When Canada went to the polls on April 28, few expected the Liberal Party—battered by years of declining support and leadership turnover—to stage a comeback, let alone retain power. Yet it did, and analysts are increasingly pointing to a surprising catalyst: Donald Trump.
In what’s being dubbed the “Trump Backlash,” Canadian voters appear to have recoiled from Pierre Poilievre’s perceived alignment with the newly re-elected U.S. President. Trump’s inflammatory rhetoric, his antagonism toward Canada, and a wave of aggressive tariffs on Canadian exports pushed voters back into the arms of the Liberals—led this time by political newcomer and former central banker Mark Carney.
The question now is whether that same dynamic will play out in Australia, where voters go to the polls on May 3. Liberal Party leader Peter Dutton, once buoyed by discontent over the cost of living and housing, has seen his momentum stall in recent weeks. His early embrace of Trump-style politics—complete with attacks on “woke” culture and calls for deep government cuts—now appears to be a liability rather than an asset.
Across the globe, conservative leaders are recalibrating. Trump’s second term was supposed to invigorate right-wing movements. Instead, it may be undermining them.
After Donald Trump was re-elected to the White House in November 2024, conservative parties around the world celebrated. Many believed that his nationalist, anti-globalist message would empower right-leaning leaders in Europe, Latin America, and the Indo-Pacific. In early 2025, political scientists spoke of a “Trump bump”—a kind of ideological tailwind for parties aligning themselves with Trump’s worldview.
Initially, that seemed to hold true. In France, Germany, and Austria, right-wing parties didn’t necessarily win outright but posted strong enough results to demand a seat at the table. In countries where conservatives were already in power—like Italy under Giorgia Meloni or Argentina under Javier Milei—Trump’s return to the global stage offered validation and a sense of ideological camaraderie.
Even Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, navigating elections of his own in the spring of 2024, found it convenient to reference Trump’s tough-on-China stance and populist appeal.
But the mood has shifted. Trump’s first 100 days back in office have been defined by unpredictability, economic disruption, and diplomatic turbulence. He has imposed sweeping tariffs on allies and rivals alike. His declaration of “Liberation Day” on April 1—marking the start of new reciprocal tariffs—sent shockwaves through economies tightly linked to U.S. markets, including Canada and Australia.
Suddenly, the “Trump bump” is looking more like a “Trump slump.”
The Canadian election serves as the clearest example of how Trump’s influence can backfire. Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre began 2025 with a commanding lead—polling at 45%, while the Liberals, reeling from Justin Trudeau’s resignation, languished at just 22%.
But Trump’s repeated provocations toward Canada—including a half-joking but inflammatory suggestion that it should become the 51st U.S. state—turned the tide. His tariffs on Canadian lumber, dairy, and auto parts triggered a nationalist backlash. Poilievre’s delayed response and past praise of Trump hurt him deeply.
Mark Carney, who replaced Trudeau as Liberal leader in February, seized the moment. Though inexperienced in electoral politics, he was perceived as competent, measured, and—most importantly—willing to stand up to Trump. By April, polls had tightened. On election day, the Liberals stunned observers with a narrow but decisive win, forming a minority government with NDP support.
Poilievre even lost his seat—a previously safe Conservative stronghold—underscoring the magnitude of the shift.
Now, eyes turn to Australia. The parallels with Canada are striking. At the start of the year, Peter Dutton’s Liberal-National Coalition was leading comfortably. Australians were frustrated by inflation, unaffordable housing, and stagnant wages. Dutton offered a Trump-lite platform: anti-wokeness, immigration restrictions, and promises to “cut the Canberra fat.”
He openly praised Trump as “a big thinker,” and echoed his calls for curbing foreign influence and downsizing federal power. It resonated—until Trump’s trade war escalated.
Australia, like Canada, is deeply integrated with the U.S. economically and militarily. Trump’s new tariffs hit Australian steel and beef exports hard. His erratic diplomacy—including a threat to withdraw from the AUKUS defense pact if allies “don’t pay up”—rattled voters.
According to recent polling from ABC News, more than 70% of Australians now believe Trump’s actions will negatively impact their personal finances. A growing majority—66%—believe Australia must strengthen its own defense capabilities rather than rely solely on the United States. Just last year, that figure was under 40%.
Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and the Labor Party have capitalized on this anxiety. By contrasting their steady diplomacy with Dutton’s early flirtation with Trumpism, they’ve begun to close the polling gap. Some surveys now show Labor pulling ahead, just days before the vote.
Sensing the shifting winds, Dutton has changed tack in recent weeks. Like Poilievre before him, he has distanced himself from Trump’s economic agenda, criticizing U.S. tariffs and calling Trump’s “Liberation Day” a “bad day for Australia.”
But the damage may be done. His earlier rhetoric is being replayed in Labor attack ads, and political analysts argue that voters may not buy the about-face.
Globally, Dutton is not alone in rethinking his Trump association. German CDU leader Friedrich Merz, despite his party’s strong election showing, chose to form a coalition with the center-left Social Democrats rather than align with far-right factions seen as pro-Trump. He’s been a vocal critic of Trump’s stance on NATO and Ukraine.
Marine Le Pen in France, once a vocal admirer of Trump, has toned down her support. Facing a more moderate electorate and wary of Trump’s unpredictability, she now positions herself as a defender of French sovereignty first—not a transatlantic ideologue.
Even Giorgia Meloni, often painted as Europe’s closest Trump ally, has been cautious. Her recent White House visit was high-profile, but she has walked a diplomatic tightrope—praising Trump on values while quietly opposing his stance on Ukraine.
This pattern raises an important question: Has Donald Trump abandoned traditional conservative principles in his pursuit of power?
His critics think so. They argue that he governs by chaos, undermines global alliances, and shows little regard for legal or constitutional norms. While once seen as a populist conservative disrupting elite consensus, Trump’s second term has revealed a more erratic, isolationist approach that even ideological allies struggle to defend.
Former U.K. Prime Minister Rishi Sunak, who left office shortly after Trump’s re-election, reportedly told confidants that working with Trump again was “like holding a lit stick of dynamite.” That sentiment appears to be spreading among conservative leaders worldwide.
The core challenge is this: Trump’s brand of politics, once a source of inspiration for conservatives abroad, is now becoming a liability in liberal democracies where voters value stability, predictability, and coherent governance.
The “Trump factor” once rallied conservatives across borders. It gave voice to frustrations with globalization, elite technocracy, and cultural liberalism. But the current political season—especially Canada’s surprise election and Australia’s shifting dynamics—suggests that this influence is waning.
Where once leaders rode the Trump wave, they now risk drowning in its undertow.
Whether Albanese wins re-election this weekend or not, the broader trend is clear: Trump’s second term is less a wind in conservative sails and more a storm many are trying to weather. For now, the global right is rethinking its alliances, its rhetoric, and its future—without the once-magical Trump boost.
