The Centrist

By Devin Hindry

The United Kingdom’s House of Lords, for all its democratic imperfections, performs a vital function that risks being undone by the introduction of a fully elected upper chamber. At first glance, the idea of electing every peer seems the logical next step in parliamentary modernisation, surely democracy is served whenever we broaden the ballot? Yet beneath that appealing surface lies a host of unintended consequences that would threaten the very qualities that make the Lords a uniquely effective revising body. Rather than upgrading our democracy, an elected chamber would duplicate the adversarial politics of the Commons, politicise expertise, undermine legislative efficiency and imperil the delicate balance of our unwritten constitution.

Today’s Lords, composed of life peers appointed for distinguished careers in law, science, the arts, business and public service, brings to bear deep specialist knowledge that rarely finds its way into ordinary party politics. These members, free from the pressure of electoral cycles, can deliberate at length, question assumptions and amend legislation on the merits of argument rather than on the latest opinion-poll swing. Replace them with career politicians facing first-past-the-post or even proportional contests, and you risk turning the revising chamber into a carbon copy of the Commons, yet another arena for whip-driven voting rather than a forum for sober, cross-bench judgment.

Politicisation is not merely a theoretical risk. In systems where upper houses are elected, such as Australia’s Senate, partisan battles regularly cripple legislative timetables. Double dissolutions and brinkmanship become endemic, as governments struggle to pass their agenda through two equally competitive chambers. The UK’s current mechanism where the Lords can delay but not ultimately block legislation ensures that meaningful scrutiny coexists with government accountability to the lower house. Grant an elected Lords a genuine veto, and you invite constitutional standoffs that could paralyse the state; limit its powers too severely, and the new body becomes little more than a costly shadow, unable to justify its own existence.

Concerns about democratic legitimacy, however, do not automatically vanish under appointment. The present system allows for regular renewal: life peerages continue to be awarded, and the retirement of long-serving members introduces fresh perspectives. Moreover, the quality of appointments has improved in recent decades through independent appointments commissions and stricter vetting. Critics often cite the hereditary peers as emblematic of aristocratic privilege, but the remaining 88 hereditary seats should soon disappear, leaving a chamber composed entirely of life peers vetted for their expertise and public service. That reform, combined with modest measures, such as term limits or a cap on the total number of peers, would address the most glaring democratic objections without upending the system’s strengths.

Building on that progress, the final abolition of hereditary peers should be embraced as the logical next step: converting the Lords into a chamber solely of life peers. Removing hereditary seats entirely would end any lingering perception of privilege by birth, while preserving and even enhancing the expertise-based character of the house. Life peers, selected through transparent criteria that prioritise professional distinction, public service and cross-party balance, would ensure the chamber remains a forum for informed debate rather than electoral politicking. This streamlined, meritocratic assembly could then focus on its core revising role with renewed legitimacy, free from the anachronism of inherited privilege and backed by a clear, modernised appointments process.

An elected upper chamber also threatens regional balance. Proposals to allocate seats by geographic constituencies or devolved nations would inevitably provoke fierce disputes over representation: should Scotland and Wales have equal weight to English regions? If not, how do we avoid perpetuating the “West Lothian question” on steroids? Current arrangements allow political parties in devolved administrations to nominate crossbenchers from their ranks, ensuring that Scottish, Welsh and Northern Irish voices are present, without the need to redraw electoral maps or create new regional power bases. An appointed model, properly calibrated, can achieve both geographic inclusivity and policy expertise, whereas an electoral model risks entrenching parochialism and exacerbating inter-regional tensions.

Cost is another factor rarely acknowledged in the rush for elections. Creating and administering elections for hundreds of Lords seats would demand significant public expenditure, hastening campaign financing questions and the potential for undue influence. The House of Lords today employs a modest infrastructure compared with what would be required to organise nationwide upper-house contests, adjudicate campaign disputes and police spending limits across dozens of constituencies or party lists. If we are serious about limiting the growing tax burden, preserving a lean, expert-based second chamber makes both democratic and fiscal sense.

Perhaps most important, an elected chamber would blur the distinction between revising body and government-formulating house. The Commons is the engine of policy, driven by manifestos, manifesto mandates and ministerial responsibility. The Lords, by contrast, thrives precisely because it stands apart, able to scrutinise without fear of ministerial censure and to propose amendments born of reasoned reflection rather than immediate voter appeal. That separation of functions has fortified parliamentary democracy by providing a safety valve against hasty legislation, and by allowing senior figures, former prime ministers, Supreme Court justices and veteran diplomats to continue contributing to public life without the burdens of electoral campaigning. Diluting that role in favour of elected status would weaken the very revisionary capacity we most need in an era of complex challenges ranging from climate change to artificial intelligence ethics.

Comparative models underline these dangers. Canada’s appointed Senate, though flawed in transparency, rarely obstructs the House of Commons, preserving legislative flow. In Germany, the Bundesrat, essentially an executive appendage of the Länder, cannot claim democratic independence in the way an elected body might. Meanwhile, the United States Senate wields enormous power, but its equal state representation and six-year terms have led to chronic under-representation of urban majorities and legislative gridlock over Supreme Court appointments and budgets. No foreign system offers a straightforward blueprint for a directly elected upper house that maintains specialist oversight, respects regional diversity and avoids multimember electoral turmoil. The UK’s appointment-based Lords, albeit imperfect, remains the closest realisation of those goals.

Reformers might contend that appointments can become a closed shop, rewarding political loyalty at the expense of fresh talent. Yet the creation of a non-partisan appointments commission, transparent selection criteria and publicity for vacancies could open the process to wider scrutiny. Younger experts could be shortlisted through open calls; peer mentoring schemes could integrate them smoothly; fixed five-year terms could ensure turnover while preserving continuity. Such measures would broaden participation, sharpen legitimacy and maintain the chamber’s distinctive character, an expert revising body untroubled by electoral constraints.

Finally, we must consider public sentiment. Voter fatigue is real, as evidenced by low turnout in local and European elections. Asking citizens to cast votes for a second parliamentary chamber, a body whose name alone conjures arcane notions of privilege, might deepen cynicism rather than engagement. An appointed system, by contrast, offers clear accountability: the government of the day stands responsible for its nominations, and parliamentary watchdogs can interrogate each appointment. Informed public debate about qualifications, backgrounds and standards could generate far more interest than the prospect of yet another ballot paper.

In practical terms, the UK stands on the cusp of a significant constitutional crossroads. The gradual phasing out of hereditary peers has addressed the most anachronistic elements of the Lords. What remains now is a deliberative assembly whose unique blend of expertise, independence and geographic representation continues to serve the nation well. We need not abandon this model in pursuit of an untested electoral fantasia. Instead, we should build upon existing reforms, strengthening appointment processes, introducing term limits, increasing transparency and thereby preserve a second chamber that is effective, efficient and distinct from the Commons. In doing so, we honor the spirit of parliamentary democracy: balancing electoral legitimacy with reflective scrutiny, party debate with non-partisan wisdom, and dynamic policymaking with measured revision. The House of Lords may not fit the textbook definition of a democratic body, but in practice it embodies a higher form of democratic governance, one that does not depend on constant campaigning, but on the thoughtful application of specialized knowledge for the public good. Rejecting the election of peers is not a retreat from democracy; it is a defense of the deliberative integrity that modern governance most urgently requires.