Why the Gripen vs F‑35 Debate Isn’t Really About Hardware or Software — It’s About Canada Refusing to Be a Vassal

Should the maple apologise for its shade?

Canada’s choice between the Saab Gripen and the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II is often portrayed as a technical trade‑off: stealth and networked warfare versus maintainability. But beneath the (admittedly fascinating) comparisons, the true stakes are not about jets at all. They’re about sovereignty, self‑respect — and whether Ottawa finally has the guts to say “We won’t be dictated to.”

The F‑35 isn’t merely a fighter jet. It is, effectively, a contractual embrace: U.S. systems control upgrade scheduling, software access, spare parts supply, and even mission‑critical data flows. Countries that operate it are subject — whether they admit it or not — to a foreign bureaucracy’s rhythms and priorities.

(As a side note, it can also place both operator nations and parts-supplier nations in another difficult bind. If another F-35 nation were to carry out a military action that attracted international condemnation, a supplier nation could not impose an embargo on the production of its F-35 components without jeopardising its own part in the programme and therefore its defence needs. In effect, its foreign policy becomes constrained by the very weapons it has purchased to enact it.)

For a nation like Canada, responsible for securing the world’s second-largest landmass, that degree of dependence represents a strategic vulnerability, not a badge of honour.

And the political context cannot be ignored. Buying a fleet whose operational readiness and critical support are intimately tied to the whims of an unreliable, sometimes openly hostile national leader — as Canadians experienced during the Trump administration — would be a bitter pill for any defence procurer or national leader to swallow. While many U.S.-based observers focus narrowly on software advantages, stealth capabilities, or flying hours, they often sanitise or downplay the aggressive rhetoric, threats, and unilateral pressures directed at Canada. The F‑35 is not just a hardware choice; it is an instrument whose value and usability may fluctuate depending on the temperament of a political figure thousands of kilometres away.

Such a reliance risks more than operational headaches. It affects national prestige and defence credibility. A decision to acquiesce to American expectations, particularly under a leadership style that has proven inconsistent and combative, would signal that Canada is willing to bow to foreign wishes even when doing so may compromise security, industrial independence, and sovereign decision-making. For a nation that prides itself on standing as a principled actor on the global stage, that is not a minor consideration.

Lagom, but not forgotten

Enter Saab’s Gripen. Casual Googlers may wonder why a 1988 jet is such a big deal, but today’s Gripen E/F shares little with the Gripen that first flew in the 1980s, much in the same way the Hornet and the Super Hornet are very different beasts.

The Swedish firm has reintroduced the possibility of a Canadian Gripen purchase, promising full technology transfer, domestic assembly, and long-term maintenance — not to mention a promise of significant industrial boost through job creation. The company has made it clear that such a move would only proceed if Ottawa itself commits to buying the jets.

While estimates of aerospace jobs are often overinflated and work in military aircraft production can be cyclical or unstable, the proposal to establish a Gripen production hub in Canada is nonetheless significant. If pursued, it would create meaningful employment opportunities and provide tangible benefits to Canadian workers and the broader aerospace sector, reinforcing both industrial capability and national defence sovereignty. Buying Gripen need not harm F‑35 jobs. A mixed fleet lets Canada keep some F‑35s, sustaining US supply-chain roles, while Gripen production at home creates local aerospace jobs. They could coexist without displacing work. Military aerospace for “job creation” alone is often poor value. Complex fighter programmes like the F‑35 generate relatively few domestic positions compared with their enormous cost.

On top of that, a sobering new assessment from the Canadian Forces College lays bare a harsh reality: the F‑35’s “mission‑capable rate” remains stubbornly low — around 36% in 2023 — meaning many jets may sit grounded at any given time, undermining readiness. (Though Gripen E/F is a young aircraft, and we should not take Saab’s claims on serviceability levels without a pinch of salt, but all reasonable signs suggest Gripen E/F would offer a far higher readiness level).

Now, Canada appears to be genuinely shrinking from the previous commitment to purchase 88 F‑35 jets. Reports suggest the government is reconsidering at least part of the order, and may permit the Gripen to rival the remaining portion — or even become the backbone of a future fleet.

If Ottawa does proceed — if it opts for Gripen, or a mixed fleet with Gripen for sovereignty‑centric roles and F‑35s for niche stealth operations — it will be making a much bigger statement than a budgetary or technical decision. It will be signalling that Canada will no longer quietly accept a second‑class position. It will be saying that national defence isn’t just about what you can buy — it’s about who decides how and when you use it.

