The Empire That Forfeited Memory: Trump’s UNESCO Exit and the Collapse of Narrative Sovereignty

Introduction

“Since wars begin in the minds of men, it is in the minds of men that the defenses of peace must be constructed.” This founding credo of UNESCO in 1945 speaks to the postwar belief that shared understanding of history and culture would be the backbone of a peaceful international order. Eighty years later, that backbone is snapping. The United States’ renewed withdrawal from UNESCO under the Trump Doctrine in 2025 is not just a procedural divorce from a U.N. agency – it is a symbolic lobotomy of the post–World War II rules-based international order. Washington is abandoning the world’s “narrative engine,” sabotaging the institutions that preserve our shared memory, pluralist heritage, and hard-won cultural consensus against fascism. What fills the void is a looming war over who gets to define the past in a fragmenting world.

In this analysis, we examine UNESCO as the last standing pillar of multilateral “meaning-making” – the keeper of our civilizational memory – and frame Trump’s exit as a deliberate attack on global narrative sovereignty. We chart the timeline of U.S. withdrawals from international frameworks (from the Paris Climate Accord to the U.N. Human Rights Council, and now UNESCO) as a meta-doctrine of soft-power sabotage, severing ties not just with treaties but with truth itself. We then assess the geopolitical consequences of this narrative vacuum: the rise of BRICS-aligned and authoritarian memory systems – from Beijing’s heritage campaigns to Moscow’s historical revisionism – moving in to claim the story. Finally, we turn to Canada’s predicament. Caught between a decaying American mythos and China’s authoritarian “memory diplomacy,” Canada faces an inflection point: Will it become a custodian of multilateral memory, or remain a cultural afterthought in a world where each empire writes its own history?

I. Postwar Foundations: UNESCO as the Narrative Spine of a New Order

When UNESCO was created in November 1945, the world was in ruins not just physically but morally. Its founders recognized that a durable peace required more than treaties and economic pacts – it required an intellectual and cultural solidarity of mankind. UNESCO’s constitution declares that the horrors of war are made possible “by the propagation, through ignorance and prejudice, of the doctrine of the inequality of men and races,” and that peace must be founded “upon the intellectual and moral solidarity of mankind.” In short, UNESCO was to be the memory and conscience of the United Nations, safeguarding truth, science, education, and culture as bulwarks against a relapse into barbarism.

Julian Huxley, UNESCO’s first Director-General, explicitly saw the organization as a grand instrument for shaping the world’s narrative. In 1946 he wrote a bold 60-page manifesto, UNESCO: Its Purpose and Its Philosophy, arguing that a special international agency was needed to help humanity “overcome its many divisions” through cultural understanding, education, and scientific collaboration. Huxley imagined UNESCO as the midwife of a “world philosophy” – a “single world culture, with its own philosophy and background of ideas” – that would knit together a war-torn planet. At UNESCO’s first General Conference in 1946, delegates charged the agency with clarifying the principles of a modern human rights declaration. In Huxley’s eyes, this mandate would quickly establish UNESCO as “the fulcrum of the post-war international system,” a unique guardian of a “unifying and unified” global culture. In essence, UNESCO was to be the narrative spine of the new world order – the place where the story of “we the peoples” could be told beyond narrow nationalism.

Over the subsequent decades, UNESCO built up a vast soft-power portfolio as the cultural regulator of memory, identity, and legitimacy in the international system. It became the arbiter of world heritage, deciding which sites are of “outstanding universal value” to humanity. From the Pyramids of Giza to the Grand Canyon, UNESCO’s World Heritage list (1,248 sites and counting) codifies a global canon of places and histories worth preservingr. These sites are not just tourist attractions; they are touchstones of a common human story. Likewise, UNESCO’s programs in education strive to inculcate values of peace and pluralism worldwide – often through very tangible initiatives like curriculum guidelines and textbook content. UNESCO leads efforts on Holocaust and genocide education, for example, as a means to immunize future generations against the viruses of hate. Since 2015, its International Programme on Holocaust and Genocide Education has been a flagship initiative, helping educators in dozens of countries teach about the darkest chapters of history in honest, sensitive ways. (Tellingly, this program is financed by the Government of Canada, alongside the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum – a model of how middle powers can support UNESCO’s memory-preserving mission as others pull back.)

