After I moved from Hong Kong to London in 2017 to pursue research on language and social inequality, I was soon exploring the British countryside. On my first trip, to the Seven Sisters cliffs [on the East Sussex coast], I remember being as excited as I was nervous. I was blown away (almost literally!) by the panoramic view of the white cliffs and English Channel in the gustiest conditions I had ever experienced, while cautiously navigating the unfamiliar trail.  

Now, 2025 marks my eighth year of venturing into the British countryside. The Lake District has become a favourite summer destination, especially walking around Windermere, enjoying the tranquillity of its turquoise waters. While I’ve become reasonably confident reading footpath signs and symbols, navigating has never been an entirely carefree experience for me. I sometimes doubt whether I’m allowed to walk on a path, even after triple-checking access rights!  

My uncertainties as a migrant walking in rural landscapes are reinforced by occasional less-than-welcoming encounters. I’ve been reminded of the Countryside Code – ‘take your rubbish with you’ – while resting with friends near Keswick. (We were just drinking water from reusable bottles; no other nearby hikers received the same reminder.) I’ve been told ‘we queue in this country’ when already in a bus-stop queue. I’ve been asked to chat with my friends in English because ‘we are in the UK’.  

As a sociolinguist with an interest in issues of race and racism, I sometimes question whether I’m being overly sensitive. After all, I’ve never come across any overtly rude behaviour. No one has called me names or told me I don’t belong in the countryside.  

Yet I know these interactions weren’t merely kind reminders. Singling someone out to give advice to based on their (perceived) race constitutes racism. It may not overtly denigrate minoritised individuals as biologically inferior, but it designates them an ‘out-group’ who must adapt their different – often deemed deficient – culture. Being polite doesn’t make a racist incident less serious, and polite racism remains a barrier to an inclusive countryside.  

In October 2023, I joined the Rural Racism Research Team at the University of Leicester for a year, to examine the nature and impact of racism in the English countryside. A major finding is how everyday racism experienced by minority ethnic people is disregarded. The question: ‘How is it racist?’ comes up time and again. Personal accounts of racist encounters are seen as trivial. There’s a tendency to dismiss even indisputable examples as anecdotal and to demand ‘real evidence’ (as if statistics could demonstrate a large enough pool of minoritised people enduring serious enough suffering).  

This reflects a traditional and obsolete understanding of racism, rooted in segregation and exclusion. The prevailing logic goes: since anyone can theoretically enter green spaces, there is no literal exclusion – therefore, rural racism does not exist. 

I often wonder whether I should voice my discomfort. Responding to ‘polite reminders’ with a simple ‘thank you’ is easier. Yet, as a researcher, I feel obliged to share evidence of racism and how minority ethnic people can be marginalised in mundane and ostensibly respectable ways.  

For a more inclusive countryside, we need a renewed and up-to-date understanding, recognising that racism can be subtly expressed, enacted and reinforced in everyday conversations. Yes, we must condemn overtly racist expressions and abusive conduct. But we must also challenge seemingly innocent attempts to categorise minoritised individuals as not belonging and to correct their ‘different’ behaviour – grounded in perceptions of their inherent inferiority.  

Encouragingly, I’ve also encountered more inclusive attitudes in the countryside. Last summer, while with friends at a pub in Goring, West Sussex, a young couple at the next table started chatting with us. We felt at ease throughout the conversation because they didn’t make any assumptions about us (there was no: ‘Where are you from?’). One way forward is stopping ourselves from making preconceptions.  

I’m no longer going to worry about being criticised for ‘looking too hard’ for racism. The next time I feel uneasy in the countryside, I’ll try to acknowledge my feelings and address the cause – whether that means calling out inappropriate expressions or actions, or simply expressing how I feel. It isn’t always easy, but none of us should ever feel out of place in the countryside.