By Tasha Monroe for The Commons Dispatch

 

Somewhere between the checkout screen and the cold brew aisle, Amazon made a quiet little move that hit like a plot twist. Tariff charges—formerly buried in the fine print—now appear right there at checkout. A not-so-subtle price tag for existing in a world governed by geopolitical temper tantrums. And the White House? Let’s just say... not thrilled.

Meanwhile, across the northern border, Canada just wrapped an election that felt more like a referendum on how much longer they’re willing to play nice with American volatility. Mark Carney—former Bank of Canada governor, financial whisperer, and now prime minister-elect—isn’t just stepping into office. He’s stepping up with the full energy of, “We’d rather not be dragged down with you.” Which, frankly, is a vibe.

While America is setting tariff fires with one hand and asking why the room’s smoky with the other, Canada’s watching its own economy, considering its own survival moves, and publicly decoupling from the chaos. It’s not isolationist. It’s self-preservation. And increasingly, that’s becoming the only rational political strategy.

Back in the U.S., the stock market is throwing mood swings like a toddler off their nap schedule. Between new executive orders, retaliatory tariff threats, and consumer hesitation, we’re watching big swings that reveal just how much global “confidence” is built on vibes—and how fragile those vibes really are. Traders used to respond to fundamentals. Now they’re reacting to whatever phase of the moon the president wakes up under.

But here’s what’s not getting the airtime it deserves: when systems shake, the people closest to the edge feel it first. While CEOs are on CNBC throwing out buzzwords, folks in checkout lines are watching their grocery totals climb. Quietly. Every week. That’s where the pressure lives—in receipts, not reports.

What’s different now is how folks are responding. People are paying attention. Watching elections that aren’t even in their country. Reading the fine print on product listings. Keeping mental tabs on who’s getting laid off and where. Not because it’s trendy, but because survival—economic or otherwise—is starting to feel like something we have to plan for ourselves.

And that’s where the culture shows up. Not pop culture. Not Hollywood. I’m talking about the deep culture—the inherited wisdom passed down between communities that have always known the system wasn’t built for us. Folks who’ve lived through redlines, recessions, and quiet policy decisions that hit like thunder. People who’ve learned that when the system bares its teeth, we don’t run. We don’t flinch. We check our people, we check the budget, and we keep it moving.

So yeah, it’s messy. Loud in all the wrong places, quiet in the ones that matter. Feels like everything’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time, like we’re living in a glitch.

But we’ve been here before. Not exactly here, but close enough. And when things start breaking, we don’t panic. We adjust. We check on each other. We stretch what’s left. We cook. We cut back. We make a way out of whatever scraps they forgot to lock up.

We know what it feels like when the system starts shaking. We don’t need a press conference or a trending topic to confirm what our gut already clocked two weeks ago. It’s not new. It’s just louder now.

So no, we’re not surprised. We’re just watching. Keeping notes. Moving smarter. Finding the next right thing, even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small.

Because here’s the thing—they think if we’re not posting about it, we’re not paying attention. They think if we’re quiet, we’ve checked out. But nah. We’ve just learned how to stay lit without burning ourselves out.

We’re here. Off the grid. Still lit. Still loving. Still laughing. Still figuring it out together. And that’s the part they never seem to account for.