Burnham and Al-Turabi: The surprise of decentralisation in politics

In politics, comparisons are not necessarily about drawing parallels. Rather, they are a way of exploring how ideas separated by geography and ideology can converge around the same fundamental question. Perhaps one of the most surprising comparisons is that between Greater Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham and the late Sudanese Islamic thinker Dr Hassan Al-Turabi. It is difficult to imagine two figures from more contrasting worlds: the former emerged from Britain’s Labour tradition, shaped by the norms of liberal democracy; the latter was one of the leading theorists of political Islam in the twentieth century, whose intellectual and political journey unfolded in a country that has rarely enjoyed lasting stability.

History, however, shows that ideas do not recognise geographical boundaries, and that the great political questions resurface across different times and places. One such question is this: where should power reside? In the capital, or among the people?

Andy Burnham’s campaign for greater powers for England’s cities was never simply an administrative demand aimed at improving public services. It represented a quiet challenge to Britain’s highly centralised system of government.

Having repeatedly clashed with the government in London, particularly during the Covid-19 pandemic, Burnham argued that democracy cannot be complete if cities remain dependent on decisions made by officials hundreds of kilometres removed from their everyday realities.

He maintained that the people of Manchester understood their own interests better than Whitehall bureaucrats, and that devolving power was not a concession from the centre but the restoration of a community’s right to govern its own affairs.

Hassan Al-Turabi approached the issue from a different perspective, yet arrived at a similar conclusion. In Sudan, with its complex mix of ethnicities, cultures and regions, he argued that a state monopolising power in the capital inevitably fostered a lasting sense of marginalisation.

National unity, he believed, could not be imposed by force but had to be built through genuine participation in decision-making. He therefore advocated granting broader powers to Sudan’s states and regions, arguing that the country’s diversity could not flourish under a system in which the centre controlled everything.

Al-Turabi’s political experience has been the subject of extensive debate, with his critics holding him responsible for choices that had a profound impact on Sudan’s history. Yet fairness requires distinguishing between an idea and its political manifestations. Ideas remain open to debate even when the experiences built around them fall short.

Perhaps the greatest irony is that the debate over the distribution of power, which emerged in Sudan decades ago, has now returned with renewed force in Western democracies. In Britain, decentralisation is no longer merely an administrative slogan; it has become part of a broader economic and political struggle to narrow the gap between London and the rest of the country.

Similar questions are being raised across Spain, Italy, Germany and Canada: can the modern state continue to operate through the logic of a single dominant capital, or does the future belong to a model that grants its regions greater authority and responsibility?

This is not merely a technical issue but a philosophical one. Ever since Aristotle wrote that the purpose of politics is to achieve the common good, the moral question has remained inseparable from the idea of governance. Niccolò Machiavelli, however, challenged that concept, declaring that the state is governed not by ideals but by calculations of power and interest. Ever since, politics has oscillated between two schools of thought: one that makes morality the basis of legitimacy, and another that sees the success of the state as the only standard by which politics should be judged.

Here lies another thread linking Burnham and Al-Turabi, at least in part. Burnham consistently speaks of social justice, the dignity of citizens and the idea that political authority should be measured by its ability to improve people’s lives rather than control them. Al-Turabi, meanwhile, maintained that, in the Islamic conception of governance, politics cannot be separated from moral responsibility, and that a ruler is not the owner of the state but its trustee.

The language may differ, but the underlying idea is the same: power without ethics becomes domination, while ethics without power remain little more than noble aspirations.

Perhaps the crisis facing our world today is that politics has lost much of its moral dimension. Elections have become a form of political marketing, parties have turned into electoral machines, and the focus on numbers has overshadowed values. Even established democracies have not been immune to this erosion, as trust in institutions declines and the gap between elites and local communities continues to widen, helping to explain the rise of populism in many countries.

At its core, decentralisation is not simply about redistributing powers but about redistributing trust. It recognises that citizens are not merely recipients of decisions but partners in making them. For that reason, decentralisation carries a profound moral dimension: it restores political dignity to citizens and brings power closer to public accountability.

Seen in this light, the comparison between Andy Burnham and Hassan Al-Turabi appears far less surprising than it might at first seem. It is not a comparison between two men, but between two visions that emerged from vastly different contexts yet arrived at the same question: how can a state be strong without becoming authoritarian? And how can political power be effective without losing its moral compass?

There may never be a definitive answer. Yet history consistently suggests that states which listen to their regions endure longer than those that hear only the voices of their capitals, and that legitimacy rests not only on law but also on justice.

Politics that loses sight of ethics may win today’s battles, but it risks forfeiting the trust of future generations.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.