‘From Lewisham to Liverpool: My heart, my hustle, and the moment I’ll never forget’

Last year, in September 2025, I stood on the main stage at Labour Party Conference in Liverpool with my heart pounding so hard I thought the whole hall could hear it. I was just 22, a kid from Lewisham East CLP (my former constituency now), autistic, open about my mental health struggles, and somehow about to speak to thousands of delegates. 

When Peter Mason, the chair of that afternoon’s session (as well as leader of Ealing Council)  said “I see the young gentleman with the red tie,” and I heard the murmurs of “Go on Morgz,” something inside me clicked. This wasn’t just a speech. It was years of fighting, doubting myself, and believing anyway, all coming together in one moment.

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I talked about what it’s really like growing up autistic in a system that often doesn’t see you — the long waits, the lack of understanding, the days when your own mind feels like the heaviest weight. I spoke about wanting the same dreams as everyone else: a career you love, a fair shot, a Britain that doesn’t leave young disabled people behind. And yeah, I couldn’t resist throwing in my own version of “I did it my way.” The roar from the crowd, and that standing ovation… I still get emotional thinking about it. It wasn’t about me. It felt like the Party saying ‘we see you, we hear you, and we’re going to fight with you’.

The real story wasn’t just those few minutes on stage

The year before conference was raw. I was a youth officer, out canvassing, trying to be the energetic, stylish, charismatic guy everyone saw — while privately wrestling with anxiety and low moments that sometimes knocked me flat. Therapy, good mates, and throwing myself into music helped pull me through. Singing and playing piano have always been my escape and my voice when words failed me. Canvassing became sacred. Knocking on doors, having real conversations with people in Lewisham — it grounded me. So many residents would say, “You’ve got something special, Morgan — you should be out there leading.” Those words kept me going on the tough days. I poured everything into preparing that speech. Late nights writing and rewriting, weaving in my autism diagnosis at age three, my mental health journey, and the fire I have for change. When I finally stood up there, two hours after Rachel Reeves had spoken, I wasn’t just speaking for myself. I was speaking for every young person who’s ever felt invisible or told they’re “too much” or “not enough.”. 

What Conference meant to me 

Being there felt like coming home to a movement that’s bigger than any one person. I networked (nervously at first), laughed, sang at fringe events, and let myself feel the hope in the air. A Labour government in power. Real possibility. And me — the boy who used to struggle just to be heard — getting to raise the roof and shout about the Britain we can build. The love afterwards was overwhelming. Clips circulating, messages pouring in, people stopping me to say it meant something to them. ITN called it “raising the roof,” and for a while I was one of those unexpected conference stories. But the biggest thing I took away was hope.

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Hope that lived experience matters. Hope that young voices, especially neurodiverse ones, belong right at the heart of our party. Although I won’t be able to make it to conference this year (brand new job to settle in to!) , that 2025 moment still fuels me every single day. It reminds me why I got into this in the first place. To every delegate heading to this year’s gathering — carry that energy, lift up the next generation of voices, and keep pushing for the changes we need on autism, SEND, and mental health. I’ll be cheering you on from Lewisham, heart fully in it as always. If you’re a young activist reading this, especially if you’re dealing with disability, mental health, or just imposter syndrome — please hear me: your story is powerful. Show up anyway. The noise in your head doesn’t get the final say. Lean on your people, keep hustling with heart, and trust that the Labour family will lift you when it counts. 

From a Lewisham lad who’s still figuring it out, to everyone fighting for a kinder, fairer country — thank you for letting me do it my way on that stage last year. Now let’s go build the future together. I’m still buzzing from it, a year on. And I’m more determined than ever. 

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