I’m tired. I’m trying really hard.
We’ve managed to successfully push through two motions uncontested. The Christmas lights are happening, the town will have a Christmas tree, and that’s a genuinely positive step forward. My Facebook page has great reach, and in the main, the comments and questions are positive or, when critical, perfectly reasonable and open to discussion.
In the last 28 days, posts have reached over 38,000 people, with more than 3,000 content interactions. That’s not vanity metrics, that’s engagement. Real residents, real conversations, real curiosity about what happens in their town.
When I stood for election, I did so on a platform of transparency, community engagement, and communication. At the time, that wasn’t universally welcomed. Some councillors quickly put out messages telling residents that the Council was already “transparent”, because the minutes were published online and meetings were open to the public.
But let’s be honest: minutes are long, formal, and rarely tell you much about what actually went on. They’re not summaries, and unless you’ve got a free evening to trawl through pages of them, it’s hard to know what decisions were made or what they mean for the community.
I’ve done that trawling. Months of it. And even then, I still couldn’t find answers to some basic questions. So I asked. I asked as both a councillor and a resident, because I pay council tax too, and I want to understand where it goes.
I’ve been told many times that scrutiny is “welcome” at the Council. But it turns out, not all scrutiny is equally welcome.
Asking questions
I’ve asked about the budget, and about the strategic objectives, six-year objectives that cover not only my full term, but half of the next one too. They were agreed in draft form, discussed behind closed doors, and at the time had little public consultation beyond a few stakeholder sessions and postcards left in the library.
When I asked about revisiting these objectives, I was told at first that they could be, “if the council wanted to.” In other words, probably not. Then later, I was told that “it had always been the understanding that they would be revisited.” The trouble is, I can’t find any record of that understanding, because the meetings where it was decided weren’t public.
I’ve raised questions about the budget, both in meetings and by email, simply to clarify things. The result? A wave of pushback: that my questions were “having an adverse effect on staff,” that I was “wasting time,” that I was “micro-managing.”
And my favourite, that while it’s “healthy to ask questions,” mine were “awkward” or “difficult.”
Maybe they were. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?
Rise Up Redruth
Alongside my council work, I’ve started Rise Up Redruth, a community initiative to connect residents who want to help make things happen locally. It’s not a council project, just people who love their town and want to get involved. Over 100 people have signed up so far.
I’ve shared it on my councillor Facebook page because that’s where residents follow me. But this has sparked a string of formal emails questioning whether what I’m doing could “damage the reputation of the Town Council,” whether I have insurance, whether I’m GDPR compliant, and how people would know this wasn’t an official council scheme.
To be clear: I’ve changed the name of my page, pinned a post stating that it’s not an official council page, updated the about section, and registered with the ICO.
And yet, it hasn’t stopped the emails.
What makes it harder to swallow is that several other councillors have Facebook pages too. Many openly reference their role, none carry disclaimers, and one even uses the Town Council logo and ward name without identifying who runs the page. During the last election, it was used for campaigning.
So, if I’m being held to one standard and others aren’t, what does that say about fairness and consistency?
The human side
I became a councillor because I love this town and I know a lot of people feel the same. I wanted to help bridge the gap between residents and the council, to make it easier for people to know what’s happening and to have a voice.
Instead, I’ve found myself on the receiving end of endless scrutiny, not for doing something wrong, but for doing something different. For trying. For caring enough to ask questions and communicate openly.
I’m tired of it, but I’m not giving up.
When I stood for election, I made promises, and I intend to keep them. If that makes me “awkward,” so be it.
A final thought
Some people may not like me writing about these experiences, and that’s fine. But honesty shouldn’t be controversial. It’s a shame that speaking openly can feel risky, and that raising questions can be seen as a threat. That shouldn’t be the case in local government, or anywhere.
So if anyone has a problem with me talking about these things, maybe the real question to ask is:
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