TikTok Andy and No.10 North: performance over substance?
After Andy Burnham took office, he wasted little time announcing No10 North, a new Manchester outpost designed to be ‘the situation room for growth’. Whether that means the economy or Burnham’s online PR team remains to be seen, but it has already advertised five new roles for ‘social media professionals’. This comes alongside Burnham’s clear push towards short-form film content: in pubs with John Healey, on buses with influencers and, as one aide put it, ‘flooding the zone with Andy Burnham edits’.
Critics have labelled Burnham Britain’s first ‘TikTok prime minister’ – more preoccupied with presentation and messaging than policy. They also say that adopting this strategy of communicating directly with voters is simply a means of bypassing established news outlets, thereby avoiding questions and scrutiny from the traditional media. But perhaps this characterisation is too cynical. After all, politicians have always gone to where the electorate is – whether that be Churchill on the radio, JFK on TV, or Tony Blair reclining on a chat-show sofa. Every other party is on TikTok – Nigel Farage is currently leading the way with the most followers – so why aren’t we labelling Reform TikTok populists?
Is there anything wrong with focusing films and politics on the north, away from SW1? After all, left behind communities, ignored Red-Wall areas devastated over the years by deindustrialisation have long demanded that politicians focus on their concerns. And while parliament has been on recess, Burnham has been busy developing policy – capping bus fares, reducing VAT on energy bills and cutting business rates seem to be popular, cost-of-living-focused measures.
Fans of a ‘No10 North’ argue that it offers a potentially innovative attempt to shift government away from tired Westminster and treasury thinking. Even as a performative gesture – which risks making an already inefficient state more inefficient through long journeys north or endless Zoom calls – perhaps it will shake up complacency. Or is there a danger that Burnham’s folksy Northern schtick, while an affable contrast to wooden-top, tin-eared, robotic Keir Starmer, will wear thin if Burnham’s government doesn’t deliver?
Is it just too early to judge Burnham and Number 10 North? Does the prime minister’s constant emphasis on his authentic personality translate into style over substance? Is there a danger, too, that commentators neglect evaluating the government’s actual policy – from U-turns to whether the figures add up – if they’re distracted by critiquing his slick presentation methods? Or is ridiculing where his office is located a distraction from examining what substantive political change is being decided there? And even if Burnham’s weakness is a lack of substance, doesn’t that apply to the entire political class?
