A Hunt on the Run
by Louis Cooke

ACROSS ENGLAND AND WALES, Feb. 19 — Everything certainly looked the same. There were still men and women on horseback in scarlet or royal-blue velvet jackets, some taking a nip or two of whiskey from a hip-flask. The horses were still dressed magnificently. The hounds were still to be seen in large numbers, low to the ground, swarms of flopping ears and wagging tails.

As usual, people milled about on foot in wellington boots and waxed jackets, a flat cap here and there, a muddied Land Rover or two dotted around. Then, after some passionate speeches, the hunts set off, the horses at a trot at first, then a canter, and then galloping over the land as the chase got under way.

Fox hunting in England and Wales became illegal last Friday, but nearly all of the 270 registered hunts met last weekend, in a symbolic act of defiance against what they believe to be an unjust law that unnecessarily damages both a way of life and ends centuries of tradition.

Almost all operated within the new regulations, which prohibit specific methods of exterminating foxes by setting a limit on how many dogs can be used to flush them out and the way in which they can be killed. Some of the hunts took place without a live fox, using an artificial scent instead. In other cases, a dead fox was dragged behind a lead horse, a method known as "drag hunting."

But for casual observers it was difficult to see exactly what had changed — especially when the end product was often the same: a dead fox, tossed to eager hounds.

As far as quirky laws to accompany British traditions go, the Hunting Act is one of the muddiest in both its details and its history. Alun Michael, the MP responsible for passing the act in November last year, said the only important questions were "cruelty and utility." No one denied that foxes have to be culled to prevent them from decimating livestock; the debate was whether or not they need to be chased around the country and then torn apart by a pack of hounds — a form of torture, according to animal rights activists.

Or was it? Plenty of people have pointed out that for a law whose principal factor was supposed to be animal welfare, it's strange it only applies to certain types of hunting. It doesn't cover rabbits or rats. It doesn't place restrictions on angling, an activity far more widespread than hunting.

Some have gone so far as to say the fox wasn't the issue at all — and they probably have a point. The ban has at least as much to do with Prime Minister Tony Blair wanting to display a token effort more in line with his party's leftist roots as it does tortured foxes. Taking on fox hunting harks back to the kind of class battle that the Old Labour party of the 1980s did not shy from, but which New Labour, looking forward to and around at the 21st century, tends to avoid. (The timing is revealing, too. Blair first promised that a ban on fox hunting would be in place before the 2001 general election. The idea, as "Newsnight's" Martha Kearney put it, "was brought back to restore morale after the war in Iraq.")

It's less of a simplification to cast the conflict in terms of "town vs. country," rather than class, but part of the reason the hunting community failed to prevent the ban was because its members didn't convince enough people that their beloved activity was anything more than a cruel bloodsport carried out by upper-class "toffs."

Not enough people cared about their "300 years of tradition," and pleas that "a way of life" would be ruined fell on equally deaf ears. People found their resolve and commitment unnerving, too. As members of Parliament voted on the bill last September, thousands of Countryside Alliance members protested outside Parliament in London, some clashing violently with police, and a handful managing to burst into the House of Commons, shouting, "This is not democracy — this is a denial of democracy!"

Reaction then was split between admiration for people fighting for what they believed in and disgust at a willingness to perpetuate a barbaric pastime. The Daily Mirror, never one to shirk from a bold headline, went with "TOFF WITH THEIR HEADS." Then, next to pictures of demonstrators with bloodied heads: "Now they know how the fox feels."

Many people on both sides of the argument have doubts the new law is truly enforceable. The League Against Cruel Sports has set up teams of monitors to document and record illegal activity. The police have decided upon a similar approach instead of direct confrontation, preferring to settle matters in the courts. But in many areas they're caught between a rock and a hard place: some officers have sympathy for the hunting community, or are members, and all face the prospect of criticism if too many resources are diverted away from tackling traditional crimes to chase new, spurious law-breakers who, a week ago, had been upstanding citizens.

With only a few weeks of this year's hunting season remaining, nearly all meets have agreed to push the law to its limits while remaining inside the rules. "We aim to show the law is an ass," one huntsman on horseback told a BBC news reporter. The cry following the bugle call is "Hunting is dead, long live hunting!"

It's an approach that's likely to inflame the impression that the hunting community regards itself above — or beyond — the law. It could also have consequences for the political climate surrounding the next general election — the pro-hunting lobby believes it has the clout to oust Blair — and perhaps even beyond: the ban's ping-pong route through Britain's constitution is likely to echo loudly when an equally contentious issue appears on the radar in the future.

Fourteen years passed between the 18th and 21st amendments to the US Constitution. Fox hunting is hardly as common as alcohol consumption, but it remains to be seen which will die first: the tradition or the law.

E-mail Louis Cooke at louis at mintcake dot com.