UNESCO’s influence extends to safeguarding endangered languages and intangible cultural heritage, realms critical to identity. It maintains an Atlas of endangered languages and was the lead agency for the International Year of Indigenous Languages in 2019, raising alarm that roughly 75% of Indigenous tongues in countries like Canada are at risk of extinction. Through such efforts, UNESCO positions itself as a protector of humanity’s full cultural diversity – championing not just monuments and museums, but oral histories, rituals, and minority identities that might otherwise be steamrolled by globalization or oppression. Its Education for All and Global Citizenship Education campaigns further exemplify this soft power utility: UNESCO sets norms for inclusive, pluralist curricula, encouraging countries to teach critical thinking, cultural tolerance, gender equality, and human rights. These are the “defenses of peace” built in the minds of children that UNESCO’s founders dreamed about.

In sum, UNESCO functions as the world’s central “memory bank” and cultural umpire, giving teeth to the idea that there is a shared heritage and set of values that transcend any one nation. As Irina Bokova (UNESCO’s Director-General in 2017) put it, UNESCO’s mission is “promoting education for peace and protecting culture under attack.” It’s not merely about naming World Heritage Sites; it’s about upholding a post-fascist cultural consensus – a collective agreement that certain truths (like the reality of the Holocaust) must be remembered and certain values (like the dignity of all races and cultures) must be respected. To walk away from UNESCO, then, is to walk away from that consensus. It is to deregulate the global marketplace of ideas and memories, inviting a free-for-all of revisionist history and nationalist myth-making. Yet this is precisely what the United States has chosen to do, again.

II. Trump’s Narrative Exits: Dismantling the Meaning-Makers of the RBIO

Trump’s decision to pull the U.S. out of UNESCO (for the second time) in 2025 is the capstone of a long string of American withdrawals from international frameworks – a pattern that amounts to an unprecedented retreat from the postwar order’s narrative and normative foundations. Consider the timeline of America’s Great Untelling:

• June 2017 – Paris Climate Accord: Trump announces the U.S. will quit the landmark Paris Agreement on climate change, rejecting a pact endorsed by 195 countries. In his speech, he frames the accord as an elitist plot that “disadvantages the United States” and “constricts U.S. sovereignty”, putting “America First” ahead of any collective effort to save the planet. The message: the shared scientific narrative about climate change is not one the U.S. will subscribe to if it means curbing American industry. (Indeed, the withdrawal became official in 2020, making the U.S. the sole nation outside the agreement until it rejoined in 2021 under Biden.)
• This move, coordinated with Israel, came after UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee angered U.S. conservatives by listing Hebron – a West Bank city with Jewish and Muslim significance – as a Palestinian heritage site. UNESCO was derided by Netanyahu as a “theatre of the absurd” that “distorts” history instead of preserving it. U.S. Ambassador Nikki Haley blasted UNESCO’s politicization as a “chronic embarrassment”. Bokova, the outgoing UNESCO chief, expressed “profound regret,” warning that U.S. departure was “not just about World Heritage” but a loss for the U.N. family and multilateralism. At the very moment when conflicts and cultural cleansing were ravaging the Middle East, the U.S. walked away from the agency meant to counter exactly those forces. (Notably, the State Department said America would remain engaged as a non-member observer, but the arrears in dues and leadership vacuum spoke louder.)
• June 2018 – U.N. Human Rights Council: The U.S. withdraws from the UNHRC, with Haley again at the podium citing “a chronic bias against Israel” and the hypocrisy of allowing rights-abusing states as members. This followed clashes over resolutions criticizing Israel’s conduct in Palestine. By leaving the 47-nation Human Rights Council, Washington forsook the primary global forum for upholding universal human rights norms, branding it a sham. The move fit a broader pattern: earlier that year the U.S. had also stopped cooperating with the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights, and in 2017 it pulled out of UNESCO’s sister agency that works on racism and discrimination (UNESCO’s anti-racism work was defunded after it approved a Palestinian-related resolution). The meta-message: America no longer agreed to the narrative of universal human rights if that narrative inconvenienced its geopolitical preferences.
• 2018–2019 – Open Skies Treaty and ICC: The Trump administration’s disdain for multilateral “rules” extended even into the security and legal realms that undergird the postwar order. In 2018 Trump renounced U.S. support for the International Criminal Court, imposing visa bans on ICC officials investigating U.S. troops. In 2020, he went further, sanctioning the ICC prosecutor – effectively telling the world that America rejects any shared narrative of accountability for war crimes. The U.S. also withdrew from the Open Skies Treaty in late 2020, a pact among 35 nations to allow unarmed surveillance flights for transparency. The exit (justified by claims of Russian noncompliance) was criticized as a blow to international arms control efforts. Each of these exits chipped away at a different pillar of the rules-based order’s story: that no one is above the law, and that trust but verify helps keep peace.
• July 2020 – World Health Organization: Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, Trump announced the U.S. would quit the WHO, accusing the U.N. health agency of being a Chinese puppet that “failed” the world. (Legally, this withdrawal would take effect in mid-2021, but President Biden reversed it on day one.) Still, the intent was clear – to exit the global narrative on public health cooperation at the height of a global crisis. The idea of a shared scientific and humanitarian response to pandemics was subordinated to a blame game and nationalism. America signaled that even in matters of disease, it would go it alone.

