I am too angry to sleep so I may as well post about this.
Alexander Darwall is a hedge fund manager who owns 4000 acres of Dartmoor. He has contested the right of the public to camp on his land. And he has won.
This has been portrayed in the media as a loss of the 'right to roam'. This is a stupid way to phrase it. We never had the right to roam. We have never had the right to wander and live on the land. The Romani people and travelling communities whose way of life is criminalised know this - but of course there isn't so much of a mention of the 'right to roam' until white middle class people think their children's dofe expedition might be threatened.
Anyway, I digress. Despite my badly-worded cynicism, this is a loss, and I am furious.
I am local. I have always lived in Devon, between the two moors. My dad knows the westcountry like the back of his hand. He and I could cross the county with our eyes closed. The tors and rivers and moorland raised me as much as he or my mum did.
And still, neither of us would claim Dartmoor as our own. Because it is not our land to claim.
But, as is the insurmountable self-centredness and inconceivably egotistical nature of the rich, Alexander Darwall visits the westcountry a couple times (as all rich people do, to recline in their seaside holiday cottage for the two weeks of the year that the ghost town they've driven all local people out of is actually populated, by other posh pricks, only to fuck off again and leave behind poverty and a decimated housing market), and decides that the local people can't be trusted with such beautiful land, and thinks he deserves to own it. And manage it.
Because of course the local peasants couldn't know anything about conservation. We don't have a connection to this land, oh no, nothing as strong as the connection between a rich man and the estate he can shoot pheasants on.
It makes my blood boil. The evil of it, the condescension. People like Alexander Darwell know nothing about the moor. It's not just about walking on it a few times: when you're local, you know it. You've seen it in all of its forms, all months and all seasons, you've seen it at its most beautiful and most ugly, you've endured its cold to stare at the stars, you know its history and you've followed its standing stones, walked silently and respectfully past its tombs and barrows, you've replanted trees and held the earth in your hands, you've counted the deer bolving, you've built the structures that will rewet the moorland and return its life, you've sampled the soil from the bottom of trenches and carefully replaced every layer to disturb it as little as possible, and you've sweated and ached to see all of these things and give all of this to the moor.
And still, the land is not yours to own! You can do all of this - I have done all of this - and still the land is not yours, and it is not mine.
And you can do none of this, and you should still have a right to access it. That is the point of our conservation efforts.
Conservation is the old men and women who I've planted trees with, the archaeologists I've uncovered my county's history with, my dad and his colleagues working on projects to protect the moor and the climate that is harmed by the loss of carbon-rich peat.
Conservation is not a hedge fund manager privatising the land for profit. It is not the mindless, evil promise of capital, that compels Alexander Darwall to build fences around Dartmoor and lock up his land. His land. I feel sick typing it.
Because ultimately, this was done for profit. There is contempt in it - Darwall has no respect for local people who aren't far-right politicians he can buy - but the main motivation is money. The national park will now give him money, money which should be spent on conservation projects but is now going into an evil millionaire's pocket, and the rich cunts who can't wait to butcher the pheasants and deer that should be existing wild, in naturally-sized populations, will give him money to shoot and hunt on his land and leave the carcasses there to rot.
I am angry. I am so, so angry.
I have every intent to camp on Darwall's land. I will break his locks and tear down his fences, and every local who can should do the same.
Dartmoor is no one's. But if it must belong to someone, it should belong to us, and not to him.
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