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Charles Ward sits in the front room of a couple’s home—a place that should be filled with warmth, love, and memories. Instead, it is freezing. Snow is falling outside, but inside, the cold bites just as hard. The couple, not young, sit wrapped in coats, hats, and gloves, huddled together against the bitter chill. The air reeks of damp and mould. The smell is so overpowering that Charles struggles to breathe, his throat catching as his eyes water.
This is Ireland in 2024, a wealthy nation that prides itself on progress. But behind these walls, there is no progress—only heartbreak.
The couple cannot afford the shortfall required to rebuild their defective home. The government’s redress scheme, hailed as “strong” and “good,” has left them stranded in a house they cannot fix, yet cannot leave. They have worked their entire lives, paid their taxes, and done everything asked of them. And this is their reward: to spend their golden years in a cold, crumbling house, inhaling mould, and fighting despair.
One room in their home is completely unusable. Closed off. Unsafe. Charles understands their pain in a way few politicians ever could because his own family has had to seal off parts of their house too. “I know what this feels like,” he says, his voice cracking. “I know the sleepless nights, the frustration, the heartbreak. I know what it’s like to see your safe place turn into a source of constant trauma. And worst of all, I know what it’s like to feel abandoned.”
Home is meant to be where we find peace, comfort, and safety. But for thousands of families across this country, home has become a nightmare. The defective concrete crisis has shattered lives, stolen dreams, and left families grappling with impossible choices: rebuild or send their kids to school, pay the shortfall or keep the lights on.
These are not just numbers or statistics. They are real people. People who have worked hard, loved their families, and trusted that their government would stand by them in their hour of need. Instead, they are left to fend for themselves while the system congratulates itself on “300 commencements.” Commencements are not completions. They are not warm homes. They are not hope. You cannot live in a commencement.
When Charles raises these truths—when he speaks about the suicides, the marriages torn apart, the families broken—he is met with discomfort. A radio presenter recently apologised for referencing these very realities. But what is more offensive? Acknowledging the pain or pretending it doesn’t exist? Ignoring the suffering of your own people is not just offensive—it is unforgivable.
To those who say, “Why Charles? What can one man do?” ask yourself this: Who has more right to stand up for themselves and their community than someone living this reality every single day?
Charles isn’t running for personal ambition. He’s running because he has no choice. Because if he didn’t fight, he would break. Because every family abandoned by this scheme deserves someone in their corner. He’s running because he understands the trauma, the exhaustion, the endless uphill battle in a way no one else can.
This crisis doesn’t end here. It could be you next. It could be your children, your grandchildren, sitting in freezing, damp homes, inhaling rot, and wondering why no one fought for them when it mattered.
And to those saying Charles shouldn’t run, or that he’s “stealing” a seat—ask yourselves: Who do these seats belong to? The establishment? Career politicians? Or the people? Seats in the Dáil are not owned. They are earned by those with the courage to stand up and demand better for their communities.
This election is a moment of reckoning. It is about sending a message—not just to the government but to the entire country—that we will not be ignored. The defective concrete crisis is not over. The redress scheme is not working. And despite what you’ve been told, we have not been sorted.
“I am asking you to vote differently, just this once,” Charles says. “Not for me, but for the couple shivering in their own living room. For the thousands still waiting for justice. For every family who deserves to have their pain acknowledged, their trauma addressed, and their future restored.”
This is more than an election. It’s a fight for dignity, for humanity, for the very idea that no one in a country as wealthy as Ireland should be forced to live like this.
The people abandoned by this crisis are not giving up. And neither is Charles Ward. Let this election be the moment we stood together, spoke up, and said: Enough.
