From Buenos Aires to Parliament: Sergio Marchi’s Quiet Case for Public Service

The snow in Lethbridge fell like a blunt fact. Sergio Marchi was two and a half when his family arrived in Alberta, sponsored by an uncle who had settled there. It wasn’t long before his father—trained as a tool-and-die maker—realized that Lethbridge “is not the manufacturing capital of Canada.” The family moved again, this time to Toronto, where Marchi grew up in a household that prized dinner over gadgets. “Less toys, more food—that was their philosophy,” he says, remembering parents who never cut corners at the table, even in lean spells.

His path shows how a layered identity can serve the public. Italian by lineage, Argentinian by birth, Canadian by belonging, his background becomes a lens on a country that asks much of newcomers and offers a chance to give back. It also punctures the myth of innate leadership. As he argues in his account of public life, politicians are made: the craft is learned, judgment sharpened, nerves steadied.

The family’s origin story begins far from Canada. His parents came from Friuli, Italy, a region shaped by wars and the Great Depression. After the Second World War, his father and two brothers learned a trade—tool and die making—and left for Argentina, where friends promised opportunity. They worked, saved, and started a small shop together. Good years came, and so did difficult ones. “It was a bit of an Argentine roller coaster,” Marchi says. The volatility unsettled his father. Another brother, already in Canada, kept writing letters about a different horizon. Sponsorship followed; so did a decision. They left Buenos Aires for Canada.

From there, the map is Canadian. Lethbridge first, then Toronto—where school, community, and the city itself would anchor his formation. He grew up with Italian at home. Spanish was the language of his birthplace but not the one his parents taught, yet he learned to bridge the gap. “When people speak slowly in Spanish and I respond slowly in Italian… somehow, we understand each other,” he says. The Latin thread adds “enthusiasm, passion,” the kind of energy that can animate public life when held in balance. “Not overly emotional—that’s not always helpful—but some fire in your belly,” he says, crediting that spark to his Argentinian side.

Migration, he insists, exacted the highest price from his parents. They had to “start from scratch twice: first in Buenos Aires, then again in Toronto.” There were new customs to absorb, a new language to learn, and systems that could intimidate. “If there was discrimination, they put their heads down and worked harder,” he says. They watched every dollar because they knew what poverty and war feel like. Honest, disciplined, organized—these were the traits he saw modeled daily. For his generation, the path was “smoother.” Education was non-negotiable. “My parents barely finished grade eight,” he notes, “so school was a priority.” He went to university; they cheered.

The turning point came late in high school and intensified at university. Marchi did not find politics through a party backroom; he found it at street level. He volunteered. He became president of a youth club, edited a local newspaper, and led the ratepayers’ association in his part of the city. The hours piled up until they rivaled his class time. “My marks went down, and my parents weren’t happy,” he admits. They didn’t understand the concept of volunteering either. “If you’re going to be out in the community, at least get paid for it!” they would say. But working in neighborhoods, “fighting city hall,” delivering small, tangible improvements—he loved it.

He studied urban planning, then realized that a desk was not where he wanted to spend his life. “I’ll finish the degree,” he told himself, “but I don’t want to sit in an office forever. I want to serve the community.” Politics appeared not as a careerist ambition but as a tool for public service. From there, the trajectory he recounts is clear. He entered public life, stood for office, and learned fast.

“I had butterflies during my first speech in the House of Commons. My knees were shaking,” he says. The nerves are a feature, not a flaw. “At first, everyone is nervous.” Over time, skills compound—communication chief among them. “You have to inspire, convince, motivate,” he says. Campaigns are their own curriculum—fundraising, canvassing, organizing volunteers. None of it requires perfection at the start. “Politicians are made,” he repeats. What matters most, in his view, is judgment: “You’ll get briefed with five or six options—but you get paid for your judgment: for choosing the right one.”

His account also gestures to later chapters in public service: assignments that took him abroad “on government business,” and diplomatic work that demanded language, cultural literacy, and a disciplined temperament. The through line is less about titles than about habits—listening across difference, reading context, negotiating without theatrics, and keeping faith with the people you represent.

Marchi’s view of the present is candid. He worries that many Canadians—especially younger ones—are opting out of politics. The spectacle can be “rough, nasty, divisive.” The reasonable instinct is to recoil. Even his immigrant parents, who prized stability, tried to steer him away. “They thought it was unstable,” he recalls. “But then they celebrated when I got elected.” The paradox is instructive: politics can look uninviting from afar, yet it is also the forum where rules are rewritten and futures decided. Opting out leaves the field to a narrower slice of the country.

That is why he calls for renewal—more women, more leaders from diverse backgrounds, and a public life that looks like Canada. “It can’t always be older white men running the show,” he says. Latino Canadians, he argues, remain underrepresented, and not because of lack of talent. Time plays a part. When waves of Italians arrived, survival—“jobs, housing, education”—crowded out political ambition. Voting was a civic duty, not a goal. The next generation shifted the focus. He expects a similar pattern among Latino communities. “I’m hopeful we’ll see more young Latinos and Latinas step up in public service—not just as elected officials, but in public administration,” he says. Institutions need renewal; inclusiveness is essential.

For those entertaining the call, his advice is pragmatic. You do not need to be “the smartest or most politically insightful” to begin. Motivation and a “good heart” go a long way, as does a “willingness to do the heavy lifting.” Expect criticism—from constituents and from the media. Develop a thick skin, not to harden, but to endure. Learn the craft. Keep perspective. And cultivate the kind of judgment that elevates public interest over short-term applause.

Underneath the counsel runs a family lesson he treats as bedrock. “Never give up,” he says, returning to the example his parents set. They had little when they left Italy for Argentina; after a decade of work, they left Argentina “with zero.” They started over in Canada. Each time, they kept going. The maxim is not a bumper sticker. It is a habit of resilience that turns setbacks into chapters rather than endings.

That resilience also shaped his relationship to culture. The Latin and Italian strands meet at the table and in temperament. He loves asado. He admires Peruvian cuisine. Food is not indulgence in this telling; it is a moral economy. Even when money was tight, his parents paid a bit more for a better cut because meals were not expendable. The ritual taught priorities—quality over novelty, substance over display. It is a domestic metaphor for public life: attend to the essentials, invest where it counts, nourish what you want to last.

Marchi’s narrative does not trade in mystique. There is no lone genius here, no stroke of luck that makes the rest unnecessary. There are immigrant parents who left twice to secure a future, a son who studied and showed up for his neighborhood, the first quivering speech on the national stage, and a career that later extended into diplomacy and business leadership. There is also a clear-eyed assessment of the work ahead: widening the circle of who belongs in politics and who sees themselves reflected in Canada’s institutions.

If there is a philosophy threaded through his account, it is this: public service is for anyone who is prepared to learn, to listen, and to keep showing up. The task now is to make sure more people believe that—and to build the bridges that bring them in.