No one seems to have noticed, but next week the House of Lords will be abolished. I don’t mean the entire chamber, but the highest court of appeal in the land. Until now, this body has been a committee of the House of Lords, and has met in committee rooms of the House. When it resumes its work in the autumn, it will be known as the Supreme Court, and will have moved to new premises in the old Middlesex Guildhall across Parliament Square. We are always told by people like Mr New Speaker Bercow how marvellously unstuffy our institutions are these days, but in fact they are characterised by ever greater pomp and expense. Being a mere committee, the Law Lords do not wear any robes when hearing cases. As the Supreme Court, they will wear gowns. The refurbishment of their building has cost £60 million and will cost £12 million a year to run: at present, annual costs are about £2 million.
The change is a big one, symbolically. Until now, the British constitution has run on the opposite principle to the separation of powers. By institutionalising conflict of interest within itself, it has set up conventions of good behaviour. For example, the Lord Chancellor headed the judiciary from the Cabinet. In theory, this made the judges subject to politics. In practice, it meant that the voice of the judiciary at a high level gave politicians pause. Such a way of doing things always displeased anti-historical rationalists, and in 2003, Tony Blair, perhaps wanting to find a way to dress up his sacking of Derry Irvine, suddenly announced that he would abolish the post. He did not consult a single person — the Queen, the Law Lords, the Lord Chief Justice — who knew anything about it. He later discovered that abolition was impossible, but he succeeded in downgrading the post, and in creating the Supreme Court.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in