Political Opinion: What the streets are telling me - Rethinking local democracy in our communities

And yet, it should be. Local democracy should be visible, vibrant, and rooted in the everyday. But here, too often, it’s not.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve walked much of Kingswood Ward. Street by street—early mornings, after work, weekdays and weekends—I’ve delivered flyers and stopped to chat with whoever was around. Most people are kind. Some are curious. Many are surprised. They say they haven’t seen a councillor or candidate knock in years.

Others ask, quite honestly: what does a councillor even do?

That question isn’t a failure on their part. It’s a failure of the system.

For too long, we’ve allowed local democracy to fade—becoming faint, distant, even vague. Council meetings are rarely reported or discussed. Decisions feel abstract. Roles are unclear. Many residents don’t know what the council controls, what it doesn’t, or who to speak to when they need something to change.

Just 27% of voters turned out in the last Kingswood local election—meaning thousands of voices weren’t heard or represented. That number has stayed with me throughout this campaign.

And when people lose clarity, they lose confidence.

When I lived in Canada, I saw a very different model. Local government there wasn’t perfect, but it was visible. Local councillors didn’t run under political party banners—that was reserved for higher levels of government. In fact, in places like Toronto, there are laws that prohibit party-affiliated candidates in municipal elections to keep local decision-making focused on community needs rather than party agendas. Instead, local representatives were rooted in place, shaped by neighbourhood needs, and often known by name.

That didn’t mean they agreed on everything. But their disagreements were shaped by the realities of local life—housing, transport, libraries, safety—not by national party platforms. People could see where decisions came from, and who made them. Accountability wasn’t an abstract principle; it was built into the daily rhythm of local democracy.

Back here in the UK, I’ve been struck by how hidden it can all feel.

Many people in Kingswood care deeply about their area. They work hard, raise families, care for neighbours, and take pride in their streets. But they feel let down—not by any one person or decision, but by a system that feels hard to reach, harder to influence, and all too easy to ignore.

When that happens, apathy grows. Not because people don’t care, but because they don’t see the point in trying.

That’s what the streets are telling me.

They’re also showing me something else: that people are ready to engage again—if local democracy can show up for them, clearly and consistently.

We need local governance that explains itself, communicates regularly, and welcomes scrutiny. Councillors who walk their wards, not just at election time. Council decisions that come with plain-language explanations. Budgets that reflect local priorities—not just funding formulas and political pressures decided in Westminster.

And we need councillors whose first loyalty is to the people and communities they represent—not to party HQs in London. Too often, decisions are filtered through what keeps national parties happy, not what our communities need. That’s not how local democracy should work.

None of this is out of reach. But it starts by rethinking how we do things. It starts with making ourselves visible again.

For now, I’ll keep walking. I’ll keep listening. Because these streets have more to say—and local democracy has more to learn.