Opinion: In Municipal Government, Beware the False Prophets.

It is not every day I would reach for the Bible in a discussion about municipal government, but there are moments when an old line captures a modern problem with unsettling precision.

“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”

It is a dramatic phrase, but it feels increasingly relevant to the way we talk about local government, local leadership, and public policy today—especially in an era where expertise has become a brand and certainty a commodity.

Across Canada, local governments have become one of the most visible arenas of public debate, yet also one of the most misunderstood. In recent months, the volume of voices claiming to have definitive answers to complex municipal problems has grown louder and more confident. Social media is filled with declarations about how our communities should be run, who is qualified to make decisions, and which solutions are supposedly obvious. The tone is absolute. The message is simple. And the implication is clear: if municipalities are struggling, it must be because leaders refuse to adopt the “right” ideas.

Among these voices is a new archetype: the municipal “expert” who speaks fluently in buzzwords, cherry-picks data, and packages policy as if it were a product ready for immediate sale.

This figure rarely acknowledges uncertainty, rarely discusses trade-offs, and rarely admits that long-term consequences exist. Their solutions are always urgent, always marketable, and always aligned with whatever narrative is most likely to generate attention, contracts, or political relevance. For them, municipal governance is not a slow, collective process—it is an opportunity for quick wins, fast reputations, and short-term returns.

This way of thinking is seductive, but it is also deeply flawed. From an early age, most of us learn that there is rarely only one way to solve a problem. Human systems are complex, shaped by countless variables, and municipal governance is no exception.

Municipalities of all sizes are not machines that can be fixed with a single tool. They are ecosystems of people, institutions, histories, and competing priorities. Yet much of today’s discourse—amplified by opportunistic experts—treats municipal challenges as if they were riddles with one correct answer waiting to be revealed by the most confident consultant or the most viral post.

I've spoken to many who have spent time in municipal leadership, and all seem to be aware how unrealistic this is.

Decisions are made with imperfect information, limited budgets, political pressures, legal constraints, and the knowledge that every choice will disappoint someone. When a municipal leader says, “We made the best decision possible with the information we had at the time,” that is not a confession of incompetence. It is an honest description of governance in the real world.

But for the short-term expert, such honesty is inconvenient. Nuance does not sell. Complexity does not trend. Admitting uncertainty undermines the performance of expertise.

The transformation of municipal life over the pastyears illustrates this reality. Once, newspapers were the primary source of information about local government. Today, algorithms shape what residents see and believe. Once, council chambers were full of citizens eager to participate in civic life. Today, municipalities celebrate when more than a handful of people attend public meetings. Once, the municipal office was widely regarded as a meaningful form of public service. Today, fewer people are willing to run for office, deterred by hostility, misinformation, and the constant threat of personal attack. And yet, paradoxically, more people than ever—particularly those with something to gain—claim to know exactly how municipalities should be run.

This contradiction lies at the heart of the current crisis in municipal discourse. We are living in a time when commentary is abundant, but understanding is scarce. The loudest voices are often the least patient, the least nuanced, and the least willing to acknowledge trade-offs. They promise instant solutions to problems that have developed over decades. They dismiss complexity as incompetence and compromise as weakness. They demand results without grappling with consequences. For the opportunistic expert, the long game is irrelevant; what matters is the immediate narrative and the next opportunity.

Municipal governance, however, is not about winning arguments or producing viral moments.

It is about managing long-term consequences in communities where every decision reverberates for years. A budget cut that satisfies taxpayers today may hollow out essential services tomorrow. A development policy that accelerates growth may strain infrastructure for generations. A transit reform that looks efficient on paper may isolate vulnerable neighbourhoods in practice. The million-dollar tool that claims to fix today’s problem may become tomorrow’s crisis. These realities are inconvenient for those who profit from quick fixes, so they are often ignored.

