September 1st, 2025 | Nathan Daniel

Canada Has Real Power, But It's Hard To Tap

In theory, Canada could cripple the United States.

When most people think of Canada, they picture politeness, snow, and a vague sense of irrelevance compared to its southern neighbour. But this is a profound misunderstanding. Canada, if it chose to wield its cards ruthlessly, has the resources to shake the foundations of the United States. The country possesses nearly unmatched stores of fresh water, one of the world’s deepest energy portfolios, and physical control over the emerging Arctic trade frontier. Yet, the irony is that Canada can never truly cash in these cards—not without triggering the wrath of a superpower that sees each of these resources not as bargaining chips, but as existential lifelines. The story of Canadian power is one of theoretical dominance shackled by geopolitical reality.

Fresh Water

Canada controls nearly 20 percent of the world’s freshwater supply. The Great Lakes alone are an artery for both nations, and every Canadian river system that flows south becomes a future bargaining chip. Changing weather makes this even more acute. The western and southern US is drying, aquifers like the Ogallala are draining faster than they recharge, and entire agricultural basins may soon be unviable. Canada, by sheer geography, sits on a prize the US cannot ignore.

In theory, Ottawa could slap down an export ban, impose brutal tariffs, or start diverting rivers northward into domestic industries. The specter of Canadian water nationalism would send panic through US agribusiness and industrial lobbies. Imagine a Canadian government insisting that the prairies of Saskatchewan matter more than the almond orchards of California. Such a move would be more than symbolic—it would shake American food security and spark a continental crisis.

The potential consequences would be enormous. Canada could cripple US agribusiness overnight by refusing to allow diversions from its river systems, or even by reducing binational water-sharing. A coordinated redirection of flows could devastate downstream states. Canada’s power isn’t abstract here; it has the ability to watch American farmlands dry up while its own remain secure. Ottawa could use water as a bargaining chip on trade, defense spending, or political concessions. But again, this is a gun Canada can’t fire. Washington views water security as non-negotiable. In a confrontation, American sanctions would come first—but if crops began failing and unrest mounted, the military option would hang over the border like a storm cloud. Water is life, and Washington would not allow Canada to hold it hostage.

The United States would never allow it to happen. Not without pressure. If Canada ever tried to restrict water flow in a way that visibly choked American states, Washington could act quickly. It wouldn’t start with tanks. First, it would begin with sanctions, trade embargoes, weaponizing NAFTA-style agreements. But if water became a matter of national survival, the Pentagon has already gamed out the “hydrological wars” of the future. Canada has no military deterrent against US armor crossing the Great Lakes or special forces quietly securing water infrastructure. This is the blunt reality—water is too existential for America to let Canada turn into a gatekeeper.

Energy

Canada is the United States’ single largest foreign energy supplier, delivering oil, gas, uranium, and electricity southward every day. The Alberta oil sands hold the third-largest proven oil reserves in the world. Add in Quebec’s hydropower and Saskatchewan’s uranium, and Canada is basically an energy empire with a timid smile. In theory, this gives Ottawa enormous leverage. What would the American economy look like if Canada throttled pipeline flows or hiked export prices overnight? How would US nuclear plants run without Canadian uranium? For once, the tables could be turned.

But as with water, leverage is easier imagined than used. Canadian energy infrastructure is already deeply entangled with US systems. Pipelines like Keystone, Enbridge’s Line 3, and Trans Mountain are integrated into US refineries and distribution hubs. That dependency cuts both ways—if Canada tried to weaponize oil or gas, it would cause immediate blowback inside its own economy. Oil sands producers rely on US buyers. Alberta’s budget relies on those sales. The Canadian economy is addicted to its southern customer. A cut-off wouldn’t look like sovereignty; it would look like suicide.

And again, escalation shadows every option. If water is existential for food, energy is existential for the US military machine. Fighter jets, tanks, and carriers don’t run without oil. Washington’s doctrine has always been clear: energy security is national security. That’s why the US has historically invaded or destabilized entire regions just to secure oil flows. Iraq, Libya—these weren’t accidents. If Canada suddenly played hardball with energy, it would not be treated as a friendly dispute. The United States has the muscle to seize oil fields, occupy pumping stations, or simply roll into Alberta and call it a “temporary stabilization operation”. Canada’s military, underfunded and overstretched, is no deterrent. NATO wouldn’t save Ottawa either; NATO is Washington. The US could smother Canada’s energy leverage with overwhelming force if pushed.

