Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka

By Monica Nugent

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

School of Science & Technology Studies University of New South Wales, 2002

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka i Abstract

Environmentalists see the protest against the Jabiluka uranium mine in Australia’s Northern Territory as an example of positive green-black relations. The formation of an alliance between Aboriginal owners and greens to protest against the mine resulted in a lengthy campaign that included maintaining a camp near the lease- site and organising a long series of mass protest actions in a remote location over an extended period from March – October 1998.

However, some tensions between greens and the traditional Aboriginal owners became evident as the campaign went on. This thesis traces the origins of these tensions to past conflicts between environmentalists and Aboriginal people and shows that they are largely related to their conflicting perceptions of the environment. Those perceptions arise from different knowledge systems and are encapsulated in the terms “wilderness” and “country”, used to describe the physical world by environmentalists and Aboriginal owners respectively. I discuss the attitudes towards the environment that accompany those perceptions and consider the way they were manifest in some of the tensions that arose at Jabiluka. The close relationship between influential strands of environmentalism and Western science is a related source of conflict. My analysis of that relationship shows that environmentalism, via “green science” is more closely aligned with the developmentalist worldview than the Aboriginal worldview.

The thesis is an analytical reflection upon the Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp based on the personal experience I gained from my fieldwork there and informed by the literature of feminism, ecofeminism, social constructionism and anthropology.

I discuss the manifestations of ecofeminism I observed at Jabiluka. I argue that the Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp functioned successfully because it utilised ecofeminist principles and practices, that as a consequence the relationship between greens and blacks has been strengthened and therefore that ecofeminism can continue to have a positive effect on those relations in the future.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka ii Acknowledgements

Very early in the production of this thesis, Gavan McDonell remarked that the end result is always a collaborative effort. That is very much the case with this one, and there were many members of the team. In particular, I want to acknowledge the following - without some of them I could never have even imagined contemplating this task, and without others I would never have finished it.

♣ Paul Brown & Gavan McDonell - special thanks are due to these wonderful teachers & mentors - for expertise, for advice (both practical and philosophical), for enlightening guidance through the maze of academia, and for unswerving support and patience with what must have been a very frustrating experience during the times that I refused to shake off the “I can’t do it” syndrome.

♣ Ariel Salleh for her helpful suggestions, rigorous eye for detail, and ecofeminist inspiration.

♣ Jabiluka and its activists, especially my “interviewees” – in particular Elle, Bridget &

Kirsten, for their refreshing enthusiasm and invaluable contributions.

♣ Dave Sweeney and the Australian Conservation Foundation, Gundjehmi Aboriginal

Corporation, the Environment Centre Northern Territory and Friends of the Earth Fitzroy.

♣ Lachlann Partridge for the reproduction of the visual images throughout the thesis.

♣ David Miller and the School of STS at the UNSW for resources and financial support as well as the experience of teaching.

♣ My family for simply always “being there” and my friends (both near and far) for welcome distraction and for reminding me that there is a life outside this project.

♣ And especially our awe-inspiring bush for sustaining me both physically and emotionally, and providing the energy and inspiration to keep going! ♣ ♣ ♣ My heartfelt thanks to you all ♣ ♣ ♣

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka iii

“Jabiluka is about us, blackfellas, whitefellas together and our belief in the future of the nation”

(From the cover of the Stop Jabiluka Handbook)

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka iv Table of Contents List of Figures vi Glossary of Terms vii List of Acronyms ...... viii Preface...... ix Chapter One: The Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp ...... 1 Vignette (i): My Jabilukan Journey Begins...... 2 1.1 Jabiluka’s Backdrop...... 6 1.2 Jabiluka: Site of an Ongoing Struggle ...... 9 1.3 Kakadu: Heritage For All...... 17 1.3.1 Land Rights: Protecting Culture...... 19 1.3.2 Green Visions: Protecting Nature ...... 24 1.3.3 Mineral Site: Protecting Industry...... 26 1.3.4 Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp: Arena of an Alliance ...... 27 1.4 A Jabilukan Approach...... 33 1.4.1 Feminist Approaches – Ecofeminist Ways ...... 36 1.4.2 Language and Style...... 42 1.5 Thematic Overview...... 43 1.5.1 Statement of Thesis...... 45 Vignette (ii): “The John Howard Action”...... 48 Chapter Two: Land Rights, Not Mining Rights...... 50 Vignette (iii): “Cleaning Up” ...... 51 2.1 Introduction...... 53 2.2 Wilderness...... 55 2.2.1 Or Wild Lands? ...... 61 2.2.2 Forested Wilderness ...... 65 2.2.3 The Malimup Communiqué Debate...... 69 2.3 Country ...... 72 2.3.1 Land Rights & Self-determination ...... 72 2.3.2 The Meaning of Country ...... 74 2.3.3 Looking Out For Country...... 79 2.3.4 Own Country, Own Culture ...... 81 2.3.5 Appropriation ...... 82 2.4 Jabilukan Tensions...... 88 2.4.1 Savage Romantics ...... 89 2.4.2 Ploughshares...... 93 2.5 Conclusion ...... 100 Vignette (iv): “The Dress Code” ...... 103 Chapter Three: Aboriginal Country, European Dreaming ...... 105 Vignette (v): “Strong Country Week”...... 106 3.1 Introduction...... 108 3.2 Environmentalists; Radical Conservationists? ...... 109 3.2.1 Green Voices, Green Science...... 109 3.3 Building Pictures...... 115 3.3.1 Traditional Owners, Aboriginal Cultures and Country...... 123 3.3.2 Developmentalist Views...... 129 3.4 National Parks: Colonial Property?...... 134 3.4.1 Eurocentric Hand-backs ...... 137

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka v 3.4.2 Separating Culture From Nature ...... 142 3.5 Western Science vs Indigenous Knowledge: Imagined Boundaries 145 3.5.1 Outside the Boundaries ...... 147 3.5.2 Mirrar Living Tradition...... 150 3.6 Conclusion: Captured by Science ...... 156 Vignette (vi): “Ubirr” ...... 161 Chapter Four: Feminist Eco-logistics...... 164 Vignette (vii): “The Women’s Space” ...... 165 4.1 Introduction...... 168 4.1.1 Ecofeminist Pathways ...... 169 4.1.2 Interconnection, not Dualism ...... 176 4.2 Ecofeminist Living ...... 178 4.2.1 Ecofeminist Essentials...... 183 4.2.2 Direct Connections...... 185 4.2.3 Division, Difference, Equality...... 189 4.2.4 Living Ecofeminism...... 192 4.3 Green and Mauve, Green and Black ...... 195 4.3.1 Deeper Than Deep Green? ...... 195 4.3.2 An Ecofeminist Critique of Science...... 198 4.4 Conclusion ...... 205 Vignette (viii): Retiree on the Run...... 209 Chapter Five: Nature’s Women, Women’s Nature ...... 212 Vignette (ix): Web-weaving at Mohla ...... 213 5.1 Ecofeminist Emergences...... 217 5.1.1 Women’s Actions, Experiences, Theories ...... 220 5.1.2 The Women’s Network ...... 223 5.1.3 Eco-women and Eco-warriors...... 225 5.2 Powerful Hierarchies...... 227 5.2.1 Jabiluka’s Women Taking on Feminism...... 228 5.3 Organising Jabilukans ...... 232 5.3.1 The Web ...... 233 5.3.2 The International Arena...... 238 5.4 A Tense Alliance ...... 242 5.5 Conclusion: Common Stomping Grounds ...... 245 Vignette (x): “The Red Van”...... 250 Chapter Six: Jabilukan Reflections: Differences Aside?...... 252 Vignette (xi): “The Culture Walk”...... 253 6.1 Measured Success ...... 258 6.2 Wild Country...... 258 6.3Including Different Knowledges...... 260 6.4 Extending Ecofeminist Circles...... 262 6.5 Future Directions...... 266 6.6 Strong Country...... 269 Vignette (xii): Women, Earth & Change ...... 274 Epilogue: Mirrar Winning ...... 276 Bibliography...... 280 Appendix 1 (Interview Questioning Areas) ...... 304 Appendix 2 (Jabiluka Activist Survey) ...... 305 Appendix 3 (Protesters’ Profile) ...... 307

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka vi List of Figures

1. Stop Jabiluka!...... 1 2. The Stop Jabiluka Logo ...... 5 3. Location of Kakadu National Park ...... 10 4. Landforms in Kakadu National Park & Location of Jabiluka ... 11 5. The Stages of Kakadu National Park ...... 16 6. Distribution of Language Groups ...... 20 7. Sketch Map of Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp ...... 31 8. The John Howard Action ...... 47 9. The Mourning Ceremony (1) ...... 50 10. The Mourning Ceremony (2): “Over Our Dead Bodies”...... 105 11. “You Don’t Look like an Australian” ...... 125 12. Gondwanaland ...... 126 13. Ubirr Sunset ...... 163 14. Termite Mound Sculpture, Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp ...... 164 15. Mother Earth Mourns ...... 167 16. The Women’s Web ...... 212 17. The Web...... 234 18. Nothing Left But Pine Poles ...... 246 19. Land rights Now! ...... 252 20. My Mirrar Passport ...... 279

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka vii Glossary of Terms

Balanda The word commonly used by Aboriginal people of the Kakadu area to refer to white people or non- Aboriginal persons. (A noun, both plural and singular).

Bininj / bining The word for Aboriginal person in the Gundjehmi language. (A noun, both plural and singular).

Bunitj The name of one of the thirteen clan groups that share title to Kakadu National Park, custodians of much of the country downstream of Ranger Uranium Mine and close neighbours of the Mirrar.

Ecology I use the term “ecology” to refer to ecological science or natural ecology – the biological “strand” of ecology which relates to the relationships between organisms and their environments. However, I do acknowledge the perspective of Mulligan and Hill (2001), amongst others, that there is a deeper tradition associated with human ecology and more concerned with the inter-relationships between humans, their institutions and their environments which “ecology” also encompasses.

Environment Australia The Commonwealth Department with responsibility for the management of environmental matters, including national parks on Commonwealth property.

Gundjehmi In this thesis, an abbreviation of “Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation”. Also the name of one of the language groups in the Kakadu area.

Gunmogurrgurr A social category that, together with language, determines land-owning groups in the northern part of the Kakadu National Park.

Jabilukan In the parlance of the protest camp inhabitants, an activist who participated in the Jabiluka campaign and was a “long-termer” ie, was in camp for more than about two weeks.

Kakadu The Kakadu National Park.

Mirrar The Aboriginal clan with title to the Jabiluka area.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka viii Parks Australia The division of Environment Australia which has the responsibility for managing national parks.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka ix List of Acronyms

ABTA Aboriginal Trust Benefit Account ACF Australian Conservation Foundation ALP Australian Labor Party ATSIC Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission CCNT Conservation Commission of the Northern Territory CLC Central Land Council ECNT Environment Centre Northern Territory EIS Environmental Impact Statement ERA Energy Resources of Australia DAG Direct Action Group FoE Friends of the Earth FoEA Friends of the Earth Australia GAC Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation JAG Jabiluka Action Group NLC Northern Land Council NPA National Parks Association NPWS National Parks and Wildlife Service NSW New South Wales NSW WA New South Wales Wilderness Act NT Northern Territory NVDA Non Violent Direct Action PER Public Environment Report TWS The Wilderness Society UNESCO United Nations Education Scientific & Cultural Organisation WHC World Heritage Committee WNFMW Women’s Network For Mirrar Women

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka x

Preface

In March 1998 a small group of social activists gathered at the entrance to the Jabiluka Mineral Lease on the edge of Kakadu National Park. It was their intention to blockade the construction of the Jabiluka uranium mine. They were supported by an alliance of peak environmental organisations and the traditional Aboriginal owners of the lease site, the Mirrar Gundjehmi clan. The initial group of less than thirty individuals was to swell in size to almost seven hundred at its peak when students took up the cause in the mid-year university break.

I was drawn to the Jabiluka protest by a personal sense of the injustice of the Howard (Liberal-National Party Coalition) Government’s decision to approve the mine despite the protestations of the Mirrar, and I had an academic interest in the way the Jabiluka Alliance was being hailed as a “first’ for green-black relations in Australia.

So I went to Jabiluka, first in June-July 1998 and again in September-October 1998. I lived in the protesters’ camp and participated in the protests. I went because I felt the need to physically oppose the development of the uranium mining industry. I went because I wanted to make my support of the traditional owners’ right to oppose it more visible. I went because I believed the mine poses unacceptable risks to both the people and the environment of Kakadu National Park. And I went because I want to see an end to the oppression of indigenous people, of nature and of women, and I could see that the links between those forms of oppression were being made visible at Jabiluka.

I went as a scholar as well as an activist, but the production of this thesis became more than a report on the protest: it is also a record of a personal journey. It was not only a physical journey, but an emotional and intellectual one as well, so I decided to write a thesis that is, in effect, a reflection on my personal experience of the protest and my experience of writing a thesis about it. Each chapter begins and ends with a vignette in which I have embedded the deeply personal nature of that experience. I was also determined to write in a way that is accessible to all, in keeping with the aims of feminist scholarship. At Jabiluka I began to “live” ecofeminism. With this thesis I endeavour to continue doing so.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka xi

Chapter One: The Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp

Figure 1: “Stop Jabiluka Mine!”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 1

Vignette (i) “My Jabilukan Journey Begins”

June 1998.

9:00am and already the sun has a sting in it. Outside the Environment Centre in Darwin’s Cavenagh St a small cluster of people waits for a ride to the Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp, about three hours drive east on the Arnhem Highway. After a few days sharing the Jabiluka experience, we’ll feel like old acquaintances, but it’s too soon to bond just yet so we avoid the eye contact that would force conversation between strangers. The “ride” is a hired troop carrier into which eleven of us squeeze, sweaty thigh against sweaty thigh, with bags and backpacks nursed on knees.

It’s a mixed group. There’s a smattering of dreds and body piercings, tie-dyed clothing and bare feet, but the hippies and ferals are intermingled with a fresh-faced “inner-city” student type in a black mini-skirt whose iridescent white skin appears fragile, a vague-expressioned young man in a floppy felt hat and second-hand army fatigues, and some mid-thirties, “straight” looking women. Its diversity is probably fairly representative of the larger crowd we’re about to join. Although I feel remarkably grubby already, I’m deadly conscious of the fact that I probably appear extremely clean and out of place in my “sensible boots” and hardwearing walking shorts. I’m very self-conscious, imagining that the others are probably silently questioning my ability to cope with the harsh conditions and relax in the company of so many “ferals” – and I have the same dubious thoughts myself.

About an hour’s drowsy driving time from Darwin, someone breaks the silence by announcing that we’ll soon be approaching the fruit fly checkpoint, so we should eat any uncertified fruit we have. The couple opposite me (who seem well matched with their long, dark dreadlocks and pierced noses) frantically begin rummaging in a bag and, rather than throw them away, begin munching on its contents. A bunch of fresh coriander is handed around the cabin and some fruit is also hastily devoured. By the time we reach the checkpoint all that is left to hand over are the skins and seeds which, with blank expressions, they hand through the window to the official who also checks the bags of fruit and veg our driver had purchased and which had been dutifully certified at Palmerston Shopping Centre on the outskirts of Darwin.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 2 Drifting back into the dozy state no-one seems to be able to avoid in the humid conditions we either close our eyes or gaze out the window at the flat landscape. The lush gardens of Darwin, characterised by their tropical plantings of bougainvillea and giant frangipanis, have given way to the cultivated space of mango plantations. Then on to lightly timbered land, red-soil dotted with palms and small eucalypts. That vegetation type remains relatively unchanged all the way and at first it seems interesting to me because it’s such a contrast from Sydney’s surrounds, then it becomes a bit monotonous.

It’s hot and uncomfortable, so when we turn off the Arnhem Highway on to Oenpelli Road and someone says the camp is just down the road a bit, we all react with a mixture of relief, excitement and trepidation. Shortly, the troop carrier slows, almost too late – it nearly misses the turn into the camp because “bloody National Parks have taken down our camp welcome sign again” – and turns up the red dirt track into the Protesters’ Camp. It’s located on what used to be the site of a cattle station prior to the incorporation of this area into Kakadu National Park about twenty years ago. We drive slowly up the rough track, about a kilometre from the road to the camp boundary and come to a halt outside a canvas tent and a line of black forty- four gallon drums adorned with radiation symbols. As we spill out of the back of the transport, and circulation returns to our crushed limbs, we’re greeted by an energetic young woman, who seems to bound around us in the fashion of a red- setter pup, or maybe a sheep dog, intent on rounding us up and showing us where to go. Eager to supply us with directions and information, she somehow manages to give none, but she is very welcoming and cheerful.

As it’s the middle of the day the sun beams down fiercely from the vivid blue sky. Having recovered my belongings I locate my water bottle and hat, dump my gear in the information tent, and wander off to check out the camp and locate a good spot for my tent. I notice a vast array of sleeping shelters, ranging from basic mosquito nets hung from trees (although there aren’t a lot of trees around) to substantial tents. They’re spread around, radiating out from the large water tank, the geographical centre of the camp area. The true “epicentre” of the camp is actually the communal vegan kitchen, located pretty close to the tank. It is comprised of a solid canvas tent (the dry store); industrial sized stainless steel benches and gas burners; a couple of huge eskies and a trestle-table servery, all under the cover of tarpaulins (tarps) - some canvas, some blue nylon.

There are some large tarps secured to treated pine poles – the “big shade” – where general meetings are held every morning, not far (maybe twenty metres west) from

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 3 the kitchen. About fifty metres to the north of the water tank are the “showers”, which have floors consisting of a patch of gravel and walls of blue plastic tarps attached to star pickets. They’re not showers at all really, just a place to strip off and tip a bucket of water over yourself out of view of the entire camp. All the same, by the end of my stay, I will have grown to love and appreciate them. Not so the long- drop pit toilets. They’re close to the showers and are accompanied by half a dozen twenty-litre water containers that hold a hand wash solution of water, vinegar and tea-tree oil. The hand washes are strategically located between the toilets and the kitchen. Hygiene is a priority – gastro could break out very easily.

I choose a spot near the eastern boundary and put up the tent that is to be my home for the next three weeks. Tents are spaced several metres apart – it’s not too crowded at the moment. Back at the admin tent where I pay my camp fees and register my presence I’m told that there are about eighty people in camp. That’s soon to change – over the next couple of weeks several coaches are to come and go, depositing around five hundred protesters, largely students on their mid-year break, here for two weeks to demonstrate their support for the campaign.

I face my tent east so that the sun’s first rays awaken me, and it works well. On my first full day in camp, I wake up in time to see the sun rise. It only takes a few minutes for it to rise over the scrub so by the time I unzip the insect screen of my tent and put my head out the flies are ready and waiting. They say that there’s over a thousand species of flies in the territory and that morning I felt there was a representative of every single one of them there to greet me, as they did every morning I was to spend in camp. It’s quiet (if the unfamiliar birdsong is discounted) and there’s no-one else at the showers when I venture over to try them out for the first time. It’s not long, though, before other “Jabilukans” are up and about and the camp has come to life so as soon as I’ve completed my ablutions I make my way over to the kitchen to serve myself a very healthy breakfast of muesli, soy milk and fruit. Carrying it with me, I follow the chalk-scrawled directions on the black-board I discover leaning against a tree next to the kitchen, and head over to the big shade for my first general camp meeting, to be followed by my official induction and orientation to the Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 4

Figure 2: “The Stop Jabiluka! Logo”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 5 1.1 Jabiluka’s Backdrop

Jabiluka…

That word has become so familiar throughout much of Australia these days, and while not everyone may know where it is, or the details of the conflict that has grown up around it, most will have at least heard it mentioned. Throughout the 1990’s the story of the conflict around the proposal to mine that uranium became familiar to a great number of Australians, and also attracted much international attention. Jabiluka became an icon of nineties environmental activism, but it has come to mean more than just the name of a mine whose construction is opposed by the majority of Australians (ACF, 1998). It symbolises more than just another struggle put up by environmental activists resisting development in a precious area, though on the surface it looked like it, with activists utilising their tried and true methods of rallies and blockades, letters and chants. Jabiluka represents all that and more, because it has also come to signify a new way for environmentalists and Aboriginal land rights activists to relate to each other - two groups who have frequently been at odds with each other in the past.

For the latest generation of social activists it has become synonymous with both anti-uranium mining and pro-Aboriginal rights. The “Stop Jabiluka” logo (figure 2) was designed by Melbourne based artist Kathleen McCann in collaboration with other environmentalists and representatives of the Mirrar people, Jabiluka’s traditional Aboriginal owners, and symbolises the alliance between them (Weepers, 1998; McCann, 1998). It consists of a handprint, an image that is closely associated with Aboriginal culture, superimposed on the uranium sign, in the colours of the Aboriginal flag. Emblazoned on t-shirts, bumper stickers, badges and campaign posters, it is now a common sight all over Australia. It might even be a more common sight than the fluoro-green “no dams” triangles of the Franklin River Dam campaign were in the 1980s.

Indeed, the campaign to stop the construction of the Jabiluka Uranium Mine has been described as having the potential to be the biggest environmental issue in Australia since that famous blockade of the 1980s. For example, when addressing a “Stop Jabiluka” rally, Bob Brown stated his belief that the Jabiluka campaign

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 6 looked like it would be “bigger than the Franklin” (1998a) and was also quoted in Jabiluka Appeal promotional material as saying

… having come through the Franklin campaign where there were 6,000 who went to the blockade … I think this is going to be bigger. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve never said that about any environmental issue since the Franklin but that’s how I see this one (Brown, 1998b). 1

Jabiluka is “the younger generation’s Franklin” according to Chris Doran, anti- Jabiluka campaigner for The Wilderness Society (TWS) (Hogarth, 1998: 43), and Kerry Nettle, an environmental activist recently elected to the federal Senate representing the Australian Greens, also saw Jabiluka as “her Franklin” (Nettle, 2001). It seemed to many young activists, like Kirsten Blair (who was a key figure at the Jabiluka camp, a previous employee of Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation (Gundjehmi) and is now Co-ordinator of the Environment Centre Northern Territory [ECNT]) that Jabiluka was a catalyst to stimulate grassroots activists into action again (Hogarth 1998: 43).

And the Jabiluka protest has also become symbolic of the struggle of all indigenous Australians – the struggle for recognition of their sovereignty in this land, as Fagan, a representative of Gundjehmi, notes:

The Mirrar battle against the Jabiluka uranium mine is in many ways a microcosm for the wider Aboriginal struggle. Just like native title and the stolen generations, Jabiluka is a symptom of fundamental flaws in the way Australian society relates to indigenous values (Fagan, 1999: 6).

1 The Franklin Dam campaign was successful in preventing the construction of a dam on the Gordon River below its junction with the Franklin River in Tasmania’s Southwest. For Phillip Toyne, one of Australia’s best known environmentalists, a previous Director of the Australian Conservation Foundation and author of “the Reluctant Nation” (a critical account of several of Australia’s most significant conservation cases), the Franklin Dam case is “still the most famous environmental battle in our nation’s history” (1994: 45). For Hutton and Connors, academics and prominent members of the Australian Greens, it “represented the coming of age” of the environment movement” (1999: 163). It was one of the earliest “wilderness” campaigns in Australia, commencing in about 1976 and culminating in 1983. Popularly known as the “no dams” campaign, it motivated tens of thousands of Australians to mobilise – over two thousand people participated in a blockade of the dam site, making it the biggest conservation protest ever held in Australia and it constituted a major act of civil disobedience, with 1440 people arrested (Burgmann, 1993: 199). It became a highly significant political issue at both State and federal levels. It was first a constitutional issue, then a federal election issue, when the then Labor government used its power to override a State law. Brown is a highly significant figure in the green movement in Australia due to his involvement, representing The Tasmanian Wilderness Society, in the Franklin River campaign. The “no dams” campaign was seen as a huge victory for the green movement and it later saw Brown, a Greens Party candidate, elected to the Commonwealth Senate as the leader of the Greens Party, where he remains.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 7 Approximately 3,000 participants registered at the Jabiluka camp, and well over 500 were arrested throughout the duration of the protest. The maximum number there at any one time was estimated to be around 750. So, in the end, the Jabiluka blockade wasn’t bigger than the no dams campaign in terms of numbers. But, although it might not be bigger than the Franklin, it is “big” in terms of its impact. And issues like this only get so big because they cut deep into the hearts of a large number of people, and because they bring opposing interest groups into close contact. And Jabiluka does that – it brings the anti-uranium lobby face to face with a multi-national mining company supported by a conservative government, and it does so in the context of an internationally recognised emblem of nature conservation – the Kakadu National Park.

The conflict over mining is not a new state of affairs for Kakadu as Press and Lawrence2 note: “Kakadu National Park was born in controversy and the history of the development of the park has been one of attempts to reconcile the concurrent and competing interests of conservation, mining and Aboriginal land rights” (1995: 1).

One of those attempts was the formation of an Alligator Rivers Region Advisory Committee, a federally funded body comprising the stakeholders in uranium mining in the region. Through the involvement of the Australian Conservation Foundation’s (ACF) anti-uranium campaigner, Dave Sweeney, on that committee, foundations were laid for a positive relationship between the ACF and Aboriginal people. Sweeney’s involvement brought him into regular contact with the local Aboriginal representatives, and together with the Environment Centre Northern Territory (ECNT) a trusting relationship was built despite the previously competitive interests of conservation and land rights.

2 Tony Press is an ecologist who is a senior executive in the Australian Nature Conservation Agency and has been closely associated with the management of Kakadu National Park. David Lawrence is a social scientist who has extensive research experience working on traditional exchange systems and is the author of Kakadu: the Making of a National Park – a social and political history of Kakadu. They are co-editors of Kakadu: Natural and Cultural Heritage and Management, a very highly regarded book about the natural history, geology and the traditional owners of Kakadu National Park.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 8 The subsequent alliance between conservationists and the traditional owners of the Jabiluka mineral lease is the subject of this thesis. This introductory chapter, besides outlining the structure of the thesis, also:

(1) sets out the context of the Jabiluka protest in terms of both its historical background and its geographical location by unravelling the story of the mine’s development and the establishment of Kakadu National Park;

(2) introduces the players, previews their positions vis-à-vis the mine and its environment; (3) sketches the structure of the protesters’ camp; and (4) describes my motivations for this project, the principles underlying the work, and how I conducted the research.

1.2 Jabiluka: Site of an Ongoing Struggle

Jabiluka mineral lease is located approximately 250kms east of Darwin, in the Alligator Rivers region of Australia’s Northern Territory. The eastern boundary of the lease is approximately five kilometres inside the eastern border of Kakadu National Park, in its northeastern corner. Close-by is the edge of the Arnhem Land escarpment, or stone country, a place held in high esteem by indigenous and non- indigenous alike. Not only is it rich in spectacular scenery, but this border with Arnhem Land also marks one of the last frontiers between the Aboriginal and non- Aboriginal worlds in Australia. Figures 3 and 4 show the location of Kakadu National Park and the Jabiluka lease site respectively.

Jabiluka is the site of a rich deposit of uranium, first discovered in 1971 (Lawrence, 2000). Its location inside the borders of Kakadu National Park, an area that is World Heritage listed for its natural and cultural significance, ensures that its story is entwined with the history of Kakadu.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 9

Figure 3 Location of Kakadu National Park (Source: Press et al, 1995)

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 10 Ubirr

Jabiluka Mineral Lease

Protesters’ Camp

Ranger Kakadu Uranium National Park Mine Headquarters Jabiru

Figure 4: The Landforms of Kakadu National Park & Location of Jabiluka (Adapted from Lawrence, 2000)

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 11 Plans for a national park in the Alligator Rivers region were first formalised with a proposal by the Northern Territory Reserves Board in 1965, so the declaration of the first stage of Kakadu National Park in 1979 was the end result of years of investigation, planning and negotiation (Press and Lawrence, 1995: 1). The complexities surrounding the competing interests of mineral exploration and mining, Aboriginal land rights and conservation had to be addressed before the park was finally established, and at this point in the history of race relations in Australia the issues were particularly complicated.

The period of the late 1960’s to the mid 1970s was a noteworthy time in Australian politics, particularly with regard to Aboriginal rights. A 1967 referendum reflected a high level of public demand for constitutional change regarding the treatment of Aboriginal people, after which the Commonwealth assumed responsibility for Aboriginal affairs and Aborigines were granted full citizenship rights (Lawrence, 2000: 47). Legislative reform and recognition of Aboriginal ownership of land were to follow. One of the most significant cases was taken to the Supreme Court in 1971. That case, Milerrpum v Nabalco, commonly referred to as “the Gove” case, in which the Yirrkala people on the Gove Peninsula unsuccessfully challenged both the Commonwealth government and Nabalco (a Swiss-Australian aluminium mining company) in an attempt to resist mining development (Lawrence, 2000; Reynolds, 1996), was an indication of much more to come. It highlighted the powerlessness and the inequities indigenous people faced in respect to their land, and was a precursor to the High Court case of Mabo v Queensland No 2 which, some twenty years later, was a turning point in Australian law with respect to Aboriginal land rights.

The 1992 Mabo case hinged on the British declaration that Australia was terra nullius, meaning “empty land” or “land without owners” which enabled them to take possession of it, thereby acquiring sovereignty as well as ownership according to the popular international laws of the times.3 In a landmark decision,

3 The doctrine of terra nullius was the orthodox legal view of Australia at the time of British settlement. In the period of European colonial expansion new territories could be acquired either by conquest, cession or settlement. Settlement could occur when colonial powers discovered and occupied uninhabited lands. The doctrine of terra nullius was extended to include lands inhabited by natives considered primitive by the Europeans. The colonial powers agreed that such territory

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 12 the High Court of Australia found that the native title of a group of Murray Islanders, led by Eddie Mabo, had not been extinguished by the annexation of Australia by Britain. Hence, the doctrine of terra nullius was found to be invalid and the communal native title of indigenous Australians was legally recognised (Reynolds 1996; Gregory, 1992; ATSIC, 1993).

Although the presiding judge in the Gove case, Justice Blackburn, perpetuated the doctrine of terra nullius when he found that the Yirrkala people had no common law rights, he did recognise that their society had systems of law and politics, an assessment that raised questions regarding Aboriginal sovereignty over the land (Reynolds, 1996: 37-8).

Subsequently a Commission of Inquiry, chaired by Justice Woodward (who had acted on behalf of the Yirrkala people in the Gove case), was established to investigate the appropriate means to recognise Aboriginal land rights. In 1973, the report of the Woodward Inquiry recommended that legislation granting Aboriginal land rights be developed. The then Labor government, led by Edward (Gough) Whitlam, accepted the Woodward recommendations regarding land rights and commenced the processes which led to the enactment of the Northern Territory Aboriginal Land Rights Act (1976).4

The Alligator Rivers region had been “noticed” by conservationists in the 1960’s, and serious planning for the creation of a national park had begun in earnest by the late 1960’s. The Northern Territory Reserves Board had submitted proposals to the Commonwealth in the mid sixties, but the response was that the proposals were complicated by the need to investigate competing land use interests – an Aboriginal reserve, special purpose leases and pastoral and mining activities (Lawrence, 2000). By the late 1970s the region was so highly prized that the ACF

could be acquired by settlement. Thus, the view of Australia as land belonging to no one meant that the British could acquire Australia despite the existence of the indigenous population (Gregory, 1992: 157). 4 The bill was introduced by the Whitlam government but its passage through parliament was disrupted by the dismissal of Whitlam as Prime Minister and the ensuing election which meant that the Land rights Act was not proclaimed until 1976, by which time the Liberal and National Parties had formed a coalition government with Malcolm Fraser as Prime Minister.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 13 unsuccessfully attempted to purchase the Gimbat Pastoral Lease as a way of protecting the environmental integrity of the area (Toyne, 1994: 129).

There was growing public concern about uranium mining and the nuclear issue in general, and the movements for peace and environmental protection were gaining momentum. The Whitlam Labor government had been elected in 1972 on a platform of social reform that included “a commitment to Aboriginal land rights, to funding the buy-back of alienated lands, outlawing discrimination, providing legal aid, and establishing Aboriginal organisations and Aboriginal communities with separate legal identities” (Lawrence, 2000: 47). In the view of Hutton and Connors, the optimism that had facilitated Labor’s election was largely due to the activities of the social movements of the time (1999: 127). Now, it seemed they were demanding the reforms Labor had promised. It was in that context that the Whitlam government was confronted with a political dilemma regarding uranium mining when the discovery of significant deposits of uranium at Ranger, Jabiluka and Koongarra set conservationists and the supporters of industry on a collision course.

Whitlam’s response was to commission the Ranger Uranium Environmental Inquiry, chaired by Justice RW Fox, to examine proposals for the development of the Northern Territory (NT) uranium deposits. The report of that enquiry, the Fox Report, was published in two parts. The first, reporting on the risks associated with the development of uranium mining in Australia, found that the hazards of mining and milling uranium, and in the ordinary operations of nuclear power reactors, were not significant enough to recommend against it if those operations are properly regulated and controlled. However, it did acknowledge that “the nuclear power industry is unintentionally contributing to an increased risk of nuclear war” (Fox, 1976: 185).

The second report was concerned with the development of the Ranger uranium deposit. It recommended that:

• a major national park be established,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 14 • before commencement of the construction of Ranger, or substantial numbers of people brought into the area Aboriginal title should be granted, the national park established, and the necessary control mechanisms set up (Fox, 1977).

• the Ranger and Jabiluka mineral leases be excised from the park (Fisk and Farthing, 1985).

Although the Ranger Uranium Environmental Inquiry gave the go-ahead for the development of uranium mining in the Alligator Rivers region, it did so with restrictions – mining was to be limited in the region to the Ranger proposal, at least temporarily, and all uranium mining was to be strictly regulated and monitored. It acknowledged that there were safety risks associated with the nuclear industry and, in doing so, it lent expert scientific support to the arguments put up against Australia’s mining and selling of uranium. However, it also ambiguously recommended that some uranium mining was acceptable (Burgmann, 1993: 196).

By the time the Fox Inquiry was completed, a Liberal – National Party coalition had formed a new government led by Malcolm Fraser and, despite the recommendations that uranium mining be restricted, it “vigorously encouraged the expansion of the Australian uranium industry” (Burgmann, 1993: 196). The Fraser government did, however, follow Fox’s recommendations regarding the granting of Aboriginal land title and the establishment of a national park.

Hence, in November 1978, following the guidelines developed by the Woodward Commission regarding Aboriginal participation, Kakadu’s traditional owners agreed to lease back their land to the Director of National Parks and Wildlife, for the purposes of a national park (ANPWS, 1991), and in 1979 Kakadu became the first national park on Aboriginal land in Australia. It was to be declared in three stages, Stage I in 1979, Stage II in 1984 and Stage III in 1987 with subsequent proclamations in 1989 and 1991 (Press et al, 1995).

The Jabiluka area is situated on the border between Stage 1 and Stage 2, as can be seen below in Figure 5, which depicts the stages of Kakadu’s development. The thirteen clan groups holding title to the area – its traditional owners – manage it jointly with Parks Australia North, a division of the Commonwealth Department

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 15 of the Environment (the Federal government department charged with the administration of national parks in the Northern Territory).

Figure 5: The Stages of Development of Kakadu National Park Source: Lawrence, 2000.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 16 It should be noted that in the original plan of management of the park, traditional owners were given only a consultative role – they held no decision-making power. Subsequent revision has led to a model entailing a Board of Management on which there is a majority of Aboriginal representatives. According to Lawrence, the traditional owners reluctantly agreed to the national park, recognising that the NLC had no power to stop Ranger because it had been declared to be in the national interest (Lawrence, 2000: 104). Thus, the lease-back agreement was seen by the traditional owners as a means of achieving some control over the land, although such control is limited (Burgmann, 1993: 65).

The next major phase of Kakadu’s development was its nomination for World Heritage listing. It seemed that here at least the traditional owners and the conservationists may be able to reach an agreement regarding the value of Kakadu National Park, albeit for different reasons.

1.3 Kakadu: Heritage For All

The creation of Kakadu National Park and its subsequent World Heritage listing in stages (Stage I: 1981; Stage II: 1987; Stage III: 1992) vindicated the green movement’s position on the conservation value of the area. Kakadu’s value as an icon of Australian heritage was finally recognised with its inscription on the World Heritage List. Although, as Hutton and Connors (1999) observe, neither national park nor World Heritage status in a heavily mineralised region can guarantee its permanent protection, it nonetheless represented a significant victory.

Kakadu was nominated and inscribed for both natural and cultural heritage values, a feature which makes it all the more significant, as very few World Heritage sites – only 22 of the 630 properties inscribed – contain both and also meet the stringent criteria required for successful nomination (UNESCO, 1999). The World Heritage Convention describes Kakadu National Park as a

unique archaeological and ethnological reserve … inhabited for more than 40, 000 years. The cave paintings, rock carvings and archaeological sites

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 17 present a record of the skills and lifeways of the region’s inhabitants, from the hunters and gatherers of prehistoric times to the Aboriginal people still living there (UNESCO, 1999).

The unique natural values of Kakadu include the sandstone formations of the Arnhem Land escarpment, grasslands and savannah woodlands as well as the more aesthetically spectacular wetlands. The area is ecologically rich and diverse – over one third of Australia’s bird species live there. The Magela and Nourlangie floodplains sustain millions of birds, as well as many species of reptiles, fish and mangroves (Press et al, 1995). The major landforms of Kakadu are shown in Figure 4.

By nominating Kakadu National Park for World Heritage listing, the Australian government was acknowledging these unique values and recognising the need to preserve them, and no doubt also the benefits to the tourism industry that listing would bring. The future of the national park may not have been assured with the World Heritage inscription, but the future of the Kakadu region as a tourist destination was. Kakadu National Park is reported to be the region’s major tourism draw-card and, after mining, tourism is the second biggest revenue earner in the Northern Territory. It is thus a crucial part of the Northern Territory economy (Hill and Press, 1993).

Australia pledged to conserve the sites situated on its territory by signing the World Heritage Convention in 1974, although the World Heritage Committee has no legal power with respect to site management. While World Heritage listing does not necessarily guarantee protection, failing to fulfil that obligation could result in deep international embarrassment.

The nomination of Kakadu National Park for World Heritage was not supported in all quarters. Although it can provide the means to protect heritage, it can also be seen to threaten alternative interests such as mining, agriculture, forestry and land development. Hence, despite the fact that the rights of the property owners are not removed by listing, and State and Territory land use rights cannot be challenged by it, listing “has the power to generate considerable antagonism between governments, environmentalists and developmentalists” (Lawrence, 2000: 222).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 18 In Kakadu, conflict between conservation and mining continues, with Aboriginal interests attached to one or both sides, sometimes simultaneously” (Lawrence, 2000: 225). The World Heritage nomination of Kakadu National Park added fuel to that conflict, and the divisions are still apparent – Jabiluka is the current evidence of the difficulties of managing this land in a way that satisfies all the parties with an interest in it.

The World Heritage status of the area is of particular relevance now, as Mirrar, one of the thirteen clans holding land title of Kakadu National Park (discussed in more detail below, in 1.2.1), have undertaken an intensive lobbying effort to try to have Kakadu National Park listed as World Heritage in danger. This has drawn considerable international attention to the Jabiluka issue and forced the Australian government to take action to justify their approval of the mine’s development and also to enter into consultations with Mirrar regarding the protection of Mirrar culture.

The protest against the mine has had several major fronts. The validity of the mineral lease has been disputed legally. The issue has been taken into the international arena on both human rights and World Heritage grounds; and direct action has taken place at the mine site itself. It is the latter with which I am most concerned, but before any further discussion of the protest action and its exact location, it is important to identify the key players in the dispute.

1.3.1 Land Rights: Protecting Culture

The traditional owners of the Jabiluka lease site are the Mirrar Gundjehmi people. Under the Northern Territory Aboriginal Land Rights Act, land claims may be granted to traditional Aboriginal owners, who are defined as a

local descent group of Aboriginal people who have common spiritual affiliations to a site on the land, being affiliations that place the group under a primary responsibility for that site and are entitled by Aboriginal tradition to forage as of right over that land (C&NLC, 1995: 14).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 19 The members of a local descent group share common spiritual affiliation with particular tracts of land by way of an association with Dreaming spirit beings as well as their relationship with the locale (Lawrence, 2000: 126).

Figure 6: Language Groups of the Kakadu Region. Source: Lawrence, 2000. (Boundaries between language groups are indicative only, as discussed in section 3.3.1).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 20 There are two social categories through which people are organised into land- owning groups in the Kakadu region. The first is known as gun-mogurrgurr5 which, like language group membership, is usually determined by patrilineal descent. Figure 6 shows approximate boundaries of language groups in Kakadu.

According to Lawrence, the intersection between gun-mogurrgurr and language group “generates a pattern of more discrete primary land-owning groups that anthropologists have called clans” (2000: 129). Clans are defined by Kleinert and Neale (2000) as a group of people with a shared ancestor, and in Australia they are usually patrilineal, with descent traced through the male line. Clan membership determines rights and responsibilities towards land.

The Northern Land Council (NLC) is the statutory body established under the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act (1976) to represent traditional owners in the northern part of the territory. As such, it is required to consult with the relevant traditional owners about proposals for the use of their land (C&NLC, 1995: 10). The NLC is funded by the Aboriginals Benefit Trust Account (ABTA), from federal consolidated revenue, but the level of that funding is determined by the equivalent amount paid in mining royalties to the federal and Northern Territory governments (CLC&NLC, 1995: 11). Thus, the NLC is placed in the difficult position of representing disparate interests – some traditional owners may support mining and depend on mining royalties, while others may not – while itself being dependent on mining for its own funding. The NLC distributes the ABTA funds to Aboriginal communities affected by the mines.

Negotiations conducted with traditional owners at the time of the Ranger settlement included Jabiluka, hence the NLC represented several clans who had an interest in the general area. Mirrar claim that a 1982 agreement reached between Pancontinental Mining Ltd and the Northern Land Council, representing traditional owners, to mine Jabiluka was secured under duress and by deceit (GAC [2]). The constant and frequent requirement of balanda for bininj to negotiate mining agreements was experienced as duress, and had been since the time of the

5 According to Lawrence (2000), this is the Gundjehmi word, there are other names for this category in the south of the park.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 21 Fox reports. In the second report, Fox uses the words of Mr Silas Roberts, who was the chairman of the NLC at the time of the Fox enquiry, to summarise this experience as follows:

We see white men as always pushing. We know white men think differently from us, and they are not all bad. But even this Commission is pushing in its own way. I must explain this because it is very important that our difficulty in this is understood. The trouble is that Aborigines did not run their business the same way as the white men. We did not reach decisions in the same way. Our people are not as free to make decisions and give evidence as white men seem to be. If you add to this that most Aborigines are very frightened of white people and you will have a lot of trouble getting them to come back and give evidence more than once. These problems are always faced by our field officers. Let me explain a little bit more. We have got to make decisions in respect to land our own way.

It is a long hard road … sometimes a person or a group will say “yes” then talk a little bit more and then say “no”. Then more talk might take place after a few months and still no final answer. Then all the people who really belong to that country will go over it all again until everyone is sure of his answer and then the answer is given. That may be years after the first talks if the question is a hard one (Fox et al, 1977: 46–7).

Mirrar believe that Toby Gangale, senior traditional owner when the Ranger and Jabiluka negotiations took place in the early 1980s, was subjected to constant pressure from Pancontinental to enter into an agreement to mine. Pancontinental representatives had requested constant meetings and misrepresented the purpose of some of those meetings as being about testing rather than mining (GAC [5]). Toby Gangale eventually gave up fighting. When the Ranger agreement was signed in 1978 he stated that he was too tired to fight anymore. He and other traditional owners had attended that meeting with the understanding that it was to meet the minister and the NLC but instead were handed gold pens inscribed “Ranger 1978”. At the meeting in June 1982 Galarrwuy Yunipingu, representing the NLC (and consequently the traditional owners), signed an agreement for the Jabiluka mine, Gangale was too ill to sit (GAC [4]). It appeared that Yunupingu was of the belief that mining was inevitable and that if they resisted they risked the invocation of subsection 45 (1) of the Aboriginal Land rights Act, which meant the minister could enter into the agreement on behalf of the Land Council. That is, he believed they risked what little control they had over the conditions of the agreement (GAC [3]).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 22 Gundjehmi was established to administer the affairs and interests of the Mirrar in 1995, when they became dissatisfied with the administration of royalties by the NLC and believed that their wishes were not being adequately represented. Gundjehmi acts as the public voice of the Mirrar clan, and it was the employees of Gundjehmi with whom most protesters had contact during the Stop Jabiluka campaign. The senior traditional owner of the Mirrar clan is Yvonne Margarula, daughter of Toby Gangale, and Jacqui Katona, the Chief Executive Officer of Gundjehmi and Margarula’s kinswoman, acted as the spokeswoman for Mirrar throughout the Jabiluka campaign.

Mirrar argue that the Ranger mine has had significant negative impacts on Aboriginal people in the Kakadu region. Jabiru, the township established to support Ranger, is now the fifth largest town in the NT, and local Aboriginal people are outnumbered approx 7:1 by predominantly white outsiders. A social impact study conducted by the Commonwealth in 1984 found that the community was a “society in crisis” and that this was manifest in its disunity, neurosis, sense of struggle, drinking, hostility, and inundation by new laws, agencies and agendas (GAC, 1998a: 32).

Given their experience with Ranger, Mirrar are opposed to the Jabiluka development, believing it will affect sacred sites, result in long term health problems and that it will not improve conditions for their community. The Kakadu Region Social Impact Study (1997) found that local Aboriginal people had gained no material benefit from mining royalties (APC, 1997; GAC, 1998a).

The uranium industry and government representatives have refuted the argument that the traditional owners are opposed to Jabiluka by pointing out that traditional owners agreed to the original Pancontinental proposal to mine Ranger and Jabiluka. With respect to mining in Kakadu National Park, they argue that some traditional owners there support mining. They also emphasise that ERA has followed the approvals processes established under the Land Rights Act for consultation with traditional owners (Tierney et al 1999: 1; UIC, 1999).

This glosses over the complex arrangements regarding clan estate ownership – it does not consider, for example, the fact that while it may be technically correct to

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 23 say that not all of the traditional owners of Kakadu are opposed to uranium mining in the park because some of the clans may agree with such development on their own country, this argument does not take Aboriginal customary laws regarding clan ownership rights into account.

As noted earlier, a number of different clan groups hold title to Kakadu National Park and are represented on its Board of Management. The Aboriginal traditional owners of the park are not one people who always agree with each other all the time on how to manage their land (Environment Australia, undated). However Mirrar are indisputably the custodians and traditional owners of the country on which the Jabiluka mineral lease is located (GAC [6]). Under Aboriginal law they are the primary decision-makers about activities on their estate. Their right to make decisions about their estate is respected by other Aboriginal people in the region, as is evident in the public endorsement of the Mirrar campaign by the West Arnhem Regional Council, a sub-branch of the NLC, (GAC [7]). Although other clans (such as the Manilagarr clan who occupy areas immediately adjacent to Jabiluka) have an interest in what happens to Mirrar country, no other clan has the right to make decisions about its care (GAC [6]) and, according to Jayne Weepers (an executive officer of the ACF and Co-ordinator of the ECNT when the camp was set up and throughout its operation), although another clan may not agree with Yvonne’s decision regarding Jabiluka, they don’t challenge her right to oppose Jabiluka (Weepers, 1998).

1.3.2 Green Visions: Protecting Nature

The key green groups involved in the Jabiluka alliance are the ACF; Friends of the Earth Australia (FoE); The Wilderness Society (TWS) and the Environment Centre Northern Territory (ECNT). Support for the Stop Jabiluka campaign also came from many other community organisations. That support was expressed in the form of donations, publicity and messages of solidarity – many painted banners, faxes and letters expressing such support were sent to the protesters’ camp and were on display in the camp and at protests.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 24 Both the ACF and TWS are national non-profit organisations and have membership across all Australian states but that membership is concentrated in the south-east. Timothy Doyle, environmentalist, lecturer and researcher of politics and environmental studies, and president of the Conservation Council of South Australia, believes they are the most “readily recognisable Australian green NGO’s” (2000: 88).

ACF describes itself as Australia’s leading non-government, non-profit organisation and has a vision for “long-term reform, for accountable and ecologically sound management of our cities, industries and our natural heritage” (ACF, undated). ACF began life as a very conservative organisation when it was formed in the mid-1960’s and although it became more radical during the 1970s it is still seen as one of the more moderate, mainstream Australian NGO’s (Doyle, 2000).

FoE is a member of Friends of the Earth International (the world’s largest federation of environmental groups) and is a federation of autonomous local groups working for a socially equitable and environmentally sustainable future. It is a grassroots and decentralised organisation and consequently has traditionally had a local focus. Currently it is involved in several national campaigns – Anti- nuclear, Trade, Climate, indigenous land and rights (FoE, undated [a]). The strong emphasis on social justice that characterises FoE is illustrated by its commitment to Aboriginal issues (Doyle, 2000) and its understanding of the inseparability of social and environmental issues (FoE, undated [b]). FoE can probably be considered the least mainstream of the larger green organisations in Australia, as was revealed when the Hawke government failed to invite it to participate in the ESD process6 alongside ACF, WWF, Greenpeace and TWS (Doyle, 2000).

Formed in 1976, TWS defines itself as a national, community-based, environmental advocacy organisation whose mission is “to protect, promote and secure the future of wilderness and other high conservation areas” (TWS,

6 This was a consultation process that was part of the Hawke Labor government’s development of ESD policy in 1990. Hawke invited mainstream NGO’s to participate along with government agencies, trade unions, the Business Council of Australia and the Australian Council for Social Services (Doyle, 2000: 152).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 25 undated). It began as the Tasmanian Wilderness Society which focussed on the prevention of the development of the Gordon-below-Franklin dam and, after the success of that campaign, became a national organisation. TWS’ characteristic involvement in direct action and mass mobilisation campaigns, particularly with respect to the protection of forests, has left it with the label of “radical” although it involves itself in a range of conservation campaigns and, like FoE, has a strong commitment to the peace movement (Doyle, 2000).

Established in 1983, the ECNT is a local organisation and is the peak environment group in the Northern Territory. It works to promote environmental awareness, involve and inform the public and the media on environment issues, lobby government and industry and support the recognition of Aboriginal land and rights (ECNT, undated).

As to be expected, the environmental organisations involved at Jabiluka took the position held by green groups in general (I elaborate on the green worldview in Chapter Two). In summary, conservationists’ opposition to the mine centres on the threats to the World Heritage values of the region and the environmental integrity of the wetlands ecosystem, of which the Jabiluka lease is a part. Green groups, besides their general opposition to the broader nuclear fuel cycle (based on the risks associated with its end-use, such as power plant accidents and nuclear war) are concerned about the dangers posed by the mining, processing, and transport of uranium at Jabiluka, for example: degradation of the environment through construction processes and potential risks from accidental leakage of radioactive tailings water into the surrounding wetlands. They also argue that the mine poses health risks to the local Aboriginal people of the region, who hunt and fish in the area and therefore could be exposed to increased levels of radiation if the environment was contaminated (Jabiluka Alliance 1998; Krishnapillai 1998a).

1.3.3 Mineral Site: Protecting Industry

The federal and the Northern Territory governments and the mining industry support the Jabiluka development – an unsurprising fact given that mining is the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 26 biggest revenue earner for the Northern Territory, and that Australia has a vast reserve of uranium (Hill and Press, 1993; UIC, 1999). In this case the mining industry is represented by the company that owns and operates Ranger mine and the Jabiluka lease, Energy Resources of Australia (ERA); its shareholders; construction workers and miners. These proponents of Jabiluka argue that development equals benefit. That is, that uranium mining will bring increased financial benefits and an improved lifestyle both for local residents and all Australians as a result of the increased employment opportunities within the mining industry and the support services it would require in Jabiru. From the viewpoint of the pro-Jabiluka lobby:

• Mining is fundamental to national prosperity and Jabiluka will stimulate economic activity. They estimate the present net value of the mine to the Australian economy to be $3.8 billion over its lifetime;

• Jabiluka will bring significant employment opportunities – it is estimated that it will employ a construction workforce of 164 and 110 people during its operational phase;

• Australians will benefit from taxes and royalties. It is estimated that the money ERA will pay to government is equivalent to 1,500 jobs (ERA, undated).

ERA have federal and Northern Territory government approval to construct the mine and a processing plant at Jabiluka but their preferred option is to build a road from Jabiluka to the existing milling facilities at Ranger, 22.5 kms away. This option is known as the Ranger Milling Alternative (RMA). For the RMA to proceed, consent from the Mirrar is required. Consistent with their total opposition to the mine, Mirrar refuse to grant that consent.

1.3.4 Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp: Arena of an Alliance

In vignette (i) I described my arrival at Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp. Well over three thousand activists made a journey to Jabiluka like my own. They usually arrived, as I did, a little dazed after a long trip to a destination unlike any other they had ever experienced. And, like me, many were a little unsure of what to expect and how to behave. Although I am not untravelled and therefore not unused to arriving

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 27 in unfamiliar places, this was not “foreign” – it was Australia – but it felt like it was in the sense that there were cultural norms that must be respected and permits and passports were required. The camp was on Mirrar land and was only possible because of a special alliance between Mirrar and green groups.

In the eyes of Cam Walker (Friends of the Earth Australia National Liaison Officer), Dave Sweeney’s personal connections with local Aboriginal people in the Alligator Rivers area were crucial to the development of the Jabiluka alliance. Walker recalls that throughout the 1970s and 80’s, although greens worked with blacks to oppose developments like the Ranger Uranium Mine and the Coronation Hill Gold Mine, it was a case of The Wilderness Society (TWS) and the ACF intervening as peak green groups – without the grass-roots inspiration and the “camp-fire reconciliation” way of people getting to know each other that typified the early interactions between greens and blacks regarding Jabiluka. Walker says that, in the early 1990’s, the traditional owners and the Northern Land Council “threw down the gauntlet” by writing to green groups saying “if you greenies are against uranium mining – we need the economic gain so what are you gonna do about it?” His recollection is that Sweeney responded by utilising his role on the Alligator Rivers Advisory Committee to go out to country to explore the issues and build up a personal connection with the Aboriginal people (Walker 1999).

Jayne Weepers (the Co-ordinator of the Environment Centre Northern Territory throughout the Jabiluka campaign and member of the Executive Council of the ACF) also acknowledges the contribution made by Sweeney in her recollection of the way the alliance was begun. The Jabiluka alliance, she stated, was built on the good work done by the ECNT and the Alligator Rivers Region Advisory Committee. Green groups had also worked with another local Aboriginal clan (the Bunitj) to oppose the release of contaminated water from Ranger and on lobbying the Australian Labor Party on the Three Mines Policy. Once the Liberal Party obtained power in 1996, and it became clear that they were going to move quickly to develop Jabiluka, the ECNT and Gundjehmi began to liaise with each other regarding a campaign. By late 1996 they began holding long strategy meetings in the Jabiluka area. They also organised more specific meetings to explain issues such as World Heritage that were attended by the Mirrar clan, Jayne Weepers and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 28 Dave Sweeney and, occasionally, larger regional meetings that included neighbouring clans as well. A significant point in the development of the alliance came, according to Weepers, with the development of the “hand” logo (figure 2) that symbolised a strategic alliance between greens and blacks and the strong commitment made by greens that the campaign would be Aboriginal led – a commitment that was the key to the alliance’s success (Weepers, 1998).

In 1997 Mirrar, ECNT, ACF and TWS decided it was necessary to take direct action at the mine site. Green groups wanted to oppose the immanent construction of the mine with more than a press release and, without an invitation or approval from Mirrar, no direct action could take place. They needed Mirrar’s approval in both a legal and an ethical sense. Without a request from Mirrar no camping arrangements could have been negotiated with Parks Australia. Ethically it was crucial to acknowledge Mirrar’s rights to control country (Sweeney 1999). Green groups could offer Mirrar access to their large network, campaigning skills and could muster the numbers that would be needed to make the blockade work (Weepers, 1998).

In early 1998, a blockade was set up at the entrance to the mineral lease. The initial aim was to prevent the transport of construction equipment into the site and later to hinder work, using the tactics of “tripod-sitting” (that is, erecting very high tripods at the gates or on roads to block access, in which a protester would sit, making it dangerous to move the structure) and “locking-on” (using various metal devices to attach protesters’ bodies to fences, equipment and vehicles). Police also set up there – they taped off an area of about 100 metres on either side of the lease-access track (leading from the Oenpelli Rd up to the mine site itself) with red and white striped police tape to demarcate the boundary of the lease-site and to indicate the line beyond which “trespassers could be prosecuted” (shown in figure 9). And so that site, depicted above in figure 4, about 20 kms north of Jabiru, approximately 250 kms east of Darwin, became the focal point for thousands of protesters for the next eight months.

The support camp for the protesters was set up on land approximately 10 kms from the township of Jabiru. Prior to the declaration of Kakadu National Park, the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 29 land had been a cattle station. As Jabiru was originally planned as a service centre for Ranger employees, it provides only basic amenities, so the area is relatively isolated. Residents must travel to Darwin for major purchases and services. In later years, however, it has also come to serve the growing tourist industry.

There is nothing more essential than water in the Northern Territory, so the camp location was dictated by its availability. The only absolutely necessary infrastructure was a bore and a tank for water storage, and luckily there was one located on Mirrar land, so here the cattle station heritage of the area proved extremely useful. The water tank’s place at the centre of the camp (see figure 7 below) was testament to its indispensability.

The boundary of the camping area was marked by a firebreak cut at a 250-metre radius from the water tank. Mirrar requested that no-one venture past this boundary, but made special exception for the women’s space as I describe in vignette (vii). The communal kitchen, meeting spaces, art space, chai tent and gathering area were clustered together around the middle of the camp, where the long grass had been cleared in readiness. Individual camps spread out to the boundary in all directions.

Crucial to the maintenance of the protest at such a remote location was a well- functioning camp, and despite appearances to the contrary, this one was highly organised. It was planned well in advance via consultation between the peak green groups – The ECNT, ACF, TWS, FoE, Gundjehmi and also the National Union of Students (NUS). These groups had been involved in organising a students’ camp at the same location in 1997, a camp which had “set the seeds for a potent campaign” (Krishnapillai, 1997: 3).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 30

Figure 7: Sketch Map of Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 31 The structure of the camp and the principles on which it was based are discussed in detail in Chapter Five. As far as possible, the protesters’ camp was organised according to principles of non-hierarchical living. The day-to-day functioning of the camp was collectively managed by non-hierarchical collectives, or working groups. Decision-making occurred via a process of consultation between the camp, a co-ordinating collective and Gundjehmi (figure 17 shows a diagram of this structure).

The Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp was more than just a place to sleep and eat. The isolated location and the political and cultural sensitivities relating to living on Aboriginal land, together with the sense of purpose felt by all those who participated there, served to create a deep fervour not just for the protest but also the living space. One participant, Rita Warleigh, experienced it like this:

Strength of belief in the cause pervades the atmosphere of the blockade, which is like a big campus, a learning ground focussed on one issue and its relationship to everything else. In my time there, I encountered a genuine desire to learn, listen, discuss, open minds and hearts, act, learn by doing. In a way it was utopian, a new society working from chaos and anarchy into an ever-changing order, very grounded, yet with a global perspective extending far into the future, an inter-generational awareness and idealism (Warleigh, 1998).

It was not easy, and there were trials and tribulations that I discuss in later chapters, but generally the camp functioned well. It served the purpose of supporting the protest, enabling it to continue for 8 months, over which time more than 3,000 protesters passed through and 573 arrests were made. Not only did it provide accommodation and act as a meeting centre, it was also a space in which to work through the issues raised by conservation coming face to face with Aboriginal land rights and the unusual learning experience of seeing Aboriginal women in positions of power. It was this experience I delve into in this thesis, but before doing this, the means I used to do so need to be outlined, together with a note of explanation of my style.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 32 1.4 A Jabilukan Approach

The production of this thesis became an expedition. It transgressed both physical and personal space. In embarking upon it, I hoped I might make a contribution towards the development of more positive relations between environmental and Aboriginal activists. I was motivated in part by a desire to see the rights of Aboriginal Australians respected and to see that places precious to them and also to environmentalists are looked after in ways that are acceptable to both groups.

I intend this project to be embedded in reality – in the practice of peoples’ lives. As such it draws directly on the voices of participants in this struggle, and is written in a style which I hope is accessible to most interested readers – not only to those privileged enough to reside in the world of academia. The vignettes, interwoven with the more scholarly text, are intended to convey the reflective nature of my Jabilukan expedition, one which became a journey of personal development as well as an academic exercise.

The project was initially conceived as an analysis of the social construction of nature and the tensions that it has caused between greens and blacks, and as a challenge to the dominant ideology which governs not only white – black but also green – black relations in Australia. That would entail an exploration of the meaning of the environment for both environmentalists and Aboriginal people, with particular reference to the ideas of “wilderness” and “country”. I undertook my first trip to Jabiluka with that in mind. I also initially aimed to give voice not only to women, in the tradition of feminist research, but also to indigenous Australians. But my formal application to conduct research on Mirrar country was refused in accordance with a blanket policy of “no research”. This response from Mirrar was, I believe, symptomatic of several factors:7

7 These factors were communicated to me by Kirsten Blair, then employed by Gundjehmi, and Terry Bailey, a Cultural Heritage Manager for Parks Australia. They assured me that the decision not to grant me a research permit was based on a blanket policy of “no research” rather than specific disapproval of my project.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 33 • the heavy workload that Gundjehmi was attempting to deal with as a result of the demands of the campaign; • the usual work of attending to the needs of their community; • a response to the past experience of Aboriginal communities being “over-researched”, yet gaining no benefit from their contributions to such research.

Consequently, this project became entangled in the dilemma it was intending to unravel. It seems that the aftermath of the white exploitation of Aboriginal people in terms of research practices has been the restriction of access to information. Had I been able to conduct primary research amongst Mirrar, I believe I would have developed a more complete understanding of the issues they and other Aboriginal Australians face, and to present a more thorough analysis of the relationship between greens and blacks. The ultimate outcome, in my case, was a reshaping of the project in which my primary research concentrated on the behaviour of greens as reported directly by them. I have attempted to express the Aboriginal voice through secondary sources.

On the question of voice, I am conscious of the need to “speak out for”, rather than to “speak for”, the communities I write about here (Reinharz, 1992). This is a particularly sensitive issue in relation to the Aboriginal voice, but also important in regard to my representations of other Jabilukans. To speak for them would be to perpetuate the masculinist practice of assuming knowledge or experience which is not mine, and silencing those to whom it belongs. For this reason, where possible, I have chosen to directly quote the words of my informants, and to represent their language as accurately as I can. In the cases where direct reference to the experience of Mirrar is necessary, I have tried to utilise material either published directly by Mirrar or Gundjehmi, and approved by them.

The approach I used in order to conduct this research is informed by feminist research practice, although I recognise that there is some debate about the specifics of the definition of feminist research. For example, Loraine Gelsthorpe argues that “feminists have expressed methodological preferences, some of which are more obviously in sympathy with feminist aims but, as within different

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 34 disciplines, there has been no widely acknowledged consensus on methodology” (1992: 217). And Martin Hammersley argues that there is no distinctly feminist methodology – that the themes generally taken to mark its distinctiveness (a central concern with the significance of gender, the validity of experience versus method, a research relationship that rejects hierarchy, and the adoption of the emancipation of women as the goal of research) can also be found in other, non- feminist approaches to research methods (1992: 187).

Shulamit Reinharz, however, writes that “feminist research practices must be recognized as a plurality. Rather than there being a ‘woman’s way of knowing’, or a ‘feminist way of doing research’, there are women’s ways of knowing” (1992: 4). So, although there may be no widely acknowledged consensus on feminist methodology, as Gelsthorpe (1992) argues, there is a set of principles upon which many feminists base their research methods. They have arisen because women’s experiences of gendered power relations as a source of knowledge have been ignored by masculinist sociology, so it has not been possible to theorise that experience within existing methodological paradigms. The result has been the exploration by feminists of “new ways of knowing, now loosely termed feminist methodology” (Ramazanoglu 1992: 209). These include the rejection of the validity of hierarchical power relationships; a concern with the validity of life experience and the emancipation of women; and a belief in the need for women’s voices to be heard.

One of the distinguishing features of feminist research methods is its central concern with gender. In regard to this aspect of feminist methodology, my research might better be described as ecofeminist research, for it extends the concern for the oppression of women and the need to allow space for minority voices to other oppressed groups, including nature.

Cindy Cowden, a natural scientist, describes feminist research as stemming from personal beliefs that “reductionist science is inadequate to understand organisms, whether they are spiders, starfish or women; and that we can only understand organisms by seeing with a loving eye” (quoted in Reinharz, 1992: 3). The first point may be taken to refer to the need for researchers to enter into the research

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 35 project with an ecological approach – a view of the research object as part of a complex life system in which organisms are inseparable from each other and their environment and one from which researchers themselves cannot be separated. The second point made by Cowden I take to refer to the need for respect and care for those being researched, and also to the issue of objectivity, which leads to the next point – my own way of doing this particular research.

1.4.1 Feminist Approaches – Ecofeminist Ways

This thesis draws upon a combination of sources. As well as field work (my primary source) and the review of literature relating to environmentalism, feminism, ecofeminism, social constructionism and Aboriginal affairs, it has involved analysis of public reports, minutes of activists’ meetings, press coverage and media releases from the full range of organisations involved in the dispute.

My field research was primarily conducted during two visits to the Jabiluka protesters’ camp. The first visit, in June-July 1998 was for three weeks. The second comprised four weeks at the camp during October 1998 and a further two weeks in Darwin participating in “clean-up” activities at the ECNT and conducting interviews arranged while at the camp. Further follow-up interviews were undertaken during January and September 1999 in Sydney and Melbourne, where many of my key informants were based, and where they have continued their work on the Jabiluka campaign since the closure of the camp in October 1998.

My methods were those of participant observation underpinned by feminist research principles. I lived and actively participated in the lifestyle of the camp whilst utilising the methods of participant observation – direct observation, interviewing, document analysis, reflection, analysis and interpretation (Schwandt, 1997). However, I broke with the common insistence for participant observers that I adopt “the stance of a marginal native or professional stranger” (Schwandt 1997, 111). The usual difficulties of participant observation – involving myself as fully as possible without “going native” (that is, maintaining

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 36 “objectivity”) were complicated further by the fact that, in a sense, I was already “native” prior to undertaking research at Jabiluka. That is, I was already an environmentalist and a feminist, although perhaps not as active as many other Jabilukans were.

The requirement that researchers take a distant and impartial stance in the name of retaining the objective and neutral position of science is criticised by feminists (Ramazanoglu, 1992; Mies, 1993; Owen, 1996) who argue that, by contrast, quality research requires an “ethic of commitment and egalitarianism in contrast with the scientific ethic of detachment and role differentiation between researcher and subject” (Reinharz, 1992: 27). Maria Mies formulated a number of methodological guidelines for feminist research for the first Congress on Women’s Studies,8 held in Frankfurt, 1978. They were subsequently adopted as the theoretical-methodological basis for Women’s Studies (1993: 37) and they have guided my research.