By the time Trump left office in January 2021, the United States had either withdrawn from, or stopped funding, virtually every international institution that creates shared meaning or values in the global system: climate science (Paris), human rights (UNHRC), public health (WHO), cultural heritage (UNESCO), arms control (Open Skies), and international justice (ICC). It was a near-complete exodus from the post-1945 moral architecture. President Biden’s team spent 2021–2024 trying to rejoin or stabilize many of these – reentering Paris and the WHO, sending observers to UNHRC, and orchestrating a U.S. return to UNESCO in 2023 with Congress approving $600+ million to pay past dues. But in 2025, with Trump’s return to power, the Great Untelling picked up where it left off – in some ways with even more zeal, as if to dismantle the narrative infrastructure of the RBIO once and for all.

• July 2025 – UNESCO (second withdrawal): On July 22, the White House confirmed that the U.S. will once again pull out of UNESCO, with the departure to take effect by end of 2026. This time the rhetoric was even sharper. “President Trump has decided to withdraw… from UNESCO – which supports woke, divisive cultural and social causes that are totally out-of-step with the commonsense policies that Americans voted for,” declared White House deputy spokeswoman Anna Kelly. The State Department elaborated that UNESCO pursues “a globalist, ideological agenda… at odds with our America First foreign policy,” singling out UNESCO’s 2011 admission of Palestine as “highly problematic” and contributory to “anti-Israel rhetoric.” In essence, Washington cast UNESCO as an elitist propagator of “woke” multiculturalism and global citizenship – dirty words in the lexicon of populist nationalism. The culture war that Trump stoked at home (against “critical race theory,” against academic liberal elites, against the so-called “woke mob”) was now being extended to the global stage. UNESCO – guardian of world heritage, promoter of Holocaust education, broker of scientific consensus – was painted as an enemy of “commonsense” American values.

UNESCO’s leadership was unsurprised but no less damning in response. Director-General Audrey Azoulay said she “deeply regretted” the U.S. decision but had expected it and prepared for it. Importantly, she noted that the U.S. cited the same reasons as seven years ago in 2017, “even though the situation has changed profoundly, political tensions have receded, and UNESCO today constitutes a rare forum for consensus on concrete… multilateralism.” In other words, UNESCO had worked hard in the intervening years to address U.S. concerns: it found compromise on contentious issues, it elected a French Jewish woman (Azoulay) as DG after the 2017 fiasco, it made sure all heritage resolutions in recent years were agreed by both Israel and Palestine. Moreover, Azoulay pointed out, UNESCO’s efforts in Holocaust education and fighting antisemitism directly contradict the notion that the agency is somehow anti-Israel or anti-Jewish. (Indeed, UNESCO launched a joint program with Israel in 2018 to promote Holocaust awareness and combat denial, precisely to show good faith. And as noted, Canada and others bankroll UNESCO’s genocide education work – ironically doing what the U.S. Congress barred the U.S. from doing when Palestine was admitted.) None of that mattered. The culture war narrative in Washington – “UNESCO = woke globalist swamp” – triumphed over facts.

Thus, by 2025 the U.S. has developed a de facto doctrine of narrative withdrawal. Call it the Monroe Doctrine of the mind: America formally rejects participation in any international effort to shape collective memory, address global moral challenges, or even agree on basic facts, unless such efforts align 100% with U.S. domestic politics. Rather than lead the world in building “peace in the minds of men and women,” the U.S. has chosen to peace out of that mission entirely. This abdication is not just isolationism; it is a conscious uncoupling from reality-building. It leaves us with an unsupervised, unmediated global discourse – a power vacuum in the realm of truth and values.

