24/05/2026
A deafening silence
Suddenly every lamp post has a leaflet hanging off it, every page turns into a political battleground, and smiling candidates appear from the mist like seasonal daffodils in high-vis jackets, clutching clipboards and promising to “fight for the community.”
Doors are knocked. Hands are shaken. Babies are mysteriously admired. Potholes are photographed from seventeen different angles. Traffic signs become the backdrop for dramatic campaign portraits worthy of a Netflix political thriller.
For six glorious weeks, we’re apparently the most important people on earth.
But now there’s a genuine community crisis unfolding with the water contamination situation… where are they all now?
Where are the armies of canvassers who could deliver 14,000 leaflets in a single weekend but seemingly can’t carry a multipack of bottled water three streets up the road?
How many of the recent Senedd candidates, campaign teams, leaflet deliverers, canvassers and newly elected representatives have actually been out helping elderly residents, vulnerable people, families without transport, or pensioners struggling to carry supplies home?
Where are the smiling group photos now?
Where are the carefully staged “community action” pictures?
Where are the urgent Facebook updates with sleeves rolled up and concerned expressions?
Sera Evans.
Benjamin McKenna.
Alun Cox.
Steve Bayliss.
Huw Irranca-Davies.
Elyn Stephens.
And what about Chris Bryant and his parliamentary team?
Because when election season arrives, entire political armies can apparently materialise overnight with military precision. Streets become flooded with leaflets quicker than the actual water crisis updates arrived. Facebook feeds overflow with promises, slogans, graphics, selfies and carefully worded concern.
Community spirit suddenly becomes fashionable for six weeks every few years.
Yet when people are standing in queues for bottled water wondering whether they can safely boil a kettle for a cup of tea, the silence can feel deafening.
And that’s the bit people remember.
Not the slogans.
Not the rosettes.
Not the rehearsed doorstep speeches about “moving forward together.”
People remember who actually turned up.
Who knocked the door to ask if an elderly neighbour needed help.
Who carried water into someone’s house.
Who checked on vulnerable residents.
Who gave up their own time without needing a photographer standing nearby.
Because this isn’t about Labour, Plaid, Reform, Conservative, Liberal Democrat, Independent, purple, green, red, blue or fluorescent cone-orange anymore.
It’s about community.
Real community.
Not the election-time version printed on glossy A5 card.
And while plenty have been noticeably absent, special mention must go to Councillor Dan Owen-Jones, Jodie Davies, and the many volunteers who have gone above and beyond over these past few days and continue to do so quietly, without fanfare, headlines or staged photographs.
While others vanished quicker than an election poster in heavy rain, these are the people who stayed behind helping residents, lifting supplies, checking on neighbours and doing the unglamorous jobs that actually matter.
No slogans.
No megaphones.
No campaign graphics.
Just people helping people, butt.
And in times like this, carrying a case of water to an elderly neighbour means more to the public than a thousand election leaflets ever will.