In the first of these guidelines, Mies uses the term “conscious partiality” to describe an approach to research preferable to that guided by the aim of maintaining an “objective stance”. In her view, “the postulate of value-free research, of neutrality and indifference towards the research objects has to be replaced by conscious partiality which is achieved through partial identification with the research objects” (1993: 38). Conscious partiality conceives the researchers themselves, not just the research objects, as part of a bigger social whole.

Feminist researchers have dismissed the scientific ethic of detachment and the treatment of research “objects” as merely “data providers” in the name of objective, scientific and unbiased research as both unrealistic and unattainable. As Mies states, “the separation of politics (power) and science which we feminists attack is based on a lie. It does not exist and it has never existed, that value-free,

8 Women’s Studies emerged as a separate academic discipline in the 1980s. It was aimed at the documentation and assimilation of women’s history and experience which feminist scholars and activists realised had been omitted from mainstream acadaemia. It grew out of the new Women’s Liberation Movement – out of the women’s groups in which “housewives, secretaries, students, and a few social scientists came together as women to fight against patriarchal exploitation and oppression” (Mies, 1993: 36).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 37 disinterested pure science, devoted only to the infinite search for truth” (1993: 46). Feminist research recognises the influence of social factors on both the behaviour of the researcher and the researched, and in contrast to the conventional “distancing approach” it “requires openness, engagement, and the development of a potentially long-lasting relationship” (Reinharz, 1992: 27).

My research followed this principle in that I endeavoured to build relationships with my interviewees, to ensure they had control over the interview process and to understand the sensitivities of their positions with respect to discussing camp politics. In a sense, it was this guideline that shaped the direction of the whole thesis: I had initially hoped to focus on traditional Aboriginal conceptions of country and the differences between green and black styles of caring for it. However, when permission for such research was declined I opted to research an aspect of the issue that did not impose another “unwanted researcher” on Aboriginal people.

Another important feature of my work is my objective, as I stated above, that the research project should be of use to others as well as myself: that it should be accessible. In other words, that it be a tool for the empowerment of others, through the construction and utilisation of their own knowledge (Schwandt, 1997). This ethic of empowerment has guided my work and it corresponds with the second of Mies’ “methodological guidelines for feminist research” – the rejection of the hierarchical relationship which sees researcher as subject, researched as object, or in her words:

The view from above must be replaced with the view from below … research, which so far has been largely an instrument of dominance and legitimation of power elites, must be brought to serve the interests of dominated, exploited and oppressed groups, particularly women (1992: 38).

My intentions in undertaking this research were underpinned by this principle, and I hope that my work has come at least a little way towards aligning the viewpoints of conservationists and Aboriginal traditional owners. Jones (1996: 134) offers an excellent description of feminist methodology, describing it as being:

about levelling the potential power imbalance between researched and researcher. It is about admitting that the researcher has her (or his) own

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 38 agenda, and that it is intertwined with the lives and experiences of those being researched. It is about allowing the participants in the research process to participate fully – to speak in their own voice, to be heard and listened to by someone who understands and can fully represent that voice.

One of the means of achieving this that is favoured by feminists is the use of unstructured or semi-structured interviews in order to maximise discovery and description (Reinharz, 1992). This method formed the basis of my interviews, as the following short description of the interview process shows.

In the selection of interviewees and interview method I used snowball sampling9 and the results of my own observations. I identified key figures in the broader, national campaign by noting who was publishing, publicly speaking and being quoted in campaign material and the media. Those in public roles I approached to arrange an interview, which I then tape-recorded (with the participant’s consent) and transcribed at a later date.

At the protesters’ camp, I chose participants who appeared to be playing major roles either in the camp itself by facilitating meetings, co-ordinating kitchen and administration duties or organising events, liaising with police and media. Once I had identified those I considered to be key figures, I introduced myself, explained my project, and had at least one informal conversation with the participant during which we discussed the campaign, camp structures and my project. During that conversation I would request a more formal interview which I would record, and also ask who they considered to be key figures in the campaign, or who they considered to hold either specialist knowledge (for example, about the campaign management) or interests (for example, about ecofeminism). In this way I could not only build up a base of informants but also check the accuracy of my own observations and at the same time ensure that I was approaching a range of informants.

The interviewing style I used – semi-structured interviewing – is consistent with an emphasis on the validity of personal experience (Hammersley, 1992) and offers access to the personal insights of the participants in their own words (Reinharz,

9 Snowball sampling involves the building up of a list of informants by selecting a small group of key informants and asking each of them to nominate others (May, 1997: 119).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 39 1992). Although I had pre-prepared guidelines of the topics I hoped to cover in the interviews, as far as possible, they were interviewee guided. (See appendix 1 for the guidelines) I chose this method because I wanted to explore the views and experiences of the participants, and believe that, with the employment of open- ended questions and a focus on the interests and concerns of the participant being interviewed, the opportunity for doing so was maximised.

In her third guideline Mies calls for the active participation of academics in struggles for emancipation – “The contemplative, uninvolved ‘spectator knowledge’ must be replaced by active participation in actions, movements and struggles. Research must become an integral part of such struggles” (1993: 39). To this end, I “got involved” – I was both participant and observer, researched and researcher. I became fully involved in the life of the camp, participating in protest actions (to the extent of being arrested and charged with trespass, an experience which I describe in vignette (viii) “Retiree on the Run”); gate watch; and in cleaning and cooking duties. The intensity of my personal experience and involvement in the campaign is, I hope, reflected throughout the thesis in the vignettes. They are intended to convey the activist side of my participation.

Mies’ fourth guideline reads: “participation in social actions and struggles, and the integration of research into these processes, further implies that the change of the status quo becomes the starting point for a scientific quest” (Mies, 1993: 40). My objective in undertaking this research and writing this thesis was to seek social change. Mies argues that we can begin to make these changes through understanding ourselves as part of the struggle: “if women scholars begin to understand their studies as an integral part of a liberating struggle and if they focus their research on the processes of individual and social change, then they cannot but change themselves also in this process, both as human beings and as scholars” (1993: 41). As I stated in the preface, I am deeply dissatisfied with the present treatment of Aboriginal Australians, women and the natural environment and, through the process of involving myself in the activist and the theoretical struggles surrounding Jabiluka, I have sought a deeper understanding of the struggle itself as well as the changes to both myself and to Australian society that are required to rectify the problems.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 40 This guideline is also attended to through methodology: for Mies, “the creativity of science depends on it being rooted in living social processes. Methodologically this implies the search for techniques with which to document and analyse historical processes of change” (Mies, 1993: 41). For me, it has meant a search for a way of presenting my thoughts and experiences regarding the Jabiluka protest (my “findings”) in a way that satisfies both the academic and the activist worlds, and has resulted in the integration of “feeling” and “thinking” through the vignettes and through my choice of informal language. A further note on language is below in section 1.4.2.

A fifth guideline is that “the research process must become a process of ‘conscientization’ both for the so-called ‘research subjects’ (social scientists) and for the ‘research objects’ (women as target groups) (Mies, 1993: 41). This is closely related to the sixth guideline that “the collective conscientization of women through a problem-formulating methodology must be accompanied by the study of women’s individual and social history (Mies, 1993: 42). Mies refers here to the “problem-formulating” method of Paulo Freire, characterised by the approach that the study of an oppressive reality should be conducted by the objects of the oppression rather than by experts, implying that scientists must give their research tools to the people and inspire them to formulate the problems and plan their action in response. This method “considers conscientization as the subjective precondition for liberating action” (Mies, 1993: 42).

I consider that the documentation and acknowledgement of the crucial roles played by women and ecofeminism in this campaign, through the production of this thesis, is an exercise in conscientization. As a member of oppressed groups (women and environmentalists) I have taken up the tools of acadaemia to produce a document that records the history of women’s activism in this particular case. In doing so it also meets the last of Mies’ guidelines, that “women cannot appropriate their own history unless they begin to collectivize their own experiences” (1993: 42). Chapter Five of this thesis is of particular relevance here as it gathers together the experience of many of the women who were active in the Jabiluka campaign.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 41 1.4.2 Language and Style

Certain terms which may seem casual or “non-academic”, and therefore out of place in an academic thesis appear throughout this text. I have included them in acknowledgement of my own position as a participant as well as a researcher. That is, I reproduce language as it was spoken by myself and other Jabilukans to reflect the actual voices of the participants in this study. So, for example, I have referred to conservationists or environmentalists at various times as greens and sometimes with the slang, “greenies”. I acknowledge the spectrum of voices that makes up the green movement and am aware of the danger of conflating them. In the interests of simplicity I have generally used “environmentalist” to refer to that position which represents the whole spectrum of the movement (heard in the voices of white, usually male, voices of peak organisations such as the ACF, for example), whereas “green” usually refers to the more “radical” end (the deep ecologists and ecofeminists) and “conservationist” more specifically to the conservative end of the spectrum, represented by the voices of organisations such as the National Parks Association or Parks Australia. This spectrum of green voices is discussed more fully in Chapter Two.

I have also used the words whites, whitefellas and balanda interchangeably to refer to non-Aboriginal people; and blacks, blackfellas, and bininj to refer to Aboriginal people. By retaining language as it was actually spoken rather than translating it into more sterile, “correct” English or academic jargon I can more accurately and realistically report my own experience as well as that of others. In the same vein, the vignettes, based on my journal writing, are intended to convey my personal sense of the protest, and are interwoven with the more formal text to represent the blending of my academic presence with my activism and also to provide insights much more difficult to render in more formal academic prose.

With respect to referencing my interviews, my preference is to use the full names of participants, rather than merely the family name which, like Reinharz, I find “vague, impersonal and masculinist” (1992: 16). Hence, I have used the full name the first time a participant is introduced, and the family name when that interviewee is subsequently referred to.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 42 As Lawrence (2000: xvii) notes, variations in the spelling of Aboriginal language are widespread, both in common use and in literature. Throughout the thesis, I have used the following spelling: Mirrar; Gundjehmi; Bininj. Other common ways of spelling these words are: Mirarr; Gundjeihmi; Gundjeyhmi; Bining.

1.5 Thematic Overview / Thesis Outline

In the above section I have outlined the political context of the development of Kakadu National Park to show the significance of the region with respect to race relations in Australia. The history of land rights legislation is tightly interwoven with that of both uranium mining and conservation in the Northern Territory. Hence, any proposal for mining development is likely to be met with considerable scrutiny and probable opposition, as has been demonstrated with the Gove case and the disputes over Ranger and now Jabiluka.

Jabiluka, however, is highly symbolic not only to Aboriginal people and conservationists but also the commonwealth government. Although the agreement between Pancontinental, the NLC and the then Liberal – National Party coalition government to mine Jabiluka was signed in 1982, a change of government occurred before the development proceeded. In keeping with the “three mines” policy10 of the Labor party, the Jabiluka proposal was shelved when the Hawke Labor government was elected. When the Liberal Party, headed by John Howard, again took power in 1996, Jabiluka was almost immediately resurrected as a mark of the Howard government’s determination to proceed with the development of the uranium industry. Jabiluka is, in effect, a test case for all of the stakeholders. If it can be successfully opposed it will be a great symbolic victory for both Aboriginal traditional owners and conservationists. If it proceeds it will represent a landmark win for the Howard government and the uranium industry.

I noted at the beginning of this chapter that Jabiluka is a microcosm of the Aboriginal struggle. The conflict is essentially about a minority group –

10 An ALP policy which restricts the number of operational uranium mines in Australia at any one time to three.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 43 Aboriginal traditional owners – defending their right to control their own country against the interests of outsiders, specifically the mining industry. But Jabiluka is also about the differences between those traditional owners and the environmentalists with whom they needed to form an alliance, and the tensions highlighted by that alliance. Chapter Two looks at this tripartite conflict of world views. It begins to assess the implications for the green-black alliance of the positions held by conservationists and the proponents of the project. After all, relative to Aboriginal people, conservationists share a dominant place in Australian society with the mining industry proponents. In particular, Chapter Two emphasises the social and political significance of the terms “wilderness” and “country” with respect to tensions which have arisen between greens and blacks.

Chapter Three continues the examination of the tensions between conservationists and indigenous people by analysing the similarities between the colonial worldview and that of the conservationists and the mining industry, the link being their reliance on Western science, its imperialist overtones and a lack of acknowledgement for indigenous knowledge.

An ecofeminist scrutiny of “the science problem” shows the usefulness of ecofeminism in the analysis of relations at Jabiluka, and Chapter Four examines ecofeminism in more detail, sketching its historical development and main arguments. Its more recent focus on the need for the links to be drawn between all oppressed beings, rather than just those between women and nature, is of particular relevance.

The ways in which ecofeminism was manifest in the campaign at Jabiluka are examined in Chapter Five, which draws directly on the voices of participants in the campaign to support my argument that ecofeminism influenced the alliance in a positive way and that that influence enabled the Jabiluka alliance to remain strong.

This thesis is, in effect, an examination of three separate (yet overlapping and interwoven) themes: the tensions in green-black relations (as represented by wilderness and country); the bond between Western science and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 44 environmentalism (shown by the green imperialism of the national parks ethic) and the relevance of ecofeminism to them both. Chapter Six concludes the thesis by drawing the threads of these themes together with a discussion of how they converged at Jabiluka, and the potential ecofeminism shows for smoothing out these tensions in Australian environmentalism.

1.5.1 Statement of Thesis

Mirrar people are opposed to new uranium mining activities on their country, and since the early 1980s have resisted such development. Because the Jabiluka Uranium Mine is on country over which Aboriginal people have retained some control, environmental activists needed to review their conceptions of the environment and to question their ideas about Aboriginal land rights so that a green-black alliance might be formed to oppose the construction of the mine.

Jabiluka is an example of contemporary activism in which elements of ecofeminism are manifest: in the camp structure, its leaders, and in the green- black alliance. Drawing on the sociology of knowledge and the social construction of nature, ecofeminist theory and the history of environmental attitudes, I demonstrate that through a revisioning of the natural environment at Jabiluka brought on by the interactions between the traditional owners, their representatives and environmentalists, a new conception of that environment has been formed in the eyes of many of the participants. That is, an amalgamation of green and black beliefs has resulted in newly constructed knowledge of the environment – an image that is embodied in the term “strong country”.

By applying the principal tenets of ecofeminism to an analysis of the Stop Jabiluka Campaign, I demonstrate that the operating principles of the protesters’ camp and the blockade at Jabiluka are ecofeminist practices. The success of these operating principles in ensuring the relatively smooth operation of the camp facilitated a positive relationship between the parties involved, which in turn created an environment in which worldviews could be shared and knowledge developed.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 45 The formation of that new conception of the environment has been assisted by ecofeminism. Whether the activists at Jabiluka (I call them “Jabilukans”) were self proclaimed ecofeminists or not, ecofeminism has had a significant role to play in shaping the behaviour of activists involved in the Stop Jabiluka campaign and the Jabiluka alliance was successful as a result. Further, it has continued to influence attitudes within environmental groups. Therefore, I argue that ecofeminism has the potential to positively influence future green-black relations in Australia. This thesis can be summarised as follows:

1. A positive alliance between greens and blacks was formed at Jabiluka;

2. The strength of the alliance was maintained by newly constructed knowledge of the environment; 3. This knowledge was created through the interactions of greens and blacks while negotiating and participating in the campaign; 4. The interactions largely centred on managing the blockade and camp, and resulted in the development of a set of operating principles which guided the behaviour of participants; 5. These operating principles can be shown to be ecofeminist;

6. Ecofeminism has thus contributed to the development of a positive alliance at Jabiluka.

Hence, I conclude that ecofeminism can make a significant contribution to the strengthening of future green-black relations in Australia.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 46

Figure 8: “The John Howard Action”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 47

Vignette (ii) “the John Howard action”

Pale dawn light gives way to brighter, full-strength daylight that, even at this early hour, hints at the fierce heat it will soon impose upon the 250 protesters gathered at the entrance to the Jabiluka Mineral Lease, on Oenpelli Rd. They’ve been here since before dawn, this mob, preparing for a mass trespass action. There’s a surreal air about them – they’re almost all wearing “John Howard” masks, and the blankness of the clone-like faces emanates an eerie atmosphere. It’s now about 8am, and they’re a little bit restless, it seems. They’re milling around and, while no one is saying very much, a steady murmuring can be heard. Anticipation is in the air which is warm now that the sun has risen abruptly over the escarpment. Soon there’ll be no shelter from that sun, but that’s not what they’re restless about – though they’re anxious to “get started” it’s not because of the discomfort the sun brings with it – they know full well that they’re going to get very hot and very uncomfortable before the sun reaches its noonday height and they’re prepared to put up with that. They’re not anxiously awaiting the arrival of mine workers in the hope of blocking their access either. It’s obvious that no mine workers are going to try and get past this mob today – they were due to start their shift two hours ago, so if they haven’t turned up by now they’re not coming.

What they’re anticipating, this mob, is the arrival of the senior traditional owner of the land owned by the Mirrar Gundjehmi clan – Yvonne Margarula. She’s expected to greet them – to speak a few words before they take the illegal action of “trespassing” on land owned by Mirrar but leased to Energy Resources of Australia. This is the third action of its kind – a mass trespass – that has been planned during this anti-uranium mine campaign. There have been numerous other protest actions staged at this same location, some legal, some not. The protesters are awaiting Yvonne’s arrival with great eagerness – the majority of this particular mob are fresh up from the cities, and haven’t had the opportunity to see her before. They’re here not just to protest against the mine, most of them, but also to add their voices to the support for Mirrar. To show that they believe ERA is dismissing the rights of the Mirrar people to control their land, land which they have looked after for many generations, land to which they hold title under the Northern Territory Land Rights Act.

A cheer goes up as Yvonne Margarula arrives, flanked by Mirrar relatives and Gundjehmi staff. A small, rather diminutive looking woman, she stands somewhat nervously in front of the group sitting on the red earth before her. “I want to thank

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 48 you for being here” she says. “I welcome you, and invite you to my land, and thank you for helping us with our fight”.

So few words, yet so jam-packed with meaning for this mob. The applause is deafening, given the size of the group. That’s all they wanted, all they needed, to hear. They each carry a Mirrar “passport” which was issued on their arrival to the camp, validating their presence on Mirrar land and acknowledging them as guests of the traditional owners, but to hear Yvonne’s invitation means a great deal to them. That so much motivation and inspiration can be encapsulated in so few words, spoken in a soft voice and delivered in an un-assuming manner, is almost unbelievable. Almost immediately after she finishes speaking (there’s a few moments for a rare photo opportunity), the group takes up positions rehearsed the evening before in readiness for the action to begin. They line up single file on both sides of the Oenpelli Rd, a colourful, motley display made cohesive by the Stop Jabiluka T-shirts and the John Howard masks they all wear. Slowly, the lines which stretch back down the road for a couple of hundred metres, begin to move forward, and the “arrestables” walk across the fenceline on to the lease, while the “non-arrestables” file off to one side and lend support with singing, chanting and clapping.

Ninety-three arrests are made this time, bringing the total number of arrests at Jabiluka to over five hundred and twenty. They are from a diversity of backgrounds, and they span all age groups. Most of these normally law-abiding citizens have never done anything like this before. What is it that inspires these people to travel thousands of kilometres, many of them for just one short week, and to take the action of civil disobedience which, although non-violent, will almost definitely result in a criminal record?

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 49

Chapter Two: Land Rights, Not Mining Rights

Figure 9: “The Mourning Ceremony (1)”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 50 Vignette (iii) “Cleaning Up”

“We have to make this place look like we’ve never been here – back like it was before we came – wilderness. That’s what we promised Mirrar, so that’s what we’ve gotta do now”.

I heard a long-termer make this statement in the final stages of the camp clean up. It struck me as an irony given that this place, although it’s part of the Kakadu National Park, is littered with the evidence of its use as a cattle station immediately prior to being declared national park in the late 1970’s – only twenty years ago – a mere split second in the lifespan of the place. It might be ironical, but nonetheless it was firmly believed by many of the protesters.

In the last two weeks of the life of the protesters’ camp, a core group of about twenty or so spent a considerable amount of time and energy cleaning up the campsite. “Emu- bobbing” (litter-picking) was a common sight early in the morning and late afternoons – the coolest times of the day. A tedious but necessary task, picking up cigarette butts and tent pegs, and scraps of blue plastic from tarpaulins which hadn’t stood up to the harsh territory sun. It took keen eyesight and a lot of dedication to “remove all evidence of us being here”, as we’d agreed to do.

The first of “the rains” had already been and gone, and almost straight away the speargrass began to resprout – a tinge of green appeared everywhere. The already abundant insect populations suddenly increased, and crickets and frogs began raucously calling each evening. Most of the protesters had left, so the camp area was quiet and peaceful, and the frogs and green tinges were a gentle reminder that this place is part of Kakadu, and also that we were only two kilometres from the nearest billabong, which would soon become flooded in the wet.

Numbers had gradually dwindled, the departure of quite a few hastened by the first of the storms typical of the wet season. Torrential rainfall, spectacular lightning and thunder had provided a preview of what the “real” rains would be like. On realising that the kitchen was about to be flooded as its tarpaulin roof sagged under the weight of the water, and about five centimetres of water flowed across its floor, all those present began frantically digging trenches around it. No thoughts then about protecting the “pristine wilderness” – keeping the food stores dry was much more imperative. The trenches would be just another reminder that humans have occupied this place continuously for many thousands of years. Cont’d next page

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 51 The sight of a mob of hippies dancing about in the rain, revelling in the sensation of being cool and clean, and then madly trying to “save” the kitchen must have amused “Ranger Bob”, the local Parks Ranger, who had an uncanny habit of turning up at the camp at such times, appearing from nowhere in his four wheel drive. On this particular occasion he materialised, clad as usual in his full length Khaki overalls, sucking on a large black pipe that matched his bushy black beard, and stood calmly observing the antics – bone dry under an equally large, equally black umbrella. When the rain stopped, he walked quietly away, and a minute later drove over to where we stood, ringing wet, some even shivering by this stage. As he drew near, he smiled to me, and held something out of the window. I approached, and accepted his offering – a dry carton of matches. “Yer gonna need ‘em” he grinned, and drove off, shaking his head at our antics. One minute spouting minimal impact rhetoric, the next taking to the ground with mattocks and shovels like a road-gang on speed.

Around the camp fire and beside the “fake lake” in Jabiru we had animated debates about what evidence of our occupation was acceptable to leave behind – should we dismantle the “junk sculpture” depicting a post-apocalyptic scene, created from the scrap metal in the old dump. Should we “re-dump” it? And the seedlings planted in the mounds of dirt covering the toilet pits – they’re okay aren’t they? After all, they are indigenous (but never mind that their extraordinary rapid growth is due to the well fertilised location they’ve been planted in). And then there are the termite mounds which have been sculpted into women’s bodies, which will no doubt increase the rate at which they erode. True, the termites had already moved out, but the mounds provide habitat for other species.

It was all evidence of the impact of several months residency. Would it ever be possible to “make it like it was before?” And just what was it like? Was it wilderness? Its most recent history is as a national park, a world heritage tourist attraction, before that it was a cattle station, but all the while it has been home to Mirrar.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 52 2.1 Introduction

The wilderness idea is not just anthropocentric, it is Eurocentric. It preserves or restores landscapes as Europeans supposedly found them – and as Aborigines made them – and it calls them untouched, pristine. Aborigines are thereby rendered invisible as agents in the landscape. Is this terra nullius in another form? Aborigines again find themselves classified with nature. Only now it is done with reverence, for they are no longer Primitive Savages; they are Ecological Beings (Griffiths, 1996: 263).

The “wilderness” described in vignette (iii) exists in the imagination of those Jabilukans who saw Kakadu National Park simply as a natural landscape. By removing the evidence of our presence, we Jabilukans were not returning the country to a state of wilderness, we were reconstructing it according to a Westernised conception. Although the idea that the land is a cultural landscape, not just a place of natural resources, is one sometimes taken up in the rhetoric of the green movement, the legacy of terra nullius lingers in the conception of the Australian bush as “pristine wilderness” as it has been perceived by most non- indigenous people, particularly conservationists.

In their struggle to protect this “pristine wilderness” from modern development, and in their search for ways of living that are sustainable, environmentalists have found inspiration in indigenous cultures which they perceive not only as less damaging but also as harmonious with the environment. The result has been that the green movement has taken some indigenous ideas about the natural world on board both in terms of lifestyle and for use in campaigning against development.

An extreme, but not unrealistic, interpretation of this use of indigenous concepts by conservationists is that it is a kind of “appropriation”. In this view, those indigenous cultural concepts that are seen as valuable to the conservation movement are extracted from their cultural location and inserted into another, for the benefit of Western well-being, without considering the rights of traditional owners to protect their cultural heritage or determine its acceptable use. Is this an example of Western imperialism, of Western mechanistic behaviour, or is it an attempt at reconciliation between the Western and the non-Western worlds, and a mark of respect for indigenous culture?

It is important to critically examine the concept of wilderness in the context of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 53 green-black relations because it has such varying meanings to different groups and therefore different, sometimes conflicting or problematic connotations. The concept of wilderness underpins the beliefs greenies have about world heritage sites, national parks, and the ideas they have about Aboriginal people living sustainably with nature. Environmentalists often describe areas that are considered to have significant natural values as wilderness even though those areas might not comply with technical definitions of wilderness as enshrined in legislation.

The attitude expressed in the opening paragraph of vignette (iii) is an indication of the different ways the environment is conceived: to many of the protesters, the camp was located in the midst of “wilderness”. Yet that land is far from being wilderness in its strictest definition – it has had a long history of human occupation and modification. As I discuss in 2.2.2, despite their best intentions to respect Mirrar, conservationists’ use of the term “wilderness” could easily be interpreted as offensive to traditional owners. The tension surrounding the use of that term points to deeper, underlying conflicts between greens and blacks that are based on their perceptions of the environment and associated beliefs regarding land management practices. Chapter Three elaborates on the different constructions of the environment which exist in Australia, and the different knowledge utilised in the management of national parks. Here I focus on the definitions of wilderness.

In order to illustrate the differences in these perceptions this chapter examines the meaning and symbolism of the terms “wilderness”, a signifier of the natural environment for conservationists; and “country”, a term preferred by many Aboriginal communities to denote the environment.

In section 2.2 I discuss wilderness with reference to its complexity of meanings and the idealism with which wilderness is constructed by contemporary greens. I briefly trace its historical connection with Romanticism, and by doing so reveal problematic links between the romanticisation of the environment and that of indigenous people.

The meaning of country is analysed in section 2.3, which looks at the connection between land rights and country, and the necessity for Aboriginal people to regain

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 54 and/or retain control of country if they are to retain culture. Recent examples of debates over wilderness and Aboriginal ownership of national parks illustrate that some of the tensions between greens and blacks can be traced to the connections between the use of the term wilderness and an associated attitude of mistrust regarding Aboriginal control of land. But these are also issues of contention within the green movement. I also discuss the correlation between wilderness and terra nullius made by some Aboriginal social commentators as it illuminates wilderness as a source of tension.

Section 2.4 shows how parallel tensions were manifest at Jabiluka, where some conservationists’ wilderness ideals and conceptions of the landscape as natural could be connected to a similar view of indigenous people, that is, of Aboriginal people as “noble savages”.

2.2 Wilderness

Wilderness is a word steeped in symbolism; and it can be traced through several stages of evolution. At times it has been viewed as sacred – idolised and romanticised; and at others as profane, to be reviled, associated with filth, sin and the devil.

Roderick Nash’s tracing of the historical roots of the term wilderness is frequently quoted. According to Nash, etymologically, it means “wild-deor-ness, the place of wild beasts”, and is obtained by prefixing the Old English word “deor” – animal – with “will”, which had such meanings as self-willed, willful, uncontrollable; and from willed came “wild”, an adjective which conveyed a sense of being lost, unruly, disordered or confused (Nash, 1982: 2)”.

According to Nash the term first appeared in the early Thirteenth Century, but gained general recognition in the late Fourteenth Century in the first English translation of the Latin Bible, when it was used to designate uninhabited, arid land. That biblical use led to its being defined in 1755 as “a desert; a tract of solitude and savageness” (Nash, 1982: 3). Biblical references often associate wilderness with negativity – it was where Christ was tempted by the devil, and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 55 where the tribes of Israel wandered until they reached the Promised Land (Cronon, 1995: 70).11

Dictionary definitions of wilderness usually imply hostile places for humans. For example, the Macquarie Dictionary defines it as: 1. a wild region, as of forest or desert, a waste, a tract of land inhabited only by wild animals; 2. Any desolate tracts, as of wild water (Delbridge et al, 1991). So, wilderness is identified with the profane, with danger, as useless and bad, and as such it is placed in opposition to the city which is construed as useful, human, productive and good. But, as Nash (1982) points out, it has also come to connote positive images – a place of beauty and tranquillity – a sanctuary. It is also seen as a place of divine revelation and transcendence of the mundane, a source of spiritual renewal.

Wilderness, then, can mean inhospitable, threatening and alien as well as beautiful, friendly, and capable of delighting the beholder. This second definition also incorporates “the value of wild country as a sanctuary in which those in need of consolation can find respite from the pressures of civilization” (Nash, 1982: 4). It is this latter meaning which conservationists associate with wilderness, and which stirred the passion of influential 19th century “figureheads” of the American conservation movement such as Henry David Thoreau, whose declaration that wildness would be the preservation of the world has been an inspiration for the contemporary conservation movement, and John Muir, for whom wilderness, previously seen as Satan’s home, became “God’s own temple” (Cronon, 1995: 72).

Connections between this attitude towards wilderness and that of the 18th and 19th century sense of wilderness as sublime are evident. According to one of the most highly regarded environmental historians, William Cronon (1995: 73), some 18th century theorists saw sublime landscapes as those rare earthly places where there was the chance of meeting God. In the view of the romantics, vast landscapes such as the tops of mountains, at waterfalls and in sunsets were the places most likely for this experience to occur.

11 Cronon quotes from the King James Version of the bible: Exodus 32:1-35; Exodus 14:3; Mark 1:12-13; Mathew 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 56 The philosopher, Max Oelschlaeger, suggests that the romantic attitude was characterised by an intense and personal involvement with, and response to, nature. He points out that “Romanticism may also be understood as an aesthetic reaction to a specific intellectual framework – mechanistic materialism, nature understood as matter-in-motion” (Oelschlaeger, 1991: 112). It was also haunted, according to well-known historian Eric Hobsbawm (1962: 263), by a longing for the lost unity of man and nature.

Myles Dunphy, one of Australia’s earliest and best known advocates of wilderness, is said to have justified wilderness preservation because it provides for the “recreational purposes of mankind, where he can rid himself of the shackles of ordered existence, where man can go to escape his civilisation” (Preston and Stannard, 1994: 133). These sentiments are in keeping with the romantic idea of wilderness as it was manifest in an appreciation for an unkept forest, for example. Nash argues that such sentiments were an escape from society for those bored with man (sic) and his work (1982: 47).

It needs to be acknowledged that romanticism encompassed a broad range of attitudes towards, and beliefs about, nature. It arose as a reaction to the Enlightenment, but it unfolded differently in different parts of the world, and different ideas and values were emphasised by different writers (Hay, 2002: 5, 9). My use of the term refers to those forms of romanticism which shared a reverence for nature, represented by such poets as Wordsworth and the American Transcendentalists such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau who saw nature as an aspect of God, and its study as a path to true understanding (Hay, 2002).

There is a debate to be had regarding the extent to which contemporary environmentalism can be considered a form of romanticism, and Peter Hay (a well known Australian environmental thinker) disputes that the green movement is neo-romanticist. However, it has to be acknowledged that such writers as Thoreau “speak movingly to the environmentalists of today”, a point which Hay concedes (Hay, 2002: 11).

The connections between contemporary environmentalism and 19th century

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 57 romanticism become even clearer when we consider “nature” in general, as opposed to “wilderness” in particular. There had been others prior to the romantics who had revered nature, such as the 12th Century Chartres school, but an appreciation of nature like that of the romantics can also be seen as a challenge to a mainstream view of nature as filthy or evil. Chartres saw, for the first time in Western European philosophy and poetry, the idea of nature as “cosmic power, the goddess Natura (in Goethe’s sense), radiant and beguiling, the demonic-divine mother of all things (Heer, 1993: 88). Bold thinking, at a time when there was a “contemporary distaste for filthy womanhood and filthy matter” (Heer, 1993: 90).

But such thinking was not to last – in medieval times, to revere wild nature was blatant heresy. Nature was seen as an earthly abode given over to the dominion of mankind by God, and although it was a symbol of the glory of God and knowledge of it revealed God’s presence, it had to be tamed. Reverence for nature was associated with paganism, which remained an enemy of medieval Christianity. Thus,

the sacred groves worshipped by pagans, and reputedly the denizens of witches, shamans, and Lucifer himself, had to be eliminated from the face of the earth. Woodlands were ravaged by axe-wielding monks who, in the attempt to extirpate “heathen” belief in spirits, attacked groves or other sites of nature worship (Oelschlaeger, 1991: 72).

So it is not only the revering of nature, especially of “wild” nature, that contemporary environmentalists have in common with 19th century romantics and the 12th century scholars of Chartres – it is also their challenging of mainstream thinking and, in the case of the romantics, their reaction against the effects of modernisation.

The mechanistic materialism that began with the Enlightenment was in opposition to the romantics’ concept of nature-as-organism (Oelschlaeger, 1991: 112– 3; Merchant, 1996). For them, “nature was not a lifeless machine, mere matter-in- motion, but a living organism created by divine providence” (Oelschlaeger, 1991: 99). They yearned for the time when the dominant image of nature as organic, nurturing female – for the “lost paradise” of pre-industrial society. This dream of the lost harmony of primitive man is illustrated by “the folk” of romantic

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 58 primitivism: that is, the pre-industrial peasant or craftsman, who exemplified uncorrupted virtues and whose language, song, story and custom was the true repository of the soul of the people (Hobsbawm, 1962: 266).

Such yearning for times gone by, for “primitive” ways, has parallels with the contemporary green vision of indigenous people living in harmony with the environment, and desires for a life more in keeping with pre-industrial ways that left little mark on an unmodified “wilderness”.

This is where the wilderness concept becomes problematic for relations between conservationists and Aboriginal Australians because it highlights another, more important, incongruity. “Wilderness” conjures up images of pristine, untouched and ancient landscapes, but the land often imagined by conservationists to be unsullied has usually been extensively modified by human occupation. It can be argued that no wilderness exists in Australia at all. For example, this is the view of Marcia Langton, an Aboriginal anthropologist, high profile indigenous Rights activist and former Chair in Aboriginal Studies at the Northern Territory University. Although there are large areas of the continent which appear much the same as they did when this land was first colonised by the British, every part of the land has been modified to some degree by the occupation of Australian Aborigines for many thousands of years prior to white settlement (Langton 1995; 1998).

Tom Griffiths (a highly regarded historian and Australian Studies specialist) notes several examples of places where evidence of previous human occupation and use is removed so that wilderness might be restored. He also makes the interesting point that wilderness photographers are careful to omit any evidence of, for example, the eroded track they used to reach the spot they are photographing (1996: 260). Bushwalkers often joke that national parks are “furnished” with duckboards, metal stairs and walkways, effectively creating “highways” for the vast numbers of walkers traversing the “wilderness”. These may be necessary modifications if sensitive ecosystems are to be both protected and accessible to people but, if the bush is modified like this, can it still accurately be described as “pristine” as it so often is?

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 59 Griffiths points out that “if the definitions are about the feel and look of a place, then ‘wilderness’ need not be actually ancient, pristine and timeless, it just needs to seem so” (1996: 260). Hence Wilson’s Promontory in Victoria, despite its history of sealing, grazing, logging, mining and settlement is considered to be of high wilderness quality. Similarly, under NSW legislation, if it is recognised that an area has been affected by humans in the past, then it can still be defined as wilderness if it “is capable of being restored to a state that has not been substantially modified by humans and their works” (NSW WA, 1987: 4). Such criteria has enabled places like the Goodradigbee Wilderness Area, less than one hundred kilometres from Australia’s capital city, a place steeped in the heritage of mountain horse-riders who have used the area for stock grazing, much of it logged, blackberry infested and frequently passed over by planes en route between Canberra, Sydney and Melbourne, to be declared wilderness under the NSW Wilderness Act.

There are many other similar stories about other wilderness areas in Australia. So although certain technical criteria are applied to determine whether an area qualifies as wilderness, it is clear that a certain amount of human impact is acceptable so long as the area can be restored to the state it would have been in prior to human modification. But what state is that? Is it “prior to white settlement”: what it was like two hundred years ago? Or what it would have been like prior to Aboriginal occupation, thousands of years ago? We can really only imagine what it would have been like in the latter scenario. The point is, there is a need to acknowledge the Aboriginal occupation of Australia prior to white colonisation and that what many non-indigenous people perceive to be “pristine” actually has been modified by human agency.

In this respect, some conservation organisations have begun to include references to modern technological effects in their definitions of wilderness and associated policies. Hence, two common criteria used to determine the wilderness state of an area are (a) size and (b) evidence of the effects of “modern” human occupation. For example, the ACF Policy on Wilderness and Indigenous Cultural Landscapes in Australia states that “wilderness areas are substantial tracts of natural lands, that are essentially free of, and often remote from, the land use activities,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 60 infrastructure and related features associated with modern technological society” (ACF, 1999b: 1).

Likewise, the Australian Heritage Commission defines wilderness as follows:

Wilderness areas are large areas in which ecological processes continue with minimal change caused by modern development. Indigenous custodianship and customary practices have been, and in many places continue to be, significant factors in creating what non-indigenous people refer to as wilderness (AHC, undated).

Definitions of wilderness are also often based on notions of remoteness and absence – how far from the effects of humans, how long it takes to cross it, the absence of roads, people or signs of their habitation, “and the maintenance of an authentic sense of human danger and isolation” (Griffiths, 1996: 259–60). But whatever technical criteria are used to designate wilderness, there is no escaping the subjective, emotional aspects of it that are important to conservationists, as is evidenced by the words of Penny Figgis, the vice-president of the ACF:

Wilderness is one of those words which can make the hairs rise on my arms, it has been of prime importance to me all my life. It represents the centre, the emotional core of one’s values, being the purest, most unspoilt form of nature. It is the heartland of the environment movement, embodying the beauty, completeness and rightness of nature (Figgis, 1994: 155).

Thoughts and emotions such as those vocalised by Figgis have motivated conservationists’ campaigns for nature protection worldwide, and have often formed the basis of their argument for wilderness legislation. As lawyers Preston and Stannard suggest, “the recreational, cultural, therapeutic, spiritual and aesthetic aspects of nature represent some of the strongest historical arguments for wilderness designation and fuelled some of its greatest victories” (1994: 135).

2.2.1 Or Wild Lands?

As I have noted, the term “wilderness” has great symbolic meaning for most environmentalists. It conjures up images of naturally formed landscapes unaffected by modern industrial society. A great deal of conservationists’ lobbying is directed towards legislative protection of nature in the form of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 61 national parks, and legislative provisions have been central to the management of wilderness (Whitehouse, 1994: 95). Thus, to have an area declared wilderness is a pinnacle of achievement for many conservationists – it offers the greatest amount of protection available, securing what they hold precious.

The difference in the worldviews of Aboriginal people and non-Aboriginal or European people is highlighted by the prevalent use of the term wilderness in conservationists’ language in the south-eastern parts of Australia, where non- Aboriginal views predominate, compared with its phasing out in the North in acknowledgement of the Aboriginal belief that it doesn’t exist. In the Northern Territory, little mention of wilderness is made, and no Wilderness Protection Act such as exists in NSW, Victoria and South Australia is to be found there.12

The word wilderness is not used in the most recent Plan of Management for Kakadu National Park – it has been replaced with “wildness”. In the view of Greg Miles, Public Relations Officer at Kakadu National Park, the term wilderness is a “Eurocentric term which causes discomfort amongst Aboriginal people in this region. In their world land must have people and people must have land” (Miles, 2000).

In the daily vocabulary of conservation organisations in the Northern Territory, use of the term is avoided. According to Miles (2000), the word “wilderness” has all but disappeared from Kakadu National Park staff vocabulary. The ECNT, while agreeing with the ACF definition of wilderness, prefers to use terms such as “natural and cultural landscapes” in place of wilderness (Blair, 2000). While the term “wild lands” is still a Westernised conception, it carries less “romantic baggage” – it doesn’t have the connotations of “pristine” nature that is devoid of people.

Generally, Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory have been able to maintain links with their land and hence traditional lifestyles more than those in most other areas in Australia. It was in the Northern Territory that Australia’s first Aboriginal

12 I do acknowledge, however, that this may be the result of conservative government (no reference to wilderness at all is made in the Tasmanian National Parks and Wildlife Act, according to Whitehouse, 1994).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 62 land rights act was declared, and many areas returned to traditional owners as a result. The first national parks to be handed back from the Commonwealth Government to traditional owners are also located in the NT, and traditional owners and Parks Australia staff jointly manage these parks.

The need for recognition that wilderness is not an acceptable label for their country is made clear in the Jawoyn-owned Cultural Centre at Nitmiluk Gorge, where an information board prominently positioned at the entrance states that Jawoyn country is not wilderness, not pristine or untamed, but is shaped by the Jawoyn people. The full text of the information board is below.

Mam-gun Mungguy-wun lerr-nyarrang Nitmiluk (Sharing Our Country)

Nitmiluk is not a wilderness.

It is not pristine or untamed.

It is a land constructed by us over tens of thousands of years – through our ceremonies and ties of kinship, through fire and through hunting over countless generations of our people the Jawoyn.

Its creation comes from the Buwurr – sometimes translated as the Dreamtime – and since then nurtured and cared for by us according to Jawoyn Law.

Since the coming of mam – the white man – many things have changed. Our country has been used for cattle and buffalo; for horticulture and mining; for towns and roads. Our lands and our people have seen changes beyond the imagining of our ancestors – yet our country still lives in our hearts and our daily lives.

Since 1989 Nitmiluk has been recognised as belonging to us, its traditional owners, under European Law under the Land Rights Act, as well as under our own Law.

Nitmiluk is now fenced by lines on a map but remains an indivisible part of all our traditional lands, linked through our ceremony and our Law.

Once again, we are able to manage and care for our country – not as terra nullius, or an empty land; not as an untamed wilderness – but as part of a living heritage that forms a basis for economic and social independence for our people.

It is heritage we share with visitors to Nitmiluk.

Welcome to our country.

Welcome to Jawoyn Land.

Nitmiluk Visitors’ Centre Information Board Welcome Sign.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 63 Here, in the part of this country that probably most resembles the desolate wilderness of the bible, it is recognised that there is no wilderness. In Aboriginal terms, land can never be wilderness, because people have inhabited it since time began.

Deborah Bird Rose, an acclaimed author and anthropologist who has worked extensively with Aboriginal claimants on land claims and in land disputes, and as consulting anthropologist with the Aboriginal Land Commissioner, puts it thus:

Here on this continent, there is no place where the feet of Aboriginal humanity have not preceded those of the settler. Nor is there any place where the country was not once fashioned and kept productive by Aboriginal people’s land management practices. There is no place without a history; there is no place that has not been imaginatively grasped through song, dance and design, no place where traditional owners cannot see the imprint of sacred creation (1996: 18).

A vision that is completely distinct from European ones emerges from an Aboriginal perspective of land: “For the Aboriginal peoples of Australia any definition of wilderness is problematic. Aboriginal people do not think in terms of ‘wilderness’ – we think in terms of ‘country’, particular landscapes within which people have played an integral part for over 60, 000 years” (Sultan, 1991: 2).

Rose also provides a poignant example of the difference in Aboriginal and European perceptions of the environment. She describes how, travelling in the Victoria River district of the Northern Territory with a local Aboriginal man, Daly Pulkara, they stopped so she could film some “spectacular erosion”. When she asked Daly what he called that country, he replied that it was “the wild. Just the wild”, before going on to talk of “quiet” country, that is, “country in which all the care of generations of people is evident to those who know how to see it” (1996b: 19) and which is in contrast to the “wild”. What Daly considered to be “wild” was an area degraded by the impact of men and cattle, whereas humans manage “quiet” country – we have here something approaching a reversal of Western conceptualisations.

Cam Walker, a long-term environmental campaigner and Friends of the Earth Australia (FoEA) National Liaison Officer, in describing his experience of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 64 attempting to find a common way for greenies and Aboriginal people to define the land greenies call wilderness, states that a core difficulty lies in the concept of conservation itself:

I think even conservation is a stumbling block for a lot of [Aboriginal] people that I’ve met because it actually doesn’t come into their mind … like I’ve worked almost all my life down here and I’ve got to know the mobs down here [Victoria] and they live in different circumstances. I’ve had a little bit to do with the central Australian area and northern South Australia and they – conserving is such a weird concept because [they say] “we interact, we do the business that brings on the animals anyway, we look after country, we keep the rock holes open, we burn, we do all that type of thing” – so conserving just isn’t a concept that makes very much sense. And wilderness – I mean, people particularly that I’ve met in South Australia say “when we hear wilderness we hear orphan country” – if you say wilderness that means that all the people who look after that country are dead. So, you know, “you tell me wilderness and I feel like crying,” so you know, “why do you keep making me want to cry all the time?” There’s similar stuff – historical and contemporary – coming out of north America too, saying the same thing – “your idea of the wilderness is everyone has been put together and shipped off … to kill them … and you kind of idealise it, whereas to me – I just hear an empty land and I hear silence, I hear crying” ... (Walker, 1999).

This idea of land without people being neglected country clearly contrasts with the green notion, derived from a form of romanticism, that “wilderness” requires an absence of people, both by definition and for appropriate management. Greens’ historical association of wilderness with forested areas has perpetuated this notion, as I discuss below.

2.2.2 Forested Wilderness:

In Australia, the concept of wilderness has had a close association with ancient rainforests, cool temperate areas, waterfalls and wild rivers.13 Although the nature appreciation societies and bushwalking clubs established in the early 1900’s

13 There is a defence for defining forested land as wilderness, according to Nash (1982), and it is that the etymological roots of wilderness are restricted to the language of Northern Europe, where uncultivated land was heavily forested, and also because “wild” is partly related to an Old English term for forest.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 65 actively lobbied for the protection of natural bushland, it wasn’t until the 1970’s that the idea of the intrinsic right of wilderness to exist was recognised and publicly advocated. That began with campaigns to stop the logging of old growth forests in North Eastern NSW, and culminated in the formation of the Tasmanian Wilderness Society (TWS) and the campaign to stop the proposed damming of the Franklin River.

So the fight for wilderness has had a close affiliation with forest protection, which may explain why environmental campaigns typically portray it as a rainforest scene – lush, green forest, thick with “old growth trees”, and also the traditional focus of most green groups on protecting forests from logging and wood chipping. Wilderness protection in Australia has thus historically been associated with the temperate forests and mountains.

In the past decade or so, however, the awareness of green groups regarding the need for protection of the diversity of the environment has grown. Biodiversity and the need for a representative reserve system have become the catch cries of groups whose interest had been largely restricted to protecting the forested areas close to the coast, except at those times when the peace and anti-uranium movements joined forces with environment groups to try and prevent the construction of uranium mines, for example at Roxby Downs in South Australia.

Those forested areas are located primarily in south-eastern Australia, the parts of Australia in which the Aboriginal population first suffered the devastating effects of colonisation, and from which Aboriginal people were first dispossessed of their land. Consequently, Aboriginal traditional owners have been less visible in those areas, and an awareness of Aboriginal land rights was non-existent in conservationists’ strategies. Gradually ecological theories have been incorporated into green consciousness and so the protection of the diversity of the Australian landscape and its biota has become a paramount issue for conservationists. Hence, their reach has extended into the arid lands and the tropics, areas where Aboriginal traditional owners have retained traditional links and/or are fighting for land rights. As the land rights movement has also gained momentum, conservationists have been confronted with the need to recognise Aboriginal

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 66 occupation and ownership of many of the areas they hold precious.

But the legacy of such deep roots in the push for the protection of forests is that the inspiration and motivation for environmental campaigns continues to be flavoured by conceptions of the environment as wilderness. This is the case whether that environment is a local nature reserve, a rainforest, a river or a desert, and regardless of whether the need for protection arises from a threat posed by urbanisation or the timber, mining or agricultural industries. Inherent in this conception is a romanticised vision of the environment as pristine and untouched. Humans, including Aborigines, are absent from this perception.

Describing the landscape as wilderness overlooks the fact that Aboriginal people inhabited Australia for many thousands of years prior to white settlement. Some Aboriginal activists academics and supporters take great offence when conservationists refer to the Australian bush as wilderness, likening the term to the legal fiction of terra nullius. They argue that the notion that any wilderness exists in Australia at all is offensive because the Australian landscape has been significantly modified by Aboriginal occupation for thousands of years, and that it is as much a cultural landscape as a natural one (Langton, 1995; Mansell, 1990; Rose, 1996). Indeed nature and culture cannot be separated in the eyes of many of the traditional owners of our national parks.

Marcia Langton (1995; 1998) describes the concept of wilderness as terra nullius and the declaration of wilderness as a new form of colonisation or dispossession of Aboriginal people. She also interprets greenies’ quest for more and more land to be added to the national park estate as a search for the spirituality which has been lost to western culture through the separation of humans from nature in the Western worldview (Langton, 1995).

Noel Pearson, a well known Aboriginal man from Queensland, former Director of the Cape York Land Council, member of the Aboriginal negotiating team for the Native Title Act 1993 and vocal advocate for indigenous Rights, also makes a strong link between terra nullius and the concept of “wilderness” as a non- humanised landscape (1995a). Not only is a conception of the environment as “wilderness” degrading to Aboriginal people considering their management of the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 67 country for so many generations prior to white occupation, but it is also counter to their interests. In Pearson’s view, “Aboriginal people have deep misgivings about any imposed concept of wilderness which airbrushes people out of the landscape” (1995a: 41). He also believes that if terra nullius is to be abandoned, it will be necessary to develop a concept of indigenous wilderness – one that sees and recognises the traditional owners of the land (1995a: 41).

Often when Aborigines are left in the environmentalists’ picture of wilderness, it is as “ecological beings” – ancient and timeless people who live in harmony with nature – and they are again classified as part of nature, as they were when their skulls were added to the collections of amateur scientists and anthropologists in the 1800’s.14 Anthropological observations of Australia’s original inhabitants were included alongside collections and descriptions of flora and fauna in the first French and British scientific expeditions to Australia in the early 1800’s (Moyal, 1986). Recall the Aboriginal man’s head on the Australian two dollar coin, along with the echidna, the lyrebird, the platypus on the other coins and consider the NSW National Parks and Wildlife mission to conserve flora and fauna and Aboriginal heritage (NSW NPWS, 1994/5-1995/96: 7) in terms of the nature/culture dualism which is characteristic of Western thought, and it is clear where Aboriginal people are placed. To Pearson, this vision of Aboriginal heritage as a cultural fossil “has impeded the recognition of Aboriginal people as the inheritors of valuable and dynamic living traditions” (1995a: 41).

Views of Aboriginal people as either “the first environmentalists” or as part of the Australian fauna are evident in debates about the zoning of wilderness and in discussions about Aboriginal rights in national parks. In the next section, I draw on such a debate among conservation organisations in NSW to illustrate the correlation between “wilderness” and the treatment of Aboriginal traditional owners as “primitive” beings or, as Pearson frames it, as “living relics” (1995a: 41).

14 See Griffiths (1996: 28-54), for an illuminating and detailed account of one such Australian collector, Reynell Johns, under the heading “Victorian Skullduggery”.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 68 2.2.3 The Malimup Communiqué Debate

The debate between conservationists and traditional owners over the issue of wilderness has been an ongoing issue in Australia for a number of years, as have similar debates in other countries attempting to resolve differences between indigenous owners, or first peoples, and European colonisers.15 A fairly recent manifestation of this debate is the one surrounding the “Malimup Communiqué”, which is a set of principles for the management of areas zoned as wilderness. It was developed in 1998 at a meeting convened by the Australian Heritage Commission (AHC) and attended by representatives from indigenous communities and land councils, government land management agencies and conservation groups (Environment Australia, 1998).

The AHC, recognising that for indigenous Australians “wilderness is, simply, home” (AHC, undated), developed a policy which aims to respect “the rights of indigenous people to maintain and strengthen their spiritual and cultural relationships with wilderness places” (AHC, undated). The AHC publicised its policy by way of a brochure titled “Wilderness We Call It Home”. It was distributed in several high profile conservation and outdoor/adventure sports magazines, including Habitat Australia, the journal of the ACF.

The document was not welcomed by the NSW National Parks Association (NPA), judging by the editorial of the June 1999 issue of the National Parks Journal. In an editorial article entitled “Wilderness at the Frontline” the executive officer, Noel Plumb, is highly critical of the AHC and also of the Malimup Communiqué, on which the policy document is based. Plumb expresses surprise that the AHC has put out the brochure and states “hitherto it had been a ‘pro-wilderness and pro-conservation agency’”(1999: 3), suggesting that he believes the publication of the brochure is indicative of an anti-wilderness, anti-conservation stance. He also intimates that the consultation process resulting in the brochure was “stacked”, criticises it as unrepresentative, and as being “pressed on [the AHC] by Aboriginal rights activists in some environment groups and the bureaucracy” (Plumb, 1999: 3). Plumb argues that:

15 For an international perspective, see Kemf (1993).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 69 The AHC is mistaken to adopt the narrow and divisive agenda of a few ideologues who wrongly see wilderness as an impediment to land rights and Aboriginal sovereignty. This brochure is the tip of an iceberg aimed at crippling wilderness conservation, or at the least pressuring governments to link Aboriginal ownership and privileged uses with further conservation reserves, no matter how tenuous the current Aboriginal associations (1999:3).

Plumb also writes that “wilderness is the only land category which uncompromisingly protects nature and supports evolution free of human hands” (1999: 10). As I noted above, in sections 2.2.1 and 2.2.2, a core objection to the use of wilderness to describe the Australian landscape is that it does not recognise the existence of Aboriginal people and their use of the environment prior to British colonisation. Plumb’s words reflect such a perception and serve to reinforce the belief that wilderness conservation is based on the same premise as that of terra nullius, a “land belonging to no-one” (Gregory, 1992: 157; Reynolds, 1996); uninhabited, an empty land without owners (Pearson, 1994: 95). It was this legal doctrine that was used by the British colonisers to justify their claim to Australia.

Apparently Plumb does not recognise the Aboriginal occupation and ownership of this land prior to British colonisation and he doesn’t acknowledge the existence of current connections of Aboriginal people to their land. Prineas, (a former president of the NPA) appears to share a similar view, and also states that “Aboriginal cultural heritage issues are often confused with land rights issues” (Prineas, 1999: 21).

The NPA is a NSW based organisation and consequently it has a NSW focus and a membership with different experiences of both wilderness and Aboriginal traditional ownership relative to the people of central, northern and western Australia. In those parts of Australia Aboriginal people are more likely to have retained traditional links with their ancestral lands, and the impact of urbanisation is less acutely experienced. Members’ letters to the editor in the edition following Plumb’s column reflect the NSW focus and support Plumb’s position. They raise fears that the Commonwealth Native Title Act and the recently enacted NSW legislation, the National Parks and Wildlife Amendment (Aboriginal Ownership)

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 70 Act 1996, will lead to the transfer of national parks to Aboriginal ownership. One letter suggests that, by depicting NSW wilderness scenes with Aboriginal people enjoying a semi-traditional lifestyle, the AHC brochure is misleading. The letter states that:

Aboriginal people in south-eastern Australia are mostly urban dwellers who expect urban facilities and services. It would be costly and damaging to nature conservation values to try to provide these facilities in NSW wilderness areas, and the social benefits of such a policy would be dubious to say the least (Prineas, 1999: 21).

There have, of course, been times when both Aboriginal and green groups have opposed a particular development and have attempted to work together to stop it. Frequently, however, that has meant the green groups have utilised, for example, archaeological evidence of Aboriginal life to support their case for nature reservation, rather than to support Aboriginal land rights per se and have fallen into the trap of appropriating the Aboriginal cause to support their own. That has led to tension between the groups.

A case in point is that of the rediscovery of ancient bones in Kutakina Cave in Tasmania which proved that Aborigines had occupied the area throughout the last ice-age. The archaeological discovery was made during the historic Franklin River, “No Dams” campaign. Despite greenies’ initial disquiet at the discovery of the cave, (the concept of a populated landscape was in conflict with the wilderness image painted by environmentalists) such important archaeological evidence was utilised as part of the green campaign – as more evidence to support the case for stopping the dam, because the cave would be flooded if it proceeded. Some Tasmanian Aborigines perceived this as hypocritical – they criticised the Wilderness Society for being prepared to use archaeological evidence of Aboriginal occupation to support preservation of the Franklin, but were hesitant about outrightly supporting land claims (Griffiths, 1996: 266).

It was considered important to preserve Kutakina cave because of the evidence of Aborigines’ past inhabitance – as archaeologically significant, not, as Michael Mansell, prominent Aboriginal activist and advocate of Aboriginal self- Government, believes it should be, “as manifestations of Aboriginal spirituality

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 71 and sacredness today” (Mansell, 1990: 103). Australian Aborigines are fighting to have the reality of their existence in today’s world recognised – while they want the evidence of past cultural practices preserved, they also want to be acknowledged as contemporary people, with rights to their land and their culture, not as relics of the past. The right to self-determine is inextricably linked with the right to country, a point I elaborate upon in the next section.

2.3 Country

This law … this country … this people… No matter what people … red, yellow, black or white… the blood is the same. Lingo little bit different… but no matter. Country … you in other place But same feeling. Blood… bone… all the same. (Neidjie and Davis, 1985: 63).

2.3.1 Land Rights and Self-Determination

Self-determination, now recognised as a fundamental right16 for indigenous people, is a central issue if the disadvantaged and oppressed condition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is to be rectified. Luitja (Lois)

16 The basis in international law for the right to self determination is found in, for example, Article 1 of the covenants of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The covenants put the principles of the Universal Declaration of Human rights into the form of legal obligation. Article 1 states that all peoples have the right to self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development. The concept that self-determination is a key to overcoming the issues underlying the high rate of Aboriginal deaths in custody has been endorsed by the Australian Government since the report of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal deaths in Custody was released in 1991 (Nettheim, 1994: 74). Although it is a positive step that the concept of self-determination has begun to be accepted as a guiding principle, it is argued that it needs to become more fully integrated into domestic law and policy by way of, for example, constitutional reform to allow Aboriginal self-government (O’Donoghue, 1994).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 72 O’Donoghue is a member of the Yankunytjatjara people who has held numerous public offices, including Chairperson of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission (ATSIC)17 was “Australian of the Year” in 1985 and a former chairperson of the Aboriginal Development Commission. In her view, self- determination “guides us in our quest to regain what we have lost, including the lost opportunity to share equitably” (1994: 10).

ATSIC views self-determination as vital to the future of Aboriginal people, and as such its central goal is:

To secure the empowerment of our people so that, through self-

determination, we can make the decisions that affect our lives and

share in Australia’s land, wealth and resources, contributing

equitably to the nation’s political life, with full recognition of our

indigenous cultural heritage as the First Australians (O’Donoghue,

1994: 11).

In Pearson’s opinion the empowerment of Aboriginal people will be a key factor in the process of reconciliation between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians. To him, empowerment means “the return of land, the recognition of the right to make decisions and the allocation of support for those decisions” (Pearson, 1995a: 41).

As Hollingsworth, a foundation member of the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress, states,

Most Australians would see self-determination as another expression of the democratic principle based on the belief that people should have the right to control their own destiny and to participate in decisions about themselves at the national, regional and local level ... in as much as it applies to indigenous people within an independent state, [it] has taken on very much the above meaning … the right to self determination is best

17 ATSIC is an independent statutory authority established by the Commonwealth Government. It is the agency responsible for policy-making and service delivery for indigenous people. It advises the Minister for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Affairs, and acts as an advocate for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people on national and international issues.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 73 viewed as entitling people to choose political allegiance to influence the political order under which it thrives and to preserve its cultural, ethnic, historical and territorial identity (1994: 59).

Hollingsworth notes that this definition of self-determination has evolved from a convoluted process – “convoluted because self-determination in diplomatic and legal language means the granting of sovereign independence to colonised people” (1994: 60). So, in the past, governments have shied away from the use of the term “self-determination” but, with its general acceptance as meaning the right of indigenous peoples to control their destiny and make decisions about their future, it has gradually become incorporated into the language of government bureaucracies.

At the same time the language of the general population, and in particular of social change organisations, began to reflect an attitude more supportive of Aboriginal rights and a recognition that land rights are a crucial component of Aboriginal self-determination. Thus, the slogan: “land rights, not mining rights” was a popular one both at the Jabiluka blockade and at rallies in the cities; but exactly how far are greenies prepared to go in support of land rights?

This question raises a dilemma for those environmentalists who, whilst passionate about stopping the nuclear cycle, also have a strong desire to support Aboriginal Australians’ rights to land and to self-determination. Many environmental activists have trouble reconciling land rights with environmental concerns, and that difficulty was manifest in the behaviour of some activists at the blockade who chose to carry out protest action on the lease without the approval of the traditional owners, illustrated in vignette (x) “The Red Van”.

For Aboriginal people in particular the significance of land is related both to the cultural and spiritual ties they have to it, and also to the very concrete means of survival it provides. Before going on to discuss the tensions between protesters and Mirrar, and among protesters themselves, the significance of country needs to be elaborated. Just as “wilderness” is laden with symbolism so too is “country”. The contrast between the views of Aboriginal traditional owners and conservationists is more visible when “wilderness” is compared with “country”. I

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 74 make this comparison below.

2.3.2 The Meaning of Country

On the surface, country is a simple word. Nevertheless, it has multiple meanings. In one sense, it refers to the nation “Australia” – a reference point for our national identity, regardless of whether we were born here or migrated here. In another sense it is the rural landscape where, for the rural population, country is subsistence.

In recent years the term country has grown in significance as it has become recognised that for Aboriginal Australians it has an added depth of meaning. It means:

place of origin, literally, culturally, or spiritually … ‘Country’ refers to more than a geographical area: it is a shorthand for all the values, places, resources, stories, and cultural obligations associated with that geographical area (Smyth 1994: 2)..

It is not only a descriptive term, but also names the land it describes as a living entity. Deborah Bird Rose describes it as a nourishing terrain, as both lived in and lived with (1996: 7). To quote from her book Nourishing Terrains:

Country in Aboriginal English is not only a common noun but also a proper noun. People talk about country in the same way they would talk about a person: they speak to country, sing to country, visit country, worry about country, feel sorry for country, and long for country. People say that country knows, hears, smells, takes notice, takes care, is sorry or happy. Country is not a generalised or undifferentiated type of place, such as one might indicate with terms like “spending a day in the country” or “going up the country”. Rather, country is a living entity with a yesterday, today and tomorrow, with a consciousness, and a will toward life. Because of this richness, country is home, and peace; nourishment for body, mind and spirit; heart’s ease (1996: 7).

Rose also argues that the term “country” must be contrasted with that of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 75 “landscape”, as “landscape” often signals a distance between place and the person considering it, a distance which enables questions to be asked regarding choices about what to conserve, or what is valued in a given landscape. Such questions cannot easily be asked in the context of Aboriginal “country”, because, Rose writes:

Country has its own life, its own imperatives, of which humans are only one aspect. It is not up to humans to take supreme control, or to define the ultimate values of country. Aboriginal relationships to land link people to ecosystems, rather than giving them dominion over them (1996b: 10–11).

Land is central to the formation of Aboriginal identity. It is:

the source of life; the spirit of each person is in it, comes from it, and in time, returns to it. The land renews the spirit. The spirit is safest in its own country. Land shapes the self, the unique identity of the individual. It is the person's place, his or her country (Barlow, 1992: 57).

While a sense of place strongly influences both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people alike, many Aboriginal people have maintained a strong connection with ancestral lands, whereas many non-Aboriginal people are only just beginning to discover one, for example as is evidenced by the move towards bioregionalism.18

Irrespective of the distancing in time and space which has occurred between Aborigines and their land, they remain attached to their ancestral lands. These bonds are “characteristic of virtually all Aboriginal societies in their ‘traditional’ (i.e. pre-European contact) state” (Tonkinson, 1980: 111). It is in cultural attachment to place that both individual and group identity is formed. The central feature of Australian Aboriginal attachment to land is the Dreamtime, also referred to as The Dreaming, or the Creation Time.

The words of Silas Roberts, first chairman of the Northern Land Council, provide a succinct summary of the connections between Aboriginal people and nature

18 Bioregionalism is a political belief or an idea that bioregions, defined by features such as biotic watershed, land form, cultural phenomenological, spirit presences and elevation, should be the criteria used to determine social / political organisation (Dodge, 1998). Bioregionalism can be distinguished from similar politics of place by the importance it gives to “natural systems, both as the source of physical nutrition and as the body of metaphors from which our spirits draw sustenance. A natural system is a community of interdependent life, a mutual biological integration on the order of an ecosystem, for example” (Dodge, 1998: 365).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 76 represented by the Dreamtime concept:

Aboriginals have a special connection with everything that is natural. Aboriginals see themselves as part of nature. We see all things natural as part of us. All the things on Earth we see as part human. This is told through the ideas of dreaming. By dreaming we mean the belief that long ago, these creatures started human society. These creatures, these great creatures are just as much alive today as they were in the beginning. They are everlasting and will never die. They are always part of the land and nature as we are. Our connection to all things is spiritual (quoted in Neidjie et al, 1985: 13).

The complexities surrounding the concept resist accurate translation, either literally or culturally, and this makes it difficult for non-traditional people to fully understand. A central meaning of The Dreaming is that of “a sacred, heroic time long ago when man and nature came to be as they are; but neither 'time' nor 'history' as we understand them is involved in this meaning” (Stanner, 1979: 23). As the Dreaming is part of the past and at the same time part of the present, it cannot be fixed in time. The concepts of time and history are foreign to Aboriginal languages and, because of the dry, abstract nature of the English language:

We shall not understand The Dreaming fully except as a complex of meanings. A blackfellow may call his totem, or the place from which his spirit came, his Dreaming. He may also explain the existence of a custom, or law of life, as causally due to The Dreaming” (Stanner, 1979: 23).

Although there may be a complex of meanings attached to the Dreaming, a core aspect of it revolves around the formation of the landscape by the movement of the great ancestors across it. The landscape is therefore rich with meaning, as the ancestors became the landscape – they “were the rocks, trees and waterholes, into which they had formed themselves after the creative period” (Broome, 1982: 14). “Dreamtime” stories are explanations of how the world came to be, and how people should behave. The Dreaming is also described as a religious belief, the essence of which “was the oneness of the land and all that moved upon it. It was a view of the world in which humans and the natural species were all part of the same ongoing life force ... all natural things were in a unity” (Broome, 1982: 15).

