Burnham’s power grab: when devolution becomes a geopolitical gamble

When the North rewrites the rules—and who gets left behind

Andy Burnham isn’t waiting for power. He’s already redrawing its map.

This week, the man poised to lead Britain confirmed what many suspected: if Labour wins the next election, Whitehall’s grip on public services will loosen. Not through gradual reform, but through a seismic shift—one that could see social care, childcare, and skills training devolved to England’s mayors. The plan, outlined in a paper by Burnham-aligned thinktank ThinkLabour, isn’t just about localism. It’s a geopolitical power play, one that risks fracturing the UK’s already fragile unity while offering little clarity on who foots the bill.

The timing is no accident. With Labour’s majority at risk—polling suggests the party could lose over 200 seats at the next election—Burnham’s team is betting on economic populism to stem the tide. Rent controls, wealth taxes, and a crackdown on corporate landlords are being floated as ways to win back disillusioned voters. But the real gamble lies in devolution. By handing mayors control over key services, Burnham isn’t just decentralising power—he’s creating a parallel state, one where Manchester’s priorities could diverge sharply from London’s.

No 10 North: a bold idea—or a logistical nightmare?

The most visible symbol of this shift is Burnham’s proposed "No 10 North," a second government hub in Manchester’s Ancoats district. The site, once home to a Toys R Us and an Argos, would become the nerve centre of a "rewired Britain," overseeing everything from transport to healthcare. The idea has won praise from some quarters—readers in The Guardian called it "a stellar idea" that could finally address the UK’s north-south divide. But the devil, as always, is in the details.

For starters, there’s the cost. Moving civil servants, infrastructure, and decision-making north would require billions—money that could otherwise fund hospitals, schools, or social housing. Then there’s the question of coherence. How would a two-centre government function in practice? Would ministers split their time between London and Manchester, or would key departments relocate entirely? And what happens when the two hubs disagree? Burnham’s plan offers no answers, only ambition.

Worse, the proposal risks deepening regional inequalities. If mayors gain control over social care and skills training, what’s to stop wealthier regions from outbidding poorer ones for resources? The UK’s postcode lottery in healthcare and education is already a national scandal. Devolution could make it worse.

The Starmer paradox: when compassion becomes a liability

While Burnham plots his northern revolution, Keir Starmer is making his own geopolitical missteps. This week, the outgoing prime minister rammed through a US-UK pharmaceutical deal that could cost the NHS billions. The treaty, which allows American drug companies to bypass UK regulators, has been condemned by independent experts as a "democratic failure." Yet Starmer’s government pushed it through without public debate, let alone a vote.

The contrast is striking. Burnham’s devolution plan is framed as a way to give power back to the people. Starmer’s deal does the opposite—handing control of Britain’s healthcare system to foreign corporations. If Burnham’s gamble pays off, it could redefine UK governance. If it fails, it may not matter. By then, Starmer’s legacy could already be set: a country where even the NHS is no longer fully British.

What’s at stake—and who wins

Burnham’s vision is seductive. It promises to break London’s stranglehold on power, empower local leaders, and finally address the UK’s chronic regional disparities. But seduction is not governance. Without clear safeguards, devolution could become a Trojan horse—one that deepens inequality, fragments policy, and leaves the most vulnerable even further behind.

The real test will come after the election. If Burnham becomes prime minister, he’ll have to answer the questions he’s so far avoided: How much will this cost? Who pays? And what happens when the north’s priorities clash with the south’s? For now, his plan is less a blueprint than a provocation. And in British politics, provocations have a way of backfiring.