Disrespected. That’s the word that made national headlines this past May, after Nate Erskine-Smith was dropped as a Liberal minister. While the title of Erskine-Smith’s Substack post read, diplomatically, “Congrats to the new cabinet,” media coverage largely zeroed in on a moment in the fourth paragraph: “The way it played out doesn’t sit right and it’s impossible not to feel”—well, you know.

How did it play out? The story starts back in December 2023, when, as the member of Parliament for Beaches—East York, Erskine-Smith had just come second to Bonnie Crombie in the Ontario Liberal leadership race. He later admitted on his Substack, Uncommons, that it was “tough” to lose such a close race, and that he would be “looking for new opportunities to make a difference”—in other words, not seeking re-election as an MP.

But plans changed. Nearly a year later, with the Justin Trudeau Liberals at their lowest point, Erskine-Smith was appointed minister of housing, infrastructure, and communities. Weeks later, Trudeau announced his resignation. Erskine-Smith soon endorsed Mark Carney as the party’s next leader. When Carney took over as prime minister in March, Erskine-Smith kept his post and went on to win re-election in Beaches—East York for the fourth straight time. But after Carney’s victory and the subsequent cabinet shuffle, Erskine-Smith was cut loose.

“Disrespected” is, of course, one way to look at the situation. In a scathing Toronto Star op-ed, Martin Regg Cohn wrote that Erskine-Smith was “playing the victim in his own political game” and accused him of temper tantrums. Cohn notes that of all the ministers dropped, Erskine-Smith was the only one to complain. Users on X and Reddit echoed the sentiment: no one is entitled to a cabinet post, and no one whines when they don’t get it. That’s show business, baby.

At the same time, it’s hard not to see it as betrayal when you hitch your wagon to someone else’s, only for them to unhitch it without warning and watch you plunge downhill. Take Chrystia Freeland. She prioritized staying in lockstep with Trudeau for nearly a decade and, as her reward, found herself booted from the finance portfolio. Trudeau offered her another ministry. She declined and quit.

The relationship between Erskine-Smith and Carney is, of course, by no means comparable to the years-long devotion between Freeland and Trudeau. But loyalty has always played a role in politics; we’re just not supposed to talk about it. Certainly, most politicians wouldn’t use the language found in Erskine-Smith’s Substack—personal language, language that centres his feelings. Most politicians aren’t posting on Substack to begin with. Do most politicians even know what Substack is?

For better or for worse, Erskine-Smith does not seem to be like most politicians.

As of 2023, 85 percent of young Canadians report getting their information from social media or the internet—a media ecosystem that, barely two decades old, has reshaped how politics and public debate unfold. It’s a landscape dominated by content creators, performativity, and warring comment sections, and it is worlds away from the traditional gate-kept news environment that preceded it.

Political groups have struggled to win over this fickle and frequently combative “very online” base. Back in 2015, Trudeau made headlines for his prolific selfie taking—seen as friendly and relatable by some but as substanceless by many others. In the 2019 election, then New Democratic Party leader Jagmeet Singh paired his platform points with viral TikTok sounds (I was in high school at the time, too young to vote but already feeling too old for this communication strategy). Some politicians have leaned into vitriol. Few have weaponized the medium more effectively than Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre and his punchy, hyper-shareable videos. But MP Michelle Rempel Garner is another recent example, stirring up anger about immigration on X with the help of emojis and memes.

Others across the political spectrum don’t even seem to be trying. While most MPs have some sort of social media presence, many post on Instagram the way I post on LinkedIn—exceedingly polished and professional, careful not to offer more than the smallest glimpse of personality.

Erskine-Smith, however, is trying—and seems to have avoided the dreaded “cringe” label. The now forty-one-year-old maintains a profile on just about every platform you can think of. His Instagram and X accounts combine family photos with clips of policy commentary, but the crown jewel of his digital........

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