The ink on the U.S.-Iran “memorandum of understanding” had barely dried before the whole thing fell apart.
When news outlets reported last month that Donald Trump and Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian had reached a breakthrough agreement, commentators rushed to declare a historic moment. On paper, the pact established an immediate ceasefire framework, opened the Strait of Hormuz, and set a sixty-day countdown to curtail Iran’s nuclear program. Then both sides disputed what they had actually agreed to, and the ceasefire collapsed. Washington trumpeted what it called an unconditional nuclear surrender; Tehran claimed victory alongside a $300 billion (U.S.) reconstruction windfall. There was no binding enforcement mechanism, no fixed implementation schedule, no money committed — and, in any legally meaningful sense, no genuine meeting of the minds.
The episode offers a precise and instructive case study for Prime Minister Mark Carney as Canada prepares for renewed trade negotiations under the Canada-United States-Mexico Agreement.
The failure of the Iran deal was, in a technical sense, entirely predictable. As Queen’s University business law professor Gail Henderson explains, “the higher the level of generality, the less likely it will be that a decision maker would hold that the parties have formed a binding agreement,” with courts typically focusing on the mutual intention of the parties as evidenced by the wording of the document itself. The U.S.-Iran MOU failed that test comprehensively. It was, etymologically speaking, a memorandum — from the Latin memorandus, meaning “that which must be remembered” — that neither party chose to remember in the same way.
This is not merely a problem of geopolitics. The MOU has become a fixture of corporate and intergovernmental life precisely because it allows all parties to proclaim progress while committing to nothing enforceable. A hospital announces an MOU with a technology startup to deploy artificial intelligence in diagnostic triage; the startup issues a press release; investors respond; and then the paperwork quietly disappears into bureaucratic subcommittees, never acquiring the shared equity and mutual risk that would characterize a genuine joint venture. Generative AI compounds the illusion further, crawling news releases and synthesizing empty announcements into what reads, algorithmically, like operational momentum.
Canada is not immune to this habit, and the domestic record should give Ottawa pause. Several key examples illustrate the pattern clearly.
The lesson Carney should draw is not subtle. When Canada bargains with the Trump White House — an administration that has demonstrated both the willingness and the capacity to treat signed commitments as provisional — Ottawa cannot afford to treat loose paperwork as sacrosanct strategy while its counterparts treat the same pages as Post-it notes. The obvious objection is that Trump can break even hard contracts. That is precisely the point: a real contract, unlike a memorandum of understanding, relies on collateral, neutral arbitration, and enforceable legal remedies rather than diplomatic goodwill that evaporates under pressure.
Canada enters these negotiations from a position that demands clarity, not ceremony. Carney should insist on binding joint commitments backed by explicit legal remedies — or be prepared to walk away. In commerce and diplomacy alike, paper without consequence is theatre, and Canada has staged enough of it.