It is difficult to overstate the significance of UNESCO in particular as the final severance. If the Paris Accord was about withdrawing from a scientific narrative (climate change), and leaving UNHRC was withdrawing from a moral narrative (human rights), then quitting UNESCO is withdrawing from the historical and cultural narrative that binds civilization. It’s the last strand of the multilateral fabric that was holding the story together. The United States, for much of the 20th century, wrote a large share of that story – championing U.N. ideals (if sometimes hypocritically), funding global education and cultural exchanges during the Cold War, proclaiming itself the leader of the “Free World” with values to match. Now, the self-styled empire of liberty has forfeited memory. The act is as tragic as it is absurd: a superpower choosing amnesia, not only for itself but trying to collapse the library for everyone else. And into that void, other narrators are already rushing.

III. Consequences: A Narrative Vacuum and the Battle to Capture Memory

Nature abhors a vacuum, and so does power – including the power to shape historical narratives. As the United States steps back from its role as a (flawed but influential) steward of global values and memory, other actors are stepping forward to fill the narrative void. We are entering a new era of multipolar memory, where competing blocs and authoritarian regimes vie to set the terms of truth, history, and cultural legitimacy. The risk is that the delicate “moral architecture” UNESCO and others tried to maintain will come crashing down, replaced by a patchwork of self-serving stories.

The most obvious beneficiary of the U.S. absence is China. In fact, concern about growing Chinese influence in U.N. agencies was a key reason the Biden administration pushed to rejoin UNESCO in 2023 and pay off its arrears. During the years the U.S. sat out (2018–2022), Beijing eagerly filled the gap: Chinese officials took leadership positions, Chinese-funded programs proliferated, and UNESCO increasingly reflected some of China’s priorities. Audrey Azoulay notably appointed a Chinese diplomat as UNESCO’s Deputy Director-General, and met with President Xi Jinping early in her term – the first UNESCO chief to ever have a one-on-one with China’s top leader. Xi had made it no secret that he wanted a greater Chinese say in international institutions.

With the U.S. out (again), China’s geocultural ambitions will face even fewer obstacles. UNESCO itself may tilt more toward Beijing’s worldview, or at least be used as one tool among many in China’s global narrative strategy. Consider how China has leveraged UNESCO designations to bolster its own historical claims: in 2014, China led a successful campaign to have the Silk Roads recognized on the World Heritage List, explicitly positioning itself as an “international heritage leader.” This was not just about pride; it dovetailed with Xi’s signature Belt and Road Initiative. By inscribing Silk Road sites (many in China and Central Asia), Beijing advanced a narrative of historical connectivity and Chinese centrality in Eurasia – useful for legitimizing its modern BRI investments. Scholars note that China has become a “key player in the international heritage sphere,” linking cultural heritage to political goals – a resource for political legitimacy and soft power and an asset to boost development in target regions. In short, heritage diplomacy is now an arm of Chinese statecraft.

More darkly, China has exploited UNESCO accolades to whitewash or obscure its human rights abuses. Example: China proudly points to the fact that elements of Uyghur culture (like the traditional muqam music and meshrep community gatherings) are on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage lists. The government uses that “seal of approval from UNESCO” to argue that it is a responsible custodian of Uyghur heritage – even as it simultaneously imprisons a million Uyghurs, demolishes mosques and shrines, and stamps out the Uyghur language in schools. By Beijing’s Orwellian logic, putting Uyghur arts on a UNESCO list proves that state management (read: control) of Uyghur culture is necessary to protect it from “extremism.” The biggest threat to Uyghur heritage, of course, is the Chinese state’s own policies – a campaign of cultural erasure that UNESCO has little capacity to stop. But absent U.S. pressure, who will call China out in international forums? Instead, China can double down on an “anti-colonial” narrative: portraying Western concerns as hypocritical and insisting that it is preserving culture (as defined by the state) against terrorism and separatism. This narrative finds receptive ears in parts of the Global South, especially when the U.S. is MIA or discredited.

Then there is Russia and its allies. Vladimir Putin’s Russia has long chafed at the post-Cold War “liberal order” narrative, especially regarding human rights and historical memory of World War II. Moscow has been pushing its own memory agenda: for instance, lobbying UNESCO to memorialize the Soviet sacrifice in defeating Nazism while vehemently opposing any equivalence between Nazi crimes and Stalinist crimes. Russia’s deputies at UNESCO have, in the past, tried to block initiatives that highlight Soviet atrocities (like the Holodomor famine in Ukraine) or that criticize the Kremlin’s allies. Now, with U.S. influence gone, Russia will face less resistance in framing U.N. cultural discourse to its liking. It’s telling that when the U.S. quit UNESCO in 2017, Russia’s envoy lamented it as “a shock and a pity” that a founding nation was leaving – perhaps partly because Russia preferred the U.S. inside, where it could at least be engaged or balanced, rather than outside undermining the system entirely. In 2025, we can expect Russia to welcome America’s exit as validation of its claim that Western leadership is in disarray.

