Subj: Where's the beef?

Date: Apr 11, 1998

Source: The Scotsman

Where's the beef?

New libertarian, local hero or irresponsible maverick?
Whether he likes it or not, Jim Sutherland's alleged beef-
on-the-bone dinner party has made him a freedom-fighter for
more than cattle farmers

Story by Eddie Gibb

On a raw Monday morning outside Selkirk Sheriff Court this
week, a crack legal team from Edinburgh was assembled for
the case of the Prosecutor Fiscal vs Sutherland. The accused
told a huddle of news reporters what he thought the case was
really about - the right to sup decent broth. "Soup made
from beef stock is part of our heritage and the Government
has taken it away from us," he said with a wry smile, before
ushering his three children inside the court building.

Jim Sutherland is the first person to be charged under the
Beef Bones Regulations which were introduced at the tail-end
of last year after Government scientists traced BSE to the
spinal cords of cattle. Under these regulations, which came
into force in December, all beef has to be de-boned before
it can be sold to customers or served in restaurants. That
means no more T-bone steaks or, to Sutherland's dismay, ox-
tail soup.

Most of us have probably been to criminally bad dinner
parties, though as a rule the host is not threatened with
six months in prison or a UKP5,000 fine. But that's exactly
what has happened to Sutherland, a Borders farmer and
hotelier. He is the alleged host of an alleged dinner party
on 22 December at which beef on the bone was allegedly
served. Allegedly.

The fact that Sutherland, 44, is both a farmer and hotel
owner is important. He lives on a 1,450-acre stock farm near
Lauder, where 140 beef cattle are reared annually. He also
owns a nearby country hotel called The Lodge in Carfraemill,
which his wife runs. These interests mean that Sutherland
has a big stake in both the production and supply of beef.

An out-sized cheque pinned to the wall in the hotel bar is
made out to the Marie Curie cancer research fund from the
"Borders Beef on the Boners". It is clear where Jim
Sutherland's sympathies lie. If the legal arguments are
beyond the layman, the basic point of the case is not.
"Eating beef on the bone is not a major freedom, but as a
principle it's worth fighting for," he said a couple of days
before the hearing began in Selkirk.

It's probably fair to asume that Sheriff James Paterson, a
ruddy-faced man who looks as if he may well have enjoyed the
odd meal of prime Scotch beef in his time, does not usually
spend his working days hearing challenges to the law of the
land. This week he did just that. The Procurator Fiscal vs
Sutherland was always going to make legal history as the
first prosecution under the Beef Bones Regulations. But
Sutherland's lawyers took the highly unusual step of
challenging the very basis of the regulations, rather than
simply defending their client.

For the first two days of this hearing - which in Scots law
goes by the culinary-sounding name of a "special diet" - a
sharp young advocate called Michael Upton outlined the
defence case. The fact that counsel was even retained to
appear in a sheriff court demonstrates just how unusual this
case was.

The legal arguments are complex, but the defence's attack on
the legislation is based on the fact that the risk of
contracting CJD from an infected cow in 1998 is, according
to the Government's own figures, something like a billion to
one. Upton argued that the Beef Bones Regulations are
"manifestly absurd". The court also heard that the health
minister, Baroness Jay, told the House of Lords that the
regulations were introduced in part to persuade the EC to
lift the blanket export ban on British beef. Sutherland's
counsel claimed this was an "improper" use of food safety
legislation intended to protect consumers, not assist meat
producers.

As David Kidd of Biggart Bailiie, Sutherland's solicitors,
stated before the case opened: "This hearing is our
opportunity to convince the Sheriff that, technically and
procedurally, the Government was irrational and incompetent
in creating this law." In effect this is an attack on
Parliament's will, which would be big news in any court, let
alone the Sheriff Court in Selkirk.

Whether he intended to or not, Sutherland is in serious
danger of becoming a local hero. At the preliminary hearing
in March when the Sheriff gave permission for the
regulations to be challenged, well over a hundred people
showed up to offer their support in a case which can be
characterised as The Little Man Takes On Big Government. If
Sutherland wins he wins, if he loses he also wins by
becoming a martyr. The Government, meanwhile, seems to be in
a no-win situation. For any lobby groups with anti-
government inclinations, this makes him an attractive horse
on which to hitch their cart.

Beyond the Borders farming community, Sutherland has also
received from people who believe that the Beef Bones
Regulations represent an infringement of personal liberty. A
contract caterer called Charles Boyd, who organises banquets
at the 1,000-year-old Butchers Hall in the City of London,
has formed the Backbone Party, to oppose the regulations. In
February, the Backbone Party organised a Bone of Contention
Dinner for 150 defiant carnivores but no charges were
brought against the organisers.

