Hillsborough is back at the center of Liverpool’s public life at a moment when memory and politics are moving on different speeds. As the 37th anniversary of the disaster approaches, the demand for a Hillsborough law is not only about the past. It is also about whether public institutions can be compelled to tell the truth when tragedy strikes. Liverpool head coach Arne Slot has now added his voice, calling it surprising that the promise to introduce the law remains unfulfilled.
Why the Hillsborough debate matters now
The immediate reason is the anniversary itself: Wednesday marks 37 years since the FA Cup semi-final disaster that claimed the lives of 97 supporters. Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer had previously promised campaigners that legislation would be passed by April last year, but progress has stalled in recent months. The delay has centered on disagreement over whether the bill should also apply to the intelligence service. That unresolved point has turned Hillsborough into more than a memorial issue; it has become a live test of how far the state is willing to bind itself to transparency.
Slot’s comments sharpen that pressure. In programme notes ahead of Liverpool’s Champions League match against Paris Saint-Germain, he said he had heard stories from bereaved families and survivors and that time had not lessened their impact. His intervention matters because it comes from inside the club, but his point extends beyond football. He argued that families should not have to fight for the truth about how loved ones died; it should be provided as a matter of course. That framing places Hillsborough squarely in a wider national debate over duty, disclosure, and institutional responsibility.
What the exhibition is trying to change
A parallel effort is unfolding in Liverpool itself. The Candour and Communities exhibition is on display at Anfield until Friday, designed to explain the case for the Hillsborough law and the wider idea that public bodies should co-operate with inquiries and tell the truth. It has been put together by the University of Liverpool and the Centre for People’s Justice, with the support of Hillsborough victims and their families. The exhibition is not presented as a commemoration alone; it is an attempt to convert public memory into public understanding.
That distinction matters. Sue Roberts, whose brother Graham was one of the 97 fans fatally injured in 1989, said people who have never experienced injustice may not immediately see why such a law is needed. Margaret Aspinall, whose 18-year-old son James died in the disaster, said the truth costs nothing but cover-ups and lies have cost the country too much. These are not abstract arguments. They show why the exhibition has been built around explanation as much as remembrance, and why Hillsborough remains a live issue rather than a closed chapter.
Hillsborough and the politics of candour
The legal framework at stake is the Public Office (Accountability) Bill, which campaigners say would create a duty of candour for public authorities. In the context provided, the bill is also described as a mechanism that would compel staff to tell the truth and force public bodies to cooperate with future inquiries. The significance of that promise goes beyond one tragedy. If a public body can delay or resist candour in one case, the fear among families is that the same culture can reappear elsewhere.
That is why the exhibition broadens the frame to include other national scandals and state-related disasters. The message is that Hillsborough is not isolated; it sits within a pattern of families facing years of resistance before truth is acknowledged. By placing those stories together, campaigners are asking the public to see the law as preventative rather than symbolic. In that sense, Hillsborough has become a shorthand for whether the state learns from failure or repeats it.
Expert voices and the regional ripple effect
Charlotte Hennessey, whose father Jimmy died in the disaster, said the exhibition is a way of representing those who suffered injustice and educating younger generations about what happened. Steve Kelly, whose brother Michael died at Hillsborough, said he wants the families’ fight to continue and sees the exhibition as a tool for children to understand 1989. Their comments show how memory is being passed forward, not only preserved.
The regional impact is already visible. The exhibition has toured Wrexham, Sheffield, Merthyr Tydfil and Belfast, with plans to continue in other cities across the UK. That wider reach suggests Hillsborough is no longer framed only as a Liverpool story, even if Liverpool remains its emotional center. The debate now touches national trust, the handling of public inquiries, and the standards expected when institutions confront failure. If the law remains delayed, the question is not whether the issue disappears, but how many more public conversations it will dominate before action follows.
For now, Hillsborough remains both a memorial and a warning: if truth is still delayed after 37 years, what does that say about the country’s readiness to change?
