The revolution will not be made on Canva

Historian and lecturer Anton Jäger, author of the recently published pamphlet Hyperpolitics, wrote in a recent New York Times column that the current political era is defined by “intense [individual] political activity,” and, “on the other [hand], continued institutional sclerosis.”

Jäger’s book is, at least in part, about the contemporary decline of formal political institutions and how this has unfolded alongside a concurrent eruption of individual politicization. The rise of slacktivism,”—those ubiquitous, low-effort online actions that signal engagement but lack tangible real-world impact—is one obvious expression of this shift. But slacktivism is no longer just an individual habit. This phenomenon has, almost without notice, been absorbed by nearly every left-wing political institution in Canada. Individual slacktivism has now given way to institutional ‘statement socialism.’

Unable to meaningfully shape events, the NDP and organizations like it increasingly fall back on reacting to them. A crisis emerges, and a statement follows. Instagram posts—often built from the same Canva templates—condemn injustice, assert solidarity with whatever the affected group is, and issue demands that remain entirely abstract. Supporters dutifully repost them. Critics argue over wording in the replies. Within days, the cycle moves on.

This logic now extends far beyond any one party. Across the Canadian left, politics is increasingly reduced to a familiar routine. Open Canva, draft a statement on the issue of the day, post, and repeat. Yet these statements share a defining feature: they offer no plausible path to changing the conditions they describe.

It feels like meaningful political action, but it isn’t.

‘Statement socialism’

If you have spent any time organizing, some part of this likely resonates with you. Increasingly valuable time is spent deciding whether statements should go out, when, and what they should contain. I have seen it in student unions, where editorial work was done by committee, word by word, and in the youth wing of the NDP, where statements were often one of the few structured forms of advocacy available. “Should we condemn the party?” would be asked, and the question would spiral from there, drawing energy away from organizing around the issue at hand and toward an inward-looking editorial process.

I remember one particular moment, in the run-up to the 2025 provincial election, when the Ontario New Democratic Youth debated putting out a statement critiquing a party decision. Without getting into particulars, the energy spent on this debate exhausted everyone and ultimately resulted in a consensus that left no one satisfied. There were no phone banks or canvasses organized, nor was there any serious attempt to apply leverage in either direction; we simply didn’t have any. Whenever we put out a statement, the same hundred or so Instagram accounts engaged, because there was little, if any, real organizational capacity beyond posting.

There is another kind of ‘statement socialism’: top-down statements, where the wording and stance of the party are decided by leadership, consultants, or staffers and imposed downward onto the membership. These statements are received less as the organic expression of a collective political project and more as an instruction—something to either defend or contest.

The statement arrives fully formed—polished, strategic, and optimized for public consumption—but detached from any real organizing process. Members are then left to react: to defend it, critique it, or attempt to reinterpret it in line with their own views. What is missing is any sense that the statement emerged from a base capable of acting on it. There are rarely coordinated campaigns that follow, no structures through which members can translate agreement into pressure, and no clear targets or escalation strategy. Instead, politics becomes a one-way flow of communication, from leadership to membership to social media feeds. In this model, the role of the member is not to organize, but to amplify or dispute messaging. The party, in turn, begins to resemble a communications apparatus rather than a vehicle for collective action—highly responsive in tone, but largely inert in practice.

Make the statement by organizing

‘Statement socialism’ persists because it is structurally convenient. Many left organizations in Canada operate with limited resources, thin membership engagement, and weakened institutional infrastructure. The kinds of activities that build power—organizing workplaces, running sustained campaigns, developing leaders, building lists, or generating a distinct working-class political culture—are time-consuming, uncertain, and expensive. By contrast, producing a statement is fast, low-risk, and inexpensive. It requires no meaningful base beyond an Instagram following, no long-term strategy (who remembers Avi Lewis’ statement on the protests in Iran earlier this year?), and no confrontation with entrenched power. In a context of organizational weakness, it is not surprising that institutions gravitate toward what is easiest to produce while still resembling serious political activity. Statements become a substitute for capacity; a way to appear active in the absence of the means to act.

