Simon Hughes Served His Community—That’s How You Beat Reform UK

 

A personal reflection on local politics, trust, and why people voted for the man, not the party.

By Sean Ash 

On the surface, it never quite added up. Bermondsey, known by some locals as “Bermz”, was a traditionally working-class stronghold, proud, gritty, and fiercely local. It was a place of loud opinions, football loyalty, and a no-nonsense attitude to politics. In its past, the area lent itself to views often associated with the political right, tough on crime, proud of the flag, and sceptical about outsiders. And yet, for over three decades, it returned Simon Hughes, a Liberal Democrat MP, to Parliament.

This wasn’t in a vacuum. Labour and the Liberal Democrats were the two main political forces constantly jostling for dominance in Bermondsey. So the real question is, why did a community that leaned socially conservative in many ways consistently support a man from a party that promoted progressive, internationalist values?

A community 

The answer, I believe, lies beyond party politics. It lies in personal trust, consistency, and the kind of presence that can’t be faked.

Back in 2007, I was living on the Millpond Estate just off Jamaica Road. One afternoon, I opened the door and there he was, standing with two local councillors, speaking to my neighbours at the time. I said, “Wait, I recognise you!” He turned to me with a big smile. It was Simon Hughes. He came over and shook my hand warmly, introduced himself as the Member of Parliament for the area, and spoke with an assertive voice, yet quiet humility that immediately stood out.

I mentioned my grandfather, and Simon said that he knew of him. Not only that, he even referenced the book my grandfather had written. That moment meant a lot. It wasn’t scripted, it wasn’t superficial. It was someone who had clearly paid attention to the people and families in the community. That made me like him even more.

I told him I was interested in politics and shared a bit about my background, including my experience with homelessness. He didn’t brush it off or offer platitudes. He said that if I wanted to get involved, I could come along and see what they were doing. No pressure. Just a sincere invitation.

So I went. I visited his office down the Blue and met a group of people, activists, councillors, campaigners, who were down-to-earth, open, and committed. They didn’t ask where I came from. They just wanted to make a difference. That stuck with me.

Eventually, I began doing some work experience in Simon’s constituency office. My tasks were small, filing, photocopying, bits of admin, but what I observed was unforgettable. The volume of casework was staggering. There were hundreds of letters, each one on official House of Commons stationery, prepared by his team but always read and signed off by Simon personally before being sent.

These weren’t symbolic gestures. They were real attempts to resolve real problems. If the issue was immigration, the letter went to the UK Border Agency. If it was housing, it was addressed to the local council. If it was a matter of policing, education, or welfare, it was sent to the relevant government or civil service department. Everything was logged. Each issue had its own category, its own folder. Every response, every request, it was all documented. Nothing was left to chance.

After a while, the team began to include me more directly. I wasn’t just photocopying anymore. I started helping draft some letters myself. The team would review what I wrote, give feedback, and support me in learning how the process worked from beginning to end. They taught me everything, from the foundations of casework, to writing effective letters, to how to present myself on the doorstep, to how to speak in debates and communicate with people clearly. They gave me the tools, and they made space for me to grow.

Simon had a system, and it worked. His office didn’t run on ego or image. It ran on care. He gave time to everyone, no matter their background. And perhaps most impressively, he remembered people, not just their names, but their stories. That’s not something you can fake.

When my grandfather became ill, Simon came to visit him in hospital. When he passed away, Simon came to the funeral and delivered a heartfelt eulogy, speaking about my grandfather’s contributions to the local community. That wasn’t a photo opportunity. That was a man showing respect.

Simon Hughes visiting my late Grandfather, Thomas Ash in Lewisham Hospital 

Later on, when I was struggling and going through a difficult time, I opened up to Simon about what I was facing. He didn’t just listen. He took time out with me to pray. That moment floored me. No one had ever done that with me before. It wasn’t politics. It was personal. And it mattered.

And it wasn’t just me that he helped. The Liberal Democrats in Southwark taught me many things. They taught me not only how to do casework, but how to present myself on the doorstep, how to collect data, how to deal with issues, and how to write to local newspapers. They helped me build my own communication methods, which allowed me to express myself more clearly within my own politics. They built me up.

I would often observe Simon on the doorstep, sometimes watching the local councillors too. I paid attention to how they spoke to residents, how they handled concerns, how they framed issues and how they didn’t just highlight problems but pushed for solutions. They didn’t just talk about change. They worked to make it happen.

This is why people in Bermondsey voted for Simon Hughes again and again. It wasn’t because they read Liberal Democrat policy documents. It was because they knew him. They trusted him. He earned it.

Myself (left), former Millwall FC player/manager Neil Harris (centre), Simon Hughes (right)

Ask most locals and they’ll say the same thing. Bermondsey has never really been “liberal” in the political sense. But ask them what they thought of Simon Hughes, and they’ll say, “He was a good man.”

And that’s the lesson. If the Liberal Democrats, or any party, want to challenge Reform UK or win back disillusioned communities, it won’t be through hashtags or party lines. It will be by doing what Simon did, showing up, helping people, remembering their names, and proving, through action, that you care.

Because in the end, people don’t always vote for the party that matches their politics. Sometimes, they vote for the person who matches their humanity.

It was a very sad day in 2015 when Simon lost his seat after all those years. But I don’t believe Simon was punished for his personal work as an MP. I believe he took the fall for a protest against the Tories’ austerity, and for the Liberal Democrats entering into coalition with the intention of holding the Conservatives on a leash. The goal was to try and implement policies that would help people and protect the most vulnerable. 

At the time, I was angry that we joined the coalition. But looking back now, I understand why we did it. Because we saw very clearly what happened when the leash was removed. We tried our best. We managed to contain them for five years. But sadly, the electorate let them off the leash. And we’ve suffered every year, every day since.

There’s a lot we can learn from Simon, and not just from him, but from his team and the local councillors who served their constituents across Southwark. We can learn that if you fight hard locally, if you engage with your community, not just for political gain but from a place of genuine empathy and connection, people will support you, not because you’re a Liberal Democrat, or a Conservative, or Labour, but because they can see that you’re congruent, that you’re sincere, that you really care, and that you want to make a difference. These are the kinds of politicians we need now more than ever.

Far too many people today are focused entirely on national issues. And while national awareness is important, we forget that the key to real change is found on our doorsteps. It’s in the housing struggles just down the road. It’s in the families fighting for school placements, in the parents seeking support, in the people who need help with policing, healthcare, and day-to-day survival. That’s how you win. That’s how you beat apathy, and that’s how you beat Reform. You don’t do it by shouting at hate. You do it by showing people love. You do it by turning up, by being present, and by caring louder than anyone else.