Many of the so-called solutions circulating online are not only simplistic but also backward-looking. They address yesterday’s problems with yesterday’s logic, ignoring the reality that cities must plan for futures that do not yet exist. Municipalities are, by necessity, forward-looking institutions. They must anticipate population growth, economic shifts, technological disruption, and social transformation. They cannot afford to govern solely for the present moment, no matter how loudly the present is marketed. Yet the short-term expert thrives precisely because they promise to solve tomorrow with today’s headlines.

This is why the work of municipal government often goes unnoticed. When infrastructure functions smoothly, few people take note. When policies prevent crises, there are no headlines. Success is quiet. Failure is loud. Social media magnifies this imbalance, rewarding outrage over nuance and certainty over humility. In such an environment, false prophets flourish—not only because they offer simple answers, but because they align perfectly with an economy of attention where complexity has no immediate payoff.

Yet the real wisdom of our communities does not reside in comment threads, consultancy decks, or self-proclaimed expertise.

It resides in everyday life. It is found in the coffee shop owner trying to keep a business afloat amid rising costs, in the small family-run store adapting to changing neighbourhoods, in the mother driving her child to hockey practice before dawn, in the father bringing his family to the library, in seniors navigating rapidly changing communities, and in newcomers trying to build a sense of belonging.

These people are not professional commentators. They are not policy influencers. They are not municipal experts. But they are the living reality of the cities that policies are meant to serve—often long after the experts have moved on to their next opportunity.

There is an undeniable irony in criticizing social media while using it. Digital platforms can be powerful tools for communication and engagement. They can amplify marginalized voices and democratize access to information. But they are also environments where oversimplification thrives. A post cannot capture the intricacies of zoning law. A tweet cannot explain the complexity of municipal finance. A viral video cannot replicate the depth of community consultation.

Municipalities cannot be governed by slogans, and sustainable policies cannot be built on sound bites—no matter how confidently those sound bites are delivered.

Perhaps the greatest threat to municipal governance today is not incompetence or corruption, but cynicism reinforced by opportunism. When people assume that all leaders are incompetent, they disengage. When they assume that all institutions are broken, they stop trying to improve them. When they assume that all solutions are obvious, they stop listening.

Cynicism is convenient, but it is corrosive.

Municipal government is not perfect, but it is one of the most tangible expressions of democracy. To reduce it to simplistic narratives is not merely intellectually lazy—it is politically profitable for those who benefit from perpetual dissatisfaction.

The metaphor of trees and fruit offers a useful way to think about municipal ideas. Good policies produce sustainable outcomes. Bad policies produce unintended consequences. But unlike fruit, the results of municipal decisions take years to appear. A policy that seems unpopular today may prove essential tomorrow. A reform that looks successful today may collapse under future pressures.

This is precisely why short-term experts struggle to engage with municipal reality: the payoff they seek arrives too slowly.

Long-term thinking is politically risky. It rarely wins elections, rarely generates viral content, and rarely satisfies impatient critics. Yet it is the essence of responsible governance.

Municipal leaders who prioritize long-term resilience over short-term popularity often face backlash, but without them, cities would drift aimlessly, reacting rather than planning. The tragedy is that the qualities that make good municipal leadership—patience, caution, humility, are precisely the qualities least rewarded in a culture that celebrates instant expertise and immediate returns.

What municipalities need is not more prophets, but more partners. Constructive critics ask questions rather than declaring answers. They acknowledge complexity rather than denying it. They seek dialogue rather than validation. They understand that disagreement is not failure and compromise is not betrayal. In a democratic society, dissent is essential, but certainty without understanding—especially when fueled by personal gain—is dangerous.

If we want better communities, we must change the way we talk about them. We must replace certainty with curiosity, outrage with understanding, and short-term thinking with long-term vision. We must learn to distinguish between those who speak about municipalities because they care about their future and those who speak about municipalities because they see an opportunity in the present.

Good trees take time to grow. Good fruit takes time to ripen. If we want cities that thrive not just today but tomorrow, we must learn to value wisdom over noise and patience over performance.

The choice is ours: follow the loudest voices and the quickest promises, or do the harder work of listening, thinking, and building solutions that will last.