In recent months I have found myself returning to the same conversation. When I discuss my decision to stand as a Senatorial Candidate, the response is often supportive, but it is also remarkably consistent. Surely Senators are meant to be sitting Deputies? Or: Isn’t that really the route to becoming a Minister?
These comments are rarely ill-intentioned. They are usually offered as friendly advice, sometimes as encouragement, sometimes as gentle realism. But the fact that they are so commonplace suggests that an assumption is settling into our political culture – and it is one worth examining before it quietly hardens into a gatekeeping norm.
The assumption is this: that being a Senator is, in effect, a promotion; that it is most appropriately filled by existing Deputies or Connétables; and that success in an island-wide election is, implicitly or explicitly, a step towards ministerial office. None of this is set out in law. None of it is required by the re-introduction of Senators. And yet it risks shaping behaviour – including who decides to stand – in ways that narrow rather than widen democratic choice.
It is worth pausing to ask what effect that might have in a small polity like Jersey.
At a constitutional level, the position is straightforward. Once elected, every Member of the States Assembly has one vote in the Chamber. Senators, Deputies and Connétables sit as equals. Ministers are not elected by the public; they are appointed after the election, from among all elected Members, and approved by the Assembly. The law does not confer seniority on Senators, nor does it reserve leadership roles for them. What differs is not rank, but mandate: Senators are elected island-wide; Deputies by constituency; Connétables by parish. These are different democratic routes to the same Assembly, not steps on a ladder.
That distinction matters, because mandates shape perspective. An island-wide mandate invites candidates to speak to the whole Island, to think across boundaries, and to make their case to a broad electorate rather than a defined locality. It does not, in itself, signal greater authority or a claim on executive office. To treat it as such is to overlay a cultural expectation that the legislation itself does not contain.
The cultural effect of that expectation is subtle but important. If standing as a Senator is widely seen as something one does after serving as a Deputy – or in order to become a Minister – then the pool of potential candidates begins to shrink. Capable Islanders without prior Assembly experience may conclude, reasonably enough, that the role is not really intended for them. Others, with long business, professional or civic experience outside politics, may decide that the threshold for legitimacy is simply too high. The result is not exclusion by rule, but self-exclusion by assumption.
This matters because one of the strengths of island-wide elections is precisely their capacity to broaden participation. They are not tied to parish boundaries or constituency histories. They allow voters to assemble a team – with experienced and new members – rather than replicate existing patterns. If we allow the idea of “Senator as promotion” to take hold, that potential is blunted.
Experience in public life undoubtedly matters. It brings institutional memory, procedural fluency and tested judgement. But experience should inform the Assembly, not determine in advance who is entitled to seek an island-wide mandate. A healthy democracy makes room both for continuity and for renewal. It does not require that renewal first prove itself through a particular route.
There is also a risk, in a small jurisdiction, of confusing visibility with suitability. Island-wide elections inevitably favour candidates who are already well known. That is not a criticism; it is a feature of scale. But if familiarity becomes conflated with fitness for office, we may end up recycling the same voices under different titles, rather than using the return of Senators to refresh the nature of island-wide debate.
This is not an argument against experienced candidates standing as Senators. Many will do so, and voters will judge them on their merits. It is an argument against allowing custom to harden into expectation. The moment an informal prerequisite is assumed – you need to have been here before – the range of choice available to voters contracts.
The question, then, is not who should stand, but who might be discouraged from doing so. Jersey has no shortage of people with deep professional and business experience, community leadership, or long service outside formal politics. Some may never wish to stand, and that is their choice. But others may have hesitated, not because they doubted their capacity to contribute, but because they have absorbed the idea that island-wide seats are somehow reserved.
Thinking seriously about standing has forced me to examine my own assumptions, and to listen carefully to those of others. It has also reinforced a simple point: the value of island-wide representation lies not in hierarchy, but in perspective. It is about adding voices, not ranking them.
As we have now passed the nomination period, we will soon know who the Senatorial candidate are. The field will be set but in my view voters always benefit from choice. Assemblies benefit from a mix of experience and fresh thinking. And small democracies, perhaps more than large ones, depend on resisting the quiet narrowing of who feels entitled to participate.
This is not a call to abandon experience, nor to diminish those who have served. It is an invitation to remember that equal votes and different mandates are not the same thing as promotions and pathways. I sincerely hope that we have not already deterred capable Islanders from standing.
If the return of Senators is to mean anything, it should expand the conversation, not pre-empt it. As a first time Senatorial candidate I look forward to joining that conversion from now until June 7th.