Why Glasgow grannies, not politicians, should be running the country

However, I guess most - if not nearly all - folk reckon themselves certainly equal to politicians in terms of character, attributes and talent.

Hold on to that thought a moment: that you’re as good, if not better, than any politician.

While that idea nestles, briefly consider House of Lords reform. This interminable thorn has been poisoning the paw of British democracy long before I was born. The issue disappears and reappears like El Niño, oscillating in and out of the political agenda yet never resolved.

The matter is back. A bill before the Commons promises reform. In truth, it does nothing of the sort. If passed, it will remove merely the last remaining hereditary peers.

Among the peers facing removal are Lord Ravensdale, great-grandson of Oswald Mosely, leader of the British Union of Fascists; Viscount Stansgate, whose father Tony Benn renounced his peerage to sit in the Commons; Lord Attlee, grandson of Clement Attlee; and the Duke of Wellington, whose great-great-great-grandfather wears a traffic cone on his head in Glasgow.

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However, the "Lords Spiritual" will remain in the upper chamber - the archbishops and bishops of the Church of England who influence the legal framework which governs our lives.

Aside from the democratic affront, there’s a rather glaring devolutionary omission: where are the Scottish, Northern Irish and Welsh bishops? Not that I want them, but it would be nice to even pretend there’s a degree of pan-UK equity.

Yet even if we dispensed with the absurdity of being the only other country aside from the Islamic Republic of Iran which gives space in parliament to clergy, the Lords would still be thoroughly anti-democratic.

As it stands it’s nothing more than a favour bank. Most - not all granted, but most - peers have simply kissed a Prime Minister’s behind and received a nice ermine cape, tonnes of money, and power over our lives. Peers get a tasty £332 daily attendance fee, plus expenses and subsidised food (in other words, you and I buy their dinner). A good grift if you can get it.

To even pretend that this incestuous circus of patronage is democratic offends against common sense. It’s a place of place-men and place-women, obedient lackeys of the establishment, completely disconnected from the lives of ordinary citizens.

So if we really wanted to reform the Lords, we’d simply abolish it in its existing form. But replacing it with an elected upper chamber would only replicate the rotten flaws of the Commons.

The Lords would remain a retirement home for failed, superannuated MPs and MSPs, with a phoney veneer of democracy. Party political elections aren’t the answer.

Indeed, an elected second chamber may be worse than the Lords in its current state, as those voted into any "reformed" upper house would be even more in thrall to their political parties.

So what’s the solution? Well, I hope you’ve retained that thought in your head about you being just as good as any politician going.

The solution could be - should be - the introduction of a form of sortition democracy to Britain. Sortition democracy is basically the principle of the Citizens Assembly. You, I and every other voter goes on a list - like the jury system - from which we can be chosen at random.

Perhaps 1,000 citizens could be chosen by lottery, rotating every two years, to sit in the Upper Chamber, scrutinising Commons legislation. Like the Lords, an upper House of Citizens - which has a rather fine ring to it - would also have limited legislative powers to bring forward bills.

Citizen delegates would have the right to refuse selection, but if they did accept then their existing careers and employment would be protected and supported by law; they would be paid a decent salary; and assisted by a small team of civil servants to help them get to grips with their new role.

I’ve met many politicians, and I can put my hand on my heart and tell you that most ordinary folk are just as talented.

Why shouldn’t Glasgow grannies, or carers from Manchester, or nurses from Swansea, or gas-fitters from Antrim be considered just as valuable to our nation as someone whose life experience runs no further than private school, PPE at Oxford, and political adviser aged 22?

I want the Glasgow grannies and Antrim gas-fitters to have power. I trust ordinary people. Clearly, there would be fools and chancers - but aren’t there fools and chancers already? Something tells me, though, there would be less foolishness and less chance-taking from ordinary folk.

Ordinary citizens should sit in a new Upper Chamber (Image: Jamie Simpson)

Something also tells me that ordinary people would take such duties very seriously indeed and work like devils to improve the country - because they’d be improving the lives of their families and neighbours, not their donors.

We could replicate the House of Citizens for every devolved parliament - with one for Holyrood, Stormont and the Senedd. None of the devolved parliaments has a second chamber; another hole in Britain’s so-called democracy.

Obviously, I’m aware that sortition democracy - where we participate in the running of our own lives - is an idea still at the fringes, though there’s plenty of talk about it within the walls of universities and think-tanks from those worrying over the state of democracy.

I fear for democracy. We’re alienated from power, and trust in government is dead. The embrace of equality symbolised by a limited experiment in sortition would mark a possible renewal.

Evidently, I’m perfectly willing to accept that I’m a utopian fool - indeed sortition democracy is a theme in Thomas More’s Utopia written in the 1500s imagining a perfect state.

I’m happy to be called a fool, but in reply all I’d ask is: what should stand in place of my foolish suggestion?

Should we go on as we are? Isn’t that the definition of madness?

And if we shouldn’t go on as we are, then how do we arrest democracy’s slow, deadly decline?

Neil Mackay is the Herald’s Writer at Large. He’s a multi-award-winning investigative journalist, author of both fiction and non-fiction, and a filmmaker and broadcaster. He specialises in intelligence, security, crime, social affairs, cultural commentary, and foreign and domestic politics.