A Survivor’s Guide to Local Politics, blog 1: What’s important to me?

Bandit: Well, looks like this is the end of the line. Any last words?
Cowboy (calm and firm): Maybe. But I’ve fought for what’s right. I won’t turn tail now, even if it costs me everything.
[The bandit hesitates, gun still aimed.]
Cowboy: Do your worst. I’ll stand firm, till the very last shot.


Hello. Are you one of us? When you wake in the morning —whether consciously or unconsciously—do you want to make the world a better place? Make the day count? If that feels a little too much like a grand gesture, maybe you’re simply the kind soul who gives to others: joins in, volunteers when asked, dons the marigolds and does the washing-up at a community event, or counts the coins at the end of church. You might be part of a club, a group, a special interest organisation then organises the lot—or all of the above.

Are you a Mr or Mrs (Miss, Ms, or none of the above) Your _______ Community? I will leave you to fill the blank.

It’s an easy slope to slip down, from being that person who just does things and can’t say no—but always says, “Yes, hell yes!”—to accidentally, or maybe deliberately, morphing into a role in local government: parish, town, city, or unitary councillor. Before you know it, you’re caught in the official web of community service— with official strings, and no blessings.

It’s recognized that giving to public service benefits our own well-being. Those of us who become local councillors accept the role of representing our communities. We think, Yes, I can do that. We are called community leaders!

We are the instruments of local democracy, keeping the civic wheels turning or griding along —delivering services that are vital to our everyday lives, sometimes with big budgets, 100s of millions for a unitary authority.

While we give countless hours to Parish, Town, City, County, or Unitary meetings, and respond to hundreds of emails on roads, buses, flooding, schools, pest infestations, poo bins, fly-tipping, planning, planning, planning —yes, there can be three times as many emails—and more, most people don’t really understand what we do, what our role is, or what powers we have on their behalf.

They often see us as worth little more than a lick of paint, question our motivations, call us horrible names online, or complain about what we don’t do—mistakenly thinking we do—and overlook just how much we actually do do.  Set up to fail, as it was if fixing something that in their mind shouldn’t have been unfixed.

It’s not quite “what did the Romans ever do for us”; it’s more like hearing the exasperated groan of what does the Council actually do for you, beyond what we do do (you just didn’t realise we did that too).

So, what is important to me? I went down that slide and landed somewhat on my feet — a wobble here, a wobble there — but I rose through the ranks. It’s important to me to act like a professional councillor, to fight the corner for those who feel they have no voice in this wild west of local government terrain—even when shells and shots fly over my head, and as I stick my neck out, head above the parapet. I want to make the world—the communities I represent—a better place, despite there being is a target on my back.