Being a Young Mayor-in-Waiting in a Grown Up System
When I was first elected to the Invercargill City Council at 25, someone told me it would take ten years to be taken seriously. I laughed politely at the time, but they were right. This year marks my tenth in local government. And I’m running for Mayor.
Being young in politics isn’t just about breaking through the age barrier, it’s about navigating a system that wasn’t built for you. I’ve had to learn to speak with both conviction and diplomacy. To call out unacceptable behaviour while keeping one eye on the long game. And to do the work, day after day, even when recognition doesn’t come easily.
Some of that work has been incredibly rewarding, helping shape a better future for my city, bringing fresh ideas into dusty rooms. But some of it has been hard. Like calling out misogyny when it’s dismissed as “just the way he talks.” Like naming ableism, sexism and racism when no one else will. Like being one of the only voices to hold our sitting Mayor to account after his public, relentless tirade justifying the use of the n-word. That’s not leadership. That’s harm.
Youth in politics isn’t just about being underestimated, though, believe me there’s plenty of that. It’s also about holding fast to your conviction while the room spins with tradition, legacy and "the way things have always been done." You’re expected to learn the rules quickly but never question them too loudly. And if you dare to lead differently? Expect both applause and a side-eye.
I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a politician. I grew up in Southland, where we’re taught to roll up our sleeves, work hard and look out for each other. That ethos, combined with a healthy scepticism of bureaucracy and an obsession with practicality is what drives me. I’ve never been content to sit in a seat for the sake of it. If I’m in the room, I’m asking questions. And if something isn’t working, I’m not waiting for permission to fix it.
That attitude doesn’t always gel with the establishment. But here’s the thing: local government is crying out for renewal. Not just younger faces, but new ways of doing things. Real responsiveness. Digitally-native thinking. Transparency that isn’t just promised but practiced.
As a Millennial-Gen Z cusp, I live in two worlds. I’ve worked in business, led marketing and client experience (CX) strategies, run my own campaigns, juggled being a councillor with professional and personal commitments. I’ve been in the trenches of decision-making, but I’ve also had to fight to have my voice taken seriously, especially when calling out dysfunction or advocating for bold, community-first policies.
Our generation doesn't expect politics to save us. We just want it to work. We value collaboration over ego. Climate resilience, mental health, housing and digital equity aren’t just nice-to-haves, they’re urgent, lived realities for a huge portion of our community. And we know performative politics when we see it. We swipe left fast.
But here’s the truth that doesn’t get said often: young people bring something councils desperately lack, optimism with pragmatism. We’re not naive. We know the machinery is slow, the budgets tight, the compromises real. But we also know how to build community in new ways. We crowdsource ideas. We co-design solutions. We understand meme culture and long-term planning.
There’s a saying I carry with me: “The best person for the job is often just the one who puts their hand up.” I wasn’t the most qualified when I started, but I’ve worked hard, asked the hard questions and kept showing up. And I think that’s what our communities deserve: not perfection, but persistence.