Beyond individual states, an emergent BRICS bloc (now expanded beyond Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa to include others) is explicitly positioning itself as an alternative narrative consortium. At the BRICS Media Forum in July 2025, media leaders from member countries spoke of “recalibrating our responsibilities in a world threatened by disinformation, propaganda, and polarization.” Representing nearly half the world’s population, they vowed to “offer alternative perspectives” and challenge Western bias in global news flow. The forum’s themes – “Championing Justice”, “Strengthening Exchanges”, “Fostering Innovation” – all point to crafting a multipolar discourse that counters the Western narrative dominance. In plainer terms, BRICS is gearing up to be a storytelling superpower. They even floated ideas like a BRICS joint fact-checking network to combat “fake news” and a BRICS-led credit rating agency to rival the likes of Moody.’ These efforts, while couched in technocratic language, have a geopolitical aim: to reshape what is considered credible, to redefine global norms on whose data, whose history, whose criteria count as objective.

With the U.S. abdicating, such initiatives will flourish. We may soon see a BRICS-backed cultural cooperation network – say, exchanges of school curricula emphasizing colonial crimes of Western powers (quite valid topics, but possibly used to deflect criticism of current regimes). China has already been funding cultural forums in Africa and Asia that emphasize South-South heritage ties, implicitly casting Western influence as a passing blip in history. For instance, China and African states have held “cultural heritage cooperation” conferences under BRI auspices, focusing on returning artifacts and celebrating pre-colonial civilizations – all while China gains soft-power clout. Anti-colonial revisionism will be a prominent narrative: highlighting Western sins (slavery, colonialism, interventions) not just to seek justice, but to undermine Western moral authority on today’s issues like human rights. Again, there is truth in that tale – which makes it powerful – but it can easily become a cover for new empires’ ambitions.

What are the risks of this great epistemic realignment? One risk is a “race to the bottom” for truth standards. In a world where every bloc pushes its own version of events, facts become negotiable and history becomes a buffet from which regimes pick what suits their agenda. We’ve already seen glimmers of this: Russian state media denying atrocities in Ukraine while amplifying historical grievances; Chinese officials rewriting the timeline of COVID-19’s origin; even the U.S. conservative ecosystem indulging in election denialism and conspiracy theories. With no common narrative institutions left standing tall (UNESCO was one of the last), we lose shared reference points. UNESCO’s World Heritage program, for all its flaws, at least established that certain places and stories belong to everyone – genocide memorials at Auschwitz, the ruins of Babylon, the temples of Angkor are part of a human story that transcends nation. If that principle erodes, we could see cultural heritage more overtly weaponized: “Our sites” vs. “their sites,” or deliberate destruction of heritage with no global outcry because consensus has broken down. (Recall ISIS blowing up Palmyra’s ancient monuments – UNESCO led the condemnation then. In a fragmented narrative world, would that condemnation be unanimous? Or would responses fall prey to geopolitical schisms?)

Another risk is the authoritarianization of education and memory. Without Western (or liberal democratic) participation in global norm-setting, countries like China, Russia, Saudi Arabia, and others will shape UNESCO’s agendas or create parallel ones. Authoritarian paradigms of education emphasize patriotism, obedience, and controlled history. For example, China has been promoting the idea of “community of common destiny” – a soft, positive-sounding concept that in practice means aligning other countries’ historical narratives with China’s interests (e.g., celebrating the Chinese Communist Party’s role in defeating Japan, while muting discussion of Soviet or Western contributions or of the Party’s own past errors). Russia under Putin has championed “traditional values” at the U.N. – a code for rolling back liberal norms on gender and rights – and framed its version of World War II history as untouchable (going so far as to criminalize attempts to “rewrite” the history of the “Great Patriotic War”). These approaches could gain more traction globally if liberal voices are absent or discredited. Countries in the middle, from the Middle East to Africa to Southeast Asia, might lean into whichever narrative framework offers them more aid or respect, rather than whichever is more factual or just.

In a worst-case scenario, we face a civilizational memory collapse – a future where there is no longer a commonly accepted narrative of even the 20th century, let alone agreement on global challenges of the 21st. Imagine a 2030 in which students in China learn a history of World War II where Western fronts are a footnote, students in America (if current trends continue) learn a sanitized version of U.S. history that downplays slavery and celebrates “America First” victories, and students in many countries learn almost nothing about the Holocaust or other nations’ tragedies because global education programs fell apart. Each bloc could have its own internet sphere reinforcing its version of events (a splinternet of historical truth). International scientific cooperation might suffer too – consider climate change: if the U.N. frameworks die, we might literally see different “narratives” of climate reality promoted by different powers (with some touting denial or geoengineering as per their interest). Truth becomes a geopolitical currency, no longer a universal commons.

