I have finally heard the language of nature (spoiler alert: it is legalese)

In which Hari discusses rabbits, moments of national importance, and old men ruining her dreams

Our allotment last winter - Photo Credit: Tom Allen

I am preparing to stage a protest. The system is failing me. The men on the allotment I have a plot on are themselves plotting to rid the community of a family of rabbits that have taken up residence. I was very excited when I heard about our new guests. What a treat. I have long believed that allotments, if used properly, are one of the greatest opportunities to increase biodiversity in the UK, so hearing that a little group of incomers had decided to come and make use of the space cheered this world-weary and life-beaten woman no end.

I was then informed that rabbits are considered pests according to the 1954 Pest Act. Any landowners who see them are legally obliged to get rid of them to prevent them from eating other landowners’ crops. There have been plans flying around to do so: perhaps we should catch them in a trap and get rid of them that way. It is legal to shoot them if they are on your land, so next time they veer onto the right plot, they can just blast them with an air rifle. The softest suggestion offered has been to catch them with a view to breeding and eating them. A family of small mammals that has sought a haven from the cruel, empty lack of the modern world.

I do not want them to be caught in traps or shot with an air gun or fattened up and eaten. I don’t care that they are considered pests. They have existed in Britain for over 2000 years, and if that’s long enough for the whole Jesus thing to stick, that’s long enough for me to believe that they should have right to remain. That law was created when food was a precious resource and personal vegetable growing was essential to maintain personal health and nutrition. It is far more important, from what I can see, to create accommodation for the non-human world now. We take up enough space already. The benefits of local growing aside for a minute, if you’re that worried about having carrots for dinner, get to Tesco, you feral whelps.

Readers, I only have an hour a day outside. I have a nervous disposition. As you can see, these plans disturb my peace. I am not an environmental lawyer and probably cannot prevent the death of our family of rabbits, even though I love them, because their destruction is written up in law. Far be it from me to pervert the course of the law. But, hypothetically, if I were to do something about it – which I won’t because that is against the law – I would have a plan, and I could lay out what that plan would look like for you now.

In the late 1950s, parliamentary approval was given for the Tryweryn Valley in North Wales to be flooded as part of a plan to secure water for Liverpool City. For those of you who are not from the UK, Liverpool is in England and North Wales is in Wales. They are separate countries. This was quite a big deal. Liverpool council ignored requests for a justification of the decision, no legal action stuck, and no protests made a difference. In 1965, the valley was flooded and the villages there (and, unfortunately, any wildlife that could not move quickly enough) were destroyed.

The depressing reality seems to be that, when faced with environmental crises, legal action does not stick. Silence is a powerful tool. In the case of Tryweryn, Liverpool City Council’s act was passed privately, meaning that it was not announced to the public until it had gone to parliament. As the act was already passed, no legal action at the time could counter-act it. The council did not bother trying to justify their decision to destroy communities and wildlife in another country. They simply stayed stoic and waited out the 8-year storm.

In the situation we are facing, if we were to pervert the natural course of the law (which of course we aren’t doing), we would first prevent the men on the allotment from silently and steadily moving towards genocidal action. We must first enquire. ‘Are you certain, Martin, that it is not necessary to attempt to put rabbit-proof fencing around the area in which they are living? I feel it’s important to check our legal requirements as a community organisation.’ It is, of course, not, but Martin would have to go and look it up and tell others that he is going to look it up and not to do anything until he looked it up, which would protract their sweet bunny lives ahead of our next move.

Last week I saw the Royal Shakespeare Company’s incredible production of Kyoto by Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson. The show follows Don Pearlman, a US lawyer who headed ‘The Climate Council’, an NGO set up the late 1980s to prevent the progress of climate anxiety-led action that had the potential to harm business interests associated with oil and gas. It takes us through his rise in influence, his efforts to scupper the climate agreement at COP3, and the tactics he used to scupper discussions, break down relations between nations and delay commitment to environmental action.

Don: Disagreement, it’s like striking oil. An hour becomes a day. A day becomes a week. And before you know it, the heatwave has passed, the talks are over, and the only thing agreed is –

Bolin: Two. There will be two working groups.

So much of Pearlman’s preventative action was not about challenging huge legal ideas or vocally advocating on behalf of parties with a vested interest – he was often not speaking at all. It was simply nitpicking. Getting representatives to quibble over small details, to question proceedings, to walk away from discussions. By slowing down the process, and wearing down the people involved, he managed to prevent a huge amount of progress in the climate agreement proceedings. Legally savvy individuals are still using his tactics to delay climate action – his legacy is long-lasting and sour.

But if they can do it, surely so can we. So, the next step would be (if we were perverting the natural course of the law, which we are not) to quibble. ‘An authorised person is supposed to shoot the rabbits, Martin. Who is an authorised person in this community? What constitutes an authorised person?’ ‘If it’s the landowner, surely the council should take care of the rabbits? Yes, I know it’s the responsibility of the occupant according to Natural England but we’re not in England, Martin.’ ‘I request that we don’t do anything with them until we’re absolutely certain of the responsibilities that come with having a Green Flag on the allotment, Martin, we don’t want it revoked.’ And you ask, and you ask, and you ask. Or of course you would, if you were looking to undermine the law, which of course we are not.

Then we would get to a sticking point. What would we do next?

 We could then, of course, approach institutions to support us, but they probably won’t. We are still not environmental lawyers or policy makers, so we wouldn’t be able to change any rules or request any be changed. There is no one who would rise with us. Momentum would be lost. We would come to a dead end, and once all the questions were answered, the rabbits would be destroyed. My dreams of an idyllic, biodiverse, safe space for all animals would be over. Because of course, they are pests under the law. I’m certain they do much more harm than we do. I apologise if this reads as running out of steam but, under the processes that currently exist, the bid to protect nature almost always does just that. Net Zero gets delayed. There’s not enough infrastructure to invest in x or y. We just have to put up with z for a bit longer.

After Cwm Tryweryn was drowned, this mural was put up. ‘Cofwich Dryweryn’ – ‘Remember Tryweryn’. It became a sign of resistance and hope for the Welsh people. It’s been copied in numerous places across the country, including on the wall outside my old comprehensive school, nearly 100 miles away. It, itself, has been restored and added to multiple times. It was a sign that we would have to submit, but we would never forget.

Cofiwch Dryweryn Mural - Photo credit: Lucy Thomas/Alamy

A replica - Photo credit: Elin Davies

Every act against nature that I witness, I recognise I must submit to. I don’t forget them, though. And, if this precious family are to be turned into the gamey version of bacon, I don’t feel that anyone else on the plot should either.

‘Cofiwch y cwningod’ – remember the rabbits.

I’ll make a little sign. I’ll put it up outside the office. When they ask me to move it, I’ll put it on my plot. It is my land, after all, for the period in which I pay my fees. And then, if something like this happens again, I’ll make another, and another, and another. And they will know that I remember. And it won’t mean anything, but perhaps someone else will see it and they will remember, and they will speak to someone else who remembers, and they will care. And they will know who to speak to in order make someone else care. And next time a little family of rabbits come to ask for protection from a world that is unkind and unfairly stacked against them, we will know the right things to say – not just to prolong – but to protect their little lives.

Cofiwch y byd, my friends. When you’re out for your Berrow-mandated hour in nature tomorrow, remember the world.