Yet another great piece from Guy DeBord’s Cat, this time on Hillsborough. It’s a disgrace that the truth has taken so long to come out, and it is only thanks to the unstinting efforts of the families that it has come out at all. And seeing what has emerged, you can see why so many people in positions of power and influence didn’t want the facts known.
And what of Kelvin Mackenzie, the man who is to journalism what Aidan Burley is to race relations, and his so-called ‘apology’? Well his exact words are: “I published in good faith and I am sorry that it was so wrong.” Not that he was wrong to repeat something that suited his political prejudices perfectly, or repeating a story that the journalists at The Mirror (hardly a paper known for its journalistic integrity during that period) rejected as unverifiable. I’m not for apologies to be honest, especially when, as the Cat points out, MacKenzie clearly doesn’t mean it, but this is worse than saying nothing at all. Admittedly the only act of apology I would accept from MacKenzie would be if he jumped off a tall building with the words “I’m sorry that I’ve been an utter prick my entire professional life” written on his chest, but this was feeble, as pointed out elsewhere.
Originally posted on Guy Debord's Cat:
Liverpool is a unique city in many ways. It is a city that is divided by football but also united by it. My family is like a lot of Scouse families: we’re split between the red and the blue halves of the city’s footballing divide. I’m a Liverpool supporter, so was my grandfather, my mum and one of my aunts who’d married a Kopite. The others, my uncles (one of whom played for Tranmere) and aunt, are/were Toffees. You’d always find Blues and Reds at Prenton Park on Friday nights to watch Tranmere Rovers before going to their respective side’s matches the following day. What other city would you find supporters from rival sides getting on so well? Only in Liverpool. Hillsborough affected not just the city of Liverpool but the rest of Merseyside.
It was 1989 and I was in the final year of my undergraduate degree at Newcastle Poly. I’d gone to the Student Union bar with some of my friends with the intention of watching a cracking tie. Within minutes of the kick-off it was obvious that something wasn’t right, the camera had panned to the Leppings Lane stand and we could see people clambering over the bars at that end of the ground. After a lot of end-to-end action, police and officials appeared on the pitch and the match was stopped. Within minutes we got the news that people were being crushed to death. I started sobbing; it was uncontrolled sobbing. I told my mates that I could have been there. I could have been one of those supporters who’d been crushed. I felt the unfolding tragedy. I can still feel it today.