The F-35 Debate Is Really about How We Killed the Avro Arrow -
The F-35 Debate Is Really about How We Killed the Avro Arrow -
The F-35 Debate Is Really about How We Killed the Avro Arrow | The Walrus
The deliberate destruction of Canada’s homegrown fighter jet haunts our standoff with Washington.
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In the early 1950s, Canada faced a strategic reality that’s easy to forget today. The shortest route for Soviet bombers carrying nuclear weapons to reach American cities ran straight over the Canadian Arctic. Canada wasn’t a junior partner in continental defence. It was the forward line, much like Ukraine or the Baltics are today.
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The [Canadian] CF-105 Arrow was not “ahead of its time” in the lazy way that phrase often gets used. It was simply advanced, full stop. The aircraft featured a large delta wing optimized for high-speed, high-altitude flight. It was designed for a two-person crew, integrated advanced avionics for its era, and was intended to carry sophisticated radar-guided weapons.
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The Arrow was so ambitious that Canada didn’t even have the facilities to test all aspects of it domestically. Avro relied on American test ranges and research infrastructure, including National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics facilities in the United States.
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Avro engineers leaned on American facilities and suppliers because that’s where the tools were. US test centres had already been built for exactly this kind of work, and American firms dominated key subsystems, from interim engines to avionics components.
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None of that implied sabotage or covert pressure in the moment. It meant that Canada was trying to build a world-class interceptor inside a North American aerospace ecosystem that was already deeply integrated, asymmetric, and tilted south.
The Arrow rolled out publicly in October 1957.
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On February 20, 1959, Prime Minister John Diefenbaker’s government cancelled the Arrow and the Iroquois engine program. That date is still known as “Black Friday” in Canadian aerospace circles ... The reasons were not mysterious, even if they remain controversial.
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The Arrow was expensive. Canada was also being asked to invest in missile defence systems and to integrate more deeply into NORAD, which had just been formalized with the United States. At the same time, strategic thinking in Washington was shifting toward intercontinental ballistic missiles as the dominant threat, reducing the perceived value of manned interceptors in some circles.
Canada could not afford everything. The Diefenbaker government chose a path that favoured missiles, alliance integration, and cost control over domestic aerospace ambition.
That decision alone would have been painful but survivable. What followed was something else entirely.
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Thousands of skilled workers lost their jobs overnight. Many left Canada entirely. A significant number went on to work in the United States, including on National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) programs.
Canada didn’t just lose a jet. It lost a generation of aerospace momentum. And it lost confidence, temporarily.
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But make no mistake; the Arrow still matters in 2026, and Canadians should be proud. If the Arrow were just an old jet, it would be a museum piece. Instead, it keeps coming back because Canada never replaced what it lost.
France did. Sweden did. France chose to preserve an independent combat aircraft capability through programs like Mirage, Rafale, and now its Future Combat Air System ambitions. Sweden evolved its Gripen line, through the Draken, accepting trade-offs but retaining control.
Canada walked away from that path in 1959 and never returned. Every fighter since has been imported. Every decision has involved trade-offs between capability, cost, and political alignment.
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That choice [of cancelling the Arrow] echoes. Every time Canada debates whether it can say no to Washington, the answer is shaped by what Canada can and cannot build on its own. Sovereignty isn’t just flags and borders. It’s industrial capability, supply chains, and the ability to absorb political friction without losing operational control.
Canada gave that up in 1959. The Arrow wasn’t stolen. It wasn’t smuggled away in the night. It wasn’t quietly dismantled by American agents. It was surrendered, cleanly and decisively, by a government that chose the path of least resistance and paid a price it didn’t fully understand at the time.
That price is still being paid, one procurement cycle at a time. And that’s why, every time Canada’s fighter future becomes a bargaining chip, the Arrow rises from the wreckage and asks the same question it’s been asking for sixty-six years. Who really controls Canada’s skies?