Ian Byrne MP: speeches

Speeches

• 14 Jul 2026 · Public Office (Accountability) Bill · Hansard source

  More

  Back in 2015, I had the number 96 tattooed on my wrist. It was not simply a tattoo; it was a promise. It was a promise that whenever life became difficult, I would never forget one simple truth: I was one of the lucky ones. I walked away from Hillsborough, but 96 did not. Today we remember the 97. That number on my wrist and the people it represents has become my compass. Every time I look at it, I think of those who never came home. I think of their families and of survivors like my dad, who was seriously injured. I think of every campaigner who has spent decades refusing to accept the lies, refusing to surrender to injustice and refusing to allow the truth to be buried. They have shaped my life far more than they will ever know. I owe them more than I could ever repay. In the years after Hillsborough, one question followed me everywhere. It is a question every survivor knows—every survivor of Grenfell knows it; every survivor of a public disaster knows it. It arrives uninvited in the silence of the early hours of the morning: “Why did I get to walk away when others didn’t?” For years, that question haunted me. What responsibility do you carry when your survival comes at such a terrible cost to others? What do you owe those who never got the chance to live the life you have lived? I began to find my answers long before I entered this place. In 2009, after finishing an early shift at my printing factory, I went with my dad and my mates—people who had stood beside me at Hillsborough—to the 20th anniversary memorial service at Anfield. We stood shoulder to shoulder with thousands of people. We remembered. Then came the chant that echoed around the stadium: “Justice. Justice. Justice.” Not because it was a slogan, but because it was all we had left. For two decades we had been lied to, families had been ignored, survivors had been smeared. Those who should have protected ordinary people protected themselves instead, and this House—with honourable exceptions—too often looked the other way. That is a stain on our democracy that I will never forget. But that cry for justice could no longer be ignored. It forced this place and the country to confront the truth and, ultimately, it led to the Hillsborough independent panel. At last, the truth broke through. It confirmed what the people of Liverpool had always known: the supporters were innocent. The lies were exposed, the cover-up was exposed, and the culture of unaccountable power was exposed. The families, the survivors and the people of Liverpool will never forgive those who deliberately vilified innocent people and orchestrated that cover-up. They will never forget what Rupert Murdoch, Kelvin MacKenzie, The Sun , Norman Bettison and South Yorkshire police did not only to the victims and survivors, but to an entire city. The wounds they inflicted went far beyond any newspaper headline; they damaged lives, reputations and trust in our institutions. That is why I will continue to campaign for Leveson part 2 and for Bettison to be stripped of his knighthood. The new inquests in 2016 finally recognised what should have been stated from the very beginning: the victims of Hillsborough were unlawfully killed. Those words mattered because the truth matters. But truth without accountability is never enough. Truth without justice leaves a wound only partially healed. The families deserved justice. The survivors deserved justice. We never got it for Hillsborough. Then, Bishop James Jones gave us not just a report, but a warning that should echo through every public institution in Britain: “The patronising disposition of unaccountable power”. Those six words alone should be studied by every public authority in this country, every Minister, every chief constable, every permanent secretary and every senior public official, because if we do not learn those lessons, we will carry on repeating them. Few reports have ever described the British establishment with such devastating accuracy. When power is unaccountable, truth becomes negotiable, justice becomes optional and ordinary people are sacrificed. The Hillsborough law was born from that understanding. Its purpose is simple: never again should a grieving family have to fight the state simply to discover the truth. In 2021 I was asked by my friend, now my right hon. Friend the Member for Makerfield (Andy Burnham), to carry the baton for a Hillsborough law in Parliament and to bring the voices of the families and survivors into Parliament, to make sure no family ever again goes through what the Hillsborough families and survivors went through. There are moments in politics that define why we are here—why we have been given this privilege. This was mine. I never saw this as my campaign. It always belonged to the families; I was simply trusted to carry their voices into this House.