“Who Controls Global Memory in 2030? Four Futures”:

1. Liberal Restoration: In this unlikely scenario, the U.S. returns to the fold (perhaps under new leadership), recommits to UNESCO and multilateral ideals, and with allies rebuilds a reformed, more inclusive narrative order. Global memory institutions adapt (e.g., giving more voice to non-Western histories without abandoning universal principles), and a new consensus emerges on facts and values. Chance: Low, but not impossible if current populist tides recede.
2. Sino-Centric Order: China becomes the preeminent shaper of global narratives. UNESCO and other bodies pivot to Asia’s leadership. The “universal” story told emphasizes anti-colonialism and economic development; human rights take a back seat to “sovereignty” and “harmony.” Memory of things like Tiananmen or Xinjiang is scrubbed from international discussion. Many states align with this narrative for economic benefit. A relatively coherent, if illiberal, order forms around Beijing’s vision.
3. Multipolar Memory Spheres: The world fragments into distinct narrative blocs. A Western bloc (U.S., Europe, maybe Japan) maintains its own memory institutions (perhaps a smaller scale “Community of Democracies” cultural fund as a mini-UNESCO), while a BRICS-led bloc has its structures, and perhaps an Islamist-leaning bloc in parts of the Muslim world has another. Each bloc reinforces its version of history and values internally; between blocs there is constant information warfare and little agreement even on past events. This is a cold war of narratives – stable in division but prone to misunderstanding and friction.
4. Global Memory Collapse: No one controls the narrative because chaos reigns. The idea of shared memory or truth disintegrates under onslaught of deepfakes, propaganda, and the lack of trusted institutions. It’s a post-truth free-for-all globally, not just within countries. Conspiracy theories and historical denialism flourish everywhere, as there is no credible arbiter to referee facts. This scenario is essentially global cognitive anarchy – the darkest timeline wherein the lessons of history are utterly lost on the next generation.

Each of these futures hinges greatly on choices made in the coming few years – and notably on what middle powers like Canada, European nations, and others do in response to the U.S. retreat. That brings us to the Canadian question.

Canada Addendum: Narrative Middle Power or Cultural Afterthought?

Canada now stands at a crossroads in the aftermath of America’s narrative abdications. For decades, Canada’s international identity has been that of a peacekeeper and bridge-builder – a country that punches above its weight in supporting multilateral institutions and norms. Canadian diplomats helped draft U.N. peacekeeping principles in the 1950s; Canada has championed humanitarian and development causes; it consistently ranks among the top funders of U.N. agencies relative to GDP. Culturally, however, Canada has often been a “client culture” in the shadow of its larger allies – adopting the Western consensus rather than shaping it. Now, with the U.S. effectively torching the cultural consensus of the RBIO, will Canada step up to peacekeep memory?

There are some hopeful signs that Canada could assume a larger role in preserving the global narrative commons. For one, Canada has already quietly filled small parts of the gap left by the U.S. in UNESCO. When the U.S. froze funding to UNESCO in 2011 (over Palestine’s membership), UNESCO’s budget took a 22% hit. In response, countries like China, Qatar – and yes, Canada – increased their support for specific programs. A notable example is Canada’s funding of UNESCO’s Holocaust education initiative. Since 2015, the Government of Canada has financed the International Holocaust and Genocide Education program, in partnership with the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. Through this program, UNESCO has trained education officials from 24 countries in how to teach about traumatic histories and prevent hate. It is striking that a Canadian-funded effort is helping keep Holocaust memory alive globally at a time when even in the U.S., surveys show alarming ignorance among youth. By putting money where its mouth is, Canada has signaled that it can be a custodian of multilateral memory in specific niches.

Canada has also aligned itself with UNESCO priorities on Indigenous cultural preservation, a field where it has both domestic and international credibility. In 2019, Canada enthusiastically participated in UNESCO’s International Year of Indigenous Languages, with Canadian Indigenous leaders and the federal government working to raise awareness that 3 out of 4 Indigenous languages in Canada are endangered. At UNESCO forums, Canada has advocated for Indigenous knowledge and heritage protection, which dovetails with its domestic agenda of reconciliation with First Nations, Métis, and Inuit peoples. This is a domain where Canada could exercise soft power: for instance, leading a coalition to create a Global Indigenous Heritage Trust, or pushing UNESCO to give more focus and funding to Indigenous sites and oral histories worldwide. It would both bolster the pluralist narrative globally and earn Canada moral leadership points.

