Like Jeremy Corbyn and Sophie Ellis-Bextor, I grew up in Woodcraft Folk. Here's how it changes children's lives

The Guardian

14 hours ago

At the age of six I made the most important decision of my life: I joined Woodcraft Folk. It's impossible to overstate the impact that growing up in the UK's oldest co-educational youth movement made on me. My values, my skills, the deep friendships that have lasted into adulthood, the very fact that I am writing these words in this paper, every vote I have ever cast – all can be traced back to my time in Woodcraft Folk.
The largest leftwing force in British youth work, the charity turns 100 this year. It has produced some striking alumni including former Labour party leader Jeremy Corbyn, pop star Sophie Ellis-Bextor, poet Michael Rosen, and political editor Robert Peston. With the government announcing new funding to boost youth services outside schools, Woodcraft Folk's centenary is the perfect moment to learn from its remarkable story and unique approach to youth empowerment.
The challenges young people face in contemporary Britain take many forms. They are denied the ability to play outside as their grandparents did, or to take healthy risks. They are subject to suspicion from authority and derision in the media. They are fed the full addictive force of under-regulated new technologies almost from birth, then chastised for using them. There are no simple answers to these compounding challenges, but the mix of inclusive community, political education, fun outdoor activities and meaningful support that Woodcraft Folk offers young people could, perhaps, offer a blueprint.
Founded in the aftermath of the first world war in south London by working-class young adults who wanted a more democratic and less militaristic alternative to Scouts and Guides, Woodcraft Folk grew quickly. Supported by co-operatives and trade unions, groups germinated across the country, combining after-school activities with large summer camps run on socialist principles. The hope was to model a more egalitarian society, giving young people the skills and knowledge to become active citizens.
By the late 30s, Woodcraft Folk was a serious force. The Labour party had recognised it as 'the appropriate organisation for the children of its members' and a mass display of the charity's camping techniques took place in Wembley stadium. Oswald Mosley, founder of the British Union of Fascists, was intimidated by its rise. According to former MP for Brighton Kemptown Lloyd Russell-Moyle, who also grew up in the organisation and is now its chief executive, Mosley's Blackshirts marched to the gates of a 1938 Woodcraft Folk children's camp in a show of intimidation.
Fascist Mosley was right to see Woodcraft Folk as an adversary. A year later, it became the largest secular organisation to support the Kindertransport, helping Jewish children escape from Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia. Woodcraft Folk leader Henry Fair, christened 'the second Schindler' by the press, was put on the Gestapo death list for his role in the evacuations.
Over the decades the charity has remained at the forefront of ethical youth work. It has consistently campaigned against apartheid, austerity and war. It stood up for the rights of queer youth workers despite funders withdrawing grants, marched against the invasion of Iraq and has boycotted Israeli products since 2010 in protest at the blockade of Gaza.
For me, Woodcraft Folk was not just a political education, but a rich mix of hiking, making and adventures too. It's where I first learned to light a fire in the rain, use a compass to navigate fog, to juggle and to edit film. The first time I boarded a plane was with Woodcraft Folk to be part of an international camp in Austria, pitching tents alongside children from all over the world. It was with Woodcraft Folk that I marched through London in my first big anti-war protest and, of course, had my first kiss.
Many adults balk at the prospect of tackling sensitive subjects like war, sex and politics with children, but finding creative ways to navigate difficult issues is why the charity remains so important and relevant. In the internet era there is no healthy way to shield young people from complex topics, but neither should there be. Ignorance is a shoddy substitute for a culture of safe and open discursive learning, and children are far more capable of grappling with heavy truths than many adults give them credit for.
Raised alongside difficult topics, the children of the charity aren't just better prepared for the world, but more able to support and educate each other. For example, when as a kid I tried regurgitating a racist joke I'd heard at a school, it was my Woodcraft Folk peers, rather than adults, who immediately explained why the 'joke' was stupid and offensive and made sure I never repeated my shameful mistake. At a Woodcraft Folk camp marking their centenary, volunteers put the charity's theory of mixing politics with fun activities into practice. Night-time orienteering and ceilidhs ran alongside eviction resistance workshops and discussions around prison abolition. While the Scouts sing campfire songs like Coca-Cola Came to Town and Ging Gang Gooly, the Woodcraft Folk songbook includes civil rights anthems about Rosa Parks and Hiroshima.
But if Woodcraft Folk has a clear vision of how society should empower the young, the current government has produced only topsy-turvy contradictory policies and proclamations. Last week the prime minister declared kids these days are 'detached from the real world' and pledged £88m to liberate young people 'stuck behind a screen'. But, at the same time Keir Starmer's government is pumping more than twice as much money into bringing more 'AI learning into classrooms'.
Sixteen year olds are finally to get the vote (a right Woodcraft Folk has long campaigned for), yet simultaneously the censorious Online Safety Act has imposed sweeping restrictions on those same young people's access to certain information, including political posts. A closer look at the newly announced youth funding reveals much of it is, in fact, earmarked for calcified initiatives like gym equipment and more police cadets that will fail to holistically broaden horizons.
I was a shy and nerdy child, often bullied by local schoolchildren. There's a parallel universe in which, retreating from my tormentors, I too could have become detached from the real world, the reclusive screen addict that Starmer fears. But Woodcraft Folk gave me space to flourish in my own way, supported by caring adults. I built profound friendships with peers, learned about big ideas and took on big challenges. My life and career have been immensely richer thanks to those experiences, as have the lives of thousands of others.
If the government is serious about empowering young people, they should start by listening to and learning from the movement that's already been doing it brilliantly for a century.
Phineas Harper is a writer and curator