Democracy in Action - with Strangers

I am feeling nervous. I am standing in the town centre of Newton Abbot with fellow community activists from a group called Common Ground. We're all powerfully concerned with democracy and with how it is working (or not working) in our local communities. As a group we have no allegiance to any of the political parties that vie for our votes. Indeed, we believe passionately that democracy begins, not in Westminster, nor in candidates canvassing on doorsteps, but in ordinary conversations between people who are not listened to and are rarely heard.

So the five of us are gathered here ready to do a Democracy Meter , an activity that involves approaching strangers in the street and initiating conversations about the issues that are concerning them. Our questions are handwritten on a board and we have coloured stickers for people to indicate their responses and priorities. That's the easy part. I am a little anxious about approaching strangers and initiating the conversations. I wonder to myself 'why am I doing this'? Putting my head above the parapet, opening myself to awkward or even hostile conversations? I could be walking by the sea instead.

I look upwards, to the flats above the shops that line the street and I am suddenly taken back to my childhood. My grandmother lived in one of those flats for many years after her evacuation from London during the 1940s. Although I can't now pinpoint exactly which flat it was, standing here still grounds me. I vividly remember standing at Grandma's window with my brother and watching the carnival procession pass by below. The cheers and the joy. More than sixty years later, there is still in me that sense of belonging to this community. Perhaps that is what has brought me on to the streets today.

There is some family heritage in my involvement in local politics. My parents were both active in the Liberal Party for decades. My father, born in 1925, was 76 before a candidate that he voted for finally won! Yet he kept the hope alive, despite knowing that Newton Abbot was a perpetually safe Conservative seat, where incumbents remained for decades, no matter how effective they were. But Newton Abbot has changed dramatically since my childhood. A once-thriving market town, and busy railway hub in the 19th Century, it has an industrial heritage based on clay, wool and leather. The population has nearly doubled since the 1950s, and even more large housing estates are being built on the outskirts with little additional investment in public services. Housing costs are high, wages are relatively low, and nearly 30% of the population are over 65.

Many Newtonians feel the town has become less distinctive and community-focused, as historic buildings and independent shops have gradually disappeared. In their place, a growing number of charity shops, chain coffee shops, and empty units have emerged, leaving the town centre feeling less vibrant, personal, and lively than it once did.

And the old certainties of voting patterns are shifting too. The views and attitudes of the majority of people in this town have always been considered to be 'conservative', but the arrival on the scene of Reform UK and the Greens has shaken things up. At the last election, the collapse in support for the Conservatives resulted in the constituency electing a Liberal Democrat MP and Reform has developed a strong local presence, building on earlier support for UKIP.

But are these changes part of a genuine political shift? And are voters having a real chance to identify the full significance of the 'cure-all' policies waved before them? Talking on the street again and again we encounter an interesting pattern. Many people begin by declaring strong support for Farage and/or Reform, but when given time to talk a lot reveal views that are more progressive. So I am increasingly convinced that my respectful, thoughtful pavement conversations are helping to create and support a more positive local political climate.

We make a start. Some people put their heads down, divert their gaze, avoid our gentle 'hello'. Others rush past with ''Not interested', or 'I haven't got the time'. I understand their reaction. But curiosity draws others in. 'What are you doing?' 'Who do you represent?' 'Is this political?'

Many people insist that they 'don't know anything about politics'. Yet just asking them if they can access an NHS dentist or get a GP appointment is often enough to trigger an outpouring of anger, grief, helpnessness, and frustration. The same happens when discussing SEND provision in local schools, social care, buses or housing. Some of the people who stop to talk to us work in these sectors and are scared and angry. We can then gently point out that they know a great deal about politics because they experience the consequences of political decisions every day.

Young people often hesitate too. I have learned to say 'It would be great to get the ideas of a young person'. Once they begin talking about something they care about, like schooling, or concerns about the climate, they become a lot more confident.

Within a few hours, the board is full of stickers, expressing support for the NHS, wanting action on the climate crisis, and a desire for an end to billionaire power. But what is more important than the stickers is the conversations behind them: spaces opening up for radical listening, disagreement and shared experience. As in George Monbiot's article about his experience on the streets of South Devon, the picture is quite hopeful.

Not every conversation is easy. Occasionally we hear extreme anti-immigrant views and narratives from culture wars. One man insisted the inequality in Britain was the fault of women like me - educated, middle class feminists who, by pursuing careers, had both undermined family life and damaged the prospects for working class men*.  But once these views are out in the open, they can at least be explored, even if agreement is impossible. For days and days afterwards, I consider what I could have said in response to these trickier conversations, framing rebuttals in my head, ready for the next time.

So I battle my scares and continue listening, where possible gently putting forward my own perspective in the hope of showing that we have more in common than divides us. As our website says: "these conversations aren't about winning arguments or changing minds - they're about revealing the shared concerns that unite us beneath the noise."

Thank you to Newton Abbot in Old Photos Facebook Group for the old photos in this blog and bringing together such an interesting resource.

*Read more about the Spring of the Matriarchs in this article by Rebecca Solnit

#commonground; #democracyonthestreets; #smalltownpolitics; #moreincommon