Opportunities abound for Canada to step into the breach left by the U.S.:

• Cultural Diplomacy through Global Affairs: Canada could expand cultural exchange programs, scholarships, and support for artists and scholars from the Global South. For example, reviving something like the defunct International Development Research Centre (IDRC)’s humanities programs, or boosting Fulbright-style exchanges (perhaps a “Lester B. Pearson Global Fellowship” for students in peace and conflict studies). Such initiatives build the personal and intellectual ties that underpin shared understanding.
• Increased UNESCO Funding & Leadership: Canada might increase its voluntary contributions to UNESCO to help cover the shortfall (the U.S. dues would have been about 8–9% of the budget going forward). Even more symbolically, Canada could put forward a candidate for a senior UNESCO post or even Director-General in the future. A Canadian DG of UNESCO (there has never been one) could carry the banner of multilateral cultural cooperation with less baggage than a great-power representative. Short of that, Canada can seek a seat on UNESCO’s Executive Board and use its vote and voice actively to steer the ship.
• Heritage Protection Initiatives: Building on its experience in peacekeeping and disaster response, Canada could spearhead an international “Culture Corps” – teams that help rescue and restore cultural heritage in conflict zones or disaster areas. For instance, working with Italy (which has the Carabinieri art protection unit) and France, Canada could co-lead a task force under UNESCO to respond when artifacts are looted or monuments bombed (Syria, Mali, etc.). This would reinforce the norm that the world still cares about protecting the past, even if one superpower doesn’t.
• Education and Curriculum Support: Domestically, Canada can double-down on teaching the kind of pluralist, fact-based curriculum that UNESCO promotes – and share its curricula abroad. If provinces like Ontario or B.C. develop robust Holocaust education, Indigenous history modules, or climate change modules, these could be exported or shared with countries that lack resources to develop their own. Global Affairs Canada could fund translation of such materials into other languages or sponsor teacher training workshops in partnership with UNESCO. By acting as an exporter of pluralist education, Canada not only helps inoculate other societies against hate and ignorance, it also positions itself as a values leader.

However, all these rosy possibilities face a stark political question: Does Canada have the will and vision to assume this role? Or will it drift along, tethered to an American ship that is abandoning the compass? There are worrying signs that Canada may be inching toward its own version of “anti-woke” retrenchment, which could sap enthusiasm for multilateral cultural leadership. For instance, in the province of Alberta, a new K–6 school curriculum introduced by a conservative government in 2021 was widely criticized for downplaying Indigenous history and emphasizing rote Western historical “facts” detached from critical thinking. Educators derided it as a “curriculum lobotomy” that ignored higher-order concepts and the darker chapters of history. Though education is provincial in Canada, such debates reflect a broader culture war climate seeping north from the U.S. If Canada’s political discourse shifts to frame things like UNESCO, the U.N., or even teaching about colonialism as “woke agenda,” then public support for Canada’s global cultural engagement could wane.

Moreover, Canada’s federal politics could pivot. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, an avowed internationalist who often speaks of Canada’s commitment to multilateralism, will eventually leave the stage. The leading opposition, the Conservative Party under Pierre Poilievre, has shown a penchant for populist rhetoric (attacking “elites,” criticizing the U.N. compact on migration in the past, etc.). It’s not hard to imagine a future Canadian government more in tune with Trumpian skepticism of global institutions. Already, Canada’s contributions to U.N. peacekeeping have dwindled in recent years (a point of criticism for Trudeau). If a similar apathy or antagonism extends to UNESCO and its ilk, Canada might simply fade out of the narrative struggle.

There is also the influence of external powers on Canada’s cultural space. Chinese cultural investment in Canada – from Confucius Institute language programs (many now closed after security concerns) to donated Chinese art exhibits – has been a point of contention. Russia, too, has tried to influence diaspora and historical narratives (for example, Russian-Canadian groups and the interpretation of WWII events or Soviet monuments in Canada). If Canada doesn’t actively fill its own public sphere with strong, fact-based historical programming and cultural funding, it leaves a vacuum that can be filled by others’ state-sponsored narratives. For example, if Canadian schools cut back on teaching global history due to budget or politicization, we might see more foreign-funded “cultural centers” stepping in to offer their version of history or language classes (as Confucius Institutes did). In essence, if Canada won’t inherit the torch of shared history, it will inherit its erasure – or see it carried by someone else, possibly to light a very different flame.

