Hypocrisy Is Not a Commodity

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve faced a lot of negative pushback. It seems I’ve upset people.

Here’s the thing about independent traders within the housing sector. Many start their careers in recruitment, training, well-being, customer service—yiddle or yaddle, they find their niche. They climb the ranks, moving into mid or senior management, and at some point, a thought creeps in: Could I do this on my own? Could I do it better? Could I make more money being self-employed?

And why not? Some choose to stay in their roles, climb higher, or move to a different association. Others take the leap, go it alone, and hats off to them. There’s nothing wrong with that.

At first, they stick to what they know—housing. Not necessarily because of a deep rooted passion for it, but because it’s where their network is. They know the sector, the people, the language. So they set up shop, and early wins come easily. Their first contracts? Likely secured before they even left their old job. The transition is smooth, the money starts coming in, and it all seems like happy days.

Then reality kicks in. The grind returns. Suddenly, it’s not just about providing excellent service—it’s about sales. They have to network harder, chase contracts, handle payroll, hire staff, manage taxes, and deal with the everyday drudgery of running a business. The shine wears off. The passion takes a back seat.

Now, they’re not just a housing professional. They’re a business owner, and with that comes a new pressure: managing and projecting success. But what do they hold dear? Is it still the resident or is it the need and hunger for the next purchase order?

This is the crossroads. This is where they have to decide—are they going to be a small business owner chasing financial success, or will they stay true to their passion for housing? Can they really do both?

Now, a business owner.

You’re chasing purchase orders, managing overheads, and feeling the constant pressure of keeping your business afloat. The warm leads you once relied on are drying up—you’ve already tapped into your network. Now, you need fresh clients, and to secure them, you have to cut costs.

You can’t afford to deliver the same in-depth service you once prided yourself on. That comprehensive five-day course? It’s now a two-day crash course. You reduce your prices, make your offer more “cost-effective” for housing associations. But in doing so, you lose sight of why you started. The vision you had for changing the sector, for doing things differently, is sidelined in the name of survival.

Suddenly, your success is tied to the right connections. You need to say the right things, attend the right events, and be seen with the right people. You have to toe the line. Because if you don’t, you’ll find yourself pushed to the margins. This sector is small. It doesn’t take much to gain a reputation—whether that’s for being too outspoken or simply not playing the game. Something I can happily attest to.

If you say, I won’t work with that housing association because of how they treat their residents, or I won’t work with that CEO because they don’t prioritize safe, warm, and dry homes, you risk alienating yourself entirely. You’re not just up against one association—you’re against the sector. And in a sector built on closed circles and mutual back-scratching, that’s a dangerous place to be.

This is where independents lose their independence. They become another cog in the machine, another mouthpiece echoing the same praises. Instead of calling out failure, they soften their language—We know how difficult it is… replaces You’re not doing your job properly.

And this is the fundamental problem. Until we admit the system is broken, we can’t fix it. But instead of driving change, they’ve become part of the problem.

Now, this is the part that really gets tenants riled up—the part that puts me in a tizzy.

Are we ready to make sweeping changes?

Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that we’re ready to make sweeping changes to the housing sector. But before we can do that, we have to admit it’s broken. And if we refuse to acknowledge that reality, nothing changes. The status quo remains, and that suits certain people just fine.

It suits those already in power. It suits the leaders of housing associations. And as long as they’re content, they’ll keep signing off purchase orders for the same independents knocking on their doors, looking for their share. Meanwhile, the people actually funding all of this—the residents—are left to deal with the consequences of a system that isn’t working.

We know the system is broken. So if we accept that, the next step is to rebuild it. But to do that, we need the buy-in of those currently in charge. We need some of these CEOs to step aside. We need to replace the dead weight in the middle. We need to get rid of what’s failing and replace it with a sharper, more cost-effective, and genuinely tenant-focused approach to housing.

The old system isn’t working. And when we replace it—and let’s be honest, it needs replacing—who do we bring in? Do we just swap in the same independents who have spent years becoming part of the problem? The ones who started out wanting change but ended up protecting the same corrupt, broken system? Or do we look elsewhere?

Real change won’t come from within. It needs fresh blood. It needs new, untarnished talent—people who haven’t spent years learning to pander to the sector, people who can bring a different perspective.

And this is why independents take issue with what I say. Because I’m not just calling out housing associations for their failures—I’m calling them out too. They started out wanting to shake up the sector, but in the end, they became its gatekeepers. Now, they protect themselves and their reputations before anything else. And how do they do that?

First, they act offended. How dare you say that about us? How dare you criticize the sector? Then, they go on the attack. They try to silence the voices calling them out.

But what exactly am I calling out? A sector that’s broken and in desperate need of real, meaningful change.

And that change is exactly what independents promise when they first set out on their own. They claim they want to make a difference. But along the way, they start chasing POs, they start playing the game, and they lose sight of why they started. In the end, they become part of the very problem they once wanted to solve.

And for pointing that out, I’m the villain.

I am not the villain of this piece. I am simply the one speaking out.

You may not like what I have to say, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say it. The problems in this sector won’t be fixed by silence or by pretending everything is fine. If you truly believe in change, then let’s have the conversation. Instead of taking offence, come and talk to me. Challenge me. Prove me wrong, or let’s find ‘the middle ground’.

I host a weekly podcast—you are more than welcome to join me there. Let’s debate. Let’s discuss. Let’s be open, honest, and transparent. 

Slap bang in the middle of a contradiction—that’s the place to be. That’s where the passion is, where emotion and honesty collide. And that’s where we can start to find real solutions and resolutions.

Because when you choose to play the “offended” card instead of engaging, what you’re really saying is: I don’t like what I’m hearing, so I’d rather not talk about it. But refusing to acknowledge the problem doesn’t make it go away. If anything, it confirms exactly what I’ve been saying all along.

The only way we move forward is by embracing what’s already supposed to be on the table: honesty, transparency, accountability, and a willingness to have the difficult conversations.