Arctic Access

The third great card Canada theoretically holds is the Arctic. Melting ice is turning the Northwest Passage into a viable shipping lane. Whoever controls it owns the future of global logistics: shorter trade routes from Asia to Europe, reduced dependence on the Panama Canal, and strategic naval dominance in the world’s new frontier. Canada claims the Northwest Passage as internal waters; the United States insists it’s an international strait. That disagreement has been politely shelved for decades, but as the ice recedes, it becomes harder to ignore.

Canada could assert itself. It could demand tolls from ships, regulate traffic, even deny access outright. Imagine Ottawa using Arctic sovereignty as a bargaining chip, telling Washington that if the want cheaper trade routes, they'll need to abide. The symbolism would be enormous. Canada standing up to its giant neighbour on the very frontier of global power.

But there’s a problem. Canada doesn’t have the hardware to back up its claim. The Canadian Navy is a coastal force at best, with a handful of Arctic patrol vessels and icebreakers that pale in comparison to what the US Coast Guard and Navy could deploy. If the disagreement ever escalated, Washington could simply sail a destroyer through the Northwest Passage tomorrow and dare Canada to stop it. Ottawa would have no real military means to push back.

And if Canada tried to monetize or militarize Arctic access, Washington would escalate. In a worst-case scenario, the US could deploy submarines under the ice, establish forward bases in Alaska, and enforce its view of “freedom of navigation” with overwhelming force. Canada would find itself sidelined in its own backyard. The Arctic looks like a trump card, but without matching military power, it’s a bluff that can be called instantly.

Imagined Leverage

Taken together, Canada has three immense resources—fresh water, energy, and Arctic access—that should, in theory, make it one of the most powerful states on Earth. Any one of them could be weaponized to shake Washington to its core. All three together look like a royal flush. But power is not just possession, it’s the ability to use what you have without triggering destruction in return. And here Canada falters.

Every card Canada holds is tied directly to US survival interests. Water for crops. Energy for the military-industrial complex. Arctic routes for global trade dominance. These aren’t negotiable luxuries for Washington—they’re existential necessities. That means Canada’s leverage isn’t leverage at all. It’s a hostage situation where the smaller partner can wave the gun, but the bigger partner owns the room.

The United States has spent decades ensuring that Canadian resources are structurally dependent on American systems. Water treaties, integrated grids, pipeline ownership, continental defense agreements—all of it is designed to leave Canada without independent maneuvering space. And behind all those structures is the ultimate shadow: raw military power. The US has the ability, if provoked, to march across the border and secure what it needs in weeks. Canadian politicians know it, even if they never say it. That’s why Canadian governments, no matter how nationalistic, never truly play hardball. The cards are too dangerous to put on the table.

The cruel irony is that Canada may be the richest resource power per capita in the world, but its greatest strengths are also its greatest vulnerabilities. Every time Ottawa even whispers about using them as leverage, the response from Washington isn’t panic—it’s a reminder of who holds the bigger stick. That doesn’t mean Canada is powerless, but it means Canada’s real power is always theoretical, never practical. The moment it tries to use it, escalation threatens to turn resources into liabilities.

The US does not see these resources as optional luxuries, it sees them as existential necessities. That makes Canada’s leverage unstable, even dangerous. Every time Ottawa imagines using it, the shadow of American escalation looms. The US has already proven, time and again, that it will use military power to secure oil, water, or shipping routes thousands of kilometers from home. Why would it hesitate on its own doorstep? Canada may fantasize about weaponizing its abundance, but the threat of US force means it is always a bluff. Canada is rich, perhaps richer than almost any nation in resources, but its geography and its neighbour ensure that its power remains theoretical.

Canada has real power. But the tragedy of geography is that it sits next to a superpower that can take it all away.