In the Kimberly region of Western Australia, Wandjina is the ancestral being who created everything:

Wandjina came from the wind and travelled the land and made this earth,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 77 and sea, and the mountains, the rivers, the waterholes, the trees, the plants, the animals, the language, and then the people. Wandjina made everything. Wandjina then gave us the Law to follow and gave us the land.

Wandjina say we must keep this tribal land. You cannot touch somebody else's land because it is your body, and your body is right here. To Wandjina all our lands are just like a tiny speck and so they see all things at all times no matter where we are on the land.

All that they created is Ungud: spiritual, and possessing powerful energy. Ungud is also Mama, that is to say, it is untouchable. Wandjina's spiritual presence is in all things living; in the land itself and in the universe, Ngada, from where one of Wandjina watch over us (Mowaljarlai, 1992: 179).

Although Mowaljarlai's words relate specifically to the Kimberly, similar beliefs regarding the creation of the land and people and the strength of the connections between them are held throughout Aboriginal Australia (Rose, 1996: 26). Mussolini Harvey, a Yanyuwa man from the Gulf of Carpentaria, puts it like this:

The Dreamings are our ancestors, no matter if they are fish, birds, men, women, animals, wind or rain. It was these Dreamings that made our Law. All things in our country have Law, they have ceremony and song, and they have people who are related to them ...

The Dreamings named all of the country and the sea as they travelled, they named everything that they saw. As the Dreamings travelled they put spirit children over the country, we call these spirit children ardirri. It is because of these spirit children that we are born, the spirit children are on the country, and we are born from the country (As quoted in Rose 1996b: 27, emphasis added).

Certain sites where Dreamings travelled, performed actions, or rested on their journeys have particular importance and are known as sacred sites. Knowledge about the appropriate management of such sites belongs to the traditional owners of that place, who have primary spiritual responsibility for sites on their estate. Restrictions about knowledge of these sites and their management may vary from place to place and region to region and context (Rose, 1996; Lawrence, 2000).

The organic nature of the relationship between people and sites, and the responsibility certain people have for caring for sites arises from their common ancestral source. According to Rose (1996b: 9), “each country has its sacred origins, its sacred and dangerous places, its sources of life and sites of death. Each

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 78 has its own people, its own Law, its own way of life” (1996b: 10). Not only did the movement of the ancestral figures form physical landscapes, but social groups and language were distributed in specific patterns by that movement as well. So, the female Creator figure of the Kakadu region, “Imberombera” was responsible for establishing Aboriginal society there. She did so as she travelled along, by sending out “various spirit children to different parts of the country, telling them to speak different languages. She sent them to ten places … each of these places is regarded as the central camping ground of their respective tribes. Imberombera is thus regarded as the founder of the ten tribes” (Press et al, 1995: 40).

2.3.3 Looking Out For Country

Land rights are not just about clarification of the ownership of land; they also concern the access of people to their land so that they may fulfil their obligations regarding its care and maintain cultural traditions. This issue was highlighted by the arrest of Yvonne Margarula when she and three kinsfolk entered the Jabiluka lease site to conduct a peaceful protest on May 18th, 1998. This became a paradoxical situation when the senior traditional owner was charged with trespassing on the land to which she holds title. Margarula’s defence was that she was fulfilling her obligations as a traditional elder to care for her people’s country, that is, “that she had been protecting her country at the mine site at the time of the alleged offences. She stated that as a traditional owner she had a responsibility to look after country, visit her country and make sure it was safe” (Gundjehmi, 1998c).

However, the Darwin Magistrates Court did not accept her defence, and she and the others who also participated in the protest were convicted of trespass and fined $500 each. Margarula subsequently appealed against her conviction in the Supreme Court of the Northern Territory and the Court of Appeal in the Northern Territory. Both appeals were dismissed. Two of her co-defendants, Jacqui Katona and Christine Christophersen, refused to pay fines, and subsequently each served ten days in gaol. In an open letter they stated:

The Federal Government and ERA refuse to recognise the rights of Mirrar to protect country and people. They have failed to demonstrate the most basic respect for Mirrar culture. Our response has been to stand to defend

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 79 the rights of the Mirrar to protect their country which adjoins our family’s. For this we must now serve a jail sentence on the charge of trespass. We have defended the integrity of our beliefs and the integrity of the country which defines the past, present and future for our people. We are being punished for standing up to a mining company and Governments in order to carry out responsibilities which our country demands of us – responsibilities to our family. ERA and the Howard Government has (sic) made land rights rhetorical. Our country is not a mere symbol to be called upon for political purposes. It is a tangible, living dynamic power and we will continue to defend it and the rights which flow from it [GAC, 1999a – emphasis added].

The view that country names a living entity and not just an abstract symbol is clearly evident in the wording “it is a tangible, living dynamic power” – country is not something these people stand back from and observe from a distance, or regarded as a construct of belief like, say, heaven. Nor is it something that they have decided is worth protecting from development because of its aesthetic values, or its natural heritage values; they do so because it is something they believe they are obliged to protect and to manage in culturally prescribed ways.

The comparison of “wilderness” with “country” highlights the nature-culture dualism at the heart of Western thought and close to the centre of tensions between greens and blacks. For greens, the issue is seen as a case of the environment being degraded and the people affected as a result of that degradation – the environment is distinguishable from the people who inhabit it, and so the effects on people are indirect. For Mirrar, however, the effects are direct. Their daily lives are affected by restrictions on their access to country, and by the effects of construction work and potential disturbances to sites of importance. The restrictions not only have direct physical effects, such as reducing the range of land available for food gathering, and the potential contamination of that food source, but also cultural and spiritual impacts on Mirrar obligations to care for country. In short, their right to self-determination is inhibited.

In almost every media release issued by Gundjehmi the Jabiluka dispute is framed as a breach of the rights of traditional owners to access and protect country, and thus as a case of human rights abuses. It is a human rights issue because anything done to the environment there directly affects the people and also because the legal processes which have enabled ERA to proceed with construction infringe

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 80 upon the rights of traditional owners to control activities on their country and therefore their capacity for self-determination.

It is this right to look after country which is the linch-pin of the Mirrar case and which underpinned the establishment and conduct of the protesters’ camp. The responsibility to look after country and the right to control activities on that country are inextricably entwined with the issue of self-determination due to the history of the dispossession of Aboriginal people from their land. Land rights cases and land claims have invariably revolved around the issue of traditional owners’ rights to access their land for cultural purposes and title or ownership rights established on the grounds that traditional links have been maintained. The history of land dispossession has understandably created a climate of mistrust between Aboriginal people and whitefellas, hence the need for traditional owners to maintain strict control over their land on its return to them.

The invitation extended to greenies by Mirrar was framed as a call to support Mirrar in their struggle:

Mirrar people have fought to protect country and people from uranium mining for many years. Now, we are defending our country against the Jabiluka development. We invite you to come to our country to join our struggle to uphold the cultural and environmental values of Kakadu (Katona, 1998).

Greenies responded to that invitation but naturally brought with them their preconceived ideas about Aboriginal people and culture, preconceptions which had the potential for generating tensions within the campaign. I now briefly explore these historical tensions between greens and blacks before going on to a discussion of how they were visible at Jabiluka.

2.3.4 Own Country, Own Culture

As I have already noted, relations between Aboriginal Australians and non- Aboriginal environmentalists have historically been tense, and perhaps even more so since the High Court decisions in the Mabo and Wik cases brought attention to traditional owners’ native title rights to land reserved for nature conservation

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 81 purposes. The Mabo case was particularly important, as it found that native title might have been protected from extinguishment in general provisions of some national parks legislation (Wootten; undated). During the same period as native title rights were being debated in the High Court, legislative reforms at the state level were also being undertaken. 1996 saw the NSW National Parks and Wildlife (Aboriginal Ownership) Bill passed, which allows for the return of certain national park lands to traditional owners under joint management schemes.

As a result, the rights of traditional owners to claim land reserved in national parks and to access it for hunting and gathering and for cultural reasons have been rigorously debated in environmental circles, as noted in the discussion of the Malimup Communiqué earlier in this chapter. This debate is characterised by a polarisation of views regarding Aboriginal people and conservation objectives – on the one extreme is an image of Aboriginal people as “noble savages” or archetypal conservationists, and at the other end of the spectrum is the view of Aboriginal people as “careless and opportunistic exploiters of the land and its resources” (Woenne-green et al, undated: 1). The latter attitude is exemplified in the earlier reference to Prineas (1999; 21) who suggests that South-east Australian Aborigines have lost traditional knowledge regarding land management and can’t really be trusted to care for national parks. This reflects a fear that, if granted title to national parkland, Aboriginal people would want to utilise it for commercial or industrial development. This attitude is often reflected in conservationists’ responses to plans for joint management, according to Walker (1999):

What happens is, when you mention joint management, all that knee-jerk reaction – that they’ll kill all the roos and the endangered species and put up casinos or whatever and hotels – that is such a universal response it amazes me.

Aboriginal traditional owners have been forced to compete with other interest groups for the right to manage their own land. They are often treated as “just another stakeholder” together with local governments, tourism operators, resource development and non-government conservation agencies. And, although a report by the ACF in 1992-3 found that those national parks currently under joint management arrangements and some state legislation can be excluded from that competition (Woenne-Green et al; undated) the case at Jabiluka shows that despite

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 82 joint management arrangements and land rights legislation, traditional owners are still forced to battle for their rights to be respected.

2.3.5 Appropriation

As mentioned above, Aboriginal spokespersons are particularly critical of the national park concept. For example, Marcia Langton (1995) views national parks as a perpetuation of colonialist tendencies, a point I elaborate in Chapter Three (section 3.3.1). A related issue taken up by Langton is the way in which tourism and the arts in Australia have benefited from the use of Aboriginal iconography. She points to a relationship between cultural expression and conquest. In a kind of cultural appropriation, Aboriginal images and art forms have brought commercial profit and/or serve as a “marker of Australian identity” (ibid, 1995: 6) for non- Aboriginal Australians. Even kitsch Australiana, Langton argues, has trivialised the genocide of the Aboriginal people and has served as an “emblem of suburban security” (1995: 6).

This kind of cultural appropriation is a source of tension between Aboriginal people and the wider community, and the conservation community is no exception. Langton draws a parallel between this treatment of Aboriginal people and the colonising effect of the expansion of national parks (ibid). A subtle form of appropriation is evident in the use of land rights rhetoric and Aboriginal iconography in environmental campaigns. It occurs: 1) through the direct utilisation of Aboriginal land rights rhetoric; 2) in its use of Aboriginal images; and 3) by adopting Aboriginal cultural values and/or spiritual beliefs; as outlined below:

1) The direct utilisation of Aboriginal land rights rhetoric:

This was illustrated, for example, at a Jabiluka rally in Sydney when the opening comments of the facilitator were: “we are here today to say that Aboriginal people should control Aboriginal land … to stop the genocide of their land, to stop the genocide of their culture … I am speaking on behalf of the Mirrar people”. Later, following Bob Brown’s speech, which drew on Dreamtime imagery (of the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 83 serpent creating the landscape at Jabiluka) and suggested that the Jabiluka campaign would be “bigger than the Franklin Dam campaign” (Brown, 1998a), the facilitator stated that “this campaign could become the symbol for this government’s trampling over Aboriginal peoples’ rights, trampling over environmental protection”.

Throughout the day, the reasons for the rally and demonstration were prioritised as first: Aboriginal rights; second: environmental protection. But it is plain that the priority of green groups is the environment. The wilderness policies of the major green groups in Australia clearly state that the protection of the environment is their prime objective. For example, the ACF policy relevant to wilderness is entitled: “Wilderness and Indigenous Cultural Landscapes in Australia”, and although it acknowledges the previous occupation and modification of the landscape by Aboriginal people and their continued relationship with it as custodians and as their home, the prime objective of management of such areas is stated as “the long term preservation of wilderness conditions as a means to protect biodiversity and natural and cultural values” (ACF, 1998: 2). This is in keeping with the attitudes reflected in most other conservation organisations’ policies on wilderness. That begs the question of whether the land rights rhetoric is a tokenistic gesture by conservationists who use the Aboriginal cause as another “weapon” in their campaign to protect the natural environment.

2) In its use of Aboriginal images:

The appropriation and exploitation of Aboriginal culture and the image of Aboriginal people as the “archetypal conservationists” in support of nature conservation and the tourism industry, particularly ecotourism, has also affected green-black relations.

Here, Aboriginal mythology and art is utilised to benefit parks or tourism. For example, by citing cases of sacred sites and important rock art galleries as reasons for the preservation of certain areas, without first establishing the consent or involvement of traditional owners. Aboriginal sites and images are also used to promote the Australian tourism industry which sees little profit returned to the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 84 owners. In this way, Aboriginal cultural heritage is “marginalised as an exploitable resource which is controlled by others” (Woenne-Green et al; undated; summary).

In a pertinent example described by Badger Bates, a significant Aboriginal figure in the negotiations over the management of Mutawintji National Park in western NSW, park managers used crushed rock to construct a path to a popular rock art site (Bates, 1993). Following its completion, traditional owners discovered that the rock had been taken from a place where in their dreamtime stories, bad people were punished by death, and “their bodies formed the rocks and their blood formed the lead, silver and zinc” (Bates, 1993: 65). Not surprisingly they were distressed and offended that such dangerous material had been put so close to one of the places most sacred to the Mutawintji.

The use of the “mystical and wise Aboriginal elder” image was utilised in Jabiluka campaign material, leading to the question of whether Aboriginal people have been forced to resorting to a portrayal of themselves which is appealing to, and in keeping with, white expectations. That is, Aboriginal figures being used to represent pre-industrial people. An ACF “special supplement” to the June 1998 edition of Habitat Australia features a miner adorned with protective clothing and high-tech equipment, eyes hidden behind a protective mask and goggles. His pose is contrasted with that of a naked-chested, grey-bearded Aboriginal man, complete with body paint, eyes raised in a “mystical” gaze which exudes wisdom and dignity and harmony with nature. We’ve all seen the image in one form or another, frequently in tourist brochures advertising an outback experience. The image is repeated in a call for donations to the campaign in the same edition of Habitat Australi”, and although in it the Aboriginal man is dressed in contemporary clothing, the pose is the same – eyes raised above the horizon, gazing mystically into the distance. It is in keeping with the belief of many conservationists that Aboriginal people represent pre-industrial people. (This is a theme I return to in section 3.3.2). It is also reminiscent of many images of Jesus Christ, in line with the romanticising of indigenous people as spiritual beings in some environmental writing.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 85 There is a need for many Aboriginal communities to protect themselves from negative stereotyping and also for their privacy to be respected. Hence, realistic portrayals of the Third World conditions experienced in many Aboriginal communities may not be appropriate. Never-the-less, the use of such images would not be a useful marketing strategy – it would not “sell” the campaign to white environmentalists.19 Hence, a photograph of Yvonne Margarula in the special supplement repeats the theme, depicting her in that same mystic pose, surrounded by Kakadu bushland.

3) By adopting Aboriginal cultural values / spiritual beliefs:

Greenies often willingly adopt the notion that an area they believe should be conserved contains a sacred site, and it wasn’t unusual to hear protesters at Jabiluka state that one of the reasons the mine shouldn’t go ahead is because it contains sacred sites. It was also not uncommon for such statements to be accompanied by comments inferring that the “sacredness” of the land could be “felt” – or its spiritual power sensed. It is true that the area does contain a sacred site complex, and greenies are right to support the demands of the traditional owners that such sites be protected. However, it cannot be left unsaid that it is “convenient” to the greenies’ argument that a sacred site is present, and that perhaps the passion of their demand for the sacred site to be protected is fuelled more by the support it lends to their case than a consciousness of the sacredness of the site.

The term “sacred” is often equated with the western concept of holiness or similar spiritual connotations and the belief that, out of respect for nature, such areas should be undisturbed. The Macquarie Dictionary definition of the word sacred is:

1. Appropriated or dedicated to a deity or to some religious purpose; consecrated; 2. Entitled to veneration or religious respect by association with divine things, holy; 3. Regarded with reverence; 4. Secured against violation, infringement, etc by reverence, sense of right etc (Delbridge et al, 1992: 1545).

The last of these definitions is getting close to the meaning associated with the

19 In the way, for example, that an outdoor recreation clothing company is apparently using this image – see figure 12 “Gondwanaland”.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 86 Aboriginal perception of particular sites of significance. Because of the religious associations of the word, however, Westerners usually interpret sacred sites as places only of spiritual importance, seen as steeped in ancient mysticism. This may be true in many cases – traditional beliefs related to the Dreaming are usually associated with sacred sites, but they are also as much about physical survival as cultural tradition. Sites are respected so that people live; – so that resources, and therefore people, are protected, as much as out of respect for the Dreaming. Totemic beliefs also serve to cast a net of interconnected protection of resources too, explaining why Aboriginal beliefs resonate so well with greenies. But Mirrar seem caught between, on the one hand, this “over acceptance” and reinterpretation of their cultural beliefs and, on the other, the complete disregard for them exhibited by the mining industry.

The disregard by ERA for sacred sites was mirrored in the attitudes and behaviour of some protesters. Despite requests from Mirrar not to enter the lease site without approval, and that on the occasions they were permitted to enter it that they not move off the marked track in order to protect sacred sites, there were many occasions when members of the Direct Action Group (DAG)20 disregarded that request. It is quite likely that they truly believed that they were doing no harm, and that they meant none. And it is more than likely that they were treading carefully and taking care not to damage the environment by their own interpretation of what it means to damage the land. But damage and desecration may have occurred merely as a result of their presence, and simply disregarding the request in the first place is in itself a sign of disrespect for that belief. By acting according to their own beliefs and by disregarding those of the Mirrar, some activists’ behaviour reflected that of ERA.

As Burgmann argues, the alliance between greens and blacks has historically offered Aboriginal Australians the hope for land rights, but they are land rights based more in ecological than Aboriginal concerns, and that alliance has generally arisen out of a compatibility of aims rather than empathetic concern on the part of environmentalists. This was the case of Kutakina Cave (outlined above) and at

20 DAG was the working group responsible for planning, preparing and coordinating most of the direct action protests such as the mass trespass actions and “lock-ons”.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 87 Coronation Hill, where conservationists formed a working relationship with the Jawoyn people to oppose the development of a gold mine. Tensions between them existed, according to Hutton and Connors, because Aboriginal people felt that the conservationists “did not necessarily support the cultural reasons for stopping mining as much as environmental ones” (1999: 179).

Of course, such alliance building works both ways: in the case of Coronation Hill, the Northern Land Council was reluctant to intervene in that dispute until 1988 when, according to Hutton and Connors, they entered into the campaign partly because they “sensed that Aboriginal people could win a significant victory with a strategic link with conservationists” (1999: 178-–9). But such alliances are weakened by conservationists’ lack of respect for and understanding of the disadvantaged economic and social position of Aboriginal people in Australian society, their cultural beliefs and land management practices. The way these misunderstandings showed up at Jabiluka is discussed in the next section.

2.4 Jabilukan Tensions

And you should not be surprised if I tell you that we perceive the young white male green activist calling us environmental vandals, as a remake of Tarzan, King of the Jungle, struggling to teach those stupid natives to recycle and take a large string bag to Woolworths. The new Tarzan no longer lives on a platform in the jungle with monkeys for playmates, but he does have his native companion. The new age reinvention of the Noble Savage figure as typified by, say, Burnam Burnam, is a matter of serious consequence” (Langton, 1995: 12).

The traditional idea of Aboriginal–land connections, based on the idealistic notion of Aboriginal people as the “first conservationists”, is in keeping with greenies’ beliefs about environmental management. So much so that it can be argued that this romantic representation of Aboriginality, a form of exoticisation of the “other”, has become “part of the mythology of late 20th Century environmentalism” (Ellen, 1993: 126).

However, when that connection is framed in terms of self-determination in a modern world – with a basis of land rights being contemporary values related to economic sustainability as much as cultural survival – it conflicts with greenies’

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 88 notions of indigenous people living in harmony with the land. And, as is evidenced by the quote from Marcia Langton that begins this section, it is neither welcomed by, nor helpful to, Australian Aborigines. The “romanticising” of indigenous people is accentuated by the essentialist expectation of many balanda that Aboriginal people should remain “traditional”.

2.4.1 Savage Romantics

The “romanticisation of the savage” is manifest in non-Aboriginal respect for ancient Aboriginal culture and the simultaneous derision of contemporary Aboriginal lifestyle choices, for example, in the argument that Aboriginal rights to hunt and fish in national parks are acceptable only if “traditional” methods are used.

Vignette (iv) “The Dress Code” is an example of this issue. The critical attitude of some Jabilukans regarding “non-traditional” Aboriginal culture was manifest in the negative reaction to Mirrar’s request that protesters dress in a particular way. The reaction of the women in vignette (iv) reflected an expectation that for Mirrar to be “truly authentic”, they should adhere to traditional ways of being. Such a request would have been acceptable to the protesters, it seems, if it was based on a traditional Aboriginal belief, rather than stemming from modern Christian influence.

This romanticised view of Aboriginal people influenced the expectations of many protesters at Jabiluka. Greenies expected to be working directly with “traditional” Aboriginal people – they had hopes for a cultural exchange, to learn first-hand about dreamtime beliefs, traditional life, bush tucker, of living sustainably and in harmony with the environment. That is, to have a direct experience of the “original conservationists”. Going to Jabiluka was as much a spiritual journey as an act of protest for some:

I think a lot of people had very much an expectation that they would go to Kakadu, that they would be at the camp and that they would be living with Aboriginal people and they would sort of have an entrée, a window opening, into “real” Aboriginal life, and if people went to the camp with that as their motivation or their hope they would have been in for a disappointment (Sweeney, 1999).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 89 Organisers were aware of those hopes for a cultural exchange with the traditional owners, and took care to frame the “call to action” so that it didn’t set up, or build false expectations.

It needed to be said that this was a joint initiative – a black-green initiative – it needed to be said that a primary role was played by Gundjehmi but we were also trying to position it and to word it so it wasn’t saying come and have a wilderness experience and discover the real Australia – it wasn’t a cultural exposure tour (Sweeney, 1999).

Greenies’ hopes, however unrealistic, were not to be fulfilled. The reality is that a very small community which has been decimated by the effects of balanda ways is not only struggling for physical survival, but also to preserve what culture and links to land they have left. Part of the strategy to protect that culture is to protect it from balanda – to keep the knowledge to themselves where possible, and that has meant a reluctance to deal with balanda unless absolutely necessary. The introduction of the NT Land Rights Act forced them into negotiating with mining companies in the first instance, and then absolute poverty, loss of land, and the effects of alcohol led to the Pancontinental agreement which promised that the economic benefits from mining would be a way to regain self-determination and improve living conditions. The consequences of those negotiations has not only resulted in the development of uranium mines on their country, but also in Mirrar becoming “very smart, very quickly”, as Mies and Shiva (1993: 4) put it. For indigenous people, that often means learning to operate in the bureaucratic and scientific white man’s world.

In the case of Mirrar, it also resulted in the formation of the Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation. Gundjehmi is based in an air-conditioned office in Jabiru, equipped with modern information, communication and transport technology. It is staffed by several fieldworkers, co-ordinated by a Chief Executive Officer – Jacqui Katona - and overseen by a committee that represents the Mirrar community with Yvonne Margarula as president. So, instead of a traditional Aboriginal community, greenies were working with an organisation modelled on the same system that many of them reject – a top-down, hierarchically managed office, not unlike most other bureaucratic work places and staffed by people living no differently to many white Australians. Greenies’ idealistic notions of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 90 Aboriginality were confronted head on by the reality of the stark contrasts between the lives which traditional Aboriginal people lead and their own idealised vision of those lives.

Cam Walker suggests that conservationists’ expectations that Aboriginal people will represent the “first conservationists” are an impediment to building strong organisational relationships between greens and blacks:

It’s that different kind of thing of living on land versus idealising and almost deifying nature as something separate and when we enter it we muddy it, whereas that concept of living is probably where they’re coming from. But even that – inherent in that is all the stuff of environmentalists assuming commonality with indigenous people – you know the old “first conservationist” tag – all that type of business, lack of understanding about where Aboriginal people come from – the bottom of every conceivable economic and social pile and they’re actually trying to feed their kids and stay out of hospital and stay alive. In that needs hierarchy people are coming in at the peak and interacting with people at the very bottom and can’t understand why they can’t relate on the same level – I mean it’s cultural shifts that are needed and that’s again where I guess I get back to that thing of unless you know people and actually share their vibes then the organisational relations won’t work (Walker, 1999).

Environmentalists’ expectations that Mirrar would be “traditional” were made visible by the reluctance of some Jabilukans to accept direction from Gundjehmi (such as we see in vignette iv) that they protest against the mine in very particular ways, especially with respect to non-violent direct action.

Under Aboriginal law, Yvonne Margarula has a direct responsibility for the safety and well being of people on her land. So anything that might threaten the safety of any person on that country was not permitted, and the theme of people and place being inseparable arises again. This responsibility, this obligation to ensure the safety of people, together with a determination to retain control over events led to Mirrar establishing strict guidelines for behaviour in the camp and while on Mirrar country, and for those guidelines to be administered via Gundjehmi. Non- violent action took on a new meaning here – it had the double meaning of being a tactic of peaceful resistance as well as a mark of respect for Margarula’s obligations to country.

Resistance to authority is a characteristic of many proponents of the environment

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 91 movement. Dissatisfied with mainstream society, the search for an alternative leads many of them to question and reject anything they perceive to be related to the institutions of state control. To some Jabilukans, Gundjehmi was identified as an authority – they made no distinction between Aboriginal owners and other bureaucratic/authoritarian organisations and saw the manner in which Gundjehmi controlled the camp and the blockade as a reflection of a model of centralised control and power. The argument put forward by one such person was that the key mechanism of control would be “that the blockade of this mine could only be fought within the parameters of it being solely an indigenous issue … and that …Gundjehmi was the key to that control” (O’Reilly, 1998:1).

So, while the majority were content to abide by the wishes of Mirrar expressed through Gundjehmi, some were not. It was a multi-tiered tension – the conflict between ERA and Mirrar was reflected in the tension between Mirrar and greenies, and the same issue created tensions between those green activists who supported more direct blockading action and those who wanted to engage in more symbolic, media-grabbing action aimed at drawing public attention and support to the protest.

Importantly, the guiding principle for all protest actions was strictly Non Violent Direct Action (NVDA), a form of protest action that has evolved from the passive resistance tactics pioneered by Mahatma Gandhi21 in his campaign against the British in India in the 1930’s and 1940’s (Marshall, 1998). Non-violent action is based on the theory that the power of a ruling group is eroded when the people refuse to co-operate. In Australia it has dominated environmental protests although militant direct action, involving some risk to human beings, has been part of the environment movement since the 1970’s, largely associated with forest campaigns (Doyle, 2000). Typically the latter takes the form of marches, pickets, rallies, strikes, sit-ins, boycotts, blockades and often involving mass arrest.

21 Gandhi developed a means of political struggle which he called Satyagraha or “truth-force”. Satyagraha involved civil disobedience, non-cooperation and fasting. Although he didn’t invent them, Gandhi is said to have developed them as political tools. Non-violence in particular was emphasised – the infliction of physical or mental harm on the opponent was unacceptable, as was physical or direct psychological coercion, and secrecy was renounced, so that the opponent was informed of all planned moves (Shephard, 1987: 3). This last feature was one of the sources of the conflict leading up to the “Red Van” incident described in vignette (v).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 92 NVDA held special significance at Jabiluka. Necessary not just as a statement of intention to demonstrate peacefully, it was also in keeping with Mirrar beliefs. As mentioned, as senior elder, Yvonne Margarula holds the responsibility for the safety of all people on Mirrar land. Hence any behaviour likely to result in injury, regardless of whether the injury was sustained by a police officer, mineworker or protester, weighed heavily with her. About midway through the duration of the camp’s existence, this led to her deciding against any direct action on the lease site. This decision was taken by Margarula in July, following a particularly confrontational “trespass” action, in which several protesters sustained injuries as a result of police attempts to either physically force them to leave the site and/or arrest them. One protester was quite seriously injured and required hospitalisation. Margarula’s decision meant that protest actions were restricted to passive demonstrations – displays of protest – outside the boundaries of the lease and that held no risk of arrest. She later lifted the restriction to enable “mass trespass” actions but any protests that could involve direct confrontation of any kind were not permitted. Her decision was not welcomed by many advocates of more militant direct blockading of the mine’s construction (who were largely men), and led to some division in the camp, resulting in the departure of several protesters. But it also led to many creative and visually captivating demonstrations – crucial features in a campaign conducted in a location very much isolated from the media’s eye.

2.4.2 Ploughshares

One incident in particular highlighted the tensions surrounding the role played by Gundjehmi: “the ploughshares action”.22 Although it was very small – only two individuals participated in it (Ciaron O’Reilly and Treena Lenthall), it became a high profile protest action and drew significant, albeit sometimes negative, media attention. It sparked heated debate throughout the Jabiluka campaign regarding

22 Ploughshares is an international organisation committed to peace and disarmament. Their actions usually aim to “non-violently, safely, openly and accountably disable a war machine or system”. Their actions are inspired by and enact an Old Testament prophecy that when Yahweh ruled, all the nations would “beat swords into ploughshares” (Trident Ploughshares).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 93 both the form it took as well as the approval process for protest actions. On 6th August 1998 (the anniversary of the first use of the atomic bomb at Hiroshima) the Jabiluka ploughshares activists, Lenthall and O’Reilly, cut through the fence of the mine compound, disarmed an excavator and poured human blood over it to symbolise blood spilt by the use of nuclear weapons and in nuclear accidents. They then symbolically hammered the machinery until they were arrested and charged with trespass and criminal damage.

A number of Jabilukans dismissed the ploughshares action as a minor “hiccup” in relations with Gundjehmi, and the level of support either for or against the action itself was difficult to judge. Even so, it is useful to examine it because, as the following analysis demonstrates, it shows that the romanticisation of indigenous people and the perception of them by greens as “noble savages” underpins the behaviour of some green activists and continues to be a source of conflict both within the green movement and between green and black activists.

Gundjehmi refused approval for the ploughshares action. That left the ploughshares activists the choice of going ahead with their plan, in which case they would no longer be welcome in camp, or withdrawing their plan and protesting in some other form. They chose to go ahead, but before doing so, they “resigned from camp” and returned their Mirrar passports so that Gundjehmi was not put through the “unwelcome task” of banishing them from camp (O’Reilly, 1998).

Gundjehmi’s position regarding the ploughshares action was summarised in a media release which stated that Gundjehmi had been informed that an action took place involving damage to property, that Gundjehmi has never approved action of this sort and “condemns the manner in which the Ploughshares group has chosen to express their understandable opposition to Jabiluka”. Jacqui Katona is quoted as saying:

We have continually expressed to the protesters assembled at Jabiluka that their actions must proceed peacefully and with the express permission of traditional owners. The Ploughshares group appear to have breached the trust of the Mirrar and are not welcome at the Blockade Camp (GAC, 1998d).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 94 O’Reilly and Lenthall subsequently openly criticised the strategies utilised in the Jabiluka blockade by publishing a critique of the blockade on the Internet. The central points they make are that with respect to protest action organisation and approval processes at Jabiluka, Gundjehmi acted in an authoritarian manner, and that Non-Violent Direct Action (NVDA) at Jabiluka was the most acceptable means of protest but that Gundjehmi was against it (O’Reilly, 1998).

The conflict over the ploughshares action filtered back to the national campaign level: O’Reilly submitted his critique to FoE Fitzroy for publication in their newsletter. A significant discussion ensued regarding whether it should be accepted for publication, the result being that it was not, but that a FoE article analysing the issue would be published (Walker, 1999).

Gundjehmi were, according to O’Reilly, against mobilising equally on questions of peace and environment, against maximising NVDA and for centralised control and power. They argued that the control mechanisms utilised by Gundjehmi included white guilt, sycophancy, expulsion and censorship over media, and described the direction from Gundjehmi for groups to apply for endorsement as megalomania and as having “a lot to do with the culture of the authoritarian left”(O’Reilly, 1998).

O’Reilly epitomises the “die-hard, direct action at all cost” blockaders whose beliefs regarding what constitutes effective protest action, together with their experiences of the consequences of illegal action, were at odds with Mirrar. The venerating language he uses to describe direct action shows this. For example, he celebrates “the good people who travelled a lot of miles to carry out heroic acts of non-violent direct action in a hostile political and legal environment”. For O’Reilly, arrest appears to be a pinnacle of achievement, and gaol offered him the opportunity for a “privileged” perspective on life (O’Reilly, 1998). He writes from Berrimah prison where he says he “dwells” with his “indigenous sisters and brothers”. He is critical of Gundjehmi and the camp organisation, stating that:

• an illusion that Mirrar were blockading the mine was conjured up by Gundjehmi, because there was little public evidence of the involvement of Mirrar at the blockade;

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 95 • Gundjehmi had no commitment to a philosophy, praxis or politics of NVDA;

• the rank and file blockaders were treated as disposable cannon fodder – lack of solidarity and support for arrestees; and

• the volunteer staff at the blockade office were an “inner circle elite.”

O’Reilly and Lenthall carried out their disarmament of mining equipment believing it to be non-violent. They considered that, as their protest plan had not been granted approval, the “only course of action was to respectfully disobey Gundjehmi, Green bureaucrats, ERA and the NT police” (O’Reilly, 1998).

These views may be seen as representative of those protesters at the extreme end of the spectrum who believed that direct action was the most effective means of protest. However many (some would say most) of the protesters involved at Jabiluka disagreed with this perspective, and considered the behaviour of “the noisy minority” (Sweeney, 1999) as something to be ignored. The majority of protesters accepted the guidelines established by Gundjehmi. For example, the words of Heidi Gill reflect this attitude:

I was happy just to do morning presences … they were just about going to the mine to “welcome” the workers to work – to let them know that we’re here. Not that visible – no media or anything. For me it just felt like I was doing something – going to a morning presence ... just being there, standing on the side of the road with candles in the dark showed our intentions to the workers (of stopping the mine), and giving good intentions to the land. And DAG people sort of saw morning presences as a wank, or didn’t do anything, or unnecessary and that showed a difference in thinking between people in camp – there were those who believed that you had to lock on to everything that moved and there were others like me – I just believe that – like I was saying about intentions – going with intent to stop a mine in a peaceful way is valuable.

I found myself getting really angry in meetings when people were

complaining about the fact that we had to “obey” Gundjehmi’s rules – the

Mirrar people. That just made me really angry, that’s when I realised –

because I thought “we’re on their land and we should just respect their

wishes” basically, and I thought it was really arrogant of a lot of people –

these young activists – anarchists who thought they can just do whatever

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 96 the hell they like and that any hierarchy is wrong and I think they don’t

really look at the issues properly. I mean hierarchies aren’t necessarily

wrong in themselves, only if they abuse people. I mean a family is a

hierarchy – parents tell their kids what to do.

And I don’t think that they were exploiting us purposely – Gundjehmi – a lot of people thought they were using us and that they were ungrateful and I didn’t actually meet them but I think considering the circumstances of their survival – the Mirrar people – that they’re not just dealing with the uranium mine but they’re dealing with alcoholism and everything that Aboriginal people have to deal with up there and I don’t blame them for trying to lay down a few rules (Gill, 1999).

Together with their lack of visibility, Mirrar’s choice of implementing “mainstream” tactics such as “media-grabbing” actions and liaising with police regarding plans for actions led to some mistrust building up within camp. Without any “evidence” of Mirrar cultural and spiritual ties to their land, Gundjehmi control over protest action seemed unrelated to indigenous cultural beliefs. The use of mainstream “white” tactics might have created the impression that Mirrar’s values regarding the lease site had been “tainted” by western economic and material values.

This is echoed in another critique of the blockade given by Rebecca, a protester who was at the blockade and camp for five months.23 Her motivations for going to Jabiluka were “to join with others to stop the uranium mine being built and to aid the Mirrar people in their struggle for self-determination” (Rebecca, 1998: 1). She made similar arguments to those of O’Reilly, stating that the ploughshares action was initially approved by Gundjehmi regardless of the “no property damage” policy in place, and that “approval was withdrawn not because of camp policy and not because of cultural issues, but because Jacqui said that the timing was wrong – it was not the media image that we wanted to present at the moment” (Rebecca, 1998: 2). Again, an intimation that had the objection been due to cultural issues, it would have been accepted – are Mirrar only acceptable if they’re living

23 Rebecca’s analysis was publicised by way of the www, and she does not give her family name.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 97 archaeological treasures, remnants of an indigenous culture? Rebecca also makes the point that “Gundjehmi, it must be stressed, are only representatives of the Mirrar, not Mirrar themselves, and consequently the decisions that they make may not be the same as those the Mirrar would make themselves” (Rebecca, 1998: 2).

Such statements reflect greenies’ reluctance to accept directions from Mirrar via Gundjehmi. Contemporary Mirrar beliefs and culture are not seen as valid because their links with traditional culture are not clear, hence their social value is questioned. Had the same requests been received directly from Yvonne they would probably have been accepted, but coming from Jacqui Katona they are interpreted as evidence of Jacqui’s desire for power and control while she pursues her own political agenda.

Both Rebecca and O’Reilly are either ignorant of, or overlook, the fact that Jacqui Katona was employed by Mirrar to act on their behalf, that they had the power to dismiss her should she not act in their interests, that she frequently consulted with Yvonne Margarula regarding decisions and that her contract had been renewed twice (Weepers, 1998). Countering criticisms that Jacqui was controlling the agenda to further her own political ends, those who worked closely with Jacqui and Yvonne argue that it was obvious that Yvonne was clearly in charge (Blair, 1998b). No doubt there were a number of reasons behind Mirrar’s decision to minimise contact with protesters and it is likely that one of them was simply personal privacy.

It has been observed that, with respect to the tourism industry, the Aboriginal people of the Kakadu region have been reluctant to directly participate in tourism enterprises because they preferred to have as little contact with tourists as possible (Finlayson, 1996: 115). It may be that the same reluctance is behind Mirrar’s reasoning for not having direct contact with the protesters – for establishing the web, for not participating very frequently in actions, for maintaining a low profile around the lease and the camp. It seems that they were more involved earlier in the life of the camp, which is when the numbers of protesters were lower, and that as more and more balanda arrived, their direct contact diminished.

Had protesters perceived this country as the home of the Mirrar, perhaps they may

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 98 have found it easier to understand Mirrar’s reluctance to have close contact with balanda. An interesting “double standard” regarding this issue came to light when it was decided that guided tours of the camp would be conducted for tourists. A small number of “sympathetic” eco-tourism operators had begun expressing interest in bringing tour groups to the camp. The issue was discussed in a general meeting during which there was some argument, especially regarding tourists being admitted to the general camping area. Although the final outcome was consent for the tours to be shown around the communal areas, resistance was expressed with comments like “we’d be put on display like freaks in a circus” or “treated like animals in a zoo, this is our home remember”. Yet, at the same time, there appeared to be an expectation that protesters should have unlimited access to the lease site (Mirrar’s “home”), to local Aboriginal communities, and that Mirrar should come out in public and associate with balanda protesters, and be available to protesters for consultation all the time.

Speaking of the disappointment experienced by some protesters at not having close contact with Mirrar, Sweeney makes the dry comment that protesters resorted to almost forcing themselves on the Aboriginal people of the local area:

… they then wanted that experience so people would try and bail people up like have a chat with them all the time – like they’re just doing their shopping you know – they’re at the freezer section and next minute there’s three earnest greenies asking them about “what are your thoughts on death?” you know well “fuck off – I’ve just come up to get icy poles for the kids!” – y’know! (Sweeney, 1999).

It also needs to be remembered that there are very few Mirrar adults, and that there are political sensitivities between clans in the Kakadu region which affect the involvement of other Aboriginal people in direct protest action. These sensitivities were brought to light in the Ubirr incident, described in vignette (vi) “Ubirr”, when tensions between a protester and a national park ranger arose publicly.

What to make of this need for Mirrar to be more visible, for directions to be seen to be coming directly from them, rather than from an organisation administered by non-Mirrar? It can be interpreted as another manifestation of the division between Aboriginal activists and conservationists (supported by archaeologists), a division

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 99 created by the balanda belief that Aboriginal culture is valuable only as evidence of past heritage, and by the treatment of the landscape merely as a natural and/or cultural resource.24

The management of cultural heritage is still heavily influenced by archaeology, a discipline that treats the landscape as a resource and, in doing so, separates places and sites from one another. When conservationists share the perspective of archaeology, another potential source of conflict between them and Aboriginal people is created. Cultural and natural heritage are brought together under the “conservation” umbrella and managed as archaeological reminders of the past (Ross, 1996). In a manifestation of the dualistic tendencies of Western thought and behaviour Aboriginal people are exoticised as “others”, and their traditional “timeless” culture is held in high esteem.

O’Reilly claims that Gundjehmi’s demand that the campaign be fought on the basis of it being an indigenous cultural issue was used as a mechanism of centralised control by an authoritarian organisation. However, he later intimated that he would have respected the decision had indigenous cultural reasons been the basis for the ploughshares action not being granted approval.This raises the question of what is meant by “indigenous culture” and how non-Aboriginal people assess its value. Does he mean “traditional indigenous culture”? If so, his claim implies that traditional cultural features are more highly valued by him than non-traditional or contemporary ones.

This is not an unusual situation. As I have already noted, many conservationists have an idealistic view of indigenous or pre-European contact cultures and therefore have difficulty incorporating the notion of living Aboriginal people as representative of Aboriginal culture (Ross, 1996: 11).

24 There has been an ongoing disagreement between Aboriginal people and archaeologists regarding the ownership of cultural heritage and the purpose of archaeological research. Central to that dispute is the querying by some Aboriginal people of the need for their past to be studied when they already know and understand it (Murray, 1996) and the related question of who benefits from such research, in most cases the answer being archaeologists (Ross, 1996:11).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 100 2.5 Conclusion:

In this chapter I have outlined the significance of the links between Aboriginal people and their country to the discussion about wilderness and self-determination and to tensions between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people regarding land use. I have also begun to tease out the issues behind the tensions between the actors involved at Jabiluka, in particular those between greens and blacks, and to show that these tensions have their origins in the way that Aboriginal people and the environment are constructed in the worldview of many conservationists.

In summary, there are two key points I want to emphasise. The first is that the conflict over Jabiluka is tripartite – tensions exist not just between the mining industry and conservationists, and Aboriginal people and the mining industry but also between Aboriginal people and conservationists, and these tensions are all largely related to the meaning and symbolism attached to country and wilderness.

The green ideal of wilderness is problematic because of its historical association with romantic ideals of primitivism and the valuing of nature as an escape from the effects of urbanisation, as a landscape devoid of people, as “pristine” nature that is untouched by humans. Connections between this vision of wilderness and contemporary green ideals are revealed by greenies’ reverence for “pristine” bush and for “authentic” Aboriginal culture.

The second point for emphasis is that, for the traditional owners of Jabiluka, land rights are inseparable from environmental concerns. “Country” has great depth of meaning for Aboriginal people on contemporary economic terms as well as in a traditional sense. Mirrar’s need to control what happens on their country, and the means they used to take that control at the Jabiluka protest are the result of their oppression by balanda and their traditional obligations for country. While many environmentalists had difficulty grappling with this, and it was a source of contention, many others came to see that country cannot be protected without also seeing to land rights.

Had traditional owners’ earlier experiences with respect to the Ranger development been positive, opposition to Jabiluka might not exist, so

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 101 conservationists’ “mistrust” of the intentions of Gundjehmi are not difficult to understand and, likewise, Mirrar mistrust of greenies isn’t either. Greens are balanda, and as such have some commonality with mining companies. Greens have their own agenda – they want the area protected under the terms of their own definitions of protection – as national park estate. And white law ultimately controls national parks by white means, for white benefit. The worldviews of Aboriginal people, miners and environmentalists are constructed from a diversity of knowledge systems and therefore have different implications for the management of country. This theme is taken up in the next chapter, where I discuss the social construction of the environment, the green imperialist nature of the national parks system, the reliance of environmentalism on Western science, how these matters were manifest at Jabiluka and how they are problematical for environmentalism.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 102

Vignette (iv) “The Dress Code”

We’re sitting on the ground in a rough circle in “the big shade” – the spot where most camp meetings are held. There’s about forty of us I suppose, most looking hot and bothered and a little dazed – typical of anyone who’s newly arrived in the camp – adjustment to the climate and the camp conditions takes most people a few days. The “big shade” is the only area in the camp with a fairly large area covered with substantial tarps. Substantial in that they consist mainly of canvas (as opposed to blue nylon) and are firmly attached to several treated pine poles, so they give good shade and don’t blow down in the gusty winds that are common at this time of year.

Most of us sit cross-legged on the ground which is hard, dusty and stony. There are a few strips of carpet which someone salvaged from the local tip, and if you get to meetings early enough you might manage to find space on one of those. They make a slight difference to the comfort level.

This particular meeting is an “induction”. Inductions are regularly held and usually facilitated by a Gundjehmi staff member. Their aim is to give some information about what to expect in the camp, and to outline the guidelines we are asked to follow whilst living in the camp, then to issue us with Mirrar passports.

There is no-one available from Gundjehmi to conduct the induction today, but because a large number of newcomers has recently arrived it has been decided that the duty could be delegated to a “long-termer” – Kirsten Blair. She’s a student from Melbourne who has taken a year off from university to be here, and had extensive involvement in establishing the camp from its inception. She doesn't take the responsibility of induction lightly judging by the serious, clear tone of her speech.

Kirsten outlines the way camp operates first and suggests ways for us to get involved – working in the communal kitchen, on radio control, doing gate watch and staffing the information tent are some things we can take on. She points out the boundaries of the camp and reminds us that we should not go outside them, gives us advice regarding sun protection and drinking water. She then goes on to talk about the guidelines set down by Mirrar. Her first emphatic point is that it is important to remember that we are on land owned by Mirrar and leased to Parks Australia North, and that the camp is subject to conditions agreed between Mirrar and Parks Australia. The camp is a “dry” camp – no alcohol or drugs are to be used here, and Mirrar have requested that we refrain from drinking in Jabiru as well, both because Yvonne is opposed to the consumption of alcohol

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 103 on Mirrar country and also because all the outlets selling alcohol are owned by ERA, hence we would be supporting the very industry we are opposing. While on Mirrar land, we are asked to respect the wishes of Mirrar, which will be vocalised by Gundjehmi. Peaceful, non-violent principles should guide our behaviour at all times. We are asked not to go beyond the boundaries pointed out in the camp and at the lease site because these areas contain significant sites and should not be violated. And women in particular are asked to be aware that there is a dress code while in public and on Mirrar land. We are asked to cover our bellies, shoulders and thighs. At this point, there is a reaction from two young women – who easily fit the description of “feral”. One is wearing a very short, tight skirt and a singlet top, the other a long, flowing cotton sleeveless dress unbuttoned to the top of her thighs at the front. They both have dreadlocks and several piercings on their faces. “Why’s that?” they ask, with interest. “ Is that a traditional Aboriginal belief?” Kirsten explains that it is believed that it is the result of the influence of Christian missionaries in the area early this century. The facial expressions change from eager curiosity to disdain, and the verbal response is scornful: “Stuff that then – why should I have to dress to suit sexist bloody Christian beliefs? No way!” “I’m relaying to you the requests that Mirrar have made of us while we are here as their invited guests on their country, and passports are issued on the basis that we are aware of these guidelines and agree to abide by them while we’re here” is Kirsten’s diplomatic reply. She also points out that Mirrar women have agreed that it’s OK for protesters to dress how they like while within the boundaries of the camp, despite it being Mirrar land, so it’s only when they’re in public – at the lease site, and in the township, that they’re requesting the dress code be respected.The passports are largely symbolic, but they are important because they state that in being issued with a passport, the holder has participated in an induction workshop and that an agreement to abide by the rules has been signed. No one staying in the camp should be without one, and the usual two-week restriction on the length of stay in Kakadu is waived by Parks Australia for the holders.

A few more general questions follow, and then the passports are issued. I note that the two objectors sign the agreement and accept a passport, and I wonder if that is an indication that they have agreed to accept the dress code, or if they will form part of the minority of protesters unwilling to accept the direction of Gundjehmi on the grounds that the organisation and its guidelines lack true Aboriginal “authenticity”.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 104

Chapter Three: Aboriginal Country, European Dreaming: Nature, Science, Knowledge

Figure 10: The Mourning Ceremony (2) “Over Our Dead Bodies”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 105 Vignette (v) “Strong Country Week”

1st October 1998.

The evening meal, prepared in the communal vegan kitchen, is usually eaten around a campfire in the open space not far from the centre of the camp. Seating is the stony, dusty ground that, in the wet season, is covered by lush, green spear-grass as tall as the average person. But the grass has long since dried out, or been blown over by the “knock ‘em down winds”, or cut by Parks Australia to clear the camping area. The residual stubble has been trampled into the dust by the feet of the thousands of protesters who’ve called the camp home for the past six months.

A campfire in Kakadu National Park in October is certainly not needed for warmth. It does, however, serve as a slight deterrent to the ferocious mosquitos that descend at dusk every evening, only about half an hour after the flies leave. It’s hot, but the fire provides a little light by which to eat and, perhaps more importantly, it is a focal point for the protesters who gather round to socialise and make plans for future protest actions. It is also a kind of ritual, in the tradition of indigenous peoples, to have a campfire here.

There are a lot of people in camp right now – over two hundred and fifty. It’s “strong country week” – a week of action planned to coincide with the Federal election. Once again, as they did in the middle of the year, busloads of protesters have been arriving from “down south” (the eastern states), and more and more “locals” are arriving from Darwin all the time. They all come to lend support to the Jabiluka protest. The name “strong country” reflects the belief that this is a powerful site – one of strong contestation, containing a powerful and dangerous substance (uranium) and one of deep meaning. The name also reflects the greenies’ desire to respect the traditional beliefs of its care-takers, the Mirrar.

This is the most highly organised week since the blockade began way back in March – a “last-ditch” attempt to get the rest of Australia, especially the politicians, to sit up and listen. To see that there are many voters who do not want the Jabiluka uranium mine to go ahead, and hopefully to influence the outcome of the election. That is, to oust the Howard-led Liberal-National coalition government, and get the Labor Party elected in the hope that they at least will “see sense”, and agree to stop the project. (Although many, if not most, Jabilukans will vote Green, in Australia’s two-party electoral system Labor is seen as having a more realistic chance of election. Labor’s environmental policies are still less than satisfactory to many environmentalists but

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 106 Labor has said that, under a Labor government, at this stage of its construction – incomplete – Jabiluka would not go ahead).

For that purpose we’re planning another mass trespass action, to be the “peak” of the activities scheduled this week. Other activities will include trips to some of Kakadu’s public sights, such as Ubirr, a “culture walk” to a place that is significant for the Mirrar people, and camp-based information sharing and entertainment at night.

Tonight, besides providing ambience and light for our meal, the warm glow of the communal fire also lights the faces of a particular group of protesters giving a presentation. They are outlining the contents of a paper they have collaboratively researched and written. It is a submission to the World Heritage Commission which sets out the argument for Kakadu National Park to be placed on UNESCO’s list of “World Heritage Properties in Danger”. They intend to submit the paper to a UNESCO delegation due to visit Kakadu in October to investigate the risks posed to Kakadu by Jabiluka, and hence whether Kakadu should be considered in danger as a result.

As the protesters absorb the full impact of the submission its authors explain scientific reasons why UNESCO should list Kakadu, largely because of the risk of contamination of the wetlands downstream of the proposed mine site. I ask about the social and cultural reasons for listing Kakadu as “in danger”. The main presenter tells me that Gundjehmi is drawing up a separate submission on such concerns. She emphasises that the group of people who have worked on putting this submission together have tertiary qualifications, mainly in environmental science and geography. Her intention seems to be to convince the audience of the validity of the submission – to show that they’re not “just a bunch of greenies”, but a group of scientists with authentic arguments based on scientific fact.

I can’t see to make notes, and I have the urge to write about this – to relate it to more scholarly thoughts about different forms of environmentalism, different forms of knowledge and about our reliance on science to try to resolve environmental disasters when most of us believe science is responsible for creating them to begin with, or have serious doubts about the objectivity of science. As soon as the presentation is over, I make my way back to my tent and try to capture my thoughts by the light of my torch, only vaguely aware of the distant flickering of fire-sticks twirling and the rhythm of the drummers who’ve started to jam as they do most nights.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 107 3.1 Introduction

The world is far too rich to be captured by one conceptual framework alone. Different indigenous knowledge systems, expressed in different languages, capture different aspects of reality. Cultural and linguistic diversity are manifestations of the different niches in which people live, in the same way as the richness of biological diversity reflects the various environments which biological organisms inhabit. Scientific knowledge pertains to the niche of western culture and civilization. It constitutes only one of many diverse forms of knowledge (Hahlweg, 1996: 4)

Vignette (v) – “strong country week” – describes a situation that many environmentalists face. The ritualistic treatment of the campfire as a symbolic centre of the community is a subtle indication that romanticist environmentalism, of the type described by Szerszynski (1996) as “traditionalist”, influenced the thinking and behaviour of at least some of the protesters at Jabiluka. Yet, that desire to “return to the traditional” is at odds with the modern scientific remedies for environmental ills.

The need for the presenter to demonstrate the authority of her argument by assuring the audience that it was based on scientific fact, utilised valid scientific method and was researched by qualified scientists, plus the decision to address the social and cultural issues separately, highlighted two things for me:

1. The environmentalists’ case relies on Western scientific method, in particular ecology, for validity (Grove-White, 1993; Yearley, 1991, 1993; Gancher, 1991). Though they may not personally believe that science is necessary, or that it holds any answers to the environmental dilemma, they are trapped by Western society’s requirement for scientific proof;

2. Environmental activists commonly perceive the social and cultural issues as separate from the environmental ones, in a case like Jabiluka, to be handled by the representatives of the traditional owners. This suggests the dualistic and reductionist thinking that ecofeminism sees as integral to Western science, and its Eurocentric basis (Shiva, 1989, 1993; Mellor, 1997; Merchant, 1980; Plumwood, 1993).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 108 In Chapter Two I outlined the symbolic character of wilderness in Australia and discussed the conflicts and tensions the conception of the environment as wilderness has caused in green-black relations. This chapter looks at how such conceptualisation is the result of dualistic thinking and embeddedness in Western science. The aim is to demonstrate how the underpinning of environmentalism by Western science is itself problematic for green-black relations.

In sections 3.2, and 3.3, I apply the theory of social construction to the case at hand and explore the worldviews of each of the key groups involved at Jabiluka, in order to illustrate their positions with respect to the Western scientific worldview. I argue that the worldviews of the pro-development lobby and the environmental movement are closely aligned because they both use Western scientific method to shape knowledge. This brings both groups into conflict with the Aboriginal cosmos, because indigenous knowledge is placed outside the boundaries of science, as outlined in section 3.5. The contradictory position of science within the environmental movement and the Eurocentric, “green imperialist” tendencies of the environmental movement and its use of science are detailed in 3.4 through the example of national parks.

Section 3.5 is concerned with the problems for green-black relations that are raised by the parallels between greens and the pro-mining lobby. The use of science and the failure to recognise the validity of indigenous knowledge are features of each of their worldviews. Until environmentalists address this commonality and recognise traditional owners’ rights and abilities as equal, relations between them will continue to be problematic.

3.2 Environmentalists: Radical Conservationists?

3.2.1 Green Voices, Green Science

As I discussed in Chapter Two (section 2.2) “wilderness” holds great symbolic value for environmentalists – it is a symbol of green ideals. Timothy Doyle and Aynsley Kellow, two Australian environmentalists and academics who have written extensively about environmental politics in Australia, point out that a lot

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 109 of confusion exists regarding what the environment movement actually is, and that the term “environmentalism” encompasses a vast array of issues (Doyle and Kellow, 1995). Hence, the term “environmentalist” can also be applied to advocates of a diverse range of ideas regarding the resolution of environmental problems. These ideas are often representative of the full gamut of the traditional left – right political spectrum (Doyle and Kellow, 1995: 56).

Although there is a continuum of “green voices” that make up environmentalism, those green voices generally agree with the basic tenet of ecology: that all living organisms (including humans) should be defined in relation to their natural environment and seen as embedded within ecosystems (Mellor, 1997). And they also agree that the current environmental crisis is the result of human failure to recognise the ecological limits of those ecosystems. Where they begin to diverge is with how we should go about rectifying the problem. A survey of environmental activists conducted by Doyle and Kellow found that most of those surveyed believe that movement members essentially seek the same goal. The key difference between movement participants is the means by which that goal is achieved (Doyle and Kellow, 1995: 62).

“Light green” or “shallow ecologists” have faith in the ability of humans to utilise technological ingenuity to overcome the ecological limits whereas “dark green” or “deep ecologists”25 argue the necessity of a fundamental rethink of human – nature relationships (Mellor, 1997: 1). Dotted along the spectrum between these two extremes is a variety of green approaches – administrative rationalists, liberal democrats, advocates of market-based solutions, ecological modernists, socialists and social ecologists, environmental justice movement supporters and

25 The term “deep ecology” was introduced by Arne Naess, a Norwegian philosopher, in 1972. It distinguishes between two forms of environmentalism, or movements based on ecology: the “shallow ecology” movement, which advocates fighting against pollution and resource depletion with the objective of increasing affluence in developed countries; and the deep ecology movement. The main platform of deep ecology, developed by Naess, together with George Sessions, is that humans need to change the way we understand nature if we are to avoid further catastrophe. The deep ecology movement rejects the image of “man in the environment” in favour of the “relational, total-field image” of relationships between all life – it emphasises the belief that all life has intrinsic value and the concept of biospherical egalitarianism – the equal right of all life-forms to live and blossom, and advocates the development of ecosophies – personal codes of values and views of the world which guide decisions applied to practical situations involving ourselves and nature (Naess, 1989; see also Devall, 1980).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 110 ecofeminists (Dryzek and Schlosberg 1998).26

So, from the “ferals”27 and the deep ecologists inhabiting the deepest green end of that spectrum, to the more anthropocentric, shallow greens at the other, environmentalists, or “greens”, share a faith in the science of ecology and a belief that environmental problems are the result of a breakdown in the natural ecosystems caused by the over-exploitation of natural resources and pollution. Even though the deepest greens may reject the institutions and language of scientific bureaucracies they have come to rely on ecological arguments. So close have ecology and environmentalism become that Jonathon Porritt, an early president of FoE, uses the terms “greens” and “ecologists” interchangeably (Porritt, 1984: 3).

And, although the environment comprises an amalgam of the social, cultural, political and physical dimensions of lived experience, it is the aspects of the environment expressed in scientific terms which focus the debate when environmental policy and legislation are devised (L. Warren, 1993). The “official” environmental agenda has consolidated: it revolves around the greenhouse effect, ozone depletion, toxic wastes, loss of biodiversity and pollution, and their analysis and measurement in scientific terms (Grove-White, 1993). This is problematic

26 My discussion here refers to environmentalists – there also is a range of individuals, groups and organisations that may have positions on environmental issues and accept the science of ecology, but who sit outside the category of environmentalism and usually further to the right on the political spectrum. 27 The term feral has become widely used to refer to “an outsider lifestyle the adherents to which commonly experience dissonance from dominant cultural patterns (eg work, religion, family, consumption)” (St John, 1997: 174). The following traits are often associated with ferals: middle class origin; transience; welfare subsistence; forest dwelling; low rent housing or squatting; vegetarianism and the avoidance of animal derived food additives and non-food items; identification with indigenous religion; elective membership in ‘green’ activist organisations; engagement in wilderness preservation campaigns; and attendance at gatherings such as forest raves, festivals and protests (St John, 1997: 174). Feral is often used in a derogatory fashion, usually with the implication that the person or persons to whom it refers is dirty or unclean. For example, representatives of pro-logging communities frequently use it to refer to protesters whose “unkempt appearance, their unseemly habits, and above all, their smell” (Peace, 1996: 51), they consider offensive and as good reason to belittle the protesters’ case against logging. Ferals are often regarded as unclean, not because of their appearance and habits of personal hygiene, but because they “stray from dominant cultural patterns: as they disassociate from the formal economy and domestic consumption patterns” (St John, 1997: 175) – they live astride the culture/nature divide, become matter out of place, uncontrollable and wild and, just as domestic plants and animals gone wild, they are considered pests (by the mainstream). I place them beside deep ecologists here because I believe they represent the radical end of the spectrum in terms of lifestyle and beliefs and are often heavily involved in green direct action protests.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 111 because it sees environmental problems as physical problems, relying on the natural sciences for “proof” that an issue really is an issue. This environmental orthodoxy neglects the social, cultural and political dimensions of environmental problems.

But what is the problem with greens’ reliance on science? Isn’t scientific knowledge reliable, objectively proven knowledge and therefore entirely useful to the green case? Questions like this lead back to basics – to a definition of “Western science”. I use the term to refer to the popular view of science as that body of knowledge and way of discovery that began with the Scientific Revolution of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It is heavily influenced by logical positivism, the idea that theories do not have meaning unless they can be verified by observable facts (Chalmers, 1982). A popular view of scientific knowledge is that it is proven knowledge:

Scientific theories are derived in some rigorous way from the facts of experience acquired by observation and experiment. Science is based on what we can see, hear and touch, etc. Personal opinion or preferences and speculative imaginings have no place in science. Science is objective. Scientific knowledge is reliable because it is objectively proven knowledge (Chalmers, 1982: 1).

Scientific theories are seen to provide “literal descriptions of material reality” (Knorr-Cetina, 1995: 148). That is, they map, chart, or refer to real features; hence they are reflections of the world (Schwandt, 1989: 3). “Western” science is mechanistic: it views the world as made up of separable parts that are individually measurable and quantifiable. And the backbone of “true” scientific knowledge is objectivism, the name given to views which assume that the world exists independently of human understanding, that there can be one “correct” view of what the world is really like and that it can be grasped through correct reasoning (Hayles, 1995: 49).28

28 It is also important to note here that objectivity, in sociological circles, also refers to a detached, unprejudiced attitude that is often deemed proper to a scientific investigator; to the investigative method used; or to its outcome (Marshall, 1998 456). As I discussed in Chapter One, objectivity is rejected by feminists and other sociologists as inappropriate and unobtainable in many cases.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 112 Another perspective, such as that of the Australian sociologist of science and analyst of comparative knowledge systems, David Turnbull, is that modern science represents an imperialist position with respect to the debate over what counts as knowledge. That position takes the view that:

Scientific knowledge is uniquely distinguished by its rationality and methodology. It is universal, objective and true within the limits of its own fallibility. Its contemporary dominance is to be explained in terms of truth and rationality no matter what the socio-historical origins. Its methods are essentially experimental, reductionist and empirical (Turnbull, 1997: 552).

Until recently the doctrine of Western science carried the conviction that it could discover objective facts – “reality” – beyond the influence of social factors. This is largely how science continues to be treated by the scientific community, despite the wide acceptance now in philosophical and sociological circles, and in the wider community, that it is impossible to ignore the social embeddedness of science. As sociologist of science, StephenYearley, suggests:

Just because science is based on observation, that does not mean that scientific knowledge is unquestionable or undeniably right. It could be observationally based and constructed at the same time. Current scientific beliefs may be just one way of construing the information we receive from the natural world (1988: 22).

Much positivist philosophy of science was underpinned by a belief that there is “one right mode of enquiry logically guaranteed to find the truth if any method can … [and that]… the task of the philosopher of a discipline would then be to reveal the correct method and unmask the counterfeits” (Blackburn, 1996: 242). Few philosophers continue to subscribe to that belief, however. They are more likely to see the task of methodology as being:

to investigate the methods that are actually adopted at various historical stages of investigation into different areas, with the aim not so much of criticising but more of systematising the presuppositions of a particular field at a particular time (Blackburn 1996: 242).

Yet the Western world continues to operate under an assumption that the “scientific facts” will give us final answers to dilemmas regarding environmental problems. Even environmentalists of the most radical kind draw uncritically on the scientific principles of ecology. As Yearley (1991) says, environmentalists

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 113 “stand in for nature”: in forums intended to resolve environmental conflicts, they take up nature’s cause. But in doing so they frequently take an unreflective, anthropocentric, Westernised view even while trying to represent the biocentric position. They use science, albeit ecology – the “baby” of the natural sciences.29 Yearley writes:

While there are moral claims associated with the green case, it is also highly dependent on specifically scientific and technical considerations. In particular it depends on scientific predictions about, for instance, what would happen if we destroyed the ozone layer (Yearley, 1991: 9).

He argues that the green case is unusually dependent on scientific authority, and that that is a source of both weaknesses and strengths for the green movement. Ariel Salleh is an Australian community activist and lecturer in Social Ecology known internationally for her gender critiques of ecopolitics. She also perceives the reliance of environmentalism on science as an underlying problem within the movement, arguing that environmentalism does not need to turn to technocentric science to resolve the environmental crisis. As she says,

The technocratic thesis that scientific knowledge is central to environmentalism remains very popular. Developers and Greens both use risk analysis and science trained experts fill the upper echelons of the ecological establishment. Yet science is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for protests against the destruction of livelihood. Commonsense observation of the spread of sickness and plant deformities is sufficient for women and indigenous groups to challenge the capitalist patriarchal growth ethic (Salleh, 1997: 10).

It may be that, as Turnbull (1997) acknowledges, the nature and status of Western science is undergoing a process of “decentring”, but it is still largely the “imperialist” position which dominates, especially among policy and business elites and those dependent upon them, including, ironically, many environmentalist groups – non-Western knowledge is usually only considered to be “true” knowledge when it is validated by Western science. But this is to jump ahead, because this is the central concern of section 3.5, and before I take it up, I want to look at why greens’ reliance on Western science is problematic, and at a

29 According to Porritt (1984: 3), ecology was the last of the sciences to assume (in the 1930’s) full professional status.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 114 possible explanation for the existence of the diversity of perspectives regarding what is seemingly our “real” world.

3.3 Building Pictures

…wilderness is not quite what it seems. Far from being the one place on earth that stands apart from humanity, it is quite profoundly a human creation – indeed, the creation of very particular human cultures at very particular moments in human history. It is not a pristine sanctuary where the last remnant of an untouched, endangered, but still transcendent nature can for at least a little while longer be encountered without the contaminating taint of civilization. Instead, it is a product of that civilization, and could hardly be contaminated by the very stuff of which it is made. Wilderness hides its unnaturalness behind a mask that is all the more beguiling because it seems so natural. As we gaze into the mirror it holds up for us, we too easily imagine that what we behold is Nature when in fact we see the reflection of our own unexamined longings and desires (Cronon, 1995: 69-70).

As I showed in Chapter Two, the “wilderness” of conservationists is not wilderness to indigenous Australians – for them it is familiar, known, created by humans. This section is concerned with the different ways of seeing the environment and how these variations can be explained.

