Editorial: Listen First, Lead Later

Tomorrow at noon, the die will be cast.

Across Alberta, nomination packages will close, and the official list of candidates for municipal office will be revealed. For some, this moment will mark the beginning of hard-fought battles—campaigns full of door-knocking, kitchen-table conversations, and sleepless nights.

For others, it will mark the entry into the unknown, as they test their ideas and reputations against the will of their neighbours for the very first time. And for a small, select group, tomorrow will simply confirm what was already clear: they will return to office by acclamation, unchallenged, to serve another four years. This moment, though administrative on its face, is deeply symbolic.

It is the pivot between potential and reality. Until noon tomorrow, everything is speculation: who will step forward, who will step back, and who will step aside. At 12:01, speculation ends, and the journey of 28 days begins—28 days that will shape communities for four years, if not longer.

Some of you will be incumbents defending your record, pointing to the potholes filled, the wastewater plants expanded, or the community halls preserved. Some of you will be challengers, arguing that the old guard has lost touch or grown complacent. And some of you will be first-time candidates, perhaps unsure of the rules of engagement, but eager to roll up your sleeves and test your convictions.

To all of you, I say welcome.

You are about to enter a fraternity—or perhaps, more accurately, a family. Alberta’s municipal leaders form part of a long, proud tradition of public service that stretches across the country. From small villages on the prairie to growing cities on the edge of the Rockies, you will be linked to thousands of others who have stood where you now stand, believing that their voice, their time, and their ideas could help their communities.

It is not an easy fraternity to join.

Campaigns are bruising, even at the municipal level. They demand sacrifices from families, friends, and employers. They expose you to criticism—sometimes fair, sometimes vicious. They test your resilience, your patience, and your integrity. And they will demand every ounce of energy you can muster for the next four weeks.

But here is my hope: may the best person win. May the person with the ideas most suited to the community’s challenges win. May the person who understands the needs of their neighbours win. And may those who do not win nevertheless leave the experience with respect for the process, for their opponents, and for themselves.

Alberta’s towns, villages, counties, and cities face pressures that cannot be ignored. Wastewater systems are aging. Sewer upgrades are overdue. Fire halls and recreation facilities need investment. Roads crumble under heavy trucks. Libraries stretch their budgets. FCSS programs strain to meet the needs of families. Affordable housing remains scarce. And above all, residents still expect reliable, efficient services that make their daily lives possible. Add to that the fiscal squeeze from higher orders of government, the unpredictable swings in resource-based revenues, and the rising costs of everything from asphalt to insurance. Municipal leaders today are expected to do more with less—and then explain to their residents why the snow removal is slower or the taxes higher.

The task is not small. And yet, many candidates arrive at the starting line with only a handful of personal priorities in mind: the park they want to build, the policy they want to scrap, the shiny project they want to cut the ribbon on. Understandable, yes. But misguided. Because municipal government is not about ego. It is not about the pet projects you hope to champion.

It is about the people.

For the next 28 days, candidates will be in campaign mode. They will knock on doors, host coffee chats, attend forums, and spend countless hours on sidewalks, porches, and in driveways. This is the job interview. And the job is simple: listen. I have criss-crossed Alberta in recent months, speaking with mayors, reeves, councillors, and aspiring candidates. Again and again, I hear the same refrain: “This is what I want to get done.” But here’s the truth: what you want doesn’t matter unless it matches what your community needs. Your job is to listen to the mother in central Alberta who is struggling to keep food on the table because property taxes went up again. To the grandparents on fixed incomes who rely on library programs and FCSS services. To the father in a mid-size city who worries about letting his daughter play outside because homelessness and vagrancy feel too close to home. Those voices are not distractions. They are the job. And if you cannot set aside your ego long enough to hear them, the next four years will be wasted.

We live in an age where politics often resembles theatre.

At the provincial and federal levels, voters have grown accustomed to the fireworks: the soundbites, the insults, the carefully staged outrage on social media. Municipal politics is different—or at least, it should be. If you find yourself tempted to attack your opponent’s personality, their family, or their beliefs, stop. Ask yourself: am I doing this because I’m listening to my community, or because I think it will score me points? If the answer is the latter, you are in the wrong contest.

Because here’s what residents are not saying. They are not saying they want the candidate with the sharpest zinger on Twitter. They are not saying they want more lawn signs than their neighbour’s lawn can handle. They are not saying they want mud-slinging in the local paper.

They are saying: if you want my vote, sit down for a coffee. Listen to me. Show me you care, not just in election season but year-round. An older gentleman in southwest Calgary put it bluntly last week: he’s tired of “Johnny-come-lately” candidates who only show up in September. If you haven’t earned his trust in the off-season, don’t expect it now. That is the standard you face. Not a debate stage, not a headline, but a neighbour who is willing to give you 20 minutes at their kitchen table.

The next 28 days will bring conflict. You will encounter your opponents on the doorsteps, at community events, and in the local media. Here is my advice: don’t take it personally. Respect them. Talk to them. Compare notes on what you are hearing. Because after the ballots are counted, councils must govern together. The fiery debate of the campaign will give way to the patient grind of budgets, bylaws, and long-term planning. If you burn every bridge in October, you will have none left to cross in November.

Respect is not weakness. It is the foundation of governance.

Let me be clear about what I’ve been hearing. Residents are not indifferent. They are not apathetic. They are frustrated. They are anxious. And above all, they want leaders who will listen. The mother who sees groceries rising faster than wages does not care about your Facebook meme war. The grandfather who fears losing the local library does not care about your lawn-sign count. The father who worries about crime and homelessness does not care about your fundraising totals. What they care about is whether you understand their struggles.

Whether you will fight for services that matter to them. Whether you will treat them with respect when they call your office. That is the job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Now for those who are joining a small group tomorrow at 12:01PM.

You will be acclaimed to four years of service. No debates, no forums, no door-knocking marathons.

But don’t mistake this for a free pass. If anything, your responsibility is greater. Because no one will have tested your record at the ballot box this fall, you owe it to your residents to prove that you deserve their trust. Now is not the time to retreat. Now is the time to engage.

Go out and talk to people. Attend events. Host coffees. Knock on doors anyway. Ask what people are worried about, what they hope for, what they need. We often lament the apathy of municipal politics—the low turnout, the quiet campaigns, the lack of challengers. You, acclaimed candidates, have the power to fight that apathy by showing that engagement is not conditional on competition. It is the duty of the office itself. So use these 28 days not to coast, but to connect.

On the night of October 20th, Alberta’s residents will have made their choices.

Councils will be formed, mayors and reeves sworn in, and new terms will begin. Some will enter chambers with fresh energy. Some will return with hard-earned wisdom. Some will sit down together for the first time, still wary from the campaign trail. But all of you will face the same task: to govern. To make decisions, not for yourselves, but for the communities that entrusted you. If you have spent these 28 days listening—truly listening—you will enter those chambers with a map of your community’s hopes and fears. If you have not, you will be flying blind. The choice is yours.

Let me speak from the heart for a quick moment if you will. To every candidate who puts their name forward—whether for mayor, councillor, or reeve—thank you. Thank you for your courage. Thank you for your willingness to serve. Thank you for believing that local democracy matters, and for giving your community the gift of choice.

To those who win: serve humbly. To those who lose: hold your head high. And to those acclaimed: remember that silence at the ballot box does not equal silence in the community.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for making democracy what it should be: a conversation, a contest of ideas, and a commitment to community.