#Bristol Green Party Councillors Walk Out: When Feelings Trump Facts at City Hall.

Welcome to kindergarten politics. The age of adult nappy wearing, local democracy.

(Image: Bristol Live)

You know what’s funny about words? Sometimes they just pack up and sod off when you need them most. And I use words - that’s what I do here. I sit at my desk in Bristol, watching the Green Party clowns at City Hall trip over their own incompetencies, and my brain is doing two things simultaneously: it’s trying to process what the hell I’m actually seeing, and it’s screaming at my fingers to TYPE FASTER because surely, SURELY, if I can just get the words out quick enough, I can capture the pure, distilled essence of this performative lunacy before it metastasises into something even more stupid.

But here’s the thing - sometimes words aren’t enough. You’re watching grown adults play government like it’s naptime at Montessori, making decisions that would embarrass a hamster, and you think: “There must be a word for this. There must be some combination of syllables in the English language that adequately conveys the chasm between what these people promised and what they’re actually doing.”

There isn’t.

So I sit here, toggling between total bewilderment - that’s the “I literally cannot comprehend how a human brain produced this thought” phase - and sheer consternation - that’s the “Oh blimey, I do understand, and we’re all screwed” phase. Back and forth. Bewildered. Consternated. It’s like emotional tennis, except nobody’s winning and the ball is on fire.

If there was such a thing as a nationally published handbook for whatever it takes to become a local councillor - ‘guidance’ I think is nowadays the more fashionable, nonsensical term for what should be rules - then surely, SURELY, the term ‘Emotional Maturity’ would be highlighted in bold, capital letters on every single bloody page!

Somehow, society seems to have allowed itself to - and don’t ask me how - get itself into a position where feelings dominate facts. Think about that for a second. Feelings trump facts. Your emotional response to reality now carries more weight than reality itself. We’ve built an entire political culture where “but that makes me feel bad” is considered a legitimate counter-argument to “here are the facts, and, you know what facts are, don’t you?” Because, if in doubt, there’s this online thing nowadays called ‘Google.’ Try it!

So, having said all that, let’s pinpoint laser all of this to Bristol City Council’s administratively fucked up, yes, fucked up beyond all probability global award-winning incompetents: the Greens.

Because if there was an Olympic event for municipal-level catastrophe, Bristol’s Green administration wouldn’t just win gold - they’d somehow manage to lose the medal, blame the previous administration for its disappearance, and then sell the podium to cover the cost of the investigation into where the podium went.

These are the people who spent years in opposition promising affordable housing, swearing they’d protect council homes, positioning themselves as the champions of ordinary Bristolians being priced out of their own city. Then they get into power and what do they do? They sell council homes. They implement budget cuts that make their predecessors look like amateurs. And when you point out this spectacular contradiction, they act wounded. Shocked. How dare you notice what they’re actually doing?

Nothing could the sheer incredulity better than the recent walk-out from a council meeting - because they didn’t like what they were hearing - and it’s become so prominent that even The Times featured an article on it.

Let that sink in for a moment. Bristol’s Green councillors walked out of a public meeting. Not because of an emergency. Not because of a fire alarm. But because a member of the public asked them questions they found uncomfortable. Questions about their stance on trans rights, apparently. And rather than engage with the public, defend their positions, act like grown-ups who signed up for public service - they just left. Walked out. Like toddlers storming off to their rooms because someone said they couldn’t have ice cream for breakfast. And, for what exactly? All because some bloke with three days of bum fluff on his face, hairy legs, and a dress is offended, seriously?

And Council Leader Tony Dyer actually defended this. Told the meeting that his colleagues have the right to walk out if voters “offend” them. “This is a democracy,” he said, apparently without a shred of irony. “You have the right to come here and make statements. Councillors have the right to decide whether those statements offend them.”

Let me pause here for a moment. Taking offence is a choice. It’s not mandatory. It’s not something that happens to you like catching a cold or getting hit by a bus. Someone says something, and you - yes, you - decide whether to be offended by it. You choose to let those words have power over you. You choose to prioritise your emotional reaction over your professional responsibility.

And here’s the thing about being a councillor: you signed up for public scrutiny. You literally volunteered to be questioned, challenged, and yes, sometimes criticised by the people you represent. If you can’t handle that without fleeing the room like a scalded cat, you’re in the wrong job. Nobody forced you to stand for election. Nobody made you seek power over other people’s lives. You wanted this job. The least you can do is stick around when someone asks you an uncomfortable question.

But wait - it gets better. Because the Lord Mayor had already set the tone for this democratic masterclass. Before the meeting even started, attendees were informed: be quiet, don’t interrupt, and - this is my favourite part - “All loud hailers, banners, and placards must be left at the main entrance and will not be permitted to be brought into the building.”

Think about that. You can’t bring a placard into a public meeting. A piece of cardboard with words on it is considered too dangerous, too disruptive for Bristol’s delicate Green councillors to handle. The very thing some of our elected were doing themselves. Meanwhile, they’ll allow you, as a member of the public into the chamber - that’s democracy - but God forbid you hold up a sign. That might constitute visible disagreement, and we can’t have that, can we? Unless, of course, you’re a Green councillor, where the Lord Mayor’s rules clearly don’t apply.

