Blockading the Leard State Forest
This is what direct action on climate change looks like
It had been a tense few months in the campaign for Leard state forest, an ecologically vital remnant Whitebox gum forest on the Liverpool plains of New South Wales, Australia. Rumours had been circulating and every heavy truck coming by seemed as if it might be the first in the inevitable stream of vehicles carrying buildings, machines, and equipment to begin the demolition of the forest and construction of Whitehaven Coal’s new Maules Creek mine. Not only will the mine destroy much of the forest, but the 30 million tonnes of CO2 released annually from it’s product will be on par with the annual emissions of the entire nation of New Zealand. During the long hot Australian summer the forest was being watched over, and preparations were being made.
In January 2014, heavy machinery was spotted moving in on trucks. A red alert was sent out to the networks of protectors that had built up throughout the campaign and a rolling blockade began. A 63 year old Tamworth man chained himself to a car at the gates, despite owning an engineering firm that sold equipment to the mines. Others blocked truck movements of a morning, locked themselves to excavators or tied themselves high up in treesits attached to machinery.
Every night new actions were planned, and energy built as successes mounted. Protectors locked onto machines at dawn, confounding workers who arrived shortly afterwards to commence thier day. The first action we were involved in locked up a specialised tree felling bulldozer for over half the day. Once the protector had been taken away by police we moved off through the forest only to halt, awestruck, at the sound of crashing timber nearby. We turned and moved back towards it expecting to come across the source within a couple of hundred metres. The sound of snapping timber and a roaring engine echoed through the forest. Half a kilometre later we saw a bright yellow beast moving through the forest pushing down fully grown whitebox, eucalypt and cypress trees as though they were matchsticks. It was clearing a path for a new road to bring in heavier equipment and speed the way of the daily stream of work vehicles. The contrast to our last visit was stark.
After observing the behemoth for some time we headed back for camp. Away from the valley with the machines, the forest was peaceful. We followed wallaby trails as bird calls echoed through the trees. After a few hours walk we stopped for a break in a wallaby hideout. A handful of circular dirt pads had been worn under a canopy of shady bush. Having only snatched a couple of hours sleep on the forest floor the night before we soon drifted off. Coming to in the peace of the forest, it was hard to imagine it being transformed into an enormous toxic pit.
Camp was a hive of activity as a big weekend of direct action was coming up. Hundreds of protectors were expected and teams were hard at work preparing the ground at a local farmers place. Forestry, the local police, and council were busily trying to evict the FrontLine Action on Coal (FLAC) camp from the forest, so a more stable site had been found for the gathering. Workshops, talks, and planning sessions would culminate in a spectacular day of direct action.
We assembled in the early hours of the morning and headed out in the dark. Arriving near the site of the soon-to-be mine we unloaded our heavy cargo and set off into the night. As we walked across the fields the moon rose a pale crescent in the east. We reached one of the machinery depots and the team split. Continuing on, the bright lights of the site office appeared in a a saddle before us. A huge halogen lamp turned night to day, and it was hard to feel as though we weren’t clearly visible. We reached our destination and prepared to set up, but the roar of an approaching engine and lights bobbing through the bush sent us into hiding. We lay still as a security vehicle approached and drove within ten metres of us. They roared off down the road and we returned to our task.
As dawn broke, a five metre high tripod sat astride machinery before us, with a protector dangling from the top. Further back, the other team had set up a single long aluminium pole held up by lines running through no less then thirteen machines. Moving the machines or cutting the line would cause the pole to topple with the protector atop it. Several of us remained nearby to keep watch over the protector on the tripod. On an earlier action, police had yanked hard at the arms of a locked on protector, causing huge bruises due to the cable around their wrist. We weren’t keen to let them get away with any similarly unsafe actions without being witnessed.
As the sun rolled over the horizon, a flurry of reports came in from other teams that had left camp an hour or two after us. Velyama gate blocked. Eastlink gate blocked. Northloop and Testons lane blocked. Every main access way to the mine site had a tripod and sitter in place to prevent access, while at Velyama gate a crowd had gathered in a mass show of opposition to the mine. The forest would be safe for today at least.
With little else to do, we lay in the bush and waited for the inevitable police response. Five hours later we recieved word of multiple police cars and a police rescue truck headed for the site. They reached Velyama and entered through a side gate to avoid the crowd of protectors. Expecting them to crest the hill at any moment, we wished our sitter well and hunkered down. Time dragged on. Unbeknownst to us, another protector had locked onto a cherry picker in the night and the police were busy detaching them. They arrived soon enough, along with a gaggle of mine workers and site management, and proceeded to improvise by standing on an excavator blade to retrieve our protector! Luckily the sitter had thrown their ropes over the top of the tripod and generally made an enormous tangle, so it took some time for the police rescue team to get them down safely. Once the protector was down and arrested, the police and workers took off for the next sit with the newly freed cherry picker in hot pursuit. It was time for us to leave, seven hours after the tripod first went up.
Arriving back at camp that afternoon there was a huge buzz. Some of the tripod teams had packed up minutes before police arrived, saving the apparatus for another day, and there was all round agreement that it was a brilliant action, with on site work stopped for the day and some excellent media coverage. The feeling of solidarity and celebration was immense, and everyone had a big grin as the tension of the last few days evaporated.
The company later claimed that the day had been a rostered day off and no work was scheduled. It seems odd that so many workers had turned up on an RDO, but they must love their jobs so much they don’t mind putting in some unpaid overtime. Standard company practice is to downplay any protest action. Every time theres an action they declare that there was no effect on the operation, and yet figures like $50 000 of lost productivity keep popping up quietly on police charge sheets. Admitting the true cost of ongoing action wouldn’t do their share price or credit rating any favours.
After the weekend there was no let up in the action despite a number of departures. A favoured tactic in the James Price point blockade in Broome had been to stand or walk in front of project vehicles every day, while avoiding costly arrests. This was now being put into effect at Leard. Every morning groups would leave pre-dawn to the various entrances to peacefully blockade trucks from entering. They would usually last a few hours before dispersing when police were on the way. On one of my last actions at the forest, we maintained a blockade like this for several hours. Although initially the workers were extremely agitated, they soon calmed down when the reality of the situation sunk in. They were still being paid after all. They got to talking and we found out that they were staunch allies when it came to opposing coal seam gas. Of course they didn’t think coal mines were as bad, but you have to justify your living somehow. We parted amiably with jibes about bringing coffee and bacon next time.
Leaving the Leard the thing that struck me most was how much a project like this changes the area around it. What had previously been a quiet forest had become a highway for workers. Vehicles thronged the roads and fluro markers marched off into the distance in the fields, delineating new axes of destruction and the ongoing industrialisation of the countryside. Behind us, the huge mounds of soil dug out of the Boggabri coal mine loomed higher then ever, matching the size of the nearby forested hills. If we don’t stop Whitehaven, these mounds will soon be joined by a matching set on the other side of a narrow strip of trees. The forest receded into the distance, but I knew I’d be back.
