Bog Myrtle & Peat

I feel for the people who are setting up the counter-campaign against a National Park in Galloway. They’re appalled by the idea of designation, but they’re on the back foot with no clear infrastructure or support to lean upon. It’s hard to oppose something which hasn’t been clearly defined, and these people are up against a small but strategically well-informed minority who have been sharpening this particular blade for several years. The Parkers understand how designation works, and they’ve got a decent handle on which levers to pull. Against them, the No-Parkers are trying to scramble a defence against an ill-defined threat in a matter of weeks.

If it turns out that most people oppose a National Park in Galloway, there’s a concern that the case will be judged on which side can mobilise the better argument. At the moment, the clearer argument lies in favour of designation – not because it is actually better, but because it’s being articulated cleverly. The Parkers have particular strength in the fact they aren’t able to say exactly what designation would mean. They can offer lots of ambitious and exciting new ideas, but it’s for the Scottish Government to decide what a Park would be able to do. In that sense, Parkers can talk about what a National Park could be like, but they have no control over what it would be like.

Meeting criticism with the argument that “a National Park can be whatever you want it to be”, Parkers are able to absorb and blunt a lot of negative energy around the idea. They can cast their argument as “we want things to be better” without actually explaining the reality of how any future Park will work. And by comparison, the No-Parkers are forced to occupy territory which looks uncomfortably like “we don’t want things to get better”. Change is always more exciting and attractive than stasis, but the current dynamic doesn’t feel fair. Perhaps everybody would agree that Galloway needs help – the question is simply whether or not a National Park is the solution. 

And all the while, it’s still not obvious if the forthcoming consultation will actually count for anything anyway. If it turns out that we’re facing a presumption of designation, the actions of ten or fifteen highly organised people have already carried the day. Working out from that tiny assemblage, the Parkers have built a sufficient quorum of people and businesses to make a mark – even if that’s only a tiny percentage of local people. And all the while, the No-Parkers have been quietly hoping the whole thing will go away.

I’m trying to be a dispassionate observer here. I can see arguments both for and against a National Park in Galloway, but I do want the decision to be based on a fair and reasonable exchange. To that end, the farmers who were roused to such fury by the first announcements were at risk of doing themselves some harm. For a time, it looked like the No-Parkers were all farmers and landowners, and that would have doomed them to failure. I wonder if farmers sometimes have an over-inflated sense of the public’s goodwill towards agriculture and land ownership. As a farmer from a farming family and writing this in a farmhouse in the midst of farmland, that’s not easy to write – but as farming has been squeezed around the fringes over the last twenty years, farmers have sometimes showed up with an oddly sanctimonious sneer on their faces. It’s borne of independence and resilience, but it doesn’t carry well in the face of changing public opinion. With breath-taking hubris, some farmers still describe themselves as “Custodians of the Countryside” – an expression of self-importance which seems calculated to inflame and upset certain urban demographics.

There’s no such thing as “a typical farmer”, but I frequently squirm with embarrassment at online TV shows like Grassmen which place a clumsy emphasis on productivity, shiny machines and the sense that harvesting is somehow a way of battering nature into submission. The show’s slogan is No Farmers, No Food, No Future – and it’s prominently displayed on T-shirts, hoodies and schoolbags across Galloway. The slogan sets an oddly confrontational tone which seems to have given up on conversation and exchange – it might as well read “we don’t care if you hate us – you need us”. It can look horribly ugly and arrogant, and when it’s plastered on the back of a brand new range rover with personalised numberplates, it starts to feel downright uncomfortable in rural communities where jobs and cash are few and far between.

The reality is that farmers vary, and while most are great, many simply aren’t. Farmers surely must acknowledge that lots of people actually hate them, not least for what’s happened to our farmland wildlife and biodiversity over the past twenty years. If a vote for the Park is presented as an opportunity to kick a farmer, some people will take that route.

And all the while, modern agriculture has been training farmers into a fine state of personal and professional independence. My neighbours all run one-man-band operations, and every one does everything for himself. They’re not used to being part of a team – they’re busy and tired and sometimes outrageously self-important. On top of all this, many are not even very well-engaged with their local communities. Remember that I am a farmer and that I love my farming friends and neighbours very dearly – they’re an important piece of the puzzle – but they will never win the day if they deploy an agricultural approach. Here’s the hardest part of the whole conversation – because it remains to be seen how a coherent, passionate counter-movement can be mobilised to resist designation to a level which not only matches but demonstrably overwhelms the well-organised strategy of those who want it. If the Parker campaign is going to be opposed and resisted, it cannot fall to one group alone to lead the fight. It has to be a collaboration of many local people from a range of different backgrounds. And yet thanks to the “No Farmers, No Food, No Future” approach, farmers are often uniquely difficult to work with as part of a wider group of stakeholders. 

Of course the farmer’s irony is that most of them moan about their work and they often don’t like it. They’re lonely and stressed and tired, spending more time at their desks than they ever spend outdoors. They could do with a change more than anybody – a human being would never design farming as it is today. It’s the combination of market forces and tightened margins which has largely chased the fun out of this work and left many without any sons or daughters willing to take it forward. I love my farm and my animals, but it’s hard and lonely work against a thousand easier options. A National Park could be a great way to diversify income by engaging with conservation funding and working towards agri-environmental futures alongside existing commercial productivities. Farmers could win big, but it’s possible that we’re already too far down the road to make it work.