Strategically, Canadian leaders should realize that narrative power is power. Canada has long enjoyed a positive reputation that far exceeds its hard power, largely because it has been seen as a principled supporter of the international system. Now that the “big brother” of that system (the U.S.) has gone rogue, middle powers like Canada (and Australia, Germany, Japan, etc.) must form a kind of coalition of caretakers for global norms. This could mean, for example, Canada working with European allies and maybe India (which remains in UNESCO and values its soft power too) to ensure UNESCO doesn’t fall entirely under authoritarian sway. It could mean upping Canada’s contributions to things like the World Heritage Fund or UNESCO’s press-freedom initiatives (important as disinformation rises).

Canada might also leverage its membership in forums like the G7, the Commonwealth, La Francophonie, etc., to keep pluralistic values alive. For instance, the G7 could launch a “Shared Histories Initiative” to fund history preservation in developing countries, or a digital archive of atrocity evidence (preventing denialism). These would complement UNESCO without needing U.S. involvement.

In an optimistic view, Canada steps into this role and helps rally others to “peacekeep memory.” It would be a natural evolution of Canada’s peacekeeper mythos – from sending blue helmets to conflict zones, to sending scholars, teachers, and conservators to memory zones. The motto might be: we kept peace on the ground; now we keep peace in the narrative. This is admittedly idealistic. But if any country can wear idealism without irony, it is Canada.

If Canada fails to rise to this challenge, the verdict of history might be unkind. A nation that could have been a guardian of shared memory will be remembered as a bystander. It will consume whatever narratives others sell – American, Chinese, or otherwise – rather than shaping the narrative diet. In the grand museum of world history, Canada’s section may end up a quiet corner, noted perhaps for its natural beauty and multicultural experiment, but not as a decisive player in the battle for humanity’s story. Given Canada’s immense human capital, diversity, and relative stability, that would be a tragic underachievement.

Conclusion: The War for the World’s Story

This is not really a story about the U.S. vs. UNESCO, or Trump vs. the U.N. bureaucracy. It is the death rattle of postwar cultural authority – the sound of an old consensus crumbling – and the dawn of a global contest over collective memory. By walking away from UNESCO and similar institutions, America hasn’t just turned off the lights on the Enlightenment ballroom; it has effectively said, “We don’t care if the band plays on without us – even if someone else picks the tune.” Into the void flows an eclectic symphony: some of it harmonious (voices from the Global South long overdue to be heard), much of it discordant (propaganda, revisionism, confusion).

We are entering a world where narrative sovereignty – the power to define the past and thus legitimize the present – is becoming as hotly contested as physical sovereignty. Autocrats and aspirant superpowers know that if you control the narrative, you control the future. Trump’s America has chosen to abdicate that battlefield, effectively disarming itself in the face of information warfare. The long-term consequences for the “West” and for liberal values are ominous. The post–World War II order was not perfect, but it provided a scaffolding for improving truth and justice (e.g., human rights evolved, historical apologies were made, science was respected). With that scaffolding kicked away, we risk falling into a new age of state-sanctioned mythologies and collective amnesia where, as Orwell warned, “those who control the present control the past, and those who control the past control the future.”

In this fraught environment, countries like Canada must decide whether to pick up the torch that has been dropped. The torch of shared history, of factual memory, of cultural solidarity across borders. Canada has long peacekept bodies; now is the test of whether it will peacekeep memory. If it and other like-minded nations do not rise to the occasion, the void will be filled by those less interested in an honest reckoning with history. The narrative vacuum will not last; it will be occupied either by enlightenment or by its opposite. The stakes are nothing less than the world’s collective conscience.

In 1945, UNESCO’s founders optimistically proclaimed, “Ignorance of each other’s ways and lives… has been a common cause, throughout the history of mankind, of that suspicion and mistrust between peoples through which their differences have all too often broken into war.” They sought to replace ignorance with understanding, through patient cultural cooperation. In 2025, that dream is under assault – not by external enemies, but by the very nation that helped midwife the postwar order. The Empire that forfeited memory will find that forgetting is not a defense against conflict; it is an invitation to repeats of past tragedies, scripted by new hands.

One of UNESCO’s slogans, often displayed at its Paris headquarters, is: “We build peace in the minds of men and women.” Today, that work has never been more urgent, and the builders never fewer. The question now is whether others will continue the construction – or whether the grand edifice of collective memory and mutual understanding will be allowed to crumble, brick by brick, lie by lie, until peace itself falls with it.