Cronon’s statement above suggests that “wilderness” is produced by civilisation – that nature is what we make it to be. This social constructionist view, that our knowledge of the world is a reflection of our interpretation of what is there, influenced by the social and historical context from which we view it, suggests that it is possible for several interpretations of the same “reality” to co-exist. Social constructionism is a term that is applied to theories that emphasise the socially created nature of social life – that is, the idea that society is actively and creatively produced by humans (Marshall, 1998: 609). It is a widely held and discussed body of thought (particularly in the literature of Science and Technology Studies and related Environmental Studies) that focuses on how social processes and interactions affect the framing of social and psychological worlds in varying conditions. Constructionism:

holds reality not to be given but constructed: it sees the whole as assembled, the uniform as heterogenous, the smooth and even surfaced as covering an internal structure. There are, for constructionism, no initial,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 115 undissimulatable “facts”: neither the domination of workers by capitalists, nor scientific objectivity, nor reality itself (Knorr-Cetina, 1995: 147-8).

The acceptance of social constructionism can be traced to the work of philosopher Alfred Schutz, who established the bridge from the philosophical method of phenomenology to sociology, and others such as William Isaac Thomas, and the Chicago School (Marshall, 1998). The relevance of Schutz’s work to this thesis becomes apparent through his discussion of common-sense and scientific interpretation. Schutz begins with the point that even the things perceived in everyday life are complex “thought objects”. Such a thing is constructed not only from:

particular forms of time-successions in order to constitute it as an object of one single sense, say of sight, and of space relations in order to constitute it as a sense-object of several senses, say of sight and touch, but also a contribution of imagination of hypothetical sense presentations in order to complete it (Schutz, 1973: 3).

Thus, common-sense knowledge – our knowledge of everyday things – constitutes more than just sensory observations: it also involves highly complex mental abstractions that are actually its bedrock. So common sense is not as tangible as it may seem. Schutz holds the view that:

All our knowledge of the world, in common-sense as well as in scientific thinking, involves constructs, ie, a set of abstractions, generalizations, formalizations, idealizations specific to the respective level of thought organisation. Strictly speaking, there are no such things as facts, pure and simple. All facts are from the outset facts selected from a universal context by the activities of our mind. They are, therefore, always interpreted facts, either facts looked at as detached from their context by an artificial abstraction or facts considered in their particular setting. In either case, they carry along their interpretational inner and outer horizon. This does not mean that, in daily life or in science, we are unable to grasp the reality of the world. It just means that we grasp merely certain aspects of it, namely those which are relevant to us either for carrying on our business of living or from the point of view of a body of accepted rules of procedure of thinking called the method of science (1973: 5).

Our knowledge of the world, then, is constructed from the particular aspects of it that we need to grasp in order to go about our daily lives. And those particular aspects are handed on, or distributed, via social processes. Schutz says:

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 116 Only a very small part of my knowledge of the world originates from my personal experience. The greater part is socially derived, handed down to me by my friends, my parents, my teachers and the teachers of my teachers. I am taught not only how to define the environment (that is, typical features of the relative natural aspect of the world prevailing in the in-group as the unquestioned but always questionable sum total of things taken for granted until further notice), but also how typical constructs have to be formed in accordance with the system of relevances accepted from the anonymous unified point of view of the in-group. This includes ways of life, methods of coming to terms with the environment, efficient recipes for the use of typical means for bringing about typical ends in typical situations (Schutz, 1973: 13-14).

So, this means that all human “knowledge” is developed, transmitted and maintained in social situations so that a taken-for–granted “reality” congeals for the members of that cultural group (Yearley, 1988: 17). The “reality” experienced by one cultural group is extremely difficult to understand for a member of another – many socially important beliefs about apparently similar objects differ greatly among cultures. Yet, for the members of each of these cultures, their beliefs are a reflection of the way the world actually “is”. Because differing social processes operate in various social contexts, variations in perceptions of reality are observable (Berger and Luckmann, 1971).

But all this raises questions of whose reality is best and, as anthropology has historically treated it, whether “simpler” cultures possess “science” or “law” or “religion” (Geertz, 1993). Clifford Geertz is an anthropologist who is particularly well known for his contribution to the development of the term “thick description” which has widely influenced the methodology of qualitative enquiry.30 Geertz seeks to show that all societies have a systematized set of common knowledge – common sense; that the common knowledge of one culture will always be different from that of another; and that neither can be claimed to be superior or inferior. He does this with a discussion of common sense as a cultural system. He finds that, like other cultural expressions, common sense is historically constructed and subject to historically defined standards:

30 Put very tersely, thick description is “intensive, small-scale, dense descriptions of social life from observation, through which broader cultural interpretations and generalisations can be made” (Marshall, 1998: 667). However, it is more than just the descriptive nature of the method that is important – it is the interpretation that accompanies the details described (Schwandt, 1997). It is particularly relevant here as this thesis is an example of thick description.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 117 It can be questioned, disputed, affirmed, developed, formalised, contemplated, even taught, and it can vary dramatically from one people to the next. It is, in short, a cultural system, though not usually a very tightly integrated one, and it rests on the same basis that any other such system rests; the conviction by those whose possession it is of its value and validity. Here, as elsewhere, things are what you make of them (Geertz, 1983: 76).

The worldview held by members of a culture is an expression of the reality of everyday life as it is experienced by that culture. Language and knowledge grows out of that experience and becomes “common sense” to the members of that cultural group. But, in Geertz’s opinion, common sense varies so radically from one place to the next that it can only be transculturally characterized by isolating its “stylistic features”. He suggests that “old” terms such as natural, practical, thin, immethodical, and accessible, be “stretched to characterise the properties of common sense” (Geertz, 1983: 85).

Thus, to give an example, the common sense knowledge of a particular culture can be identified in terms of its “naturalness”. That is,

Common sense represents matters – that is, certain matters and not others – as being what they are in the simple nature of the case. An air of ‘of- courseness’ a sense of ‘it figures’, is cast over things – again, some selected, underscored things. They are depicted as inherent in the situation, intrinsic aspects of reality, the way things go (Geertz, 1983: 85).

So, for the scientist, the formation of a creek-bed is explained as the result of the processes of erosion – of scientifically proven and measurable abrasive effects of the movement of water and sandy particles on the softer soil and weaker areas of rock. Such a view is, for the scientists, common sense: it is “how it is”. But, in the Aboriginal worldview, as Geertz (1983) points out, it is common sense that the creek-bed is explained as the result of the movement of a Dreamtime figure across the landscape, and it is the scientific view which requires justification. The creek-bed could be, for example, where a serpent slept or travelled, or where kangaroo bounded past. The common sense aspect of this knowledge is derived from its naturalness. As Geertz says: “the external world as the aborigines confront it is neither a blank reality nor some complicated sort of metaphysical object, but the natural outcome of trans-natural events” (1983: 86). The Dreamtime explanation is equally as valid and has as much value as the scientists’

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 118 erosion, though in particular circumstances, they might have different functional uses.

I take the view, based for example on Schutz’s argument, that the different types of common sense held by the groups involved at Jabiluka are different expressions of the same reality. One is not more “correct” or more “accurate” than the other. However, in Australia the Western worldview has come to dominate and is often presented as the “best” way to evaluate the natural world and validate our behaviour towards it. Geertz shows that the common sense knowledge of one culture will be adapted from, suited to and useful for that culture, but is unlikely to be so in another. Neither is superior or inferior, they just have different relevance. Our worldviews determine how we believe we should act and how we do act. Such differences in perception may be observed among subcultures of a dominant society, as well as among different cultural groups.

What is logical from the perspective of one worldview may seem completely irrational from another. Thus, if (as is the case with the proponents of Jabiluka) there is a belief that high economic outputs will increase the happiness and well- being of the people, then, as Porritt describes it, things like nuclear power and built-in obsolescence are ‘rational’. However, “if one’s goal is a more convivial, sustainable society, then such things seem increasingly barmy” (Porritt, 1984, 15).

But explaining different perceptions of the environment through the social constructionism framework raises some serious issues for the green movement. For example, it is argued that the deconstruction paradigm upsets scientists because it threatens the foundations of science, implying that science does not play a privileged role in discovering the truth about reality. Yet it also upsets environmentalists because “if nature is only a social and discursive construction, why fight so hard to preserve it?” (Hayles, 1995: 47). And postmodern views have been employed by the Wise Use movement, the Animal Rights movement, and the Social Ecology and Justice movement to justify further exploitation of wildlands (Soule, 1995).

This issue has been the subject of much debate. For our purposes here, Kate Soper, a philosopher who has contributed to both analytical philosophy and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 119 Marxist literatures and has been a prominent activist in the European Nuclear Disarmament movement, has provided a useful analysis. Broadly, Soper (1995) classifies the argument as one between “nature-endorsing” ecologists (realists) and “nature-sceptical” postmodernists (social constructionists) and describes the relationship between these two positions as an “encounter”. She sees ecological argument, as a response to the ecological crisis that highlights the human destruction of nature, as opposed to recent cultural (postmodern) criticism which is focussed on the semiotics of nature and is directed at the oppressive use of the idea to legitimate social and sexual hierarchies and cultural norms. Thus, in Soper’s view, there is a contrast:

between discourses which direct us to the ‘nature’ that we are destroying, wasting and polluting, and discourses that are focused on the ideological functions of the appeal to ‘nature’ and on the ways in which relations to the non-human world are always historically mediated, and indeed ‘constructed’, through specific conceptions of human identity and difference (1995: 4).

Soper argues that although ecological politics and postmodern argument may pursue similar emancipatory aims, question Western models of progress and share a critical view of scientific rationality, there is a considerable divergence in their discourses on nature:

For while the ecologists tend to invoke nature as a domain of intrinsic value, truth or authenticity and are relatively unconcerned with questions of representation and conceptuality, postmodern cultural theory and criticism looks with suspicion on any appeal to ‘eternize’ what in reality is merely conventional, and has invited us to view the order of nature as entirely linguistically constructed (Soper, 1995: 6).

Through a discussion of the postmodern analysis of sexuality as a culturally constructed entity and its criticism of the concept of “nature” or “the natural” as a potentially repressive force, Soper reveals a deficiency in the constructionist position in that it makes no discrimination between those

forms of being (bodies, geographical terrain) that are culturally transmuted and those kinds of things (telephones, aeroplanes) that are indeed culturally ‘constructed’ and have a natural existence only in the realist sense that they are constructed out of natural materials (Soper, 1995: 136).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 120 Realists reject the postmodern view that there is no “nature” for fear that if no “nature” exists, then there is no nature to be conserved and, equally, none to be polluted or degraded – the world is therefore vulnerable to exploitation.

Soper argues that there is a need for both positions to recognise nature in the realist sense, that is, as “matter, as physicality: that ‘nature’ whose properties and causal processes are the object of the biological and natural sciences. To speak of nature in this conception is to speak of those material structures and processes that are independent of human activity” (1995: 132-3). The coherence of both the realist and the anti-realist arguments requires such a distinction, Soper posits. If there is no realist concept of the body, for example, if all ideas of the body or nature are socially constructed, how can constructivism explain the need to reject them, or that they are subject to repression? (Soper, 1995: 130; Ouderkirk, 1998).

It goes without saying that the concept of nature is indispensable to ecological discourse, for without it there is nothing to protect. But, as Soper argues, this empirical nature is also necessary in order to make a distinction between objects whose meaning is endowed by culture and those which are more literally “constructed”; that is:

as a means of demarcating between the matter that we transform, and the articles that we bring into being and that have existence only in virtue of that productive activity. Neither bodies (human or non-human), nor raw materials, nor wilderness, nor rural landscape are produced in this sense, and to that extent it is valid to refer to them as ‘natural’ entities and to recognize their dependency on causal laws and processes we cannot seek to overthrow. But to refer to them as ‘natural’ in this sense is not to imply that they have been unaffected by human culture, or to deny that they often acquire the form they do only in virtue of cultural activity (Soper, 1995: 142).

Geertz’s local knowledge is useful again here – he argues that, for Aboriginal people, the “fact that the natural phenomena of their physical world are the remains of inviolable kangaroos or thaumaturgical snakes does not make those phenomena any less natural in Aboriginal eyes” (1983: 86). Returning to the example of the formation of a creek-bed, he says:

The fact that a particular creek was formed because Possum happened to drag his tail along the ground right there makes it no less a creek. It makes

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 121 it, of course, something more, or at least something other, than a creek is to us, but water runs downhill in both of them (Geertz, 1983: 86).

In other words we must recognise the reality of the material world but at the same time acknowledge the existence of variations in interpretation of the meaning of that reality. These variations arise from different cultural processes acting upon that “reality” and result in significantly different worldviews, or ways of seeing the world.

Rather than denying the reality of the material world, constructionist studies disassemble the material world of scientific findings: they deconstruct the scientific descriptions that represent that real world and ask “that ‘reality’, or ‘nature’, be considered as entities retranscribed from within scientific and other activities” (Knorr Cetina, 1995: 149).

So, social constructionist analyses offer us a tool for understanding the existence of different worldviews: that is, that what we see and know is interpreted through our different cultural lenses. The Jabiluka dispute can broadly be framed as a clash of worldviews. In the developmentalist worldview of government and the mining industry the environment is valued in terms of the resources it provides. In this case, ERA sees a rich mineral resource: uranium; the government sees increased export dollars; and mineworkers see employment, all of which, in their view, are beneficial to the entire human community. For environmentalists, the environment consists of a web of interconnected life, a healthy, “pristine” nature is of prime importance, and a belief in the need to protect the environment from the damaging effects of human occupation is a strong motivational force. For the Mirrar people, the Jabiluka area is part of them and they are part of it. The environment is full of natural and cultural meaning transmitted by Dreamtime cosmology. If their control of country is removed, they face extinction.

In the next two sections I elaborate on the Aboriginal and then the developmentalist worldviews and describe the main points of conflict between them. I then move on, in section 3.4, to the environmental position and the clash of worldviews as it is highlighted by the concept of nature reservation.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 122 3.3.1 Traditional Owners, Aboriginal Cultures and Country

Throughout Australia there exists a vast range of Aboriginal communities which comprise people with different life experiences, hence their perspectives and aspirations may also differ. Despite the existence of this wide diversity of opinion within different communities, there are some concepts which are essentially common to them all. As I discussed in Chapter Two, “country” is a crucial one of these. It encapsulates the Aboriginal worldview, a view that celebrates rather than denies the human-nature connection. For example:

To understand our law, our culture and our relationship to the physical and spiritual world, you must begin with the land. Everything about Aboriginal society is inextricably interwoven with, and connected to, the land. Culture is the land, the land and spirituality of Aboriginal people, our cultural beliefs or reason for existence is the land. You take that away and you take away our reason for existence. We have grown the land up. We are dancing, singing and painting for the land. We are celebrating the land. Removed from our lands, we are literally removed from ourselves (Dodson, 1997: 41).

Dreamtime creation stories are often the means by which non-Aboriginal people are introduced to Aboriginal culture. These stories may vary from region to region but their common link is that they describe the journeys of ancestral beings over the landscape, as I described in Chapter Two. Deborah Bird Rose describes the connections between Aboriginal people, Dreamtime stories and country thus:

Where they travelled, where they stopped, where they lived the events of their lives, all these places are sources and sites of Law. These tracks and sites, and the Dreamings associated with them, make up the sacred geography of Australia; they are visible in paintings and engravings; they are sung in the songs, depicted by body painting and sacred objects; they form the basis of a major dimension of the land tenure system for most Aboriginal people. To know the country is to know the story of how it came into being, and that story also carries the knowledge of how the human owners came into being. Except in cases of succession, the relationship between the people and their country is understood to have existed from time immemorial – to be part of the land itself (Rose, 1996b: 36).

Rose is referring to “Dreaming tracks” – the paths taken by Ancestral Beings, and which usually link many sacred sites together. Dreaming tracks themselves are important sites and may not always be visible as landscape features – they may also sometimes be underground (Rose, 1992).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 123 Besides explaining the origins of the natural world, as outlined in 2.3.2, creation stories also form the basis of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’ customary laws and the basis of relations between people, and between people and their environment (Smyth, 1994: 4). The complexities of the Dreaming are not always well understood by non-Aboriginal people beyond the basic idea that Aboriginal people believe that the Dreamtime ancestors created the landscape and that certain areas are sacred to them because of particular events which occurred there during the Dreamtime. These beliefs are conceived by non-indigenous people in a similar vein as their own values regarding historical sites (particularly religious sites) and monuments – icons of the past – which are often valued because they are seen as indicators of progress achieved “since then”, or as measures of the scientific, technical, or artistic achievements of the Western world.

Issues that arise around this understanding are firstly that it places the Dreamtime in the past, or makes a distinction between the past and the present; and secondly it isolates certain places and separates them from the rest of the country. I address each of these in turn below.

Timeless People, Timeless Land The first of these issues is problematic because of its relation to the view that the only “authentic” manifestation of Aboriginality is that of the pre-settler Aboriginal lifestyle, and because it disregards the timelessness of Dreamtime concepts and the living traditions of Aboriginal people.

Dreaming, according to Rose, is “both a model for, and a celebration of, life as it is lived in the present” (1992: 44). The Dreaming is not simply a belief about a past occurrence, to be referred back to, it continues to exist as a guide for present day behaviour. The earth is a record of origins – visible and consultable, says Rose. She writes: “Those who know how to look can see in the earth the story of our beginnings. Those who have the knowledge to understand can find in this visible story the meaning and purpose of life” (1992: 43). Although some features may have more significance than others, for many indigenous peoples the existence of all features in the present-day landscape is a confirmation of their

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 124 creation beliefs (Smyth, 1994: 3).

Almost all references to Aboriginal heritage begin with, or at least place emphasis on, the age of archaeological sites containing evidence of Aboriginal occupation dating back many thousands of years and to the long cultural tradition it represents – one of the longest in the world. Notwithstanding the significance of this cultural heritage, it is notable that the high regard held for it is related to its historical value – to what it tells us about Aboriginal occupation in the past.

Figure 11 “You Don’t Look Like an Australian”, by Ron Tandberg. Source: Head (2000: 5).

Lesley Head is another well-known anthropologist and academic who has extensively researched interactions between Aboriginal people and their environments. She draws on the cartoon by Tandberg, shown in figure 11, to elucidate some common (and stereotypical) conceptions of Australia, and which exemplify their dualistic characteristics. The first notable feature is that both of the characters, who represent white and black Australians, are male. “Normal” Australia is represented by the white, male figure, against which all others are compared. The second characteristic highlighted by the cartoon is that the Aboriginal person is somehow made more legitimate or given more authenticity by archaeological evidence that Australia was occupied by Aborigines earlier than previously thought. The attitude towards Aboriginal “authenticity” that is

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 125 characteristic of white Australia is encapsulated in the cartoon. As Head describes it:

The older the better. On the other hand, the Aboriginal person is implicitly the fossilized representative of an earlier age, simultaneously contemporary and timeless. ‘Real’ Aborigines are associated with landscapes ‘out there’ – at the center, on the frontier (Head, 2000: 5).

This attitude towards Aboriginal Australians is well known. The image of Aboriginal Australians as “ancient people in an ancient land” is a common promotional tool of government and industry, especially the tourism industry. Witness the Aboriginal iconography of the Sydney 2000 Olympics, where Aboriginal motifs like boomerangs featured prominently in promotional material and Aboriginal music, dance and Dreamtime legend was granted a central place in the opening ceremony.

Figure 12: “Gondwanaland”

Greens often use this image as an example of Aborigines as the last of the “original conservationists”. And, as I noted in Chapter Two, the perception of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 126 Aborigines as “noble savages” perpetuates a tension between Aboriginal people and conservationists who cling to this image. That it is a concept which continues to appeal to conservationists is highlighted by the use of the image of the “mystical, noble” Aboriginal elder as discussed in 2.3.5 and in marketing campaigns such as that of the Gondwana outdoor clothing company, shown in figure 12. Such a campaign begs questions of rhetoric: What is the appeal of the Aboriginal figure in this context – is it the irony of the contrast between the “noble” elder, “relic” of Gondwanaland, clad in ultra-modern, hi-tech clothing? Is the marketing strategy attempting to tap into the identification of outdoor recreationists (assumed to be environmentalists) with the “original” conservationists?

It shouldn’t be assumed that Aboriginal culture is always going to be in a relationship with the environment that contemporary (white) environmentalists would applaud. Some Aboriginal attitudes might disturb some environmentalists. For example, a report on the land-use strategies and needs of Aborigines in the Kimberley region found that cattle-raising had become important both culturally and economically, feral animals had food value and native fauna had commercial uses (Griffiths, 1996: 265).

Although it is, as yet, unclear what caused the mass extinction of Australia’s megafauna, the leading theories attribute it to the impact of human behaviour through either fire or over-hunting. This debate continues: some theorists, such as Flannery (1994) attribute the demise of the megafauna to Aboriginal hunting followed by Aboriginal use of fire to manage the landscape. Langton vehemently disputes Flannery’s thesis, arguing that, despite its current popularity, it “conflates a number of existing hypotheses and orders them in an impossibly strict timetable of events” (1998: 11). Others blame climate change, fire alone, or over-hunting alone, and another theory regarding their disappearance from the Australian landscape suggests that the megafauna might not have become extinct at all, but rather that they just evolved (Kohen, 1995). In any case, it appears that early Aboriginal land use had some impact – the question is (and it needs to remain rhetorical here, for it is a thesis in itself), was this impact exploitative or was it just management?

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 127 No People, No Country The second issue raised above relates to the separation of country from country. Although different parts of country are cared for by different people whose responsibilities extend primarily to the limits of their estate, the boundaries of each clan’s country are:

largely defined not so much by rigid external boundaries but by the location and significance of sacred sites, Dreaming tracks and other special places. Sacred sites can provide the focal points and also often the name of clan estates. Similarly, the path of Dreaming tracks within or between estates help to define their size and shape (Smyth, 1994: 7).

Each country is surrounded by other countries, the boundaries rarely being totally fixed, because although each country is its own boss, none is self-sufficient – there is a network of countries, each one is surrounded by others and no country can live without others (Rose, 1996b: 38). So, while one clan has primary responsibility for their country, they may also have hunting rights on a neighbouring clan’s country. The Western way of dividing up country, drawing lines on maps and then on country, clashes with the Aboriginal system of land tenure: “Sacred place, all over our Aboriginal land was sacred, but we see now they have made a map and cut it up into six states” (Myra Watson, quoted in Rose, 1996b: 35). The complex nature of the traditional clan boundaries – they are irregular and vary according to social and political relationships – means maps are an inadequate illustration of such relationships. This is ably demonstrated by the fact that clan / language maps drawn up for the Ranger Inquiry in the 1970’s are now considered to be inaccurate (Lawrence, 2000), and any maps (such as the one shown in Figure 6) should be considered a general indication only.

Just as it is impossible to separate country from country with lines drawn on a map, it is also impossible to separate people from country without causing problems. Rose eloquently describes the necessity of locatedness, of sense of place, to the formation and maintenance of an Aboriginal personal identity:

So this is a human being: sharing the flesh with country and with other species; killing and taking care; loving life, and required to die; born of woman, and of earth. To be located is to have a ground from which to know, to act, to invite and deny, to share and ask, to speak and to be heard (Rose, 1992: 106).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 128 Mick Dodson was Australia’s first Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner, has been a prominent advocate of Aboriginal land rights and other indigenous issues both in Australia and internationally, and has held several high profile representative and advisory positions. A lawyer, he has a background in Aboriginal Legal Services and is currently the Director of the Indigenous Law Centre at the University of New South Wales. Dodson interprets the inability of the English language to accurately reflect the connections between Aboriginal people and country as an example of “the divergence between the traditional significance which land has for indigenous people and the dominant Western paradigm” (1997: 42). This divergence represents more than just the differences in the language of these two groups – it symbolises the chasm between their worldviews. Non-Aboriginal Australians are seemingly unable to step outside their own tradition, one which has separated people from the land and viewed that separation as progressive. The dichotomisation of humans from nature has been part of the Western imagination for so long now that most non- indigenous people have difficulty conceiving themselves as part of nature at all.

The intricate connection between Aboriginal people and the land is critically important in debates regarding the use of Aboriginal land for such purposes as mining and national parks, where arguments regarding indigenous land use rights are framed in terms of “traditional” versus “modern” practises and technologies. It is in this context that Mirrar are fighting for the reality of their contemporary lives to be acknowledged (that is, their disadvantaged economic situation), their traditional cultural heritage to be recognised, and for the Aboriginal and Australian laws regarding their land rights to be upheld.

3.3.2 Developmentalist Views

The developmentalist worldview of the Australian government and the mining industry has resulted in the rigorous exploitation of natural resources, only recently tempered by the application of scientific evidence of the need to develop “sustainably”. Hints of the developmentalist vision are observable in the words of Ken Alder, a previous General Manager of Australia’s atomic energy research

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 129 establishment, the Australian Atomic Energy Commission, now known as the Australian Nuclear Science and Technology Organisation (ANSTO).31 Regarding uranium mining, Alder says:

There is much support for the policy to ‘leave it in the ground’. This attitude and the ‘3 mines policy’ have not been the only barriers to the use of our bountiful resources. We as a nation have been steadily locking them up by means of Aboriginal land rights, national parks and heritage areas. So much so that uranium exploration has become a rare occupation (1996: 81).

And his view that uranium exploration and mining should be developed is made clear when he states that “the element uranium should be the base on which Australia builds a large, safe and profitable export industry” (Alder, 1996: 7).

Questions about the potential impacts of uranium mining on Kakadu are viewed in terms of economics, as is evidenced by the relief expressed by the founder of Pancontinental Mining at the excision of the Jabiluka and Ranger lease sites from the national park when it was declared:

A piece of good news came around this time. The government declared stage one of the Kakadu National Park, and Jabiluka was excised along with Ranger. Now it would no longer be necessary to argue with sceptical investors and brokers that Jabiluka did not have a national park problem. One of the uncertainties worrying the investment community had been removed (Grey, 1994: 220).

The excision of the lease area from the national park meant that the proponents could argue that the proposed mine would not degrade the national park – the question of the impacts on the environment could be left aside and regardless of whether the environment might be impacted outside the park, economic interests would not be threatened. The issue of effects on the national park had been viewed as a nuisance – a hindrance to attracting potential investors, as opposed to a threat to the environmental integrity of the area.

The risks to the health and safety of people and the environment and the negative socio-economic issues related to the mining of uranium are not considered serious enough to warrant the discontinuation of the mining and use of uranium by those

31 The Australian Atomic Energy Commission was a federal government body established in 1953 to initiate research and oversee the mining and treatment of uranium in Australia. ANSTO replaced it in 1987.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 130 in the industry. Rather, it is seen in a positive light, as the harbinger of many economic benefits. As it is phrased by Alder, lamenting the political intervention resulting in restrictions on development of the uranium industry in Australia:

Opportunities will be there for Australia to establish a series of major industrial enterprises based on uranium, initially for export earning, with the possibility of providing the world with total nuclear fuel cycle services including reprocessing and waste disposal. The consequences? Jobs, major contributions to our balance of payments, and considerable benefits in control of nuclear materials to prevent proliferation of their military uses. It will be nice if we ever do become the clever country (Alder, 1996: 83).

The ease with which the lease site can be viewed as separate from the surrounding national park clearly demonstrates the fragmented, atomistic worldview of the pro-development lobby. Acclaimed author of several books, physicist, philosopher of science and feminist, Vandana Shiva, argues that the reduction of “organic wholes to fragmented, separable and substitutable parts has been the reductionist method of going beyond nature’s limits” (Shiva, 1993: 28). Thus, in the worldview of the mining industry, Jabiluka is a mineral deposit containing a rich source of uranium ore which can be extracted from the rock within which it is embedded via a series of processes, all necessarily involving the isolation and separation of parts of a whole. Rock is taken from the surrounding ground, the mine site is excised from within park boundaries, and workers dressed in protective clothing transport the ore in sealed trucks to the plant where the mineral is extracted from the crushed rock.

Ultimately the uranium is further isolated and transported further away for more processing, and the crushed rock is returned to the mine site, which will be “rehabilitated”. That the rock, crushed and fragmented, will no longer fit back into the hole from whence it came, is of little consequence – there will be a hill (where there was none) but no matter, because it will be landscaped and replanted with indigenous species. In the eyes of the mining industry and some environmental scientists, if carefully managed, the mining industry can develop without significant permanent impact on the landscape (Yencken and Wilkinson, 2000). So, in the view of ERA the delicate ecosystems of the Jabiluka area will not be affected because “once operations at Jabiluka are completed, the mine site will be

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 131 rehabilitated. Evidence of any mining will be difficult to detect” (ERA, undated [a]). In other words, it will be “just as good as before”.

Government support for the Jabiluka mine has come in the form of the reversal of the three mines policy by the Howard Liberal government in 1996 – one of the earliest policy changes implemented by the first Howard government. Approvals were granted for the commencement of construction despite incomplete EIS/PER processes and despite the possibility that UNESCO may list Kakadu National Park as a World Heritage Property in danger as a result of the effects of Jabiluka.

The exploration, investigation and management of natural resources in Australia is dependent upon Western scientific method, which underwrites the developmentalist worldview of seeing the environment as made up of detachable components. The problematic relationship between that worldview and the national park / wilderness concept is highlighted when their historical connections are observed.

For conservationists, those at Jabiluka included, national parks are seen as a central means of protecting the environment. But the conservationist push for national parks does not sit comfortably in relation to Aboriginal land rights because of the colonial origins of the national park concept in the treatment of nature as a resource, either natural or recreational, and also in terms of the legal title of the national park estate. Both can be linked to the concept of private ownership of land: one that is at the heart of Western liberalism and the developmentalist worldview. This concept originated with the English philosopher and political theorist, John Locke, who wrote in the Christian context of the late 1600’s.

It was Locke who first developed the rational justification of an instrumental attitude towards the natural environment, in which the natural environment is reduced to a set of resources to be exploited for human use and granted instrumental value accordingly (Barry, 1999). For Locke, the non-human environment had no value until transformed by the labour of human hands:

‘Tis labor, then, which puts the greatest part of value upon land, without which it would scarcely be worth anything; ‘tis to that we owe the greatest

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 132 part of all its useful products, for all that the straw, bran, bread, of that acre of wheat is more worth than the product of an acre of land of as good land which lies waste, is all the effect of labor (Locke: 420).

Locke believed that through labour those gifts of the earth common to all men are made into private property:

Though the earth and all inferior creatures be common to all men, yet every man has a property in his own person; this nobody has any right to but himself. The labor of his body and the work of his hands we may say are properly his. Whatsoever, then, he removes out of the state that nature hath provided and left it in, he hath mixed his labor with, and joined to it something of his own, and thereby makes it his property (Locke: 413).

This idea of private property was extended to the ownership of land: by working it, “man” makes it his own:

But the chief matter of property being now not the fruits of the earth and the beasts that subsist on it, but the earth itself, as that which takes in and carries with it all the rest, I think it is plain that property in that, too, is acquired as the former. As much land as a man tills, plants, improves, cultivates, and can use the product of, so much is his property. He by his labor does as it were enclose it from the common (Locke: 415).

This concept of private property is central to the notion of liberal democracy and its accompanying ideology, liberalism, which centres on the autonomy of the individual in relation to the state and considers private property to be especially important (Doyle and Kellow, 1995; Marshall, 1998). Any encroachment by the state on the rights of individuals to freedoms such as speech, property, life and religion, amongst others, is therefore likely to be unwelcomed by liberalism. Given that liberalism is also associated with a belief in the free market system, there is a strong relationship between liberalism and capitalism (Doyle and Kellow, 1995), which is also dependent on the notion of private ownership and the belief that economic growth equals development.

Hence, the developmentalist worldview owes a great debt to Locke – his views contain important aspects of the classical liberal position. He held the view that unowned land is unproductive and defended material progress and the private ownership of property as necessary for the advancement of human society (Barry,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 133 1999). But Locke’s work affected the concept of national parks too, making them all the more complex, as I discuss next.

3.4. National Parks: Colonial Property?

Although Locke’s instrumental conception of the natural environment as valueless until touched by human hands is probably far from the minds and intentions of individual environmentalists, it is connected with national parks. In Australia at least, without it, national parks would probably not exist.

Firstly, the annexation of Australia to the British Crown was dependent upon this concept. British colonisation began on the basis that Australia was essentially uninhabited as that was the advice given by Joseph Banks and James Cook following their exploratory expedition to Australia in 1770 (Mulligan and Hill, 2001; Reynolds, 1996). But although it was soon evident that it was inhabited, the British could still claim it was terra nullius on the basis that the aboriginal inhabitants were “too primitive to be regarded as the actual owners and sovereigns. They ranged over the land rather than inhabiting it. They had no social or political organisation which Europeans could recognise and respect (Reynolds, 1996: x). Under British law, as Langton words it, “land subject to agriculture was owned, while land subject to a hunting and gathering regime was devoid of human laws which could be recognised by the Australian judiciary” (1998: 31). So, not only was the land seen as less valuable but also Aboriginal people, classified as inferior beings, were seen to have no rights to it because they had not “mixed their labour with it”. Thus, the Lockean concept of private ownership not only provided support for the legal fiction of terra nullius that allowed the land to be taken from its traditional owners, but ownership of that land was transferred to the Crown. The relevance of this to our discussion is that much of the land now in national parks remains the property of the crown.32

32 Although the 1992 Mabo judgement recognised native title, it held that such title was extinguished by the exercise of sovereign power such as the alienation of land, for example, the grant of freehold title or the appropriation of land to the Crown, for example for roads, railways, or other permanent public purposes. Native Title survives where it has not been extinguished by

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 134 Secondly, in a less direct way, the system of attributing value to land on the basis of the degree to which it has been “improved” has had mixed implications for the valuation of national park land. Paul Alan Cox (a professor of botany) and Thomas Elmqvist (an associate professor of plant ecology) have jointly researched rainforest ecology in the Pacific and worked to establish rainforest preserves in Samoa. According to Cox and Elmqvist (1997), the Western concept of conservation originated in the need to protect private property (that is, from poachers) and the “wise use” of resources for individual economic gains.33

The origins of national parks as resource reserves are clearly evidenced, for example, by the Kosciuszko National Park’s beginnings as the “Snowy-Indi Primitive Area”. This was a reserve intended for both wise use and recreation that was established following successful lobbying by the National Parks and Primitive Areas Council (Hall, 1992).34 This conception of national parks as reserves has meant that, on one hand, because they are “unimproved”, they are perceived as less valuable and are therefore vulnerable to exploitation and political compromise and, on the other, as reserves – stockpiles of natural resources and thus as potentially valuable economic resource.

Conversely, the value of national parks increases for environmentalists according to the amount they are unaffected by human impacts. The protected areas movement, write Cox and Elmqvist (1997), was founded on a belief in the need for an untouched and untouchable wilderness and that has resulted in the conviction (held by most environmentalists) that nature conservation demands an absence of people.

The idea that nature reservation requires land ownership and the absence of people to be effective is a Western concept that has created conflict between

government action or where indigenous peoples have maintained their connection with their traditional land under traditional law (ATSIC, 1993; Gregory, 1992). 33 I use the term “wise use” here to refer to conservation for utilitarian purposes. Such was the context of the first national parks in Australia and the United States. 34 That council has since evolved into the Colong Foundation For Wilderness, an NGO that strongly advocates wilderness. It was very active in the campaign for the development of the NSW Wilderness Act and the subsequent declaration of many areas as Wilderness under that legislation, and is generally unsupportive of the hand-back of national parks to Aboriginal traditional owners (Muir, 1995).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 135 indigenous people and Westerners in several parts of the world (Cox and Elmqvist, 1997). Whether it is private or state controlled, the transfer of ownership from indigenous communities is incompatible with indigenous beliefs in many cases. To borrow a phrase from Cox, the behaviour of Western environment groups who impose their ecosystem management techniques on indigenous peoples can be described as “eco-colonialism”. It is based on a deep- seated theme in the Western world that Western culture is supreme, and historically has been used to justify colonial expansion and its consequent subjugation of indigenous people. Although the political saliency of that theme has expired, suggest Cox and Elmqvist (1997: 87; Edwards, 1997), its spirit is still present in the belief that the Western paradigm is inherently superior to the indigenous worldview, and this belief shows its presence in conflicts between conservation groups and indigenous peoples over land use in protected areas.35 As Elmqvist says, many scientists believe nature is best without people. He warns: “we need to be aware that our own conservation agenda is built on Western cultural beliefs … these are not universal and may sometimes be counter- productive” (quoted in Edwards, 1997: 15). The belief in the need for nature reservation is built on that fundamental dualism of Western science, the separation of culture from nature, a separation which is incompatible with most indigenous cultures. The insistence of conservationists on the supremacy of national parks as a means of protecting nature is a form of eco-colonialism (a) in its disregard for the indigenous knowledge which in many cases has allowed indigenous peoples to efficiently manage their land for many hundreds of years without excluding

35 Cox and Elmqvist became acutely aware of this issue through their own involvement in a scheme intended to protect the Samoan rainforest habitat of an endangered bat species. Following successful arrangements in two Samoan communities resulting in the creation of the Falealupo Rainforest Reserve and the National Park of Samoa, they attempted similar negotiations in other areas which were not successful. The reasons for the different results, they believe, are related to cultural differences between Western and indigenous views of conservation. Village elders had formed an agreement with an international conservation agency, the Swedish Society for Conservation of Nature (SNF) to protect rainforest in exchange for funding for community needs. In these successful projects negotiations were undertaken directly between villagers and the SNF in the Samoan language and village elders maintained control of the reserves. The unsuccessful attempts to create and manage reserves involved an urban-based, Westernised NGO, whose staff gradually assumed power and authority, and who were uncomfortable with traditional arrangements. This ended with the village elders responsible for the land terminating the original agreement (Cox andand Elmqvist, 1997).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 136 themselves from it;36 (b) for its assumption that Western science is a superior knowledge system; and (c) for its requirement that the land in question be removed from the control of its traditional owners and placed under the management of (usually) colonial or supposedly post-colonial powers. In other words, eco-colonialism is a perpetuation of imperialism, where invisible boundaries are enforced and people who see themselves as inseparable from their country are denied access to it so that it can be “reserved” for the utilitarian purposes of Western ideals. I see the “Jabilukan tensions” described in Chapter Two as a manifestation of the eco-colonialism which Cox and Elmqvist observed in Samoa.

Some Aboriginal activists support this colonialist interpretation of Australia’s national parks. For example, as I observed in section 2.2.2, Langton considers the green demand for more national parks to be yet another form of the dispossession of Aboriginal land – enforcing another type of white legal title to land on traditional owners. To varying degrees the management of all land in national parks, whether it is officially categorised as wilderness or not, involves minimising the impact of people on nature. Thus, the concept that they are, and should be, separate is inherent.

3.4.1 Eurocentric Hand-backs

So, the foundations of national parks rest not only on the ideals of romanticism and the myth of wilderness, but also on the concept of private land ownership and economic interests. The borders of national parks, particularly in Australia, are set by bureaucracies according to economic cost-benefit analysis. Conservationists employed by the bureaucracies that manage natural resources are forced to work within the parameters of economic and political constraints, a situation that sometimes pits green against green: “conservative” government-employed against more “radical” NGO-based greens.

36 That is, to manage it in a way that both the human and non-human populations are sustained.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 137 Although the history of Australia’s national park system began with a park established for anthropocentric reasons,37 national parks must cater to a wide range of expectations within the conservationist community as well as outside it. For example, the birth of the New South Wales National Parks and Wildlife Service has been attributed to an increase in “general community interest in environmental issues as opposed to the previous more limited and localized interests in natural history, and the growing scientific discipline of ecology” (Whitehouse, 1990: 12). Increasingly, demands on national parks include those of Aboriginal traditional owners who are demanding recognition of their rights to land in national parks, thus forcing environmentalists to confront the question of Aboriginal land rights in national parks. Although on the surface they may support the concept, it is a vexed issue for many greens:

It is amazing the number of people who go “in principle I support Aboriginal people having access to parks but …” and it’s like saying “I’m not a racist but …”. I think we’re all a little bit schizophrenic – one part of my heart goes: ‘we clearly need places where people aren’t messing around with that’ and then the other half goes: ‘but no – that is someone’s land and you need to know that you can’t stand between them and access to their land’ and I guess the detail is how do you thrash out those agreements – how does someone have standing – so I go ‘alright, I acknowledge this is your land, let’s give it back’ ” (Walker, 1999).

Although these words are not representative of all mainstream conservationists in Australia, they express the difficulty experienced by many greens when it comes to access to national parkland for traditional owners. Cam Walker, of FoE Australia, acknowledges the traditional ownership of the land as “the bottom line”. As I have stated, national parks in Australia, like their counterparts in the USA, had their beginnings in either natural resource protection or recreational space. Either use, despite appearing to be in the public interest, has a strong

37 The formation of the earliest national parks was motivated by an anthropocentric belief in the need for outdoor recreational space for people to escape the onerous nature of city living and working life and / or the need for resource protection as much as it was motivated by a belief in the rights of the flora and fauna. In Australia, that motivation resulted in the declaration of the Royal National Park in 1879. This declaration of Australia’s first (and the world’s second – the Yellowstone National Park in the USA was the first to be declared) national park, located just south of Sydney, was driven by a demand similar to the Yellowstone Park. That is, parks were seen as the province of recreation (Whitehouse, 1990). The priority given to national parks as recreational space is evident when we consider that an essential component of most definitions of wilderness is the requirement that a wilderness area be a place for self-reliant recreation, and also the rich tradition of creating nature reserves for human pleasure.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 138 connection to private land ownership and has not easily incorporated the concept of communal ownership or indigenous land use.

Attempts to recognise Aboriginal land rights in areas of high conservation values have resulted in “hand-backs” of national parks to traditional owners under joint management agreements. But the amount of control over their land Aboriginal traditional owners are actually granted under such schemes has been, and continues to be, a source of contention. For example, the lease-back of Kakadu was heralded as a model for the future despite the fact that, in its original management structure, the role of traditional owners was expected to be that of consultants to the board, with ultimate decision-making responsibilities resting with the board. Kakadu National Park was proclaimed in 1979, but the decision- making rights of its traditional owners were not recognised formally until the establishment of a revised board of management comprising a majority of traditional owners in 1989.

The complexities and difficulties surrounding the hand-back of national parks to traditional owners are reflected in the length of time and the numerous drafts of bills it appears to take for the relevant pieces of legislation to be passed. For example, negotiations surrounding the Cobourg Peninsula Aboriginal Land and Sanctuary Act (which, when passed in 1981, established the Gurig National Park, located on the Cobourg Peninsula northeast of Darwin), took several years and at least ten drafts (Foster, 1997: 5).

In NSW, the National Parks and Wildlife (Aboriginal Ownership) Act 1996, allowing for the return of five national parks to their traditional owners, was passed in 1996 but it too had spent several years as a Bill and required successive drafts before finally being enacted. Aden Ridgeway, a Federal Senator and Deputy Leader of the Australian Democrats,38 describes the fact that it was passed without either a vote or a voice in opposition as an indication of the “strength of community support for Aboriginal ownership of national parks in NSW”

38 Ridgeway is a prominent Aboriginal activist. He is a former Executive Director of the NSW Aboriginal Land Council and was elected NSW Senator for the Australian Democrats in 1998. He became the first Indigenous politician to hold a Federal leadership position in April 2001, when he became the Deputy Leader of the Australian Democrats.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 139 (Ridgeway, 1998: 119) but such an interpretation is questionable given the lengthy passage of the Bill, and in view of his own comment later in the same paper that “whilst the legislation is a step towards the recognition of the tragedies and sufferings of Aboriginal peoples in NSW, it can only be described as a minimalist response to our dispossession in cultural, territorial land and personal terms” (1998: 121).

Ridgeway acknowledges the importance of the Act but, apparently in an effort to dissuade those environmentalists who may have concerns regarding the possible “mismanagement” of the parks under Aboriginal ownership, he takes steps to point out the safeguards in the Act which ensure the parks are managed consistently with the National Parks and Wildlife Act:

- when a park is handed back it must immediately be leased back to the National Parks and Wildlife Service (NPWS), ensuring that operational responsibility continues to rest with the NPWS.

- funds payable as rent to the traditional owners via the relevant local Aboriginal land council can only be used for purposes directly associated with the management of the park or reserve.

- only land that is determined (by the Director-General of the NPWS) to be of cultural significance to Aboriginal peoples can be returned to its traditional owners.

These “safeguards” can also be interpreted as limitations in terms of Aboriginal control of land, and as responses to criticisms voiced by a conservative conservation lobby. That Ridgeway needed to emphasise the safeguards of the Act in this forum indicates that community support for Aboriginal ownership is not as strong as he maintains.

A key difficulty experienced in the joint management of Gurig National Park, the first in Australia to be managed jointly, was a lack of understanding of the aspirations of the parties involved arising from inadequate communication of those aspirations. This eventually led to mistrust and an adversarial relationship between traditional owners and the Conservation Commission Northern Territory

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 140 (CCNT) staff, particularly with respect to the stereotyped expectations of traditional owners held by Conservation Commission staff. According to Foster:

There were many examples where CCNT officers expressed surprise and even dismay that the traditional owners were not living up to their view of what Aboriginal people should be like. Many appear to have entered the arrangement with a view of Aboriginality that is best encapsulated by the term ‘noble savage’. Many failed to recognise that Aboriginal aspirations are complex and constantly evolving, like those of any other community group. Besides a desire to maintain an Aboriginal identity and Aboriginal law and rights, Aboriginal people are also concerned about their living standards and all that this implies (Foster, 1997: 71-2).

Some of the issues which arose in the first ten years of the life of Gurig National Park are reminiscent of those Kakadu has faced, elements of which are also present in the relations between protesters and traditional owners at Jabiluka. A core issue is the lack of control that traditional owners are able to exert over the management of the park. According to Katona (1998), the lease-back agreement merely represents a legal relationship between the managers of Kakadu National Park and its traditional owners, but it is “nothing tangible”. In her view, it exists “in the minds of people”, and Aboriginal people have no control over the machinations of the Board of Management, even though since 1989 there has been a majority of Aboriginal representatives on that board. Katona attributes this to the sense of desperation and hopelessness experienced by the Aboriginal community:

You can establish all the wonderful committees that you want, but the Aboriginal community out there is absolutely convinced that they are powerless, that the situation is hopeless, that they cannot be the initiators of any change and that as soon as there is a non-Aboriginal person in the room, whatever that person says is what is going to happen (Katona, 1998: 14).

A “top-down”, protectionist management style can only exacerbate that sense of hopelessness. Such a style, coupled with an inadequate understanding of the needs of traditional owners to occupy the land in the national park, to hunt and forage has led to tense relations between traditional owners and park managers in both Kakadu and Gurig National Parks. Describing the situation at Gurig, Foster states:

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 141 In particular, there was evidence of considerable mistrust of the motives of Aboriginal people and their claims to forage and hunt in protected areas … Coming to grips with the situation in Gurig involved far more than a simple adaptation to a new situation; it required a major cultural shift. In response to demands from traditional owners for more services and greater income from the park, this skepticism grew and many verbalised a genuine concern for the future of the area they were trying to protect. Their image of a national park was one of a protected area which people entered for specified purposes only, the nature of which the management agency determined. They were also not used to doing more than consult stakeholders. Having to operate under their direction was a totally new experience (Foster, 1997: 72-3).

At Jabiluka, too, many protesters were sceptical of the intentions of Mirrar and, as discussed in Chapter Two, had difficulty accepting direction from Gundjehmi. To do so required a similar cultural shift to that described in Foster’s evaluation – perhaps a greater one, because it necessitated a change in their perception of Aboriginal people, from seeing them not as noble savages, or living fossils, but as modern people with modern needs, as well as experts in caring for country.

3.4.2 Separating Culture From Nature

Many conflicts over traditional owners’ rights to control their country can be traced to the eco-colonialist separation of culture from nature. Soper argues that all discourses about the human-nature relationship rely on a prior distinction between “ourselves” and nature, and that Western thought has tended to identify what is “human” with “developed” or “civilised” humanity. As it has developed, Western civilisation has continuously questioned the “barriers” around the human community and accounting for this acknowledges the instability of the human- nature distinction. What is presented as static (nature) is really a mutable construct – it always “bears the imprint of our equivocations and changing perceptions about ourselves” (Soper, 1995: 73). Hence, perceptions of what constitutes nature have changed throughout history.

The Western treatment of the environment, whether it is for mining, tourism or nature conservation, is based on the culture-nature separation and demands a

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 142 mapping of country which is unrecognised by, and contradictory to, the Aboriginal worldview. For example, at Jabiluka:

The enclave boundaries of the Jabiluka and Ranger Mineral Leases are not recognised under bininj law. The mineral leases do not concur with any “borders” established by the Mirrar or other bininj … In fact the concept of administrative borders is inimical to the Mirrar relationship with country and with other bininj (GAC, 1998a: 12).

The worldviews, with their associated laws, come face to face, and the subsequent clash raises questions of the legitimacy of the dominant system and its utilisation of Western scientific method. Not only are the borders determined by balanda not recognised by Mirrar, but they also do not believe that any balanda have a legitimate right to carry out activities on country without Traditional Owner consent. As no such consent exists for the Ranger lease and Mirrar believe that no legitimate consent exists for the Jabiluka Mineral Lease, they perceive ERA to be acting unlawfully (GAC, 1998a: 12).39

In another case which highlights the perceptual differences between Western and indigenous worldviews, Mowaljarlai, from the North-western Kimberleys in Western Australia, explains that Wandjina (an ancestral creation being) gave men the job of managing nature, by giving individuals responsibility for the care of specific areas (1992). With respect to government boundaries, he states that the lines drawn on maps by governments effectively cut up the country, and in doing so, also cut up the bodies of the people, because they are part of the land. In his words:

What it mean is all this national park ….you gotta pencil mark there and one of these block is my block this one there gotta pencil mark go right through between my legs in that block. Hm? So my leg is hanging outside, another one inside the national park goin' right through, between my leg you know drive a helicopter through protected places sites of significance it's right on the pencil mark and that's what I'm talking about (Mowaljarlai, 1992: 184).

39 This perception was shared by most Jabilukans – as was evident in their choice of “trespass” as the main form of protest. This tactic was not only intended to hinder work at the site but also to highlight the belief that Mirrar are the lawful owners of the site.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 143 Dreaming tracks and sacred sites exist on both the Jabiluka and the Ranger lease sites. Mirrar were concerned that these sites might be violated by the actions of environmental protesters as well as mining activities. This is a point that may not have been well understood or appreciated by some greenies who interpreted “violation” through the lens of white middle-class environmentalism – as visibly scarring the earth by clearing vegetation and digging up the ground, and thus damaging its natural integrity.

Environmentalism is opposed to science’s dualistic approach to nature, and attempts to redress it through ecology’s emphasis on the web of life. But it fails in that attempt because it always resorts to science for “evidence” of negative ecological impact, caused by environmental degradation. Environmentalism looks to science for a technological fix, as Shiva says:

Mainstream environmentalists, as manifested at the 1992 Earth Summit, divorced from feminism, continue to use the model of the world designed by capitalist patriarchy. Instead of rebuilding ecological cycles, it focuses on technological fixes. Instead of relocating human activity in regeneration, it maintains the categories of production and consumption, and offers ‘green consumerism’ as an environmental panacea (Shiva, 1993: 33).

The development of “green” science has begun to help build bridges between green and black knowledge, so indigenous knowledge has begun to be incorporated into parks management through, for example, the use of fire. But the continued reliance on the technological fix and the separation of humans from nature in both environmental and developers’ circles highlights the dominance of the Western worldview, and the treatment of the Aboriginal worldview as inferior. The respective worldviews are informed by systems of knowledge. Developers and environmentalists, as I have already discussed, derive their knowledge from Western science. The Aboriginal worldview utilises indigenous knowledge, which I elaborate upon next.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 144 3.5 Western Science vs Indigenous Knowledge: Imagined Boundaries

So far in this chapter I have shown that, although there is a variety of voices that makes up “environmentalism”, they share a commonality in their reliance on Western science. I have looked at how social constructionism offers a means of understanding the differences in perception of the environment at Jabiluka and elsewhere. The three key stakeholder groups at play in the Jabiluka dispute each hold different worldviews: the environment is constructed through different cultural lenses for each of them. Their ways of knowing are created out of the common sense of each of their cultures. On one hand, the worldviews of greens and blacks clash despite their unity in opposing the construction of Jabiluka. On the other hand, greens and developers share the system of Western scientific knowledge which places the indigenous knowledge of the Mirrar outside its boundaries.

I have detailed the different pictures built by environmentalists, developmentalists and Aboriginal people and given an outline of social constructionism’s explanation for the existence of different worldviews. This provided the background for the discussion of how the concept of nature reservation exemplifies the parallels between greens and developers. This argument leads, in turn, to the question I address next: can the conflict at Jabiluka be seen as a clash of knowledge systems?

The West has historically treated indigenous knowledge as inferior, and although the value of traditional ecological knowledge is beginning to be recognised, problems surrounding both its acceptance as “valid” knowledge and the risk of its being lost as a result of it being treated as inferior continue. The following statement, an outcome of a UNESCO meeting convened to discuss indigenous knowledge, is evidence of this:

Indigenous knowledge continues to be largely disregarded in development planning, it plays only a marginal role in biodiversity management and its contribution to society in general is neglected. Furthermore, indigenous knowledge is being lost under the impact of modernization and of ongoing globalisation processes. There is a need to protect and further develop the knowledge generated and perpetuated by local communities through awareness-raising, training programmes, international property rights

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 145 arrangements, and validation procedures (Guchteneire and Nakashima 1999).

The field of comparative knowledge theory is concerned with comparisons between Western science and indigenous knowledge, questions about the treatment of indigenous knowledge as inferior in the Western worldview and the potential application of indigenous knowledge to environmental problems. Indigenous knowledge is defined as the “unique, traditional, local knowledge existing within and developed around the specific conditions of women and men indigenous to a particular geographic area” (Grenier, 1998: 1). Louise Grenier, a researcher of indigenous knowledge and author of Working With Indigenous Knowledge: A Guide For Researchers (1998), describes indigenous knowledge systems as broad-ranging, encompassing all aspects of life, and “cumulative, representing generations of experiences, careful observations and trial-and-error experiments” (Grenier, 1998: 1).

Indigenous knowledge usually incorporates social and spiritual traditions, a characteristic that has been interpreted by many Westerners as superstitious. Any emotional or subjective aspects of traditional knowledge have been dismissed in favour of the Western preoccupation with objectivity and the separation of self from the object of study. (Carter, 1993: 2). Thus, Western science has been imposed upon indigenous culture as a “superior” way of knowing: Western “common sense” decrees that Western science is a “better” system, and excludes indigenous knowledge from the category of science through the construction of scientific “boundaries”. Scientists construct these boundaries when they attribute “selected characteristics to the institution of science … for the purposes of constructing a social boundary that distinguishes some intellectual activities as ‘non-science’ ” (Gieryn, 1983: 782).

As I argued earlier, however, the common sense knowledge of one cultural group is neither more valid nor more correct than that of another. How is it, then, that Western science has come to dominate environmental management, and what are the implications of that for the players at Jabiluka?

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 146 3.5.1 Outside the Boundaries

The boundaries between modern Western science and traditional knowledge began to be drawn during the scientific revolution of early modern times, with the move away from medieval Aristotelian science, based in a conception of the universe as a divine organism, to classical Newtonian science which understood nature as a mathematical machine (Pepper, 1986: 52) and began the reductionism characteristic of science today. By adopting the creed that scientific knowledge equals power and progress, classical science was able to define its boundaries and take up a hegemonic position in society (Pepper, 1986: 55). That status was made possible by the political and colonial success of Western science-based imperialism.

As indicated above (section 3.2.1), the status of Western science as “true” science has been granted in keeping with a set of characteristics of scientists’ behaviour and knowledge which have come to be known as the “norms” of science. According to this picture of science, scientists are obliged to conform to such social expectations as objectivity, impartiality, rationality, universalism, individualism, and emotional neutrality, amongst others. Without adherence to such norms, scientific knowledge will not be produced, so the argument goes (Mulkay, 1976: 638). Thus, in this view, knowledge produced under other conditions will not be admitted inside the boundaries of science. The cognitive authority of science is partly dependent on the existence of a

recognisable boundary between the technical knowledge of specialised researchers and the more accessible common sense of the laity [a boundary] which is weakened if permeated by a non-specialist who presumes to comprehend scientific concepts sufficiently well to indict an esteemed practitioner (Gieryn and Figert, 1986: 75).

Indigenous knowledge is excluded from the category “science” on the basis that indigenous knowledge systems do not operate according to the norms of science. In keeping with the dualistic, reductionist tendencies of Western ways, they have been devalued and associated with a lack of progress. And, if a system is defined as “not-science”, it is automatically considered “not-valuable” because, as Shiva suggests, the:

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 147 arbitrary boundaries between knowledge and ignorance are paralleled by arbitrary boundaries between value and non-value. The reductionist, mechanistic metaphor simultaneously creates the measure of value and the instruments for the annihilation of that which it considers non-value (Shiva, 1993: 25).

The distinction between “science” and “indigenous knowledge” is another reflection of the dominance of the Western form of knowledge, and the treatment of indigenous knowledge as the inferior in that pair is behind the problems created by and associated with the pressure placed on indigenous peoples by the West to “develop”.

One of the ways in which Australian Aboriginal communities have been encouraged to develop has been to make use of their traditional lands as tourist destinations – to become ecotourism operators, to lease-back their land as national parks and enter into joint management arrangements with government bodies. But, as I noted above, in section 3.4, joint management has been problematic. For example, the author of a report on the first ten years of Gurig National Park, David Foster, found that, in relation to its management,

The real involvement of the traditional owners was not of the type envisaged in most papers outlining joint management arrangements. There, emphasis is placed on Aboriginal input into land management decisions, including such things as fire, habitat management and wildlife. In Gurig, there was a genuine concern amongst the traditional owners about the protection of the park, with many references in the board minutes to these matters. However, there does not appear to be the preparedness on the part of the CCNT to be more responsive to the traditional owners’ views on matters such as fire or habitat management (Foster, 1997: 72).

“Development” has become the catchphrase of the Western world since the Second World War and, as mining became an important part of the Australian economy, resource extraction was one of development’s driving forces. Its authority was derived from the modern Western knowledge system, and it rejected and marginalised non-western forms of knowledge: it became a “metaphor that gave global hegemony to a purely Western genealogy of history, robbing people of different cultures of the opportunity to define forms of their social life”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 148 (Banerjee, 2000: 12). The problems associated with joint management are related to the marginalisation of indigenous knowledge as a “lesser” form of knowledge.

There is some research being done to redress the problems arising from the existence of the science / indigenous knowledge boundaries. However, as Brian Wynne (who has published widely in the field of science studies, notably in the areas of risk and public understanding) contends, this work has not been adequately connected with understanding of the non-expert, public knowledge. That is, public knowledge is only considered in disputes regarding science when “experts” disagree, and the question of what knowledge the “lay” public possesses is treated as an issue of which experts it should trust, rather than an examination of its own expertise in the matter (Wynne, 1996). Hence the knowledge of the Mirrar, or that of Jabilukans, is not considered unless it can be framed in terms of scientific expertise, or unless they can demonstrate the existence of a divergence of scientific opinions between the so-called experts. Mirrar, with all their expert knowledge of their country, are considered “lay- persons”.

As “the rhetorical power of science is integrated into Western cultural ‘ground rules’ ” (McKechnie, 1996: 136), so the viewpoint of those with “lay” knowledge or ordinary commonsense is muted or made invisible by processes which work to ensure that some interpretations are restricted (such as the viewpoint of the Mirrar or greenies) while others are treated as more valid (such as the pro-uranium scientists). While each interest group may have equal validity in terms of defining their particular worldview, dominance occurs when the power of actualisation of one or more worldview is blocked by another (McKechnie, 1996).

Hence, environmental protesters at Jabiluka, as at other sites of environmental conflict, were placed in the paradoxical position of relying on the power of the scientific worldview while at the same time being muted by it. They were the allies of traditional owners, but utilised the means of those in opposition, the same means that treat the knowledge of indigenous people as outside the boundaries of science. The following discussion demonstrates how Mirrar traditional knowledge

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 149 was placed outside the boundaries and how Mirrar were forced into evaluating country according to dominant (Western) norms.

3.5.2 Mirrar Living Tradition

In the Kakadu region, as I noted in Chapter One, primary responsibility for an area and custodial obligations for sites within that area are determined according to the clan system, seniority within the clan and knowledge of the sites (Press et al, 1995). In Aboriginal law, Yvonne Margarula is the most senior member of the Mirrar Gundjehmi clan, whose estate includes both the Jabiluka and the Ranger lease sites, and whose language is Gundjehmi. In order for freehold title to be granted under the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act, land claimants have to show that they are a local descent group and that they “have common spiritual affiliations to the land, and that they have responsibility for the care of that land as a consequence” (Press et al, 1995: 41). As Mirrar were able to prove such spiritual affiliations with the land and its sites as is required by Australian law, they were also granted title to this country in a successful land claim under the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act in 1982.

Whilst upholding traditional custodianship rights and responsibilities, Margarula and the Mirrar people have also had to live in the world of balanda both as a matter of economic survival and in terms of legal recognition. That has meant struggling to have bininj ways recognised as valid by balanda while at the same time being expected to accept balanda law and behaviour. The resistance demonstrated by ERA towards accepting the existence of the Boweg-Almudj sacred site as discussed below is a good example of the way that Aboriginal culture is forced into subservience by the dominance of the Western worldview.

Digging up Boyweg-Almudj: As in most other parts of Aboriginal Australia, the sacred places created during the dreamtime form an important feature of Aboriginal life in the Kakadu region. The main site of significance in the Jabiluka area is the Boyweg-Almudj Sacred Site Complex, and although anthropologists identified the sacred nature of the Boyweg site as early as 1978 (GAC, 1999b), public knowledge of the site is

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 150 minimal. What is apparent now though, is that if bininj knowledge of the area is to be accepted as “true” by balanda, then bininj are forced to comply with balanda law and balanda assessment. In other words, the site has to be assessed according to Western values before white people will accept its significance, as the following description of the negotiations over the Boyweg site amply demonstrates.

A statement released by the senior traditional owners and custodians of the Jabiluka area in April 1999 describes the Boyweg-Almudj Sacred Site Complex as “a sacred and dangerous area which should not be disturbed on the surface or underground” and states that “the sacred sites within and associated with the Boyweg-Almudj Sacred Site Complex have existed for untold generations and their integrity is essential to the survival of Aboriginal culture in present and future generations” (GAC, 1998b]: 25-6).

The statement was prepared and released by the owners and custodians who are the only Aboriginal people permitted under Aboriginal law to speak about sacred sites on the Jabiluka lease. At around the same time as its public release, Gundjehmi applied to Senator Robert Hill, the minister for the Environment and Heritage, for an emergency declaration of protection for the site under the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Heritage Protection Act 1984.

During this period, ERA temporarily suspended construction of the decline (tunnel) for “technical and scheduling reasons” stating that the stoppage was “unrelated to negotiations with Traditional Owners” (ERA, 1999a). On 18th May 1999 ERA announced that advancement of the tunnel would be resumed on 21st May, and that although the stoppage was “not related to the Mirrar’s call for work at Jabiluka to cease, the Company is hopeful that the Mirrar and their representatives will continue talks during the period of suspension, on a process for completing the Cultural Heritage Management Plan”. In the same document, ERA claims that the Mirrar have not availed themselves of the relevant Australian laws regarding application for protection of sacred sites, that there is division within the local Aboriginal community regarding the significance of the Boyweg site and that ERA has followed due legal process (ERA, 1999b).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 151 A media release from Senator Hill’s office notes that the ore body is located beneath the site complex, and “that ERA had previously agreed not to disturb the ground surface within the specified area, and plans to enter the ore body from outside its boundaries. Mining is currently occurring in a tunnel below the specified area at a depth of over 150 metres” (Hill, 1999). Senator Hill, not being satisfied that the site complex was a significant area in terms of the Act, declined to make an emergency declaration (Hill, 1999).

On May 21st 1999 Gundjehmi issued a media release headed: “Jabiluka Sacred Sites Set For Destruction”. It stated that a temporary suspension on blasting and drilling within the sacred site complex had been lifted – a complex which had been identified by traditional owners and other Aboriginal people of the area, and by anthropologists, as sacred and dangerous, and despite them pleading for its protection.

Yvonne Margarula is quoted in the media release as saying:

We have found this whole process humiliating. Even when we offer everything we cannot even have an assessment of our cultural values before they are disturbed. Now we know how our older relatives felt when they were disbelieved, insulted and destroyed. I asked ERA why they were insisting on desecrating this area when a proper assessment has not taken place and when they know how concerned all Aboriginal people are about the destruction. Mr Shirvington said “oh, they’re just you’re [sic] beliefs”. They have asked us to keep talking while they blast and drill in our sacred areas. We can’t see any point in further talks. They do not take us seriously. They don’t think we have learned anything from our elders. They don’t believe our cultural values have any meaning. They are trying to destroy us, but we will fight until we die (GAC, 1999b).

It appears then that although bininj believe that Mirrar cultural beliefs, handed on according to traditional law and method, should be sufficient evidence that the Boyweg site is sacred, and Yvonne Margarula is known to be humiliated and insulted by the process, she has been forced to request a cultural assessment – for Mirrar culture and tradition to be measured and valued on balanda terms.

The Australian Senate and the World Heritage Commission both upheld the concerns that the cultural integrity of the site could be destroyed by the Jabiluka

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 152 development.40 They noted that Jabiluka posed serious risks to Kakadu National Park and recommended further cultural mapping of the Boyweg site and its boundaries.

This issue is illustrative of the disregard white people have for Aboriginal knowledge and culture until it is assessed according to Western criteria. Under Aboriginal customary law there are restrictions on who has the authority to speak about the area and perhaps to know about it (GAC [7], undated). Although the site had already been identified by anthropologists, in the 1982 mining agreement the NLC asserted that there were no sacred sites in the area of the Jabiluka lease. According to Gundjehmi, these assertions are incorrect and the result of a lack of consultation by the NLC with senior custodians for the area in question (GAC, 1998b: 26). However, since that agreement, Jabiluka’s senior traditional owners have repeatedly stated that there are sacred sites on the lease but that information about them is restricted knowledge (GAC, 1998b). The continued resistance by ERA to acknowledge their calls to protect the site reflects a disregard for Aboriginal land rights and the de-valuing of cultural belief and knowledge.

