I’ve known Andy Burnham for two decades, during which time we have formed a strong friendship. I have seen him in government, out of government, leading devolution, leaving devolution, under pressure and under scrutiny.
We first got to know each other when I was the Lord Mayor of Liverpool during our unforgettable year in the international spotlight as the European Capital of Culture in 2008. Being the ceremonial “First Citizen” of Liverpool was a dream come true for me.
Andy was then Secretary of State for Culture, which meant that we started to see each other at events – but he wasn’t particularly talkative. As it turned out, he thought that I was a Liberal Democrat, as they were in control of the council at the time! He admits he was more tribal in those days.
As our friendship developed, I began to understand that he had a similar outlook on life to me – other than our football allegiances – and was acutely aware of the government’s inertia around the Hillsborough disaster.
But I don’t think he fully appreciated what he was letting himself in for when I invited him to speak at a service at Anfield for the 20th anniversary of the disaster. People may be familiar with how the 37,000 attendees responded to a lone voice that shouted out “we want justice” during his speech on the Kop. But the story that day isn’t what Andy said. It was what he did.
He stopped and listened to the families who had spent 20 years fighting to be heard. He listened to their anger, their frustration and their determination to uncover the truth. Most importantly though, he understood that Hillsborough was much bigger than football loyalties: a whole city had been crying injustice for two decades, and nobody was listening. It was the result of powerful institutions ignoring ordinary people and protecting themselves instead.
That experience stayed with him. Looking back now, I think you can see its influence in a lot of what came afterwards. Years later it would culminate in his efforts to secure a Hillsborough Law, helping ensure other families never have to endure the same struggle for truth and justice.
We became much closer, both personally and politically, after I joined him in parliament in 2010. One thing people get wrong about Andy is that they mistake being driven and determined for being ambitious.
Of course he’s ambitious. Most successful politicians are. But he’s never struck me as somebody who views politics as a ladder to climb. What motivates him is much simpler than that: he sees unfairness and wants to do something about it.
That sometimes makes him difficult. Andy can be stubborn – and not only when we talk football. Once he’s convinced himself he’s right about something, he’s not easily shaken. He is impatient for results.I’ve seen that frustrate colleagues from time to time. But it’s the reason families fighting for justice and communities who feel ignored tend to trust him.
It’s why his by-election success was so impressive. There are very few Labour politicians in the country who could have achieved the result he did in Makerfield.
We both left Westminster in 2017 to become mayors. Some colleagues sneered and looked down their noses when we said we wanted to build a different kind of politics. But we both wanted to do something about our areas being left behind by a centralised Westminster system. As a mayor, you see the consequences of decisions taken far away up close.
People may remember the rows Andy had with Westminster during Covid, particularly when there were suggestions that places outside London should settle for less support than those in the capital. Whether you agreed with himor not, you always knew where he stood. Away from the cameras he’s thoughtful, curious, contemplative and a far better listener than he’s given credit for. But when he reaches a conclusion, he backs himself.
He doesn’t connect with people in places like Makerfield because they agree with him on everything. They don’t. We had many conversations on the doorstep with people who had nothing but disdain for politicians. But they felt they knew him. They knew where he comes from, they knew what he stands for, and they felt that the person they see on television is essentially the same person they’d meet in the pub, at a football match or at a gig.
Above all else, to me, is the fact that Andy is a decent bloke. Some might see that as faint praise. I don’t: the great Jurgen Klopp described himself as the “normal one”, and Andy is normal too. He loves his family, music, football, and going for a run, sometimes with the poorest taste in shorts known to humanity. He’s loyal to his friends and he hasn’t forgotten where he comes from. Despite everything politics throws at people, he’s managed to hold on to the qualities that made people warm to him in the first place. Even if his judgement occasionally deserts him when it comes to supporting his beloved football team.
[Further reading: Andy Burnham does a Lenin]
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