The 3 Amigos: Smiles for the Cameras, Daggers for Colleagues in Trudeau’s Inner Circle

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Picture this: a grand public event brimming with optimism, where elected officials gather to showcase their charm, competence, and commitment to the people. Among the crowd are three Liberal MPs, known here as The Three Amigos—a trio that includes two high-ranking cabinet ministers and a parliamentary secretary who clearly sees themselves as a VIP in training. They stride in with the confidence of rock stars, all grins and side-hugs, playing to the cameras as if their unity alone could solve the nation’s woes. But beneath this polished facade lies a scene so absurd, it borders on farce. Instead of celebrating their shared mission, these three decide to publicly torch one of their own colleagues, a fellow MP who, by all accounts, is approachable, well-liked, and uncommonly focused on serving the people.

The roasting isn’t subtle. It’s loud enough for everyone to hear, a spectacle of petty insults and snide remarks aimed squarely at someone who just might be the closest thing to a political unicorn—a team player who actually understands that politics should be about public service. Adding to the theatre of the absurd, the target of their vitriol is right there at the same event, likely wondering if they’d accidentally stumbled into a roast instead of a public celebration. But here’s the kicker: the moment cameras pan their way, when the likeable MP approaches them, the Three Amigos snap back into their roles as picture-perfect teammates, flashing smiles and offering back-slaps like nothing happened.

It’s a masterclass in political two-facedness, a dazzling display of hypocrisy that would almost be impressive if it weren’t so disheartening. Here are leaders entrusted with the public’s faith, caught acting like gossipy high schoolers during lunch break. The stark contrast between their polished public personas and their venomous private words isn’t just embarrassing—it’s a damning indictment of how power corrodes integrity. The entire performance reeks of desperation, an eagerness to climb the greasy pole of politics even if it means stepping on their own teammates along the way.

What makes this spectacle even more tragic is the choice of target. This wasn’t just anyone—they went after someone who embodies what public servants are supposed to be. Unlike the Three Amigos, this individual had cultivated genuine trust with the public, proving that you don’t need theatrics or a megaphone to make a difference. But perhaps that’s precisely why they were attacked: in a room full of performers, the one authentic person is always a threat.

And yet, the charade fails to convince. The smiles are too fake, the camaraderie too forced, the facade too flimsy to withstand even the faintest scrutiny. For anyone paying attention, it’s painfully clear that these leaders aren’t working for the people; they’re performing for their own egos. If this is the caliber of teamwork behind the scenes, it’s no wonder so many feel disillusioned with the state of our democracy. Politics, as it turns out, isn’t just the art of compromise—it’s the theater of absurdity, starring public performers who seem to have forgotten their true role: to serve, not to sabotage.