We speak to Nick Davidson, author of ‘Pirates, Punks & Politics’, on the effect of Hillsborough on England and the politics that drive St. Pauli’s culture.
“As he was stepping out of the door, James turned around, said ‘Mum we’re going to win today’ and walked off. I shut the door; never knowing this was the last time I’d see my son alive”
– Margaret Aspinall
This was a time when an F.A. Cup semi-final meant an awful lot to players, teams and fans; just ninety minutes away from a trip to the hallowed twin-towers at Wembley. Nottingham Forest vs Liverpool was one such worthy occasion at Sheffield’s Hillsborough Stadium on the 15th of April, 1989. James Aspinall, all of 18 years of age and bursting at the seams with enthusiasm, made his way to the stadium in anticipation of a memorable afternoon. Scarves wrapped neatly around the neck and colours nailed firmly to the mast, thousands of his ilk strode towards Hillsborough. Ninety-six wouldn’t return home.
It’s a day marked all in black in the annals of British history. More than the agony of fans, young and old, dying at a football match, the most crushing pain comes from the the realisation that it could’ve been avoided. Eight years prior, at the same ground, under similar circumstances of an overcrowded Leppings End, some swift thinking by the police had prevented a disaster. On 15th April 1989, there would be no such presence of mind, disaster-management or even the basic human compassion on display; from the police, media or the government. Everyone concerned swept everything even remotely damaging to their department under the carpet and the blame fell squarely at the feet of “drunk” Liverpool fans and their apparent indiscipline. The effect of the Hillsborough disaster on English football’s fabric was more far-reaching than was initially anticipated.
First, and perhaps the most damaging impact on British football, was how stadiums were looked at from an organisational standpoint. Coming only three years after an eerily similar tragedy at the Heysel Stadium in Brussels, the aftermath of that April afternoon would lead to the obliteration of safe standing terraces all across Britain. In an era where English domestic football was struggling to keep up with its Italian, German and Spanish counterparts in terms of star power and global prominence, standing terraces and the atmosphere they generated went a long way in making even a Tyne-Wear derby remotely attractive to the global audience.