The last time I travelled in Europe reporting on the experiences of refugees and migrants was 2013. I met men, women and children from…
Adam Weymouth considers the implications of ‘rewilding’ in the third and final part of his article exploring the future of the wolf in Scotland….
Romania is one of the hotspots for this new HIV epidemic. The economic downturn and reduced funding for prevention efforts and treatment programmes have…
In Part 2 of his three part investigation, Adam Weymouth goes in search of the place where the last wolf in Scotland was killed….
Later this month falls the seventieth anniversary of the Nuremberg Tribunal. There’ll be familiar grainy newsreels of Nazi leaders in the specially constructed dock, a pontificating Goering grandstanding before the microphone, solemn faces of prosecutors and judges.
Alladale Estate is 28,000 acres of land, and it comprises two valleys, Glen Alladale and Glen Mór. From its highest peak, Meall nam Fuaran, they say that on a good day you can see the sea both ways. After Ardgay, fifteen miles to the east, the road turns into a single-track lane, and a few miles later it becomes unsurfaced, bordered by the River Carron on one side and Amat Forest on the other, one of the final remaining stands of old growth that remain now in the Highlands.
A few fishermen line the bank, heron-like, dressed top to toe in tweed and tartan. From the entrance to the estate it is two miles to the lodge. The river tumbles. The taxi lurches through the potholes. A tawny owl drops from a branch ahead and glides away into the trees.
Kesia, 17, suffered serious mental distress while she was locked away, pulling clumps of her hair and banging her head against concrete cell walls….
The tweet sparked outrage and national media coverage. But mental health professionals and charities weren’t surprised. Mental health services have always been underfunded and,…
“I don’t know about you, but sometimes I just don’t feel like it. You know what I mean?” Tammy WhyNot is sat at the front of the stage in a blue boiler suit and peroxide blonde wig, and she is taking us into her confidence.
“I always thought I was going to be one of those people,” she says, “who had a girlfriend or a boyfriend in every town. Or that I was gonna be like one of those Duracell bunnies that hop from bed to bed. I at least thought I was gonna have sex on my death bed. But recently, I kind of just don’t feel like it. And I don’t quite know how to feel about that.” She looks up at us, shrugs, shakes her head.
When twenty-three years ago Bechir agreed, like all his fellow soldiers in the Saharawi People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), to put away his weapons and bring to an end a twenty-year war waged against Morocco for the liberation of Western Sahara, he still had some doubts as to the wisdom of this decision. He knew that the diplomatic route would be full of obstacles and pitfalls, but he hoped that the commitment of the international community could lead to concrete results, without more bloodshed.
But since 1991, the year of the UN-brokered ceasefire that should have paved the way to a referendum for the independence of this part of the desert, nothing, literally nothing has changed for the Saharawi people.