The Municipal Last Supper?

Ottawa, at the cusp of summer, holds a strange kind of beauty. The air is still crisp enough to carry weight, the kind that makes you think deeply about why you’re here and what matters. I arrived a day early this week—ostensibly for work, to prepare for the Federation of Canadian Municipalities (FCM) annual conference, taking place May 29 to June 1—but in truth, I came to see family.

My parents made the trip from Clarington, Ontario, while I flew in from my home in Calgary. Geography may divide us, but time, as always, reminds us how fragile and fleeting these reunions can be.

Over dinner with my mother and father, we caught up on life—the usual touchstones: the weather, the long drive, health updates, job changes. It was comforting, predictable even. But amid the surface chatter, there were also moments of surprising clarity. You learn a lot when you listen carefully: how people in different provinces interpret national challenges, how families, even scattered across the country, often face the same trials in different dialects.

As I sat there, watching my father gesture animatedly and my mother laugh at an old joke, a thought began to solidify: this dinner table wasn’t unlike the gathering I was preparing to attend. FCM, in many ways, is a family reunion. Not one bound by blood, but by a shared mission—municipal leadership. The stewards of our towns and cities, from Faro, Yukon to Grand Falls-Windsor, Newfoundland and Labrador, are about to sit down together. And like many family gatherings, the conversation will be passionate, the disagreements familiar, and the stakes higher than ever.

FCM isn’t just a conference. It’s a reckoning of priorities, of hopes, frustrations, and stark realities facing Canada’s municipalities. In the backrooms and breakout sessions, in speeches and side chats, Canada’s municipal leaders will attempt to hash out how to move forward—together. That word—together—has rarely felt more precarious.

Municipalities large and small are grappling with funding shortfalls, infrastructure decay, housing crises, and the accelerating impacts of climate change. And yet, they are expected to do more with less—often with outdated fiscal tools and insufficient support from federal or provincial partners.

Some leaders I’ve spoken to see this year’s conference as a make-or-break moment for their place in the “family” of FCM. Will they leave feeling heard and represented? Or will they quietly begin to question whether the effort of coming to the table is still worth it?

If you’ve ever been to a family dinner, you know the dynamic: the big-city dad dominating the conversation, the rural aunt and uncle frowning at the menu, the cousins struggling to get a word in edgewise. Old grievances resurface. Resentments simmer. But somehow, people keep showing up.

This weekend in Ottawa will be no different.

Some rural leaders are already frustrated, seeing policy priorities that favour urban growth over rural sustainability. Some urban leaders, meanwhile, feel exhausted by demands to share increasingly tight budgets with regions that don’t face the same growth pressures or demographic shifts. Everyone is tired. Everyone feels underserved. And yet everyone is here—because despite it all, they still believe that the collective matters.

Despite the tensions, there’s something profoundly hopeful about the act of gathering. Like a family dinner where you know there’ll be disagreements, you show up anyway. Because connection matters. Because being heard matters. Because in the small talk and the big debates, something real gets built.

Maybe this weekend, the rural aunt and uncle won’t be thrilled about what’s on the policy menu, but they’ll bond with younger leaders over shared struggles. Maybe the urban municipalities will find common cause with mid-sized communities on transit planning or affordable housing strategies. Perhaps two mayors who haven’t spoken in years will unexpectedly find themselves aligned on a motion to tackle green infrastructure funding.

This is the alchemy of gathering. And it’s what makes FCM more than just a political event—it’s a social contract, renewed every year.

But let’s not kid ourselves. If we don’t hash things out—if we just smile through gritted teeth and pretend to agree—then this family dinner could end in a quiet, polite implosion.

We’ve seen what happens when unity falters. Regions drift. Initiatives stall. Resentment festers. And most of all, the residents we serve—the people counting on functioning transit, clean water, safe streets, and affordable housing—lose out.

The truth is, the house our municipal family lives in is getting older. The plumbing’s leaking. The roof needs repair. And this year, we're being asked to host more people at the table with fewer ingredients in the pantry. If we can’t speak with one voice—firmly and urgently—then the federal and provincial governments will have no reason to take us seriously.

And if that happens, this family won't just fracture. It may stop mattering altogether.

This is a moment of incredible challenge—but also of profound opportunity. We know that municipalities are on the front lines of the biggest issues facing Canadians. We are the first responders to everything from economic shifts to climate disasters. When a crisis hits, people don’t call Ottawa. They call city hall.

If we can channel our differences into dialogue instead of division, we might yet leave Ottawa stronger than we arrived. We might co-author a vision for Canadian communities that resonates from the Atlantic to the Pacific to the Arctic Ocean. We might, despite everything, renew the promise of FCM as a place where the local meets the national—and the personal becomes political.

Let’s be honest: if this weekend turns into a shouting match, or worse, a quiet walkout, then Edmonton 2026 may be a very different kind of conference. It may be a reckoning. And not the productive kind.

So as we pull up our chairs in Ottawa, we must decide what kind of family we want to be. One that fractures over old fights and new slights? Or one that works through the tough conversations, knowing that the stakes are bigger than pride?

Municipalities are the most trusted level of government in Canada. But that trust is only sustainable if we are seen to be united, pragmatic, and driven by results. Not petty rivalries or political theatrics.

Back at dinner with my parents, the conversation wound down, the plates cleared. My mom asked if I’d be okay over the weekend. “It sounds like it’s going to be a big conference,” she said.

I nodded. “It will be,” I told her. “But I think we’ll get through it. Families usually do.”

Let’s hope that’s true. Let’s hope that, when the plates are cleared in Ottawa and the speeches are done, the family of Canadian municipalities leaves the table—bruised maybe, but not broken.

Because if this is the last supper, then what comes next won’t be a dinner at all. It’ll be silence. And that’s a future none of us can afford.