Clashing with Rupert Lowe, and my own definition of Manchesterism

I’m willing to ignore that Burnham was born in Liverpool

Photo by Peter Powell / AFP via Getty Images

“Is the King a white Briton?” You wouldn’t think that would be a hard question to answer for a man who has set himself up as the nation’s patriot-in-chief. Yet Rupert Lowe, the leader of Restore Britain, hummed and hawed when I asked him that question on the Today programme the other day, saying, “Many people have different interpretations of that…” I assume Lowe meant, on the one hand, many of his supporters believe only those who can trace their heritage back through multiple generations count as British and understand its history, culture, identity, memory and inheritance. On the other, Lowe would know that asserting that the monarch is not British – because he is the son of a Greek immigrant – would make him sound absurd to pretty much everybody else.

Tommy Robinson (no relation) accused me of planning “a gotcha moment”, a charge echoed by others. My question was, indeed, inspired by a desire to get something. Not a scalp or a clip for social media, but evidence for Lowe’s claim that Britain is “hurtling towards becoming an Islamic country” and that white Britons will be in a minority within 30 years. Call me old-fashioned, but isn’t that what interviews are for?

Joining the party

What, you might wonder, is Lowe up to? Is he more than a man with money and a grudge against Nigel Farage, who airs his prejudices on social media and has them amplified by Elon Musk? The answer is yes. I believe he is modelling himself on Jimmy Goldsmith, whose Referendum Party forced the Conservatives to first flirt with and then embrace the case for a vote on Europe. Lowe has talked in the past about a reformed Tory Party being “the most powerful instrument” for change. He wants to influence Kemi Badenoch, not get back together with Farage, whom he’s called a viper, a coward and a narcissist who thinks he is the Messiah.

Northern soul

Even though I had my organs of opinion removed when I joined the BBC – as Andrew Marr so memorably put it – I confess that this proud son of the greatest city on Earth is relishing being governed by a man the Times described as a “northern bloke”. That Manchester would be the centre of anything was unthinkable when I was growing up in the 1970s and 1980s and making Old Trafford my spiritual home. The city was run-down and depressed, much more interested in looking back to its once great past than looking forward to its future.

I was honoured to be given an honorary doctorate by the University of Manchester a few weeks ago. I told the students to look at the city they’d made home – not at the gleaming skyscrapers that have gone up in recent years, but at the noise and bustle, the diversity, energy and culture. It is a living, breathing, buzzing example of how life can get better, of how people can make the world a better place. Reading those words back makes me cringe ever so slightly, but I don’t apologise for believing we all need hope. I’m willing to ignore that Burnham was born in Liverpool and supports Everton if he can supply a little bit of it.

Not mad for it

There are risks, of course, in being seen to bang on about Manchester. Interviewing Lou Haigh, the manager of Team Burnham, I asked the audience in her home city of Sheffield to put up their hands if they were sick of hearing about it. Every hand went up. Proud residents of Sheffield, Leeds, Hull, Newcastle, Nottingham and indeed Liverpool are often no fans of Manchester, but if it’s a choice between it and them down south, they know whose side they’re on.

Game on

I am sometimes accused of irritating Radio 4 listeners by banging on about Manchester United. I can now confess that it was deliberate. For years the network had treated football like it was game loved only by yobs and oiks, unlike rugger, tennis and golf. I took the view that it was time to send a signal that the world’s favourite sport, loved by prime ministers and princes, had finally reached Broadcasting House. Sometimes you can risk irritating people when you have a purpose. One person who understood that very well was Prince Philip, even if he was born in Corfu.

Father of the bride

People assume that if you broadcast to millions each day, you won’t get nervous when asked to give a speech. I still wake daily worrying about the speech I gave a few weeks ago at my daughter’s wedding. I wasn’t worried about cracking a few decent jokes, but I didn’t and don’t know whether I’d done justice to the little brown-eyed girl who melts my heart when she calls me Papa Robbo. A friend said he’d never seen me look so terrified. After that, Rupert Lowe was a walk in the park.

[Further reading: Andy Burnham’s beachside bonanza]