Opinion By Lynne Strong

Becoming a new councillor must feel a lot like stepping into the lyrics of Johnny Nash’s 

"I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way,

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind,

It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day."

That’s the vibe most councillors start with—optimism and determination to fix what’s broken and make their community better. They arrive ready to roll up their sleeves and get to work, thinking the hardest part was winning the election. But just as they settle into their new roles, the clouds roll back in, and they find themselves humming the Rolling Stones instead:

"You can’t always get what you want,

But if you try sometimes,

You just might find,

You get what you need."

What you want is to dive into the big, transformative projects—housing, public spaces, sustainability. What you get? A mess. You inherit issues you didn’t see coming, like Kiama Council’s $1.5 million developer overcharging scandal. A software glitch led to inflated contributions, and now the council has to refund $623,000. That’s a lot of money that could have gone to basics like playgrounds, sports fields or “mowing public spaces more than once every six weeks.” Instead, councillors are left scrambling to explain it to a furious public.

And the spending controversies don’t stop there. Refurbishing the council chambers will cost $280,000, including $170,000 for AV equipment, $30,000 for new carpets, and $15,000 for painting. The Westpac building will swallow another $154,000 for new partitions, carpet, and desks. Meanwhile, the mayor’s office is also being done up, which hasn’t gone unnoticed.

What’s often overlooked is our councillors aren’t full-time politicians. Most councillors have other jobs. They don’t take these roles for the money—their stipends barely cover the time they put in. And yet, the demands are relentless. The public sees them as punching bags for every council decision, inherited or not.

Take a look at what residents are saying:

• “Stop wasting money on fancy offices. Just get on with governing,” says one comment.
• Another adds, “Finish Gerroa Park already. It’s been sitting without play equipment for years while money is wasted on desks and carpet!”
• And then there’s this: “Councillors are supposed to represent ratepayers. You can’t hide from this waste.”

It must feel impossible to move forward when you’re constantly stuck in reverse. Councillors didn’t sign up for this. They came in with big ideas: affordable housing, sustainability, community-building. But instead of progress, they’re dealing with angry ratepayers, blown budgets, and never-ending roadblocks.

And really, who would sign up for this? The pay is small, the workload enormous, and the criticism relentless. Yet, somehow, these people keep showing up, trying to make a difference. They’re not perfect. They make mistakes. But they’re trying to steer a ship that’s often leaking from every corner.

I started out wanting to write a positive piece, to showcase the incredible aspirations of our councillors. Instead, I find myself wondering how they even stay afloat. We demand so much of them—vision, integrity, resilience. But maybe we need to ask less and support more.

Because while “You can’t always get what you want” might be true, councillors didn’t come into these roles expecting perfection. They just want to get us what we need. And that deserves a little more understanding from all of us.