While sacred sites are without doubt areas of particular importance to their traditional custodians, in the Aboriginal worldview it is often not possible to separate those sites from the surrounding landscape, and from the people who inhabit it. Western worldviews demand such a separation and, as Western culture has come to dominate Aboriginal society, people such as the Mirrar have increasingly been forced not only to relinquish control of their country but to

40 The Senate conducted an enquiry into the environmental assessment process undertaken at Jabiluka. In its report, handed down in June 1999, the Senate Committee made twenty-four recommendations, with those most relevant to the issue of cultural values being that construction be suspended until cultural mapping of the site area can be conducted in co-operation with the Traditional Owners and recognised custodians of the Jabiluka area; the issues of Aboriginal people’s access to, and perception of, country as a result of development projects, be addressed in a holistic process which links environmental impact assessment with questions of Aboriginal land rights, sovereignty and cultural survival; a new inquiry be conducted to assess the specific social and cultural impacts of the Jabiluka project on the Aboriginal communities of the Alligator Rivers Region, and also that the social and cultural impacts of mining be given greater attention in ministerial decision-making (the Senate Committee, 1999). The UNESCO WHC delegation also agreed that the Boyweg site was significant enough to delay construction, if not prevent it altogether. Their report concluded that Kakadu National Park is exposed to a number of serious threats posed primarily by the proposal for mining and milling uranium at Jabiluka which are placing it under both ascertained and potential danger (UNESCO BWHC, 1998: 24).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 153 “translate” their beliefs into the language and cultural prescriptions of the balanda who have dispossessed them.

At times this has meant “going public” about matters which would ordinarily be restricted to certain members of a clan or community, a situation creating unrest for the person or people charged with the custodianship of the area or knowledge, and also disquiet within the community as even some of their own clan members may not have been aware of the importance of a particular site. The effect of such disquiet is to raise questions regarding the validity and “authenticity” of the knowledge.

Such has been the case in the South Australian example of the secret women’s business associated with the construction of the Hindmarsh Island Bridge.41 And in the Jabiluka case, Mirrar have had to expose their sacred sites and, in doing so, subject themselves to intimations that their claims regarding the existence of the Boyweg sacred site are fabricated (ERA, 1999b). Such intimations appear to be based on suggestions that the local Aboriginal community is undecided about the existence and the exact location of the site, as the site has not as yet been registered or mapped according to balanda ways. However, as the “local” Aboriginal community consists of members of clans other than Mirrar, it is only to be expected that they may not know of the location of the site or its significance to Mirrar. The use of a generic term such as “local” by representatives of ERA and government is misleading as the general public is not necessarily cognisant of the complexities of the clan estates and their relationships to each other. It is also an example of how Aboriginal clans are “homogenised” as one people by non- Aboriginal people. Local Aboriginal people – those who live in communities local to the site in question – are not necessarily members of the clan which has responsibility for the local area, as we saw in Section 1.3.1.

41 This was a case in which a group of Aboriginal women claimed that a site of special significance to them would be desecrated if a bridge was built from the South Australian mainland to Hindmarsh Island. They based their claim on knowledge which is privileged to women, and were accused of fabricating that knowledge in an attempt to thwart development in the area. Via a series of political and legislative processes, in particular through a 1995 Royal Commission, the Aboriginal community was divided into those who believed in the “women’s business” and those who didn’t. For a detailed and very rich discussion of the case, see Bell, 1998.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 154 The European legal tradition makes an assumption that all information relating to a case will be disclosed. Such an assumption is at odds with Aboriginal custom and law, in which custodians may be required to withhold secret cultural information, because it is normally

revealed only to appropriate clan elders upon ritual occasions … A further complication is that those persons standing in a custodial role to Dreaming localities and stories may place themselves or their clan in danger by divulging information to inappropriate persons. So there exists a reluctance amongst elders (who alone are entitled to divulge information) to disclose all their knowledge to Europeans (Mulvaney 1998, quoted in GAC, 1998 (a): 11).

The general public were first made aware of the threats to Mirrar culture posed by the Jabiluka uranium mine through publicity of the blockade and protest camp and subsequently by the possibility that Kakadu National Park may be placed on the United Nations Environment, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) “World Heritage in Danger” list as a result of the construction of the mine. This chapter in the Mirrar campaign against the mine arose following their successful lobbying of UNESCO to investigate the impacts of Jabiluka on the World Heritage values of Kakadu.

The main thrust of Mirrar’s argument with respect to Kakadu’s World Heritage status is that their living tradition is threatened by the impacts of Jabiluka. The cultural heritage of Kakadu is of value not only for its historical interest but also because it represents an example of living tradition. The living tradition of the Mirrar is underpinned by rights and responsibilities for other bininj and for country which come from Mirrar law and custom. These responsibilities are approached in two ways:

1) Gunred (looking after country) – “encompasses control of country including the prevention of both destruction of country and desecration of sites. It is also the recognition, assertion and promotion of cultural rights and the carrying out of living tradition on country” (GAC, 1998a: 12); and

2) Guhpleddi (looking after people) – “is intrinsically tied to gunred because bininj and country are one” (GAC, 1998a: 12).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 155 The World Heritage Committee convention has developed the concept of cultural landscape – the recognition of the interaction between humankind and its natural environment – as a criterion for the inclusion of a site on the World Heritage List. Gundjehmi argues that the living tradition of Mirrar, based as it is on “the inseparable and symbiotic relationship between bininj (humans) and country (environment)” (GAC, 1998a: 9), is evidence of Kakadu as a cultural landscape. This is in sharp contrast with the developmentalist view of it as a natural landscape, a view that is largely shared by many environmentalists.

3.6 Conclusion: Captured by Science

The green ideal of “wilderness” arises from a dualistic conception of the environment, one that is at the basis of Western science and is common to the developmentalist approach to the world. It involves separating culture from nature; “scientific” from “indigenous” knowledge; man from woman; and treating the first in each of those pairs as superior. Its mechanistic schema is evident in the approach to national parks, one that arises out of the Western model of reserving nature and excluding people from it. This “dominant way of knowing” – science – is shared by greens and developers and this reliance on science casts greens in the same light as developers relative to the Aboriginal position.

The role of science has been crucially important in curbing the rate of environmental destruction caused by industrial society. Without “green” science, it is unlikely we would have nature reserves and national parks and therefore the remnants of the ecosystems they contain. It is also likely that such land would have been transferred from the Crown to freehold title, thereby making it impossible for Aboriginal traditional owners to claim it under Australian Common Law. But science and scientists also played a significant role in facilitating and encouraging British imperialism. Australia, like other British colonies in the Asia- Pacific, was founded in an era of scientific interest and fascination on the part of both professional and amateur scientists, who were part of every expedition of discovery (Moyal, 1986). And the expeditions which “discovered” Australia came in the wake of Enlightenment science and were part “of an expansionary industrial

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 156 capitalism which asserted its dominance over all other life forms, its technocratic values challenging those of non-industrial societies” (Hutton and Connors, 1999: 26). Hence, the support lent to British imperialism by scientists has traditionally “located them with the forces of destruction of the environment” (Hutton and Connors, 1999: 26).

Science has thus occupied a paradoxical position in the development of nature protection in Australia and it continues to do so. Western science is crucial to the management of national parks, which have taken land from traditional control, and it has also placed indigenous knowledge “outside the boundaries” of science, thereby devaluing it. Yet, it has often been scientists, as nature lovers, who have driven the demand for nature conservation, and it was science that was called in to state the case for the environment when habitat loss and species extinction began to be noticed and considered problematic. Henceforth it was science that became the main tool used to lobby for national parks and other measures for protecting the environment.

Environmental researchers are an “exception to the rule” that scientists should protect their research from “outside” influence. They have joined with environmental activists in a call for a science that can help solve the environmental crisis and is more sympathetic to building a closer relationship between science and the solving of social problems (Cramer et al, 1987: 89) and that science is ecology. But, herein lies the dilemma for environmentalism: by aligning with science, environmentalists have inadvertently also “taken sides” with a worldview in which Aboriginal people and their knowledge are treated as inferior in the dominant worldview that treats constructed boundaries as real.

So, despite attempts by environmentalists to overcome the dualism which ecology itself criticises, they have not managed to do so. They continue to rely on a separation between culture and nature, “science” and “non-science”: environmentalism “still remains a perspective derived from findings in the sciences – ecology, toxicology, epidemiology and the assessment of supply and demand” (Harries-Jones, 1993: 52). Despite their intention to use ecology to emphasise a wholistic approach to the environment, greens are still dependent on

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 157 science to prove their case. Despite promising beginnings, ecology has failed to deliver an answer to that problem. It, too, relies on modern science and as such, is part of the problem (Szerszynski, 1996).

Environmentalism is caught up in the modernist dilemma brought on when the self-contained medieval world was shattered by the rapid social, economic and cultural changes of the early modern period. Where the organic medieval cosmos had previously “told us what to do”, and the world was suffused with meaning, now modernity had reduced the world, via science, to an “infinite universe of matter in motion” (Szerszynski, 1996: 104). From this “realist” perspective, it became nothing but a collection of mechanical parts.

Environmentalists, among other social change activists, grapple with how we can still ground behaviour and judgements in something more than mere human self- assertion when the universe has been stripped of meaning and purpose (Szerszynski, 1996: 105). In an effort to find an answer to that problem many greens have turned to a romanticist environmentalism that draws on the pre- industrial characteristics of indigenous cultures, seeking to inject meaning back into the Western world and to “reconnect” with the natural environment. And so, as we saw in vignette (v), ritual fires, drumming and dancing with fire are incorporated into greens’ social activities. But this usually also means taking from Aboriginal people – isolating their knowledge, cultural and spiritual beliefs from its people and its country in a form of cultural appropriation that may also force Western ideals on indigenous people, expecting them to remain frozen in time and demanding that the natural environment remain “untouched wilderness”. Whether the reason for describing an area as wilderness is related to its resource (and therefore scientific) value or its intrinsic value is irrelevant to traditional owners – either case represents land being set aside and taken out of their control by whitefellas as has been the case since white settlement.

With respect to the control of land (as opposed to the use of it), conservationists and developmentalists have some commonality. Ultimately, they want the same thing: control of country, or, at the very least, access to its resources – whether those resources are minerals, tourist attractions or recreational space. The latter is

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 158 of particular importance to the ethical question regarding Aboriginal traditional owners’ rights to land zoned “national park”. Should land be reserved for the pleasure of others, such as for tourism or recreation, or should it be granted to traditional owners so they may reap economic benefits in a political and economic system which has disadvantaged them so far?

What explanation is there for the apparent inability of balanda to see bininj not as mystical representatives of “primitive” times, but as capable managers of country – as experts with knowledge, rights and obligations regarding the care of that country? The preceding analysis of worldviews shows that there is a conflict between the worldviews of indigenous people and environmentalists – a clash of knowledge systems. Developmentalists also utilise science and rely on the culture / nature separation. Because science has been one of the main tools of patriarchal capitalism it is implicated in the domination and oppression of indigenous people by colonists intent upon “developing” the non-western world. By adopting the methods and language of Western science environmentalism is also implicated in the oppressive and imperialistic tendencies of the dominant culture. Hence, tensions exist between greens and blacks as well as between blacks and developmentalists.

When a group of radical green protesters attempts to address a crowd of tourists and a representative of a conservative nature conservation agency on Aboriginal owned land in a national park, these issues soon become apparent. In vignette (vi) “Ubirr”, just such a clash occurs. The greenies’ public insistence that the ranger advise the tourists of the implications of the construction of Jabiluka demonstrates that, despite the spectrum of green views, there is a tendency of many greens to:

1. homogenise Aboriginal people. That is, they either don’t see or don’t acknowledge the subtle social and political differences between clan groups. For example, in this case, Ubirr is on Bunitj land and whilst the Bunitj are concerned about wetland contamination, Ubirr is a major source of income for them. However, these protesters seemed to consider that, as Mirrar are opposed to Jabiluka, then so must Bunitj; and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 159 2. rely on science to support their case. The argument that “the wetlands will be stuffed if the mine goes ahead” is based in a belief that the integrity of a wetlands ecosystem could be threatened by the release of water contaminated by radioactive substances. The strength of their belief in ecological principles overcame their support for Aboriginal self-determination.

It seems that many greens share an attitude with developmentalists that an opinion based on scientific evidence is a more “valid” form of argument regarding environmental management. Problems begin, however, when that “proof” is prioritised over Aboriginal political sensitivities.

The alliance at Jabiluka was established on the strong foundations laid by the rapport built up between ECNT, ACF and the traditional owners, as I described in Chapter One (section 1.3.4). The camp functioned well – greens and blacks were united, despite their clashing worldviews and the potential for incommensurability that could lead to. But a solid structure requires more than strong foundations to remain stable: it also needs a strong framework. It appeared that greenies were taking on some new ideas and setting aside some old ones – to look for ways of reconciling their differences. This observation led me to look for the framework that was holding things in place and, by doing so, I began to see evidence of ecofeminism at play.

The ecofeminist critique of science is concerned with the oppressive and dominating characteristics of Western science. Ecofeminism is interested in building new ways of relating and incorporating different ways of knowing, so it is to a closer examination of ecofeminism and what it may have to offer that I turn to in Chapter Four.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 160

Vignette (vi) “Ubirr”

The camp minibus pulls up in the car park at Ubirr, decidedly out of place beside all the sparkling late model four-wheel drive rental vehicles and the tourist coaches with their standard features of tinted windows and air-conditioning. The minibus is emblazoned with a hand-painted “stop Jabiluka” logo and it’s also decorated with psychedelic “graffiti- style” patterns. Despite the determined efforts of one or two of the long-termers to keep it clean, it’s still very dusty and scruffy looking, evidence of its many trips each day along the red dirt of the track from the Oenpelli Road to the camp site. That red dust is etched into its pockmarked duco, just as it’s etched into every pore of the protesters living there. So, it’s a motley bunch of protesters that spills out of the equally motley-looking minibus, and straggles off in the direction of the rock art sites. Their intentions are not altogether different to those of the tourists who also flock there, but they would deny any resemblance vehemently.

Ubirr is one of the “must-see” destinations for tourists visiting Kakadu. It promises not only a spectacular nature experience, but it is also rich with Aboriginal significance – it is one of the sites for which Kakadu National Park is renowned, where non-Aboriginal people can view Aboriginal rock art and learn a little about the Aboriginal history of this special place.

Ubirr is an outlier of the Arnhem Land escarpment and was a wet season shelter for the Aboriginal people of the area. It attracts tourists particularly in the evening, when the view from Ubirr across the East Alligator River floodplains at sunset is especially beautiful, and so during the late afternoon hundreds of people flock to the site, walk around the rock art “galleries”, listen to the “Ranger Talks” at points of significance and then settle down to watch the sun set over the floodplains.

Fascinated by the ancient mystery surrounding this place, astounded by its beauty, by the starkness of the green pandanus palms against the red and orange hues of the rocks and the ground, the Jabilukans mingle a little with the tourists. And as they wander along the well maintained tracks, having first passed the signs describing the traditional owners of the area, their request for there to be no alcohol consumed there, and stipulating that the site is closed from sunset til 8:30 am, some of the protesters begin to talk with the tourists, telling them about the proposed mine at Jabiluka and the protest against it.

Spreading the word, if you like. Cont’d next page

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 161 After attempting to drink in some of the significance of the art, there’s a short climb up to the summit of the rock outcrop which serves as a lookout, and where a ranger delivers an informative mini-lecture about the site and the surrounding environment. There are at least a couple of hundred people sitting around on the rock listening to him. A captivated audience – one which a passionate protester, Suz, can’t resist. Towards the end of his talk, she interrupts with a statement suggesting that he should inform his audience of the damage that Jabiluka mine may have on the wetlands below.

He politely explains that as this is “Bill Neidjie’s land” (the senior traditional owner of the land belonging to the Bunitj clan, on which Ubirr is located) he will respect Bill’s request that this issue not be discussed here. But Suz persists – these people should know what’s going on, that these wetlands are going to be destroyed if that mine goes ahead. Again, the ranger politely (but a little more firmly this time) asks her to refrain from interrupting his speech, and suggests that if people have an interest or questions about the issue they can speak to her after he has finished speaking. At this, there’s a warm ripple of applause and murmurs of assent, and Suz sits down. The ranger completes his talk and takes a few questions, then the crowd settles into the hushed, reverent sort of quiet usually reserved for places of worship, and watches the sun sink slowly through the clouds. The huge red orb tints the whole landscape with its warm glow, magnified by its reflection in the water below and the clouds behind. Eventually, it drops below the horizon, the purplish blues of dusk descend and the crowd moves off quietly down the track to their waiting vehicles.

Back at the camp minibus, as we wait for the Jabilukans to reassemble, the conversation is animated:

“Didja see Suz go off? Go Suz, hey!”

“Pissweak that ranger – he could let her speak, tell those tourists what’s gonna happen to the wetlands and everything.”

“I’m not so sure – this isn’t Mirrar land, and like he said, the traditional owner of this land has asked that it not be talked about here.”

“Yeah, but slack hey – that’s only because they’re frightened of losing the tourists and that – bloody Parks are just sittin’ on the fence.”

“Maybe, but the ranger probably agrees with us. He’s just doing his job, and if he goes against the owners’ wishes he might lose it.” Cont’d next page

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 162 “Well he’s gonna lose it for sure if Kakadu gets contaminated by uranium!”

“True, but the thing is that if we stir up trouble here for the ranger, then it might cause political problems between Bunitj and Mirrar and the camp might be closed down …”

By breakfast time the next morning a notice had been posted at the info tent. It advised that Gundjehmi had requested all protesters not to address groups of tourists regarding Jabiluka. The management of Kakadu had been notified of the incident at Ubirr and a senior official had immediately contacted Gundjehmi to inform them that a formal directive had been issued by the Minister for the Environment, (the minister responsible for parks management) stating that no parks employee was to discuss the Jabiluka issue with the public, and Mirrar asked protesters to respect the wishes of their neighbouring clan as well.

Figure 13: “Ubirr Sunset”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 163

Chapter Four: Feminist Ecologistics

Figure 14: Termite Mound Sculpture, Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 164

Vignette (vii) “The Women’s Space”

October 1998. Walking around the camp, evidence of the “celebration of the female” can be easily observed. Dotted around are many termite mounds, a typical feature of the landscape of this area, but several of the mounds within the camp boundaries have been rendered atypical via the sculpting of their form into the shape of women’s bodies or faces.

Also dotted around are bright, colourful, hand-painted banners proclaiming the cause. The entire area of most of the banners is occupied by words – slogans supporting Mirrar land rights, protesting the nuclear cycle or the degradation of the land. One quickly catches my eye, firstly because it is more a painting than a banner, then because of the image that it depicts. A young, naked-breasted indigenous woman who has a tree growing where her hair should be, and who holds in one hand the planet earth and in the other the radiation symbol. A teardrop trails down her face. The slogan reads: “mother earth mourns”.

At the back of the camp, just outside the circular firebreak marking the boundary, stands a large tree. Its old, gnarled branches provide some of the best shade in the whole of the camp. Mirrar requested that no members of the camp go outside the boundary, out of respect both for the environment and for their cultural beliefs regarding its care. But this is one area where stepping outside the firebreak is permissible, so even though it is outside the boundary, footpads lead out to this tree from two directions, indicating it is frequently visited. This is “the women’s space” – an area for women only. It was established at the very beginning of the camp, in recognition that there would be a need for a “women only” space for some women to feel safe. The Stop Jabiluka Handbook asks that all members of the camp respect the restriction of no men in that area. It was used for women to camp, for women’s “circles”, to plan actions, or just to “hang out” in.

Hanging from its branches is a colourful structure – an orange net, stretched between two poles. It has been interwoven with bright pieces of fabric and yarn, and there are hundreds of small items dangling from it, or woven into it. This is the “women’s web”, a creative project which was initiated by a group of women who hired a bus to travel up from Melbourne to participate in the blockade for one week in July 1998. The items – photographs of loved ones, artwork, jewellery, poetry, messages of support, items of clothing – have been incorporated into the weaving as symbols of women’s unity with Mirrar women. They have been gradually added over a period of almost four months by hundreds of women who’ve stayed in the camp. At first glance, or from a distance, it looks like the motley collection of junk a bowerbird might accumulate, strung up on a

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 165 web woven by a spider on drugs. I recalled Alice Cook’s description of the deepest emotion she felt when, together with many others, she placed a photograph of her mother on the fence of the military base at Greenham Common in protest at the location of US cruise missiles there. It seemed that her experience was typical of many of the women participants (Cook and Kirk, 1984), and that this was a continuation of a “women’s tradition” begun at Greenham Common. So, up close, I sensed the immeasurable power of the women’s web as I realised the deep-felt meaning behind each and every token and saw just how many of them there were.

The women’s web was still hanging in the women’s space when the camp was winding down. By then, it was beginning to look a bit weather-beaten, having been exposed to the harsh Territory light and at least one rain-storm in the months since it was first begun. Only a few activists were left then, and most were preoccupied with packing up the camp, so it was only half-a-dozen or so women who met to decide what should happen to the women’s web. We decided to add some finishing touches and then present it to Gundjehmi. To allay our concerns about the risk of damage from more rain, we decided to move it to the campaign office in Jabiru and finish working on it there.

But that was not a decision happily taken. Kiersten, an artist from Brisbane, had taken a special interest in finishing the project, and she voiced aloud her discomfort that a project born in women’s space and intended to be completed in women’s’ space was to be removed from that space, completed and presented in a general, non-gendered domain. It was a discomfort we all shared but, given that we weren’t able to arrange for its presentation at the camp, we felt we had no choice. Kiersten reluctantly agreed.

So Kiersten and I took the hanging down from its home in the women’s space, rolled it in some white fabric, and carried it through the camp to be transported to Jabiru in the camp mini-bus. As we approached the mini-bus the driver, a male long-termer, said (in a sarcastic, sneering kind of way) “so, it’s a sexist camp now then, is it?” Kiersten’s face gave away her inner pain, but neither of us considered his comment worthy of reply, and he made no further mention of it on the way into town.

The women’s web was presented to the staff of Gundjehmi at a special picnic, as detailed in vignette (ix). For me the life cycle of the women’s web symbolised a truly ecofeminist project. It represented the alliance between white and black women and it expressed the deeply felt connection between the participating women, the earth and the traditional keepers of that place. It signified the highly personal journeys many of these women were on at Jabiluka. Some were there to make new beginnings – highlighted by the poetry of a fifteen-year-old girl experiencing her first taste of adulthood, making her own decisions about arrestability, immersing herself in issues confronting the Aboriginal

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 166 community, full of respect for them and yearning for an understanding of and an answer to their plight. Others were finishing things, represented by a diamond engagement ring - a sign of closure for a woman who’d just ended a twenty-year marriage and was travelling independently for the first time in her adult life – she had come to Jabiluka to “find herself”, to break free of an oppressive lifestyle by doing something radically different.

And although, out of respect for those women who’d created the women’s web and conceived it as a women-only project, I would have preferred it to be presented in a women’s space, I saw the shift out of the women’s space into non-gendered space as a positive step. It was an evolution from a separatist endeavour to an inclusive one and a statement that, as women, we had claimed the space we needed for the expression of our life experiences and our heart-felt desire for the protection of our earth and all of its people – male as well as female, both black and white.

With symbolic layer upon symbolic layer we had empowered ourselves in that protective space and now we could move on, out, away - into the outside world to continue our journeying.

Figure 15: “Mother earth Mourns”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 167 4.1 Introduction

The separatist belief that “women-only” space (such as that described in vignette vii) is needed if women are to achieve equality with men is strongly advocated by radical cultural feminism and historically associated with lesbian separatism (Eisenstein, 1984). Most feminist gatherings acknowledge that need and provide such a space. That there was a women’s space at Jabiluka, that it was included in the initial planning and that it was located outside the camp boundary (granting it “special” status) shows that feminism was a key organising principle of the camp.

The concept of women’s space is not only a feature of feminist activism – it is also compatible with Aboriginal conceptions of gendered places. These are areas defined as women’s places or men’s places or set aside as places for women’s or men’s business, associated with one or the other because “Dreaming made it that way” (Rose, 1996: 36). Hence, some activists supported the women’s space at Jabiluka as an Aboriginal, rather than a feminist, concept. So just how feminist was Jabiluka? While feminism apparently played a significant part in the structure of the protest camp, it was not the primary feature – the protest was about the protection of land rights and the environment, not “women’s issues” as such. In this chapter I discuss how the theory of ecofeminism makes links between feminism, environmentalism and indigenous people’s movements and show that actions that bring these movements for social change together are ecofeminist.

In the previous chapter I described the various ways that the key stakeholders in the Jabiluka story view the environment, and the role that Western science has played in the suppression of de-valued Others there. I suggested that the problems of the Eurocentric basis of the national park concept and the “entrapment” of the green position by Western science are based in the dualistic tendencies of the Western worldview, and that these issues are taken up in the feminist and ecofeminist critiques of science.

Ecofeminism embraces spirituality, philosophy and environmental ethics. It is both an activist and an academic endeavour (Sturgeon, 1997: 25), or the application of feminist theory to environmental issues. Ecofeminism, as the name suggests, is concerned with the links between women and nature, and the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 168 treatment of them both by the capitalist patriarchal system. An ecofeminist perspective approaches environmental issues in a holistic way. Ecofeminist theorists argue that women, nature and indigenous people should unite to overcome their common oppression, and that a holistic approach is required to do this (King, 1990: 107; Merchant, 1990; Diamond and Orenstein, 1990). This chapter examines ecofeminism with the aim of laying out the theoretical groundwork for the following chapter where I draw upon my fieldwork experience and empirical research to demonstrate the practical application of ecofeminism at Jabiluka.

Section 4.1 begins with a brief outline of the development of the literature of ecofeminist thought, and then sets out the fundamental concerns of ecofeminism. Section 4.2 is concerned with the influence of different types of feminism on ecofeminism, as well as the distinctions between them. In section 4.3 I examine some of the ways ecofeminism is actually being lived, and the way ecofeminism addresses indigenous issues. This is particularly important, given its claim that women, nature and indigenous people are treated in a like fashion in the Western worldview.

The ecofeminist critique of science is presented in section 4.3.2. Like ecology, ecofeminism asserts that the interconnectedness of all life is a prerequisite for resolution of the environmental crisis. The difference is that ecofeminism also sees it as a precondition for ending the linked oppression of women, nature and indigenous people.

4.1.1 Ecofeminist Pathways

Most accounts attribute the first usage of the term ecofeminism to Françoise d’Eaubonne’s “Le Temps de L’Ecoféminisme”, the title of a chapter in her book “Le Feminisme Ou la Mort”, which was published in 1974. There is, however, some question about whether she can be considered to have coined the word in the English speaking world, as her work was not translated into English until 1994, by which time it was in use by feminist antimilitarist activists to signify the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 169 interconnection of women’s issues and concerns about environmental degradation Sturgeon42 (1997) gives Ynestra King43 the credit for inventing the word in its US context. In any case, it appears that the concept was appearing across several continents contemporaneously.

D’Eaubonne’s work was written at a time when the global nature of environmental degradation was first becoming apparent, and when feminist concerns were being linked to the environment through the overpopulation debate. In her view, the interconnection of overpopulation with the destruction of natural resources highlighted for feminists the realisation that the responsibility for creating these “two perilous situations” lay with systems dominated by men. For d’Eaubonne, the discovery by men of their capability of sowing both the earth and women led to the male seizure of control of fertility and fecundity, and in turn to the overexploitation of both, resulting in a glut of births and a glut of products (1994: 177-78).

Since d’Eaubonne’s work in the 1970’s, the body of ecofeminist literature has grown significantly. In keeping with ecofeminist practice, a large proportion of volumes on ecofeminism are anthologies such as Judith Plant’s Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism (1989); Re-weaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism by Irene Diamond and Gloria Feman Orenstein (1990), and Greta Gaard’s Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature (1993). Several books edited by philosopher Karen Warren have been both stimulating and invaluable to the development of ecofeminist theory: Ecological Feminism (1994); Ecological Feminist Philosophies (1996) and Ecofeminism: Women, Nature, Culture (1997).

An edited collection of ecofeminist writings is in keeping with ecofeminist

42 Sturgeon is a US based ecofeminist author and academic in Women’s Studies with a background in the non-violent antimilitarist direct action movement. She gives a more specific account of the first use of the term ecofeminism and also an excellent list of references regarding the beginnings of ecofeminism (1997: 202). 43 Ynestra King was one of ecofeminism’s earliest academics, along with Griffin, Daly and Ruether. King gave lectures on ecofeminism in the mid-1970’s at the Institute of Social Ecology in Vermont (Mellor 1997). She was also one of the key organisers of the “Women and Life on Earth Conference in 1980’s, an event that is considered to be an initiating event for US ecofeminism (Sturgeon 1997), and has published extensively on ecofeminism since the early 1980’s.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 170 practice because a collection usually draws together several strands of an issue and such an exercise parallels the ecofeminist practice of drawing on a range of systems of knowledge and beliefs to inform praxis – a reflection of the respect for diversity of life so important to ecofeminist thought. Irrespective of whether an ecofeminist text is an edited volume or singularly authored, it will usually stress the importance of the diversity of life and connectedness between all forms of life. This is one of the central tenets of ecofeminism, together with others such as the interdependence of cultural and biological diversity (Shiva, 1993); the recognition of the subordinate position of women (and nature) in the dualistic distinction between humanity (man) and nature made by Western patriarchal society, so that “women are associated with, and materially experience, a relationship with the natural world” (Mellor, 1997: 59); and the belief that the division between humanity and nature is culturally fabricated (Salleh, 1997; 2000).

That is not to say that entire books written by ecofeminist authors don’t exist – they certainly do: Rosemary Radford Ruether’s influential New Woman, New Earth was published in 1975. Susan Griffin’s Woman and Nature: The Roaring Inside Her has inspired feminists and environmentalists alike since it was first published in 1978. The well-known feminist historian of science, Carolyn Merchant (1980) delivered an important historical account of the treatment of women and nature throughout the scientific revolution, and of the connections between them, in The Death of Nature. It is found in the bibliography of most ecofeminist books written since, as is Green Paradise Lost by Elizabeth Dodson- Gray (1979). More recently, Vandana Shiva has contributed a Southern perspective with detailed analyses of the effects of Western-style “progress” on the lives of the people, particularly women, of the South. She has authored and edited several books, including Staying Alive: Women, Ecology and Development (1989), The Violence of the Green Revolution: Third World Agriculture, Ecology and Politics (1991) and Close to Home: Women Reconnect Ecology, Health and Development Worldwide (1994).

I think of ecofeminism as a “mode of being” which incorporates both theory and practice. It was born out of feminist activists’ involvement in the conservation movement, as Mies and Shiva (1993) note in Ecofeminism. This book provides

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 171 contributions from both Northern and Southern experiences and has become a seminal text. They state that the inspiration for the book can be attributed to their increasing awareness, as feminist activists, that the problems for women are related to those affecting nature. In their words: “the common ground for women’s liberation and the preservation of life on earth is to be found in the activities of those women who have become the victims of the development process and who struggle to conserve their subsistence base” (Mies and Shiva, 1993: 12).

Feminism and the Mastery of Nature by Val Plumwood (1993), an Australian philosopher, provides an Australian feminist’s perspective on the domination of women and nature in the dualistic Western world. Merchant (1996) made a significant contribution with her analysis of the history, theory and practice of the association between women and nature in Earthcare. A feminist and professor of sociology, Mary Mellor (1997), gave us a clear and informative examination of the relationship between feminism and the green movement in Feminism and Ecology.

In recent times, ecofeminist literature has turned to politics: Ariel Salleh, another Australian community activist and academic and a vocal ecofeminist writer, and Noël Sturgeon added rich and lively works to the list. Both give excellent overviews of the development of ecofeminist literature and thinking. Salleh (1997), in Ecofeminism as Politics: Nature, Marx and the Postmodern, presents a description of the struggles of the ecofeminist ecopolitical community over the last twenty years of the 20th century. She argues that ecofeminism, expressing an embodied materialism, will be a strong force in the fight against environmental degradation and economic exploitation, and that the path for environmentalism to follow is the union of women’s and indigenous struggles.

Sturgeon (1997) with Ecofeminist Natures: Race, Gender, Feminist Theory and Political Action explores ecofeminism from several angles: historical, ethnographic, sociological, political and theoretical. Grounded in Sturgeon’s own personal involvement in grassroots ecofeminist action in North America during the late 1980’s, the book provides an historical account of the development of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 172 ecofeminist politics. Sturgeon also gives a useful critique of environmentalist and feminist discourses of gender and racial difference.

Catriona Sandilands (1999) also focuses on politics in The Good-Natured Feminist: Ecofeminism and the Quest for Democracy. As the title suggests, Sandilands discusses ecofeminism as a body of democratic theory, describes its origin in debates about nature in North American radical feminisms, its entanglement in identity politics and its current aim: to politicise relations between gender and nature in both theory and action.

When introducing the subject of ecofeminism, questions about what it is and how to define an ecofeminist invariably arise. There is no single definition which satisfactorily encompasses all the matters it concerns itself with, a point which is reflected in the language used to describe it. For example, Val Plumwood calls it a “label” (Plumwood, 1986: 120); Karen Warren frames it as a “position” (Warren, 1997: xi) and, with Cheney, “a sensibility” (Warren and Cheney, 1996: 244).

Merchant (1996) and Sturgeon (1997) both note that one of US ecofeminism’s “initiating” events took place in 1980 when a major conference on “Women and Life on Earth” was held in Amherst, Massachusetts. It generated ongoing “Women and Life on Earth” groups that published newsletters and organised other conferences, and out of it grew the organising efforts for the Women’s Pentagon Actions44 (Sturgeon, 1997).

Many ecofeminist writings separate or categorise the “strands” which together constitute ecofeminism – philosophy, activism, politics, theory, spirituality – but allow space to them all within the one work, for example Plant (1989); Gaard (1993); Warren (1996; 1997). Another characteristic of ecofeminist writers is that their academic work was often born in, or strongly influenced by, grassroots activism or personal experience. Since its beginnings ecofeminist literature has dealt not only with the links between women and nature, but has also recognised

44 The first Women’s Pentagon Action in November 1980 involved hundreds of women gathering in Washington DC to protest against “nuclear power plants, nuclear weapons, the neutron bomb, and the MX missile as violent weapons, damaging to human life, reproductive health, and the natural environment” (Merchant, 1996: 152)). Other similar actions, involving large numbers of women demonstrating and engaging in civil disobedience, followed in 1981 (Sturgeon, 1997: 27).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 173 the links between all forms of domination. Thus it is concerned with the treatment not just of women and nature, but also indigenous peoples and the working class. Ecofeminist activism has become a movement to rid the world of all the oppressions which result in those familiar “isms”: sexism, racism, ageism, and it adds another one to the list – what Warren (1997: 4) refers to as naturism, or the unjustified domination of nature.

This is unsurprising because a fundamental trait of ecofeminism is its endeavour to break down the dualisms that are ingrained in Western life, including the age- old divides between theory and practice, academia and the “real world. In this respect ecofeminism differs from the fields it brings together – feminism and environmentalism – in that the theorists and activists associated with them are often not the same people, whereas ecofeminists frequently are both. For example, Salleh describes a vast range of women’s activism as ecofeminist and, in outlining the early developments of ecofeminism, notes that “by 1976 in Australia, women Friends of the Earth in Brisbane, tired of supplying coffee, minutes and free sex, conferenced on women and ecology” (Salleh, 1997: 18).45

Noël Sturgeon also sees the beginning of ecofeminism as arising from a “feminist rebellion within various radical environmentalisms” (Sturgeon, 1997: 50) although she notes that rather than it being a coherent, single source movement, it is “a movement that arises out of different movement contexts” (Sturgeon, 1997: 50). Her description of the rift between the members of the US-based deep ecology organisation, EarthFirst!, which was caused by the ecofeminist actions and demands of some women members, particularly Judi Bari, is at once enlightening and entertaining. Bari, together with other female members of Earth First!, dissatisfied with the macho image and tactics of Earth First! and its lack of attention to sexism and racism, argued for a change in tactics as well as analysis. She and other feminist members urged the organisation to move away from its narrow emphasis on biocentrism – towards social change, not just conservation, and eventually, though not without a struggle, ecofeminism found room within

45 Salleh does, however, point out that other catalysts for her ecofeminism included involvement in community groups, the Labor Party, the Greens, and the politics of their interactions with the Socialist Workers’ Party (Salleh, 2000).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 174 Earth First! (Sturgeon, 1997). 46

In the poetic and very “earthy” language of her frequently quoted essay “Ecofeminism: Our Roots and Our Flowering”, Charlene Spretnak points out that ecofeminism grew out of radical feminism and that the three most well-trodden “paths into our rich and fertile garden” (Spretnak, 1990: 4) are a) the study of political theory and history; b) exposure to nature-based religion, usually that of the Goddess; and c) environmentalism. Her essay, in Reweaving the World: the Emergence of Ecofeminism (Diamond and Orenstein, 1990) – an anthology that has also been identified as a key ecofeminist text – is a beautiful example of rich and creative writing that interleaves theoretical material with poetic creativity. Her choice of “organic flavoured” descriptive language reflects the grassroots nature of much ecofeminist literature as well as the diversity of material it encompasses.

Finding a clear definition of ecofeminism is difficult because there are so many different ways of looking at ecofeminism. Val Plumwood seems to treat ecofeminism more as a theoretical construct than a social movement. In one of her earlier pieces on ecofeminism, she describes it as “the label given to the body of literature whose theme is the link between the domination of women and the domination of nature” (1986: 120). Later, she sees ecofeminism as a good framework for the exploration of the interconnections between social domination and the domination of nature. She argues that, since the oppressed are often both feminised and naturalised, the domination of women is a well-theorised model for illuminating many other kinds of domination (1993:18).

As I noted above, Warren and Cheney see the term “ecological feminism” as referring to “a sensibility that feminist concerns are bound up with concern for the natural world that has been subjected to the same sorts of abuse and ambivalent behaviour as have women” (1996: 244). Karen Warren describes ecofeminism as “the position that there are important connections between how one treats women, people of colour, and the underclass on one hand and how one treats the nonhuman natural environment on the other” (1997: xi).

46 For the full description and a detailed analysis of the transformative role played by ecofeminism within EarthFirst! see Sturgeon, 1997: 49–57.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 175 In her introductory chapter to Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature, Greta Gaard provides a clear and succinct introduction to ecofeminism. She makes three central points:

1) that an interconnected sense of self is the theoretical basis of ecofeminism; 2) that theorists must ideally be activists; and 3) that ecofeminism has demonstrated why the environment is a feminist issue by setting out the connections between women and nature (Gaard, 1993: 9).

By recognising that the connecting feature is the oppressive systems of patriarchal capitalism – racism and sexism – ecofeminism also links indigenous people with women and nature.

However writers on ecofeminism also perceive a connection between women, indigenous people and nature in that, in Western thinking, they are all placed on the “inferior” side of a dualistic hierarchy, and as such are exploited and oppressed by the same systems (Warren, 1997: 4; Sessions, 1996: 143).

4.1.2 Interconnection, not Dualism

One of the keystones of ecofeminist thinking is a rejection of the dualism which characterises Western thought and behaviour, so the concept of dualism is a central target of ecofeminist thinking and practice and it is dealt with by several ecofeminist authors, including Ruether (1975); Griffin (1978); Dodson Gray (1979); Plumwood (1986, 1993); Warren (1990); King (1989, 1990); Li (1993); Salleh (1984, 1997: 13). Rosemary Radford Ruether and Val Plumwood especially have covered it in detail, and it is these two I will focus on here.

Rosemary Radford Ruether's New Woman, New Earth: Sexist Ideologies and Human Liberation (1975) is an example of those works which began to make the links between the causes of women’s liberation and ecology. Ruether notes that sexism is the last cause to be addressed in modern liberation movements, despite the subjugation of women having been defined by Engels as the first oppressor- oppressed relation. She argues this is the case because “its stereotypes are older and deeper in our culture than any others” (Ruether, 1975: 3) and that sexual

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 176 dualism is the model for our organisational relationships – consciousness, self and world-views, hierarchical society, human-nature relations, and the relation of God and creation. It is not only women who are defined in relation to men, but “a repressive view of the alien female was also the model for the inferiorisation of other subjugated groups, lower classes and conquered races” (Ruether, 1975: 4), and the perceptions of those groups are similarly stereotyped not because they share a likeness, but because it is the same dominant group (ruling class males) doing the perceiving (Ruether, 1975: 4). Ruether argues that:

Patriarchal religion split apart the dialectical unities of mother religion into absolute dualism, elevating a male-identified consciousness to transcendent apriority. Fundamentally this is rooted in an effort to deny one’s own mortality, to identify essential (male) humanity with a transcendent divine sphere beyond the matrix of coming-to-be-and- passing-away. By the same token, woman became identified with the sphere of finitude that one must deny in order to negate one’s own origins and inclusion in this realm. The woman, the body, and the world were the lower half of a dualism that must be declared posterior to, created by, subject to, and ultimately alien to the nature of (male) consciousness, in whose image man made his God (Ruether 1975: 195).

Hence the destruction of nature and the oppression of women are legitimised by a hierarchical social structure (rooted in dualism) that allows one group to dominate another (Li, 1993: 273).

Val Plumwood’s insights are a valuable contribution to this issue. She argues that Western culture has treated the human/nature relation as a dualism, and that this underpins the environmental crisis (1993: 2). In dualistic thinking, differences are construed as polarised opposites, with the more highly valued side, such as males and humans, Western culture and reason, taken as primary, and the subordinated side, such as females and nature, defined in relation to it (Plumwood, 1993: 32).

Plumwood employs the concept of the “master category” of reason, and argues that the exclusion of the female and the natural from it links the domination of women and nature. In her formulation, the conceptual strength of racism, sexism and colonialism has come from the casting of sexual, racial and ethnic difference as closer to the animal and the body construed as inferior, lacking rationality and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 177 culture. The reason/nature, mind/body split is extended to include man/woman, culture/nature and Western/indigenous people (Plumwood, 1993: 4).

The patriarchal equation of women and nature has meant that where women are degraded, nature will be degraded and where women are perceived as nurturing and giving, so nature will be seen as a fertile, endless resource, available for exploitation (Sturgeon, 1997: 28; Plumwood, 1986: 127). Salleh (1997) describes this relationship in terms of the equation “man/woman = nature”. In the case of indigenous people, this conception is clearly evident in the treatment of them by Europeans as savages, as primitive people without culture. As already discussed, despite the obvious presence of Aboriginal people, such thinking enabled the colonisation of Australia as a terra nullius, an empty land devoid of people, because their social and political organisation was not recognised by the British as indicative of a civilised culture and because their relationships to land did not conform to British conceptualisations of “owned” territory.

So, as it is for Plumwood,

an anti-dualist ecological feminism must also be understood then as an integrative project with respect to other liberation struggles, for the dualisms which have characterised Western culture, and which are linked philosophically to rationalism, also correspond in important ways to its main forms of repression, alienation and domination (1993: 40).

This brings us to the issue of the linkages between feminism and environmentalism and thence to the relevance of ecological feminism to indigenous people.

4.2 Ecofeminist Living

King (1990) argues that the system in which women have demanded equal participation is rotten – made so by the dualistic mind-set of hierarchy, the root of which is the domination of human by human, especially women by men. Another connecting feature between women, indigenous people and nature is their shared history as the property of men. So, from the perspective of ecofeminism, “the goals of feminism, ecology and movements against racism are internally related

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 178 and must be understood and pursued together in a world-wide, genuinely pro-life movement” (King, 1990: 107).

Feminism and environmentalism are thus connected in that they are both fighting the same battle. They both “embody the revolt of nature against human domination and demand that we rethink the relationship between humanity and the rest of nature.” (King, 1990: 117). However, feminist politics needs to recognise not only this but also the futility of achieving equality for women in a system which is already “rotten” – as King (1990: 121) asks, what is the point of liberating people if the planet cannot sustain their liberated lives?

But which feminism? That term encompasses a broad range of approaches, as does “environmentalism”. I believe ecofeminism draws most upon the approach of radical feminism, but the basic tenets of the other forms also flavour it and, as Robyn Eckersley (a highly regarded Australian theorist of environmental politics) notes, given that there are many different kinds of feminism, it is unsurprising that there is also more than one kind of ecofeminism (1992: 70). In order to show the similarities and differences between them the main forms of feminism are briefly outlined below.

Radical Feminism Radical feminism has examined the human-nature connection more deeply than most other second-wave feminisms. It is based on the assumption that the dominance of men over women is the most fundamental form of oppression, and is the kind of feminism that most celebrates “the female” (Burgmann, 1993: 84). Radical feminists pay particular attention to oppression based on sex, and focus on reproductive freedom and violence against women, and call for separatism from men (Bulbeck, 1998). Hence, the women’s space described in vignette (vii) can be most closely associated with this form of feminism.

There are some ecofeminist theorists who, taking the radical or cultural feminist line, support the notion that the way to end the oppression of women is to simply invert the dualism – to place higher value on women and women’s work. Overlapping with this position is one which sees women and nature connected by virtue of their biology, arguing that because of women’s reproductive

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 179 characteristics, they are more likely to have a special affinity with the natural, rhythmical cycles of life (Sturgeon, 1997: 29; Merchant, 1990: 101; King, 1990).

The critique of environmentalism offered by radical feminism is taken up by ecofeminism – that is, that environmentalism is unaware of the interconnectedness of nature and women, retains hierarchies and gives insufficient attention to environmental threats to women’s reproduction (Merchant, 1990: 104). Its belief in, and celebration of, spiritual and personal connections with nature also allies it closely with ecofeminist spirituality, although neither all radical feminists nor all ecofeminists associate themselves with this form of spirituality. However, as Sturgeon (1997: 29) notes, many people in search of a feminist spirituality are comfortable with the designation of ecofeminist.

Those who practise neopagan, or ecofeminist spirituality, often expressed as earth-mother and goddess worship, make a strong connection between women and nature. This spiritual feminism favours the building of “power-from-within” in order to dissolve the estrangement of humans from nature. Goddess cults use their myths and rites to generate a respect for nature and for human nature; and above all for the natural processes and transitions that shape women’s lives (Foley, 1994: 195-6).

Feminist spirituality attempts to recreate goddess cults on the principles of modern feminism by adapting historical material as a source of ritual and symbolism. It uses symbols of the goddess to create new myths and draw strength from images of female power. Goddess cults use their myths and rites to generate a respect for nature and for human nature, and above all for the natural processes and transitions that shape women’s lives: birth, growth, the menarche, pregnancy and childbirth, aging, and death. Politically, they favour non-hierarchical collectives and concern for peace and the environment (Foley, 1994: 194-5).

However, the radical feminist celebration of the female and the close connection it claims for women and nature have been criticised as “essentialist” and therefore as potentially damaging to the feminist cause. That criticism has been extended to ecofeminism as a result of the similarities in their claims. This concern was

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 180 vocalised in the Jabiluka context by Mark Wakeham,47 (a founding member of the camp) in his comment that “ecofeminism is bad because it continues to emphasise the role of women as the nurturers and the carers and that’s a relationship that has to be broken down or not emphasised” (Wakeham, 1998). I discuss essentialism in more detail below.

Liberal Feminism The traditional liberal feminist response to the problem of sexism is to demand legislative reform and affirmative action so that the barriers to women’s emancipation can be dismantled. The modern liberal feminist argument, according to Burgmann, “assumes equality for women can be achieved without major alterations to the economic and political structures of contemporary capitalist structures” (1993, 83). Campaigns for the introduction of anti-discrimination laws, equal employment opportunities, and the provision of adequate child-care services have all been features of liberal feminist activism.

The liberal feminist image of a feminist environmentalism is one in which women’s participation in natural resource management and the environmental sciences is an adequate means of redressing male – female power imbalances. Ecofeminism, however, sees liberal feminism as lacking a structural analysis, arguing that its individualistic approach to reform is at odds with the holistic perspective required for an end to the oppression of women and the environment (Merchant 1990).

A liberal feminist analysis would suggest that women have made good progress in achieving equality in the Jabiluka campaign – there were large numbers of women participating, in highly visible and important roles, making decisions, designing and implementing liaison and protest strategies. While this is true of the grassroots campaigning level, women’s involvement at the top levels of the peak green groups is less visible, as I note in Chapter Five.

Socialist Feminism Socialist feminism exists in a spectrum: at one end is a belief that a combination

47 Mark had long-term involvement in the camp and is now one of the coordinators of the ECNT.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 181 of class and patriarchy is responsible for the subordination of women to men – and that both capitalism and men accrue the benefits of that subordination. At the other end of the spectrum is the Marxist emphasis on class and an insistence that it is the capitalist system (as opposed to men) that causes the subordination of women – invaluable services are supplied free of charge to the capitalist system by women within the nuclear family. Regardless of which end of that spectrum they come from socialist feminists “raised the importance of class and capitalism to an understanding of women’s lot, contributing much to the analysis of how the economy and the state affect detrimentally the position of women” (Burgmann, 1993: 87).

In Mellor’s view “both social and socialist ecofeminists see a dialectical relation between human structures of inequality and the destruction of nature” (1997: 162). She also argues that although the rejection of capitalism is featured in the ecofeminist critique of western society, very few ecofeminists adopt a socialist analysis in the Marxian sense. So, for example, Merchant denies the centrality of the Marxian analysis of production by stressing that both reproduction and production are given central places in a socialist feminist environmental ethic (Mellor, 1997: 162).

According to Mellor (1997), socialist feminists have “traditionally” resisted ecofeminism as they have identified it with cultural/spiritual/radical feminism which they perceive as placing too much emphasis on biological differences between men and women and as lacking a structural analysis. Given that resistance, socialist ecofeminism seems to be in a contradictory position, drawing as it does on both “the social constructionism and economic determinism of socialist analysis and the ecologically holist, nature-oriented approach of ecofeminism” (Mellor, 1997: 162). However, as Mellor goes on to argue, ecofeminism needs socialist, green and feminist ideas if it is to develop “a radical politics that will lead to an ecologically sustainable and socially just society” (1997: 163).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 182 4.2.1 Ecofeminist Essentials

The concept of essentialism is important in the discussion of ecofeminism because ecofeminism itself has often been charged with being essentialist – for claiming an innate connection between women and nature, for suggesting that women’s concern for the environment is instinctive, or that they are “naturally” environmentalists. Essentialism is usually understood “as a belief in the real, true essence of things, the invariable and fixed properties which define the ‘whatness’ of a given entity” (Fuss, 1989: xi), That essence of things has been described as “that which is most irreducible, unchanging and therefore constitutive of a given person or thing” (Fuss, 1989: 2).

Sexist forms of essentialism have been used to dominate women, and because anti-essentialism has been the tool of feminist theory – the means for deconstructing sexist notions of what women should be and how they should behave (Sturgeon, 1997: 12) – many feminists have rejected ecofeminism on the basis that it can be perceived as essentialist.

The question of essentialism continues to plague ecofeminist theory, usually arising in the context of its celebration of the female; in the goddess worship of ecofeminist spirituality, or in response to alleged claims that all women around the world experience environmental degradation more directly than men and that the rhythmical form of women’s reproductive cycles, together with the close proximity to natural bodily functions required by child-rearing, has meant that women are more likely to have maintained a closer connection to nature. Ecofeminist arguments that make these connections between women and nature have been identified with an essentialist universalism. For example, ecofeminism is sometimes “seen as positing a biologically based unity between women and the natural world that excludes men and unites all women through their essential life- giving, life-loving ‘natures’” (Mellor, 1997: 2); and critics of ecofeminism often “argue that such a perspective is reactionary as it essentializes and naturalizes both women and nature” (Mellor, 1997: 2).

The women-nature link concerns some feminist theorists who are fearful that it is buying into stereotyped notions of women as instinctive carers and nurturers. A

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 183 pertinent example of this fear is expressed by Penny Figgis48 (1998) in her concern that claiming a female connection with the environment might lead to an expectation that women must turn from being God’s police into Gaia’s police – from cleaning up the home to cleaning up the world, a fear that could easily be reinforced by the image on the cover of a well-known ecofeminist anthology edited by Greta Gaard. It consists of a reproduction of a painting entitled “Women Wiping Up the World” by Jane Evershed, which depicts a number of black women mopping, scrubbing, hosing and polishing a tropical beach scene. The implications are that women are the caretakers of the world (especially black women) and that this is a positive thing.

The trap into which such criticisms of ecofeminism have fallen is that of the failure to recognise that these characteristics of women’s lives are not attributed by ecofeminists to some innate feature shared by all women, but that they are a result of the social conditions in which women’s lives are lived. This constructivist position has often been placed in complete opposition to essentialism.

Like Sturgeon,49 I have grappled with being unable to either completely reject or totally support ecofeminism. As a feminist, warning bells ring when an essentialist flavour creeps into ecofeminist conversation or action, such as when it is suggested that women have a “special, nurturing” connection with “Mother Nature”. But I can also clearly see the parallels in the treatment of both women (in general) and nature by the Western world, and thus the value in “risking essentialism” (Fuss, 1989).

It is evident that women do represent a higher proportion of the membership of green groups and do provide more unpaid services for those organisations than men. However, according to Karen Alexander (ACF’s Environment Manager

48 Penny Figgis has been a high profile figure in the Australian conservation movement for many years. She is currently a Vice-President of the ACF and a Director of the Australian Tourist Commission. 49 Sturgeon (1997: 6) notes that she has struggled to maintain the precarious position of being the “outsider within”, engaged in a constructive critique of both ecofeminism and feminist theory, a position with which I feel I can identify, both with respect to ecofeminism and as an activist on an academic mission during my fieldwork.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 184 1990-1993) in Australia currently all of the directors of national conservation organisations and the majority of the directors of State-based conservation councils are men, as are most of their senior staff.50 Yet the majority of their employees are women – in the lower paid and lower status jobs – and the majority of volunteers are women (Alexander, 2000). Stating this is not claiming an innate connection - it is merely acknowledging reality. Women’s aptitude for sustaining, or “holding” labour51 is the result of the social construction of their lives: women are expected to behave in this way, just as men are not. Their skills are therefore “practiced to such an extent that certain insights and values emerge that are characteristic to them” (Salleh, 2001).

In my view, a more problematic issue for ecofeminism is when it leans towards an essentialism of race – when indigenous women are drawn in to the realm of ecofeminism whether they choose it or not, by way of romantic imagery and rhetoric about indigenous spirituality or sustainable living practices. In section 4.2.3 I outline the racism with which Australian Aboriginal women have had to contend within both the women’s and the conservation movements. Before that, however, I want to discuss the ways that ecofeminism is lived and experienced, in order to demonstrate that ecofeminism is not an essentialist position, but represents an analysis of humans as embodied by and embedded in their environments.

4.2.2 Direct Connections

Merchant (1992: 20), speaking of colonised Third World countries, says that women are often at the forefront of change to protect their own lives, those of their children, and the life of the planet. While agreeing that it is true that women

50 I do acknowledge, however, that this issue is not straightforward and that a number of women have held prominent and powerful positions at various times since the early 1990’s, for example Tricia Caswell was ACF’s director from 1992-1996, and Lynette Thorstensen, Midge Dunn and Bronwyn Berkenstein each held the directorship of Greenpeace Australia in the period 1992 – 1997. I also acknowledge that some green groups, such as Greenpeace and FoE, have made concerted efforts to rectify the gender imbalance. 51 I thank Ariel Salleh for this concept of “holding” labour.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 185 more often take on the role of protectors and nurturers of life, ecofeminists also warn against the stereotyping of women as “closer to nature” and more “naturally” caring as it risks reinforcing their unpaid and lowly status (Ruether, 1996: 2). It is important to realise that women live as they do as a product of social pressures rather than as an innate ability or essence – that they are socially constructed as closer to nature. That is, the social conditions in which they live generally bind them to nature. In the case of women in the Third World, women are literally closer to the earth by virtue of their involvement in agriculture, water collection and firewood gathering; in industrial settings they are directly exposed to industrial contamination, and women in both the Third and the First Worlds are “closer” to the “natural” processes of child-rearing and, as carers, often experience the effects of environmental degradation (for example, on the health of their families) more directly than men.

The overexploitation and degradation of natural resources such as trees and water has a profound and direct impact on women in the Third World. In developing countries, the quality of women’s lives is usually more dependent than men’s on tree and forest products and healthy water supplies. Typically it is the women who must walk further and further to collect supplies of water and firewood as they are increasingly diminished, and due to the contamination of water supplies, are more exposed to the health risks associated with unsanitary water, such as malaria, river blindness, diarrhoea (Mies and Shiva, 1993; Warren, 1997: 7). Realisation of these effects has resulted in the formation of local activist groups such as the Chipko52 movement to protect the forests in northern India (Shiva, 1989).

Contamination of the environment, especially from radioactive waste, is of particular interest to women because of the potential deformities it may cause to children, and it is typically women who are responsible for the daily care, health

52 According to Shiva (1989), women in the Garwal region of Uttat Pradesh started the recent Chipko movement in the early 1970’s. Women there embraced the living trees as their protectors with the aim of preventing commercial exploitation. The women depend on the diversity of the forests for a range of resources necessary for sustaining family life, including food, fuel and fodder. Shiva notes also that although the Chipko movement was “fuelled by the ecological insights and political and moral strengths of women” (1989: 67), it is only some male activists who have obtained visibility – the women’s contribution has been neglected. Chipko also has a longer history – 300 years ago, led by Amrita Devi, many members of the Bishnoi community in Rajasthan risked their lives to save their sacred khejri trees by clinging to them (Shiva, 1989: 67).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 186 and well-being of children. As Salleh (1997) puts it, the products and by-products of industrialisation threaten both life and the reproduction of life.

In both First and Third world countries, many local grassroots environmental movements have come about as a result of women becoming aware of pollution or degradation of their local environment In the process of trying to protect the health of their families, they have become skilled campaigners and have developed political expertise. One of the best-known examples of this kind of ecofeminist activism is the US case of Love Canal, where Lois Gibbs, housewife and mother, led the Love Canal Homeowner’s Association in a campaign against hazardous waste disposal in her local residential area (Merchant, 1995).53

And in Sydney, the fight to save Kelly’s Bush in Hunters Hill was begun in the early 1970’s by a group of middle-class housewives who formed an alliance with the Builders Labourers Federation. The result of that unlikely alliance was the first of the Green Bans, union bans on development projects which threatened the quality of life of working class people, or were likely to destroy properties of heritage value. The green ban campaign “maintained that all work performed should be of a socially useful and ecologically benign nature” (Burgmann, 1993:192). The bans ensured the protection of Kelly’s Bush (a waterfront reserve) and the historic Rocks area from development amongst others.

Another bond between women, peoples of the South and nature is observed by Mies. In an interview with Ariel Salleh she argues that since women’s work, and all other forms of non-wage labour, were categorised by Marx as “non- productive” labour, it disappears from the social, or human, sphere – it becomes “locked up in the family, the realm of nature” (Mies and Salleh, 1990: 78). As society dominates nature, so (productive) man dominates (unproductive) woman. Naturalisation should be seen alongside its other pole – that of ‘humanisation’ or ‘civilisation’, a category that implies an independence of humans and the environment from nature via science and technology. Seen in this way, naturalisation also means that “not only external nature, but also women and

53 Several highly pertinent, cross-cultural examples of this kind of women’s activism are detailed in Close to Home, a collection of case studies edited by Shiva (1994).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 187 peoples of the South are seen as ‘nature’. So defined, they are robbed of subjectivity, spiritual value, dignity and sovereignty (Mies and Salleh, 1990: 78).

According to Shiva the roots of environmental degradation are in patriarchal capitalism, particularly western capitalism. She argues that Western style progress, or development, is more correctly termed maldevelopment and that it is really a continuation of colonisation. Without colonisation, there could be no accumulation of capital. Hence, development is an “extension of modern Western patriarchy’s economic vision based on the exploitation or exclusion of women … on the exploitation and destruction of nature, and on the exploitation and destruction of other cultures” (Shiva, 1990: 273).

Other scholars, too, have pointed out that, rather than achieving economic progress, “the strategy of development in the Third World produced the opposite effect: underdevelopment, debt crises, and exploitation. Indigenous peoples throughout the world suffered the brunt of development” (Banerjee, 2000: 12). In the discourse of development and progress, the economies of indigenous peoples are classified as “subsistence” and they are seen as needing to “develop”. In fact, development has led to underdevelopment (Shiva, 1990).

Shiva’s concept of “maldevelopment” is particularly relevant in the context of Jabiluka because the Mirrar struggle is equally about the rights of a dispossessed people to control their land and their economic development as it is about conserving their cultural heritage and protecting the natural environment. The Jabiluka and Ranger mines can accurately be described as examples of maldevelopment. Ranger was hailed as the means for the traditional owners to escape the cycle of poverty in which they were caught. Mirrar were assured that any risk of leakage of contaminated water into the wetlands downstream was minimal. Yet Ranger has been plagued by water management problems throughout its operational life, most recently as a result of manganese leaking from a corroded pipe into the constructed wetland filter system and eventually into the Magela Creek waterway (GAC, 2000b). Mining royalties, it was promised, would make up for the loss of their land and for the risks posed to the nearby sacred sites. In reality, social and economic conditions have actually

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 188 worsened for Mirrar in the 17 years since Ranger commenced operation (APC, 1997). Serious concerns are held now about the survival of Mirrar and their culture. There are only 27 adult members of the Mirrar clan left (GAC [1]).

4.2.3 Division, Difference, Equality

Ecofeminism brings together the theories of ecology and feminism, and their corresponding activist movements – environmentalism and the women’s movement, both social movements that have a history of problematic relations with Aboriginal Australia. It would seem then that a theory and a practice which draws on both these movements is unlikely to be useful in the context of a protest over a uranium mine located on Aboriginal land. I demonstrate in this thesis that that is not the case at Jabiluka, but firstly I will outline briefly the ways that racism has affected relations among members of the above-mentioned social movements.

Feminist theorists have been criticised for losing touch with the practicalities of the world and the people that they theorise about. In particular, they have often been charged with belonging to a white, middle class elite which theorises about a generalised category of “women” without direct experience of indigenous women’s lives, or consultation with them, or which serves the interests of white women in a racist environment, excluding black women from the gains made (Smith, 1997; Sykes, 1984; hooks, 1981; Eisenstein, 1984).

In 1976 Pat O’Shane, Australia’s first Aboriginal magistrate, added her voice to those of other Aboriginal women in saying that the greatest problem facing Aboriginal women in this society is racism. She went on to argue that racism was a problem that all women in the women’s movement needed to come to terms with, and that they should examine whether or not the aims of white women were necessarily those of black women, suggesting that the reason for the apparent reluctance of Aboriginal women to involve themselves in the women’s movement was related to their lower social status. The issues Aboriginal women were (and still are) confronted with are different from those of white women. While the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 189 white women’s movement was preoccupied with sexism, Aboriginal women were also faced with the effects of racism – inadequate housing, medical care and education, unemployment and skewed legal statistics. O’Shane places the different priorities of the two groups in sharp perspective with the words “sexist attitudes did not wipe out whole tribes of our people, sexist attitudes are not slowly killing our people today – racism did, and continues to do so!” (O’Shane, 1976: 33). So, bluntly but realistically, she stated that when the women’s movement is prepared to confront the struggle against racism, “then we’ve got a chance of achieving sisterhood and, through our combined struggles, liberation of all humankind” (O’Shane, 1976: 34).54

An excellent, concise overview of the role played by Aboriginal women in the many struggles they have been confronted with since Australia’s invasion by white people is provided by Goodall and Huggins (1992). They note that the women’s movement failed to recognise the overarching effects of racism on Aboriginal women, and point out that “in asking Aboriginal women to stand apart from Aboriginal men, the white women’s movement was, perhaps unconsciously, repeating the attempts made over decades by welfare administrations to separate Aboriginal women and use them against their communities” (Goodall and Huggins, 1992: 402). Bobbi Sykes, who is a prominent figure in the Aboriginal literary community, similarly stated that position. While acknowledging that black women are sexually oppressed, she believes that racial oppression is a far greater problem and that the division of the black community along sex lines would further weaken their position and “may in fact, spell doom to all our black people” (Sykes, 1984: 69).

Aside from this fundamental issue, there were distinctions between the conditions for Aboriginal women and those of the largely middle-class white women’s movement. Where white women argued that they were poorly educated relative to men, Aboriginal women were better educated than their men. Where white women demanded access to better paid jobs, Aboriginal women, if they were able

54 It is interesting to note that the issues are unchanged twenty years later, and also the prominent position O’Shane continues to play in this debate, highlighted recently by the furore regarding domestic and male sexual violence in the Aboriginal community sparked by her public defence of a male Aboriginal leader accused of rape, despite her solid feminist credentials (Baird, 2001).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 190 to gain employment at all, found that they were in jobs with higher status than Aboriginal men. The concern of the white women’s movement with sexuality – the right to say “yes” to sex – was contradictory to that of Aboriginal women who were fighting derogatory stereotypes and demanding the right to say “no”. Similarly, with the issue of fertility, where white women were demanding access to birth control and abortion, Aboriginal women were battling unwanted sterilisation and desiring the freedom to be able to have as many children as they wanted in the face of the loss of children to welfare control (Goodall and Huggins, 1992: 402; Bulbeck, 1991). Salleh also acknowledges the divisions between black and white women’s priorities during the 1970s. Describing black priorities as “womanist” rather than feminist she poignantly writes that “if white students massed on the streets of Sydney demanding abortion rights, Koori sisters living in car bodies on the outskirts of country towns wanted the right to keep their children alive” (Salleh, 1997: 104).

Not all high profile black women activists totally dismissed the cause of the women’s movement, however. In 1989 Marcia Langton spoke out on behalf of the progress against domestic violence in the Aboriginal community which has been made as a result of feminism. She argued that “Aboriginal women should not exclude themselves from feminist reforms on the grounds of cultural difference. Cultural difference is not a justification for brutality” (Langton, 1989: 1).

Against this backdrop of tension, lessons have been painfully and slowly learned, but even though some progress has been made, similar divisions along race and class lines are still evident within the contemporary women’s movement, showing themselves in, for example, the debate on the world’s overpopulation. As Ariel Salleh notes: “the Eurocentric answer to global crisis often coincides with the view of most middle class white men that population control in the Third World is the answer to women’s equality and environmental stress” (Salleh, 1997: 104).

Western imperialist tendencies are still evident in the mainstream conservation movement, fuelling ongoing conflict. As I detailed in Chapter Two, black activists in Australia have argued that land rights are central to their self-determination, and liken the term “wilderness” to terra nullius, believing that the reservation of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 191 land for environmental protection and the exploitation of Aboriginal culture in national parks is a deprivation of their land rights.

