OTTAWA — The 2025 Canadian federal election was a gut-punch for Pierre Poilievre, the Conservative Party leader who seemed destined to unseat the Liberals just months ago. On April 28, voters handed Prime Minister Mark Carney’s Liberal Party a victory, projected to secure more of Parliament’s 343 seats than the Conservatives, though likely shy of a majority. Poilievre didn’t just lose the election—he lost his own Carleton riding, a seat he’d held since 2004, to Liberal newcomer Bruce Fanjoy, who clinched 51% of the vote to Poilievre’s 46%. Now, political insiders are picking apart the wreckage, asking: could Poilievre have turned the tide by borrowing a page from Donald Trump’s playbook and diving headfirst into the podcast world?
Heading into 2025, Poilievre’s campaign had all the makings of a winner. Polls in early March showed the Conservatives commanding a 25-point lead over the Liberals, who were reeling from Justin Trudeau’s resignation in January. Inflation was biting, housing costs were through the roof, and voters were fed up after a decade of Liberal rule. Poilievre’s sharp, punchy slogans—“Canada is broken” and “axe the tax”—cut through the noise, rallying crowds from Vancouver to Halifax. His YouTube videos racked up views, and his social media game was tight, hammering the Liberals on affordability and crime. But then Trump, fresh off his January 20 inauguration, started lobbing grenades north of the border—tariffs on Canadian goods, wild talk of Canada as the “51st state.” By March, the election wasn’t about housing or taxes anymore. It was about standing up to the bully in the White House.
Trump’s shadow changed everything. Poilievre, whose brash style and “Canada First” rhetoric echoed Trump’s “America First” vibe, suddenly found himself on the defensive. On April 26, a POLITICO/Focaldata poll revealed 39% of Canadians saw Trump as a top election issue, second only to the cost of living at 60%. Worse, 60% of voters viewed Poilievre unfavorably, and less than 30% thought he was the guy to handle Trump, according to Angus Reid data. Carney, the former Bank of Canada and Bank of England governor, leaned into his global finance cred, pitching himself as the steady hand to navigate a trade war. On April 17, during a French-language debate in Montreal, Carney jabbed at Poilievre: “The question is who’s going to succeed in facing Donald Trump.” The crowd ate it up.
Across the border, Trump had cracked the code on reaching voters in 2024, sidestepping traditional media for the unfiltered world of podcasts. He sat down with heavyweights like Joe Rogan, whose show pulls in millions of monthly listeners, and leaned on influencers to carry his message to young, politically fluid voters. The strategy worked—long-form conversations let Trump come off as relatable, not just a suit, and gave him space to hammer his points without a news anchor cutting him off. In Canada, nearly a third of adults were tuning into podcasts monthly by 2025, especially younger voters under 35, the very demographic Poilievre needed to lock down. But his campaign barely touched the medium. No Rogan-style marathons, no chats with popular Canadian hosts. Instead, Poilievre stuck to slick, short-form content—great for clips, but lacking the depth to sway undecideds.
On April 5, Conservative supporter Patrick Beresford, speaking at a rally in British Columbia, called out the oversight. He argued Poilievre could’ve mobilized younger voters by hitting the podcast circuit, getting Conservative-leaning university kids to the polls. The campaign’s focus stayed stubbornly on affordability, with Poilievre insisting on April 12 that Canada’s economic woes “predate Donald Trump and will outlast Donald Trump.” It was a miscalculation. Voters wanted a leader who could go toe-to-toe with the U.S. president, not just rail against Liberal red tape. Carney’s team, meanwhile, was all in on the Trump angle, with the Liberal leader vowing on April 29 to protect Canada from being “broken” by America’s trade threats.
Poilievre’s team wasn’t blind to the shift. On April 28, he took a swing at Trump, posting on social media: “President Trump, stay out of our election. Canada will always be proud, sovereign and independent, and we will NEVER be the 51st state.” But it was too late. The damage was done—voters had already linked Poilievre’s combative style to Trump’s, and not in a good way. Women, especially, found his tone off-putting, and socially conscious students saw him as hostile to climate goals, according to campaign postmortems. The Liberals capitalized, riding a wave of anti-Trump nationalism to flip seats and squeeze out smaller parties like the NDP and Bloc Québécois.
In the end, Poilievre’s Conservatives still pulled off their best showing since 2011, projected to win 144 seats. But it wasn’t enough. Carney’s Liberals, buoyed by Ontario’s 49% vote share and Quebec’s 42%, held power. Poilievre, now without a seat in Parliament, signaled he’d stick around as Conservative leader, eyeing a byelection to get back in the game. Whether a podcast push could’ve saved him is anyone’s guess, but the numbers don’t lie: in a year when Trump’s tariffs and taunts dominated the airwaves, Poilievre’s silence on the platforms where young voters live may have cost him the keys to 24 Sussex Drive.