In our early married life, Hubby and I used to do our bit for the local Conservative Association, such as shoving leaflets through letter boxes - which was boring - and knocking on doors asking people how they were going to vote in forthcoming elections, answering any questions they might have - which I loved. Me? Enjoy chatting? Well there's a surprise!
Back then, Maggie ruled supreme nationally. I had sold my soul to her in 1979 and she owns it to this day, so we (in truth, me plus Hubby in tow) wanted to do our bit to keep her blue flag flying. The most practical way to do that was to volunteer locally. We soon grew to adore the local party members for themselves. They were down-to-earth, genuine, witty, hard-working, kind-hearted, clever, street-wise and jolly good fun. Very quickly we were rooting for the local candidates as friends rather than as ‘the party’.
Those heady days ended when Maggie was ousted, Major (of less-than-minor ability) took over, and we moved out of the area. I hadn’t shoved a leaflet through a letter box since, until this weekend when I did over 400 for an environmental cause in two Oxfordshire villages as part of the May 2022 local election campaign.
I volunteered to do this to ‘do my bit’ but, given the unpleasant drive over to the area two days running and the fact I didn’t know the villages at all, it really was all about duty and nothing about enjoyment. Or so I had anticipated.
Were the residents in their gardens, I’d ask first before making my way to their letter boxes. Mostly they just said yes go ahead, or take the leaflet from me to save me a few steps, but several actually asked what the leaflet was about. This led to quite lengthy conversations that I loved. I found the locals to be knowledgeable, insightful, sensitive, passionate about their village and the environment, and frustrated if not angry.
That makes them Nimbys, according to the pro-development lobby. Well, better a Nimby than a parasite.
One lady told me that her family farm had been ‘taken’ for a large development. An unexpected choice of word. It had me imagining Liam Neeson exacting sweet revenge against the developers on behalf of the dispossessed. Amen to that.
When not talking, I was observing, specifically what had changed since my earlier days of leaflet-dropping. One new feature was the plethora of solar panels on roofs; another was electric charging points for vehicles. All well and good for the environment except, more often than not, the front and side gardens had been paved over to accommodate more vehicles and / or to reduce the gardening chore. Less green means less biodiversity and fewer carbon sinks. I could also see lots of aesthetic and security lights, CCTV and ‘Ring’ doorbell cameras, all requiring oodles of electricity, all countering the solar panels and charging points.
I bet they bloody well fly on holiday as well, I grumbled to myself, having forgotten to bring a homemade flapjack to keep my blood sugar at a civilising level.
The other thing I noticed was the number of traders’ vans on driveways and roadways in what I would have said were middle-class housing estates. When we were first wed, such vans were commonplace around the smaller, ‘cheaper’ homes, but not in, forgive me, these more traditional Tory areas. I was delighted. Social mobility rules ok in Blighty, whatever the claims of the lefty doom-mongers, who can’t see the evidence for their discredited rhetoric.
The final thing of note was the lack of political party posters, banners and boards in windows, on fences and on farmland. Not one. For any party. When we were first wed, I remember noting which of my neighbours supported which party, marking their card as appropriate. The Lib Dems used to plaster the ward with their posters from day one of the election campaign. We Tories used to keep our powder dry until the weekend before polling day then put them up all at once, en masse, intending to panic the Lib Dems into last minute angst, if not mistakes. No idea if it worked or not but it felt good thinking about it!
Not to see any such support for any candidate anywhere in two villages this close to polling day signifies disengagement and disenfranchisement. And is it any wonder? One of the villages I leafleted is threatened with being swamped by a ubiquitous, large, low quality, characterless, cramped, soulless housing estate, with more farms and greenbelt being ‘taken’ to line the pockets of developers, planning consultants, property lawyers and stooges. All objectors are dismissed as Nimbys, which proves my oft-spouted mantra: Those who can, engage. Those who can’t, insult.
The other village is clinging desperately to an illusion of ‘ruralism’. Within spitting distance of a major ‘A’ road, motorway and service station, the persistent background drone of traffic is a constant, brain-burrowing reminder of a fate that awaits many rural communities – noise, concrete, urbanisation, lining the pockets (again) of the bullying few at the expense of the disenfranchised many.
When we were first wed, the percentage turnout for local elections (those not being held at the same time as general elections) was on average in the low 40s. Latterly, it’s more like the low 30s. Given population increases, the absolute loss of voter participation is even more stark.
A meaningful demographic analysis of these outline stats can’t be done in a short blog (trust me – I’ve just read a long blog on the topic), but I’m going to stick my neck out and say voter apathy is worst amongst the young, with older voters more likely (but less than in previous years) to bother to vote. In one respect this isn’t surprising – older people have always been more likely to vote, even though they will have experienced far more broken promises than the young; very few politicians intend to or are able to honour their campaign hype.
There are some exceptions.
I recently found a local election pamphlet from 1965, in which the ward-incumbent – my Dad – wrote, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I am standing for re-election because I feel confident I can help you as individuals … At your personal request, I have dealt with many of your problems, involving housing, lighting, drainage, public facilities, pets, etc … Some of these problems I have been able to solve, some are still pending, with some I have failed. At all times, however, I have done my best … [A large majority of the other party] has led to an unhealthy domination … it is no real consolation … that [I] can therefore disclaim responsibility for the rates and rents!”
I like this approach – it sounds genuine, honest, personal, pragmatic, with a hint of humour. No spin, posturing, insults, fake news, condescension, arrogance, party line. It’s just him and I’d vote for him even if he weren’t my Dad.
In contrast, I remember the claptrap Hubby and I used to deliver about twenty years later – slick, sour and superficial – even if they were our friends. Their literature, you see, was controlled by the constituency office.
As for 2022 election literature, most of the leaflets I’ve seen (thank you, Google), regardless of party or location, promise to limit council tax rises, help residents with the cost-of-living crisis, cut through bureaucracy, protect the environment, improve public transport, broadband, waste collection, speeding traffic, rat-running, flooding, do everything better / different, blame everything on the other parties …
With everyone promising more or less the same (unattainable) goals, there is absolutely nothing to choose between any candidate or any party. If any of these goals are possible at all, they are impossible for individual councillors to take credit for them. In reality, all policies and decision-making are stymied by the law, big business, funding constraints and the capability (or lack of) and agendas of council officers.
Which, to be honest, is exactly the same as when we were first wed ☹
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