Given the history of colonisation and its accompanying Christian missionary efforts it is understandable if Aboriginal people view the branch of ecofeminism which focuses on earth/Goddess based spirituality with cynicism, as it often involves white people appropriating indigenous spiritual beliefs and practices for their own benefit without grounding themselves in the everyday lived struggles of indigenous people (Smith, 1997). In their efforts to Christianise Aborigines, white people attempted to eradicate such beliefs, yet now whitefellas are seen to be trying to resurrect it for their own advantage. This is an area addressed in detail by Sturgeon (1997) who argues that there is an ecofeminist discourse which conflates Asian women, Native American women and pre-Christian European pagan women into an idealised, symbolic indigeneity, representing the “ultimate ecofeminists”. Intended as an ant-iracist move, such a conflation results in the privileging of white women. It does so by erasing all difference between these groups and positions them as “racialised Others to a white Self that is Western, modern and industrialised” (Sturgeon, 1997: 114). Thus, the term “indigenous” comes to represent all traditional, non-Westernised people, regardless of the diversity of their cultural and social backgrounds, as though they are a single, homogenised entity. Sturgeon’s focus is on US events and racial differences, but similar patterns can be observed in Australia regarding Aboriginal women. “Indigenous” Australians become conceptualised as “traditional” people, and such a conception leads to a questioning of the “authenticity” of the Aboriginality of those people who do not behave in a “traditional” manner. Hence the difficulty accepting “Christianised” beliefs of the Mirrar women experienced by the white activists described in vignette (iv): “The Dress Code”.

4.2.4 Living Ecofeminism

Salleh argues that “most women already live an alternative relation to nature, one that activists engaged in reframing our history and renewing our politics might look to” (1997: 3). Salleh is apparently referring to the high proportion of women

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 192 in the Third World who live “closer” to the land – in agricultural lifestyles, many of which are closer to what we in the West believe to be more “sustainable” than Western style monocultural, intensive agriculture, and to the vast proportion of the “caring” work done by women everywhere in the world. But to say that the majority of women actually work and think in a way that might be emulated by environmentalists? I’m not sure I can agree – I query whether the women Salleh refers to are acting out of a desire to care for both the human and the non-human worlds, and out of a consciousness of the link between them. Such a consciousness must surely be required if their lives are to be modelled by activists engaged in social change?

Salleh’s response to the question of what constitutes an ecofeminist is that “an ecofeminist is anybody who carries out ecofeminist activities. That is, the term applies to a man or a woman whose political actions support the premise that the domination of nature and the domination of women are interconnected” (Salleh, 1997: 108). A consciousness of the self as an ecofeminist is not required by this “objective, structural definition” (Salleh, 1997: 108).

I agree with Salleh’s point that actions often come before ideological awareness, and that it is “actions that count in making history, not words, labels and self concepts” (1997: 108). Whether an individual self-defines as an ecofeminist or not is unimportant. However, in my view, a consciousness of the links between women and nature – of all the oppressed – is a required feature for any model being held up as ecofeminist. As Mies and Shiva say: “ecofeminism is about interconnectedness and wholeness of theory and practice. It asserts the special strength and integrity of every living thing” (1993: 14).

To that end then, the woman who lives a caring nurturing life – engaged in reproductive labours, as Salleh terms it, those labours so essential to developing and maintaining precious community networks – but without also acting according to an environmental ethic is not an ecofeminist to my mind. Nor is the environmental activist who ignores the gender issue and lives a life of “protecting” the environment without awareness of the needs of the human community.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 193 Merchant (1990: 105), in her comparison of the various types of feminism as the basis for ecofeminism, concludes that although there is great disparity between the positions taken by feminists, there is more unity than diversity in the common short term goal they share: to restore the quality of life for all inhabitants of the planet. On reading this conclusion, I am left with the sense that it is almost as if Merchant is saying that any branch of feminism will suffice as the model for ecofeminism. King, however, comes to a different conclusion – she argues that no feminism has adequately addressed the task of forging a “genuinely antidualistic, or dialectical, theory and practice” (1990: 116). Hence the need for ecofeminism.

Part of the difficulty in defining ecofeminism is that there is such a diversity of positions taken by ecofeminists with respect to both theory and practice. But despite the range of focuses and the sometimes-conflictual political stances taken by ecofeminists, the common ground between them can be found in their rejection of the assumption that women and nature are inferior to men and culture respectively (Plumwood, 1993: 36). As Plumwood (1993) notes, ecofeminism is often discussed as though it is a unitary position but I have shown here that that is not the case. The generalisation of ecofeminism as a unitary position, however falsely, often treats it as positing an essentialist woman-nature relationship. That there is such a wide scope of views and approaches which can be described as ecofeminist is, I believe, a reflection of the diversity of the backgrounds and experience of ecofeminists. It lends support to the ecofeminist call to respect diversity of life as well as being an example of that other core ecofeminist belief: the interconnectedness of all life. That is the ecological aspect of ecofeminism, and it is the location of the difference in approaches taken by ecofeminist scientists and Western science, the subject of section 4.3.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 194 4.3 Green and Mauve, Green and Black

4.3.1 Deeper than Deep Green?

FOR THE RIVER The mist on the river, the mountains and sky The wide ripples shimmer as the boats wander by, The whole world is watching the Wilderness war But we don’t have to ask what we’re fighting for.

Well you may think that this is some kind of game Where the rules keep on changing along with the names, The faces are many, the spirits are high But if you think we are playing, just look in our eyes.

We are here for the river, here for the forest Here for the planet, the place of our birth, We are here for the children, we are not an illusion We will never allow them to kill Mother Earth. (Brenda Liddiard in Cohen, 1996: 59).

Elements of deep ecological thought are evident in many grassroots environmental protests, as exemplified in the lyrics of protest songs such as the one above.

As I noted in Section 3.2.1, deep ecology lies at the “deepest green” end of the spectrum of environmentalism and as such can be considered the most extreme or radical form of environmental belief. Its biocentrism has been embraced by radical activist groups such as Earth First! (Foreman, 1998). But it has also been questioned by indigenous people for its failure to recognise that their rights are often more oppressed than those of nature (Mansell, 1990). Environmental campaigns utilising radical direct action deriving from deep ecology on issues like anti-logging, anti-mining, and demands for the creation of new national parks have often been conducted without consideration for or consultation with traditional owners (Toyne and Johnston, 1991).

Given its similarities with deep ecology, ecofeminism could be subjected to the same criticisms as are directed at the green movement by indigenous people. So an understandable question might well be asked: given the frequent conflicts between the green movement and Aboriginal people (as discussed in Chapter Two); of what use is ecofeminism to indigenous peoples’ struggles? Here it is

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 195 important to identify the differences between ecofeminism and deep ecology, the central one being the focus of deep ecology on anthropocentrism which blames ecological degradation on the domination of nature by humans. Ecofeminism, however, focuses on androcentrism, arguing that the anthropocentric approach taken by deep ecology overlooks the domination of both women and nature by men, which is seen by ecofeminists as the cause of the modern environmental crisis (Salleh, 1984; Merchant, 1994: 8, 9). This is a critique which has been the central issue taken up in the ecofeminism v deep ecology debate which occupied the minds and pens of ecofeminists and deep ecologists alike for the best part of the 1980’s.

Deep ecology fails to address the androcentrism of its position, its ecofeminist critics say. By analysing environmental problems purely in terms of power imbalances between humans and nature, deep ecology fails to recognise the human–human power imbalances implicit in the capitalist patriarchal system because it fails to recognise the sexual oppression experienced by women. It subsumes women’s experience into the general category of “man”. In doing so, according to Salleh, it

presupposes the differences between the sexes in an uncritical way and yet overlooks the point that if women’s lived experience were recognised as meaningful and were given legitimation in our culture, it could provide an immediate “living” social basis for the alternative consciousness which the deep ecologist is trying to develop … (1984: 340).

In the view of Salleh (1984) unless men become open to both facets of the urge to dominate and to use nature (the master-slave relationship of men–nature and men- women) then deep ecology’s move away from anthropocentrism towards biological egalitarianism will fail. She argues that despite deep ecology’s anti- class stance – its rejection of exploitation of some by others – sexual oppression is not addressed by Naess. So, for Salleh (1984: 340), insofar as it fails to deal with the parallels between the exploitation of nature and of nurturant women as objects and commodities, the deep ecological critique remains too shallow.

While many of the premises of deep ecology are of great value to the green movement they are based on the male perspective. As Salleh (1984) has shown,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 196 Naess’ deep ecology argues for the replacement of the Man/Nature dualism with a relational total-field image, in which man is not just in the environment but is essentially “of” it. The use of the generic term “man” is criticised by Salleh because it

simultaneously presupposes the difference between the sexes in an uncritical way, and yet overlooks the significance of this difference. It overlooks the point that if women’s lived experience were recognised as meaningful and were given legitimation in our culture, it could provide an immediate ‘living’ social basis for the alternative consciousness which the deep ecologist is trying to formulate and introduce as an abstract ethical construct (Salleh, 1984: 340).

Hence, following Salleh’s argument, deep ecologists are inclined to neglect to consider the perspective of women and indigenous people. And until they do, tensions between Aboriginal people and environmentalists will remain unresolved.

Another difference between deep ecology and ecofeminism that is crucial to this discussion is their attitudes towards political organising. Although Naess (1973) emphasises the importance of local autonomy and decentralising, as Salleh (1984) argues, unless green groups themselves revise their own organisational methods, the drive towards competition with and domination of the Other expressed in hierarchical power structures will continue. The majority of the peak green groups are still modelled on hierarchical organisational methods: executive directors and presidents occupy the most “senior” positions on executive committees and, as I noted earlier, these positions are disproportionately occupied by men. Doyle suggests that this reflects a pattern that is characteristic of formal political organising. He puts it like this: “As soon as movement politics starts to take on the traits of formalisation and hierarchy, men seem to emerge from nowhere to assume leadership roles, excluding women from advancement into institutional politics (Doyle, 2000).

Aboriginal people have struggled to subvert the terra nullius view of themselves as invisible beings in an empty landscape or as part of a natural landscape that has no value. While they yearn for their traditional relationship with country and argue that they are so closely connected to it they are inseparable (Rose 1996; Bell

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 197 1998, Pearson 1995b), they are at the same time forced to deny those connections in order to gain some foothold of power in the dominant society that oppresses both indigenous people and nature.

Deep ecology argues for humans to reconnect with nature – for neither humans nor nature to be seen as more valuable than the other, for a realisation of the self that extends beyond an egoic, biographical or personal sense of self to encompass all living beings (Fox, 1992:11). But a small minority of Westerners holds that worldview. In the dominant worldview, humans are granted more value than nature. So there is a conflict of approaches for Aboriginal people attempting to assert themselves as “better than” nature in the hierarchical system of the dominant worldview. And thus, there is conflict between those Aboriginal people and environmentalists who embrace the deep ecological perspective.

4.3.2 An Ecofeminist Critique of Science

Ecofeminists seek new ways of resolving the environmental crisis. They agree with deep ecology’s strategy of acknowledging the intrinsic value of all beings and adhere to the theory that all life systems are interconnected. But environmentalists’ reliance on Western science is called into question by ecofeminists. I elaborate on the reasoning for the ecofeminist critique of science below.

Merchant’s well-known account of the rise of capitalism and its accompanying ideology that “the Earth and nature can be exploited for human progress through technology” (1990: 103) readily springs to mind in relation to the Jabiluka protest. Since the organic view of nature as female, a nurturing mother, was replaced with a mechanistic model in the early modern period, nature has been perceived as inert matter – as exploitable resources, and women and indigenous people, seen as related to nature, came to be viewed in the same light. The conceptual links between women and nature, formed through the dualistic thinking at the core of mechanistic science and patriarchal capitalism, are reinforced by sexist and naturist language, and serve to perpetuate racist and colonialist practices.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 198 Marti Kheel takes a similar line in her description of the domination of nature and women by men in the patriarchal worldview, saying that:

The predominant image of nature throughout the Western patriarchal world has been that of an alien force. Nature, which has been imaged as female, has been depicted as the ‘other’, the raw material out of which culture and masculinity are formed (Kheel, 1993: 244).

Thus, the images of nature as “beast” and as “mindless matter” have been used to separate nature and culture. “Civilisation” is achieved by driving out, killing or taming the beast. Kheel (1993) also suggests that another image of nature favoured by the Western world is that of nature as mindless matter, existing only to serve the needs of superior, rational “Man”. In her view, this instrumental and hierarchical conception of nature has been contributed to by Jewish-Christian tradition, and by Aristotelian and Platonic philosophy, with “the conception of nature as an object for ‘Man's’ use being carried to an extreme by Cartesian philosophy” (Kheel, 1993: 247). The image of nature / women as mindless objects was employed for practical goals – profit, convenience, and knowledge. Although they seem unrelated, behind both these images is a single theme - nature as “other” – a mental construct in opposition to which a masculine/autonomous Self is attained (Kheel, 1993: 247).

Ecofeminist theorists such as Plumwood (1993); Mies and Shiva (1993); Merchant (1983, 1996); Mellor (1997) and Salleh (1997) argue that in the capitalist worldview which has come to dominate cultures all over the globe, both indigenous people and women are treated in a similar fashion to nature in a dualistic system which locates them in comparable positions on hierarchies of importance based on utilitarian, monetary values.

This has meant the subsumption of Third World civilisations into a mode that is Eurocentric and which subjugates women in an androcentric matrix. According to D’Souza this universal cosmology had its origins in the “political creed and philosophy of European liberal thought which proclaimed the ushering in of the industrial mode of production” (1989: 29). In the process of making Western culture, civilisation, and systems of knowledge universal, all that was “other” to the West was marginalised, devalued, reduced. And so, for example, the Green

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 199 Revolution55 was hailed as the answer to the shortage of food in Asia. In a “triumph of science” the hybridised seed and miracle fertilisers created in scientific laboratories would supposedly be superior substitutes for the self- regenerating seed and traditional agricultural techniques. It resulted, instead, in diseased crops and soils, pest infestations and greater economic problems for the communities who faced the impossible debts created by the expense of buying seed, fertiliser and machinery. The Indian Punjab, for example, was expected to be the most celebrated success of the Green Revolution but, more than two decades later, it is neither a land of prosperity, nor peace. Rather than abundance, Punjab has been left with diseased soils, pest-infected crops, water-logged deserts and indebted and discontented farmers. Instead of peace, it has inherited conflict and violence (Shiva, 1991). The Philippines has had a similar experience – despite a boom in rice production in the 1960’s and 1970’s, the result of the Green Revolution has been chronic rice and corn shortages which have increased the prices of these staple commodities. Forced to focus on the production of cash crops to repay massive foreign debt, the people remain poor and hungry, even though their country has become the world’s largest pineapple exporter and controls a huge proportion of the Japanese market for bananas (Ayupan and Oliveros, 1994). There are many other similar instances.

So women were alienated from their traditional practices of natural fertilisation and pest control by the Green Revolution, which relied on mechanisation and imported, high-cost chemical fertilisers and pesticides. Women farm-workers suffered the effects of exposure to the agricultural chemicals: spontaneous abortions and stillbirths, chronic dizziness and malaise, blurred vision, peeling of nails and skin, swelling of the legs. Attempts to control the new pests that proliferated when the natural balance of the ecosystems was destroyed resulted in effects just as detrimental. In the rice fields, where women do the transplanting, weeding and harvesting, prolonged contact with water treated

55 “The Green Revolution” is the name given to the science-based transformation of Third World agriculture that took place in the 1960’s –1970’s. It was based on the idea that specially hybridised seed, created in the laboratories of the West, would increase crop yields and quality in the Third World, thereby alleviating food shortages in Asia and enabling the Third World to enter the global export economy (Shiva 1991). For a detailed analysis of the impact of the Green Revolution in India, see Shiva (1991) The Violence of the Green Revolution.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 200 with molluscides to control an introduced species has been shown to damage human flesh (Ayupan and Oliveros, 1994: 119).

Underpinning this scheme of things is Western science – a form of knowledge that calls itself rational, neutral and objective. It is linear and patriarchal, and places the cosmologies and knowledge systems of the “other” outside the boundaries of “science” to be ridiculed, devalued, destroyed. Women, as “others’, were left out of this scheme:

Concepts of gender have also been deeply interwoven into this paradigm … the “other” is woman, the nonmale, the nonpowerful, the nonhuman. In its construction of the world, this paradigm left out the women; it has rendered the existence and experience of women mute and invisible ... it not only marginalises and excludes women but denies her very existence, defining what it sees of her as what she is not. Woman is the “other,” the deviant, the aberration. Woman is not man (D’Souza, 1989: 30).

Consequently, the dominance of modern science has been recognised by feminist and Third World scholars not as the universal, value-free system of knowledge as it has been projected by its practitioners and in popular representations, and not as a liberating force for all humanity, but as a “Western, male-oriented and patriarchal projection which necessarily entailed the subjugation of both nature and women” (Shiva, 1993: 22).

As with many other issues, there is no one single ecofeminist or feminist stance on science. Feminist critiques are influenced by various factors. As Sandra Harding, feminist scientist and author of several books on sexism and science says:

Feminist analyses of science, technology, and knowledge are not monolithic … the feminist science discussions are both enriched and constrained by the different political, practical, and conceptual perspectives that they bring to bear on science, its beliefs, practices, and institutions (1991: 6).

In general, however, feminist critiques of science are concerned with the sexist use of science (ie how the experiences and interests of Western men dictate the dominant schemes and objectives of science) and the sexism of the practices of science (such as the barriers to women becoming professional scientists and the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 201 discriminatory practices faced by women when they do manage to enter the field of scientific study).

Merchant believes that feminism challenges the historical linkages that science has made between women and nature by conflating the two. A feminist critique, she argues, “undermines the authority of modern science to make universal claims about knowledge, bodies, emotions, female “nature” and transcendent reality – claims that reinforce domination” (1996: 61). They do so by exposing:

• scientific images that gender both science and nature; • the language of dominance used by science; and • certain postmodernist approaches to the study of science and its history that entail domination (Merchant, 1996: 61-2).

Feminist critiques of science have moved from their initial concentration on the exclusion and marginalisation of women in science to a criticism of science itself as a masculinist project and whether that destroyed its integrity (Mellor, 1997). A common criticism levelled at science from the feminist perspective is that it has been used as a tool of social domination. Harding writes:

It is clear that the sciences and their technologies today, as in the past, provide such benefits [increased knowledge and resources] disproportionately to members of the dominant races, classes, and gender. Moreover, the resources are generally used not just for the benefit of the few but also for the direct oppression and exploitation of the many. As critic of science William Leiss noted, science’s claim to seek to dominate nature in order to control “man’s fate” has actually hidden its real function and, often, intention: now and in the past, whether scientists intended it or not, science has provided resources for some people’s domination of others (1991: 36).

In this view, it is the misuse of science that is the problem, scientists cannot be held responsible for what happens to the knowledge they produce, and it is society that is at fault when scientific knowledge is put to destructive or exploitative use.

Masculinist science, in Mellor’s view, is criticised by ecofeminists not just because it has failed to untangle the real force of the physical world from “the conceptual and social biases of the dominant groups that scientists represent, but that it has not seen that detachment from nature is central to the Enlightenment view of the world” (1997: 126). Continuing to practice science in the belief that

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 202 humans can be detached from nature, that nature can be objectified and that an organic, subjective and personal relationship with nature is “unscientific” can only perpetuate the oppressive use of science.

An ecofeminist response to the “science” problem overlays a feminist critique of science on an ecological perspective. The holism of ecology is deepened by the recognition that the hegemony of the atomistic worldview can’t be broken without also recognising its foundation in the logic of domination, and addressing the dualistic structures on which it is based.

According to Harding, studies of science have revealed that it is not just sexism which is implicated in scientific practice, but other forms of discrimination and domination as well – racism, classism, homophobia. She states that:

Oppressive reproductive policies, white men’s management of all women’s domestic labour; the stigmatization of, discrimination against, and medical ‘cure’ of homosexuals; gender discrimination in workplaces – all these have been justified on the basis of sexist research and maintained through technologies, developed out of this research, that move control of women’s lives from women to men of the dominant group (Harding, 1991: 21).

The ecofeminist critique of science is concerned not only with the sexist tendencies of scientific endeavour, but also with these other forms of domination. Both feminist and ecofeminist analyses of science criticise the idea that there is a value-free, pure scientific research which can be distinguished from the social uses of science. Merchant (1996: 60) questions the existence of a value-neutral core of science, and together with other feminist scholars such as Harding (1991); Mies and Shiva (1993); Salleh (1997) and Mellor (1997); argues that if feminism is to eliminate the sexist use of science then it must take on the struggle to eliminate class society, racism, homophobia and imperialism.

Shiva characterises the sexist barrier in science as one dividing specialist from non-specialist knowledge, arguing that central to the domination and subjugation of women and nature by modern science is an arbitrary barrier between “knowledge” (the specialist) and “ignorance” (the non-specialist). This barrier operates effectively to exclude from the scientific domain consideration of certain

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 203 questions relating to the subject matter of science, or certain forms of non- specialist knowledge (Shiva, 1993: 22). By extending this analysis to both nature and indigenous people, Shiva carries it into the ecofeminist realm. These barriers were set up by the reductionism of the scientific revolution, which has influenced modern science ever since. In Shiva’s view, the scientific revolution was reductionist because

1) it reduced the capacity of humans to know nature both by excluding other knowers and other ways of knowing; and 2) by manipulating it as inert and fragmented matter, nature’s capacity for creative regeneration and renewal was reduced (1993: 23).

Reductionist assumptions about what constitutes the world and how we form knowledge are based on uniformity – they perceive all systems as comprising the same basic constituents that are discrete and atomistic, and presuppose that all basic processes are mechanical (Shiva, 1993: 23). Assuming all parts of a system are uniform allows knowledge of one component to be taken as knowledge of the whole, and treating processes as mechanical assumes the system and its components are divisible. Hence, the term “local” Aborigines is taken to mean all Aboriginal people. Thus ERA (1999b) could claim division within the “local” Aboriginal community regarding Jabiluka, as pointed out in Chapter Two.

In addition, reductionist science allows knowledge to be removed from its original context and creates “criteria of validity based on alienation and non-participation, which is then projected as ‘objectivity’. ‘Experts’ and ‘specialists’ are thus projected as the only legitimate seekers after and producers of knowledge” (Shiva, 1993: 24).

For Shiva, the capitalist patriarchal takeover of the seed and women’s bodies transforms them “into ‘passive’ sites where the expert ‘produces’ and adds value. Nature, women and non-white people merely provide ‘raw’ material” (Shiva, 1993: 25). So for example, due to the medicalization of childbirth, the female body, seen through the mechanistic eyes of medical science, is fragmented into a set of replaceable parts which must be managed by professional experts.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 204 And hence, forests are cleared for mono-cultural production; the regenerative capacity of seeds is destroyed through their hybridisation and patenting by agro- chemical companies; rivers are dammed to supply the extreme demands of intensive, hi-tech agriculture; and the diversity of biological ecosystems (including human ecosystems) is lost as women, indigenous peoples and nature are forced into the linear flow of raw materials and commodities of the capitalist patriarchal systems of production. So, in Salleh’s eyes, “global crisis is the outcome of a capitalist patriarchal system that treats both women and nature as ‘resources’” (1997: 141), and for Shiva also: “reductionist science is at the root of the growing ecological crisis, because it entails a transformation of nature that destroys its organic processes and rhythms and regenerative capacities” (Shiva, 1993: 25).

4.4 Conclusion

Central to the ecofeminist argument is the idea that a holistic approach to modern environmental crises is required, that is, one that recognises the interconnectedness of all things, that the biodiversity of all life is valuable and crucial to a healthy environment (Merchant, 1990; Diamond and Orenstein, 1990: 6; Mies and Shiva, 1993; Warren, 1996). In this chapter I have defined and sketched out the various ecofeminist approaches and the key ways they make connections between the oppression of women, nature and indigenous people. In doing so, I have demonstrated how ecofeminism differs from the deep ecological approach usually associated with radical environmental protests, and suggested its usefulness as a tool in the development of green-black relationships.

Amongst many others, Mies and Shiva think that the present world system is a threat to life on planet earth and see it as “crucial to resuscitate and nurture the impulse and determination to survive inherent in all living things” (1993: 3). They postulate that ordinary people become very smart, very quickly, when their lives are threatened. They become adept at detecting absurdity, even when it is concealed in bureaucratic and scientific jargon. And so Mirrar, faced with the powerful forces of a multinational mining company which has the support of both

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 205 the Northern Territory and the federal governments, have learnt to deal with the bureaucracies of government, financial institutions and the legal systems at international, national and state levels.

Ecofeminism seeks to break down the racist, dualistic thinking which it argues has served capitalism well. In that thinking, Aboriginal women are granted the lowest position in a hierarchy which values male over female, Western “culture” over nature, and science over indigenous knowledge. But at the Jabiluka Protesters’ camp those very women turned that hierarchy on its head, by leading a protest that was supported by a large proportion of Australian women. A survey, commissioned by ACF and conducted by Newspoll in 1998, found that 73% of the women polled were opposed to the Jabiluka development, with 67% of those polled overall opposing the mine (ACF, 1998).

The value of ecofeminism lies in its rejection of the exploitation and domination of nature and women and indigenous people, and in its recognition that they share the perspective of the oppressed Other. Ecofeminism recognises that for indigenous people the connection to land is essential to being and identity (Diamond and Orenstein, 1990). Ecofeminism takes the green movement a step forward by clearly setting an agenda that recognises the rights of traditional owners to self-determination. At Jabiluka, this meant genuine attempts by protesters to consult with, and be advised by, indigenous people over environmental matters.

A defining feature of the protest at Jabiluka is that not only have Australian Aborigines worked alongside environmentalists in an attempt to overcome the capitalist forces which oppress and exploit both Aboriginal people and the environment, but invited them to live on their land while they did so. The unique location of this protest camp – on land legally owned by traditional Aboriginal people, but also within a national park of world heritage status, not only required co-operation between groups at several levels, but also a clear recognition by environmentalists that, for the traditional owners, the protest against Jabiluka is first and foremost a social justice issue and then an environmental one.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 206 At Jabiluka, the green-black alliance proved to be the means not only of advancing the green cause, but also a way of developing the understanding of the position of traditional owners within the power structures of Australian society. Green activists became aware of the traditional owners as “oppressed others”, and conscious of the green movement’s replication of the oppression of indigenous people together with women and nature. Such a consciousness is a defining feature of ecofeminism. In the words of one ecofeminist protester at Jabiluka:

Ecofeminists point out that it’s time for a holistic approach, time to listen to the voices of indigenous people, consider the consequences to the environment, to the community and to the future, of everything we do. That means vast changes of direction and ideology. It means profit, as a motive, must be discredited. It means that cooperation must replace competition; between men and women, between cultures, between multinational mining companies and communities. As Salleh (1997: 38) says, it means “deconstructing our ideologies, bringing into view the suppressed potentials of de-valued Others” (Warleigh, 1998).

In the earlier discussion of what it is that constitutes an ecofeminist I concluded that a self-conscious awareness of the philosophical and sociological dimensions of the term “ecofeminism” is not necessary for an activist to be described as ecofeminist, but that a consciousness of the interrelated causes of the oppression of women and the environment is. When an environmental issue is so obviously of concern to women as Love Canal, or Kelly’s Bush, or the Jabiluka mine, the resultant activism can be described as ecofeminist, even though many of those involved may not be self-described ecofeminists, nor even be familiar with the term.

An issue becomes ecofeminist when the activists engaged in it recognise that it is the same dominating structures that oppress both women and the environment and much ecofeminist writing and practice focuses on these two elements. However, there is a third element which I believe must be included in a complete ecofeminism: a consciousness of the interconnections between the oppression not only of women and the environment but also that of indigenous people. All three features are necessary if social change is to be truly egalitarian and liberating. Applying this to Jabiluka, I contend that it was an ecofeminist protest. Building in the element of indigenous issues to the struggle makes Jabiluka an example of this

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 207 more “complete” ecofeminism. It sets it apart from being just “another environmental protest”, and distinguishes it from the Eurocentric version of environmentalism responsible for the type of conflict discussed in Chapters Two and Three. The practical manifestation of ecofeminist-oriented Jabilukan protest is detailed in Chapter Five, which describes how ecofeminist practice was evident in and underpinned the camp organisation and some successful protest actions in the Jabiluka campaign.

The range of activists involved at Jabiluka represented the whole spectrum. The protest seemed to inspire and to motivate individuals to take action they might otherwise, without the Jabilukan experience, have never considered. Such was my own experience, and such was that of Edie, a figure who personally inspired me, and whom I describe in vignette (viii) “Retiree on the Run”.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 208

Vignette (viii) “Retiree on the Run”

As always, it was hot. Hot and sticky, as you’d expect at this time of the day (mid- morning) and this time of the year (October) – known as “the build-up” to the wet season. The rush of adrenalin was beginning to settle down and the reality beginning to settle in. Hard metal seat digging in to my bum, my right shoulder crammed up against the end of the divvy van, my left side sweatily sticking to the woman next to me. My feet pinned down by one of the two fellow “arrestees” sitting on the floor. There were eight of us – seven women and one man – in the back of a van designed to hold six.

Emotions ran high. For a few solitary moments I’d been the only one in the van, having just been arrested and recorded as “John Winston Howard”, but others were soon to follow. Ninety-two others would be arrested, in fact. In those few moments, by myself, I’d felt like crying, wondering whether I’d just done something really stupid by letting my emotions take over the rational side of me. I felt like crying at the injustice of us being arrested for trespassing on this land when we’d just been welcomed to it and invited on to it by the traditional owners, whose rights to control this land we believed were much more valid than those of the lessee, ERA. And I also felt like crying just because of the simplicity of the words spoken by Yvonne Margarula, the senior traditional owner, when at the commencement of this action she had welcomed and thanked us for supporting the struggle of her people to defend those rights.

But as soon as I was joined by the other seven protesters who were to share the trip from the Jabiluka mineral lease to the Jabiru police station, the sense of solidarity with which I’d begun this exercise returned. The four-wheel drive van filled quickly and there was a brief wait while the arresting officers consulted the TRG (The Territory Response Group – a branch of the Northern Territory Police, trained and equipped to deal with emergencies, particularly those which may require an armed response). Then, to our surprise, we were driven not the way we’d walked in (up the access track), but up through the mineral lease. That meant another brief wait at the gates to the mine compound and there was a pensive mood in the van then. Peering out through the white bars on the van, I felt uneasy – this seemed strange – why take us into the compound, in a direction away from the police station? For a split second I had paranoid visions of being beaten up by the TRG, out of sight of witnesses and spectators. Hot and uncomfortable, excitement and anxiety twisted together in my stomach, I tried to see what was going on. Cont’d next page

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 209 Quite a few protesters had reached the entrance to the compound, and were milling around, or just quietly sitting in the shade now, awaiting arrest. One of those was Edie – a keen environmentalist in her seventies. Grey haired, slim and fit, the wrinkles of her wizened face deepened as she squinted into the glare of the bright sunshine. She stood, almost regal, one arm stretched up, leaning against a tree, calmly gazing out over the scene before her. She was smiling, and she looked so contented, so secure – so satisfied, that the sight of her had those same effects on me instantly.

I can’t really remember anyone else there, so transfixed by her image was I – it struck me that if anyone had reason to be distressed or upset by the events of the morning, it was her – such an unlikely candidate for illegal action. Polite, quiet and well spoken, a “respectable” member of the community. She epitomised the total opposite of the “ferals” – the label the NT Government and ERA tried so hard to pin on all the protesters here.

I knew how hard Edie had tried to get to the camp – she’d boarded one of the protest buses on the NSW North coast, but it had broken down at Mt Isa. As soon as Edie realised it wasn’t going to be repaired in time for her to get to this action, she attempted to hitch a lift. But her hitch-hiking attempts failed, so she bought a one-way ticket on the next Greyhound to Darwin and made her own way to the camp. I also knew that she’d carefully weighed up the decision about whether to put herself in an arrestable position today, and decided that although she’d never done anything like it before, she felt so strongly about it that she wanted to be arrested. She said she thought it was important for everyone to see that it wasn’t just young ferals protesting, but older people such as herself too.

So as the van moved off with a lurch through the compound gates my uneasiness disappeared. My opposition to the development was reaffirmed by the sight of the huge hole in the ground, a retention pond I supposed, a gaping rectangular red scar on the earth, covered with some kind of plastic substance – thick, black and shiny. Rows of machinery stood silent, locked up behind mesh fences – lying ready for use. Despite the Jabilukans’ attempts to block their passage, the machines had been brought in earlier in the year before the wet season could prevent their movement into the compound. My view of them through the wire mesh of the van was framed by the red and blue police lights on the roof of the cab. I looked around the divvy van at the sombre faces. We all sat silent, staring out at the mine infrastructure we were trying to prevent being completed. I noticed one of my companions was practising a yoga breathing technique that I’m familiar with. It’s intended to ground: to calm the body and to steady the mind. Cont’d next page.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 210 Then it was a swift, rough ride through the scrub out to the Oenpelli Road. Through the window of the cab of the van we could see the police laugh each time we hit a particularly rough part of the road, apparently enjoying our discomfort. In reality we found their bullying tactics quite amusing. When we reached the main road we were transferred to a two-wheel drive vehicle for the trip to Jabiru. That meant driving past the other 150 or so protesters still gathered at the lease entrance, who greeted us with loud cheers. We responded by holding our John Howard masks up against the bars of the van, and chants, songs, and jokes about police behaviour kept our spirits up for the rest of the trip, and the hour or so we spent in the back of the van outside the police station, as the police tried to wear us down and get us to give our real identities.

Some did give their names, some simply refused to give any other name but John Howard, and some gave false names. After a very hot, very long wait (by then, we’d been in the divvy-van for over three hours) I decided to give my real identity. As a “novice” arrestee, I had come unprepared and had my ID in my possession. I realised that as soon as the police searched my bag they would find it and I would be charged and bailed to appear in court without being put in a cell, so there was no real point in me holding out (one of the aims of the action was to “clog up the police cells”). By giving my name, I would be allowed out of the van, and that would make more space for the others, and we were all feeling the ill effects of being in such cramped, hot conditions for so long.

When we shared the day’s tale with each other later at the camp, Edie reported that she had given her real name but decided not to appear at her court mention, which probably meant a warrant for her arrest would be issued. She had been offered a lift back to Brisbane with two young women the next day and decided to accept it rather than wait in Darwin for the court mention date which would be a week later.

I saw Edie some months later. She was as determined, positive and energetic as I remembered and she had apparently thrown herself into the campaign even more when she returned to her home in Bangalow. Her trip back to the coast had been uneventful. Her only difficulty had been tolerating the loud music “the young girls” liked to play in the car – she is a typical grandmother! Yet she is also atypical – since she got home she had written up her Jabiluka story for publication in the local press and had been vigorously campaigning – letter-writing, holding stalls and selling t-shirts. And when I met her she was on her way to another protest in Canberra. She happily informed me that there was indeed a warrant out for her arrest in the Northern Territory and that made her “a retiree on the run”.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 211

Chapter Five:

Nature’s Women, Women’s Nature

Figure 16 “The Women’s Web”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 212

Vignette (ix) “Web-weaving at Mohla”

The camp is quiet – almost everyone has left now. They’ve headed back “down south”, or into Darwin, or off to see some more of Kakadu before they decide what to do next.

The ones who are left have been pretty busy, occupying themselves with dismantling the camp, clearing up abandoned campsites, packing up the admin tent, sorting out equipment, airing and drying banners before packing them up for storage, working out what gear might be needed should the camp need to be re-opened and what might be useful to the Mudginberri community – like the big cooking pots and the camp push- bikes.

With nearly all that work done, it’s with a sense of both privilege and anticipation that we gather together around the kitchen. It’s around mid-afternoon and a sudden, heavy but short-lived downpour that’s typical of this early “build-up” season has just broken the oppressive heat. Much as the rain is a welcome, cleansing relief, we’re hoping there’ll be no more, and that it hasn’t already meant the cancellation of today’s event – the reason we’re feeling excited.

The Gundjehmi staff have issued us with personal invitations for a picnic at nearby Mohla billabong – a final celebration of the eight-month life of the camp. Mohla is restricted- access Aboriginal land, and a favourite fishing spot for the local bininj. Gundjehmi have promised croc-spotting and fish (hopefully freshly caught Barramundi) cooked traditionally in paper-bark over the campfire.

So now we’re waiting for word about whether the rain has spoilt our day. Three o’clock, the designated meeting time, comes and goes and there are more threatening clouds on the horizon, so we’re preparing ourselves for disappointment while at the same time putting the finishing touches on the “fancy salads you always have” that Gundjehmi had requested we bring.

The message “it’s still on” is greeted with relief and a celebratory cheer and last minute bustling about the kitchen occurs. The camp bus revs into life and, together with an assortment of private vehicles, it ferries us up the familiar Oenpelli road to a turn-off near the melaleuca grove through which we’d passed so many times en route to the lease.

A few hundred metres in, the convoy stops and the non-four wheel drive vehicles are left there, their passengers continuing on foot for the last kilometre or so. At the billabong

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 213 itself we pile out and gather firewood. Fishing gear is distributed for those interested. “Don’t go too close to the edge of the shallow banks, and never turn your back on the water” are our instructions regarding crocodiles.

For the next couple of hours we fish, or stroll through the lush green vegetation that lines the billabong, shaded by the melaleucas. Or we just sit and absorb the tranquillity. As dusk descends, so do the mosquitoes, and we’re advised to keep even further back from the banks and the reach of the crocs. It doesn’t seem quite so paradise-like now – and no one has even looked like catching a fish. But the experience is still precious – made all the more unique when our torches highlight the red glow of several pairs of crocodile eyes immediately across the billabong.

The fire is lit – Gundjehmi have come prepared with a huge barramundi they caught the day before in anticipation that we’d have no luck. So we sit around the fire while it steams in its paperbark wrapping and share crocodile stories. When the barra is cooked, pieces are broken off and placed on paperbark “plates”. We’re instructed “to take a bit and pass it on”, and so it’s shared around, a constant supply of small pieces, until we’ve eaten our fill.

Meal over, it’s time for more serious business. Christine speaks first. She’s a tall, strong, outspoken woman with a commanding presence. She speaks candidly about the experience of working with “you lot” on this campaign. She reminds us that not only is it hard work for Gundjehmi to carry out their usual community work, but that their workload had more than doubled since the camp opened. And on top of that, their work had been made much harder by the apparent inability of many greenies to understand their perspective. They’d had the burden of educating them. So we’re tired, she said, and there had been many times when they’d wanted to tell us to bugger off and go home. But at the end of it, they were glad we’d come – they still believed it was important that we work together, and were thankful for the part we’d played in it.

Warm, heart-felt applause, then hush. The fire crackles, sending sparks drifting upwards, its red glow lighting the faces of those closest. Everyone looks into the fire as they look into themselves, absorbing the truth of her words.

Moments of reflection over, I decide this is an appropriate moment to present the women’s web to Gundjehmi on behalf of all those women who’d worked on it. The women’s web is a collaborative weaving that was created by women in the camp, and intended as a symbol of support and unity with Mirrar women. The weaving is based on a web-like design into which symbolic gifts and tokens are woven. Items of personal

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 214 clothing, jewellery, artwork, photographs, poems and statements of intent are interwoven with coloured fabric, wool and string. At the centre is the legendary “Chief Seattle” quote, reflecting a belief in the interconnections between people and the earth, and the status of people as strands in the web of life:

“This we know, the earth does not belong to people, people belong to the earth. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the daughters and sons of the earth. People did not weave the web of life – we are merely a strand in it. Whatever we do to the earth we do to ourselves”.

To make this presentation was not a decision I’d taken lightly. The responsibility of the women’s web had weighed heavily with me since I’d arrived back in camp this trip and I’d seen that with the onset of the rains it was likely to get damaged. It had hung in the open, in the women’s space, for over four months now and was beginning to show signs of wear.

I had attempted to make arrangements for it to be presented directly to Mirrar at a special women’s circle, but that proved impossible due to their heavy commitments associated with the pending World Heritage delegation visit. A small group of us had worked on it to tidy it up, and add some finishing touches. We had decided that it should be handed over to Gundjehmi. As the only one still in camp who had been present at the birth of the women’s web, I felt responsible to see that it was passed to Mirrar – to see that the intentions of those women who’d contributed to it were honoured.

So it was that with a deep breath and, glad of the cover of darkness, (for I intensely dislike speaking in public) I spoke on behalf of those women. I hadn’t known what to say, but the words that came were spontaneous and they seemed appropriate, especially accompanied as they were by the crackling sparks of the fire and the croaking of frogs. I was concerned it would sound too mushy. Or worse – false. After all, there were many others here who had more authority than me to speak on the relationship between Mirrar or Gundjehmi and the protesters who’d lived in this camp for months. I was fearful of causing offence. But it needed ceremony, this gift, and I surprised myself as I heard my own voice, clear and calm and meaningful. For I meant what I said – the words came from the heart: “This is the women’s web. It’s been an ongoing project, begun in July by the Women’s Network For Mirrar Women, and hundreds of women have contributed gifts and symbolic tokens to it. I think I can safely speak on their behalf and also those here tonight when I say it’s been both an inspiration and an honour to be here on this land and to participate in this struggle with you. The web was chosen as a symbol of the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 215 interconnectedness of all things. We’re one strand in it, you’re another. Together we can stay strong and we can win.”

The web was held a little higher in the firelight. Christine accepted it graciously, thanked us and assured us it would be passed on.

A little while later, festivities and formalities complete, we departed the peaceful billabong. The last I saw of the web, it had been rolled up and was being loaded into the back of the big Gundjehmi Toyota. It had become entangled with the fishing rods and Christine and Kirsten were struggling to disentangle them. Despite the indignity that could be associated with such an exit, it was being treated with care and respect, and I was grateful.

I heard later that the women’s web had been hung on the wall of the Gundjehmi office, alongside many other tokens of support and well wishes, all symbols of a highly significant alliance between these traditional owners and environmental protesters. Positioned so they’re highly visible to the Gundjehmi staff and the Mirrar people whenever they’re there. Reminders that although the greenies might be thousands of kilometres away now, the connection remains. I’m consoled by the thought that the memory of that connection is a source of support and encouragement, another means of keeping the alliance strong.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 216 5.1 Ecofeminist Emergences

The recognition of the need for women’s space, as shown in vignette (ix), highlights the influence of radical feminism, while the symbolic use of weaving and web-making continues the tradition that began in the early phases of the women’s movement. Spinning and weaving, in both metaphorical and real forms, have been used to represent women’s work in radical transformation in feminist poetry and in protests such as Greenham Common and Pine Gap56 Women’s Peace Camps. At Pine Gap, women dismantled the gates to the military base and wove native grasses and wildflowers into them, and cloth streamers and ribbons were woven into the fences (Somerville, 1999: 32). Such actions are a work in transformation: at Pine Gap, through the continuing interaction of performance and presence, new images were created in the landscape. Margaret Somerville, one of the participants there, wrote that the women were “resisting the given images, signs and storylines of this place, and we are creating new signs in this place (which we can carry away to other places?)” (1999: 32).

New signs and images were carried away to other places – to Jabiluka, for example, where similar work was continued through peaceful demonstrations, morning presences, through the art of the women’s web and banners. With interest in how theory and practice came together, this chapter draws together the threads of ecofeminism that were woven through the Jabiluka campaign. I examine the details of women’s activism at Jabiluka and the influence it had on relations between protesters and traditional owners. The central points I make here are that:

1) the tensions that have typified relations between greens and blacks in previous campaigns did arise at Jabiluka;

2) those relations are characterised by masculinist behaviour; and

3) at Jabiluka those tensions were overcome, or at least compensated for, by ecofeminist actions or behaviour that kept the alliance strong.

As I described in Chapter One my research drew heavily on several key informants. It is here in this chapter that their words and experiences are used to

56 This was a women’s peace camp formed in 1983 to protest against the US military surveillance facility at Pine Gap, near Alice Springs in central Australia.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 217 support both my own experiences and my argument that ecofeminism was in action at Jabiluka.

At Jabiluka I first began to truly identify myself as an ecofeminist. Like many others, I had been inspired by the women leading the campaign – women like Yvonne Margarula and Jacqui Katona. But once at the camp, the number of women in other less public roles also struck me: strong young women, secure in their beliefs about land rights and environmentalism being linked. Confident, outspoken, active, feminist women, had taken up positions as media spokeswomen, meeting facilitators, legal support officers and campaign managers. So I began asking these activists about their ecofeminism. Many had never heard of it. But they were still “doing” it, I figured. They saw the interconnections between the degradation and oppression of both the environment and the people here and they were actively claiming a space in which to acknowledge that and to struggle against it.

Foremost in their strategy was an alliance forged out of respect and recognition of the traditional owners’ rights. Many had first become involved in the Jabiluka protest via environmental networks and the peak green groups’ campaign to protect the World Heritage listed national park from potential degradation. But the strength of the Jabiluka alliance came from the recognition that this was Aboriginal country before it was World Heritage, that the issues being contested were not just a matter of protecting the natural environment but also, and more importantly for some, they represented matters of social justice.

It was hard work, to keep that alliance strong. It was easy to say, “yay, we’re here for the Mirrar”, but it was another thing to be there and actually do as Mirrar requested. That meant abiding by guidelines the visitors didn’t necessarily agree with. It meant having to wait for approval for protest actions. It meant being restricted in what to wear, where to go, when and how to protest.

Members of the Jabiluka Action Groups (JAGs) that had been set up through green channels throughout the country discovered that it wasn’t just the pro- development forces of the mining industry and government that were challenged by Jabiluka. Their own politics and ideals were questioned in relation to the land

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 218 rights issue, and that led many of them to reflect upon the principles and priorities in their activism, and also, for some, to conflict with Gundjehmi.

But many other small grass roots organisations lent support to the Jabiluka campaign. One which formed specifically to support Mirrar was the Women’s Network For Mirrar Women (the Women’s Network) and, while JAG agonised over issues relating to accepting direction from Gundjehmi, the Women’s Network quietly got on with raising money and awareness in Melbourne. They had no problem with taking direction from Jacqui Katona because they respected the decision of Mirrar to employ her to fulfil that role. They didn’t need to question Mirrar control over the Jabiluka campaign because it was one of their founding principles that they would respect protocols established in conjunction with Gundjehmi regarding Mirrar consent and approval for all their activities. So, although frustrated at times because that process slowed planning down, the Women’s Network successfully arranged a fundraising dinner, sent a busload of women to the camp and organised several protest actions both at Jabiluka and in Melbourne.

After meeting some of the women involved in the Women’s Network and participating in their campaigning, and following my experience of the protesters’ camp, I recognised that I was witnessing ecofeminism in its action mode. These women were living ecofeminism. Feminist spirituality, expressed through “goddess rituals” in the moonlight, earth mother worshipping, celebrating female connections with nature, is often associated with ecofeminism. But these practices are not all there is to it, and are not necessarily the central feature, or day to day practice, of an ecofeminist lifestyle.

Rather, for me, living ecofeminism means incorporating feminist consciousness into ecological sustainability: celebrating the emotional and the spiritual as well as the rational, and incorporating them all into environmental action. Looking for alternatives to the technological fix, and ways to give the Third World a chance too, recognising the privileged lives we in the First World lead. Building networks with other ecofeminists, striving for ecofeminist community where we can laugh, cry, dance, sing, play, cook, eat, teach and learn together in a safe and supportive

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 219 environment. Where we can give birth, live and die knowing that we have done our utmost to ensure that our actions have caused minimal damage to the other beings of this earth we inhabit.

5.1.1 Women’s Actions, Experiences, Theories.

I have experienced the dominant paradigm of patriarchy / science / capitalism as a tool that has been used against me for most of my life. It has been used to tell me that my intuition is wrong, that my innermost feelings are invalid, that my thoughts are on the wrong track, that I know nothing and will have to bow to the superior knowledge of (mostly male) scientists, experts and bosses if ever I want to know anything or get anywhere. I’ve grown up with the sense of being an outsider. But it seems I’m not alone. Many women, some men, and the soft side of men, feel alienated to varying degrees in this patriarchal, capitalist society (Warleigh, 1998).

The organisation of the workings of the Jabiluka camp was impressive, and the presence and active involvement of young women in that organisation was notable. A small survey of the demographic make-up of the camp indicated that approximately 75% were between the ages of 19 and 35 and 80% were women. Over 60% stated they were familiar with ecofeminism and, of those, over 90% agreed that it had a place at Jabiluka.57 Besides the high participation rate of women at several levels of the campaign, ecofeminism was evident at Jabiluka in that the camp was established according to principles such as respect for the diversity of life, a belief in the need for non-hierarchical organisation, alliance- building, the recognition of indigenous rights and opposition to discrimination in all its forms (King, 1998). The political social structure of the camp was intended to be inclusive, and there was an attempt to incorporate ideals such as respect for and tolerance of difference (Noonan, 1998; King 1998). These principles and ideals were widely and openly discussed informally and in camp meetings. The camp was collectively managed on the basis of non-hierarchical living and consensus decision-making as outlined in the “Stop Jabiluka Activists Handbook” that was issued on arrival at the camp (Jabiluka Alliance, 1998) which indicates that the political structure favoured by ecofeminists was present.

57 See appendix 2 for the questions asked in the survey.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 220 While some ecofeminist influence was subtle and those involved may not even have been conscious of it at all, it was also manifest in a more overt fashion in the form of “women’s actions” – protests planned by and for women. Motivated by concerns pertinent to many women’s lives and historically typical of ecofeminist actions, these protests focussed on the potentially toxic effects of radiation on the people of the area, on the risks to their reproductive health, on the health of their children and that of future generations. They also emphasised the findings of the Kakadu Region Social Impact Study, that is, that the local people had seen no benefits from the operations of the Ranger mine and were concerned about the effects of industrial development on their culture and their country (APC, 1997).

But why the need for women’s actions? After all, it is not only women who experience the toxic effects of radiation. Bridget Noonan58 describes herself as a grassroots eco-feminist activist with a background in student politics and environmental activism. She played a support role at the camp, helping with managing the camp on a practical level, and co-ordinated the Blue Mountains JAG. She saw a union between the women at Jabiluka which she expressed as “a sort of sisterhood – a feeling of alliance with Yvonne as an Aboriginal woman, as a traditional woman standing up to such a large company, and wanting to support her as a woman” (Noonan, 1998).

In Noonan’s interpretation there was an understanding of the connections between the patriarchal nature of the mining industry and how mining and multinational institutions control corporations and much of the broader society and oppress women and indigenous people. She describes that understanding as an ecofeminist perspective, saying:

Their whole way of operating and being dominating, of coming on to another’s land and imposing a mining operation on indigenous people who are saying no and they’re not listening to them. And then the whole exploitation of natural resources and the whole nuclear industry and just how destructive and exploitative it all is. That’s just an expression of patriarchal culture, and the relevance of that to women – of how we’ve

58 Bridget has an Honours degree in Social Ecology, for which she conducted an eco-feminist action research project that explored the struggles of women activists in the green movement, particularly with sexism, and developed strategies to support eco-feminist women.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 221 been oppressed by that culture – there was an understanding of that in these women’s planning circles (Noonan, 1998).

Elle Morrell, a long-term active member of FoE Fitzroy, was a member of the Women’s Network organising collective and, after the Jabiluka campaign, was employed by the Environmental Defenders Office, Melbourne. Elle was a key organiser of the women’s bus. She also saw an ecofeminist consciousness in the operation of the Women’s Network activities. In her interpretation, ecofeminism is

The connection between the liberation of women and the liberation of the environment … the complexities of that is drawing in development issues, of working in solidarity with women in Third World countries – having that awareness of the disproportionate share of the world’s resources and how that mirrors the oppression of women – of not having access to the same share of resources as men, and combining a structural analysis of how environmental and social change can be achieved from a woman-centred point of view (Morrell, 1999).

The arrival of “the women’s bus” and the creation of “the women’s web” served to demonstrate the strong sense of connection with this protest experienced by many women. The women’s bus was organised by the Women’s Network to transport forty women from Melbourne to the camp in early July. While in camp, they arranged several activities with a women-centred focus. One of them was the women’s web, as described in vignette (vii) and pictured in figure 16.

According to Merchant (1990: 101) radical ecofeminist philosophy “embraces intuition, an ethic of caring, and web-like human/nature relationships”. These more emotionally inspired characteristics were evident in the “women-only” protests which included trespass actions – “three generations of women” (described below); a theatrical display depicting the effects of radiation on people; and a silent vigil involving a “human banner” with “uranium free zone” spelled out on white cloth robes, one letter worn by each woman participating.

The symbolic action of weaving webs at anti-nuclear and other protests such as the one at Jabiluka is a good illustration of this kind of ecofeminist thinking, which also seeks to re-envision nature and women as powerful sources of inspiration and spirituality. Weaving inspired other ideas for women’s protest

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 222 actions at Jabiluka too – such as breaking into the mine compound and “weaving” the machinery together, and weaving the fence of the lease (Noonan, 1998; Warleigh, 1998). Although they did not come to fruition, these plans illustrated the prevalence of the symbolism of weaving in women’s protests. The symbolism associated with webs and weaving can also be related to goddess or earth-based worship. According to Anne Baring and Jules Cashford, who have extensively researched “Goddess myths”:

The Mother Goddess, wherever she is found, is an image that inspires and focuses a perception of the universe as an organic, alive and scared whole, in which humanity, the earth and all life on Earth participate as ‘her children’. Everything is woven together in one cosmic web, where all orders of manifest and unmanifest life are related, because all share in the sanctity of the original source (1991: xi).

The symbols associated with the goddess are often webs, spirals, nets, circles (Lurhmann, 1993: 224). The use of these symbols at Jabiluka suggested that there was an element of feminist spirituality (often associated with radical feminism) present at Jabiluka. However, it seemed that the metaphorical weaving that took place was much more concerned with politics than spirituality. Such imagery was reflected in the activities of The Women’s Network for Mirrar Women, a group set up to support Mirrar directly.

5.1.2 The Women’s Network

The Women’s Network for Mirrar Women was established to directly support the Mirrar people, many of whom live in conditions of great poverty. It was formed with the central aim of drawing links between women’s organisations and the Stop Jabiluka campaign. Its other objectives were to increase awareness of the campaign in sectors not normally reached by environmental campaigning, and to raise funds directly for the Mirrar, whose community funds were being seriously impacted by the costs of the campaign.

Those women involved in the Women’s Network saw it as an opportunity to work with the Mirrar in a unique context, and were excited by the prospect of being able to work as activists and women in wholistic ways. For Elle Morrell the idea

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 223 of a Women’s Network intersected with her particular areas of interest – “working with women in an environmental context for indigenous and anti-nuclear issues” (Morrell, 1999). According to Morrell, the Women’s Network filled a niche in the broader campaign, one that attracted women who were interested in an organisation whose basis was to explore the relationship between non-indigenous people working with indigenous people as a core principle, and which did so in a women-only context. According to this view, women organising together free themselves of the burden of “dealing with men’s bleeding hearts (for example, how they feel about women being strong) … and having to “fight amongst your own people just to be recognised for things that you think should be commonplace, like that women are equal to men” (Morrell, 1999). Many feminists believe that, through women-only organising, they are able to “get to a higher level – to get to a different plateau, rather than just being stuck in the same fights about just allowing women a place to speak – allowing women to lead campaigns, not just do the dishes and make the banners” (Morrell, 1999).

A catalyst for the formation of the Women’s Network was a fundraiser called “Women Standing Strong for Country”. This event, held in Melbourne in mid- 1997, attracted corporate philanthropists such as The Body Shop and Sportsgirl and included a speech by Jacqui Katona that inspired many women (Morrell, 1999). In addition to encouraging individual women to become involved in the campaign, this particular event was also a catalyst for recognising that there was a powerful force – that of women working together – that could be harnessed for the Jabiluka campaign.

The Women’s Network was launched (on 7th May 1998 at the State Film Centre in Melbourne) with the screening of the documentary film “Jabiluka”, directed by David Bradbury. Messages of support from those in attendance were recorded on video and sent to Mirrar in recognition of the isolation of Mirrar and the need to build strong links with the Mirrar community despite the vast distances separating them. An emphasis on supporting the Mirrar community was a constant feature of the Women’s Network activities. It was a feature which proved to be a strong motivational force both for the organising collective and those who supported it, and successfully built on the connection with Mirrar. As Morrell (1999) stated it:

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 224 “The strength of it was saying we were going to work in solidarity with the Mirrar – directly with the Mirrar and drawing the links between Jacqui and Yvonne leading the campaign and women working in solidarity together on that”.

The Women’s Network successfully liaised with Mirrar (Morrell, 1999; Weepers, 1998[b]) – the result of an organisational structure which incorporated protocols intended to ensure that the priorities of Mirrar were emphasised at all levels of campaigning. The activities of the Network not only included the women’s bus and the web described above, but also ongoing pamphlet distribution, the compilation of a regular newsletter, the co-ordination of a “women’s day” at the blockade of the North Limited headquarters in Melbourne in late 1998, and a women’s fund-raising dinner. The women’s dinner was a particularly successful event – it was sold out several days prior to the night, with 160 women attending, and raised over $2,000 (WNFMW, 1998: 5).

The Women’s Network appealed to some women who, from previous experience in environmental campaigns, had seen the active role women played but were also dissatisfied with the male domination of those campaigns. For example, Morrell stated that “the models for organising do sort of stem from male-centred ways of making decisions, speaking even, – you know, how you put forward arguments, who gets the recognition for what’s going on” (Morrell, 1999). In other words, Women’s Network members were seeking different ways of structuring discourse and arranging and implementing action, and had observed a different “spirit” or “energy” which was present when women worked together without men and which offered them a source of strength that they couldn’t get in a “mixed” group.

5.1.3 Eco-women and Eco-warriors

The preparedness of the Women’s Network to accept direction from Gundjehmi contrasted with that of the Direct Action Group (DAG), whose primary aim was to stop work by immobilising construction equipment and/or prevent workers’ access to the lease site. With that aim, DAG was understandably frustrated by the direction from Gundjehmi that there be no direct action (see 1.3.4), but the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 225 frustration may also have been sparked by the reluctance of the (largely male) DAG to accept direction from Jacqui Katona. This was a pattern observed by Jayne Weepers, among others, who said:

It’s been an interesting dynamic to watch emerge at camp and I guess it’s because people don’t like to have an authoritarian figure and there is one. And she’s also an Aboriginal woman – you know – and it’s mostly the blokes who’ve had trouble with it (Weepers, 1998).

The military style favoured by the DAG was another area of great disparity between themselves and the Women’s Network. Echoing similar sentiments to those of Heidi Gill (as cited in section 2.4.2), Morrell describes the differences in protest strategies, especially a “reconnaissance” method known as “black wallabying”, which involved hiding on the lease site for long periods of time, observing the construction operations:

There were huge power struggles over strategies … I know I found it really funny – a lot of the DAG who were idolising putting on army fatigues and scrubbing through the bush on your stomach for three days. For me that was just replicating what ERA was doing in the country up there. I don’t fight war with war like that – it didn’t actually fundamentally challenge what ERA was about and why the government was supporting them. It didn’t offer any alternatives – it was just like, we’re gonna go into combat with them and that personally, for me, isn’t what political change is about (Morrell, 1999).

In contrast, the “three generations of women” action was an example of the gentle, symbolic actions preferred by the Women’s Network. In it, three women representing three generations, including a 91-year-old, quietly and slowly walked on to the lease to deliver letters of protest and were arrested for trespass. (The charges against them were later withdrawn). This particular action was important not only in terms of attracting media attention and sending out a message that there was a diversity of people who support the Stop Jabiluka Campaign, but also in that it served to strengthen the resolve of protesters at the camp. Sarojini Krishnapillai has been an active member of FoE Melbourne for several years and has a background in student politics. She played a significant part in the initial planning of the camp, was involved in the first “students’ camp” in 1997 and was a member of the web and of the Women’s Network. Since returning from Jabiluka she has been employed as a Marine Campaigner for the Victorian National Parks

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 226 Association and by FoE, ACF and ECNT as a consultant on the Jabiluka campaign. She noted that this “three generations” protest was “quite an incredible action for the camp”, and also that in the camp’s evaluation the action was considered to be really special, saying that “people were really touched and it went to show that there are a lot of different things we can do to show our power without actually locking on or necessarily getting arrested” (Krishnapillai, 1998a).

5.2 Powerful Hierarchies

Traditional Western hierarchies of power are reflected not only in the organisational structures of pro-development industry and government, but those of green groups as well. The Jabiluka alliance challenged these hierarchies – ecofeminism challenged the traditions of green groups while Gundjehmi and its supporters at Jabiluka confronted both green groups and the pro-Jabiluka lobby on issues of racism as well as sexism in that the positions of Katona and Margarula demanded they listen not just to women, but to Aboriginal women.

Women played central roles at the levels of camp organisation and public leadership, and feminism informed the operations of the protesters’ camp. To quote Bridget Noonan:

I think there were a lot of women there in leadership roles and I think they made it pretty clear that sexism was out – it was a pretty feminist camp, and I think that was pretty well put out there for the men … mostly the leadership roles were taken by women and I think they were trying to get everybody to contribute to camp. Mostly I think women were leading, and leading well, and I think the underlying principles were the result of feminism (Noonan, 1998).

Bruce Thompson, FoE anti-nuclear campaigner and long-term participant at Jabiluka, expressed similar views, stating that “all of the good bits involved women” in that they were involved heavily in the running of the camp, that the media collective was dominated by women, and that Katona and Margarula provided strong role models – Margarula for her strong elder/leadership role and Katona because she is the “ultimate greenie pop star” (Thompson, 1998), meaning she is an inspirational speaker who attracts a large following. He acknowledged

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 227 that the place of women in key roles represented a gulf between the Jabiluka campaign and other environmental campaigns. Here, he said, women were in leadership and looked after the “nuts and bolts” (naming Kirsten Blair, Donna Luckman and Saro Krishnapillai in particular). The challenge posed for many male environmentalists by women in management that occurred at Jabiluka was amusingly articulated in Thompson’s words: “some blokes may have been confronted by that and not known where to go because the chicks were running the gig” (Thompson, 1998).

Below I outline in more detail the two elements of the Jabiluka challenge to traditional Western hierarchies. Firstly, I discuss the ways in which ecofeminism confronts the green movement by targeting all forms of oppression, demanding that environmentalism do so as well. Secondly, I examine the way Mirrar challenged both the green movement and the mining lobby with its organisational structures and international lobbying.

5.2.1 Jabiluka’s Women Taking on Feminism

I think the gender question also comes in with Gundjehmi because it’s not that usual that you’ve got such prominent roles held by women in a lot of Aboriginal organisations. Like they’re going head to head with the NT government, the federal government, North, ERA, the NLC – and its Katona and Margarula … so that I think would be an interesting way of tracking the gender debate in this because I think that’s thrown a lot of people and I think a lot of people have made a very ill-informed assumption that they’re not strong or that they’re “nice” and they care about their country and their kids and if you say we’ll take care of the kids and make sure there’s a preschool then they’ll all be happy. I think they’ve seriously underestimated their tenacity and the capability of both Jacqui Katona and Yvonne Margarula as a combination – they’re a pretty red- hot combination. You’d be very foolish to underestimate them (Sweeney, 1999).

One explanation for the prevalence of active women in this particular campaign is that its leaders attracted them. These women are strong and inspiring and their feisty confrontations with a giant of corporate Australia, ERA, resonate with many – women in particular. Yvonne Margarula, the senior traditional owner, is softly spoken, emanating a sense of wisdom and groundedness. Behind her often smiling face is great determination. Jacqui Katona, the Chief Executive Officer of Gundjehmi, is equally determined to win this campaign She’s highly educated, articulate and knowledgeable in both bining and balanda matters. They are both

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 228 “iconic”, each in different ways. Yvonne represents the traditional Aboriginal woman, standing firm in her beliefs that she has both the duty and the right to protect her country. Jacqui, standing equally as firmly beside her, is the face of a contemporary Aboriginal woman, a modern conservationist and a feminist, well educated in the whitefellas’ world.

It is this feature which made Jabiluka unique – women led it, and what’s more, it was Aboriginal women leading white Australians. Throughout the lifespan of the Jabiluka Protesters’ Camp, Gundjehmi’s staff comprised more women than men – a reversal of the typical power structures of environmental organisations whereby membership is dominated by women, but management is dominated by men.

The proportion of women at the camp was generally high – anecdotal evidence suggests that approximately two-thirds of the protesters were women (Sweeney, 1998; Weepers, 1998) and, as I stated earlier, that proportion was as high as 80% at times. But it was more than simply the involvement of women that set Jabiluka apart from other campaigns. The activism practised there was also reformulating feminist activism as well as environmentalism – another reason for interpreting it as ecofeminist. The need to have sensitivity to, and awareness of, class and race as well as gender issues is a feature of ecofeminist practice which has been lacking in other forms of feminism. It is one which manifest itself over and again at Jabiluka, not only in the awareness of the land rights of Mirrar but also in a consciousness of the privileged lives led by many of the protesters. That awareness is voiced in the words of Saro Krishnapillai, who said:

If we look to other countries where they’re up against more – like Indonesia with East Timor – once it gets to that stage you haven’t got the luxury of not being disciplined, not to be effective. You can’t spend five hours in a meeting while you talk about crap – it’s a luxury we have as a very affluent group of people at a blockade in some ways (Krishnapillai, 1998a).

At times, spending hours in camp meetings was necessary in that it was time spent on attempts to be fair and equitable, to give minority voices a hearing, and on developing strategies which would serve the interests of all. But as Elle Morrell

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 229 said, ecofeminism can be a white way of explaining things – where ecofeminists may spend time discussing theory, it’s likely that people such the Mirrar just ‘get in and do it” – that is, get on with the practical necessities of life.

Although, as Sturgeon notes, “ecofeminism has primarily been a white women’s political location” (1997: 77) it also aims to be anti-racist. It is in this context that the women of Jabiluka could be seen to be taking on not just the sexism of the environmental movement but racism within feminism as well. In order to do that, there were many barriers to overcome, not the least of which is what Harding refers to as the problem of “woman the knower” being a contradiction in terms within the hegemonic culture. That is, the problem of breaking down the stereotyped expectations of women and instead seeing them as

agents of knowledge, as actors on the stage of history, as humans whose lives provide a grounding for knowledge claims that are different from, and in some respects preferable to, knowledge claims grounded in the lives of men from the dominant groups (Harding, 1991: 47).

Part of the difficulty arises because of the contradictions between conventional perceptions of “woman” and “scientist” …

conventionally, what it means to be scientific is to be dispassionate, disinterested, impartial, concerned with abstract principles and rules; but what it means to be a woman is to be emotional, interested in and partial to the welfare of family and friends, concerned with concrete practices and contextual relations (Harding, 1991: 47).

These difficulties arose at Jabiluka in different ways. Aboriginal knowledge and ways had to be accepted by whites – both men and women; and “women’s” ways and knowledge had to be accepted by men.

Socially constructed gender differences in environmental activism are reflected in comments such as those made by Jayne Weepers: “women work differently, they just do, and that’s no different for Aboriginal women, and that’s made it much easier” (1998); and by Elle Morrell: “my experience is that women can also incorporate a really strong emotional sense to what they’re doing – like a passion or a heartfelt sense as well, that can be incorporated in ways of campaigning and ways of highlighting issues” (1999).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 230 One response to this is to make accusations of essentialism, but these activists are not suggesting that these features of “womanliness” exist because of biological causes. They are suggesting that they are the consequence of the social conditions more characteristic of women’s lives than the lives of men in the dominant groups. More important, however, is the difficulty faced by activists in having these “different” ways of operating accepted, and of being recognised themselves as knowledgeable women.

