Visiting the House of Lords is a stark reminder of the sort of society we still live in. My photo was taken, my body was scanned for hidden metal, my possessions were x-rayed. And for what? So that I don’t kill a crusty old man with a pair of nailclippers, or pull a Guy Fawkes and bring down this bastion of ‘old democracy’?
There are 755 seats in the Lords, of which only 180 are crossbenchers and a meagre 21 are non-affiliated. The chamber is undeniably political- it’s a seething mass of donors, campaigners and high-flyers with a partisan inclination. 15 of these seats are still held by hereditary peers, one of whom, Lord Willoughby de Broke, has now aligned himself with UKIP. Of course, they aren’t really to blame for their part in this masquerade. They’re the out-dated relics; the standard bearers for absolute monarchy, serfdom and afternoon tea. It’s not for them to reform themselves.
But unlike the Queen and her family, the Lords still have a political purpose. Elizabeth II’s role in our constitution is incontrovertibly undemocratic, but, at the same time, we’ve come to accept that she’s really there to sell stamps and bring in the floods of Japanese tourists with their Yen that props up our ailing services economy. She’s the ultimate tour-guide and she’s handsomely rewarded for it.
The Lords has none of that purpose or charm, but, instead, serves a political function as part of our ludicrous bicameral parliament. Where the US’s bicameral system is represented by two elected bodies (the Senate and the House of Representatives), the country that gave birth to American democracy still harbours the fugitive anachronism of an unelected chamber. Life peers have diluted public consciousness of the problem, but have exacerbated the reality. Who elected Baroness Warsi to sit in cabinet meetings and espouse her contemptible views on gay rights? Who gave this chamber authority to comment on, let alone shoot down, any bill it chooses?
Of course, these are old arguments that were addressed in the 1999 House of Lords Act. But the problem hasn’t been solved, it’s simply been pushed away from the media limelight. The antiquarian concept of the ‘House of Lords’, or of a ‘Lord’ in general, is at the heart of Britain’s indefatigable class problem. A fresh faced 18-year-old David Cameron, finally removing his Etonian smock, faces the challenging question of whether he should pursue his political career by seeking election to the House of Commons, or by rubbing his posh friends the right way until he trumps his Grand Daddy (a mere baronet, yuck!) and gets a seat in the Lords. That is the process by which we have inadvertently built our Tory cabinet, a process that many in Oxford are complicit with.
I’m not a revolutionary or particularly ardent about politics, but we are in danger of forgetting that an appointed chamber is not a democratic chamber. Democracy is not one of those fancy socialist ideas. Nigel Farage believes in the democratic process just as strongly as Red Ed, Caroline Lucas or Dennis Skinner. Radicalism is saying that we should blow up the Lords, gumption is saying we should stop allowing it to decide our laws. Whilst we protect and revere these institutions, we are creating an all-too-visible glass ceiling that, for any number of reasons, isn’t being smashed to pieces.
When I visited the House of Lords with a sea of other Oxonians, I found myself awash with, not abstract repulsion, but idolising stares. The gilded interior of the Union, or the crystal port glasses of OUCA, have caused a collective amnesia about what we should aspire towards. If we wish, in the generation to come, to continue to be at the forefront of the international democratic process, then we need to consign all 755 mummified seats to the graveyard that holds slavery, partial suffrage and those poor, unemployed hereditary peers.
