A single sentence at an international security forum can change the temperature of an entire alliance—and right now, Canada’s relationship with Washington is starting to feel less like teamwork and more like a high-stakes pressure test.
Prime Minister Mark Carney has ordered a review of Canada’s planned purchase of U.S.-made F-35 fighter jets, even though Canada has already signed contracts for the first 16 aircraft. The signal is unmistakable: Ottawa is no longer treating this deal as “locked,” and it’s happening at the exact moment the U.S.–Canada relationship is already strained by trade tensions and political brinkmanship.
On paper, Canada’s plan has been clear for years—buy 88 F-35s to replace its aging fleet. But Carney’s review is reopening a question that Canada’s defense world has tried to avoid because it’s so explosive: how much control does Canada really have over the weapons that defend its skies?
That’s where the story stops being about a jet and starts being about sovereignty.
Critics of the F-35 point to the practical reality that modern fighter jets aren’t just metal and engines—they’re software, data pipelines, upgrade permissions, maintenance systems, and supply chains. If the U.S. controls key chokepoints—updates, parts, specialized servicing—then even a “purchased” aircraft can feel like something closer to a dependent system. Industry reporting has long described how the F-35 program’s logistics ecosystem evolved from ALIS toward the newer ODIN model, underscoring how deeply networked the platform is.
And yes—this is also where the internet’s most viral fear shows up: the “kill switch” rumor. There’s no public proof of a remote on/off switch, and the Pentagon has denied the idea. But the fear persists because the softer version of the same concern is undeniably real: if access to parts and support is restricted, readiness can collapse fast. That anxiety has spilled into European politics too—Denmark’s parliamentary defense committee chair has publicly warned about overreliance on U.S. systems and raised concerns about how leverage could be applied.
Carney’s review didn’t happen in a vacuum. It landed as Sweden and defense manufacturer Saab are openly positioning the Gripen as a serious alternative, emphasizing something that instantly grabs any government’s attention: domestic jobs, industrial capacity, and control. Reports around Saab’s pitch to Canada have highlighted the possibility of deeper local industrial participation compared with a standard “buy-and-maintain” arrangement.
And then there’s the emotional undertow in Ottawa that can’t be separated from the policy: Canadians are watching the U.S. wield economic tools more aggressively, and many are asking what happens if a future dispute turns defense procurement into bargaining power. Even without any official ultimatum, the message Canada is absorbing is clear—dependency has a cost, and it doesn’t always show up on the first page of a contract.
Supporters of the F-35 argue the opposite: interoperability with the U.S. and NATO matters, the F-35 is the alliance standard, and switching platforms midstream invites complexity and delays. That’s the safe argument—the “don’t rock the boat” argument.
Carney’s move suggests Canada may be done playing it safe.
Because once a country starts publicly questioning whether it truly “owns” the tools of its own defense, the debate stops being technical. It becomes personal. It becomes political. And it becomes contagious—spreading from defense committees to living rooms, from procurement spreadsheets to national identity.
Canada hasn’t canceled anything yet. But the moment Ottawa admits it’s considering a different path, Washington—and every allied capital watching—knows the same truth:
This isn’t just a fighter-jet review. It’s a referendum on whether partnership still feels like partnership… or something darker.