We all belong to the land, the land doesn't belong to us.
For centuries, the English countryside has been divided not only by hedgerows and fences but by law — a law that reserves 92 percent of the land for private hands and leaves the public to walk single-file along designated paths. A new documentary, arriving as a movement for Scottish-style access rights gains visible force, asks whether this arrangement reflects a settled social contract or simply an old power structure that has never been seriously questioned. The answer, for a growing number of campaigners, walkers, and ordinary people who felt something shift after the Dartmoor protests, is the latter.
- England's 8% public land access figure has become a rallying cry, crystallising a sense that the countryside belongs to everyone in feeling but to very few in law.
- The Dartmoor wild camping ruling cracked something open — the backlash was swift, the protests were mass, and the supreme court's reversal gave campaigners a rare taste of momentum.
- Civil disobedience walks onto private land, a new documentary, and the moral weight of Scotland's 2003 Land Reform Act are all being deployed to force a conversation the government has so far declined to have.
- Landowners are divided — some point to Scotland as proof that access and stewardship can coexist, while others fear liability, ignorance, and the erosion of a rural way of life they feel the public does not understand.
- The government is offering river walks and coastal paths; campaigners are asking for a legal right — and the distance between those two positions defines where the movement now stands.
In England, the public has the legal right to walk on just 8 percent of the land. The rest — forests, meadows, riverbanks — is privately held, and a new documentary called Our Land, directed by Orban Wallace, argues that this is neither inevitable nor just.
The film draws its title from Woody Guthrie and its spirit from the 1932 Kinder Scout mass trespass, when hundreds walked deliberately onto private moorland to assert a claim on the landscape. Now, five years into a modern revival of the right to roam movement, Wallace follows campaigners leading groups onto private land in acts of civil disobedience, and interviews both activists and landowners in an attempt to open a conversation he believes the country has never properly had.
The movement's recent turning point came on Dartmoor, where a high court ruling allowed landowners to evict wild campers from their estate. The public reaction was fierce — mass protests erupted, legal challenges followed, and the supreme court eventually overturned the decision. Campaigner Nick Hayes described it as a rupture: a seam of energy that had been building for years, finally breaking the surface.
What campaigners want is a Scottish-style law. Scotland's 2003 Land Reform Act grants a legal right to walk, cycle, and camp on most land, provided people act responsibly. Scottish landowner John Grant appears in the film to demonstrate that the arrangement works — that access and care for the land tend to go together. But Devon landowner Francis Fulford represents a different view, worried about public ignorance of rural life and the costs of opening his estate.
Farmers raise practical concerns about gates, livestock, and dogs. Campaigner Nadia Shaikh acknowledges the gap but argues it can be closed through education — that disconnection from the land is itself the problem, not a reason to maintain it. Guy Shrubsole notes that the last meaningful expansion of access rights came in 2000, and that in the intervening decades, 1 percent of landowners have continued to hold 50 percent of England.
The government has declined to adopt the Scottish model, pointing instead to new coastal and river routes. For the movement, these are paths when what is needed is a right. Our Land opens on May 8, hoping to do what its subjects have been attempting for years: make space for a conversation that keeps being deferred.
In England, the public can walk freely on just 8 percent of the land. The other 92 percent—forests, meadows, rivers, the countryside itself—belongs to someone else, and that someone else can decide who gets to see it. A new documentary called Our Land, directed by Orban Wallace and arriving in cinemas this month, argues that this arrangement is neither inevitable nor just, and that a growing movement of campaigners and ordinary people are beginning to say so out loud.
The film takes its title from Woody Guthrie's protest song and its inspiration from a moment in 1932 when hundreds of people walked across Kinder Scout in the Peak District, trespassing deliberately, to assert a claim on the landscape. That mass trespass shifted something in the public mind. Now, five years into a modern revival of the right to roam movement, Wallace and his subjects are trying to shift it again. The documentary follows campaigners as they lead groups of people onto private land in acts of civil disobedience, and it interviews both the activists and the landowners themselves—from Devon to Scotland—in an attempt to bridge a conversation that barely exists. "I hope this film will be a deep listening exercise for the country," Wallace said, "and start an informed conversation. No one is having that discussion at the moment, people are on opposing sides."
