Closing Reflection Delegation, in its current form, has become a civic rupture. Across sectors; benefits, education, healthcare, policing and social care. The author has witnessed the same pattern: decisions made without discretion, presence displaced by process and responsibility, diffused across systems that cannot be questioned. The vignettes are not isolated, they are cumulative. They reveal a civic field where judgement has been outsourced and where the language of care has been replaced by the logic of automation.
The author does not reject delegation outright as it is necessary, inevitable and often helpful. But when delegation becomes habitual, invisible and unchallengeable, it erodes the foundations of civic life. It removes the possibility of being met, heard and held. It turns staff into intermediaries hollow points and citizens into data points. It replaces dialogue with deflection.
Repair begins with recognition. Every system must be accountable to a human custodian. Every threshold must be open to review and every citizen must be able to contest, explain and importantly be seen. The author proposes that delegation must be ritualised, not as a technical handover, but as a civic act. It must be named, witnessed and held in relationship. Only then can the new civic order become a field of presence, not absence.
This chapter closes with a call to restore discretion, dialogue and care. The record must speak plainly, the systems must answer and the people must be met.
Vignette: The Score Was Too Low - Social Care Sector She was referred by her GP for social support, recently bereaved, living alone and struggling with mobility. She had begun missing meals and medication. The referral was processed through the council’s digital intake system and her case was assessed using a risk scoring tool—an algorithm trained on historical data to prioritise urgency.
Two days later, she received a letter: “Your referral has been reviewed. Based on current criteria, you do not meet the threshold for intervention.” She called the helpline and the staff member explained, “The score was too low. It’s automatic now.”
She asked what the score meant. The staff member paused. “It’s based on patterns. We don’t see the full calculation.”
She asked if someone could visit. “We don’t do home assessments unless the system flags it.”
She hung up, her flat was quiet and her medication remained untouched.
The author records this moment as a failure of care. A system designed to allocate resources had displaced presence. A citizen in need had been reduced to a data point. The score was too low. So no one came.
