Make it Fly: The Avro Arrow, The Canadian Dream, and Why it still Matters

Hey there, Standing on the Ledge, how are we all this morning?

I was not sure at first whether this belonged here or over at Unplugged Pagan, but the more I sat with it, the more I realized this is a Standing on the Ledge post. Because this is not just about an airplane. It is about memory. It is about national spine. It is about what happens when a country guts one of its boldest dreams and then spends the next sixty-odd years acting like it should be grateful to stand in somebody else’s shadow.

I have been following the Avro Arrow story for close to 22 years now, and it still gets under my skin. Not just because of the aircraft itself, but because of what it stood for, and what it still stands for. Out in Calgary, Alberta, a group of determined Canadians at the Avro Museum are still pushing that dream forward with the Arrow II project: a 60% scale, piloted experimental replica of the Avro Arrow being built at Springbank Airport.

And after years of work, delay, engineering, setbacks, persistence, and sheer stubborn Canadian refusal to let the dream die, it appears that later this spring the project may finally begin taxi trials. Think about that for a second. After all these years, this thing is not just a story told with regret anymore. It is not just a symbol. It is not just an old wound in Canadian history. It is a machine. A real aircraft. Built here. By Canadians. In Canada.

No, it is not being built for defence. No, it is not the exact original Arrow reborn. It is being built under experimental aircraft rules. Fine. That is not the point. The point is that Canadians are still saying, all these years later: build it anyway. Make it move anyway. Make it live anyway. Make it fly anyway.

The ghost behind the dream

The original Avro Arrow first flew on March 25, 1958. It was designed as a supersonic, all-weather interceptor, and it was one of the boldest aerospace projects this country ever dared to put on the runway. Depending on who you ask, it was either a visionary leap ahead of its time or an expensive project caught in the wrong political and military moment. Maybe it was both.

What is not in dispute is what happened next. On February 20, 1959, the program was cancelled. Five aircraft had flown. A sixth was lining up for more advanced testing. More were in production. Then came Black Friday. Thousands of jobs were wiped out. Aircraft, tooling, and records were destroyed. And with that, Canada did not just lose a plane. We lost nerve. We lost momentum. We lost part of our belief that this country could do more than sell raw material, salute politely, and wait for somebody bigger to tell us what our place in the world should be.

What it meant, and what it still means

That is why the Avro Arrow has never really gone away. Because it was never just aluminum, engines, and speed. It became a symbol of a version of Canada that was willing to think big, build big, and trust its own engineers, workers, and imagination. It stood for the idea that we did not always have to be the junior partner, the quieter neighbour, the polite afterthought standing beside the American giant hoping not to get elbowed off the stage.

Some people will say the Arrow was doomed. Some will say the economics did not work. Some will say missile technology was changing the battlefield and the aircraft belonged to a moment that was already passing. Fine. Maybe there is truth in some of that. But there is another truth too: Canadians looked at the Arrow and saw proof that this country could create something extraordinary. Not borrowed. Not imported. Not assembled from somebody else’s vision. Ours.

That is why Arrow II matters. Not because it will rewrite Cold War history. Not because it will magically restore a lost aerospace industry. But because it says something that Canada badly needs to hear right now: we do not have to shrink ourselves. We do not have to keep measuring our worth by American standards, American approval, or American priorities. Canada needs to be Canada. Fully. Openly. Unapologetically.

In today’s climate, that matters even more

And let me be blunt.

Canada has spent far too long acting like being overshadowed is normal. It is not normal. It is not healthy. And it is not something we should keep accepting as inevitable. America already has more than enough power, more than enough noise, and more than enough gravity pulling everything toward itself. Canada does not need to become more American. Canada needs to become more Canadian.

That means backing our own ideas. Building our own industries. Trusting our own people. Protecting our own interests. Celebrating our own achievements without immediately filtering them through an American lens. We do not need to hate America to say that plainly. We just need enough self-respect to stop orbiting it.

And that is why this Arrow II project hits something so deep for me. Because it feels like a refusal. A refusal to forget. A refusal to stay small. A refusal to keep acting like our biggest dreams are always too expensive, too ambitious, too inconvenient, or too Canadian to survive.

I hope there is live coverage of the trials. I hope there are videos. I hope there is a crowd. I hope I get to see this thing move under its own power. And when it finally flies, I hope a whole lot of Canadians feel the same thing in their chest:

not nostalgia,

not regret,

but recognition.

The recognition that this country still has talent. Still has vision. Still has courage. Still has builders. Still has dreamers. Still has fight.

Because some dreams do not die when governments cancel them.

Sometimes they wait.

Sometimes they smoulder.

And sometimes, if enough stubborn Canadians keep showing up, they rise again.

To the crew out in Calgary: rock on. Make it fly. Make it soar.

Canada first.

That is all for now.

Godspeed.