At Montreal’s Hippodrome, modular trailers highlight both the promise and limits of “pre-housing,” foreshadowing debates over Carney’s $26B national plan.

At the old Hippodrome racetrack in Côte-des-Neiges, a row of refurbished trailers now houses some of Montreal’s unhoused population. The site, run by the Old Brewery Mission, offers 27 rooms for singles or couples, common kitchens and living spaces, and 24/7 on-site support. Officials describe it as “pre-housing”: a temporary step between emergency shelters and permanent social housing.

The goal is straightforward. Many people experiencing homelessness are stuck in limbo—stable enough to live independently, but left waiting years for affordable units to open up. Modular transitional housing is meant to fill that gap, giving them a dignified, semi-private space while reducing pressure on overburdened shelters.

But even as residents move in, questions abound. The cost of the first two modular projects in Montreal is estimated at $5.5 million—about $2,600 per room per month. The Association of Scientists and Engineers of Montreal has argued the sites could have been built at double the capacity for the same price.

Others note who isn’t eligible: people with severe mental health or addiction challenges, often the most vulnerable on the street. Critics fear the sites could become warehouses for the “easier to house,” while the hardest cases remain excluded.

Montreal’s modular units illustrate both the promise and pitfalls of this approach. They’re faster to deploy than traditional construction, but they’re not permanent housing. Without a parallel surge in social housing, residents risk getting stuck in units never designed for long-term living. That tension—speed versus permanence, emergency versus solution—sits at the heart of Canada’s new obsession with modular homes.

Why Modular Appeals to Governments

On paper, modular housing checks all the boxes. Prefabricated units can be deployed quickly, sometimes repurposed from industrial use, like the Hydro-Québec trailers at the Hippodrome.

They’re presented as greener, cheaper, and more flexible than brick-and-mortar construction. For municipalities desperate to show action during a housing crisis, modular offers an appealing quick fix.

Montreal’s mayor and Quebec’s housing minister tout the Hippodrome project as innovative, a way to ease bottlenecks in the shelter system. Community “good neighbour” committees are being set up to reduce opposition in host neighborhoods, while the city promises these sites will complement, not replace, shelters.

Still, critics see warning signs. Modular housing projects often carry higher per-unit costs than traditional social housing, especially once land preparation, maintenance, and service supports are factored in. And because they are built by private suppliers, the bulk of public spending flows to corporations, not public housing agencies.

In Montreal, these issues are manageable at small scale—three planned modular sites, housing perhaps 90 people total. But at the national level, the stakes are much higher.

Enter Carney: From Brookfield to Build Canada Homes

In May 2025, Prime Minister Mark Carney unveiled his flagship response to the housing crisis: a $26 billion modular housing plan under a new agency called Build Canada Homes. The program promises bulk procurement of factory-built homes, streamlined regulations, and government-backed loans to accelerate construction. Carney pitched it as nation-building on par with postwar programs.

Yet the plan bears an uncanny resemblance to a deal Carney helped engineer in his previous career. Before entering politics, he was vice chair at Brookfield Asset Management, one of the world’s largest investment firms. In 2021, while Carney sat on its investment committee, Brookfield spent $5 billion to acquire Modulaire Group, a global leader in modular housing with more than 260,000 relocatable units across 25 countries.

The investment case was clear: modular housing was fast, flexible, and fit neatly into the ESG narrative Carney promoted internationally. It could deliver profits while projecting social responsibility. Brookfield didn’t just buy a company; it bought into a story that governments worldwide would need modular housing to respond to crises.

Fast forward to 2025, and Carney, now prime minister, is steering public money into the same industry he once helped Brookfield bet on. Even if his assets are in a blind trust, deferred compensation and equity links mean his personal fortune remains tied to Brookfield’s performance. That overlap has critics warning of a textbook conflict of interest.

Privatization and Profit at the Core

Supporters frame Build Canada Homes as a bold federal intervention. But unlike the public housing programs of the 1940s and 1950s, this initiative doesn’t build or own housing stock. It acts as a crown buyer, funneling taxpayer dollars into private factories. Ownership, control, and profit remain in corporate hands.

This model reflects a broader trend: privatization of housing policy. Instead of expanding the public sector’s ability to construct and manage housing, governments outsource production to private suppliers. The public assumes the risk, through subsidies, loans, and procurement, while private firms reap guaranteed returns.

At small scale, like Montreal’s Hippodrome, this looks like a pilot project. At the federal level, it becomes a subsidy pipeline. And because Brookfield already owns a major modular conglomerate, the overlap between Carney’s past investments and current policies raises alarms.

Whether or not Brookfield wins contracts directly, the market conditions Carney is inflating benefit firms just like it, and possibly Brookfield itself.

Housing advocates say this isn’t innovation but asset inflation. Instead of treating housing as a social good, the government is treating it as a market to be stimulated, with corporations at the center.

Housing Advocates’ Warnings

Advocates aren’t opposed to modular housing outright. Many acknowledge that in emergencies, fast deployment can save lives. But they warn against mistaking modular for a systemic solution.

First, modular is transitional by design. Without a surge in permanent social housing, people risk being “parked” in temporary units indefinitely. Second, eligibility rules—like Montreal’s exclusion of people with complex needs—mean the hardest-hit remain unhoused. Third, modular projects are expensive per unit, raising questions about value for money.

Most importantly, modular housing doesn’t address the root causes of Canada’s housing crisis: speculation, lack of rent control, and decades of underinvestment in non-market housing. By pouring billions into private suppliers, the government risks entrenching a system where public funds prop up corporate profits rather than build lasting solutions.

The Canadian Alliance to End Homelessness, for example, stresses the need for permanent, deeply affordable housing over short-term fixes. Local groups like Montreal’s ASIM argue for smarter design and scale, noting that limited funds must stretch further. Across the board, the critique is clear: modular may be a useful tool, but it cannot substitute for structural reform.

A Modular Mirage

The Hippodrome trailers in Montreal offer a glimpse of what modular housing can do—get people indoors quickly, with dignity, and at relatively low scale. But they also reveal the limitations: high costs, exclusions, and the risk of stagnation.

Carney’s $26 billion national plan magnifies those issues dramatically. It takes the logic of modular—speed, flexibility, private production—and enshrines it as the cornerstone of federal housing policy. In doing so, it echoes the profit strategies Carney once advanced at Brookfield, blurring the line between public service and private gain.

The danger isn’t just conflict of interest. It’s that Canadians are being sold a vision of housing that prioritizes corporate supply chains over public building, short-term optics over long-term solutions. If history is any guide, the outcome will be familiar: profits for the few, precarity for the many.

Unless Canada recommits to building and owning housing as a public good, the modular mirage will fade, leaving behind not stability, but yet another revolving door—between shelters, trailers, and markets that treat homes as assets, not rights.