WIREDGOV

Ask a Mancunian about England’s second city – so the story goes – and they will tell you it is Manchester. Ask a Brummie, and they’ll tell you it’s Birmingham.  

Scousers will tell you it is London. 

Of course, this is just a story; though recent polling suggests that it isn’t far from the mark. Nevertheless, as I sat in front of young people at the Liverpool Football Club Foundation’s work experience week, I found myself thinking about this particular apocryphal story more than once.  

I have heard a great deal, on this tour, about precarity; about children who feel they are one wrong step from things falling apart, or those who measure themselves against an impossible, algorithm-fed standard. I have written about these themes in previous blogs. And yes, Liverpool’s children told me some of this too.  

But what struck me most in Liverpool was something different and wonderful: an unshakeable pride in where they are from. It was not subtle. Ask a child in Liverpool where they’re from, and you do not get a shrug. “It’s boss here” was the first response. Others focused on a sense of togetherness: “I love the community. The atmosphere of it.” “Everyone’s dead friendly here.”  

This is not to say that I exclusively heard wide-eyed partisanship from Liverpool’s children. Far from it. The young people I spoke to in Anfield as part of The Big Future were sharp-eyed about what they saw as their city’s problems – litter, antisocial behaviour, a lack of youth clubs and opportunities for young people. But so many of them spoke about them in a way that I found fascinating: litter was a problem, because it brought with it a question – why didn’t people care about the city like they did? Identifying problems did nothing to dent their pride. They wanted better for their city precisely because they loved it so fiercely: “Ah, it does my head in when people litter. They don’t appreciate it [Liverpool]. They take it for granted.” 

Some of their complaints alarmed me. Many of the points made were no different from what I’ve heard across England. You could appear in almost any town, and children will tell you they want youth clubs and dislike dirty streets and litter. More specific complaints were about the air of suspicion these teenagers felt: “Me and my mate got followed around [a clothing store] last weekend.” “We aren’t allowed in the local [fast food chain] after 6pm”. 

I found myself returning to a fundamental question of my role, and this survey: what do England’s children want, and what does wider society owe them? 

In some cases, these things will be material: how can we ensure children have a place to go and hang out with their friends? Do their buses come on time? Are their streets clean and safe? 

In others, it will simply be cultural. I couldn’t help but feel depressed at the contrast in what Liverpool’s young people told me. How were adults responding to the fiercely felt civic pride of these teenagers? By following them around clothing stores, barring them from fast food restaurants, and treating them with deep and profound suspicion for the crime of ‘being a teenager’. 

It seems likely that we are going to reignite a debate in education and employment policy – about mobility both geographical and social, about qualifications, and about what systems should encourage. 

That is right but we need to do more. Children in Liverpool aren’t just proud because of what their city offers them. They’re proud because it’s where they’re from. The same goes for children all over the country. 

The questions we must ask ourselves cannot start and end with the labour market. We have to ask how can provide not just growth, but a brilliant childhood in every postcode.