As seen in the New Statesman
(Cont. from pages 1-13)… as V.S. Naipaul once remarked in The Road to Wigan Pier. And so I’ve come North. To see if Leviathan still has legs in a country shaken by global tremors. And if the rise of Reform owes anything to the Tolpuddle Martyrs. But above all, I’ve come to Manchester in search of Andy Burnham’s roots as a politician, and as a person.
‘Me stomach’s rumbling,’ says Andy, insightfully. ‘I want chips ’n’ greveh. But I spent me last quid down bookies’
Burnham’s almost Silicon Valley-like brio for the ‘White Heat’ of technology sits alongside a thoughtful Roman Catholicism, grounded in a rich social democratic tradition. Not Methodism, nor Marxism, but MotherMary. In a certain respect the new settlement he is seeking to build in these islands resembles that of the Roman Catholic Church: a benign central power empowers bishops in the regions and nations to minister to their congregations according to local needs, with a robust critique of capitalism and doctrinaire socialism both. When I put this idea to Burnham, he responds with a pithy observation: ‘The Stone Roses, they were fookin’ class, lad.’ I could see straight away that this was a more thoughtful kind of politician. I discard my previous theory and we sit in silence for several minutes as I absorb this latest statement of principle.
What Andy seems to be gesturing towards is a sort of ‘normie’ populism – tough on the far right while also unashamedly royalist. The Britain of Captain Tom, sticky toffee pudding and a cheeky trip down the Big Tesco’s. The Britain of ‘Jamie Vardy’s having a party’ and ‘Will Grigg’s on fire’. The sort of very English communitarianism of an Oasis concert, where you shall find the modern Labour party at prayer. ‘Wahey, you spilt your beer you nonce, but don’t worry mate, we’re all here for the big gig. Heeey macarena!’ This is the Burnhamism of state capacity. The Burnhamism of banging pots and pans for the NHS, and three lions on the shirt.
I put this latest theory of Burnham-ism to Andy. ‘Them soft Londoners have stolen meh moneh,’ he replies. Yes, yes – it was all coming together now. The meaning of Manchesterism. What Andy Burnham wants to do is to break with the post-Bretton Woods monetarist order. A return to capital controls allowing for hard-edged, home-grown reindustrialisation. A robust defence investment plan which harnesses the ‘White Heat’ of sovereign drone technologies and Artificial Intelligence. British workers building British warships on the Clyde, over mugs of builder’s tea.
Once again, I venture my latest thoughts to the new MP for Makerfield. ‘Me stomach’s rumbling,’ says Andy, insightfully. ‘I want chips’n’ greveh. But I spent me last quid down bookies.’ And suddenly I see the heart of it all. An impassioned cry from the forgotten regions; the angry and urgent call to rebalance an unbalanced nation. A No. 10 of the North, for he is their Tribune. Their Disraeli. Their ‘Andeh’. No one has ever attempted this kind of regionalist agenda before. Not a single British politician before Burnham has ever attempted to implement a platform of devolution and investment outside of London. I can’t help but smile to myself. Westminster has no idea what’s coming.
I look up and see Andy Burnham in a state of high agitation. He’s staring at me through bloodshot eyes. ‘Southern faireh,’ he rasps, ‘Give me yer moneh, yeh southern faireh.’ Suddenly ‘Andy’ has launched himself at me, and in half a second I am pinned to the floor. I try to rise but a blow to the side of my head sends me reeling. As I lose consciousness, I see Andy looming over me, counting the notes he has purloined from my wallet. ‘Fookin’ cleanshirt ponce, I’ve got yer moneh…’
A more tactile, hands-on type of politics, owing something to Lyndon B. Johnson as depicted in Robert Caro’s magisterial The Power Broker, seemsat hand…
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