by Peter Ralph
‘Order, order,’ Thomas shouted, his deep powerful voice lost in the din.
‘Give him a go,’ a few locals shouted and the noise subsided to an angry murmur.
‘I called this meeting to discuss what we’re going to do to stop the FBA making more loan repayment demands. Because the demands stem directly from the actions of the gas companies, I’ve asked Dennis Fulton from Save the Earth to address you. Simon Breckenridge will handle any legal questions.’
The contrast in the two men was stark. Fulton, a former leader of the Greens in Queensland, was tall and slim with grey hair, blue eyes and a kind face. He was dressed in an open-neck shirt and jeans. Breckenridge was small with a face resembling a whippet’s. He was bald but his thick black eyebrows had knitted together and matched his eyes, giving him a menacing look. He wore a single-breasted navy blue, pin-stripe Zegna suit, a matching tie and Italian hand-made black shoes that he could see his reflection in.
‘We don’t need a bloody greenie telling us what to do,’ one of the graziers yelled.
‘Yeah,’ someone else urged. ‘He’s one of the mugs who stopped us clearing trees from our properties.’
‘Order, order! Dennis has been fighting the gas companies in Queensland for the last three years, and many farmers and graziers up there didn’t like him, but now, because of his sterling efforts, they love him. He’s given up his valuable time to talk to you, so give him the courtesy of listening,’ Thomas shouted and passed the microphone to Dennis.
‘Thank you, Mr Chairman, I’m not sure you’re right about the farmers loving me though,’ Dennis laughed. ‘But I like to think there’s a mutual respect.’ There were a few sniggers in the audience. ‘I’m going to be brief and I know I don’t need to waste your time by telling you about the evils of big gas. I will tell you how we thwarted them on the Spurling Downs though, which was to form a vigilante group of about 200 members connected by a good communication network, that we called Barricade the Gate and which we can activate within minutes.’
‘Activate to do what?’ someone yelled. ‘Save the bloody trees?’
Dennis ignored the interjection. ‘As I was saying, from the minute we knew the gas companies were moving to forcibly enter a property, we sent text messages to every member and then we converged on the property with trucks, trailers and cars to form a blockade in front of the gates. That stopped them in their tracks.’
Dennis could see signs of scepticism on the faces of many farmers and graziers. Amid the groaning, a man whom Dennis knew only by recent photos in the Paisley Chronicle, rose to speak.
‘How did you know which properties they were going to enter?’
‘Thank you for the question, Mr Paxton, and may I express my profound sorrow for your recent loss. We watch the main bases they’ve set up and when their trucks move we’ve got someone following. We also have our contacts in the gas companies’ offices who feed us tipoffs which enables us to mobilise in advance. Ask yourself, what would you do if Australia was invaded by a foreign power and your properties were seized? You’d fight, wouldn’t you? Well, your properties are being invaded by the gas companies, which are mainly foreign-owned, so what’s the difference? Let me tell you - there is no difference! If we were invaded, the government would order the army to defend us but, because it’s the gas companies stealing our properties and, because our governments are so desperate for the tax and royalties that they’ll generate, they’re actually encouraging them to rape and pillage our land.’
‘So you think we should form a group like Barricade the Gate?’ someone yelled. ‘How’s that going to help those of us who’ve already had our loans called up?’ This was greeted with many ‘Yeahs’ and a few dissenting grumbles about doing something that a bloody greenie was suggesting.
‘Yes, but you have to be smart. By all means barricade the gates with your vehicles, but you mustn’t resort to physical violence because, if you do, you’ll lose the public relations battle. Lose the public and you lose the war. For those of you who’ve had your loans called up by the FBA, I can only sympathise, but sadly I have no silver bullet that can help you. Perhaps Simon Breckenridge does.’
A smattering of begrudging applause went around the hall for Dennis as he handed over the microphone and sat down.
‘Thank you Dennis. Sadly, there’s not much we can do to help those who’ve already been served with demands,’ Breckenridge said. ‘Sure, there’s legal tactics that can be used to stall the FBA, but they’re expensive and in the end the bank will still win. What we have to do is make it as hard as possible for the bank to make any further demands.’
‘We could always tar and feather Andrew Brown and run him out of town,’ someone yelled, to laughter and cries of ‘hear, hear.’
‘Or we could punch his lights out,’ Billy McGregor shouted, to raucous support from his gang, who had obviously taken no notice of Dennis.
‘Look, what’s happened has nothing to do with Andrew. There’s nothing he can do; he’s just following orders which I’m sure he tried to resist.’
‘He should’ve resigned,’ Jenny Orr spat out. ‘He sold his friends out.’
‘No, he didn’t, Jenny.’ Breckenridge sighed. ‘He’s been backed into a corner and he’s just trying to survive, like you. There’s no point in attacking Andrew and if anyone’s thinking along those lines I’d counsel them to rethink. He doesn’t deserve it and anyone stupid enough to assault him will most likely go to jail and we’ll lose credibility and public support.’
A few boos echoed around the room.
‘You’d be well advised to listen to Simon,’ Tom Morgan drawled and the noise subsided. ‘These demands have nothing to do with Andrew and if he’s not making them the bank will soon find someone else who will.’
Breckenridge was grateful for the support but, as he stared at the faces in the crowd, he saw desperation and hostility and a shiver went up his spine. He did not fear for himself but for these normally peaceful farmers and vineyard owners who were being backed into a corner by unscrupulous gas companies advised by big-firm lawyers who in the main had never set foot in the valley.
