Contribution
I am more than happy to commend Baroness Jennie Lee, and I am more than happy to celebrate the success of my hon. Friend and of the countless thousands of others who have studied around the real lives we all lead.
One reason why the Open University works is precisely because it understands something that many higher education institutions still struggle with: life is not linear. People do not all move neatly from school to university to career to retirement in a straight line. Our lives are messier than that. People leave school without confidence, drift into jobs and later discover different ambitions. They become parents, care for relatives, lose jobs, or their health changes. Sometimes, at 35, 45 or 55, they simply decide that they want to try something new. The original White Paper understood that. It explicitly talked about flexibility, recognising that some learners would move quickly and others slowly, depending on the realities of their lives. The Open University says something very simple to people in those circumstances: “It is not too late. It is never too late.”
I should declare an interest, because I would not be standing here in Westminster Hall this afternoon without the Open University. I did not come through the conventional route into higher education. I left school without much expectation that university was really for people like me. For most of my life, I worked in fairly ordinary, fairly low-paid jobs. For instance, I sold “Magic Tree” air-fresheners to petrol stations. I spent a decade working in a call centre for an insurance company. I spent a few soul-destroying months working for a debt collector, before I could take no more and quit to go back on the dole.
Like many people, I found that without qualifications there were doors that simply remained shut, no matter how hard I tried. The Open University changed all that for me, although not in some dramatic overnight fashion like we might see in a television drama. It was hard work. It meant studying in the evenings, at weekends, on the bus to and from work—and, to be honest, probably sometimes during work if the boss was not looking. I was doing assignments when other members of the family were watching television or going out and getting on with their lives. But it made something possible for me that would otherwise not have been possible: it gave me the ability to learn around my life.
From speaking to other OU students over the years, I know that my story is far from unusual. There are hundreds of thousands of us out there who have rebuilt confidence, changed career, retrained or simply proved something to ourselves, because somebody, somewhere, 60 years ago had the foresight to build an institution flexible enough to meet people where they already are.
Something about all this is deeply embedded in the labour movement. The Open University sits in a much longer tradition of working-class people organising to educate ourselves and improve our circumstances. Long before most people had access to university, we had mechanics’ institutes, miners’ libraries, mutual improvement societies, trade union reading rooms and university extension programmes. We had the Workers’ Educational Association. Working-class people have always valued education, hard work and making something of ourselves. The nonsense about a lack of aspiration that we sometimes hear from the assembled ranks of the privileged has never been true. The problem was never aspiration; the problem was access.
In many ways, the “University of the Air” was the modern expression of that Victorian-era working-class tradition, and the belief that education should not stop, even when life gets complicated. That approach matters now more than ever. We live in a country where people are likely to work for longer. They change careers more often. They need to retrain repeatedly. We are also living through profound economic change, with automation, artificial intelligence, changing labour markets and an ageing population. We simply cannot operate on the assumption that education happens only once, in our late teens or early 20s, and then stops. Frankly, that never made sense, and it certainly does not make sense any more.
If we are serious about economic growth, improving productivity and helping people back into good work, lifelong learning has to move from being a worthy aspiration to being something much closer to the centre of how we think about our economy. Since being elected to Parliament, I have spent a lot of time working in the areas of employment, skills and economic inactivity, and I think we sometimes underestimate the role education plays in building people’s confidence as much as their competence. Often, people are not just missing qualifications; they are missing the confidence that they are capable of more. Adult education changes that. It changed it for me.
To be frank, I have forgotten quite a lot of the stuff that I was actually taught during my time at the Open University. I sometimes need a primer on the exact details of the theoretical framework underpinning the long-run Phillips curve. When I re-read my master’s thesis a few years ago, I surprised myself with how much I agreed with my conclusions on the intersection between liberty and unequal power relations. But I will never forget that moment back in December 2010, when I got my undergraduate result. It felt like validation. It was a confidence boost that has never left me.
In among the successes and the congratulations, we should be honest about the challenges—