EUROPE	MARCH 16, 1998 VOL. 151 NO. 11
	A Rural Rebellion Britain's countryfolk come to London to defend a way of life from urban assault By HELEN GIBSON /LONDON t was a very odd protest march, by any standard: no shouted slogans, no speeches, no rally at the end, no volatile fringe groups and not even a candy wrapper left behind, let alone the usual tons of trash. A quarter of a million men, women and children traveled to London on a Sunday morning from farms and estates all over Britain. Dressed in country tweeds or corduroys and cloth caps, they quietly walked a 4-km route through the city streets, then tidily left their placards in trash cans and headed for home. But the deceptive civility of this "countryside march" masked strong emotions. The anger and frustration could be clearly read in the messages on the demonstrators' signs: "Say No to the Urban Jackboot", "Don't Take the Backbone out of Farming", and the plaintive "Listen to Us". Farmers and laborers marched alongside sportsmen and well-to-do landowners, all drawn together by grievances as varied as a prohibition of sales of beef on the bone and proposed legislation that would allow city dwellers to stroll across rural property. At stake, the protesters believe, is a whole way of life cherished for centuries and now in danger of being engulfed by a relentless tide of urbanization. The march was a continuation of a protest begun in July when countryfolk astonished themselves and the nation at large by mustering 100,000 supporters to a rally in London's Hyde Park. Though gathered mainly to protest a bill to restrict fox hunting, the participants found a common voice on all kinds of other rural concerns. A mass movement was born that day, and when Prime Minister Tony Blair's Labour government--long suspected of being urban to the core--showed scant sympathy for the protesters, they found a target for their ire. This time, a turnout of an estimated 280,000 demonstrators rivaled the celebrated Ban-the-Bomb marches of the early 1980s. Said Barbara Goodwin, who farms near Cheltenham in Gloucestershire: "This must be saying something to the government--surely." Britain's farmers in particular are feeling the pinch these days. Their 1997 income dropped 46% from the year before, chiefly because of the strength of the pound sterling--which curbed food exports and encouraged imports--and the European Union's two-year embargo on British beef, inspired by fear of bovine spongiform encephalopathy, better known as mad cow disease. The blunders and inertia of the previous Conservative administration are blamed for the BSE fiasco, and for the cuts in funding for rural schools and transportation services, but it is Labour's plans since taking office last year that have really annoyed farmers and their allies among the landed gentry. First came the proposed criminalization of one of the oldest English traditions: hunting foxes on horseback with dogs. While polls indicate that the majority of citizens oppose this aristocratic pastime, the red-coated riders argue that their favorite sport is no more cruel than killing foxes through snaring, which would remain legal. Furthermore, there is fear that other field sports would then also be outlawed. "Fishing, an easier target so far as cruelty is concerned, will go next," gloomily predicted author John Mortimer, in a Daily Mail article. Hunters and farmers also worry about hints of additional restrictions on the already tightly regulated use of rifles and shotguns. And near the top of the complaint list is a government pledge to force farmers and landowners to open up their uncultivated hills and heaths to give the public the "right to roam." Meanwhile, health issues are hurting agriculture. In December the government prohibited the selling of beef on the bone because of the infinitesimal chance that bones might carry BSE. Even townsfolk question why an informed citizen is not permitted to decide for himself whether to take the million- or billion-to-one risk of eating a T-bone steak. Now Whitehall is considering banning unpasteurized milk even though it already carries health warnings, has caused no problems for decades and is regularly consumed by a half million loyal drinkers. "It's this bossy legislation and restrictions on people's individual freedom to choose that motivated many to march," says Paul Latham, a spokesman for the Countryside Alliance, an umbrella group supporting country sports. Indeed, many townies joined the tweedy brigade last week. Said Jonathan Carman, 30, a surveyor from north London: "I came to protest about all these nannying rules." Some townspeople also share rural concerns over plans to speed up suburbanization with swaths of new housing on greenfield sites. There are signs, however, that the government might be softening its approach. Days before the march, beef farmers were offered more financial help and landowners were promised they could offer a voluntary plan for public access to their property before legislation is imposed. And while ministers at first dismissed the march as representing "powerful vested interests"--maybe even involving American gun-lobby money--the sheer number of protesters made the government take notice. Now there is talk of a new Whitehall department for rural affairs, and perhaps even some sort of compromise on fox hunting, if, as expected, the controversial ban currently before Parliament fails this time to become law. Quiet and courteous though the demonstrators were, the government knows that the marching crowds can roar their disapproval in the voting booth.
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