Whilst surfing Farcebook, I came across this poetic view of the situation, that seems to summarise the emerging situation......
The New Clearance #2 by Iain Mackay
They come not now with fire and blade,
But dressed in green, with deals well made.
They speak of "rewilding", "climate goals",
Yet tear the heart from Highland souls.
No more the stalker tracks the hill,
His rifle cold, his bothy still.
The ghillie’s rod, the shepherd’s dog,
Lie idle in the creeping fog.
Peatlands fenced with steel and lies,
To sell the air to foreign skies.
Carbon stored and credits traded,
While lives and legacies are faded.
The red deer fall in bloody ranks,
Not for food, nor sport, nor thanks,
But culled like vermin, cast away,
So saplings might have room to sway.
No dance of hoof on ridge or scree,
Just silence now, for every tree.
A woodland rising, rich and green—
But bought by hands unseen, unclean.
The Danish tycoon, the Russian heir,
Buy glens like stocks with cold-eyed care.
They praise the wild, the noble land,
But never lift a working hand.
They do not speak the Gaelic tongue,
Nor know the songs our grandfolk sung.
Yet write the rules, and sign the lease,
And call it “progress,” “hope,” or “peace.”
The crofter’s roof caves in with rain,
The keeper’s track turns wild again.
The pub is shut, the school is bare—
What future grows when none live there?
They preach a “natural” rebirth,
But strip the land of rooted worth.
A hill is not a hill alone—
It's men and women, stone by stone.
This is no healing of the glen,
When land forgets the touch of men.
Greenwashed theft, a new disguise,
Of ancient grief in modern guise.
So mark this truth in storm and soil:
That land must live by native toil.
Let birch and beaver find their place—
But not at cost of the Highland race
