It must have felt like something out of the 16th Century.

In Hearst, Ontario, when councilor-elect Gaetan Baillargeon refused to swear allegiance to the Queen, he was told to give up his seat on the town council. It was a week before city officials could sort out the conundrum.

Baillargeon, from Constance Lake First Nation, refused the oath because, to him, the Queen represents broken treaties and colonial violence. Despite pressure to fake it and pledge anyway, Baillargeon told reporters he didn’t want to start his tenure with a lie, however expedient.

It got us thinking about what makes oaths matter: pledging allegiance to a sovereign, or making a solemn commitment to the values you plan to uphold and defend? Perhaps we need to think about making oaths both more personally relevant to elected officials, and more useful to all of us as constituents in holding politicians accountable to the commitments they make.

We were surprised to learn about the many failed attempts to update the Canadian oath of allegiance to parliament since it was enshrined in our Constitution in 1867. (Its origins date back even further to 16th-Century England).

In 1976, when Assemblée Nationale members were required to take the oath despite vocal protests, the group resorted to crossing their fingers while reciting it. In 2002, former Senator Raymond Lavigne was given a mandatory do-over after he added three words—“and to Canada”—while swearing allegiance to the Crown. (A nod to Canada hardly seems objectionable here).

Americans sometimes work around generic oaths by swearing in on objects that express their beliefs. Rashida Tlaib was sworn into US Congress on Thomas Jefferson’s Quran as one of the first two Muslim congresswomen. Former US Ambassador to Switzerland Lichtenstein Suzi LeVine was sworn in on her Kindle, and the e-book version of the Constitution, reflecting her passion for technology.

In each case, constituents learned something personal about their leaders at the moment they went from private citizen to public officer. In Canada, oath-takers choose between a holy book or nothing.

We should celebrate the mosaic of personal values that inspire Canadians to take office and give them the chance to make personal commitments to the public promises we hold them accountable to. At the altar, couples can recite custom wedding vows and adapt legally binding statements to reflect beliefs and gender—why not personalize our commitments to parliament or city hall?

The exception made for Baillargeon sets a precedent for Indigenous Canadians at the municipal level, but not the many other levels of government.

Politics is a bruising path. Those who choose it can have powerful reasons for doing so. We know what our prime minister and premiers stand for because we hear stump speeches and catch headlines, but local politicians and backbenchers don’t get the same chance to affirm their passions and commitments in a way their constituents can hold them accountable to.

Let’s shine a spotlight on the different paths that bring Canadians to public service. When they’re swearing in, let’s make room to hear the values Canadian civic leaders commit themselves to.