That difficulty surfaced on multiple levels. Firstly, in that the indigenous women leading the protest came up against the traditional barrier of rational Western science as the measure of validity for their knowledge. The authority of their knowledge of the area and its management was not acknowledged or respected by the mining company or the Northern Territory government. Their use of modern technology to protect traditional knowledge was challenged – they were expected to be either modern or traditional, white or black, for example as illustrated by the arrest of the traditional owners for trespassing on the Jabiluka lease, and the rejection of their defence that they were carrying out responsibilities to country at the time on the grounds that they were utilising modern technology, as noted in Chapter Two.

Secondly, the retention of an emotional or spiritual awareness through symbolic actions, as opposed to direct action involving the physical blockading of work at the mine, was sometimes criticised or belittled as a less effective form of protest. I personally witnessed criticisms of the women’s web as sexist and separatist by some individual men, like the attitude of the driver in vignette (vii), and Heidi Gill’s comments in Chapter Two (section 2.4.2) also reflected this experience. Dave Sweeney (ACF’s anti-nuclear campaigner) observed the presence of a gender difference with respect to direct action as well:

There was always pretty much a core of more, the feral boys, that saw themselves as “harder core” than a lot of people and found a lot of the rest of this stuff to be boring or bureaucratic – you know – meetings and “forget the dunnies we’ve gotta get on with making the fantastic welding device that’s gonna stop the truck” – that’s a gender thing (Sweeney, 1999).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 231 And third, the largely women protesters who took on organising roles at the camp level were eventually confronted with the traditional male domination of the peak green groups. Once the 1998 federal election was called, Jabiluka became a high profile political issue and prominent political figures such as Peter Garrett59 were brought in to front public relations. Although the camp infrastructure had been capably managed and several large-scale, media-attractive protest actions at the site had been successfully coordinated by the leaders “on the ground” at Jabiluka, the peak green groups, members of the Jabiluka alliance, decided a political campaign manager was required. A paid position was created and James Warden, a white, male environmentalist with a long-term association with some peak green group officials, was hired to play that role. Emma King (1998), a member of the ECNT and a founding member of the camp, and Jayne Weepers (1998), both stated that when the campaign became a national political issue “the big boys” were brought out. According to King women’s involvement at the peak co- ordinating level, notwithstanding the key figures of Margarula and Katona, became less and less as the campaign went on (King, 1998).

5.3 Organising Jabilukans

During the course of this campaign, Mirrar were forced to deal not only with the issues commensurate with fighting such a large development, but also with the racism, sexism and imperialism which continue to flavour balanda organisations – both within the green movement and in the bureaucracies of industry and government. The means they utilised to address this are outlined below.

5.3.1 The Web

Gundjehmi had to grapple with the racism that exists within the green movement as well as maintain the camp, fight legal battles and take on government and

59 Peter Garrett is a high profile environmental activist, currently the president of the ACF, famous for his role as lead singer of the highly successful Australian rock band “Midnight Oil” and also because he headed the (then newly formed) Nuclear Disarmament Party’s Senate NSW ticket in the 1984 federal election. Although he obtained a high primary vote Garrett failed to gain a seat because he didn’t receive enough preference votes from other parties (Hutton and Connors, 1999).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 232 industry. It was a lot to take on, given their limited staff and the other day-to-day commitments of administering to the needs of their community. As noted earlier, many environmental protesters went to Jabiluka with twin intentions: to protest against the mine and to support Mirrar in their fight for self-determination. The latter often translated into an expectation they would have direct contact with the traditional owners, and inadvertently led to high demands on Gundjehmi staff. As a means of ensuring they retained knowledge and control of what protest actions were being organised, Mirrar requested that all plans for actions be approved by Gundjehmi. At the beginning of the camp an informal network was in operation: a small group of key individuals had main contact with Gundjehmi, but anyone in camp could (and did) make requests for protest approvals and brought various other matters to the attention of Gundjehmi staff. However, as numbers grew in the camp, the drain on Gundjehmi’s resources became unmanageable, and a communications structure known as “the web” (shown below in figure 17) was developed.

The web system was initially set up to facilitate the planning of protest actions, but also served as a communication channel for other purposes, and was intended to reduce the number of protesters making direct contact with Gundjehmi. Web members were a core group of protesters, two selected from each of the working groups which were set up to handle day-to-day issues of the camp. These working groups covered the areas of the kitchen collective, legal collective, media group, first aid and hygiene, administration, police liaison and communications (“the radio shack mob”). The group representatives, selected on the basis of their experience in the camp and previous relations with Gundjehmi, were responsible for liaising between the members of their work area and Gundjehmi. When someone planned an action, the idea would be taken first to a web member who would liaise with Gundjehmi regarding the approval process and resources required to carry out the action. If there were any matters directly relating to the various work areas which needed input from Gundjehmi, they would also be communicated via the web representative of that area.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 233

Figure 17 “The Web” showing the working groups that comprised the web and the web’s relationship with Gundjehmi.

Decision-making was conducted via a co-ordinating collective which comprised members of the web, Gundjehmi and each of the peak environmental groups which met regularly, sometimes via a national telephone hook-up to make decisions and formulate policies for the camp (Jabiluka Alliance 1998). The role of this collective was to provide a forum for central information exchange and task allocation and to implement decisions.

A general information meeting was usually held after breakfast each day (although they could be called for special purposes at other times) to pass on news and information regarding decisions made at the co-ordinating collective and to raise issues about which decisions needed to be made. These meetings were facilitated rather than chaired, and decisions made by consensus, not vote. At various times “ special” information meetings might be called – for example to

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 234 “de-brief” following large actions (when the camp might split into smaller groups for discussion) or to make special announcements, such as when Gundjehmi announced the decision to close the camp.

Whilst these were the principles and practices operating within the camp, the hierarchical organisation of the broader campaign was less flat as the camp was established on Mirrar land and ultimately Mirrar were in charge. They reserved the right to veto any actions of decisions they deemed inappropriate and their directions were voiced through Jacqui Katona.

Despite the problems encountered in relation to some protesters’ lack of acceptance of the web structure, many considered it to be a successful method of communicating essential details. It ensured Gundjehmi were informed of camp developments and were not overloaded with requests from protesters at the camp. It was also a means of increasing awareness of the reality of the lives of bininj among non-Aboriginal people. For example, when conflict arose within the camp as a result of an unwelcome direction from Gundjehmi, the issue was raised in a camp meeting and the resultant discussion would typically see some protesters supporting the directive and the structure of the web while others opposed it. Saro Krishnapillai observed the tension thus:

I think a lot of people weren’t used to having to respond to any external directions and weren’t really able to cope with that in some ways. On the other hand I think that some people saw that Gundjehmi was a very savvy, very focussed organisation and knew exactly why and what it was doing, therefore some people could very much accept it, so there was always some tension between those two things (Krishnapillai, 1998a).

At times that process resulted in the dissatisfaction of some protesters and prompted their departure from the camp, as happened mid-year when the “no direct action” directive was issued. However it also prompted introspective questioning. To quote Krishnapillai again:

Like, a lot of people could see that there was a natural resistance …it’s in other campaigns – it’s just some sort of anarchist thing – they think ‘oh well we’ll do what we want, it doesn’t matter, we don’t have to take anything else into consideration’. Whereas with this camp we’re living on someone else’s land, we can go home, but they’re gonna live with the consequences of whatever we do so we should respect their wishes in this

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 235 equation. So there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing on that – it was great for a lot of people to go through a lot of issues about what that means (Krishnapillai, 1998a).

The difficulty experienced by some activists in reconciling the differences in the approaches used by protesters and those of Gundjehmi was reflected in actions such as those in “the red van incident” – described in vignette (x) and the ploughshares action discussed in Chapter Two. In both those incidents, Jabilukans deliberately broke Gundjehmi guidelines regarding the conduct of protests. In the ploughshares action, the breach revolved around non-violent behaviour and in the red van incident there were concerns about the protection of sacred sites. But these incidents also generated discussion. For example one long-termer, Rebecca, states that she was impressed by the shared responsibility and grass-roots decision making in the camp. However, she also found there was a difference between camp organising and decision making and the planning and execution of protest actions which she considered to be hierarchical and controlled in a “top-down” fashion (Rebecca, 1998).

Based on my own observations and from discussions with many protesters, and those involved in coordinating the campaign, the camp operating structure was generally successful. That the camp was able to continue functioning for the length of time that it did, and to maintain the spirit and the focus whether there were twenty participants in camp or several hundred, is testament to that success (Krishnapillai, 1998a). According to Jayne Weepers, although it took a while to establish the trust and the relationship as individuals working together, the camp was successful because:

We had a strong commitment to it being an Aboriginal-led campaign. There are no large strategic decisions that are made without Mirrar – there are none really … there was a commitment to checking things all the time – which is not something we’re [greens] used to doing (Weepers, 1998).

This attitude towards Aboriginal people and their right to self-determination enabled the camp to continue despite many protesters’ personal disagreement with the structure and with Katona’s management style. This is summed up well by Weepers:

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 236 The thing is to recognise that while it’s got its paternalistic style about it, Mirrar have set up an organisation and chosen who to employ. Now they have chosen Jacqui and renewed her contract several times during this campaign because she’s fantastic – she’s an extremely good campaigner and a very good CEO (Weepers, 1998).

So, whilst the motivations of some individuals were challenged (that is, those who placed environmental issues before land rights), the pro-land rights slogans and chants which characterised the rallies and actions both at the lease site and in the major cities were deeply felt by many participants in this protest, as exemplified in Noonan’s words:

For me its always been about land rights … if it was just stopping a uranium mine on crown land, not actively being stopped by Aboriginal people – it wasn’t Aboriginal land, I probably wouldn’t have come, just because I have other priorities [those being recovery from a long term illness]. I felt really strongly that Aboriginal people were saying no and they weren’t being listened to and that’s what really got me up here (Noonan, 1998).

Although communication via the web was experienced as time-consuming and difficult for many protesters, there was also recognition of the huge demands on Gundjehmi. For example, in Noonan’s view,

It was a clumsy way of communicating but I can see why they chose it. I can’t see how, given the roles they had and the amount of work they do that they could have done it any other way. I found them helpful and friendly and approachable, but communication wasn’t spontaneous though (Noonan, 1998).

Hence, disagreement regarding the structure of the web and its associated communication process was put aside in the interests of their common resolve – to stop the mine, and to work constructively with Aboriginal people. That second resolution was strongly taken up by the Women’s Network which, in Morrell’s view:

… tried to come very much from a position of respect and of real solidarity. And with that came a huge responsibility of ‘yeah, we’re working with the Mirrar but we have to be totally honest with them’ and if that means that they’re not around to make a decision with us then we have to wait and we have to wear that and not get all hoity-toity and caught up in our own time- lines or our own egos to get stuff happening because that would blow the whole thing. It would be a farce – the process that we set up of making

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 237 decisions – coming up with our ideas and then trying to get approval from the Mirrar for it (Morrell, 1999).

Despite a preference for working within non-hierarchical organisations, it was not uncommon for some activists to put those preferred means of working aside. They recognised that Mirrar were taking a risk in allowing so many balanda on their land and asking them to work alongside them, that it was necessary for Mirrar to retain a high level of control as a means of protecting country and also that it was an assertion of their right to self-determine – a kind of affirmative action. Again, in Morrell’s words:

I saw it as an elitist hierarchical structure but I didn’t actually have a problem with it which is unusual for me … but it stems from, for once, white people actually taking leadership and direction from indigenous people and acknowledging that there are different ways of working (Morrell, 1999).

Rachel Fisher, a long-termer and a key facilitator of camp meetings), also put aside a personal rejection of hierarchical systems and accepted the authority of Gundjehmi “out of respect for those who own and understand that country and because most, if not all of us, will never understand” (Fisher, 1999: 19). The ability to develop this kind of attitude comes from a respect for diversity and a recognition of the need for indigenous people to take up the positions of power which they have been denied. Mirrar and Gundjehmi also took that struggle into the international arena, the other element of the campaign that challenged the traditional hierarchies of power.

5.3.2 The International Arena

Unable to succeed in getting the Australian government to support their case, Mirrar took their campaign into the international arena. They appealed to the UNESCO World Heritage Committee to consider placing the Kakadu National Park on the “World Heritage Property in Danger” list. With that aim in mind a delegation, (consisting of representatives from Mirrar, Gundjehmi, TWS, ACF and the ECNT) gained access to the second extraordinary session of the WHC in Paris in1998, and thus commenced a long, public, and very high profile process.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 238 Their lobbying of the WHC was particularly bold, as its procedures do not provide for the direct involvement of non-member representatives. The outcome of the Jabiluka alliance’s representations to that session was for the WHC to send a delegation to Kakadu to investigate the risks posed to Kakadu by Jabiluka. That delegation visited in October 1998 and its report to the twenty-second session, held in Kyoto in December 1998, expressed grave concerns regarding Kakadu and recommended voluntary suspension of construction of the mine until the twenty- third session of the WHC in July 1999.

The WHC decision in July 1999 was not to inscribe Kakadu on the List of World Heritage in Danger but its report made it clear that their concerns had not been allayed. It expressed regret that the voluntary suspension of construction had not taken place as advised at the previous meeting, and stated its concern about the possible serious impacts to the living cultural values of Kakadu National Park posed by the proposal to mine Jabiluka (UNESCO, 2000). Although the decision was hailed as a “victory for progress” by Energy Resources of Australia’s chief executive, Phillip Shirvington (Green, 1999), it was not an outright win because the twenty-third session required the Australian government to submit a further progress report by April 2000, in preparation for a final decision at the twenty- forth session in Cairns, Australia in November 2000. I discuss the outcomes of the Cairns meeting below.

Throughout the process of lobbying the WHC, the campaign was again separated into the environmental concerns and the rights of traditional owners, as both the protection of living cultural tradition and the need to protect nature were reasons for Kakadu’s inscription on the World Heritage list. And yet again this was a forum in which Mirrar had to take on both the green groups and the powerful, highly organised bureaucratic institutions of the white world. Yet they left Paris with a sense of achievement and satisfaction. Their senior elder, Yvonne Margarula, had addressed the WHC convention, the first Australian Aboriginal person to do so. She had spoken in the Gundjehmi language with power, authority and determination about the destruction of her culture and her country which she believed Jabiluka would cause (Fagan, undated). And not only had the Mirrar senior traditional owner been treated with the dignity and respect which is usually

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 239 accorded to the leader of a first nation but the WHC, a committee representing nearly every nation in the world, had affirmed the “unique and essential importance of Mirrar culture and the grave consequences for Mirrar society if Jabiluka proceeds” (Fagan, undated: 3).

The concerns of the WHC were related more to the potential effects of Jabiluka on the living cultural tradition of the Mirrar, as opposed to possible damage to the natural qualities of Kakadu. For green groups the WHC’s opinion that the mine could be managed with minimal effect on the surrounding natural environment was a disappointing result. The WHC did still have “significant reservations concerning the scientific uncertainties relating to mining and milling at Jabiluka” (UNESCO, 1999), but it appeared that it believed these issues could be resolved given further assessment by an Independent Scientific Panel in co-operation with the Supervising Scientist.

With respect to the cultural matters, however, the WHC effectively put the Australian government on notice to improve conditions for, and relations with, Aboriginal people. Robert Hill, Federal Minister for the Environment, had to give a “written commitment to abide by the WHC recommendation to pursue progress in the implementation of a comprehensive package of social and welfare benefits, together with the Northern Territory government, for the benefit of the Aboriginal communities of Kakadu (including the Mirrar)” (Green, 1999: 4). This was a satisfactory outcome for Mirrar: from the perspective of Gundjehmi, the Australian government had made an important concession. It meant that basic services such as sewerage, power and water would be funded by the government, and as Fagan states it, Mirrar left Paris “with government funding for the new Aboriginal Education Unit – just like the white school” (Fagan, undated).

That concession, together with the statement made by the WHC as part of its July 12 decision that it “acknowledges that there are indications that a new dialogue between the Mirrar Aboriginal people and the Australian government has begun” (UNESCO, 1999), led to concerns by the environmental NGOs involved (Fagan, undated) and speculation in the media (Green, 1999) that Mirrar might be considering an agreement that included consent to the mine.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 240 Fagan considers such an attitude as grossly insulting. He argues that it is “based on an inherently racist notion that the Mirrar will trade-off country and culture based on promises of funding and a nice smile from a government minister. Contrary to popular opinion, Aboriginal people are neither stupid nor bad strategists” (Fagan, undated). He points out that Mirrar, unlike most in the environment movement, have ongoing commitments to regional development, cultural heritage jurisdictional reform and national park management and as such “must be able to constructively engage on development matters with those whom they fundamentally disagree with on the Jabiluka issue” (Fagan, undated).

The saga continued at Cairns – although the WHC did not inscribe Kakadu on the in danger list, it continues to monitor the situation. At Cairns, the WHC concluded that the “proposal for the mine and mill at Jabiluka does not threaten the health of the people or the biological and ecological systems of Kakadu National Park that the 1998 Mission believed to be at risk” (UNESCO, 2000, VII.29). However, it was still dissatisfied with the risk to the cultural values and stressed the need for cultural mapping. It also encouraged the Australian government and the Mirrar to resume and continue their efforts in a constructive dialogue, in order to develop together a process leading towards the protection of Kakadu’s cultural heritage.

The divergence of green-black views came to a head shortly after the Paris WHC meeting when Jacqui Katona announced her resignation from the ACF council. She was quoted in the Sydney Morning Herald as saying that “the Mirrar had been accused of betrayal for negotiating with the pro-mine Commonwealth government” (Hogarth, 1999: 6). In the same article she was reported to be especially critical of Alec Marr, The Wilderness Society’s national campaign director, for refusing to engage with Gundjehmi ’s analysis or ideas, and also of accusing the ACF as “using her for window dressing”. The response from ACF was to issue a media release expressing appreciation for her contribution to ACF Council and regret at her decision to leave. It points out that the ACF has enjoyed a good working relationship with Gundjehmi and the Mirrar, and states that the ACF:

takes very seriously its obligation to have a reasoned and respectful dialogue with indigenous communities but recognises that from time to

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 241 time there will be differences of opinion. ACF respects the right of traditional owners, indigenous communities and representative bodies to make their own decisions that affect them (ACF, 1999 [b]).

Ensuing delegations to the WHC have included ACF, the ECNT and FoE, but TWS has since focussed its opposition to Jabiluka on a corporate campaign. Whether a media “beat-up” or not, the rift which came into the public eye with the attention focused on Jabiluka by the WHC process reflected the discord in green- black relations, one which was also visible at other levels of the Jabiluka campaign, and which I sketch below.

5.4 A Tense Alliance

As I noted above, the “peak level” alliance formed between green groups and the Mirrar people to fight the Jabiluka proposal consisted of Gundjehmi, the ECNT, ACF, TWS, and FoE. As the campaign grew, small “sub-groups” of activists – Jabiluka Action Groups (JAGs) – formed outside these peak groups. They were based in the larger cities – Melbourne, Sydney, Perth, Darwin, Adelaide, regional centres, some suburban centres and also at some larger university campuses. It was these groups which largely took on the role of organising rallies, fundraising and coordinating transport to Jabiluka.

While there is no doubt that environmental activists fully intended to support Mirrar and to develop strategies to work with them to protect country, it seemed there was a failure on the part of some JAG members to recognise that the strategies and models that have worked well for activists may be experienced differently by Mirrar. The unwillingness of some activists to accept direction from Gundjehmi was interpreted by Gundjehmi as racism. While JAG and the individuals who comprise it might not be intentionally racist, the organisation ran into difficulty in attempting to deal with that criticism. Morrell makes the following observation regarding this issue:

Perhaps some of the weaknesses that JAG fell into later on – in the last year, not earlier on – was with people who didn’t necessarily explore their own racism or explore what sort of model that new way of working would be. They went into it assuming that because they had been activists and

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 242 they had been campaigning that they knew how to organise things (Morrell, 1999).

This attitude seemed to stem from a kind of essentialist view of indigenous people – that sees them as having authority to speak only on black issues, or to organise in traditional ways, and sees environmentalists as the authority on activist ways. It was highlighted by the dynamics which developed after the camp closed, when Mirrar sought to retain control of the campaign by introducing an “endorsement scheme”. During the second half of 1998, the tension characterised by the problems surrounding the web flowed on to the relationship between the JAGs and Gundjehmi, and culminated in a “split” between those JAG members who agreed to support Mirrar and were endorsed by Gundjehmi; and those who preferred to prioritise uranium as an environmental and health issue rather than a social justice matter. The latter groups continued to campaign against the Jabiluka proposal in terms of opposition to the broader nuclear fuel cycle, but without affiliation with the Mirrar people.

The endorsement scheme was communicated via a letter from Katona to all JAGs. Known as the “New Directions Document” or simply “New Directions”, it set out conditions that JAGs would need to meet if they wished to be endorsed by Mirrar. “New Directions” required groups to provide regular reports to Gundjehmi and to seek approval from Gundjehmi for any activities likely to impact upon Mirrar and for the use of promotional material relating to Mirrar. The scheme was intended, like the web, to enable Mirrar to maintain the ability to direct activities that impact on country and was received, like the web, with a certain degree of dissatisfaction.

A pertinent case was the reception of “New Directions” by Melbourne JAG. Unable to reach agreement with Gundjehmi, Melbourne JAG was “disendorsed” and operated that way for some weeks, during which time the group grappled with the issue internally. The disendorsement of the Melbourne JAG by Gundjehmi in February 1999 could have meant the end of the Jabiluka alliance at the community campaigning level, as Melbourne JAG was probably the strongest JAG in terms of membership numbers, campaigning power and historical involvement in the overall campaign.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 243 A special meeting of Melbourne JAG was held on 10th April 1999 to discuss six points considered by Gundjehmi to be pre-conditions for re-endorsement. The conditions related to Mirrar having more control over JAG, including approval for actions, financial matters and media coordination and also a requirement that the primary focus of JAG should be on land rights, human rights and survival.

Throughout the process of seeking re-endorsement (achieved by June 1999), Melbourne JAG members struggled with issues relating to racism, land rights, social justice and the relationship between people and the environment. In doing so, and in reaching consensus regarding the conditions set out by Gundjehmi, they participated in a valuable exercise which involved reassessing black-white and black-green relations. Melbourne JAG is only one example: similar discussions were taking place all over the country at varying levels of participation and with varying degrees of success. In that context, despite disagreements and difficult negotiations, the whole process has to be considered a positive moment in the history of race relations in Australia.

In spite of sometimes-heated disagreements, Jabiluka was a step in a positive direction with regard to reconciling differences between Aboriginal and non- Aboriginal people, in the sense that it provided a forum for white and black to work together face to face. In that respect, in Noonan’s opinion it was a successful alliance:

I think there were certain factions in the camp, particularly some of the feral direct action people who [felt like it wasn’t successful]. Personally I think it was and I think it’s a step forward – I don’t think it’s been a leaping bound, but it’s part of a new, longer more complex process of reconciliation … sharing information and coming together (Noonan, 1998).

The success of the alliance was based in the common ground uncovered by the processes involved in maintaining the base camp – “to bring a really broad group of people together to focus on something which is really powerful and really strong and that’s standing up for the Aboriginal people and trying to stop long- term environmental degradation” (Krishnapillai, 1998a). Those processes entailed developing structures and principles within which a diverse group of people could work. They resulted in the formation of the web, the non-hierarchical organisation

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 244 of the camp, a preparedness to “sit down in the dirt” and talk, and to plan protest actions that relied on creative, emotive expression in place of more militant stop- work blockading. This is typical of what ecofeminists strive for: egalitarianism, freedom of speech, respect for diversity even in the face of disagreement and difference, and the integration of the emotional and spiritual with the rational. That these were prominent features of Jabilukan life reflects the influence of feminism and the bringing together of feminism and environmentalism that occurred there.

5.5 Conclusion: Common Stomping Grounds

It’s an interconnected issue … it’s about land rights, it’s about environmental decision making and planning for the future, and intergenerational equity (Morrell, 1999).

Morrell’s words above voice an ecofeminist awareness that was crucial to the maintenance of the alliance. But the issues were many and complex and the tensions surrounding Gundjehmi’s role were not without effect, as the JAG – Gundjehmi split, the incident detailed in vignette (x) “the red van” and the ploughshares action (discussed in Chapter Two) exemplify. Rachel Fisher says, for example:

While much of it is positive in terms of awareness and fighting for land rights, there’s still been much miscommunication and misunderstanding. Despite the many attempts to communicate, there still remained an unwillingness to recognise the interconnectedness between the anti-nuclear struggle, the fight to save our heritage areas, and the struggle of our Indigenous peoples to have others respect their ownership of and connection to country (Fisher, 1999: 19).

Fisher’s words also reveal that ecofeminist understanding of the interlocking nature of the issues raised by the Jabiluka alliance. Although she acknowledges that there were some Jabilukans who were unwilling to accept direction from Gundjehmi, she also saw a positive benefit of the experience:

I fully understand there’s no right or wrong to what went on because there were major lessons for all of us, and amidst all the miscommunication and turbulence and workshops about respecting each other’s truth it was a powerful experience (Fisher, 1999: 19).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 245 The Jabiluka alliance was shaky at times, but it held up. The camp was closed in mid October 1998, having been in place for almost eight months. Despite having accommodated a total of more than three thousand protesters throughout its duration, the site was left virtually as it was found – half a dozen treated pine poles (figure 18) and the green growth of newly planted trees (a tell-tale sign of the location of the long-drop toilets) being the only noticeable difference. But many of those environmental protesters who participated in this campaign were changed. They had arrived with the intention of preventing a uranium mine from being constructed, and left with an increased awareness of themselves, their own culture and that of the Mirrar as well.

Figure 18: “Nothing Left But Pine Poles” The Jabiluka experience had a profound influence on those who participated – from “reluctant rebels” like 72 year old Edie Franks (see vignette v111) to young law students such as Cass. Edie was reluctant to go to the protest camp, knowing that conditions would be difficult and uncomfortable. Describing her arrival at the camp, she said “all my preconceptions appeared to be confirmed. Inspiringly, over the next few days I was to experience an incredibly steep learning curve. This was both in terms of my own people as well as the Mirrar people on whose land we

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 246 were camped” (Franks, 1998: 19). Cass also describes her experience as life changing: “part of the reason I went to jail … is that I felt so strongly that I was standing up for what I believe in. I feel like it (Jabiluka) has really woken me up and matured me in a very deep sense” (Hudson, 1998: 5).

This experience of deeply personal change is also voiced by Rita Warleigh, a peace activist, when, drawing on Salleh (1997: 35), she says:

We need to “unmake cultural habits that are deeply ingrained in daily life”. We need to think and act more holistically, resisting the split between public and private spheres. We need to listen to indigenous voices, to women’s voices and the voiceless. We need to honour Aboriginal wisdom and culture. I know that for me, since going to Jabiluka I am more determined than ever to give status to my feelings, intuition, subconscious, woman’s wisdom, and the indigenous within me (Warleigh, 1998).

Warleigh also interpreted her involvement at Jabiluka as a step towards reconciliation with Aboriginal people and, like many others, treated her Mirrar passport as an invitation from the Mirrar to “live the reconciliation process, as guests of the Mirrar people helping them to reclaim the land” (Warleigh, 1998).

The Mirrar passports (my own is reproduced in figure 20) were also tangible evidence of the recognition of traditional owners rights’ to control who has access to their land at the bureaucratic level, because it required an agreement with Kakadu National Park management, and the co-operation of parks staff in their implementation. In effect, protesters holding passports were granted temporary residency for the park – a status usually only accorded to traditional owners.60

As both Warleigh and Morrell suggest, the apparently simple strategy of issuing passports was not only a practical matter but was also a means of stimulating thinking about indigenous rights. In Morrell’s words:

The blockade, while towards the end there was a lot of motley stuff going on, achieved so much and was such an inspirational thing. It was so

60 Visitors to Kakadu National Park are ordinarily issued with a permit for camping at the entrance to the park. Permits cost $16 and are valid for 14 days from the date of entry. Those wishing to stay longer are required to obtain a further permit and pay another fee, and a breach of the permit attracts a fine. Parks Australia agreed to waive this restriction for the duration of the camp, allowing Jabilukans to pay a single entry fee and an indefinite length of stay. Jabilukans had to show their entry permit and passport each time they re-entered the park should they leave and come back.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 247 inspirational that now a huge generation of Australians think it’s commonplace that you have a passport if you’re on indigenous land and you recognise that it’s their land – what a huge learning curve for a whole bunch of people that would never have even considered these issues before! (Morrell, 1999).

In turn, that kind of thinking generated a new level of understanding about what constitutes the natural environment. I believe that new understanding began a move towards the reintegration of the divergence of worldviews described in Chapter Three. The worldview of many Jabilukans was changed as they integrated ideas about country and Aboriginal land rights issues with their beliefs about ecological systems and green science to form a new construct: that of “strong country”, which I discuss in more depth in the next chapter.

As is the case with most environmental protests, the media liked to portray Jabilukans as “feral”. But that is a term that is often seized upon by a sensationalist media reporting to mainstream society. In this case, it really just denoted the diversity and difference of the people assembled at Jabiluka. As Edie Franks notes, the “blockaders came from all walks of life and all generations: from poets to office workers, firemen to zoologists, babies to grandparents … and all of us looked feral after a few days in the heat and dust, besieged by flies” (Franks, 1998: 19). That diversity in age, occupation and social background of the Jabilukan blockaders was one of its strengths, as Krishnapillai asserts:

I see it as really important to have that diversity of people involved because that gives it strength and it’s the only way it’s gonna mean mainstream Australia sees it’s wrong and that Yvonne wants to stop it and the campaign is a whole group of people (Krishnapillai, 1998a).

That diverse group of people was united by their common resolve to stop the uranium at Jabiluka from being mined and in doing so also confronted related issues of social justice. Fisher, not atypically, describes the Jabilukan experience thus:

It was not only about stopping a mine but about planting seeds for change, which I feel that we achieved, and in doing so bore witness to the coming together of people from all walks and a multitude of different truths, to try and stop something that many are still in denial about (1999: 19).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 248 The range of people involved in the Jabiluka campaign represented the whole spectrum of environmental politics so it is unsurprising that there was conflict such as that described in sections 5.2 and 5.3. Both TWS’ dissatisfaction with the outcome of the WHC decision and the reaction of JAG to Gundjehmi’s “New Directions” echo the traditional green-black tensions discussed in Chapter Two.

Hence, despite considerable divergences in their views about why they opposed it and the best means of doing so, the camp remained open and functional for a considerable period of time and during that time, some serious social justice issues were thrashed out. And they could be thrashed out because the context permitted it. The voices of the Jabilukans heard in this chapter show that the underlying principles on which the camp was based demanded respect – respect for diversity, for the natural environment, for fellow activists and most of all, for the decisions and culture of the Mirrar people. They demanded consensus decision-making, egalitarian information sharing structures and a consciousness of the interconnections between all forms of oppression. In short, they were the ecofeminist principles described in Chapter Four.

All this leads to such questions as: “Was Jabiluka an ecofeminist campaign?” and “what are its implications for future green-black relations?” Could this concept of “Strong Country” be the beginning of a new way of viewing the environment, one that can be shared by all Australians? I take up these issues in the next, concluding chapter.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 249

Vignette (x) “the red van”

It’s about seven thirty in the morning, I think. The sun is shining brightly over the top of the escarpment now, and the humidity and the temperature are rising, as is the anticipation of the crowd gathered at the entrance to the lease. A group of thirty protesters have tied themselves together with a weaving of cloth, wire and rope. They’re sitting cross-legged in a formation we call “the block” – three rows of five people bound tightly together. They’re aiming to be arrested for blocking the entrance road. An atmosphere of tension prevails – about two hundred and fifty protesters are milling around, most wearing stop Jabiluka T-shirts and cardboard masks of John Howard faces. The “Ohms Not Bombs” bus has been pumping out music and every so often someone makes a short speech to keep morale high while we wait for Yvonne Margarula to arrive before we begin the protest.

Most of the group is sitting on the red earth which is still cool, though it will soon heat up. A young woman stands up. She’s slim, her fair hair tousled. Her face is painted – eyes blackened in post-apocalyptic theatrical style. She’s clad in a midriff singlet top and baggy, “hipster” style, cut-off jeans, so her shoulders and her belly are exposed. She starts to recite a rap poem. Her voice is good, powerful, enriched with passion and emotion. Despite my dislike of rap the rhythm is hypnotic and I find it difficult not to feel impressed by her performance. Even so, I feel uneasy about her clothing. In exposing her belly she has dismissed the request of the traditional owners for protesters to respect their culture, their land, their rights.

Mirrar had requested that shoulders, bellies and thighs be covered when on Mirrar land and in public. This was just one of the guidelines for behaviour they set down when the camp was established, and one not very happily accepted by many of the protesters. It was seen by many as the result of the Christianisation of the Aboriginal people of the area, and therefore not “true” Aboriginal culture. I’m not sure how others felt about this performer’s behaviour, whether they shared my sense of unease at this blatant display of disrespect for another people’s cultural values. She was applauded warmly when she finished her act. I was glad that no Mirrar were here yet.

I soon forgot about the rap artist, because Mirrar did arrive and the protest got underway properly. Caught up in the drama and excitement of it all, I was soon in the back of a police “divvy” van and I spent the next few hours being transported to the police station and being processed. It was only later that I was told about “the red van” incident. The

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 250 rap artist and some companions, apparently disillusioned with the way the protest was proceeding, decided to take their own dramatic action, aimed at getting attention.

They drove their red van, at rather high speed so I’m told, through the gate and a little way on to the lease – narrowly missing a collision with other protesters and a police officer. Once on the lease, they stopped the van, jumped out and ran in various different directions, in to the bush.

Their action did attract attention, but it was negative. It marred what had been a peaceful, well-organised protest which was achieving its aims of mass arrest and gaining media exposure. Some of those who witnessed both the action and Yvonne Margarula’s reaction say she was extremely angry and distressed. Concerns were raised that sacred sites may have been violated – there are some Mirrar sacred sites close to the access track, and Mirrar had requested that no-one step off the track so that the risk of their violation was minimised. Mirrar immediately ordered that those involved be kicked out of the camp.

It was said that the four or five protesters involved in the red van incident were retaliating against Gundjehmi because they had planned a protest at Ranger which had not been approved by Gundjehmi, and about which Gundjehmi had apparently informed the police and ERA.

Everywhere I went that day I heard protesters talking about the red van incident. Most expressed their disgust in the behaviour of those who’d been involved, and anger that the John Howard action had been disrupted that way. Many also talked about their fear that Mirrar might have been so offended that they would cancel the culture walk planned for the next day. Some were worried that sacred sites might have been violated, and angry that “some of our own mob” could be so disrespectful of Mirrar’s request to stay on the track. All agreed that the activists concerned should immediately be banned from camp, and disassociated from the Stop Jabiluka Campaign. Similar sentiments were voiced at the circle called to evaluate the day’s action that night, and in the “long term blockaders” debrief held soon after, and although several long termers expressed understanding for the frustration the van mob had experienced, the majority did not agree with their behaviour. Either way, the red van incident stimulated much discussion about the inappropriateness of the van mob’s behaviour, the guidelines we’d all agreed to when we accepted our Mirrar passports and the rights of Mirrar to uphold them.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 251

Chapter Six: Jabilukan Reflections: Differences Aside?

Figure 19 “Land Rights Now!”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 252

Vignette (xi) “the culture walk”

Stinking hot is the only way to describe it. The sun shines bright, intense, direct – even though it isn’t yet very high in the sky. And what a sky – as clear and blue as the sun is bright.

The atmosphere is reminiscent of a school excursion, with about 120 nimble young people milling about in chattering anticipation of an adventure ahead. Three coaches are parked in their midst, in the dusty dryness of the camp centre, their engines idling to keep the interiors cool for the crowd of protesters about to board. Throbbing engines, exhaust fumes, air conditioned transport – all seem out of character for this place, which for eight months has proudly functioned as self-sufficiently as possible without the trappings of the industrial society so many of its inhabitants oppose.

Protesters have gathered here in anticipation many times throughout the life of this camp, but the holiday-like atmosphere, the time of the day (the sun had already risen) and the highly organised transport arrangements set this occasion apart from other Jabilukan gatherings. The relaxed behaviour of the colourful crowd – diverse as usual – signals a light-hearted day to come. No clandestine, middle-of-the-night, “take-the- mineworkers-by-surprise” type action today. There’s no hint even of a reverential, peaceful “morning-presence-at-the-gate” to be detected in this lot’s behaviour, although there’s definitely an expectant air in their animation, as though they’ve foreseen something profoundly exciting is going to occur.

The coach doors hiss open, not quite in-sync, and there’s a scrambling aboard, feet scuffling in the stony dirt as they crowd around the doors in eagerness. Amidst final checks of “hat, water, sunscreen” readiness, the convoy of tourist coaches groans its way up the one-kilometre red ribbon of corrugated track to Oenpelli Road, and turns left – northeast – in the direction of the Jabiluka mineral lease.

The coaches pass faded signs notifying the public that the land on either side of the road is Aboriginal owned and that access to it requires permission from the traditional owners. They wind through the cool-shaded (but mosquito-infested) space where the road crossed the Magela Creek, and where glimpses of the precious wetland glittered between the melaleucas.

We reach another sign stating that the land is part of the Jabiluka mineral lease. This sign, tall – on two-metre high legs – imposing, almost phallic in its style, stands in white

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 253 contrast to the landscape around, inscribed with technical details of the lease, the minerals on it, maps and figures describing its dimensions and history. There’s another, identical sign right at the entrance to the lease as well. But we’re not going to the lease entrance today.

The coaches pull off to one side of the road to be met by a couple of white four-wheel drives, out of which emerge a hoard of Aboriginal kids, Yvonne Margarula and some staff from Gundjehmi. Christine Christophersen addresses the crowd:

“We’re just gonna walk up there a bit and have a bit of a chat, show you some Aboriginal painting – what they call an art gallery – and tell you a bit about this place”. Her dark curly hair is used as a pointer, inclined casually in the direction of a rocky outcrop a few hundred metres away. “So make sure you’s ‘ave got hats and some water c’s we mightn’t walk far, but it’s 42 degrees out ‘ere today”.

Hushed, a bit shy, a bit in awe now, we amble across the road and towards the rocks – the edge of the famous Arnhem Land escarpment, much lauded in all the tourist propaganda, source of endless fascination for scientific endeavour. Its ochre hues beckon, draw you to them as though they have some kind of magnetic force. Some amongst us would probably say you could sense the spiritual power of the place, feel the danger of what the Aboriginal owners knew as “sickness country”.

Christine, Yvonne and Carol lead the way, walking with ease and confidence, but they stop only a few metres in from the side of the road. Christine speaks again:

“I just want to say – you’re all arrestable right now!”

She grins as a collective laugh and cheer goes up in immediate response, then says “but no-one’s gonna be arrested, even though you’re all on the lease and so technically you are trespassing. The cops know that we’re here, and they know that we’re here for cultural reasons so they’ll leave us alone today. They’d better anyway!” a determined expression fills her eyes as she finishes, and another cheer goes up. At this moment, I’m sure that even those who had decided against being arrested for protesting here could leave having experienced the sense of daring that comes with breaking the law, of pushing the boundaries of society’s norms.

At least that’s how I’d felt, two days previously, when I’d crossed the fence-line at the lease as part of a 100 strong crowd who were likely to be arrested. It was like I had to push the physical boundaries – to stretch the limits of our system of so-called justice, to make visible just how unjust that system really is. So the very real act of pushing the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 254 material boundary – the fence-line of the lease that marked the border between the public space of the national park and the section of it that had been cut out of that space and given over to the private control of the mining company – became highly symbolic. I wanted to see just how far up that road I could go – almost as if by doing so, that much more ground could be claimed back for Mirrar, the traditional owners who’d invited us on to their land and thanked us for being there with them. We’d demonstrated not just our opposition to the construction of the potentially environmentally destructive uranium mine, but also our acknowledgement of the right of the traditional owners to say no to it, recognising their law as more valid than the white law which called us trespassers.

Just as we are here, at this other part of the lease, recognising the right of the traditional owners to invite us on to their land to participate in a cultural exchange.

A group of Mirrar – mainly young women, with several children of varying ages – are with Yvonne and the Gundjehmi staff. There are a couple of men there too, but I don’t see them when we stop again below a huge rock overhang. On the walls are hundreds of paintings, crowded in, layer upon layer, and Yvonne is equally crowded, surrounded by a cluster of people eager to hear her interpret the paintings. Softly spoken, and despite her discomfort in the public gaze, she satisfies their curiosity, describing the paintings, naming them, answering questions about the age of the art (some recent, some timeless), what is represented (food, good hunting, plenty fish, white buffalo hunters, their guns). She quietly tells of childhood memories of coming here with her grandfather to watch him paint.

It is humbling to see her do this work. I’d heard it said that she hated crowds, and that she feels uncomfortable in the company of white people in numbers. She was doing this for us as a means of thanking us for participating in the protest, and also to educate us in the hope that we would see the social injustices inherent in the construction of this mine. I feel very small, and at the same time honoured as I am reminded that she, that the Mirrar, would much rather keep this place private – that is why it is restricted to the public. So even though there was a lot of detail she would not volunteer to us, by being shown this place we were being granted a special privilege. No tourist buses descend on this place as they do the nearby Ubirr and Nourlangie rock art sites, disgorging thousands of tourists who daily stream past the rock art, snapping it up for their photo albums.

The group has dispersed – some of the Mirrar women demonstrate their basket-weaving skills while Yvonne describes the art. We gather together again when Christine indicates it’s time to move on a bit further. We walk slowly, the sun beats us into a trance, the heat is oppressive, stillness surrounds us. A faint insect-droning means it isn’t totally

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 255 silent, but the only other sounds are the murmuring of protesters’ voices and the occasional scuffle of a stone dislodged by our footsteps. The old adage: “only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun” springs to mind.

The ground is dry underfoot, dotted with scrubby eucalypts and the bright green of freshly sprouted growth which contrasts with the greyness of the dirt. The new growth is a sign of recent burning as part of the land management by Parks Australia. Soon we reach an outcrop of huge, weather-worn-smooth boulders. We’re invited to climb up a little way, to get a view of the land we’ve been trying to protect, and then to gather around while Yvonne and the Gundjehmi staff say a few words.

Words of thanks and appreciation. Acknowledging that although the path had not been smooth and the burden of having so many strangers on their land had been heavy at times, they were grateful that we’d come to share the experience, to support them in their struggle.

All eyes turn to Yvonne. She is greeted with the hushed silence that goes with the awed respect granted willingly by such a group as this because they believe such respect is warranted, because they recognise valid leadership. They’re not afraid to outwardly display this respect just as, conversely, they were unafraid to boo and hiss and interrupt whenever a representative of the police or the mining company had attempted to get their attention at a protest.

She thanks us in a soft voice, her shyness apparent in her smile and in her eyes. The simplicity of her words struck at the hearts of all present I think. Many moist eyes are evident, and several people took themselves behind a rock and really bawled their eyes out to emerge, eyes red-rimmed, changed people.

Some of those present had been questioning the value of their trip from the east coast. Despite the success of their mass protest action two days previously, some aren’t convinced that their protest would make much impact. How to get the message out there when the media wasn’t picking up on it?

As we sit in silence after applauding Yvonne and Christine, gazing out at this spectacular landscape, some choking back tears, some letting them flow, all immensely affected by the words and the depth of feeling behind them, those doubts dissipate, dissolving into the hot midday air. It had been worth the long, hard trip and the uncomfortable camp conditions just to be here for this – to be involved in this brief but powerful cultural exchange. The impact is profound. Thoughts and conversations turn towards the

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 256 injustices being perpetrated on Mirrar people, and on ways of focussing energies on how to keep our support for Mirrar going when we return to the cities.

There is a satisfied, introspective air about the group as they descend from the escarpment and slowly make their way back to the coaches waiting at the edge of the road, engines again idling in readiness. And that air continues through the day and into the night, and it is still present as the group gathers together beside the buses again the next morning, this time waiting to board them for the long return journey to the east coast or down through the centre to Adelaide.

I’m standing near some small shrubs, waiting to wave goodbye, conscious of the flitting movements of the little lizards which inhabit them. They’re going about their daily business of mimicking the trees and catching insects as though this mob of whities was nowhere near, had never been here. As the buses pull out, the dust settles and the noise of the departure fades away, I become aware of a woman I hadn’t seen before standing beside me. She is quietly crying.

She cried, she said, not simply because she’d only just managed to get up here from Adelaide, and she was disappointed that she’d missed the last mass protest action and therefore the chance to voice her opposition to Jabiluka, although that was part of it. But, more importantly, it seemed to her that all those who’d been involved in this last week had been profoundly affected by their time up here, and she’d missed the opportunity to be involved in what appeared to be a life-changing experience.

I tried to reassure her by saying that, although the “organised” activities were over, she was still welcome: it was important for us to maintain a visible presence, and that Mirrar appreciated us being here regardless of whether we were actively protesting at the lease site. But, inside, I also realised how much truth there was in her impression. I couldn’t deny the sense of pride I felt that I’d participated and the feeling that I had indeed been changed by my experience here – that there were memories I would have forever.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 257 6.1 Measured Success

This thesis set out to study the interactions between environmental protesters and traditional owners at Jabiluka. It did so by analysing the operations of the protesters’ camp at Jabiluka, and then addressing the question “what enabled the camp to remain functional, thereby contributing to and further strengthening the alliance between greens and blacks?” My observations that elements of ecofeminism were manifest at the camp led to the question: “could it be said that the camp functioned so well because of ecofeminism and may therefore have longer term impacts on green-black relations?”

A full discussion of these questions called for an examination of the history of the Jabiluka project and the tensions between greens and blacks which have historically featured in their relations. When Jabiluka is placed in the historical context of the development of Kakadu National Park it can be seen to be relevant to broader race relations, as well as the politics of uranium mining (ie conservation versus development). Therefore it is highly charged – it is a significant symbol for all stakeholders, and this was demonstrated by the high profile it took on.

6.2 Wild Country

The main source of contention can be traced to a clash of worldviews encapsulated by the discomfort of Aboriginal people with conservationists’ use of the term “wilderness” to describe the environment. As I discussed in Chapter Two, wilderness is an important concept within the environmental movement, embodying the view of the Australian environment as pristine, untouched, – to be “conserved”, and defined by reference to its remoteness and an absence of human occupation. This cultural construction of wilderness is unavoidably anthropocentric: wilderness is valued because it provides benefits to, and satisfies the needs of humans – in particular white, Western ones. The green ideal of wilderness has historical associations with the romanticist idea of an unpeopled landscape. But the idea of wilderness as necessarily devoid of humans is also

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 258 problematic because it stands in contrast to the Aboriginal worldview, in which people are an integral part of the landscape, and in which the idea of people escaping their technocentric world is meaningless.

Aboriginal people are more likely to see the land as “country” – a view of the land as a “nourishing terrain” (Rose, 1996). This perspective acknowledges the intricate connection between Aboriginal people and the land, one based on physical, spiritual and cultural connections. Chapter Two related the significance of the links between Aboriginal people and country to the discussion of wilderness and self-determination, and then to tensions between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people.

The wilderness/country clash is representative of more than a divergence of opinion about what to call the landscape: wilderness obscures the fact of prior Aboriginal occupation – it is based on a similar notion to that of terra nullius. Closely associated with this notion of the Australian landscape as ancient, timeless and devoid of people is the view of Aboriginal people as “living fossils” – remnants of a past culture, and as “noble savages”.

Tensions between greens and blacks, based on such perceptions of Aboriginal people and of country, existed at Jabiluka. The clash was illustrated at Jabiluka by the “savage romantics”, those activists whose actions reflected a view of both Aboriginal people and the environment as relics of the past, believing they should be “snap-frozen” in time. Such a view was exhibited in the conflict over the ploughshares action (described in section 2.4.2) when the ploughshares activists expressed their opinion that Gundjehmi’s directions should be based on traditional Aboriginal cultural beliefs, not according to modern, political tactics.

This kind of disagreement has the potential to result in a breakdown in green- black relations, such as occurred in Tasmania and Western NSW (noted in Chapter Two). However, I found that at Jabiluka, despite its being tested in various ways, the alliance remained strong.

The significance of the alliance formed between greens and blacks at the Jabiluka Protest Camp rests on the fact that considerable tensions have frequently marred

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 259 relations between these two groups in the past, but in this instance, despite conflicts which reflected those historical differences, the Jabiluka alliance remained intact. The large numbers involved and both the smooth operation and the long duration of the protesters’ camp established at the site are testament to the strength of that alliance.

6.3 Including Different Knowledges

Different ways of relating to the environment, or “seeing” it from different perspectives, can consequently lead to conflict regarding land use. The tensions between greens and blacks highlighted the tripartite nature of the conflict at Jabiluka and therefore its great complexity.

The tripartite tensions evident at Jabiluka, discussed in Chapter Three, were a reflection of the conflict between the knowledge systems that shaped the views of each of the three main groups – Aboriginal, environmentalist and developmentalist. In terms of opposition to Jabiluka, environmentalists and Mirrar were in agreement. But in terms of attitudes towards “wilderness”, Aboriginal control of land and traditional culture, commonality between environmentalists and developmentalists can be observed, largely arising from their common cultural heritage as colonisers of country and in their use of science.

In Chapter Three I examined the worldviews of the players at Jabiluka in finer detail, and found that there are parallels between environmentalists and developers. Framed in social constructionist terms, these parallels are the outcome of shared systems of knowledge and, consequently, a shared dominant worldview: in this case, a worldview that is informed by Western science. This subsequently creates conflict between both these worldviews and the Aboriginal cosmos.

I analysed wilderness with respect to its relationship with Western science and dualistic thinking in order to show how mainstream environmentalism is underpinned by Western science and that that is a problem for building strong green-black relations. Aboriginal knowledge is placed outside the boundaries of science and therefore not recognised as “valid” knowledge, and the “green

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 260 imperialist” tendencies of the environmental movement, outlined in section 3.4.2, puts it in a conflicting position, together with developmentalists, vis-a-vis the Aboriginal worldview. Even “green” science is caught up in the boundary work of the Western scientific imagination, reliant on a separation of culture and nature. So natural ecology alone cannot tell us what to do because it is culturally informed knowledge arising from Western science and brings with it the “flavour” or the influence of that worldview. Despite attempts by environmentalism to overcome the dualism which it criticises itself, it has not managed to do so. Environmentalism, as part of the hegemonic culture and together with that culture, must drop Western science as the only “guiding light” and open up to other forms of knowledge if it is to be a useful means for the resolution of environmental conflict.

Social constructionism offers a tool for understanding the way different worldviews come to exist: commonsense knowledge. Greens, blacks, and developmentalists all come to know the environment via the commonsense knowledge of their cultures: that is, their knowledge systems. Hence, the clash between these players is a clash of knowledge systems.

Recognising that the environment is socially constructed means accepting others’ ways of knowing are equally as valid as that of the dominant culture (science). Soper (1995) and Geertz (1983) show us that accepting the social construction of nature doesn’t necessarily mean denying the existence of nature – of material reality, but, rather, that there are different ways of interpreting its meaning and also that it can be “reconstructed”.

If we adopt a social construction approach with respect to cultural heritage management, we will recognise that in any heritage area there are usually many groups with an interest in its management, and that each group will have its own understanding of that area and its meaning for the group. These meanings are not inherent but are socially constructed – the landscape is a cognitive map, “representing the cumulative effects of a wide range of social and cultural influences” (Boyd et al, 1996: 125). Without such an approach, the “multiplicity of cognition – the meanings, landscapes and relationships – associated with a site”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 261 (Boyd et al, 1996: 125) will not be considered, and any management will be based on a partial understanding of that site and the people who maintain attachment to it.

Ecofeminism argues for the recognition of different ways of knowing as equally valid – it is opposed to the privileging of one system of knowledge over another, as it is opposed to the domination by one group over another. Perhaps ecofeminism can tell us what to do – ecology starts on the right path by “reconnecting” with the natural web of life, recognising the need for identification and care of interlocking natural ecosystems, realising that humans are not separate from nature – but ecofeminism enriches that analysis by recognising the validity of other forms of knowing and the need to integrate them in order to develop a scheme for managing human impacts on natural systems.

6.4 Extending Ecofeminist Circles

Whereas some Jabilukans were consciously enacting ecofeminist principles, many were not aware that their actions could be defined as ecofeminist. Questions such as “what constitutes an ecofeminist?” and “how is ecofeminism to be defined?” were addressed in Chapter Four. I concluded there that self-definition as an ecofeminist is not necessary for an activist to be described as ecofeminist, but that what constitutes ecofeminism is behaviour which “supports the premise that the domination of nature and the domination of women are interconnected” (Salleh, 1997: 108), and a consciousness of those connections. I argued as well that a “complete” ecofeminism also encompasses an understanding of the links between the oppression of indigenous people and that of women and the environment. In this definition of ecofeminism, the camp could be described as ecofeminist despite the fact that it was not overtly a women’s protest, or based explicitly upon an ecofeminist platform. Unlike earlier forms of extreme radical feminism, there is room for men in ecofeminism, and there were a number of men as well as many women at Jabiluka who played extremely significant roles and who enacted ecofeminist principles without necessarily describing themselves as either feminist or ecofeminist.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 262 The Women’s Network most clearly exemplified ecofeminist characteristics, but they were visible in other aspects of the campaign as well. I contend that the main ways in which women, indigenous people and nature are seen as linked in ecofeminist theory were either in evidence or applicable at Jabiluka in the following ways:

• First, the position that they are linked by common oppression was highlighted by actions such as the John Howard one (described in vignette (ii) and illustrated in figure 8). These attempted to show how the land rights of the Mirrar were not being recognised, and to publicly dispute the validity of the mineral lease and the right of ERA to mine against the traditional owners’ wishes.

• Second, the active involvement of large numbers of women suggested that they see a common bond between themselves, nature and indigenous people. That bond is encapsulated in Mies’ concept of the ‘naturalisation’ of women and the peoples of the South since, as “non-wage” labour, they became identified as “non-productive” and disappeared from the sphere of the social (Mies and Salleh, 1990: 78).

• Third, the organisational structure of the camp recognised the inimical effects of the patriarchal domination of both women and indigenous people and reflected the feminist belief in the need to break down patriarchal social structures.

• The fourth linkage in evidence at Jabiluka is related to the idea of a direct connection between women and nature through their close association with the degradation of the environment – the Mirrar women who are leading this campaign are concerned about the potential contamination of their land by radioactive waste, fearful of the direct effects on the health of their families and also that the well-being of their community will be further eroded by damage to sacred sites.

• And fifth, ecofeminist spirituality and expressiveness could be seen in artwork, banners, chants and songs, such as one which began “mother I feel

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 263 you under my feet, mother I hear your heartbeat”. The creation and presentation of the women’s web symbolised solidarity between the struggles of women and the Mirrar.

Most importantly it was manifest in the organisational structure of the camp. While it may be argued that these organisational structures are not necessarily ecofeminist, and are the strategies implemented by many social change organisations, the motivational forces behind their implementation in this case were. The great majority of protesters made a genuine attempt to reconcile green/black differences by respecting and upholding the rights and values of Mirrar while on Mirrar land, even when this clashed with various of their own beliefs such as those regarding the land, their cultural customs, dress codes and the use of recreational drugs.

But to say that ecofeminism was present does not mean it necessarily had an impact on the camp or the broader campaign. It might be argued that Jabiluka was not ecofeminist because:

(a) Jabiluka is primarily about environmental and Aboriginal land rights concerns, not women’s issues. But to suggest that Jabiluka was not ecofeminist for this reason is to suggest that an ecofeminist action has to focus on the single issue of the women-nature link and the liberation of women and nature. It also implies that environmental protest always needs a common goal. This is not only limiting but mythical as Doyle (2000) has pointed out. He argues that a belief in the myth of the common goal has limited the boundaries of the movement and demands a compromise be made between the remaining participants.

Activists and activist organisations often operate as though all members of a group or alliance have a common goal, whereas this may not always be the case, particularly when groups form alliances to campaign together. An acceptance that different groups have different priorities, but that they can work together by realising their overlapping areas of interest is necessary for a successful alliance. In this case, the majority of protesters recognised that Aboriginal rights needed to be the focus.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 264 (b) At the broader campaign level, men ultimately had control or were highly involved. It is true that the camp was only one aspect of a much broader campaign, and that as the campaign took on a higher national and political profile there was more involvement by professional male activists, as shown in Chapter Five (section 5.2). This is typical of the power structures of environmental groups. As Mellor (1997: 127), after Seager (1993) and Teveson (1991), says, professional activists are usually men:

Women provide much of the grassroots support for environmental campaigning, but fall away when organizations become more formal and bureaucratised. Women predominate where activism is free or low paid. When involvement becomes more demanding in both time and distance and positions are salaried, men begin to take control.

While the peak green groups were highly involved at the national level, and at that level men are in control, the camp at Jabiluka was operating along informal lines and women took on significant leadership roles. It was here that the effect of women role models, women in decision-making positions and the “normalising” of women in those roles had the greatest effect. It was the camp that has had personal impact on young activists – the leaders of the future – and so I argue that the green movement in Australia has moved a step closer to being ecofeminist as a result of the Jabiluka protest. Ecofeminism affected the management of the camp, and the camp has in turn affected green activists.

The camp was sustained by the implementation of a set of principles or guidelines which can be termed ecofeminist. They are ecofeminist because they blend an awareness of feminist principles with environmental activism, and a consciousness of the need to emphasise social justice issues, such as indigenous land rights, as opposed to a purely biocentric environmentalism. As shown in Chapter Five, the effects of this on the camp were that women were given space to develop leadership skills, concerted efforts were made to ensure that access to information and communication structures was equal for all, and that gender, race and class did not influence decision making or power sharing.

In Chapter Four I noted Plumwood’s argument that ecological feminism has to be understood as an “integrative project with relation to other liberation struggles”

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 265 (1993: 40). At the Jabiluka protesters’ camp the development of such an integrative project was evident in the alliance between Mirrar and environmental protesters. Jabiluka was not a women’s camp per se but nevertheless it brought feminism, environmentalism and indigenous issues together in a highly significant way. The priority given to indigenous issues and the firm placement of social justice alongside the environmental aspects of the protest at Jabiluka makes it stand out from other environmental protests. To the extent that the realisation of the need for environmentalists to consider indigenous issues in their campaigning has been further sharpened by the Jabiluka alliance, then the Jabiluka camp has also helped ecofeminism to grow.

6.5 Future Directions

Environmentalism has traditionally aimed to protect the environment first, and to address other forms of oppression second. The difference between ecofeminism and other forms of environmentalism is that ecofeminism aims to address all forms of oppression. A complete ecofeminism aims to treat the environment, traditional owners’ rights and women equally and, as we have seen, it is this aspect of the campaign at Jabiluka which shows it was influenced by ecofeminist theory and philosophy.

Because Jabiluka is likely to be viewed as a “test-case” of green-black relations, the means for maintaining a successful alliance there are likely to be adopted by future campaigns. To effectively measure the effects of Jabiluka on future green- black relations requires a comparative, longitudinal study of other campaigns. Such a study is outside the scope of this thesis. I can only conclude that there are subtle indications that the Jabiluka alliance continues to influence green campaigns. As I noted in Chapter One, the latest wave of greenies in Australia (including Green politician, Kerry Nettle) see Jabiluka as their “Franklin” – that is, as a highly significant point in green politics, and as a model for future campaigns. Green publications continue to cover the Jabiluka story, references to Jabiluka flavour greens’ conversations, and the “Stop Jabiluka” logo has been adopted as a widespread anti-uranium symbol.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 266 As I have shown, it was not all plain sailing – the “life-force” of the camp (the ecofeminist organisation) ebbed and flowed. It was periodically made provisional by virtue of threats that included:

• Entrenched systems of racial and sexual hierarchy: Aboriginal people were confronted by white racism and both Aboriginal women and female greenies were confronted by the sexism entrenched in the green movement;

• Conflict regarding direct action technique: the means of protest preferred by some greenies was in contradiction with that of the Mirrar;

• Demands on Gundjehmi and Mirrar: balanda’s expectations of deep and meaningful cultural exchange were not met and the demanding presence of so many balanda on bininj land placed great pressure on Gundjehmi and Mirrar;

• Whitefellas’ perceptions of country as “wilderness” and Aboriginal people as “noble savages”: greenies’ romantic ideals of Kakadu as an unpeopled landscape needing protection and an expectation that traditional owners should remain frozen in their pre-industrial past brought historical tensions between greens and blacks to the surface.

Jabiluka was not set up as an ecofeminist protest, and I do not mean to define either Yvonne Margarula or Jacqui Katona as ecofeminist, nor for any other participants to be labelled in a way they may not agree with. However, it is my view that the Jabiluka protesters’ camp benefited from ecofeminist thinking and practice, and without it, the alliance would not have remained strong and might well have broken down. The experience of the camp has taken both green activists and ecofeminist activism a little further down the path towards reconciling differences regarding indigenous rights and nature conservation.

Since at least the Pine Gap protest in the early nineteen-eighties the links between indigenous issues, women and the environment have been recognised by feminist activists. Pine Gap involved large numbers of women and there are many parallels between it and Jabiluka but it was an “anti-military” protest more than a “nature conservation” one – the women there were specifically protesting about the presence of an American military surveillance facility. And although Aboriginal

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 267 women exchanged cultural experiences with non-Aboriginal women, through dance and story-telling, after a while they camped elsewhere. They continued to meet from time to time, but the Aboriginal women had a different understanding of the protest and were “noticeably absent” from the site of the non-Aboriginal women’s protest actions (Somerville M, 1999: 40).

The interlinking of the campaigns for social change relating to women, Aboriginal rights and the environmental crisis – all important areas of social life – has resulted in a unique campaign which has had considerable impact on the lives of the participants and therefore on the broader community.

Shifts towards the integration of green and black are occurring at the formal organisational level. For example, the ACF has re-established its Indigenous environment program and appointed an Indigenous Programs Coordinator. The initial focus of the program will be the Cape York Peninsula and the Kimberleys, and will aim to develop ways to facilitate indigenous management of traditional country (Hunter, 2000: 23). TWS is also working alongside the ACF to develop regional agreements in Cape York.

The ACF has also recently signed an agreement with the Mirrar to try and stop all mining in Kakadu. Bolstered by the success of the alliance at Jabiluka, the Kakadu Charter is intended to send a message to political leaders and the new majority shareholders of ERA, Rio Tinto, that they will only “support policies that respect and defend the cultural and environmental heritage of Kakadu” (Sweeney, 2001a: 11).

In northern Australia, the idea of wilderness is disappearing from greens’ vocabularies, and the Aboriginal concept of country is becoming more commonly used to describe the natural environment by greens and blacks alike. But there is still work to be done. The case is different in South East Australia – in NSW for example, the Colong Foundation for Wilderness, TWS and the NCC recently ran a campaign called “Wilderness 2000”. It aimed to encourage the expansion of wilderness areas in NSW national parks. The continued use of the term wilderness in such campaigns reflects a resistance to incorporating the concept of prior

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 268 Aboriginal ownership and occupation of national parks into the planning of such organisations.

However, in contrast, a national ecofeminist gathering to be held near Katoomba in the Blue Mountains (just west of Sydney) during April 2002 has at its core a desire to include indigenous organisers, concepts and key principles, and aims to find ways for ecofeminists to work with and support Aboriginal communities. The racism, anglocentrism and classism within the women’s movement as discussed in Chapter Four continues to be problematic for all forms of feminism, including ecofeminism, and ecofeminism has the added complication of ecofeminist spirituality’s association with the appropriation of indigenous spiritual beliefs and practices – Sturgeon’s “white goddesses” (Sturgeon 1997) – to contend with, so this path is likely to be a rocky one. However, the harmonious working relationship between the Women’s Network and Gundjehmi became a model for resolving issues with JAG. That relationship showed that, by adopting ecofeminist strategies, white and black people can work together in a positive, harmonious and mutually beneficial way.

6.6 Strong Country

The “red van” incident (vignette x) highlighted the fact that while the majority of protesters accepted Mirarr’s right to control what occurred on their land, there were still some who saw Jabiluka as an environmental issue first and foremost. They could not see the perspective in which the environment is inseparable from culture, that country is more than a physical landscape created by the forces of nature but also a cultural landscape where people have lived, modified the land, intertwined their history and their future with it, embedded their culture and their beings in it.

But while the majority of protesters arrived at Jabiluka with the intention to protest against the construction of the mine for environmental reasons, many of them left believing that the physical and cultural landscape were one and the same

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 269 – they were no longer able to separate the land rights issues from the environmental ones.

Mirrar and the activists supporting them have described the country around Jabiluka as strong country – strong because it is so ancient in human terms and has the power to sustain life in harsh conditions. To environmentalists, “strong country” also signifies a sense of the dangers it contains, perhaps due to the uranium contained within its rock and soil, perhaps due to the severity of the terrain and the climate. But, to me, it is also strong country because many of those who spent time there have become stronger themselves – they have learned about the inseparability of the land from the people, the strength of that connection, of the need to fight for both Aboriginal land rights and against environmental degradation together. The choice of strong country as the title of the last week of protest at Jabiluka demonstrated how powerful and popular the concept was.

While some people probably left the camp feeling disillusioned and frustrated, many more departed in a positive frame of mind, encouraged by their experience. I know that I, like Edie Franks, left feeling that “the spirit of those at the Jabiluka Blockade will always remain with me, as will my John Howard mask” (Franks, 1998: 19). The impacts of the experience of being involved in this campaign and the brief cultural exchange that took place on the culture walks were not only felt by the participants but were also evident to onlookers as described in vignette (xi).

My vision for ecofeminism is one in which it creates a new space where neither green nor black politics takes precedence, nor is it necessarily dominated by women’s politics. It emphasises the change required for all three of these forms of politics to be equally integrated into the norms of environmental organisations and activist culture to the extent that that they become “second nature”.

Borrowing from the well known anthropologist, Victor Turner, I see both Jabiluka (as a representation of the green movement) and ecofeminism as being in a state of liminality – on the threshold of a transition from one state to another. In Turner’s terms, “liminal entities are neither here nor there; they are betwixt and between the positions assigned and arrayed by law, custom, convention, and ceremonial” (Turner, 1969: 94). I too, like Jabiluka and like ecofeminism itself,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 270 am “betwixt and between” – a liminal entity, waiting for the next stage in an ongoing development.

The Jabiluka protest and ecofeminist activism are both about liberation, and, in Mellor’s words:

Liberation entails recognizing that nature is a real autonomous actor rather than a passive object of experimentation and utility … it likewise means that women and minorities should also be accorded recognition as autonomous real beings. Finally, it means writing multi-layered, but perhaps at best partial perspectives on the past, recognizing that we too are but real bodies produced by real social relations reflecting imperfectly on a naturally and culturally constructed real world (Mellor 1997: 72).