So picture the same happening at national level, in Parliament. Prime Minister’s Questions. Keir Starmer stands up, asks a pointed question about government policy. Kemi Badenoch finds the question offensive and just... walks out. Then half the Cabinet follows her. The government benches are empty. Democracy has left the building because someone said something uncomfortable.

Can you imagine the absolute shitstorm that would follow? “GOVERNMENT WALKS OUT ON PARLIAMENT” would be on every front page. There’d be emergency debates about the breakdown of democratic norms. The public would be apoplectic.

And yet, in Bristol, when Green councillors do exactly this, we’re supposed to nod along and accept it as legitimate democratic participation. The only difference between these scenarios is the size of the building. The principle - that elected officials answer to the people who elected them - that’s supposed to be exactly the same whether you’re in Westminster or City Hall.

But apparently, in Bristol, that principle is optional.

The bigger question right now should be: what the hell was going through the minds of the Bristol voters who elected these clowns? Because look, I get it - you’re fed up with Labour, you’re done with the Tories, you want something different. The Greens promise you environmental responsibility, social justice, affordable housing. They stand up in opposition and sound righteous. They’ve got all the right buzzwords.

So you vote for them. You give them power. And what do they do? They sell council homes. They cut budgets deeper than the people they spent years criticising. And when you show up to ask them why, they walk out. Because your question hurt their feelings.

You didn’t elect representatives. You elected children.

Maybe, just maybe - and again I’m stuck for the right words - there’s some kind of emotional maturity malaise spreading faster than COVID ever did, where people’s common sense turned to mush? Because that’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? A feedback loop of feelings over facts, where nobody’s required to think critically anymore because thinking critically might make someone uncomfortable.

You promise affordable housing, then sell council homes. The voters nod along.

You rail against budget cuts, then implement cuts twice as deep. The voters shrug.

You walk out of a public meeting because someone asked you a question you didn’t like. And somehow, a chunk of the electorate will defend it. “Well, they have a right to their feelings.”

When did we collectively decide that emotional comfort mattered more than basic competence?

So, elected councillors dodge critical questions from their own electorate and circle back to the room where decisions about what colours to paint the roads, foot and cycle paths is more soothing?

That’s what it comes down to. The hard stuff - accountability, budgets, housing policy, explaining why you’re doing the opposite of what you promised - that’s too uncomfortable. That requires emotional maturity. That means facing people who are angry because you lied to them.

But paint colours? Oh, we can do that all day. Cycle lane aesthetics? Absolutely. Should this pedestrian crossing be beige or taupe? Let’s form a committee. Let’s spend six months debating the precise shade of green that best represents our commitment to sustainability while we’re selling off council housing in the background.

Or, better still, let’s impose another ‘Low Traffic Neighbourhood’ that’s failed everywhere else it’s been implemented around the country because it feels right?

Never mind the evidence. Never mind that city after city has tried this and watched traffic get worse, not better. Never mind that emergency services can’t get through, that local businesses suffer, that you’ve just shoved all the congestion onto different streets where poorer people live.

It feels like good policy. It sounds environmental. It has the right progressive aesthetic. And most importantly, it lets councillors feel like they’re doing something meaningful without actually having to solve any hard problems.

But slapping down some planters and bollards? That’s easy. That lets you put out a press release about your commitment to “sustainable transport solutions” while the ambulance trying to reach someone’s grandmother has to take a five-mile detour because the street’s now blocked off.

And when residents complain - when they show you the data from every other city where this failed - you can dismiss them as car-obsessed NIMBYs who don’t care about the environment. Their facts don’t matter because your feelings tell you you’re right.

In fact, everything that requires a grown-up conversation is too emotionally challenging for our elected kidults, isn’t it?

Housing crisis? Too hard. Requires admitting that selling council homes contradicts everything you said in opposition.

Budget cuts? Too uncomfortable. Means explaining why your cuts are somehow noble while the previous lot’s were evil.

Failed transport policies? Too complicated. Easier to just keep doing what feels right even when the evidence says you’re wrong.

Public accountability? Absolutely not. That’s basically emotional abuse.

This is what happens when you elect people based on how their policies make you feel rather than whether their policies actually work. You get a council full of people who are very good at having the right opinions and very, very bad at doing the actual job.

They can tell you how they feel about inequality. They cannot house people.

They can express their commitment to sustainability. They cannot fix traffic.

They can walk out of a meeting when questioned. They cannot face the consequences of their decisions.

These aren’t representatives. They’re theatre kids who wandered into the wrong building and decided to stage a performance called “Playing Government.” And Bristol - poor, suffering Bristol - is the captive audience that can’t leave until the next election.

This is the party that if they ever sent representatives to feature on the Mastermind television programme, their specialist subject would be hissy fits. Their anthem would be Sir Elton John’s “Tantrums and Tiaras.” They couldn’t pull together a rational, logical thought between them that didn’t involve an adult nappy change in between if they tried.

Welcome to the age of tantrum politics. Welcome to kindergarten governance, where the bells don’t work, the teachers have left, and the children are in charge.