Andy Burnham’s choice of the People’s History Museum (PHM) – the “national museum of democracy” – for a major speech on his approach to governing Britian, was no accident. It signalled alignment with popular struggles while anchoring his pitch in a specific Mancunian narrative of people-powered progress. He invoked the Peterloo Massacre (1819), where ordinary people challenged a state “not built with them in mind,” positioning himself in a lineage of radical-reformist pressure from below. He also referenced the Rochdale Pioneers and the Co-operative movement (1844 onward) as models of mutual self-help against market exploitation, alongside trade unions as essential partners in “place-based” collaboration.This is rhetorically powerful. It flatters a Labour audience weary of Starmer-era technocracy and taps into northern pride and working-class memory. Yet, critically, it is highly selective. Peterloo radicals demanded fundamental democratic overhaul (parliamentary reform, suffrage) against a repressive state; Burnham’s speech frames change as pragmatic devolution and partnership within existing institutions.The co-op movement and unions – for Burnham – appear as harmonious stakeholders in a “strong partnership between all sectors – public, private, community, voluntary, academic, faith, and our trade unions,” rather than as sites of class antagonism or counter-hegemonic power.This mirrors elite strategies we have dissected elsewhere: philanthropic and intellectual networks legitimising power through narratives of enlightened stewardship and managed reform. Burnham’s “people’s history” here functions less as subversive memory and more as affective branding for a leadership bid that bypasses a full contest or immediate general election. The venue and references lend radical sheen to what is, in substance, a mayoral success story scaled nationally – strong on symbolism, lighter on confronting entrenched class or regional power imbalances.Yet, there is controversy over Burnham’s economic successes in Manchester’s city centre – while neglecting the broader hinterland of run-down northern towns like Wigan, for example, made (in)famous by George Orwell in The Road to Wigan Pier based on his travels during the great depression of the 1930s.Defence Investment Plan (DIP) and Industrial StrategyA notable emphasis is Burnham’s commitment to public procurement reform, explicitly extending to the Defence Investment Plan. He criticises past “cut price deals around the world” and pledges that taxpayer pounds will prioritise British suppliers for stability and competitiveness: “that approach will apply fully to the Defense Investment Plan (DIP).” This aligns with reindustrialisation goals, cluster development, and positioning Britain as an “innovation nation.”In practice, this is pragmatic realism in an era of growing geopolitical tensions. Linking defence spending to domestic manufacturing and skills addresses deindustrialisation’s scars and taps into “good growth” that channels proceeds locally rather than via trickle-down. It differentiates from pure austerity or globalisation-at-all-costs while committing to continuity with aspects of the outgoing government’s plans (avoiding a full “rip up”). Unions welcomed signals on reindustrialisation in steel, defence, energy.Critically, however, this embeds Manchesterism within the national security state and Atlanticist priorities. Increased defence investment risks subordinating social investment to militarised Keynesianism – classic elite adaptation where crisis (security threats, supply chain vulnerabilities) justifies state intervention that ultimately bolsters established industrial and foreign policy networks rather than fundamentally reorienting toward civilian needs or global peace.Burnham’s devolutionist pitch risks being undercut if fiscal space for regional “good growth funds” and council housing is squeezed by DIP ambitions or Treasury resistance. It echoes broader patterns where regionalist or “left” rhetoric accommodates core state imperatives.Continuity of Atlanticist elite hegemonyBurnham’s leadership represents another iteration of UK foreign policy subordination to US power, despite rhetorical domestic focus and occasional criticisms of Trump’s “poisonous” polarised politics. Burnham has defended aspects of Starmer’s handling of Trump, backed the transatlantic alliance, and signalled willingness to increase defence spending (potentially borrowing outside fiscal rules or reallocating from welfare) to sustain NATO commitments and the Special Relationship. His emphasis on reindustrialising via the Defence Investment Plan ties domestic “good growth” directly to militarised Keynesianism and US-led procurement/logistics networks. This is how UK elites adapt to US hegemony – managing tensions (e.g., over Iran strikes or Trump’s demands) while preserving core institutions like intelligence-sharing in the Five Eyes and interoperability in NATO/AUKUS – rather than pursuing genuine strategic autonomy. Burnham’s inward-looking pitch masks the enduring fusion of Anglo-American power elites.Alliance commitments that subordinate social prioritiesBurnham’s support for higher military spending (beyond Starmer’s plans in some reports), long-term procurement horizons, and framing of defence as reindustrialisation is emblematic of how liberal elites channel resources into the national security state. This perpetuates the post-WWII Anglo-American order we have dissected, where UK participation in NATO, AUKUS, and Five Eyes surveillance architecture locks Britain into US grand strategy. Burnham’s record – voting for the 2003 Iraq War and distancing from Corbyn’s scepticism – suggests continuity. While he may criticize specific Trump impulses, his approach risks repeating patterns of overstretch and elite-driven wars that benefit defence contractors and think-tank networks more than British (or global) publics, diverting funds from the domestic devolution and housing agenda central to his Manchesterism.Performative balancing on Israel/IranBurnham sends mixed signals – past advocacy for Palestine (e.g., West Bank visits, calls for ceasefire and state recognition, criticism of Netanyahu), contrasted with pledging Israel as a potential first foreign visit and reluctance to label Gaza events in stark terms – as typical elite triangulation. This allows continuity with US-UK alignment on Israel (arms, diplomacy) while nodding to Labour’s progressive base.On Iran, Burnham backed Starmer’s refusal of UK bases for certain US actions but operates within a framework that accepts the logic of Western deterrence and sanctions regimes. We see this as preserving the ideological architecture of the liberal order – portraying the UK as a moderating “bridge” while enabling power projection that marginalises Global South perspectives and avoids reckoning with interventions’ legacies (Iraq, Libya). It prioritises alliance cohesion over transformative peace or justice-oriented policy.Burnham’s rise – despite northern/red-wall branding – illustrates the resilience of Anglo-American elite networks: domestic reformist rhetoric legitimises deeper integration into US-centric security structures, with military spending and alliance loyalty as non-negotiable continuities in the polycrisis era. True rebalancing would require challenging these networks far more fundamentally.Manchesterism: Prospects and LimitsBurnham defines Manchesterism as the “end of neoliberalism,” “business-friendly socialism,” or a rejection of trickle-down in favour of place-first, problem-solving politics with devolved power, public intervention where needed, universities at the heart of local economies, housing as prevention, and cross-sector partnership. “No. 10 North” in Manchester symbolises rewiring Britain away from Whitehall.While it builds credibly on Greater Manchester’s track record (Bee Network, Good Growth Fund, transport fares), it may, in a low-growth, high-inequality, centralised UK, devolution-plus-industrial policy offers a plausible circuit-breaker. It resonates with “left behind” places, leverages existing mayoral institutions, and could foster experimentation (e.g., apprenticeships over university-only routes, council housing revival). Cross-party and sectoral collaboration might reduce short-termism. In an era of poly-crisis, place-based pragmatism has real administrative appeal.Structurally, however, Manchesterism operates within neoliberal capitalism’s constraints rather than transcending them. “Business-friendly socialism” certainly threatens capture by private interests in partnerships; devolution without radical fiscal reform (e.g., genuine tax powers) leaves regions dependent on a Treasury that has long resisted rebalancing.Historical parallels to earlier “municipal socialism” or new regionalism show how such initiatives can be contained or co-opted by central state and capital. References to Peterloo and co-ops evoke bottom-up agency, but the model emphasizes elite-orchestrated “collaboration” over redistribution or challenge to financialized London.It underplays deeper class, racial, and spatial fractures. Nationally, without confronting capital mobility, offshore finance, or austerity legacies, it may deliver incremental gains in Manchester but falter in delivering equivalent living standards elsewhere. As elite power analysis suggests, such visions often manage decline or legitimise adaptation (e.g., post-Brexit, post-austerity) more than they rupture underlying Anglo-American political economy patterns.In sum, Burnham’s speech was a polished, venue-savvy intervention that intelligently deploys history and regional success to project national renewal. Its defence-industrial pragmatism and devolutionary thrust offer sober prospects for marginal rebalancing in a stuck polity. Yet its limits are those of managed elite reformism: strong on partnership symbolism and procurement tweaks, weaker on confronting the concentrated economic and state power that perpetuates the very centralism and inequality it disowns. Manchesterism may humanise and localise British capitalism; whether it can fundamentally transform it remains the open, critical question.And the Anglo-American special relationship, conceived by Winston Churchill and built by Labour PM Clement Attlee (1945-51) that favours elite interests marches on.Inderjeet Parmar is a professor of international politics and the associate dean of research, School of Policy and Global Affairs, City St George’s, University of London. He is a Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences and writes the American Imperium column at The Wire. He is also an International Fellow at the ROADS Initiative think tank, Islamabad, on the board of the Miami Institute for the Social Sciences, USA, and on the advisory board of INCT-INEU, Brazil. He is the author of several books including Foundations of the American Century, and is currently writing a book on the history, politics and crises of the US foreign policy establishment.Bamo Nouri is an Honorary Visiting Research Fellow at City St George’s, University of London and an independent investigative journalist and writer with interests in American foreign policy and the international and domestic politics of West Asia. He is the author of Elite Theory and the 2003 Iraq Occupation by the United States.