Mr. Speaker, it is a great honour to rise in the House today for my first speech as the elected member of Parliament for Souris—Moose Mountain.

I want to share a few reflections on where I came from, whom I serve and the responsibilities we all carry as members of this chamber. I am deeply humbled to represent a region that is rooted in hard work, resilience and unshakable community spirit.

First and foremost, I want to thank the people of my riding. I am here because of them. They entrusted me to be their voice in this chamber, and I will work every day to be worthy of that trust.

I also want to acknowledge those who came before me. Ed Komarnicki and Robert Kitchen served this region with integrity, thoughtfulness and strength of conviction. Their example has set a high bar.

I would not be here today without the support of my family. My wife, Candace, is my greatest partner and source of strength. Through every challenge, every sacrifice and every long stretch of road, she remained unwavering in her support and grace. Her belief in me never faltered, and I am endlessly grateful for her love, insight and patience. My daughter, Emma, reminds me daily of what truly matters. She is thoughtful, courageous and wise beyond her years. Her quiet encouragement has been one of the most steadying forces in my journey thus far. I am also grateful to my parents, who taught me not only to work hard but to work with purpose. They instilled in me the importance of character, integrity and perseverance. The examples they set are my guiding light.

I am also thankful to the many volunteers whose dedication and sacrifice helped make this journey possible. Their belief in our cause and their tireless efforts are a humbling reminder that public service is never done alone.

I was humbled to receive the highest percentage of the vote of any candidate in Canada during this election, but let me be clear: This is not about me. It is a testament to the people of Souris—Moose Mountain and their belief in our message, which is rooted in principle: a respect for hard work, for resource development, for freedom and for limited but accountable government.

I grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan, where I learned early that complaining would not get me very far. If something is broken, we fix it. If something matters, we stand up and speak out. Life on the land teaches us patience, persistence and humility. It also teaches us that when we make a promise, we keep it, because our word is often the only thing we have. Those lessons have never left me.

I remember when I was a teenager and a federal issue was affecting cattle prices. My father said to me, “If it matters enough to talk about, it matters enough to do something about.” I wrote a letter to our MP. That simple act of engagement was the first step in my realizing that democracy works only when people participate. It taught me that government, at its best, should be accessible and responsive, not distant and dismissive.

Years later, I had the opportunity to live and work in post-Soviet Eastern Europe for nearly a decade, immersed in countries still navigating the aftermath of authoritarian rule. I was involved in international trade and economic development, working with businesses and governments as they sought to rebuild their economies and re-establish democratic norms after generations of state control. What I witnessed was both inspiring and sobering.

In many of these countries, privacy had once been non-existent. Information was power, and that power had too often been abused. Surveillance was used to silence dissent. Trust in public institutions had been deeply damaged, and though democracy had arrived, the scars of its absence lingered. In some places, people were still afraid to speak freely, still hesitant to believe that the change was permanent. It was there, in conversations with small business owners, young reformers and cautious civil servants, that I saw the true cost of lost public trust. Once trust is broken, it takes generations to rebuild.

When I returned to Canada, I brought those lessons home with me, into my business, my community and eventually into public service. I later had the honour of serving as a cabinet minister in Saskatchewan's provincial government, in which I was responsible for portfolios on economy, trade and innovation. That experience deepened my belief that when government works well, it creates opportunity, not barriers, for people to grow, contribute and succeed.

I reflect on all of this when I consider part 4 of Bill C-4, which addresses the question of how privacy laws apply to federal political parties. At face value, this provision seems narrowly focused. It would retroactively assert that provincial privacy laws do not apply to federal political parties, reinforcing exclusive federal jurisdiction. However, beneath this technical language lies a more profound question about the relationship between citizens and their democratic institutions.

When Canadians provide their personal information to political parties, whether signing up for a newsletter, attending a town hall or simply expressing support, they are placing trust in us. They expect that information to be treated with care, confidentiality and respect. When that expectation is not met, the harm is not just legal or administrative. It is democratic.

The bill may clarify federal jurisdiction, but it also takes provincial privacy commissioners out of the picture. These offices have built strong, effective systems to address complaints and hold organizations accountable. By removing that layer of oversight, we risk weakening the transparency and trust that Canadians expect and deserve.

There is also the risk of reinforcing cynicism. When people see legislation rushed through Parliament, particularly as part of a broader omnibus bill, they may feel that their concerns are being managed, not addressed. When they discover that their personal data, collected for political purposes, exists outside the scrutiny applied to most other private entities in Canada, it raises a troubling double standard. We should ask ourselves what example we are setting as federal political actors. If we expect businesses, charities and provincial governments to uphold privacy rights, should we not hold ourselves to at least that same standard?

I believe that we can do better. Rather than simply assert jurisdiction, we should be using this moment to create a clear, principled and enforceable privacy framework tailored to the political context, one that respects constitutional boundaries but does not sacrifice accountability. Canadians should not be asked to choose between federal clarity and democratic transparency. They deserve both. There is a real opportunity here to lead by example.

As federal lawmakers, we can take a proactive approach. We can establish minimum privacy standards for political parties, standards that ensure Canadians know exactly how their data is collected, stored and used, so that the publication of a privacy policy becomes more than a symbolic check box. We must restore trust and credibility, and we must strengthen our democracy from within. While the legislation does address the jurisdictional gap, it should not be mistaken for a comprehensive solution.

The real solution lies in demonstrating that political parties are willing to play by the same rules as everyone else, that we are not seeking exemption but embracing transparency. This is our chance to get it right, not just for today but for the next generation of voters, many of whom are already deeply skeptical of political institutions. Let us give them a reason to believe that we are listening and that we are willing to hold ourselves to the same standard we expect of others, one that respects constitutional boundaries but does not sacrifice accountability.

Canadians should not be forced to choose between federal clarity and democratic transparency. They deserve both. This is why, as we debate legislation like this, we must ask not only whether it meets constitutional muster but also whether it strengthens public trust, whether it improves how we serve and whether it brings citizens closer to the institutions that represent them.

I saw, in eastern Europe, what happens when governments stop listening, when citizens lose faith in the institutions that are meant to serve them. I can say, without hesitation, that rebuilding trust is far harder than maintaining it. Canadians deserve transparency and clarity, and they deserve to know that the people they elect are subject to rules and are not above them.

I did not come to Ottawa seeking applause. I came here to do the work, to advocate for those who feel unheard, to push for common sense in public policy and to serve with humility. The people of Souris—Moose Mountain are not looking for platitudes. They are looking for leadership that understands the value of work and the weight of their worries. They deserve to know that their privacy, their voices and their values matter.

As I rise from my first speech in the House, I do so not as a politician but as a proud Canadian, shaped by my prairie roots, informed by global experience and guided by the belief that government exists to serve, not to control. I will return again to that image of myself as a teenager, writing that first letter, guided by my father's words. If something matters enough to complain about, it matters enough to do something about. I intend to do something about it, not just today but every day that I have the honour to serve in the House.

Steven Bonk