The first I knew of the proposed Mintovale open-cut coal mine at Croftby was a front-page newspaper headline. Subsequent searches provided me with information that left me horrified. A boundary for the Mintovale MDL was a mere 280 metres from our back deck and I also found that our property was covered by a CSG exploration permit. A double whammy.
At first, I felt nothing but a sense of numbness, soon giving way to episodes of tears on the back deck while I looked around me.
Was I guilty of ignorance regarding what had been going on? Yes! Would crying over it achieve anything? No! Could I do something about it? I wanted to, but what?
I had heard the opinion that one person, a mere drop in a bucket, could achieve nothing. All my life I have held on to the belief that, if drops keep going into a bucket, the bucket will eventually fill. How could I help fill the bucket?
Word of the pending Kerry Blockade reached me in early January 2012. People were getting arrested, and I was ready for action. Never having received so much as a parking ticket in my life, I had always found the idea of doing anything against the law abhorrent – something to be feared. The law was meant to protect us. But I could see increasing injustices. I decided I would stand. My son, Cameron, elected to stand beside me.
The morning of 19 January 2012 dawned clear and cloudless. Along with the blockade at Kerry, a flash protest at the drill site at Silverdale on the Cunningham Highway was about to happen. This time I was not going to move aside when asked.
There are instances when time seems to stand still. For a brief stretch of time, everything seemed to stop when I realised that Cameron was inside the compound and running to the drill rig.
After clambering up, he sat in the baking summer sun, proudly waving a triangular yellow Lock the Gate sign at passing traffic.
The police, when they did arrive, made a deal with Cameron. If he climbed down and left the compound with them, he would not be arrested or charged. Relief. I could have cheerfully throttled him as he exited the compound, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Instead, I told him he'd done enough for one day. I would stand alone.
We stood in position, roughly 20 of us, in a line in front of the locked gate. The senior sergeant gave the warning and asked us to move. Fellow protesters gradually moved aside. I stood my ground and, after being given three chances to move, I was arrested.
No drama. No circus. Just a peaceful, grey-haired, middle-aged protester strolling between two police officers to the police vehicle and then taken to Ipswich watchhouse. On arrival I was put into a chilly cell and there was no telling how long I was likely to be there. Wanting to put the time to some use, I settled, relaxed, meditated, and began to formulate a song from my heart that eventually became SOS - Save our Scenic Rim. Time passed.
When I was finally charged and released, the nature of my charges didn't sink in. I was tired - dazed, almost. The whole experience had become surreal. At first, I didn't realise the severity of being charged under the Petroleum and Gas Act, charges that carried a maximum penalty of $50,000. I was the second person to be charged under the Act, Drew Hutton being the first.
The words of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet came to mind: “If you think you're too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito”. They had decided to try to slap a mosquito with a sledgehammer.
During the next few weeks, legal processes and procedures were explained to me and I was given options: plead guilty at the first mention and get things over and done with, or seek an adjournment and take this thing to trial. I believed that pleading guilty would likely leave the way open for similar charges being thrown at peaceful protesters. If I saw this through, then perhaps a precedent would be
set to discourage future instances of this happening. Could I do this?
Weeks turned to months. During those months I rode an emotional roller coaster, ranging from steely determination and thoughts of a positive outcome to feelings of helplessness.
A welcome distraction came in July when New South Wales woman Lesley McQueen put out the call for a Scenic Rim person to meet her at the Queensland - New South Wales border to continue an awareness-raising walk against the proposed Metgasgo CSG pipeline. Lesley would walk from Casino to the border, carrying a bottle of pristine water taken from the Richmond River. The water would be handed over to Queensland and carried to Swanbank Power Station. I volunteered.
Planning for the walk was well underway but my hearing date was approaching. When the day finally came at Ipswich Courthouse, it all happened so quickly. The police prosecutor tendered ‘insufficient evidence’ and the charges were dropped. Case dismissed! The court room erupted into cheers and applause. I would commence the Queensland leg of the Walk Against Gas in a week's time with an infinitely lighter load.
Cameron had elected to join me for the 125 kilometre walk and my husband, Rob. had no hesitation in volunteering to drive the support vehicle. We had become a family team of three.
Support during the Walk Against Gas came in many forms and was always welcome. Rounding a bend to see the Green Eureka flag flying above a boiling billy as we approached a rest stop is a sight I will never forget.
Mostly we walked alone. Rob, always in the near distance behind us in the support vehicle, was fondly dubbed 'The Walker Stalker'.
No matter how small a part any of us thinks we are playing, we can all contribute in our own way. And still, to this date, no other protestor has been charged under the Petroleum and Gas Act.
Will I continue to be an annoying mosquito? Absolutely! A drop in a bucket? Definitely! I might even be a mosquito in a bucket.
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