Cllr Jeremy Maddocks is a councillor for Palace & Hurlingham Ward on Hammersmith and Fulham Council.
I was recently elected for the first time as a Conservative councillor in a central London ward on the Thames: a beautiful part of the capital with a historic palace, a Premier League football club, green parks and elegant streets. Like many places in London, it is outwardly prosperous and desirable. Yet one issue came up repeatedly on the doorstep during the election campaign: residents increasingly felt that anti-social behaviour was becoming normalised, nowhere more visibly than in our parks.
Among the most frequent complaints was the regular and open use of cannabis.
To some, this may sound trivial. To many residents, however — particularly parents, older people, dog walkers and those simply wishing to enjoy public space — it matters. They object to the pungent smell, to the sense of intimidation that can accompany groups congregating in parks, and to the wider feeling that basic standards are slipping.
During the campaign, I took a clear position: zero tolerance towards crime and anti-social behaviour, including drug use in parks. The response was overwhelmingly positive. Across the borough, the vast majority of people supported a straightforward proposition: public parks should feel safe, welcoming and family-friendly.
Shortly after being elected, I encountered a man openly smoking cannabis on a park bench. I politely asked him to stop and told him I would report the matter to the police. It was not the first time I had done so — previously, as a private citizen, such interventions had usually been met with predictable abuse.
This time, however, I also posted online that I had reported the incident through the police reporting system and encouraged others, safely and without confrontation, to do the same when appropriate.
I did not expect what followed.
The reaction on social media — particularly on local platforms — was astonishingly hostile. Some disagreed respectfully and wanted to debate cannabis legalisation. Others appeared convinced that smoking cannabis is already legal in Britain. But much of the response descended into personalised abuse: assumptions about my motives, speculation about my mental state, and the sort of performative vitriol that increasingly dominates online discourse.
Oddly, the experience was instructive.
It reminded me of two things that Conservatives ignore at our peril.
The first is how profoundly social media distorts public opinion. The reasonable majority — often the natural Conservative constituency — is remarkably quiet online. Most sensible people do not spend their evenings launching furious attacks on strangers in comment sections. They have jobs, families and better things to do.
Yet because moderate voices withdraw from confrontation, online debate becomes dominated by the loudest activists and ideologues. The result is a false impression that commonsense positions are somehow fringe or unpopular.
They are not.
My experience on the doorstep was entirely different from the experience online. Residents of all political persuasions consistently wanted cleaner streets, safer parks and visible enforcement against anti-social behaviour. They did not regard this as reactionary or controversial. They regarded it as normal.
The second lesson concerns something deeper: our growing confusion about the law itself.
Cannabis remains illegal in the UK. This is not a matter of interpretation or personal preference. Medical cannabis exists, but it is tightly regulated and ordinarily administered in prescribed forms — not openly smoked on a park bench.
And yet many people now seem to believe there is a kind of unofficial exemption for cannabis use in public. That because enforcement is inconsistent, the law has somehow changed. It has not.
This matters because visible disorder changes behaviour.
The criminologist and psychologist Philip Zimbardo famously conducted an experiment in 1969 involving abandoned cars placed in different neighbourhoods. One vehicle left in a high-crime area of the Bronx was quickly vandalised. Another, placed in affluent Palo Alto, remained untouched — until researchers deliberately smashed one of its windows. Once signs of disorder appeared, passers-by soon joined in damaging the vehicle.
The principle later became known as the “broken windows” theory: when visible signs of disorder are tolerated, people begin to assume that rules no longer apply.
Critics rightly argue that the theory can be overstated or crudely applied. But its central insight remains persuasive. Public disorder, left unchecked, has consequences. It signals retreat. Standards soften. Boundaries blur.
New York’s dramatic improvement in public order during the 1990s did not happen by accident. It reflected a political determination that minor offences and anti-social behaviour mattered because they shape the environment in which more serious problems flourish.
Cannabis use in parks may seem minor in isolation. But we should not be naïve about the wider ecosystem surrounding illegal drugs. Illegal markets require dealers. Dealers, lacking legal protection, rely on coercion and violence. Young people — often from disadvantaged backgrounds — are drawn into supply networks by promises of easy money. The consequences are borne disproportionately by poorer communities.
Of course, there is a legitimate debate to be had about legalisation. Many make a reasonable case: regulated cannabis could be taxed, quality-controlled and sold through legitimate businesses rather than criminal gangs. Serious people can disagree.
But that is not Britain today.
Today, cannabis is illegal. In a democracy, laws are shaped through elections and parliamentary consent. Whatever one’s personal view, there is something corrosive about treating democratically enacted laws as optional — especially in shared public spaces.
Conservatives should be confident in defending standards. Wanting parks that families can enjoy without the smell of drugs is not puritanical. Expecting the law to be upheld is not authoritarian. And believing that visible disorder matters is not old-fashioned.
Public spaces shape public life. Once we stop caring about them, we risk discovering that the things we dismissed as minor were never minor at all.