The Price of Being Uncool

By Jeffrey Archer

Modern is British Prime Minister Tony Blair's favorite word. Blair is forever telling us he wants a modern country with a modern democracy. Unfortunately, he finds himself in charge of a very old-fashioned nation. So he has set himself the visionary target of "rebranding" Britain. Instead of enjoying this country of nice old things, he wants to create a new "cool Britannia." Little surprise, then, that his passion for the modern has spread upward from Britain's House of Commons into the 700-year-old House of Lords. Under plans unveiled last week by Baroness Jay, the Labour government's leader of the Lords, Britain's 700 hereditary peers are about to get the chop. Twenty-one generations of Lord Fauntleroys influencing the affairs of the nation will come to an end. They will continue to have the right to call themselves Baron this and the Earl of that, and so will their firstborn sons. But they will no longer be admitted to the gold-and-crimson chamber of the upper house of Parliament.

The idea of noble blood is an anachronism that most of us would willingly ditch as we enter a new millennium. But there is a certain nobility in the independence of the Lords. The hereditary peers owe their position to no living person. They are therefore free to think and act as they choose. In British public life,which is heavily dominated by political parties, that is a valuable asset.

This does not, of course, make the Lords a particularly energetic arm of the government. By one count, listening to Baroness Jay's speech last week, there were 76 bald heads, 16 mustaches, five walking sticks, three ear trumpets and one eye patch. The Earl of Longford, who carries an enormous magnifying glass, has been sitting in the Lords for 53 years.

Such a deeply unmodern institution must be top of the list for Blair's reforming zeal. But however much one may agree with him, one must surely admit that the Lords provide a venerable spectacle, full of idiosyncratic character. The sight of the Lord Chancellor in all his forbidding finery, slumped on the woolsack adjusting his wig, listening intently to the sound of sweet and reasoned discourse (mixed with the occasional grunt and snore) is civilized, faintly amusing and surprisingly effective in terms of its legislative product.

All right, this may all be very old-fashioned, but these Lords have one quality that is inspiring and not at all modern: they are remarkably wise. Evidence? They will indeed vote for the abolition of all their privileges. This will be a very British, very stiff-upper-lip revolution. The Lords--who vote by crying "Content!" or "Not content!"--will feel profoundly discontented, and yet will say the opposite.

Of course, there will be one or two rebels, and they will have a few procedural tricks up their sleeves to make things hard for Baroness Jay. Chief rabble rouser will be the seventh Earl of Onslow, who has declared, "I will have no hesitation in stamping my foot, throwing stones, making the government's life absolutely beastly by forcing divisions, by putting down motions on standing orders. What fun to go out as a hooligan." But even Onslow had the good sense to add, "Any house which has me in it needs its head examined."

I do find something exhilarating in the idea of sweeping away the cobwebs of the past, of looking for new ways to give people a real voice in the process of government. Yet at the same time, I feel an abiding fondness for the great traditions of our history. In the end, reason must decide. There is no denying the unfairness of a system that gives legislative power to men (of course 98% of them are men) just because they were born into the right family.

There is a deep flaw, however, in the government's proposals. Reformation of the House of Lords would be welcome if there were a coherent plan. But strangely, the government is rushing forward with Stage 1 before even discussing Stage 2. "That will come later," we are told mysteriously. Will it? Or will the government be tempted to forget about complex constitutional reforms, so long as it has the majority it requires? When we do eventually reform what is left of the house, what will it be like? What will it do? Nobody knows. The government is unwilling even to discuss it. Nor will it say at what date it might be ready to discuss it. Surely we shouldn't destroy a great institution before we have thought of something better to replace it?

After all, if we remove the hereditary peers, we will be left only with those who have received their peerages through political party patronage, the 492 so-called life peers. And over the next few years, the Labour government will be tempted to pack the upper house with more and more of its own supporters--"Tony's cronies," as some would have it. It could become a palace of unelected hacks and dogsbodies, unlikely to provide independent and considered advice. There is at least some legitimacy in ancient tradition; there will be none in the short-term political convenience of the executive.

Sadly for some, I am not about to be abolished. I am one of the life peers who will remain after the hereditary peers are gone. Perhaps I should relish the removal of the "Old Guard." But I don't.

LORD JEFFREY ARCHER is a novelist and Conservative Party politician; he is also a likely candidate for mayor of London.