Wes Streeting

The shadow Secretary of State mentions “bankrupting the country.” I think he is thinking about Liz Truss and the joyride that he was no doubt cheering on. A period of silence, or at least an apology, might be welcome from those on the Conservative Front Bench. We need to recognise that a nation draws its strength from the condition of its people. A recent survey of 16 to 29-year-olds suggested that around half of all young people in this country would not be prepared to fight for it. I am not so sure about that; I think they would be every bit as brave and self-sacrificing as their grandparents and great-grandparents were, or as their contemporaries holding back the Russians in Ukraine have been. When the cause is just and the need is urgent, they will step up, regardless of what they might have told opinion pollsters. I know that because, when this country was facing a dire threat—from covid—young people did step up. The generation least at risk gave up the most to help the rest of us keep safe. And how did Britain repay them? By short-changing them on their education, layering on debt, making it harder to get on the housing ladder, and failing to protect them from the AI jobs apocalypse. This generation is the first left totally exposed to the time-sucking algorithms and perils of social media. The Education Secretary and I have raised our concerns about the impact of this on their learning and their wellbeing, but I also wonder what it is doing to their sense of connection with community and country. But patriotism is not a lecture that the old deliver to the young; it is a relationship. For generations, Britain understood that relationship as a social contract: you work hard, you play by the rules, you contribute to society, and in return you can build a decent life, a secure job, a home of your own and a family if you want one, with the hope and conviction that your children will do better than you did. A generation ago, the average home cost around four times average earnings. In many parts of Britain today, it is eight, 10 or even 12 times average earnings. Private rents consume vast proportions of household income. Millions of young people who work hard and do the right thing cannot see a path to home ownership or security. Today, nearly a million young people are not in education, employment or training. Many are trapped in insecure work, unable to move out, delaying starting their families and postponing adulthood itself. Layered on top of this economic insecurity is a new technological anxiety. For generations, people believed that there was a ladder of advancement, with an entry-level job, skills acquired over time, promotion, security and progress. Now, many young people fear that artificial intelligence may remove the lower rungs of that ladder altogether. They ask what skills will still matter. Will there still be routes into stable, middle-class lives for kids from working-class families like mine? Will deindustrialisation be replaced with reindustrialisation and the jobs of the future? Will opportunities extend to our towns, rural and coastal communities, or will inequality become entrenched? Those are not irrational fears; they are rooted in real economic change. Unless mainstream democratic politics can answer those questions, others will exploit that vacuum—they already are. Defence is about hard power and capabilities, but it is underpinned by the soft power that binds a country together: pride, belonging, shared activities and institutions, and hope. We need to rebuild those things for modern times. This is the calling of the Labour party, which was brought into existence to champion the interests of the working man and woman—for the many, not just the privileged few. It gave me—this kid from a council estate in Stepney in east London—the chance to realise my potential, to go to a great university, and to spend my career tackling the injustices that hold back other kids from backgrounds like mine. The greatest tragedy of Britain today is that the next generation, for the first time in our modern history, faces worse prospects than the last. The question is not whether young people would fight for their country, but when their country is going to fight for them. This is our generational challenge: not only to deal with the immediate issues of affordability, small boats and NHS waiting lists, but to face up to a turbulent world being remade by climate change and the biggest and fastest industrial revolution in the history of the world; to make sure that no one is left behind and no one is held back—that is our job now, as the old economy of the 20th century finally gives way to the AI revolution of the 21st; and to tackle the crisis facing the next generation as an emergency, with the urgency that the moment requires. Never waste a minute: that has been my mantra in government, and it is why I do not believe our party has time to waste treading water. The thing about emergencies is that they make the impossible possible. Look back at the crises we have confronted: we could not vaccinate against the deadly virus—until we could; we could not nationalise the banking system—until we could; we could not reorient our entire manufacturing base towards building aircraft—until we could; we could not build hundreds of thousands of homes fit for heroes—until we could. In times of greatest peril, our country has been capable of doing big things. We still can. Britain used to punch above its weight in the world. We still can. Each generation used to provide a better future for the next. We still can. Another member of the cancer club, the late, great Bowelbabe, Dame Deborah James, famously said: “take risks; love deeply; have no regrets; and always, always have rebellious hope.” It is with that in mind—and with the belief that we can and must do better, with deep love for my party and my country, with no regrets, and with rebellious hope—that I have left the Government. The Labour party was elected to deliver real change. We still can.