There are few things as ordinary, and simultaneously as powerful, as words. A single word, an ordinary phrase, can carry enormous energy—not unlike a uranium fuel pellet, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, yet dense with potential. That energy can be harnessed to power something lasting, or mishandled in ways that cause profound harm. Words, too, carry that kind of force. A few words can comfort, persuade, invite, wound, exclude, repair, or remain with someone for years.

Chess is not just a game. It is an ancient philosophy of attention—a way I first learned to analyze the world from my father, who taught me to play as a young child. We’d sit together on the living room floor with a board and a beautifully carved chess set between us, as he guided me through the moves and the stories of each piece.

Young Canadians, in particular, are acutely aware of this permeability. Many consume U.S. news in real time, encounter the same viral footage, and experience the same unease when democratic norms appear fragile. The fear is not that Canada is identical to the United States, but that no democracy is immune to erosion — especially when power begins to justify itself rather than explain itself.