Of the 20,000 plus local councillors in Britain, a staggering 98 per cent are white, 68 per cent are men and more than half are aged 55 or over. Just 16 per cent are younger than 40.
That’s why, as a non-white man who just about fits into the 16 per cent category, when my local Labour Party began the process of selecting candidates this time around, I was tempted – albeit briefly – to put my name forward. I am afraid to admit that this moment of hesitation is as close as I am ever likely to get to being elected to anything.
Last weekend, I needed to speak to a local Labour member who is standing in my council ward and who will, if elected, go
some small way to addressing the lack of young black and Asian representation in
local democracy. He is a better man than
I am.
When I telephoned him, he was enjoying a Friday evening drink with friends – his first evening out since being selected late last year. It is the all-consuming nature of modern politics that prevented me from throwing my hat into the ring.
Like much else in life, what you get out of being a councillor largely depends on what you put in. Where being a councillor differs is that your role is inextricably linked to the area in which you live. Your neighbours select you, elect you and judge you.
Walking home from a local hostelry with another friend and neighbour recently, I was surprised to be diverted along a somewhat circuitous route. I was cold, wet and wanted my bed. “Where the hell are we going?” I asked.
My friend, who was somewhat “in his cups” by this late stage of the evening, replied that, as a councillor, he was loathe to walk home drunk through his own ward in case he was recognised.
If I were to find myself in a similar position, I might never be able to walk to my own front door again, so I restrict my contribution to local democracy to leafleting, canvassing and door knocking on behalf of those I feel are better able to withstand the scrutiny that comes with being an elected representative.
This is a pity. I think I would have a lot to offer my local community. I am young(ish), belong to several minority groups simultaneously and, as an active member of my local CLP, know the area well. I am a seasoned election campaigner and enjoy seeing the whites of voters’ eyes on the doorsteps.
I also like to relax at the weekend and have, over the years, admitted to all manner of youthful transgressions – sometimes in these very pages.
In the days before politics became a fully fledged profession, such minor transgressions would not have not caused more than the raising of one eyebrow.
In this day and age, however, we expect our politicians to be superhuman, whiter than white and on-message whatever the time of day or night. It’s an unrealistic proposition, but – particularly since the MPs’ expenses scandal – it’s a non-negotiable one.
I know many otherwise excellent would-be candidates for local or national office who, in the present climate of paranoia and central office surveillance, would not even clear the first selection hurdle.
“Is there anything in your past that might embarrass the party?” “How much time did you say we’ve got for this interview?”
I can count among my politically-active acquaintances (from all sides) friends who have left the selection process at various stages, due to all manner of seemingly innocuous reasons.
These include a Liberal Democrat who dropped out of the race in a largely Roman Catholic constituency, fearing voters would learn of an earlier abortion, a Labour Party colleague who had once been cautioned for smoking a spliff on Westminster Bridge (he was 17 at the time) and a Tory who bowed to pressure to stand as a candidate before realising at the last moment that he had better make an announcement regarding his sexuality. He was unconcerned about voters’ reactions to his being gay; he just hadn’t told his parents.
I even know of one friend from student politics days who subsequently declined to put his name forward for consideration because he owed his alma mater £400 for an unsettled bar bill.
(Anyone who has ever been active in student politics will realise that this sum represents a relatively meagre amount in the necessary expenditure column.)
All this has more to do with hypocritical prurience than personality. We demand to know everything about our elected representatives and then use irrelevant information to cast aspersions on those providing a service that we ourselves are unwilling to perform.
It is not enough to snigger over our newspapers at the peccadilloes of our public servants. Until we all grow up a bit, we will continue, on the whole, to get the representatives we deserve.
And if, on occasions, they fail to live up to our double standards, we should be grateful that its not our faces splashed over the front pages.
How much more refreshing it would be, next time we read of a politician being “tired and emotional”, to conclude that this was the result of something genuinely and humanly interesting, instead of their being, well, tired and emotional.