Critics will warn of logistical headaches. A mixed fleet means multiple training regimes, separate maintenance and supply chains — a headache for sure, but not an insurmountable one if political will exists. And if the alternative is to remain reliant on systems you neither control nor fully understand, perhaps the inconvenience is a price worth paying.

Because this isn’t a discussion about radar cross‑sections or combat radius. It’s about identity. It’s about autonomy. It’s about refusing to treat Canada like a province rather than a sovereign.

Choosing Gripen wouldn’t mean turning away from allies — it would mean joining them on different terms. It would mean asserting that Canada isn’t just a customer paying for top‑end defence kits, but a nation that demands control, accountability and dignity in its own defence decisions.

Bros don’t cock-block

And there is a further dimension to consider. Should Canada commit to the Gripen E and the United States choose to block export licences for US‑made components — whether engines, weapons, or integrated systems — it would serve as an unmistakable vindication of the choice to look elsewhere. Such an action would expose the reality that the U.S., far from being a benign partner, is willing to leverage commercial deals for political pressure, undermining the defence of a supposed ally. In that scenario, Canada’s pivot to Gripen would not merely be an operational or financial decision; it would be a statement that the country prioritises its autonomy and refuses to be dictated to, even by its closest and most powerful ally.

Moreover, much of the debate around the F‑35’s supposed superiority obscures a critical question: superiority for what purpose? Unless Canada intends to wage a full-scale war against a near-peer power such as Russia by itself — a scenario that remains, for the foreseeable future, improbable — many of the F‑35’s most advanced and expensive capabilities are largely irrelevant. Its stealth envelope, sensor fusion, and extreme beyond-visual-range engagement capacities are designed for high-intensity, contested theatres where every second counts and attrition rates are unforgiving. Canada’s strategic environment, by contrast, is characterised by vast, sparsely populated airspace, a relatively low-risk northern frontier, and a primary focus on homeland defence, search-and-rescue, and NORAD obligations. You may need some stealth for some missions; it could be an F-35 as part of a mixed force or a Cooperative UCAV.

To pay for a platform whose core strengths are optimised for a war Canada will almost certainly never fight is to prioritise prestige and technological theatre over practical utility. The Gripen E, by contrast, offers a capable multi-role platform that is agile, modern, and well-suited to continental defence, maritime patrols, and rapid response — the missions Canadian forces actually perform on a day-to-day basis. Its sensor suite, weapons flexibility, and maintainability are more than sufficient for credible deterrence, interception, and sovereignty enforcement. Choosing the F‑35 largely to acquire features intended for a superpower-scale conflict risks locking Canada into a system whose complexity and cost may outstrip its real-world value. In this light, Gripen represents not just a sovereign choice, but a rational one: modern, capable, and appropriately scaled to Canada’s true defence responsibilities. If a higher level of capability is sought, Canada could buy into GCAP later. If this seems a long way away, it should be remembered a force of Canadian 88 F-35s at a fully operational state, is not something that is going to happen before 2033.

All (political) Weather Fighter

Critics of a Canadian Gripen procurement may argue that such a decision is folly — it is a silly, symbolic gesture in response to a passing American leader whose combative style is not to be taken at face value, they reason, and who (in combat aircraft time scales) will soon be gone. Yet this line of thinking underestimates two crucial realities. First, history shows that one cannot reliably count on the benevolence or consistency of any foreign administration. Decisions made today must account for contingencies well beyond the next electoral cycle in Washington.

Second, the United States, even absent Trump, could persist in a form of chaotic semi-isolationism, oscillating between engagement and retrenchment, between cooperation and unilateralism. Such unpredictability is not a passing storm but a structural feature of a global power with deep internal divisions and shifting priorities. For Canada, tying its operational readiness and national security to a system whose core functionality depends on approval from a politically volatile partner is a risk no responsible government should ignore. Procuring the Gripen would not be a reaction to a single personality; it would be a measured step to ensure that Canada retains a greater autonomy, operational control, and credibility regardless of the American political weather.

The Gripen vs F‑35 debate isn’t about hardware or software. It’s about whether Canada has the self-respect to say, “We call the shots.” And if Ottawa wants to be taken seriously — not as a junior partner but as a sovereign state — it should choose accordingly.

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