On Efficiency as a Substitute for Democracy

(A Short Lesson in Efficiency)

Permit me to speak to you as though we were sitting across from one another—because public life works best when it begins with conversation, not distance.

I want to begin by expressing my enthusiastic support for municipal amalgamation. Not because it strengthens democracy, of course, but because it finally addresses a persistent inconvenience in local government: too many voices.

For years, residents have expected to be heard. They have assumed their councillor might know their neighbourhood, understand their streets, or—most dangerously—be reachable. Amalgamation corrects this.

When a single councillor represents tens or even hundreds of thousands of people across vast geography, something important happens: no individual can reasonably expect attention. A concern raised by one neighbourhood becomes a data point. A complaint becomes a statistic. A voice becomes noise.

Democracy still exists, technically. Elections still occur. But participation becomes symbolic.

And tell me—what could be more efficient than that?

To understand why this model works so well, imagine, with me, a physician tasked with caring for an entire city.

At first, she listens. Patients explain their symptoms, their histories, their needs. Care takes time. It requires attention. It is, regrettably, inefficient.

Then comes a sensible proposal.

“This takes too long,” someone says. “Let’s be practical.”

So the physician prescribes the same medicine, in the same dose, at the same hour, to everyone. It is elegant. Streamlined. It looks excellent on a chart.

Some patients improve. Others do not. A few are harmed.

When concerns are raised, the reassurance is familiar: on average, outcomes are acceptable. And besides, it is much easier to manage this way.

You would not call this good medicine. You would call it negligent.

So let me ask you: when did efficiency become a substitute for responsibility?

This is precisely the logic behind municipal amalgamation. It promises “efficiency”—and it delivers it. Fewer voices. Fewer decisions. Fewer people at the table. What it does not deliver is better care for the distinct communities it governs.

It also centralizes power. You may be told this is accidental. It is not. Decision-making drifts away from neighbourhoods and wards and toward senior staff, executive committees, and a single individual with absolute, unreserved powers. Transparency declines. Opposition becomes harder.

And ask yourself: who benefits from that arrangement?

Power concentrates not because of villainy, but because scale rewards hierarchy. Decisions become technical rather than political. Harder to challenge. Easier to justify. We are assured this is not authoritarianism—it is merely “organizational logic.”

Before amalgamation, municipalities governed with local knowledge. Infrastructure reflected geography. Services reflected demographics. Policy reflected lived experience. This was slow. Contextual. Inefficient.

One-size-fits-all solutions are faster. And if they fit no one particularly well, at least they are consistent. Administrators appreciate this. And really—who understands your community better than someone several layers removed from it?

You may also be told amalgamation saves money. On spreadsheets, it often does.

In practice, places like Toronto show administrative costs rising, wages harmonized upward, and service delivery growing more complex. But perhaps this is the wrong measure. After all, efficiency is not about outcomes—it is about appearance.

Amalgamation also has a remarkable ability to unite communities by ensuring none of them feel adequately represented. Urban cores dominate agendas. Suburban areas pay more while feeling ignored. Rural communities lose influence almost entirely.

This breeds resentment and disengagement—ironically weakening the unity amalgamation was meant to create. But perhaps unity was never the real goal. Uniformity is easier to manage.

And when people notice their voices no longer matter, they withdraw. Voter turnout declines. Delegations disappear. Trust erodes.

Which, if we are being honest, makes governance far more peaceful.

Silence is easier to manage than participation.

One final question before we conclude.

Amalgamation is nearly impossible to undo. Once municipalities are dissolved, institutional memory disappears. Assets are consolidated. Legal and financial disentanglement becomes prohibitively complex. Even if residents regret the decision, it no longer matters.

So ask yourself: what kind of confidence requires a policy with no exit strategy?

I will end where I began.

Municipal amalgamation succeeds—just not at what it promises. It succeeds at thinning democracy, concentrating power, flattening communities, raising costs, disengaging citizens, and making the consequences permanent.

It does not fail because it ignores local voices. It succeeds by making them easier to ignore.

If this argument has felt less like a declaration and more like a series of questions, that is not an accident—it is simply the most efficient way to examine an ‘inefficient’ idea.

POST SCRIPT: The speech I have written for my delegations across the region will differ slightly; however, it will be along these same lines.

• On Endurance as a Requirement for Care
• On Efficiency as a Substitute for Democracy
• On The Myth of Canadian Exceptionalism
• On Portraits Beyond Faces
• On My Fight with the NRPS