Nothing reveals Britain’s aversion to change quite like its failure to reform the House of Lords. Since the turn of the 21st century, almost everyone in politics has agreed that this should take place. The Lords may be quaint and historic, but it is constitutionally indefensible. It is one of only two parliaments in the world, along with Lesotho, to have hereditary members: there are 92 sitting by inherited right, 26 as leaders of a religious sect and dozens who have paid large sums to be members, often just for the title. When Keir Starmer became Labour leader in 2020 he pledged to abolish the Lords in favour of a new elected second chamber in his first term. It was proof of his radical credentials. Within three years he had dropped the “first term”, and by this year all mention of “abolishing” the Lords had vanished from Labour’s manifesto. This week a bill is reportedly to go through parliament that merely abolishes the 92 hereditaries. There is no mention of bishops and donors, let alone Downing Street’s clothing suppliers and former secretaries. For its hordes of retired politicians, the place will remain a luxurious club that makes the Garrick look like a greasy spoon. The last serious attempt at reform in 2003 ended in fiasco, with seven options being overwhelmingly rejected by peers and MPs alike. Tony Blair was said to have heaved a sigh of relief. In his first eight years he had created a record 292 lords, 25 of whom had donated close to £25m to Labour party coffers. When his successor, Gordon Brown, revived abolition in 2009 it was all but shouted down, as it was again in 2022. It is hypocrisy for British politicians to criticise foreign regimes for their corruption. The reality is that the House of Lords has become a festival of fancy dress, privilege and prestige, with a minor limb of parliament attached. There is no problem about what to do. Most democratic legislatures have second chambers that can be studied. There have been commissions, white papers and thinktanks galore. A genuine consensus exists that what the UK needs is an institutional answer to the gross over-centralisation of the British state. There should be a pressure valve to answer the rising separatism in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. As Starmer himself proposed in 2020, a new senate would be a forum for the regions and nations. It should have no power beyond that of argument and debate. The Lords’ marginal revising role could be replaced by a reformed Commons committee system. But if one voice is glaringly absent from Britain’s political conversation, it is the voice from beyond the capital. How that voice should be selected is controversial, since even reform-minded politicians are desperate to keep membership under their control. This must not be. Any direct election of members would replicate and weaken the legitimacy of the Commons. Party list elections would merely extend the parties’ power. Better by far would be to bring together national assembly leaders, council leaders, mayors and possibly vocational representatives – as, for instance, in Ireland and Germany. Such a body could meet regionally as well as centrally. Fusing its influence into the legislative and executive process would require innovation. But it is desperately overdue. So why has Starmer become the champion of continuity rather than change? Is he wondering if soon he will be joining his friends? Simon Jenkins is a Guardian columnist