When names and geographic boundaries are changed, as they do in Ontario from time to time, our sense of place and identity can become scrambled.

The recent announcement by the provincial government that it will be looking at regional government reform means more changes could be ahead. Places like Peel Region, which includes the municipalities of Mississauga, Brampton and Caledon, could cease to exist or be dramatically reshaped.

Most people living in Peel Region don’t identify as being (with apologies) Peelers, but rather call one of the other municipalities “home.” Peel was created in 1974 by the Bill Davis government and is an administrative entity, taking care of roads, schools, policing and the like, leaving emotional attachments to the lower-tier municipalities.

Any positive or negative effects the coming changes to Peel cause will be felt administratively and institutionally, but not so much in how people in the region identify. However, if Brampton and Mississauga were to be amalgamated into one city, or Brampton with Caledon, then the sense of geographic place that has been built up there will certainly be altered.

These would be extreme moves, but after the summer cut to Toronto city council during an ongoing election, perhaps one should never underestimate the Ford government’s potential to go to such extremes.

Beyond these speculations, it’s interesting to note where others align their identities. I’ve bumped into people who say they’re from Durham Region, Peel’s counterpart on the east side of the GTA, also created in 1974. It’s certainly a correct assertion, but because there are so many distinct communities within this administrative region, I’ve always got a followup question like, “Yeah, but from where?” Oshawa, Pickering, Uxbridge and other places in Durham are where personal identities tend to root as they’re the most local references and have long histories.

The last major round of municipal change in Ontario happened in the late 1990s and early 2000s when the provincial government amalgamated a number of municipalities. Metro Toronto became the “megacity” when its two-tiered municipal setup that consisted of six municipalities with one regional government was folded together. Some still identify strongly with the former municipalities but I’ve found younger folks who came of age after amalgamation don’t readily see those old borders. It’s just one big city of Toronto to them.

To be sure, the names of old cities still resonate, with Scarborough being the strongest of the six, but this generally manifests as neighbourhood identity does, a kind of pride of place, rather than a historic affiliation with a municipal entity. Still, there are older folks who continue to even write places such as Don Mills, Willowdale or Rexdale as their mailing addresses, proving people have deep attachments to old place names.

Outside of Toronto there’s been an even more complicated kind of name and place mix-up. Hamilton was amalgamated in 2001 with neighbouring towns such as Ancaster, Dundas, Stoney Creek and Waterdown, along with quite a bit of rural landscape. You could live on James St. downtown or on a farm in what was Glanbrook Township and still be from the city of Hamilton. It scrambles the very definition of what a city is, not to mention complicate the political tensions at a city hall that has to contend with some fundamental urban vs. rural differences in way of life.

A drive on Hwy. 401 reveals more oddities. When you pass into what was Kent County you’re welcomed to the single-tier municipality of Chatham-Kent, created in 1998. Chatham, at the centre, is an identifiable urban place. It’s got a citylike downtown cluster of buildings, yet when you’re many kilometres from here in farmers’ fields, you can also be in Chatham-Kent.

In this way, the “Chathamness” of Chatham is watered down, at least officially. Where does the city actually end and the countryside begin? These are eternal landscape archetypes that administrative boundary changes weaken.

Some of the communities outside of Windsor were also amalgamated. One of those areas is Lakeshore, along Lake St. Clair. Given a somewhat generic name, this 1998 creation gobbled up places with historic resonance like Belle River. Such fundamental changes bring to mind the Gertrude Stein quote, “there’s no there there” when describing her demolished childhood home in Oakland, Calif.

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Municipal changes aren’t always so severe. Immediately adjacent to Windsor is the town of Tecumseh, which also amalgamated a number of smaller municipalities together but chose to stick with the most important historic town name that honours the great Shawnee chief and his role in the War of 1812. Still, some people lost the name of the places they knew and identified with. Of course, Indigenous people here lost much more when colonial settlers erased hundreds of their place names.

A sense of place is established over a long time and is very personal, something to consider as we go through yet more municipal upheaval.

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