It’s been six months now since we were sworn in as Redruth Town Councillors. When I think back, I have to laugh — two years ago, one Friday night before my shift at The Red Lion, I was sitting in The Art Room with a small group talking about the Town Council and “Flat Pack Democracy.”
I’ll be honest, I didn’t really understand what we were doing there or why people had such issues with the council at the time. I remember wondering how anyone could feel confident they’d do a better job without really understanding what the job was. I questioned the time commitment (no one seemed entirely sure), and although there was enthusiasm for “something different,” no one really wanted to stand for election.
Fast forward to today, and I couldn’t hold a more opposite view if I tried.
The myths of local government
Part of the problem, I think, is the “urban legends” surrounding local government, that it’s boring, impenetrable, and best left to other people. I used to believe some of that. But I’ve come to realise something quite different: whether it’s your parish, regional, or national government — they don’t really want you to pay attention.
Because if you did, you might not agree with what they’re doing, and that would make things… awkward.
Standing Orders and standing my ground
That thought came sharply into focus at this week’s double meeting Monday, three hours, two agendas, and one existential crisis later.
The evening kicked off with our third meeting to discuss the Town Council’s Standing Orders. These were handed to us at our very first meeting, a dense document written in the most unfriendly, verbose, and confusing language imaginable. One of our group’s early ambitions was to rewrite it in plain English, so that if a member of the public wanted to read it, they might actually understand what it said.
Simple idea, right? Not so fast. It turns out parts of the Standing Orders are legally required to be copied word-for-word from statute. So, if you try to rewrite the rest in normal language, you end up with long stretches of legalese breaking up your efforts like stubborn weeds in a tidy lawn.
At a previous meeting, I’d thrown the proverbial cat among the pigeons (technically I’d submitted it as a motion, though the process took a slightly unusual route to discussion). Inspired by the approach in Frome, I’d proposed a new section to clarify what decisions must be made by Full Council.
I couldn’t make that particular meeting, but I later heard the rumour mill: apparently, I was either drunk or stupid to suggest such a thing, and that we had “more important things to be doing.” (What those were remains a mystery.)
So, after all that, the discussion rolled over to this week’s meeting for me to explain myself. To say I wasn’t looking forward to it would be an understatement.
The case for open decision-making
My reasoning was simple enough: the big decisions, restructuring the council, setting budgets, cancelling festivals (not for emergency reasons), anything that shapes the town’s direction, should be debated and decided in Full Council, in public, where people can see and understand what’s happening.
Before we joined, the council had gone through a full restructure: new staff hired, others made redundant, and an overall 25% increase in the annual payroll. That’s significant, and yet all of it was discussed behind closed doors in Part II (private session).
I wasn’t a councillor then, but none of the reasoning is documented publicly, so it’s impossible to know how or why those decisions were made. That doesn’t sit well with me.
Some councillors argue that staffing discussions must be private to protect employees, and that’s true in part. but when such decisions reshape the council entirely, there should at least be some attempt to explain the rationale to the public whose money funds it all.
And as for the idea that “we were elected to represent people”, well, let’s keep a sense of proportion. Those major decisions were made by the previous council, when only four members were actually voted in and the rest were either co-opted or uncontested. That’s hardly a resounding mandate.
A small-town rallying cry
So here’s my rallying cry: are you happy to let people, myself included, make decisions about your town and your money, often without you noticing?
We need more eyes, more voices, and more participation. Even the best-intentioned 14 councillors in the world can’t do it alone.
You don’t have to come to every meeting (frankly, I wouldn’t recommend it), but maybe come to one. Read the minutes. Send an email. Ask a question. You’d be amazed how much power those small acts hold.
I’ll keep asking the awkward questions and sharing what I can; but democracy’s a team sport.
We’re in this together, right?
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