In Mitton Village, a chance to choose what’s possible

In Nathan’s latest column, he looks at the upcoming reconstruction of Mitton Village as more than just a road project—it’s a test of who gets to shape the future of our city. Drawing on global examples of community-led planning, he asks why Sarnia keeps choosing tradition over imagination.

There’s a big project coming to Mitton Village.

In 2026, the city is planning a full reconstruction of Mitton Street between George and Wellington that includes those awkward five corners that have always felt more like a car funnel than a village centre, storm sewers, new roadwork, maybe even new streetscaping. And right now, before the money’s spent, people in the community are being asked: what do you want this street to become?

That question matters more than most people think.

Because if we’re honest, our cities, Sarnia especially, don’t often ask it. Not in a way that changes anything.

When we were opening Refined Fool Brewing Company, the city compared our little brewpub to the Labatt industrial plant in London, Ontario, it was the only other “brewery” they could find in their files, so we were held to the same standards. A multi-million-dollar facility, and a few guys with a dream and a rented space working off turkey fryer burners. The logic didn’t matter. It was a process. Red tape. That’s just how it was done.

But red tape isn’t immovable, it’s tradition. And we keep choosing it.

I sat on the Sarnia City Council for four years. I sat beside Dave Boushy. At times, I had to help him read the motions we were voting on. Once, I watched him speak passionately about one side of an issue and then accidentally vote against it because he didn’t understand the wording. And this is someone we keep electing. Again and again. Don't worry, even though I disagreed with him, I still did the honorable thing and let him know so he could change his vote.

So what are we doing?

Other cities, real ones, don’t do it like this.

In Porto Alegre, Brazil, one-third of council-approved investments were decided by citizens: no developer architects, no bureaucrats steering it.

In Cascais, Portugal, up to 15% of the city’s budget is allocated through public votes and residents propose ideas and decide which ones get funded.

In Paris, participatory budgeting includes both in-person and online channels, making it easier for everyday people, not just retirees with free time, to take part in shaping their neighbourhoods.

And in Eskilstuna, Sweden, the city helped create ReTuna, a second-hand shopping mall that doubles as a municipal reuse and recycling centre—run by a city-owned company, serving environmental goals, and generating revenue while backing local jobs.

None of these cities are waiting for staff reports to tell them what their communities want. They’ve structured their governments so that the community is the leadership and staff are there to make it happen.

Meanwhile, in Ontario, council has the power to do the same. But more often than not, we hand it over to a process that was never designed to imagine anything new.

That’s why this moment in Mitton Village matters.

It’s not just a street rebuild. It’s a small test of whether we want to keep doing things the way we always have or whether we’re ready to start choosing differently. Because cities are not limited by legislation. They’re limited by the imaginations of the people we elect and the courage we have as residents to demand more.

The future of that little street depends on who gets to imagine it.

Let it be us.