In many ways, statement socialism is also an abdication to the logic of platform capitalism. It is reinforced by social media algorithms—door-knocking may result in a dozen meaningful conversations, but a statement may “reach” thousands—and by the internal culture this dynamic has produced on the left. Platforms reward immediacy, clarity, and moral certainty—precisely the qualities statements are designed to project. Organizations are pressured to respond instantly to events, lest silence be interpreted by their own base as indifference or complicity. Internally, this creates a culture in which members expect constant positioning on every issue, and where the absence of a statement can itself provoke backlash. This was especially evident during the NDP leadership race, where candidates’ statements—their timing, wording, and even their absence—became, for much of the membership, a primary way of judging them. The result is a reactive politics, driven less by strategy than by the need to keep pace with the cycle of outrage and response. In this environment, statements are rational, but insufficient.

An alternate vision for party statements

There will always be a place in politics for statements. Political parties need to articulate their vision and respond to events, and statements have always been one of the most convenient ways to do so. But they can be more than a reflexive, rushed attempt to check a box.

Fixing the problem of statement socialism offers a model for addressing the weaknesses of political institutions more broadly: a path out of what Anton Jäger calls “hyperpolitics” and toward mass politics and a mass party.

A mass party is not simply an electoral machine, but a democratic, membership-based organization rooted in participation, to win power beyond just electoralism. In a recent Canadian Dimension essay, Ali Terrenoire described the basic form as a “state-in-waiting.”

Under this model, statements would then be more than an imposition on the membership, for them to consume and circulate, but an active and organic response of a movement. Members would engage in committees, develop policy, and participate in campaigns that extend beyond election cycles.

Currently, statements are written by staffers and party leadership. They may consult key stakeholders, but rarely is the process genuinely deliberative.

Imagine instead a system of committees and affinity groups—an NDP international affairs committee, for instance—made up of the foreign affairs critic alongside elected and appointed party members tasked with advising, crafting statements, and organizing as an autonomous body. A place where the work of caucus, and the organic demands and ideals of the “party’ (that is, the membership) interface and collaborate. A statement on the Cuban blockade would carry the legitimacy of a member-based decision-making process, and the committee itself might organize a delegation to the country or fundraise for humanitarian mutual aid. Imagine if the elected leadership of the NDP (committee members or the president, let alone MPs) had participated in the Nuestra America convoy at the same time that the foreign affairs critic had delivered a forceful demand to send Canadian oil to the country.

As Bruce McKenna has argued, engaging members through meaningful party structures can “support the work of caucus and make party membership valuable,” while strengthening accountability between leadership and the base. Elements of this model already exist in embryonic form. Equity caucuses, for example, could be revitalized, resourced, and granted real autonomy.

This used to exist. Today, equity caucuses are largely perfunctory and defunct, but they could be revived and given both autonomy and resources. Statements would still be released (and I would likely still roll my eyes at a 1,000-word essay over an orange Canva graphic), but they could carry greater legitimacy and be more easily paired with organizing campaigns and events. This would draw on the voluntary labour and enthusiasm of members, rather than relying solely on overworked staff.

This won’t be perfect. But reframing the role of equity committees—from making statements about the world to shaping it—could provide a meaningful north star. For every statement a youth wing puts out, it should organize a webinar and a canvass on the issue. For every condemnation of an international crisis, an international affairs committee could organize a benefit concert or political education exchange with allied movements abroad. That should be the clear mandate.

What statement socialism ultimately reveals is not a moral failing, but a structural one. The problem is not that left organizations say the wrong things—more often than not, they say the right ones. The problem is that saying them has become a substitute for building the power needed to make those visions real. In a moment defined by overlapping crises and rising stakes, a politics of reaction, performance, and internal signalling is not enough.

Rebuilding a meaningful left in Canada will require breaking this habit. It means accepting slower, messier, and more demanding forms of politics: organizing workplaces and communities, building durable institutions, and creating structures where members are participants rather than spectators. It means tying what we say to what we can do, and what we are willing to build. It means moving away from the short, dopamine-addicted expectations of platform capitalism toward a commitment to long-term political engagement.

Statements will always have their place. But they cannot be the centre of political life. If the left wants to move beyond managing its own discourse and begin shaping the world around it, it will have to log off, take risks, and organize. The alternative is to remain highly expressive, permanently reactive, and fundamentally powerless.

A premium subscription for Canva is $15 per month. Building power in our communities and beyond is priceless.

James Adair is an Ottawa-based socialist organizer. His writing has appeared in Rabble and Jacobin. He is committed to building organizational capacity for the working-class.