"I'm focusing my attention on Jim Sutherland because he's
our best option," says Boyd. "It's quite hard to remember
the last Labour government but from what I remember it was
more civil servants and more laws, and that culture seems to
be coming back."

There are those who believe that Tony Blair's election in
May marked the return of what Margaret Thatcher sneeringly
called "the Nanny State". So has the election of New Labour
sparked off the rise of New Libertarianism?

"People who think they can get their way by talking quietly
to the Government will talk quietly," says Professor Bill
Miller, an expert in public opinion at Glasgow University.
"You talk noisily when you don't have the ear of government.
It must be quite a shock for people who have got used to two
decades of sympathetic Thatcherism. The research I have done
suggests that libertarian feelings are quite closely
associated with being in opposition."

If true, this would account for the rise during the late
Eighties of so-called "single issue politics", such as anti-
road and anti-nuclear campaigns, at a time when the prospect
of a Labour government being elected seemed remote. Though
not involved in mainstream politics, these groups tended to
be left-leaning. Since 1 May last year, we are increasingly
hearing the ringing tones of single-issue campaigners whose
natural sympathies are not on the political left. You can
tell that because they do not have matted dreadlocks or dogs
on bits of string - a sure sign of latent Establishment
tendencies.

What is also becoming apparent is that a centrist government
which does not fit neatly into the traditional left-wing
antagonism, conventional right-wing opposition may be less
able to land its punches. A survey of young Conservatives,
conducted several months before the election, indicated a
strong move away from old-style Tory paternalism towards a
liberal attitude to individual lifestyles. "The young are
more anarchic - not in a bottle-throwing sense but in their
distrust of big government," said Dr Tim Evans, who
conducted the survey.

But the New Libertarians are not confined to the young Turks
of the Right. Last month's pro-hunting Countryside March was
an obvious example of grass-roots libertarianism, which
embraced anyone who looked comfortable in a Barbour jacket.
You can still here a faint echo of their rallying cry: "What
do we want?" "Sherry served in stirrup cups!" "When do we
want it?" "For the next 500 years!"

Crying foul at the threat to age-old traditions may be one
way of showing conservative siddent to Blair's modernising
zeal in a way that Tory opposition has so far been unable to
do.

"There is a sort of libertarian backlash," acknowledges Dr
Eamonn Butler, director of the Adam Smith Institute, the
think-tank which provided much of the intellectual ballast
for the Thatcher privatisation project. "This government
does have a bit of a nannying tendancy and the beef-on-the-
bone ban is a prime example. In Britain generally, we've
accepted what authorities force on us for so long and now we
are saying, 'stuff off', which I think is a healthy trend.
It makes people realise there is a limit to [the
Government's] power."

Since he was charged, Sutherland has had people trying to
drape this anti-government mantle on him. "Now the right-of-
centre people feel marginalised and they are looking for
ways to make their point because they're not able to do it
in parliament," he says. "But I don't think this [court
case] is a right-wing or a left-wing issue, it's all about
freedom and I think if you're a left-winger or a right-
winger you cherish the freedoms we have in this country.
This particular measure smacks a little bit of
totalitarianism in my view, because it is not rational."

Sutherland says he has been approached by a number of people
representing "political movements", which he declines to
name. He also refuses to declare his own political
allegiance, but says he has voted for more than one party at
general elections. The Borders is traditionally a Liberal
stronghold, and he describes his political views as "middle-
of-the-road", in favour of a higher top-rate of tax,
basically pro-European, big on personal freedoms. Sutherland
says he has never joined a political party or been
politically active, but admits to having been a Poll Tax
refusenik.

"I didn't pay my Poll Tax for two years and I'm very proud
of that," he says. "I paid my Poll Tax the morning after
Michael Heseltine stood up in the House of Commons and
announced it was going to be abolished. I had refused to pay
it for two years because I thought it was wrong, an
iniquitous tax. I didn't protest at all but I got
threatening letters and resolutely refused to pay. That was
a mini-rebellion, my only principled dissent that I'm aware
of."

Until now.

"Well, I don't see this as a principled dissent. I am in the
position of defending myself because I've been charged with
an alleged offence. Prior to that charge I had very strong
views on the rationality of the Beef Bones Regulations.

