Wednesday, June 7, 2023

MOVING MOUNTAINS rod anderson's story

I knew I might get arrested but I was p….d off. I wanted them to hear me out.

The first I knew of gas drilling in Kerry Valley was when Michael Undery said he was worried. I trusted him and he wasn’t a radical person. Michael and Sally also employed some of my family, put food on my table and gave my kids a start in life. If their business was going to be at threat, it was going to threaten my construction business and it could threaten the valley.

So on the first day I turned up for Michael. And on the second day I turned up because there were people from everywhere coming in to help - they’d made the effort to be there and I wanted to know why everyone thought it was so important. I knew I also had to make my own decisions. That’s why I stood there for ten days, stewing very quietly by the strainer post, but saying nothing.

It was about sticking up for people who were getting the raw end of the deal. It was so unfair on so many levels. There was no regard given to people who had built a beautiful community of not only lovely people, lovely families, but also little farms that had made a difference in everyone’s lives. There was absolutely no regard given to that. And the thing that annoyed me more than anything was that the people representing the State Government, and more so Beaudesert, had their heads so far up their own arses that they didn’t stick up for us.

I kept things close to my chest because I didn’t want to be seen to be a fruit loop and because that's not the way you do things in the bush. Our way is to talk things over. But they refused to talk to us so I felt suspicious and pretty much backed into a corner.

At the start I believed I couldn’t get myself arrested because I had a business to run. Then all of a sudden we heard the drill rig was leaving. I remember saying: "What about if we threw all the hats on the ground and let’s just see if they’re dumb enough to drive over the top of them?" For me, the hats represented people, so essentially I felt they were driving over people just like they were driving over our dreams and our community.

From the time I put those hats down, I knew in my heart a lot of those police officers felt that we really we weren’t being treated properly. I thought that would be a really brave police officer to start kicking the hats out of the way. I knew I might get arrested, but I was angry and I wanted them to hear me out. 

I said: "I’ve got something to say here and I’m not gonna let you stop me. Has anyone really told you what it’s like? Why we’re here? We are genuinely good people. And we have been forced to come down here and bark like mongrel dogs." I really felt no-one was listening.

As I spoke, everything poured out. I remember not feeling in the slightest bit of ‘what do I say now?' I meant everything I said.

When the blockade ended, I went into a bit of a personal crisis. I was still consumed, but I was very, very, mindful that it could mess my business up something ferocious. I was scared I was going to completely ruin everything that I’ve ever worked for.

I was also worried people would think I was misrepresenting things because I was actually a builder first and a farmer second. It was too much attention. At first I didn’t realise what I had created but I did know I didn’t want to be any kind of frontman.

I also went through this big anxious thing of 'who is this guy?' 'What right does he have to be talking and throwing hats on the ground on behalf of the Kerry Valley?' Now I know - because I’ve been told - that was the right thing. And I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m so glad that I did it because no one else was going to.

I know if everyone had said ‘she’ll be right’, it would not have been right. Look at Tara now, look at the farms on the Darling Downs now with messed up water and subsidence where they drilled.

I’m still riding the ups and downs of the construction industry and getting my hands in the dirt whenever I can.



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