I've inherited Hillsborough... what it means to a Scouser like me

I was two years old at the time of the
Hillsborough tragedy. I can’t remember it
happening. My mum tells me about how we went
to Anfield to lay flowers on the pitch, but,
obviously, I can't have processed what was going
on. I have friends who lost family that day and
know others who were there, but no-one really
directly related. So why do I feel so personally
invested?
It’s because I am personally invested. I may not
have lost direct family members that day, but the
people of Liverpool are my extended family. I’ve
inherited Hillsborough, just like we all do.
I became aware of Hillsborough and what it
meant first through my parents and then through
going to the game. When I was younger, my dad
used to take me and my brother to matches
whenever he could afford (it was Tranmere when
he was skint - which was quite often) and I’m
now in the fortunate position of being able to
share a season ticket with brothers.
Hillsborough’s always been remembered in the
terraces and by the eternal flame outside the
ground. But it’s woven into the consciousness of
the whole city.
My mother told me a story at the time of the
verdict being delivered last year about how one of
the victim's fathers showed her pictures of his
son wearing a uniform from Calderstones
Comprehensive - the school that my brothers
and I all went to. She couldn’t look: “it could
have been one of my boys”. It could have been
any of us.
And yet, until last year's verdict of unlawful
killing , that human aspect had sometimes been
forgotten - partly through the passage of time. 27
years is a long interim. The cynic in me might
suspect that there were those who thought this
interim would dim the clamour of 'justice'. The
human aspect has also been forgotten partly
through a process (conscious or not) of
dehumanisation, as Neil Atkinson brilliantly wrote
for The New Statesman.
It is the human story that is so important. When
you look at the ages of the victims - the
youngest only ten, and 38 of them under 19 - you
realise how poignant this was and also how sick
it was for anyone to disrespect the memories of
those victims. The majority of the victims were
young males - with the exception of two young
sisters, Sarah and Victoria Hicks - but it’s largely
women who’ve led the fight. When I see the faces
of women like Margaret Aspinall and Anne
Williams, I see the face of my own mum, and of
all those strong, working class lionesses, of which
our city boasts so many.
Part of the process of dehumanisation has been
focused around the claim that fans somehow
caused this disaster. The other side of this coin
has been the chip-on-the-shoulder argument.
Yes, Scousers have often been called outsiders
and, in a way, we sometimes cultivate it (see, for
reference, those 'Scouse Not English' banners we
sometimes fly at games), but, look at what we’ve
had to contend with - the police, sections of the
press, and important government figures all
involved in a massive cover-up. What’s more,
rather than 'wallowing', at its very best, I see my
people as proud, passionate and optimistic. If it
weren’t for that optimism and never-say-die
attitude, this case would have gone away a long
time ago.
Last year’s victory was a victory for the power of
hope, solidarity and collective consciousness.
Never was Liverpool Football Club’s anthem,
'You’ll Never Walk Alone' more apposite.
That’s not to limit this to a footballing issue. It's
about football, and it isn’t. Football is an
extension of community (look at the support from
Everton Football Club and so many other clubs).
But this went deeper. It is, let’s face it, about
how we treat the ordinary citizens of our country.
Last year, just a few days after the anniversary of
the disaster, the truth came out - a truth we’ve
always known - that 96 football fans were
unlawfully killed. Let it never happen again.