The turning point came two years ago on Dartmoor. Landowners won a high court ruling that allowed them to remove wild campers from their 1,600-hectare estate on the southern part of the moor. The decision provoked something unexpected: fury. Mass protest rallies erupted. Legal action followed, and the supreme court overturned the ruling. Nick Hayes, author of The Book of Trespass and a leading campaigner, described the moment as a rupture. "When Dartmoor happened it unleashed this seam of energy that has been building in England," he said. "It is impossible to withstand. It has its own momentum now." What campaigners want is straightforward: a Scottish-style rights of access law that would allow ordinary people to responsibly enjoy nature on private land. Scotland established such a law in 2003, the Land Reform Act, which created a legal right to walk, cycle, and camp on most land and inland water. Sweden and Norway have similar frameworks. The principle is that people can roam freely as long as they do so responsibly.
The documentary features John Grant, a Scottish peer and landowner, driving around his own estate and pointing out where the public can camp, cycle, and kayak. "Everyone, whatever their age or ability, has access rights under the 2003 act," he said, "but you only have rights if you exercise them responsibly. We have found that people then really do care for the land. We all belong to the land, the land doesn't belong to us." Not all landowners in the film share this view. Francis Fulford, who owns a 1,200-hectare estate in Devon, says he would only open his private woodland walks to people who pay for the privilege. He worries about the cost of making his entire estate safe for the public, whom he describes as "completely ignorant, most of them, of rural ways of life."
Farmers have raised practical concerns: gates left open by visitors can endanger livestock, and crops can be damaged by people and dogs unfamiliar with how the countryside works. But Nadia Shaikh, a naturalist and campaigner who has moved to Scotland, argues that access itself teaches responsibility. "If you are going to cut people from the landscape for hundreds of years there is going to be some deep learning to do," she said. "But it's not impossible that the English public can learn to, for example, shut gates, if we invest in some education." Guy Shrubsole, an author and land activist, points out that the last major expansion of access rights came in 2000 under the last Labour government. Since then, nothing. Meanwhile, 1 percent of landowners still own 50 percent of England.
The government has signaled it will not simply adopt the Scottish model, citing differences in land use, population density, and ownership patterns. Instead, it is pursuing what it calls increased access: nine new national river walks, a designated Coast to Coast route in the north, and the King Charles III England coast path, which stretches 2,700 miles. For campaigners, these gestures are insufficient. They are asking for something more fundamental: a legal right to roam, not a series of designated paths. Our Land opens in cinemas on May 8, and Wallace hopes it will do what the movement itself has been trying to do—create space for a conversation that the country has not yet had.
Notable Quotes
When Dartmoor happened it unleashed this seam of energy that has been building in England. It is impossible to withstand. It has its own momentum now.— Nick Hayes, author and right to roam campaigner
If you are going to cut people from the landscape for hundreds of years there is going to be some deep learning to do. But it's not impossible that the English public can learn to shut gates if we invest in some education.— Nadia Shaikh, naturalist and campaigner
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter that only 8 percent of English land is accessible to the public? Isn't there enough countryside to walk in already?
Because access isn't about quantity—it's about freedom. You can walk on designated paths, sure, but you can't sit by a river unless someone permits it. You can't camp in a forest. You can't choose your own route. In Scotland, you can. The difference is legal, but it's also psychological. It tells you whether you belong to the landscape or whether the landscape belongs to someone else.
The Dartmoor case seems to have been the spark. What made that moment different from other land disputes?
It was visible and it was personal. People were camping on a moor—not trespassing in some abstract sense, but actually using the land the way humans have for centuries. When landowners tried to remove them, it felt like an eviction from something that should be shared. The supreme court's reversal gave people proof that they could win.
But the landowners have a point about safety and damage, don't they? If you open up 92 percent of England, won't there be chaos?
Scotland has been doing this for 23 years. They haven't had chaos. What they've found is that when people have legal access, they tend to care for the land. They shut gates. They don't leave fires. It's different from trespassing, which feels transgressive. Legal access feels like belonging.
So education is the answer?
Education is part of it. But so is time. You can't expect people to understand rural life if they've been locked out of the countryside their whole lives. The learning has to go both ways—the public learns responsibility, and landowners learn that sharing doesn't mean losing control.
What does the government actually want to do?
They want to manage the problem without solving it. New river walks, designated paths, a coast path. All good things, but they don't change the fundamental fact: 92 percent of England is still off-limits. The government says Scotland's model won't work here because of population density and ownership patterns. But that's an argument for why it's harder, not why it's impossible.