I’m apologizing because what we did to you was wrong, and it was mean-spirited, and I regret that it happened. I think that we owe them an apology.”
All three acknowledged that such regret is not a common sentiment across the American side, where support for Trump’s hardline economic tactics remains strong. On the Canadian side, opinions diverge sharply on which political party is best equipped to address rising threats from the U.S. Kingston, a college town, has consistently voted Liberal, while the neighboring district, which includes Gananoque, has supported the Conservatives since 2004 and is poised to do so again in the upcoming election.
The Thousand Islands offer a picturesque backdrop that could inspire mystery novels in winter and lively summer festivities. Most island residences are empty year-round; permanent residents tend to inhabit towns along the shore. Yet, from late May to early September, these quiet communities and islands fill with visitors from around the globe.
This influx of tourism is critical for the survival of many local businesses, but recent months have threatened this lifeline. According to U.S. Customs and Border Protection, the number of travelers entering the U.S. from Canada fell by almost 900,000 in March compared to the previous year—marking a 17-percent decline, the most significant recorded drop unrelated to COVID-19.
On the American side of the Thousand Islands, about 15 percent of spending comes from Canadian visitors, Corey Fram, director of the Thousand Islands International Tourism Council, explained. A sharp decline in Canadian tourists could spell disaster for summer tourism-dependent businesses already struggling to stay afloat. Operating from New York while representing interests on both sides of the river, Fram had to shift his marketing strategy in response to the changing dynamics.
“I’ve stopped showing American images and icons in my Thousand Islands branding to Canadian audiences on social media networks, because that allowed for some of that negative sentiment to fester,” he explained. “We’re showing American portions of the destination to our U.S. audience and Canadian portions to our Canadian audience.”
At the same time, Fram is exploring a new concept: fostering unity in the face of adversity. He shared a mockup of an advertisement featuring a group of American and Canadian islands viewed from above on a clear summer day, with the tagline: “Where we’ve always met in the middle.”
Susie Smith's home on Sagastaweka Island epitomizes this spirit of connection. For years, she has hosted dinner parties that draw a diverse mix of people from both sides of the border.
During a gathering one evening in mid-April, excluding one journalist, seven individuals from three generations of Americans and Canadians came together: her husband Marceli Wein, daughter Janet Staples, Janet’s husband Jeff Staples, their son Eliot Staples, his girlfriend Sacha Crosby, and family friend Olivia Goodfellow. Eliot, showcasing his dual citizenship with pride, wore a Super Bowl XXXIX sweatshirt representing his beloved New England Patriots. The group engaged in lively discussions about hockey playoffs, with Jeff proudly wearing a t-shirt from his company, On the River Construction, featuring a logo that merges American and Canadian flags.
As night descended, the conversation shifted from personal stories to political commentary.
“It does feel strange, this summer versus last summer,” Janet observed. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s because of the unknown of everything,” Jeff replied. “There’s an unsettling — not sure…”
“Trump cloud,” Janet added.
“I’ve not once gone to the grocery store where someone beside me hasn’t said, ‘That’s made in the USA, you know,’” Smith noted.
“If you do go to the U.S., you kind of have to justify it—if you tell people, there’s a sort of, ‘Hmmm,’” Crosby commented.
“[Americans] are underestimating the anger.” They all concurred.
The discussion shifted yet again.
“I think what I’ve seen since this all started is how unified Canada has been,” Crosby remarked. “All of a sudden, every single person agrees on the same thing; I’ve never known that. Every single person has Canada pride.”
The conversation transitioned once more, touching on favorite Canadian Broadcasting shows, Marceli’s family history of surviving the Holocaust, and how he rebuilt his life in Canada. They exchanged heartfelt stories about community, differences, politics, immigration, and the bonds that tie neighbors together. It highlighted what it means to be part of a family split by an often-invisible barrier—one that now feels much more significant.
As darkness fell, I boarded the boat with Eliot and Jeff, who kindly dropped me off at the marina. Just as I was about to leave, a police officer asked if I knew there was a border.
Navid Kalantari for TROIB News
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