Another voice
Jopling and the badgers
Auberon Waugh
ice this summer, returning home late
Twice
night after going out to dinner, I have seen a badger caught in the car's headlights. On both occasions, the crea- ture remained in sight for over a minute, lumbering along on its short legs in some panic, momentarily deserted by that shrewdness which is one of its chief charac- teristics, along with perseverance and cour- age. In the 13 years since I took up permanent residence in Somerset, I do not suppose I have seen a badger more than six times. There are two inhabited badger setts on the property, and I suppose that to the extent to which badgers belong to anyone, these badgers might be said to belong to me, but I have never seen them. In Wiltshire, where we lived for seven years, I never saw one, and in Gloucestershire, where I spent most of my childhood, only one.
So rare have they become that no badger sighting can fail to make a profound impression. A passenger in the car on my last sighting later averred that it had made her happy for a week. There is something unforgettable and also quite frightening in the sight of these large creatures — they can weigh up to 50 pounds — so unlike any other wild animal which survives in Eng- land, lumbering around at night about their private business. They owe us nothing and do us no harm, except, very occa- sionally, to dig little holes in our lawns. The badger does not wish to know us. But it is impossible to be patronising to the badger, to pretend that it is sweet or cuddly. Although its white-striped face and stubby tail (which covers a stink gland of enormous power, used, apparently, for the purpose of attracting mates rather than repelling enemies) proclaim its general benignity, one would not be tempted to pat a badger on the head, as one might a puppy or a piccaninny. There is a certain inde- pendence about the badger which discour- ages such familiarity.
When roused to anger, of course, it is quite ferocious. I have never watched the ancient English sport of badger-baiting, where a badger in a barrel is set upon by a dog — it was outlawed as long ago as the 1850s — but I am told it is an unforgettable sight. Perhaps Simon Courtauld's exciting new Field will look into the prevalence of badger-baiting and give us some photo- graphs. Although it is obviously a cruel and perverse way to treat a badger, I do not see that it is quite so destructive of its dignity as trying to keep it for a pet. Badgers may have no particular claim on our sen- timentality, as a result of their appalling smell and farouche habits, but at least they merit our respect. As a species they have been living in England as long as humans have, even if our paths have seldom crossed.
There is all the difference in the world between choosing to torment a few of them as an expression of man's imperfect nature, and choosing to exterminate the species, as a statement of man's swinish belief that his own greed must take priority over every- thing. Since 1975, between 10,000 and 15,000 of these rare and mysterious crea- tures have been wiped out by the Ministry of Agriculture. The reason given was that badgers tend to harbour a form of tubercu- losis which, it was feared, might spread to cattle, although there was never any dan- ger of its spreading from cattle to humans, since pasteurisation of milk kills the bac- teria.
Originally, the badgers were gassed in their setts, but sufficient evidence accumu- lated to convince Mr Peter Walker, when Minister of Agriculture, that this process involved its victims in a painful and prot- racted death, rather than the quick end which had been promised by the Ministry's conceited and incompetent scientific advis- ers. He stopped the gassing, and since then badgers have been caught in traps before being destroyed. Afterwards, they are ex- amined in laboratories to see whether or not they were harbouring the dreaded bovine tuberculosis.
Recently there has been evidence that the Ministry's programme of badger des- truction has done nothing to halt the spread of bovine tuberculosis, and further evidence that some of the Ministry's traps are being used to catch badgers for the revived sport of badger-baiting. As a re- sult, Mr Jopling — the demon straw- burner — has announced yet another inquiry. Both these pieces of evidence, if true, may help the case against this geno- cidal programme, but they are so far removed from the main objection as to be laughable.
Personally, I am not even much moved by the thought of a badger suffering pain out of sight underground. Humans, too, are suffering pain all over the place, and
people are doing unspeakable things to each other in Matabeleland, Afghanistan and South Yorkshire, but if we spend all our time worrying about it we will merely be adding to the general misery. What astounds me about the whole matter is not even the brutal arrogance of farmers in assuming they have the right to extermin- ate such a rare and beautiful creature in its natural habitat. Badgers are not like rah - bits, which feed on human crops, or foxes, which take livestock, but I can see that farmers are trained to kill anything which threatens their prosperity even on the improbable and far-fetched evidence of Ministry scientists. However, farmers who support the Ministry's policy of extermi- nating badgers are probably wrong. They have allowed themselves to be talked into something which operates against their own interests and in favour of the Minis- try's. Regular checks are held on all dairy herds. Whenever TB is detected, the cow Is destroyed, and the farmer receives com- pensation. At a time when the government has imposed quotas on milk production, many farmers may find this the most convenient way of disposing of their sur- plus cattle, since prices are now extremely erratic and many farmers are producing more milk than they can sell. A plague of bovine tuberculosis is exactly what farmers need who are confronted with the problem of unsaleable cows and unsaleable milk. It would also prove a humane and painless way for the government to impose its policy of cutting down dairy herds. But even this misses the real point. The most startling thing about this policy of exterminating the badger is that any Minis- try can be so cut off from the rest of the country as to suppose it can get away with it. There are, I suppose, about 55 million people in this country of whom about five million care passionately about badgers. Some, if not most of them are silly, and practically none of them share my ow" fierce pride in being the patron and protec- tor of two badger setts. But almost the whole of contemporary morality, to the extent that there is a contemporary moral- ity, has swung behind the badger. Given the choice between more cows (never mind more unwanted milk) and saving the bad- ger, about 90 per cent of the population would opt for saving the badger. If ever Mr Jopling and his dim, snuffling advisers were to succeed in exterminating the badger entirely, they would find their names in every school history book of the future as among the greatest criminals of contemporary history. The ecological movement is something far, far bigger than a few extra gallons of unwanted milk. If ever Mrs Thatcher listened to my advice, should advise the foolish woman to stop worrying about the Belgrano which every- body agrees was well sunk and start wor- rying about these badgers. She may not be, aware of it, but she is about to be landed with the Crime of the Century.
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