James Robertson
Researcher
At 18, I’m supposed to feel hopeful about politics. Instead, I’m looking for leadership that inspires the way a football manager once inspired an entire city.
Who is your hero?
Most people would probably choose a parent, a teacher or, more often, a sporting or musical figure. Very few, I suspect, would choose a political leader. And if they did, it would likely be someone from the past rather than anyone in power today.
That says something about the state of leadership in this country. The courage, clarity and inspiration that once defined public life have been replaced by caution, short-term thinking and a strange pride in simply being “less unpopular” than the alternative. It feels as if our leaders are managing headlines rather than shaping the future.
At 18, I should be optimistic about the years ahead. Instead, I often feel as though my generation has been handed a choice between competing versions of the same problem: political figures who seem scared of their own shadows and unable to look beyond tomorrow’s news cycle. Where is the hope that the good times they enjoyed might return for us?
One of my own heroes is someone I have never met: Bill Shankly.
I know him only from books, archive interviews and the stories passed down by fans. But his lessons about leadership feel more relevant today than anything I hear from Westminster or Holyrood.
In the late 1950s, as shipyards closed and unemployment soared in Liverpool, working-class communities were plunged into hardship. Into that struggle stepped a humble man from Ayrshire. Shankly didn’t just transform a football club. He became a leader for the whole city of Liverpool at a time when people desperately needed one.
He gave those who were struggling a sense of belonging and something to believe in. But what brings Shankly to life for people my age isn’t just the trophies or the mythology. It’s the way he behaved when things went wrong.
When Liverpool suffered a bad defeat, Shankly didn’t retreat behind closed doors or issue carefully crafted statements. Instead, he would walk through the working-class streets of the city, stopping to speak with supporters face to face. He listened to their frustrations, accepted responsibility and shared in their disappointment. Former players recall that he felt he “owed” it to the people not to hide.
Leadership, to Shankly, meant standing alongside those you served, especially in difficult moments. It is almost impossible to imagine a senior political figure doing the same today.
In today’s divided and economically strained country, that kind of leadership feels painfully absent.
YouGov’s weekly mood tracker shows that only 11 per cent of people in the UK feel inspired. Eleven per cent. That statistic alone should keep our leaders awake at night, yet there’s little sign they’re worried.
Shankly’s power didn’t come from charisma or success but from lived experience. A childhood in a close-knit mining village shaped his humility. Time spent working in the pits forged his work ethic. He understood hardship because he had lived it. When football became his escape route, he never forgot the responsibility he felt towards those who shared his background.
That authenticity is something modern politics seems to have lost. Lived experience no longer appears to matter. Too often, decisions are shaped by what keeps polling figures stable rather than what improves people’s lives.
Gordon Brown’s think tank, Our Scottish Future, recently highlighted how the Scottish Government has repeatedly prioritised maintaining public support over taking decisions that might be unpopular in the short term but beneficial in the long run. What began as a referendum strategy has become a way of governing.
When leaders focus more on protecting themselves than serving others, something essential is lost. It undermines trust, weakens institutions and diminishes the sense of shared purpose that leaders like Shankly embodied.
My generation is not asking for miracles. We’re asking for leadership that feels real. For people who inspire through honesty, courage and hard work, especially when times are tough. For someone willing to make difficult decisions rather than simply commentate on them.
Shankly proved that leadership is not about being perfect or universally popular. It’s about standing for something bigger than yourself and giving people a reason to believe in better days ahead.
He handed over to Bob Paisley, who went on to win even more trophies. But none of that success would have been possible without Shankly establishing the values on which the club was built.
That, to me, is the lesson for today’s leaders. You may not achieve everything you hope to. You may make mistakes. But if you act with integrity, serve with purpose and leave something stronger behind you, you will have done your job.
Real leadership starts with believing in something bigger than yourself. We’re still waiting for someone in public life to show us what that looks like.