For those of you preparing to stand in Guernsey’s 2025 general election, I take my hat off to you and am grateful for your commitment to public service.
You stand on the cusp of a grand undertaking. You will be weathering the hustings, charming the electorate, or at least persuading a sufficient number to give you a chance, and hoping to find yourselves entrusted with the weighty responsibility of guiding the good ship Guernsey through some turbulent waters in the next four years. Bravo. But may I, as a humble observer of the human condition and particularly its peculiar manifestations in our political arena, offer a few gentle thoughts on a matter of vital importance: your relationship with that often-unsung, yet utterly indispensable, cohort – the civil servants.
You see, arriving in the hallowed halls of power in the Royal Court and Sir Charles Frossard House (aka SCFH – you will get used to the acronyms, picking up the lingo with surprising speed) with the heady scent of victory still clinging to your lapels, it is tempting, perhaps even natural, to feel a certain… well, let’s call it elan. You have ideas! Visions! A burning desire to reshape the very fabric of Guernsey life! This is what you have been elected to deliver after all. But allow an old hand to whisper a secret into your eager ears: the machinery of government, the intricate clockwork that keeps the cogs turning, is largely operated by these dedicated individuals. They are the custodians of institutional memory, the navigators of bureaucratic byways, the quiet orchestrators behind the grand pronouncements.
Therefore, your first imperative, your sine qua non, must be the cultivation of a relationship built not on the shifting sands of political expediency, but on the solid bedrock of civility. By the way, for some of the experienced old-timers, I am talking to you too. Imagine the sheer, unadulterated rudeness of treating these professionals as mere functionaries, as automatons designed solely to execute your every whim. Such an approach will be about as effective as trying to herd Guernsey cows with a kazoo. Civility is not merely politeness; it is an acknowledgement of shared humanity, a recognition that every individual, regardless of their position, deserves to be treated with respect and consideration. A kind word, a genuine inquiry into their wellbeing, a simple ‘thank you’ – these small gestures are the oil that lubricates the gears of collaboration.
And then there is that most undervalued of virtues in the often-strident world of politics: humility. You have been elected, yes. You possess a mandate, undoubtedly. But this does not instantly imbue you with omniscience. These civil servants, many of whom have dedicated years, even decades, to their respective fields, possess a deep and nuanced understanding of the issues at hand. To dismiss their expertise, to assume that your fresh perspective automatically trumps their accumulated wisdom, is not only arrogant but profoundly foolish. Approach them with an open mind, a willingness to learn, and a genuine curiosity about their insights. Ask questions. Listen intently. Consider their counsel not as an obstacle to your grand designs, but as invaluable guidance on the path to their successful implementation. Remember the wisdom of the ancient Greeks: ‘The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.’ A sentiment particularly pertinent for those entering the labyrinthine corridors of governance. If only I had the ear of Donald Trump, the things I would say.
Now, let us turn our attention to that most fragile and yet most essential of commodities: trust. So easily broken, so painstakingly rebuilt. You, as newly elected officials, cannot simply demand the trust of the civil service by virtue of your titles. It is not a bauble that comes with the keys to your new office. No, trust, like a fine guernsey, must be carefully woven, thread by thread, through consistent and honourable actions. Be transparent in your dealings. Honour your commitments. Act with unwavering integrity. If you say you will do something, then do it. Your word must be your bond.
Similarly, the onus is not solely on you. Civil servants, too, must understand that trust is a reciprocal arrangement. They must offer you their honest and impartial advice, even when it might not align with your initial inclinations. They must be forthcoming with information, both the palatable and the less so. They must demonstrate a commitment to serving the elected government of the day with professionalism and dedication, regardless of their personal views.
Building this mutual trust requires open and honest communication. Create channels for dialogue that go beyond formal meetings. Take the time to understand their roles, their challenges, and their perspectives. Recognise that they are often working under significant pressure, juggling competing demands and navigating complex regulations. A little empathy can go a very long way in fostering a sense of shared purpose. Perhaps an informal chat over a cuppa could work wonders in bridging any perceived divides.
In essence, dear future deputies, your journey in the States of Deliberation will be immeasurably smoother, your policies far more effective and your tenure ultimately more rewarding if you approach your interactions with the civil service with a genuine spirit of collaboration. Cast aside any notions of superiority based solely on your electoral success. Embrace the experience and dedication that resides within the civil service. Cultivate an atmosphere of mutual respect, where ideas can be exchanged freely and where the common goal – the wellbeing of Guernsey and its people – takes precedence above all else. For in the intricate dance of governance, politicians and civil servants are not adversaries, but rather partners, each playing a vital role in the harmonious symphony of public service. And a harmonious symphony is always a far more pleasant and productive affair than a cacophonous clash of egos.
So once you are elected, go forth with this advice, and build those bridges. Guernsey is counting on you.
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