Rethinking Strength in a Post-Global Order

Since Donald Trump began speaking openly about Canada as a potential “51st state,” a phrase has begun circulating more widely in Canadian discussions of technology: digital sovereignty. The term often arises when considering the growing dependence on cloud infrastructure and digital platforms owned by large American technology companies such as Microsoft and Google.

At first glance, the concern seems straightforward. If a country’s digital infrastructure is owned or controlled elsewhere, then its independence may be compromised. Many organizations and institutions understandably want reassurance that their information remains under Canadian control.

Technology vendors are quick to offer that reassurance. Microsoft, for example, operates Canadian data centres and promotes data residency as evidence that Canadian information remains safely within Canadian borders. Yet the company also acknowledges an uncomfortable reality. As a U.S. corporation, it remains subject to American law. If the U.S. government demanded access to certain data, the company could be compelled to provide it, regardless of where the servers physically sit.

Encryption can mitigate risk, but even that is not a complete guarantee. Control over key management, platform architecture, and operational access can still introduce dependencies. And residency itself is only part of the picture. Increasingly the deeper dependency lies in compute. Data may sit in Canada, but the systems that analyze it, particularly AI models, are often developed, trained, and controlled elsewhere. The intelligence applied to the data may remain outside the country even when the data does not.

These realities have helped fuel the growing language of data sovereignty. Yet the phrase itself can feel somewhat overblown.

Mark Carney made a related observation at Davos. Canada is not a “first power.” It does not dominate the global technological order in the way the United States or China might aspire to do. That reality does not imply weakness. It simply describes the scale at which Canada operates.

Consider Carney’s announcement of Telesat Lightspeed, often framed as Canada’s $7-billion rival to Starlink. The language of sovereignty suggests a head-to-head contest for technological dominance. But that is not really the point. Lightspeed will not replace Starlink globally, nor does it need to. Its value lies elsewhere. It strengthens Canada’s capabilities, improves resilience, and ensures that critical infrastructure is not wholly dependent on foreign systems.

That is not digital sovereignty. It is something more modest and perhaps more realistic.

I would call it digital autonomy.

Sovereignty implies ultimate authority, usually tied to the nation-state. Autonomy, by contrast, exists at many levels. An individual can maintain autonomy over personal data. Communities can build and operate their own digital infrastructure. Companies can reduce dependence on external platforms. Nations can cultivate strategic capacity in critical technologies. None of these actors possesses total sovereignty, but each can strengthen its ability to act independently.

Seen this way, digital resilience emerges not from absolute control but from distributed autonomy. Political institutions, commercial organizations, geographic infrastructure, local communities, and individuals all contribute to the system’s stability. The goal is not domination but balance: reducing fragile dependencies while accepting that modern networks are inherently interconnected.

There is also a certain humility in this perspective. Canada does not need to control the global digital order in order to function well within it. What matters is the capacity to operate, adapt, and endure within a system shaped by larger powers.

Digital autonomy recognizes the world as it is: interconnected, asymmetrical, and dynamic. Rather than promising sovereignty we cannot fully possess, it focuses on the practical work of building resilience across the many layers of our digital lives.