This thesis is an attempt at such writing – it can only be a partial perspective, for it is my own. It attempts to peel back some of the layers of the Jabiluka protest, and it is a reflection on my experience of an activist camp. I saw a camp that was both shaped by, and centred on, knowledge and relationships that grew out of the realisation that, although natural forces have created the material environment, they are social processes that determine our perception of and behaviour towards it – the environment can be seen as both a cultural and a natural entity.

Nature has been perceived and defined differently throughout history and across cultures and if nature is a mutable concept then, in one sense, it must be socially constructed. But we can’t ignore the nature that is not constructed – the thing that is “out there” (Soper, 1995): that we variously value either as resource, recreation space, object of scientific investigation, habitat, ecosystem, site of aesthetic beauty. It is what we make of it, not the thing itself, that changes.

Appreciating differing constructions of the same place allows the focus to be shifted away from attempting to assess values and competing interests to accepting a range of approaches, uses and tasks associated with the groups and the place in question. Hence, it was possible for many Jabilukans to recognise that although the basis of their opposition was different from Mirrar’s, it was still important to respect and follow Mirrar’s wishes regarding the means of protesting. Acknowledgement of the recent social history of the area by these activists enabled them to see that Mirrar needed to approach the protest in a manner

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 271 different from that which many activists would have preferred. And it permitted them to view the police and the mine workers and Parks Australia staff not as “enemies”, as some did (for an example, see vignette (vi) “Ubirr”), but as people belonging to different interest groups, people who saw and experienced the issue quite differently but had the right to their own perspective.

The “strong country” of Jabiluka reconstructs Jabiluka – the place – by giving it new meaning – incorporating the knowledge of its indigenous caretakers with that of the greenies. By seeing Kakadu as “strong country” and not as wilderness, Jabilukans were able to accept the presence of humans in the landscape and respect the Indigenous Knowledge of its traditional owners.

Jabiluka … That word, for me, has come to represent much more than a uranium mine. My research has become yet another expedition of discovery. It has journeyed into ecofeminism, the application of ecofeminism at Jabiluka and the ecofeminist in me.

It has delved into the background of the conflict – the tensions between the concepts of wilderness and country – and into the question of how Jabiluka can represent so many different things to different people. In turn, that took me into the world of social constructionism where I found that the “common sense” knowledge of environmentalism and that of developers is often more aligned than that of greens and blacks. And the question of what kept the camp going in the face of such a clash of knowledge systems took me along the path of ecofeminism and then onto that of the relevance of ecofeminism to broader green-black relations.

Jabiluka is not just a mineral lease, and not just the location of a social change protest, it is also the site of a union between environmental and Aboriginal social movements. For many of the protesters at Jabiluka, opposition to the mining of uranium in an area considered to be environmentally precious was the motivation for their involvement in the protest camp. They had respect for the Aboriginal owners, but largely felt more strongly about the uranium issue than land rights. Once at Jabiluka, however, their ideas about what this piece of land means to Mirrar, and about the relationship between land rights and environmentalism were

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 272 confronted and reformed. The result is that many individuals left Jabiluka with a different perception not just of Jabiluka, but of the environment in general: the environment has been constructed anew: as strong country.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 273

Vignette (xii): “Women, Earth and Change”

What a dramatic difference in climatic conditions! My journey has taken me from one extreme to the other – from the heat and humidity, the ochres and reds of the top end to the cold blue mauves of the Blue Mountains landscape, where it continues.

It’s twilight on a clear, crisp evening in July. The sun has just set in its wintry way – it seemed to fall out of the sky at the last minute, leaving Mount Solitary to loom dramatically before us, tinged all pink and gold, majestically posing for the cameras of the last lingering sightseers of the day. They’re drawn here to this high point just as they are to Ubirr and other places of special natural beauty. The lookout is typically crowded and becomes more so with the arrival of three carloads of women who descend on the lookout in groups of two and three until we’re all there, about fifteen of us, affectionately greeting each other.

Our group presence (or maybe it’s our appearance – our rainbow striped jumpers and vividly coloured beanies contrast dramatically with the largely sombre tones of the winter fashions preferred by most of the tourists) seems to make many of the sightseers uncomfortable and they edge away, granting us more space. One of our numbers brings out a bubble-maker and begins to blow bubbles out into the wind. Reflecting the purples and blues of the mountains beyond, caught glistening by the sun’s last rays, they drift way out above the thousand-metre drop below. Our breath is drawn with them. We laugh and hug and murmur of the surreal beauty of the image before us and of this fitting and satisfying end to our weekend together.

Tourists’ cameras click and whirr, capturing the bubbles along with the foreground of the spectacular panorama. One of the tourists turns to the bubble-maker and asks her what trip she’s on. Eyes twinkling, she tells him she’s eaten too much sugar and we smile with her. Linking arms in solidarity we decide to walk closer to the Three Sisters, that famous landmark and icon of the Blue Mountains tourism industry. We’ve just heard from a local Aboriginal woman that the name has been bastardised by white culture, that in fact there are seven sisters, linked in Aboriginal belief to the seven sisters in the sky. So we peer into the valley below and see that indeed, it is true – there are four more “sisters”. They’re very much eroded, but still visible further along the ridge.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 274 At the sisters themselves, we stop at another small lookout and drink the view in. Someone starts to sing … sin che che che … and gradually we all join in, repeating the song again and again. It’s an African song of liberation, written for Nelson Mandela. We’d learnt it the night before and it was a wonderful, joyous release to sing it then, following the heavy session we’d just had, one in which we’d explored our deepest emotions. It felt equally as liberating to sing it now.

A Japanese couple approaches, apparently intending to come on to the lookout. They hesitate, sizing us up, and move away again. We’re conscious of the space we’re occupying, conscious that others don’t know what to make of us, perhaps are even fearful of our unorthodox behaviour. But we can’t let that stop us – we’re intent upon overcoming the inhibitions brought about by society’s expectations. We’re here to celebrate women, the environment, ourselves. We’ve just spent an intense weekend trying to work out what social change we can make as ecofeminists. We’ve opened up deeply felt emotions regarding the treatment of women, nature, indigenous people and the oppression they share. We’ve acknowledged that although there’s a long way to go, we can, in a diversity of ways, effect some change. The “women, earth and change” workshop offered us the opportunity to “sing up a feminist future”. The process had moved us through a cycle that involved coming from gratitude and joy in life, exploring despair and emotional truth, and through empowerment going forth into the world.

So here we were – going forth into the world, energised, empowered, set upon celebrating our intentions. We claimed the space we needed on the lookouts, made our voices heard, formed a circle and held hands. As darkness descended and we called the names of the many other women we knew would be with us if they could be, and with the cold wind on our faces, we thanked ourselves and our earth for the experience we’d just shared.

Just as we couldn’t let others’ fears of unorthodox behaviour stop us “singing up a future” here at the seven sisters, in the heart of Australia’s newest World Heritage Area, neither could the protesters at Jabiluka let it stop them there. I went to Jabiluka as a feminist environmentalist, unsure of what involvement I would have and whether I identified myself as an ecofeminist. I didn’t associate myself with neopagan earth/goddess worship and was wary of the appropriation of indigenous culture often associated with ecofeminism. I returned strong in my identity as an ecofeminist, and I also discovered that we can conduct ecofeminist activities without necessarily labelling ourselves as ecofeminist, but that until we conduct environmental activities in an ecofeminist frame, bridges between environmentalists and indigenous keepers of country will remain half-built.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 275 Epilogue – Mirrar Winning

More than three years since the camp closed and more than five since the Jabiluka issue hotted up with the election of the Howard Liberal government in 1996, the Jabiluka dispute is still unresolved. The mine has been constructed but is in “maintenance mode” and already it is plagued by water management problems (Sweeney, 2001b). It sits idle and it will do so for some time, if not forever, as Mirrar would have it.

While the mine has been built, facilities for milling ore from Jabiluka have not. Mirrar have managed to prevent the construction of a road from Jabiluka to Ranger mine. That road was necessary for ERA’s preferred option of transporting ore from Jabiluka to Ranger to make use of the existing processing plant there. Naturally, ERA was reluctant to spend the extra millions of dollars it would cost to build another processing plant at Jabiluka.

So the Jabiluka Uranium Mine is on hold again for now. Mirrar are winning this battle, despite losses in court; despite actions disputing the validity of the lease; despite their senior elder, walking on her own land, being deemed guilty of trespass in balanda law; despite the fact that the mine has been built with government approval; and despite the decision of the internationally recognised World Heritage Commission that Jabiluka would not pose enough of a threat to the natural heritage of the area to warrant its listing as “world heritage in danger”.

They are winning because although the mine has been built, production has been delayed. And it has been delayed because of the intense pressure placed on the Australian government by the World Heritage Commission’s grave concerns for the cultural heritage of Kakadu. The intense and persistent lobbying by Mirrar in the international arena has paid off – the World Heritage Commission has requested the Australian government to supply further reports to show how it intends to ensure that the living tradition of Mirrar is protected. And the World Heritage Commission will continue to monitor the commitment of the Australian government and ERA on that issue.

Mirrar have also succeeded in getting the Northern Land Council to see their perspective. Caught between those Aboriginal clans who are pro-uranium mining and those who are anti, yet expected to represent them both, the Northern Land

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 276 Council (reliant on mining royalties for funding) has not taken a strong stance on Jabiluka throughout the current protest. But now it has decided to acknowledge Mirrar’s right to refuse consent for the construction of the road by placing an embargo on discussions about the road for five years. Without consultation with the Northern Land Council, ERA could go nowhere with that road.

And even though some green groups may not have been happy with the outcome of the last World Heritage Commission meeting in Paris, Mirrar were. They saw that, for the first time ever, an indigenous Australian had addressed that prestigious international forum and had done so in her own language. The Australian government representative had publicly given an assurance that cultural concerns would be paramount in decisions regarding Jabiluka. Yvonne Margarula had been treated with the dignity and respect which is usually and rightly accorded a community leader and that was also a win because, sadly, it is highly unusual for her, or her sisters, to be treated that way in our Eurocentric Australian society.

Early in 2001, another corporate mining giant, Rio Tinto, bought a majority share in ERA. Shortly after the sale, Rio Tinto announced that the company “did not support the development of Jabiluka in the short term” (Sweeney, 2001b: 3). The decision was based on a combination of factors: the opposition by Mirrar traditional owners and the wider community and a depressed global uranium market.

The mine is at a stand-still – it is in “maintenance mode”. Production was expected to commence at Jabiluka in September 1999, but the campaign has successfully stalled the development: 3 years later, in September 2002, Rio Tinto announced Jabiluka would never proceed without the consent of its traditional owners.

Mirrar have not yet completely stopped Jabiluka - they, and the ACF, are calling for the mine site to be rehabilitated. However, they have won in the sense that the unique importance of Mirrar culture has been acknowledged on the world stage. A conservative Australian government has begun to acknowledge the importance of protecting Mirrar living tradition in the face of the threat posed to it by Jabiluka.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 277 These are hollow victories from the perspective of some green activists, but not from that of the Aboriginal traditional owners, for whom this is not just an exercise in protecting the physical beauty of the natural environment but a matter of cultural survival. And the first step towards achieving that is to recognise that threats to culture are threats to existence. You can’t protect the environment without protecting the people too because they are one and the same – you can’t have one without the other. The step taken at Jabiluka was a tentative one, but it has been taken, and the ground has been prepared for more to follow.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 278

Figure 20: My Mirrar Passport

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 279 Bibliography

ACF - The Australian Conservation Foundation, “Wilderness and Indigenous Cultural Landscapes in Australia, Draft Policy, 1998a.

ACF - The Australian Conservation Foundation, “Indigenous Peoples' Land and Water Policy Statement”, No 48, 1998b.

ACF – The Australian Conservation Foundation, “Newspoll on Jabiluka Uranium Mine”, Media Release, June 1998c.

ACF - The Australian Conservation Foundation, “Wilderness and Indigenous Cultural Landscapes in Australia Policy”, Policy Statement No 64, 1999a.

ACF - The Australian Conservation Foundation, “Departure of Ms Jacqui Katona From ACF Council”, Media Statement, 23rd July, 1999b.

ACF – The Australian Conservation Foundation, “About ACF”, http://www.acfonline.org.au/aboutacf/about.htm

Addington C, “Greenham Common – Ten Years On”, Australian Feminist Studies, No 15, Autumn 1992, pp 111-114.

AHC - The Australian Heritage Commission, “Wilderness: We Call it Home”, undated brochure, published by AHC, distributed in Habitat Australia, 1999.

Alder K, Australia’s Uranium Opportunities: How Her Scientists and Engineers Tried to Bring Her into the Nuclear Age but Were Stymied by Politics, Pauline M Alder, Sydney, 1996.

Alexander K, “As a Man I Am Expected To …”, National Parks Journal, Vol 44, No 6, December 2000, p15.

Amos V and Pratibha P, “Challenging Imperial Feminism”, Feminist Review, No 17, July 1984, pp3-19.

APC - The Aboriginal Project Committee, Kakadu Region Social Impact Study. Report of the Aboriginal Project Committee, a study jointly funded by the Commonwealth and Territory Governments, the Northern Land Council, and Energy Resources of Australia, June, 1997.

Arnold D, The Problem of Nature: Environment, Culture and European Expansion, Blackwell Publishers, Cambridge, 1996.

ATSIC – The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission, “The Mabo Judgement”, Current Issues, ATSIC, Canberra, February and November, 1993.

Attwood B, (ed), In the Age of Mabo: History, Aborigines and Australia, Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, 1996a.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 280 Attwood B, “Mabo, Australia and the End of History” in Attwood B (ed), ibid, 1996b, pp100-116.

Attwood B, “Introduction: The Past as Future: Aborigines, Australia and the (dis)course of History” in Attwood B (ed), ibid, 1996c, pp vii – xxxviii.

Australian National Parks and Wildlife Service, Kakadu National Park Board of Management (eds), Kakadu National Park Plan of Management, Commonwealth of Australia, Canberra, 1991.

Ayupan LB and Oliveros TG, “Filipino Women in Defence of Life” in Shiva V (ed) Close to Home: Women Reconnect Ecology, Health and Development Worldwide, New Society Publishers, Philadelphia, 1994, pp113-120.

Baird J, “For O’Shane, Sexism is the Lesser of Two Evils”, The Sydney Morning Herald, 21st June 2001, p13.

Banerjee SB, “Whose Land is it Anyway? National Interest, Indigenous Stakeholders, and Colonial Discourses: The Case of the Jabiluka Uranium Mine”, Organization and Environment, Vol 13, No 1, March 2000, pp. 3-38.

Baring A and Cashford J, The Myth of the Goddess: Evolution of an Image, Arkana, Penguin Books, London, 1991.

Barlow A, “Land and Country: Source, Self and Sustenance”, in Birckhead J, De Lacy T, Smith L, (eds) Aboriginal Involvement in Parks and Protected Areas, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Report Series, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1996, pp57-64.

Barry J, Environment and Social Theory, Routledge, London, 1999.

Barton W (ed), Wilderness: the Future, Envirobook, Sydney, 1994.

Bates B, “Mootwingee National Park: A Case Study”, Historic Environment, Vol 10, 2 and 3, 1993, pp 33-66.

Bell D, Ngarrindjeri Wurruwarrin: A World That is, Was and Will Be, Spinifex Press, Melbourne, 1998.

Berger P, Luckmann T, The Social Construction of Reality, Penguin, Great Britain, 1981.

Biehl J, Finding Our Way: Rethinking Ecofeminist Politics, Black Rose Books, Montreal, 1991.

Blackburn S, The Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1996.

Blair K, Interview 1, Sari Rasa, Darwin, July 1998.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 281 Blair K, Interview 2, Environment Centre Northern Territory, Darwin, October, 1998.

Blair K, personal email communication, 21/11/2000.

Borgmann A, “The Nature of Reality and the Reality of Nature”, Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, Soule ME, Lease G (eds), Island Press, Washington, 1995, pp 32-46.

Boyd B, Cotter M, O’Connor W, Sattler D, “Cognitive Ownership of Heritage Places: Social Construction and Cultural Heritage Management”, TEMPUS 6, (1996), pp. 123-140.

Bradbury D (producer and director), “Jabiluka”, documentary film, presented by the Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation and Frontline Film Foundation.

Broome R, “Historians, Aborigines and Australia: Writing the National Past”, In the Age of Mabo, Attwood B (ed), Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, (1996), pp 54-72.

Brown A, “Women’s Resistance Camp: Hunsrück, West Germany”, Women’s International Forum, Vol 12, No 1, 1989, pp 65-73.

Brown P, personal communication, June 2001.

Brown R (a), Public Speech, “Jabiluka National Day of Action”, Public Rally, First Fleet Park, Sydney, April 4th, 1998.

Brown R (b), Jabiluka Campaign Appeal, pamphlet distributed in Habitat Vol 26, No 3, June, 1998.

Bulbeck C, Re-Orienting Western Feminisms: Women’s Diversity in a Post- Colonial World, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998.

Burgmann V, Power and Protest: Movements for Change in Australian Society, Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, 1993.

Carroll BA, “Women Take Action! Women’s Direct Action and Social Change”, Women’s International Forum, Vol 12, No 1, 1989, pp 3-24.

Carter D, “Recognising Traditional Environmental Knowledge”, International Development Research Centre Reports, Vol 21, No 1, April 1993, http://www.idrc.ca/books/reports/v211/tradhtml

Chalmers AF, What is This Thing Called Science?: An Assessment of the Nature and Status of Science and Its Methods, 2nd edition, University of Queensland Press, Australia, 1982.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 282 CLC & NLC - The Central Land Council and the Northern Land Council, Our Land, Our Life: Aboriginal Land Rights in Australia's Northern Territory, IAD Press, Alice Springs, 1995.

Christophersen C, Langton M “Allarda!”, Arena Magazine, Vol 17, June-July, 1995, pp. 28-32.

Clifford J, “Introduction: Partial Truths” in Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography, Clifford J and Marcus GE (eds), University of California Press, Los Angeles, 1986, 1-26.

Cohen I, Green Fire, Angus and Robertson, Sydney, 1996.

Cook A and Kirk G, Greenham Common Everywhere: Dreams, Ideas and Actions From the Women’s Peace Movement, Pluto Press, London, 1984.

Cook J, “The Philosophical Colonization of Ecofeminism”, Environmental Ethics, Vol 20, No 3, Fall 1998, pp 227-246.

Cox PA, Elmqvist T, “Ecocolonialism and Indigenous-Controlled Rainforest Preserves in Samoa”, Ambio: Journal of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, Vol 26, no 2, March, 1997, pp. 84-89.

Cramer J, Eyerman R and Jamison A, “The Knowledge Interests of the Environmental Movement and its Potential for Influencing the Development of Science” in Blume S, Bunders J, Leydesdorf L and Whitely R (eds), The Social Direction of the Public Sciences: Causes and Consequences of Co-operation Between Scientists and Non-scientific Groups, D.Reidel Publishing Company Dordrecht, 1987.

Cresswell T, “Putting Women in Their Place: The Carnival at Greenham Common”, Antipode, Vol 26, No 1, 1994, pp 35-58.

Cronon W (ed), Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature, WW Norton and Company, New York, 1995.

Davis WB, “Federal State Tensions in Australian Environmental Management: the World Heritage Issue” in Walker K (ed), Australian Environmental Policy, UNSW Press, Sydney, 1992.

D’Eabonne F, “Le Feminisme Ou La Mort” Pierre Horay, Paris, 1974.

Delbridge A, Bernard JRL, Blair D, Peters P, Butler S, The Macquarie Dictionary, Second Edition, The Macquarie Library, Sydney, 1992.

Department of Planning, Jervis Bay: Our Heritage, Our Future, Shoalhaven City Council, Shoalhaven, 1992.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 283 Devall B, “The Deep Ecology Movement”, Natural Resources Journal, Vol 20, April 1980, pp 299-313.

Diamond I, Orenstein G (eds), Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990.

Dobson A (ed), The Green Reader: Essays Toward A Sustainable Society, Mercury House, San Francisco, 1991.

Dodson M, “Land Rights and Social Justice” in Our Land is Our Life: Land Rights - Past, Present and Future, Yunupingu G (ed), University of Queensland Press, Brisbane, (1996), pp39-51.

Doyle T and Kellow A, Environmental Politics and Policy Making in Australia, Macmillan Education Australia, Melbourne, 1995.

Doyle T, Green Power: The Environment Movement in Australia, UNSW Press, Sydney, 2000.

Dryzek J and Schlosberg D, Debating the Earth: the Environmental Politics Reader, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1998.

D'Souza CK, “A New Movement, A New Hope: East Wind, West Wind and the Wind From the South”, in Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism, Plant J (ed), New Society Publishers, Philadelphia, 1989, pp 29-39.

Eckersley R, Environmentalism and Political Theory: Toward an Ecocentric Approach, UCL Press, New York, 1992.

ECNT – The Environment Centre Northern Territory, “About the Environment Centre”, http://www.ecnt.org/about.html, undated.

Edwards R, “Beware Green Imperialists”, New Scientist, Vol 20 (84), 31 May 1997, pp. 14-15.

Eistenstein H, Contemporary Feminist Thought, Unwin Paperbacks, London, 1984.

Ellen RF, “Rhetoric, Practice and Incentive in Changing Times: A Case Study in Nuaulu Attitudes to Conservation”, Milton K (ed), Environmentalism: the View From Anthropology, Routledge, London, 1993.

Emberley J and Landry D, “Coverage of Greenham and Greenham as Coverage”, Feminist Studies, Vol 15, No 3, Fall 1989, pp 485-498.

Environment Australia “Australian Heritage Commission Policy Statement on Wilderness and Indigenous Issues”, Adopted September 1996, altered July 1997, Environment Australia Online, 1997

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 284 Environment Australia, “Malimup Communiqué, Malimup Spring”, May 1998; Environment Australia Online http://www.environment.gov.au/heritage/wwr/cwp/malimup.html, 1998.

Environment Australia, A plan of Management in Respect of Kakadu National Park, http://www.biodiversity.environment, undated.

ERA - Energy Resources of Australia, “ERA to Temporarily Suspend Advancement of the Jabiluka Decline”, ERA Media Release, 11th May 1999(a).

ERA - Energy Resources of Australia, “Jabiluka Tunnel”, ERA Media Release, 18th May, 1999(b).

ERA - Energy Resources of Australia, “Jabiluka – Four Common Misconceptions”, Jabiluka Fact Sheet, Energy Resources of Australia, Sydney, undated (a).

ERA - Energy Resources of Australia, “Jabiluka EIS at a Glance”, Energy Resources of Australia, undated(b).

Evernden N, The Social Creation of Nature, The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1992.

Fagan M, “Aboriginal Self-Determination Within the United Nations”, Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation; undated.

Fagan M, “Article Submitted to ALRC”, 9th September 1999.

Figgis PJ, “Wilderness and Tourism” in Barton W (ed), Wilderness: the Future, Envirobook, Sydney, 1994. pp 155-163.

Figgis PJ, “Taking Paradise and Putting Up Parking Lots – the Role of Women in Reclaiming Paradise”, Ann Conlon Memorial Lecture, NSW Department for Women, Sydney TAFE, 24 August 1998.

Finlayson J, “Aboriginal Cultural Tourism: Is There a Sustainable Future?”, TEMPUS 5, (1996), pp 114-118.

Fisher R, “The Jabiluka Blockade: Two Views”, The Third Opinion, Autumn, 1999, p19.

FoE – Friends of the Earth – “About Friends of the Earth Australia”, http:www.foe.org.au/about.htm, undated[a].

FoE – Friends of the Earth – “Starting a Friends of the Earth Group”, pamphlet, FoE, Fitzroy, Vic, undated [b].

Foley HP, “A Question of Origins: Goddess Cults Greek and Modern”, Women’s Studies, Vol 23, 1994, pp193-215.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 285 Foreman D, “Putting the Earth First” in Dryzek and Schlosberg (eds), Debating the Earth: the Environmental Politics Reader, Oxford University Press, Oxford,, 1998, pp 358-364.

Foster D, Gurig National Park: The First Ten Years of Joint Management, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Canberra, 1997.

Fox A, “Mutawintji,Wilderness and all That”, National Parks Journal, Vol 43, No 5, October 1999, p. 21.

Fox RW, Kelleher GG, et al, Ranger Uranium Environmental Inquiry Second Report, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1977.

Fox RW, Kelleher GG, et al, Ranger Uranium Environmental Inquiry: First Report, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1976.

Fox W, “New Philosophical Directions in Environmental Decision-making”, in Hay P and Eckersley R (eds), Ecopolitical Theory: Essays From Australia, Occasional Paper 24, Centre for Environmental Studies, University of Tasmania, 1992, pp 1- 20.

Francioni F, “Presentation by Professor F Francioni Concerning the World Heritage Mission to Kakadu National Park, 26 Oct - 1 Nov 1998”, UNESCO Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage; World Heritage Committee, 22nd Session, Kyoto, Japan 30 Nov-5 Dec, 1998.

Franks E, “The Reluctant Rebel”, The Northern Star, 4 November, 1998, p19.

Frawley K, “A ‘Green’ Vision: The Evolution of Australian Environmentalism”, Inventing Places: Studies in Cultural Geography, Anderson K, Gale F (eds), Longman Cheshire, Melbourne, 1992, pp 215-234.

Friends of the Earth, “Australia Indigenous Land Rights Policy Statement”, adopted at the national meeting, June 1998.

Fuss D, Essentially Speaking: Feminism, Nature and Difference, Routledge, New York, 1989.

GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, “Mirrar Living Tradition in Danger: World Heritage in Danger”, Submission to the World Heritage Committee Mission to Kakadu, October 1998(a).

GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, “Submission From the Mirrar People to the UNESCO World Heritage Committee ICCROM and ICOMOS in Relation to the Australian Government’s Report: Australia's Kakadu: Protecting World Heritage”, December 1998(b).

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 286 GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation “Margarula Conviction an Attack on Human Rights”, Media Release, 1st September, 1998(c).

GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation “Ploughshares”, Media Release 9th September 1998(d).

GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation “Open Letter From Jacqui Katona and Christine Christophersen” Media Release, 26th February, 1999(a).

GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, “Jabiluka Sacred Sites Set for Destruction” Media Release, 21st May, 1999(b).

GAC – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation – Information for the Twenty-fourth Session of the Bureau of the World Heritage Committee, 19th May, 2000a.

GAC – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation – “Ranger Leak Gives Lie to Government Claim”, Media Release, 3rd May, 2000b.

GAC [1] - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, Fact Sheet 1, http://www.mirrar.net

GAC [2] – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, “What Are the Rights of Traditional Owners?”, The Facts of Jabiluka, undated.

GAC [3] - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, “We Are Not Talking About Mining: The History and Duress of the Jabiluka Project”, http://www.mirrar.net/pages/duress.htm

GAC [4] – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation – “Being Set Aside for Mining: The Ranger Story”, The Facts of Jabiluka, undated.

GAC [5] – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation – “Deceit and Duress: the Jabiluka Mining Agreement, The Facts of Jabiluka, undated.

GAC [6] – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation – “Who Are the Traditional Owners”, The Facts of Jabiluka, undated.

GAC [7] – Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation – “Are there any Traditional Owners in Favour of Jabiluka Proceeding?”, Fact Sheet 12, http://www.mirrar.net

Gaard G, “Ecofeminism and Wilderness”, Environmental Ethics, Vol 19, No 1, Spring, 1997, pp. 5-25.

Gaard G, (ed), Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, 1993.

Gaard G, “Ecofeminism and Native American Cultures: Pushing the Limits of Cultural Imperialism?” in Gaard G (ed), ibid, 1993, pp 295-314.

Gancher D, “Foreword” in Dobson A (ed) ibid, 1991, p ix.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 287 Garfinkel H, Studies in Ethnomethodology, Polity Press, Cambridge, 1967.

Gelsthorpe L, “Response to Martyn Hammersley's Paper On Feminist Methodology”, Sociology, Vol 26, No 2 May, 1992, pp 213-218.

Geertz C, The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays by Clifford Geertz, Hutchinson, London, 1975.

Geertz C, Local Knowledge: Further Essays in Interpretive Anthropology, Fontana Press, London, 1983.

Gieryn T, “Boundaries of Science”, in Jasanoff S, Markle G, et al (eds), The Handbook of Science and Technology Studies, Sage Publications, California, 1995, pp 393-443.

Gieryn TF, Figert AE, “Scientists Protect Their Cognitive Authority: The Status Degradation Ceremony of Sir Cyril Burt”, in Bohme G, Stehr N D (eds), The Knowledge Society: The Growing Impact of Scientific Knowledge on Social Relations, Reidel Publishing Company, Dordrecht, 1986, pp 53-56.

Gieryn TF, “Boundary-work and the Demarcation of Science from Non-science: Strains and Interests in Professional Ideologies of Scientists”, American Sociological Review, Vol 18, December, 1983, pp 781-795.

Gill H, Interview, Leichhardt, December, 1998.

Goodall H, Huggins J “Aboriginal Women Are Everywhere: Contemporary Struggles” in Saunders K, Evans R (eds), Gender Relations in Australia, Sydney, 1992, pp 398-424.

Green J, “World Heritage Committee Caves in on Kakadu”, FoE Fitzroy Newsletter, Winter 1999, p 3-5.

Gregory M, “Rewriting History 1: Mabo v Queensland: the Decision”, Alternative Law Journal, Vol 17, No 4, August 1992, pp157 - 161.

Grenier L, Working With Indigenous Knowledge: A Guide for Researchers, International Development Research Centre, Ottowa, 1998.

Grey T, Jabiluka: The Battle to Mine Australia's Uranium, The Text Publishing Company, Melbourne, 1994.

Griffin S, “Split Culture”, Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism, Plant J (ed), New Society Publishers, Philadelphia, 1989, pp 7-17.

Griffin S, Woman and Nature: The Roaring Inside Her, The Women's Press, London, 1978.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 288 Griffiths T, Hunters and Collectors: The Antiquarian Imagination in Australia, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996.

Griffiths T, Robin L (eds), Ecology and Empire: Environmental History of Settler Societies, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1997.

Grove-White R, “Environmentalism: A New Moral Discourse for Technological Society?”, Milton K (ed) Environmentalism: The View From Anthropology, Routledge, London, 1993, pp18-30.

Guchteneire P and Nakashima D, “Indigenous and Local Knowledge Systems in Sustainable Development”, information paper for delegates to the meeting to follow up the UNESCO World Conference on Science, 8 November 1999.

Hahlweg K, “An Ecological Model of Knowledge Diversity” a paper presented to the “Science and Other Knowledge Systems” Conference, James Cook University, Cairns, 23-27 August, 1996.

Hajer MA, “Ecological Modernisation as Cultural Politics”, in Lash S, Szerszynski B, Wynne B (eds), Risk, Environment and Modernity: Towards a New Ecology, Sage Publications, London, 1996, pp 246-268.

Hall CM, Wasteland to World Heritage: Preserving Australia’s World Heritage, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1992.

Hallen P, “Making Peace With the Environment: Or Why Ecology Needs Feminism”, Proceedings of Ecopolitics II: A Conference Held at the Centre for Environmental Studies, University of Tasmania, May, 1987.

Hallen P, “Reawakening the Erotic: Why the Conservation Movement Needs Ecofeminism”, Habitat Australia, Vol 22, No 1, February, 1994 pp. 18-21.

Hamilton C, “Women in Politics: Methods of Resistance and Change”, Women’s Studies International Forum, Vol 12, No 1, 1989, pp129-135.

Hamilton C, “Women, Home, and Community: The Struggle in an Urban Environment”, in Diamond I, Orenstein GF (eds), Reweaving The World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990.

Hammersley M, “On Feminist Methodology”, Sociology, Vol 26 (2), May, 1992, pp 187-206.

Harding S, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Thinking From Women's Lives, Cornell University Press, New York, 1991.

Haraway D, “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Partial Perspective”, Feminist Studies, Vol 14, No 3, Fall 1988, pp 575-600.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 289 Harrie-Jones P, “Between Science and Shamanism: the Advocacy of Environmentalism in Toronto”, Milton K (ed), Environmentalism: the View from Anthropology, Routledge, London, 1993, pp 43-58.

Hay P, Main Currents in Western Environmental Thought, UNSW Press, Sydney, 2002.

Hayles K, “Searching for Common Ground” in Soule ME, Lease G (eds), Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, Island Press, Washington, 1995, pp 47-64.

Head L, “Australian Aborigines and a Changing Environment - Views of the Past and Implications For the Future”, in Birckhead J, De Lacy T, Smith L, (eds) Aboriginal Involvement in Parks and Protected Areas, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Report Series, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1996, pp 47-56.

Head L, Second Nature: The History and Implications of Australia as Aboriginal Landscape, Syracuse University Press, New York, 2000.

Heer F, The Medieval World: Europe 1100 – 1350, Wiedenfeld, 1993.

Heller C, “For the Love of Nature: Ecology and the Cult of the Romantic” in Gaard G (ed), Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, 1993, pp 219-242.

Henkle C and Canin J, “Walking Through a Minefield”, documentary film, Hatchling Productions, the Australian Film Commission and SBS Independent, 1999.

Hill MA, Press AJ, “Kakadu National Park: An Australian Experience in Joint Management”, a case study for the Liz Claiborne Art Ortenberg Foundation Community-based Conservation Workshop, October 1993.

Hill R, “Jabiluka Emergency Declaration Declined”, Media Release, 28th May, 1999.

Hobsbawm E, The Age of Revolution: Europe 1789-1848, Weidenfield and Nicholson, London, 1962.

Hogarth M, “Young, Organised and Out There”, The Sydney Morning Herald, 11 July, 1998, p43.

Hohl AE, Tisdell CA, “Conservation Networks, Integrated and Sustainable Land Use in a Tropical Frontier - The Cape York Peninsula Region, Australia”, The Environmentalist, Vol 14, No 4, 1994, pp 253-269.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 290 Hollingsworth B, “Self-determination and Reconciliation”, in Fletcher C (ed), Aboriginal Self-Determination in Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1994, pp 57-62.

Horstman M, “Cape York Peninsula: Tropics Under Siege”, Habitat Australia, Vol 18, No 2, April, 1990, pp 4-7.

Hudson, “Focus”, Blitz Magazine, Week 1, Session 2, 1998, p 5.

Hunter B, “Looking After Country – the ACF Indigenous Program Takes Shape”, Habitat Australia, Vol 28, no 4, August 2000, p23.

Hunter, R, “Aboriginal Histories, Australian Histories, and the Law”, in Attwood B (ed), In the Age of Mabo: History, Aborigines and Australia, Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, 1996, pp 1-16.

Hutton D, Connors L, A History of the Australian Environment Movement, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1999.

Ikamina P, “Threads of Common Knowledge”, International Development Research Centre Reports, Vol 21, No 1, April 1993, http://www.idrc.ca/books/reports/v211/trad.html.

Jabiluka Alliance, Stop Jabiluka Handbook: Guide for Protesters at Jabiluka, 1998.

Jabiluka Alliance, “Kakadu: Worth Fighting For”, A booklet published by ACF, FoE, TWS, GAC, ECNT, JAG, 1998(b).

Jasanoff S, Markle GE, Petersen JC and Pich T, (eds), Handbook of Science and Technology Studies, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, 1995.

Jawoyn, “Man-gun Mungguy-wun lerr-nyarrang Nitmiluk (Sharing Our Country)”, Information board, Nitmiluk Visitors' Centre, Nitmiluk Gorge, Northern Territory 1998.

Jones M, “Men and Feminist Research” in Gender and Qualitative Research, Pilcher J and Coffey A (eds), Avebury, Aldershot, 1996, pp 131-148.

Katona J, “The Mirrar: Owners of the Land”, Habitat Australia, Vol 26, No 3, June (Special Supplement) 1998.

Katona M, Quote from “Jabiluka”, Bradbury D, (producer) 1997.

Kemf E, The Law of the Mother: Protecting Indigenous Peoples and Protected Areas, Sierra Club, San Francisco, 1993.

Kendell J, “New Hope for Western Samoa”, Habitat Australia, Vol 19, No 6, Dec 1991, pp 20-23.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 291 Kheel M, “Ecofeminism and Deep Ecology: Reflections on Identity and Difference” in Diamond I, Orenstein GF (eds), Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990, pp 128-137.

Kheel M, “From Heroic to Holistic Ethics: The Ecofeminist Challenge in Gaard G, (ed), Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, 1993, pp 243-271.

King E, Interview, Darwin, 23rd October 1998.

King Y, “The Ecology of Feminism and the Feminism of Ecology” in Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism, Plant J, New Society Publishers, Philadelphia, 1989, pp 18-28.

King Y, Healing the Wounds: Feminism, Ecology and the Nature/Culture Dualism” in Diamond I, Orenstein GF, Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990, pp 106-121.

Kleinert S and Neale M (eds), The Oxford Companion to Aboriginal Art and Culture, Oxford University Press, South Melbourne, 2000.

Knorr-Cetina K, “Laboratory Studies: The Cultural Approach to the Study of Science” in Jasanoff S, Markle GE, Petersen JC and Pich T, (eds), Handbook of Science and Technology Studies, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, 1995, pp 140- 166.

Krishnapillai S, Interview, 17 October 1998, Jabiluka Protesters' Camp, 1998a.

Krishnapillai S, “Jabiluka: Alarming Precedents Are Being Set”, Arena Magazine, Vol 35, No 2, 1998b, pp 13-14.

Langton M, “Feminism: What Do Aboriginal Women Gain?”, Broadside, Vol 1, No 1, November, 1989, p 1.

Langton M, “The European Construction of Wilderness” Wilderness News, Vol 14, No 3, Summer 1995, pp. 16-17.

Langton M, Burning Questions: Emerging Environmental Issues for Indigenous Peoples in Northern Australia, Centre for Indigenous Natural and Cultural Resource Management, Northern Territory University Darwin, 1998.

Lash S, Szerszynski B, Wynne B (eds), Risk, Environment & Modernity: Towards a New Ecology, Sage Publications, London, 1998.

Lawrence D, Kakadu: The Making of a National Park, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 2000.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 292 Lease G, “Introduction: Nature Under Fire” in Soule ME, Lease G (eds) Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, Island Press, Washington, 1995, pp 3-16.

Liddiard B, “For the River” quoted in Cohen I, Green Fire, Angus and Robertson, Sydney, 1996.

Li H, “A Cross-Cultural Critique of Ecofeminism” in Gaard G (ed), Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, 1993, pp 272- 294.

Locke J, 1681/83, “Two Treatises of Civil Government” in Burtt E (ed), The English Philosophers from Bacon to Mill, Random House, 1939.

Lurhmann TM, “The Resurgence of Romanticism: Contemporary Neopaganism, Feminist Spirituality and the Divinity of Nature”, Milton K, (ed) Environmentalism: The View From Anthropology, Routledge, pp219-232, 1993.

Mansell M, “Comrades or Trespassers on Aboriginal Land?” in Pybus C, Flanagan R (eds), The Rest of the World is Watching: Tasmania and the Greens, Pan Macmillan, Sydney, 1990, pp 101-106.

Margarula Y, “ERA Set to Desecrate World Heritage Site”, Gundjehmi Media Release, 1999.

Marshall G (ed), A Dictionary of Sociology, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1998.

May T, Social Research: Issues, Methods and Process, 2nd Edition, Open University Press, Buckingham, 1997.

McCann K, Interview, Endis Cafe, Fitzroy, 25th July, 1998.

McKechnie R, “Insiders and Outsiders: Identifying Experts on Home Ground” in Irwin A, Wynne B (eds), Misunderstanding Science? The Public Reconstruction of Science and Technology, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996.

McNiven I and Russell L, “Place With a Past: Reconciling Wilderness and Aboriginal Past in World Heritage Areas”, Royal Historical Society of Queensland Journal, Vol XV, No 11, May 1995, pp 505-519.

Meining DW, “The Beholding Eye: Ten Versions of the Same Scene” in Meinig DW (ed), The Interpretations of Ordinary Landscapes, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1979.

Mellor M, Feminism and Ecology, Polity Press, Cambridge, 1997.

Merchant C, The Death of Nature: Women, Ecology, and the Scientific Revolution, Harper San Francisco, 1980.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 293 Merchant C, “Ecofeminism and Ecofeminist Theory” in Diamond I, Orenstein GF (eds), Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990, pp 100-106.

Merchant C, (ed) Major Problems in American Environmental History, DC Heath and Company, 1993.

Merchant C (ed), Ecology: Key Concepts in Critical Theory, Humanities Press, New Jersey, 1994.

Merchant C, Earthcare: Women and the Environment, Routledge, New York, 1996.

Mies M, Shiva V, (eds), Ecofeminism, Spinifex Press, Melbourne, 1993.

Mies M, “Feminist Research: Science, Violence and Responsibility”, Mies M and Shiva V (eds), Ecofeminism, Spinifex Press, Melbourne, 1993.

Mies M, Salleh A, “Women, Nature and the International Division of Labour”, Science as Culture, No 9, 1990, pp 73-87.

Miles G, personal email communication, 4th March, 1999.

Miles G, personal email communication, 30th October 2000.

Milton K (ed), Environmentalism: the View From Anthropology, Routledge, London, 1993.

Morales-Gomez D, “Knowledge, Change and the Preservation of Progress”, International Development Centre Reports, Vol 21, No 1, April 1993, http://www.idrc.ca/books/reports/v211/trad.html

Morrell E, Interview, Northcott, 16th September 1999.

Mowaljarlai D, “Wayrull - Aboriginal Traditional Responsibility in Cultural Resource Management in Northwest Kimberleys, Western Australia” in Birckhead J, De Lacy T, Smith L, (eds) Aboriginal Involvement in Parks and Protected Areas, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Report Series, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1996, pp 179-190.

Moyal A, A Bright and Savage Land, Penguin Books, Australia, 1986.

Muir K, “Indigenous Wilderness – Conservation Opportunity or Crisis?” unpublished paper, Colong Foundation for Wilderness, 1995.

Mulkay M, “Norms and Ideology in Science”, Social Science Information, Vol 15, No 4/5, 1976, pp 637-656.

Mullett A, “No People, No Spirit, No Land” in Birckhead J, De Lacy T, Smith L, (eds) Aboriginal Involvement in Parks and Protected Areas, Australian Institute of

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 294 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies Report Series, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1996, pp 45-6.

Mulligan M, “Of Sensuous Experiences in Storied Landscapes” unpublished paper presented to “Ecopolitics XII: Grounding Green Politics”, a conference hosted by the Social Ecology Department, the University of Western Sydney in association with the Ecopolitics Association of Australia at Katoomba, NSW, October 7-10, 1999.

Mulligan M and Hill S, Ecological Pioneers: A Social History of Australian Ecological Thought and Action, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2001.

Mulvaney J, GAC - Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation, “Mirrar Living Tradition in Danger: World Heritage in Danger”, Submission to the World Heritage Committee Mission to Kakadu, October 1998 (a).

Murray T, “Creating a Post-Mabo Archaeology of Australia”, in Attwood B, (ed), In the Age of Mabo: History, Aborigines and Australia, Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, 1996a, pp73-87.

Naess A, “The Shallow and the Deep, Long-Range Ecology Movement: A Summary”, Inquiry, Vol 16, 1973, pp95-100.

Nash R, Wilderness and the American Mind, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1982.

Nash R, The Rights of Nature, Primavera, 1990.

Natanson M (ed), Alfred Schutz Collected Papers I: The Problem of Social Reality, Martinus Nijhoff, The Hague, 1973.

Neidjie B and Davis S, “I Give You This Story” in Neidjie B, Davis S and Fox A, Kakadu Man … Bill Neidjie, Mybrood P/L, NSW, 1985, pp 33-64.

Nelson L, “The Place of Women in Polluted Places” in Diamond I, Orenstein GF (eds), Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990.

Nettheim G, “International Law and Self-determination”, in Fletcher C (ed), Aboriginal Self-determination in Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, pp 71-84, 1994.

Nettle K, guest lecture, University of NSW, 10th May 2001.

New South Wales Parliament, “New South Wales Wilderness Act”, An Act of Parliament, 1987.

NSW NPWS (New South Wales National Parks and Wildlife Service) Corporate Plan 1994/95 – 1995-96.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 295 Noonan B, Interview, 27th October, Fannie Bay, Darwin, 1998. Oeschlaeger M, The Idea of Wilderness: From Prehistory to the Age of Ecology Yale University Press New Haven, 1991.

O'Donoghue L, “Keynote Address: Australian Government and Self-determination” in Fletcher C (ed), Aboriginal Self-determination in Australia, Aboriginal Studies Press, Canberra, 1994, pp 3-12.

O'Reilly C, “Blocking the Blockade, Jabiluka Ploughshares” 9 August 1998.

O'Shane P, “Is there any Relevance in the Women's Movement For Aboriginal Women?”, Refractory Girl, Vol 12,1976, pp 31-34.

Ouderkirk W, “Kate Soper: what is Nature? Culture, Politics and the Non-Human”, Environmental Ethics, Vol 20, No 1, Spring, 1998, pp 105-108.

Owen J, “Childish Things: Men, Ageing and Violence” in Gender and Qualitative Research, Pilcher J, Coffey A, (eds) Avebury, Aldershot, 1996, pp 61-76.

Pallin P, Paddy Pallin 1999 Equipment Catalogue, 1999.

Peace A, “Loggers are Environmentalists Too: Towards an Ethnography of Environmental Dispute”, The Australian Journal of Anthropology, Vol 7, No 1, 1996, pp 43-60.

Pearson N, “Reconciliation: To Be Or Not To Be, Separate Aboriginal Nationhood or Aboriginal Self-determination and Self-Government Within the Australian Nation?”, Aboriginal Law Bulletin, Vol 3, No 61, April, 1993(a).

Pearson N, Voices From the Land (The 1993 Boyer Lectures), ABC Books, Sydney, 1994, pp89-101.

Pearson N, “Cape York Peninsula: The Land Needs its People”, Arena Magazine, Vol 19, October-November, 1995a, pp 39-41.

Pearson N, “From Remnant Title to Social Justice”, The Australian Journal of Anthropology, Vol 6, Nos 1and2, 1995b, pp 95-100.

Pepper D, The Roots of Modern Environmentalism, Routledge, London, 1986.

Perera S, Pugliese J, “If Native Title Is Us, It's Inside Us: Jabiluka and the Politics of Intercultural Negotiation”, Australian Feminist Law Journal, 10,1998, pp 1-31.

Pilcher J, Coffey A, (eds), Gender and Qualitative Research, Avebury, Aldershot, 1996.

Plant J, (ed), Healing the Wounds: The Promise of Ecofeminism, New Society Publishers, Philadelphia, 1989.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 296

Plant J, “Toward a New World: An Introduction” in Plant J, ibid, 1989, pp 1-4.

Plant J, “Searching for Common Ground: Ecofeminism and Bioregionalism” in Diamond I, Orenstein GF (eds), Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990.

Plumb N, “Wilderness at the Frontline”, National Parks Journal, Vol 43, No 3, June, 1999, pp 3,10.

Plumwood V, “Ecofeminism: An Overview and Discussion of the Position and Arguments”, Australasian Journal of Philosophy, Vol 64, June 1986, pp 120-138.

Plumwood V, “Feminism and Ecofeminism: Beyond the Dualistic Assumptions of Women, Men and Nature”, The Ecologist, Vol 22, No 1, January/February 1992, pp 8-13.

Plumwood V, Feminism and the Mastery of Nature, Routledge, London, 1993.

Porritt J, Seeing Green: the Politics of Ecology Explained, Basil Blackwell, Oxford, 1984.

Press T, Lawrence D, “Kakadu National Park: Reconciling Competing Interests” in Kakadu: Natural and Cultural Heritage and Management, Australian Nature Conservation Agency and North Australia Research Unit, Australian National University, Darwin, 1995, pp 1-14.

Press T, Lea D, Webb A, Graham A, Kakadu: Natural and Cultural Heritage and Management, Australian Nature Conservation Agency, Darwin, 1995.

Preston BJ, Stannard C, “The Recreation of Wilderness: the Case for an Australian Ecological Reserve System” in Barton W (ed), Wilderness: the Future, Envirobook, Sydney, 1994, pp 127-147.

Prineas P, “Home or Wilderness”, National Parks Journal, Vol 43, No 4, August, 1999, pp. 20-21.

Ramazanoglu C, “On Feminist Methodology: Male Reason Versus Female Empowerment”, Sociology, Vol 26, No 2, May, 1992, pp. 207-212.

Rebecca, “Open Letter About the Jabiluka Blockade”, Jabiluka Blockade: A Critique, Takverswebsite, http://www.users.bigpond.com/Takver/soapbox/jabcritq.htm#JE3 ,Sept 1998.

Reeves A, Lord S, “Aboriginal Ownership Bill”, National Parks Journal, February 1997, p 9.

Reinharz S, Feminist Methods in Social Research, Oxford University Press, New York, 1992.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 297

Reynolds H, Aboriginal Sovereignty: Reflections on Race, State and Nation Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, 1996.

Richards D, “Whitefella Dreaming”, May-June, 1995, pp 61-67.

Ridgeway A, “A Vision for Aboriginal-owned National Parks” in National Parks: New Visions for a New Century, Proceedings of the Nature Conservation Council of NSW / National Parks Association of NSW Conference, Sydney July, 1997, Prineas P (ed), Nature Conservation Council of New South Wales, Sydney, 1997, pp 119-121.

Rose DB, Dingo Makes Us Human, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1992.

Rose DB, “Histories and Rituals: Land Claims in the Territory” in Attwood B (ed), In the Age of Mabo: History, Aborigines and Australia, Allen and Unwin, St Leonards, 1996, pp 35-53.

Rose DB, Nourishing Terrains: Australian Aboriginal Views of Landscape and Wilderness, Australian Heritage Commission, Canberra, 1996.

Ross A, “Landscape as Heritage”, TEMPUS 5, 1996, pp 9-17.

Rowse T, After Mabo: Interpreting Indigenous Traditions, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1993.

Ruether RR, New Woman New Earth: Sexist Ideologies and Human Liberation, The Seabury Press, New York, 1975.

Salleh AK, “Whither the Green Machine?”, Australian Society, Vol 3, No 3, 1984, pp 15-17.

Salleh AK, “Deeper than Deep Ecology: The Eco-feminist Connection”, Environmental Ethics, Vol 6, Winter 1984, pp339-345.

Salleh A, ‘Politics in/of the Wilderness”, Arena Magazine, No 23, June/July, 1996, pp 26-30.

Salleh A, Ecofeminism as Politics: Nature, Marx and the Postmodern, Zed Books, London, 1997.

Salleh A, personal email communication, 26th January 2000.

Salleh A, personal email communication, 21st April, 2001.

Sandilands C, The Good-Natured Feminist: Ecofeminism and the Quest For Democracy, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1999. Sargent G, “Cape York Peninsula: Reconciliation and World Heritage”, Wilderness News, Vol 14, No 4, Autumn, 1996, pp. 10-11.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 298

Schwandt TA, Qualitative Inquiry: A Dictionary of Terms, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, 1997.

Schutz A, “Common-sense and Scientific Interpretation of Human Action”, in Natanson M (ed), Alfred Schutz, Collected Papers Vol 1: The Problem of Social Reality, Martinus Nijhoff, The Hague, 1973, pp 3-47.

Seager J, Earth Follies Feminism, Politics and the Environment, Earthscan, London, 1993.

Teverson R, Survival of the Fairest, Can Women Make it to the Top in the Conservation Movement? British Association of Nature Conservationists, Newbury, 1991.

Senate Committee, “Jabiluka: The Undermining of Process”, Australian Senate Inquiry into the Jabiluka Uranium Mine Project, June, 1999.

Shephard M, Gandhi Today: The Story of Mahatma Gandhi’s Successors, Seven Locks Press, Washington DC, 1987. Shiva V, Staying Alive: Women, Ecology and Development, Zed Books, London, 1989.

Shiva V, “Development, Ecology, and Women” in Merchant C (ed), Ecology, Humanities Press, New Jersey, 1990.

Shiva V, The Violence of the Green Revolution: Third World Agriculture, Ecology and Politics, Third World Network, Malaysia, 1991.

Shiva V, “Reductionism and Regeneration: A Crisis in Science”, in Mies M, Shiva V (eds) Ecofeminism, Spinifex Press, Melbourne, 1993, pp 22-35.

Shiva V, (ed), Close to Home: Women Reconnect Ecology, Health and Development Worldwide, New Society Publishers, Philadelphia, 1994.

Simmons IG, Interpreting Nature: Cultural Constructions of the Environment, Routledge, London and New York, 1993.

Smith A, Ecofeminism Through an Anti-Colonial Framework” in Ecofeminism: Women, Culture, Nature, Warren K, Erkal N (eds), Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1997.

Smyth D, Understanding Country, Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation, Australian Government Publishing Service, Canberra, 1994.

Somerville J, “Letter to the Editor”, National Parks Journal Vol 43, No 4, August, 1999, p. 21.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 299

Somerville M, Body/Landscape Journals, Spinifex Press, Melbourne, 1999.

Soper K, What is Nature? Culture, Politics and the Non-Human, Blackwell, Oxford, 1995.

Soule ME, Lease G (eds), Reinventing Nature: Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, Island Press, Washington, 1995.

Spretnak C, “Ecofeminism: Our Roots and Our Flowering” in Diamond I, Orenstein G, Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990.

Stanner WEH, White Man Got No Dreaming, ANU Press, Canberra, 1979.

Starhawk, “Power, Authority and Mystery: Ecofeminism and Earth-based Spirituality” in Diamond I, Orenstein GF (eds) Reweaving the World: The Emergence of Ecofeminism, Sierra Club Books, San Francisco, 1990, pp 73-86.

St John G, “Going Feral: Authentica on the Edge of Australian Culture”, The Australian Journal of Anthropology, Vol 8, No 2, 1997, pp 167-189.

Sturgeon N, Ecofeminist Natures: Race, Gender, Feminist Theory and Political Action, Routledge, New York, 1997.

Sultan R, “A Voice in the Wilderness? Aboriginal Perspectives on Conservation”, Habitat Australia, Vol 19, No 3, June, 1991, p 2.

Sweeney D, Interview, Endis Cafe, Fitzroy, 25th July, 1998.

Sweeney D, Interview, ACF Head Office, Fitzroy, Sept 1999.

Sweeney D, “Kakadu Agreement Sets New Course”, Habitat Australia, Vol 29, No 1, Feb, 2001a, p 11.

Sweeney D, “Jabiluka: Rio Tinto’s Announcement and What it Means”, FoE Melbourne Newsletter, Autumn, 2001b, p 3.

Sykes B, “Feminists and Anti-feminists”, Rowland R (ed) Women Who Do and Women Who Don’t Join the Women’s Movement, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1984, pp 63-69.

Szerszynski B, “On Knowing What To Do: Environmentalism and the Modern Problematic” in Risk, Environment and Modernity: Towards A New Ecology, Lash S, Szerszynski B and Wynne B (eds), Sage Publications, London, 1996.

Thompson B, Interview, Darwin, 23rd October 1998. Tierney J, Payne M, et al “Government Senators' Report”: Parliament of Australia Senate Committee Dissent to the Senate Environment, Communication,

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 300 Information, Technology and the Arts Reference Committee Inquiry into the Jabiluka Uranium Mine Project “Jabiluka: the Undermining of Process”, June, 1999.

Tonkinson R, The Cultural Roots of Aboriginal Land Rights Northern Australia: Options and Implications, Jones R, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, Canberra, 1980, pp 111-129.

Toyne P and Johnston R, “Reconciliation, or the New Dispossession?: Aboriginal Land Rights and Conservation” in Habitat Australia, Vol 19, No 3, June 1991, pp 8- 10.

Toyne P, The Reluctant Nation: Environment, Law and Politics in Australia, ABC Books, Sydney, 1994.

Trident Ploughshares, http://www.gn.apc.org/tp2000/html/ploughs.html

Turnbull D, Technoscience Worlds, Deakin University Press, Victoria, 1991.

Turnbull D, “Reframing Science and Other Local Knowledge Traditions”, Futures, Vol 29, No 6, 1997, pp 551-562.

Turner VW, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1969.

UIC - Uranium Information Centre, “Jabiluka Background: Mines Paper 8”; 1999.

UNESCO - United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization, “Sites Inscribed on the World Heritage List”, Brief Descriptions, World Heritage Centre, UNESCO, Paris 1999.

UNESCO - United Nations Educational Science and Cultural Organization, “Decision of the Third Extraordinary Session of the World Heritage Committee”, 12 July 1999.

UNESCO - United Nations Educational Science and Cultural Organization, Bureau of the World Heritage Committee, Report on the Mission to Kakadu National Park, Australia, 26 October - 1st November, twenty-second extraordinary session, Kyoto, Japan, 27-28 November 1998.

Vallentine K, Interview, 27th October, Fannie Bay, Darwin, 1998.

Vance L, “Ecofeminism and the Politics of Reality” in Gaard G (ed), Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, 1993, pp 118- 145.

Walker C, FoE Office Coordinator, Interview, FoE Fitzroy, 1999.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 301 Walker R, “The Reuben Walker Manuscript”, Norman Tindale, Journal of Researchers in the South East of South Australia, Vol 2, 1934, pp. 185-214.

Warren KJ, “Feminism and Ecology: Making Connections” in Environmental Ethics, Vol 9, Spring, 1987.

Warren K (ed), Ecological Feminist Philosophies, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1996.

Warren K, “Ecological Feminist Philosophies: An Overview of the Issues” in Warren K (ed), ibid, 1996.

Warren K, Cheney J, “Ecological Feminism and Ecosystem Ecology” in Warren K (ed), Ecological Feminist Philosophies, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1996, pp 244-262.

Warren K, Erkal N (eds), Ecofeminism: Women, Culture, Nature, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1997.

Warren L, “The Precautionary Principle: Use With Caution!” in Milton K (ed), Environmentalism: the View From Anthropology, Routledge, London, 1993, pp97- 112.

Warleigh R, “Culture Clash” Unpublished Research Paper, Grad Dip Social Ecology, University of Western Sydney, 1998.

Watson-Verran H andTurnbull D, “Science and Other Indigenous Knowledge Production Systems” in Science in Society Working Papers, School of Social Enquiry, Faculty of Arts, Deakin University, Victoria, 1994.

Watson-Verran H and Turnbull D, “Talking About Science and Other Knowledge Traditions in Australia”, Report on the Working Disparate Knowledge Systems Together Seminar/ Workshop, 26-7 November, 1994, Deakin University, Geelong, HASN No 34, March 1995.

Weepers J, Interview 1, Jabiru, July 4th, 1998.

White R, “Are You An Environmentalist or Do You Work For a Living?: Work and Nature” in Cronon W, Uncommon Ground: Toward Reinventing Nature, WW Norton and Company, New York, 1995, pp 171-185.

Whitehouse JF, “Legislative Protection for Wilderness in Australia” in Barton W, 1994 (ed), Wilderness: the Future, Envirobook, Sydney, 1994, pp 94-126.

Whitehouse JF, “Conserving What? The Basis for Nature Conservation Reserves in New South Wales 1967-1989”, Australian Zoologist, Vol 26, No 1, March 1990, pp 11-17.

WNFMW – The Women’s Network For Mirrar Women, Newsletter 2, September 1998.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 302

Woenne-Green S, Johnston R, Sultan R, Wallis A, (eds), Competing Interests: Aboriginal Participation in National Parks and Conservation Reserves in Australia, Australian Conservation Foundation, Melbourne, undated.

Wootten H, “The Mabo Decision and National Parks” in Woenne-Green S, Johnston R, Sultan R, Wallis A, (eds), Competing Interests: Aboriginal Participation in National Parks and Conservation Reserves in Australia, Australian Conservation Foundation, Melbourne, undated, pp 306-356.

Worster D, “Ecological History”, in Merchant C (ed), Major Problems in American Environmental History, DC Heath and Company, 1993, pp 2-9.

Wynne B, “May the Sheep Safely Graze? A Reflexive View of the Expert-Lay Divide” in Lash S, Szerszynski B, Wynne B (eds), Risk, Environment & Modernity: Towards a New Ecology, Sage Publications, London, 1996, pp 44-83.

Yearley S, Science, Technology and Social Change, Unwin Hyman Ltd, London, 1988.

Yearley S, The Green Case: A Sociology of Environmental Issues, Arguments and Politics, Routledge, London, 1991.

Yearley S, “Standing in For Nature: The Practicalities of Environmental Organisations” in Milton K (ed), Environmentalism: the View From Anthropology, Routledge, London, 1993, pp 59-72.

Yearley S, “The Environmental Challenge to Science Studies”, Jasanoff S, Markle GE, Petersen JC and Pich T, (eds), Handbook of Science and Technology Studies, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, 1995, pp 457-479.

Yencken D and Wilkinson D, Resetting the Compass: Australia’s Journey Towards Sustainability, CSIRO Publishing, Collingwood, 2000.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 303

APPENDIX 1: Interviews – Key Areas For Questioning

♦ Interviewee Involvement Personal Background Motivation Opinions on progress

♦ Camp rules / guidelines Appropriate Effective Problems Working with other groups – pros & cons

♦ Land use Opposition to other forms of mining Other acceptable forms Knowledge of Aboriginal use, customs, beliefs.

♦ Tourism Acceptable or not

♦ National parks View of natural environment & the place of people within it Wilderness, living within boundaries

♦ Scientific aspects How knowledge about science, culture, country etc has been obtained Opinions / beliefs re: uranium, radiation

♦ Ecofeminism Familiarity with basic concepts Opinions

Mirrar Gundjehmi ♦ Issues for Mirrar

♦ Working relationship with Greenies Reluctance Benefits Problems Resolutions

♦ Mechanisms for retaining Mirrar control

♦ Tourism v. mining

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 304 APPENDIX 2: Jabiluka activist survey

The information given below will be treated with the utmost confidentiality and will not be used for any purpose other than academic research. Please feel free to omit responses to any questions you are not comfortable answering.

The interviewer, Monica Nugent, is conducting research for a PhD thesis which examines the relationships between Aboriginal people and environmentalists with respect to nature conservation. This survey will contribute to a case study of the Jabiluka protest.

1. Your age: U/18 19-25 26-35 36-45 46 - 55 56+

2. Your gender: male female

3. Which state / territory are you from: NSW Vic NT SA WA QLD ACT TAS Overseas

4. Are you of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent? Yes No

5. How long have you been in camp? Less than 2wks 2-4 wks 4-6wks 6wks –3 mths more than 3mths other (please specify)………………………………………………………………………

6. How long do you intend to stay? Less than 2wks 2-4 wks 4-6wks 6wks –3 mths more than 3mths other (please specify)………………………………………………………………………

7. Have you ever participated in protests before Yes No

8. If yes, what was the cause?

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 305 The environment Women’s movement Aboriginal land rights Peace

Other (please specify) …………………………………………………………

Please consider questions 8, 9, 10 as optional.

9. Have you ever been arrested for protest action? Yes

No

10. Have you been willing to be arrested for protesting before? Yes

No

11. Are you willing to be arrested this time? Yes

No

12. Please rank the issues below according to which you feel most strongly about: (1 = most strong –– 5 = least strong)

The environment

Aboriginal land rights

Peace

Women

Other please specify: ………………………………………………………..

13. Are you familiar with ecofeminism? Yes No

14. If yes, do you think ecofeminism has a place at Jabiluka? Yes No

15. Would you be willing to participate in a taped interview? Yes No

If so, please write your name and contact details here:

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 306 Name:……………………………………………………………………… Phone: .………….…………………….……..

Address: ………………..………………………………………………………………………………….……..… ………...

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ..………….……….. thank you very much for participating – your assistance is greatly appreciated!

Please return the completed questionnaire to the Information Tent, or to the following address: Ms Monica Nugent, School of Science & Technology Studies The University of New South Wales Sydney 2052

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 307 APPENDIX 3: Protesters’ Profile

Kirsten Blair A student activist from Melbourne and member of the original group of students who established a students’ camp at Jabiluka immediately following the 1997 Students in Sustainability Conference and became a key figure throughout the campaign. Kirsten was employed by Gundjehmi Aboriginal Corporation in late 1998, has subsequently become a joint co- ordinator of the Environment Centre Northern Territory and is studying Primary School Education.

Anna Demant A student activist from Melbourne, Anna participated in the campaign at Jabiluka for a short time and continued her involvement when she returned to Melbourne. Anna now works for ACF and regularly writes for Habitat Australia.

Heidi Gill A music student originally from Tasmania, Heidi had been residing in a co- operative housing complex in Sydney when she decided to go to Jabiluka to become more involved in the protest. She was a core member of the kitchen collective at the camp.

Kaelana A dramatic arts student and long term environmental campaigner from Queensland. Kaelana had been actively involved in the Fraser Island Campaign.

Emma King

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 308 A Darwin lawyer and founding member of the Jabiluka camp organising collective. Active member of the Environment Centre Northern Territory and the Northern Territory Greens.

Sarojini Krishnapillai Long-term student political activist, active member of FoE Melbourne and a member of the Students In Sustainability Conference group who first set up camp at Jabiluka, Saro now works for ACF and FoE in Melbourne.

Elle Morrell Student activist and ecofeminist, Elle was a member of the Women’s Network for Mirrar Women organising collective. Since Jabiluka Elle has completed a Master’s Degree in Social Science & Planning and has worked as a Social Science researcher at RMIT and for the Environmental Defenders’ office in Melbourne.

Kerry Nettle A “long-termer” at Jabiluka, active in student and environmental politics, Kerry was elected to the Australian Senate as an Australian Greens candidate in the 2001 federal elections.

Bridget Noonan Ecofeminist and long-term environmental and student activist and a long- termer who played a support role at the Jabiluka camp. Bridget co- ordinated the Blue Mountains JAG when she returned from Jabiluka and organised the “Women and Earth Conference” In Katoomba, 2002. Bridget is now a PhD candidate at the University of Western Sydney.

Kathleen McCann

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 309 Member of FoE Melbourne and the Women’s Network for Mirrar Women, Kathleen is a visual artist. She designed the Stop Jabiluka logo in consultation with Mirrar and Gundjehmi.

Dave Sweeney Anti-uranium campaigner for the ACF, an experienced environmental activist. Dave played an important role in establishing positive relations between the Mirrar and environmentalists through his role on the Alligator Rivers Advisory Committee.

Bruce Thompson Environmental activist and a “long-termer”, Bruce is now employed as a nuclear campaigner by FoE Australia.

Katy Vallentine A student activist, ecofeminist and long-termer.

Cam Walker Highly respected, long-term environmental activist, Office Co-ordinator for FoE Melbourne and National Liaison Officer for FoE Australia.

Jayne Weepers Co-ordinator of the Environment Centre Northern Territory for the duration of the Jabiluka camp, member of the ACF executive council and currently employed by the Central Aboriginal Land Council.

Nature’s Women: Ecofeminist Reflections on Jabiluka 310