I look back on my years as an increasingly grizzled English teacher – in classrooms in Leeds, York and then Suffolk – and reflect upon just how much time I devoted to developing my pupils’ aptitudes in reading and writing. I wrote more books about grammar and whole-school literacy, more textbooks on comprehension and writing, than I care to count. But if I’m honest, it took me far too long to give the same attention to talk. Speaking and listening were always there in my classrooms – in my talk and that of my pupils. We discussed, debated, explored and justified ideas through talking and listening. We told and listened to stories and poetry. But like many teachers, in my time as a head of English or headteacher, I never thought to develop an explicit oracy curriculum – something that would set out what every pupil should experience as a talk entitlement, accompanied by some clear notion of how I might assess whether they had achieved in speaking and listening what we might want them to achieve. Some pupils arrived at school already confident, already able to hold a room, to ask a sharp question or disagree without falling out. Others didn’t. And then one year, when we couldn’t recruit a head of citizenship, I decided that I – as headteacher – would assume the role. Every week I wrote a scheme of citizenship materials to be taught by the team of ten or so staff who were my crack citizenship squad. Talk and active listening It was a curriculum rooted in exploring often complex and controversial issues through talk and active listening. This pedagogical approach was baked into the lesson plans. It was through dipping into my colleagues’ lessons, watching them adapt the resources I’d written to the young people in front of them, that I saw how integral high-quality speaking and listening was to the art of great teaching and to the quality of learning. In other words, oracy was helping teachers to teach better and pupils to learn more deeply. I saw in those classrooms how oracy was the gamechanger. And now – almost ten years since I taught my last lesson – I see why oracy matters more than ever today. This week Lucy Powell has announced that oracy will be given equal status to reading and writing, as a new strand of the English curriculum. She has also made clear that spoken language will become a core part of every child’s education, in content and assessment, including GCSE English language. This feels like a significant moment for speaking and listening in our schools, probably the biggest in a generation. And I say that as someone who, two years ago, chaired the independent commission on the future of oracy education. ‘Not a happy accident for some’ We brought together teachers, academics, employers, artists and young people themselves. Our report, We need to talk, made one central argument: that high-quality oracy education should be an entitlement for every child, not a happy accident for some. Just as reading, writing and arithmetic are considered the “three Rs”, we said, now there’s a new kid on the block – oracy. We argued that it should be considered on a par with those other foundational skills. And it wasn’t just us saying it. We heard it again and again. Employers told us they wanted young people who could explain themselves, work in a team and handle a difficult conversation. Teachers told us that pupils who could talk through their thinking learned more deeply. Experts reminded us of the impact oracy has in improving maths and science outcomes, how it makes for more rewarding teaching and more engaged learning. And young people told us, sometimes painfully, what it feels like to be the one who never puts their hand up. The education secretary puts it well. The ability to talk, listen and communicate is central to success in work and life, but for too long it has been a marker of privilege. Extraordinary advantage The children who go to schools with a rich culture of oracy – debating societies, drama clubs, frequent opportunities to practise speaking in pairs, groups and in public – enjoy an extraordinary advantage. Too many others don’t. The National Literacy Trust estimates that almost a third of five-year-olds start school without the language and communication skills they need to thrive, rising to almost half in disadvantaged communities. That isn’t a gap we will close by hoping. And there’s another reason this matters now. In an age of AI, when a machine can produce a passable essay in seconds, the distinctly human skills of listening carefully, building on someone else’s ideas and learning how to disagree agreeably have never been more valuable. Of course, the details beyond the secretary of state’s speech will matter. Teachers will need time, training and practical support. Assessment must be designed to help pupils improve, not as another high-stakes testing hoop, and none of this should pile on extra workload. Powell has said she’ll work with the profession and with Ofqual to get this right. That will be vital. But the direction of travel is timely and right and welcome. Because every child deserves to find their voice. From today, that starts to look less like a privilege and – irrespective of background or postcode – more like a genuine entitlement for all of England’s children and young people.