"I feel so strongly about it because of my farming
connections and I feel it was a completely unnecessary ban.
I had farmers coming in here [to the hotel], and they were
really down about it. They felt thay had done their best and
struggled through, they were just blooming depressed, and I
get worried about people who are depressed, particularly
farmers. Farmers are much more prone to suicide than other
people and it seemed to me there was much more likelihood of
somebody killing themselves because of this [ban] than dying
of CJD."

Sutherland, the eldest of three sons, is the third
generation of his family to occupy Hillhouse Farm. He says
he always wanted to be a farmer, though his father has tried
to discourage him because of the precarious nature of the
business. "I was determined to farm, and he eventually gave
in," says Sutherland. After taking an honours degree in
agriculture at Edinburgh University, he went north to the
Black Isle, where he met his wife. Ten years ago he returned
with his family to Hillhouse, which had been run part-time
by his brothers - both doctors - since their father died in
1977. Why did he return?

"Sentiment," he says. "It's as good a reason as any. Farms
tend to run in families and I've always felt that this was
my home."

His father was mechanically minded and was forever pottering
in his workshop in one of the farm outbuildings, designing
agricultural machines. According to Sutherland, his father's
flair as an inventor was matched only by an inabililty to
capitalise on his ideas; he sold one gizmo to Massey
Ferguson for what in corporate terms was small change.
Sutherland has inherited this urge to tinker with machinery,
but has managed to turn that urge into a flourishing
engineering business which now employs 11 people. The
company holds patent for one of Sutherland's designs, which
assists farmers in their battle against the pesky rabbit.

Sutherland loves the rural life, but without the townie
nostalgia that simply wants the old ways preserved for the
benefit of Sunday walks in the country. As an avid reader of
'New Scientist', he has a keen interest in science and
technology - progress, if you like - but finds himself in
court defending the traditional beef joint. He admits to
being sentimental about the family farm, but hasn't allowed
sentiment to get in the way of business. According to the
dictionary, the word "maverick" is, rather appropriately,
taken from the name of an eccentric 19th-century Texan
cattle rancher. Now it has come to mean "independently
minded", which pretty much describes Jim Sutherland.

Though he maintains that he does not want the job, the beef
farming lobby has found a very able and articulate
spokesman. Sutherland is savvy enough to avoid having his
name linked to any political cause, other than the Beef
Bones Regulations, and is measured in his comments about the
Government. "In my position I don't want to say why I think
Dr [Jack] Cunningham brought in the Beef Bones Regulations,"
he says. "I would rather not comment on what I personally
think of his motives."

Sutherland is cautious partly for legal reasons but also
partly, I suspect, because he is aware that the civil
liberties angle could attract support from people with whom
he has no natural sympathy. For instance, FOREST - the
Freedom Organisation for the Right to Enjoy Smoking Tobacco
- suggested that he may be cut from the same cloth as Peter
Boddington, the die-hard puffer who argued - unsuccessfully
- for his right to smoke on commuter trains all the way up
the legal ladder to Lord Irvine.

"Because this government deems to be rather more
paternalistic than the last one it will encourage people to
be more pro-choice," says FOREST campaigns manager, Juliet
Wallbridge. "The beef-on-the-bone ban may be the last straw
that broke the camel's back."

There are similarities, and the Boddington case was referred
to in the Selkirk hearing. FOREST and Jim Sutherland are
both arguing that while their lifestyle choice has certain
health risks attached - albeit to a very different degree -
they should be free to make that choice themselves. But
Sutherland isn't impressed by any attempt to make common
cause. "Legislation on smoking has not gone far enough," he
says bluntly.

On the other hand, he opposes the Government ban on blood
sports which he regards as a legitimate countryside
tradition. "Although I have no great love of it myself, I
respect people's right to fox-hunt," he says. So could
Sutherland be described as a New Libertarian?

"In certain respects," he answers carefully. "I'm a funny
mixture in terms of politics, I'm neither one way or the
other. Political organisations would like me to be with
them, it's quite interesting. We are very pleased to have
their support, but the support which gives me the most
satisfaction is from the individual citizens of this country
who write me letters and send me UKP20 notes to help me with
my defence bill. They have no axe to grind other than to
feel their freedoms have been restricted. People do not like
to think we are heading towards a Nanny State, there's no
doubt about that."

The right to eat beef on the bone may be a small personal
freedom, but its withdrawal has been exercising some
expensive legal brains in Scotland. The hearing was wound up
on Thursday. Sheriff Paterson will be spending Easter
reviewing the legal arguments aired in his court this week,
before delivering his judgement. But shortly before
adjourning for lunch on the third day of the hearing, he
said with an air of resignation: "Obviously this case,
whatever I do, will go to the High Court, if not the
European Court."