‘Thanks, Tom. If we’re going to stop this occurring we have to keep CEGL and the smaller gas companies off our properties. Don’t cooperate with them, don’t sign their lease agreements and, whatever you do, don’t sign their access agreements because, if you do, your actions will not only devalue your property but your neighbours’ as well and, worse, you’ll expose them to the same action taken against the Orrs. And don’t forget, they’ll tell any lie necessary to get onto your property. Some of the lies they tell are about provid …’
An old man stood up and banged his walking stick on the floor. His spectacles sat on his hawk-like nose. ‘They tricked me! They said they wanted to do some minor exploratory work and that if my wife and I granted them access, they’d resurface the track to our house and replace the fencing on the south boundary. Before I knew it, the bastards had drilled three wells and when I complained, they told me to get lost. I had no rights.’ Tears of anger welled up in his eyes. ‘And they only resurfaced the track to help them bring their heavy equipment in, but the fence is still in a dilapidated condition and their workers told me they know nothing about it being replaced. I’m sorry Craig, I’m sorry Jenny. I never knew that when I signed that access agreement I’d be hurting you.’
‘We know that, Mr Cleever,’ Jenny said, feeling so sorry for the old man, whom she had hated ever since that day at the bank.
‘They sank one of the ugly things about a hundred metres from my house and when they fracked it, I swear the house shook like it’d been hit by an earthquake. Emily and I were scared it was gonna collapse and every time we go out the front door we’re staring at a gas well that we smell and hear every hour of the day. It stinks like rotten eggs and they warned us to make sure we left a house window open so we wouldn’t get a methane build-up that might blow us sky high. Emily, who’s been healthy all her life, now gets short of breat
h after walking twenty metres, I developed rashes on my chest and shoulders and we both lost our appetites and weight. When I complained, they said it was old-age and refused to help. Had I known what they were going to do, I would’ve been waiting at the front gate for them with my shot gun.’
‘Thank you, Mr Cleever.’
‘I’m not finished.’ He banged his walking stick on the floor again. ‘About three months ago, the water in our bores turned murky and CEGL had it analysed and told us it wasn’t harmful and was fine to drink and wash in. So when two of their executives came to visit us we offered them a glass and they wouldn’t touch it. You should have seen them run for cover.’
There was laughter around the hall.
‘Anyhow, I told ’em I was going to the environment authorities and was gonna start writing letters to the newspapers. The following day they phoned me and said they’d install two water tanks on our property and deliver tanker water to us at their expense, but there was a catch. Me and the missus had to sign a non-disclosure agreement acknowledging that the contaminated water wasn’t caused as a result of their drilling and that we’ll never sue or be party to litigation against them. They told us that if we disclosed the contents of the agreement they’d walk away from their undertakings and stop delivering water to us. Well here it is, and if anyone wants to read it or make copies, you can see me after the meeting,’ Cleever shouted defiantly holding the agreement above his head.
‘Thanks, Mr Cleever. I couldn’t have illustrated the gas companies’ lies and trickery better,’ Breckenridge said. ‘This meeting sympathises with you.’
A number of people said ‘hear, hear’ and a few sitting close to Cleever patted him on the back as he sat down, breathing heavily.
‘How do you know when a gas company executive is telling lies?’ Breckenridge asked rhetorically.
Before Breckenridge could answer his own question, Len Forrest drawled, ‘When you see his lips move.’
Some in the room laughed, others cursed and tears of anger and remorse ran down the leathery cheeks of old Artie Cleever.
‘Let’s hear from Don Carmody,’ someone shouted. ‘He runs the largest merchant bank in the country, so he should know how to beat the banks.’ There was murmured approval.
A distinguished looking man in his early sixties, with receding grey hair and an open face, rose from his chair. He was immaculately dressed in a conservative, hand-tailored charcoal-grey business suit. Don Carmody had owned a vineyard and winery in the valley for more than twenty years and was vehemently opposed to the gas companies drilling in the rich rural areas of Australia.
‘Friends, what you must understand is that every gas well sunk in this valley reduces the land available for primary production and reduces the water supply because, as you know, unlike us, the mining companies are not limited by water quotas. But worse, it increases the probability of aquifer contamination and the eventual destruction of the valley. This reduces the value of our properties and that’s why the banks are acting to protect their loans.’
‘We know that, Don,’ someone growled. ‘What we want to know is how to stop them.’
‘As you know, they’ve been active in the Tura estates of late because they see the estatees as a soft target but, once they’ve established a foothold there, they’ll advance across the valley like cane toads, devouring everything before them. Some of you aren’t concerned about what happens around Tura because the land’s infertile. You should be concerned, very concerned. We need to establish a beachhead there, support our neighbours, unify and draw a line in the sand. If we defeat the gas companies in the estates we defeat them in the valley.’
‘Yeah, but how do we defeat them?’
‘We establish a fighting fund, to be administered by Simon, where he instructs one of the major legal firms to act for us. I mean no disrespect to you Simon but, as you know, your firm doesn’t have the personnel to cut it against the big firms acting for the gas companies and I think we should mount a significant action against them that stops them entering the estates.’
This was met by catcalls and then someone shouted. ‘It’s all right for you Don, you and the McLachlan Bank have got plenty of cash, but we’re fighting to keep our heads above water.’
Someone else interjected. ‘Simon, isn’t it true that no matter how hard we fight, the courts will eventually side with the gas companies and order us to let them enter our properties?’
‘Not necessarily and, if we could win a major case like Don is suggesting and establish a precedent, we might be able to throw them out of the valley but, if we lose, we’ll be at their mercy, so there are great risks in adopting that strategy. I think a better plan is to stall them for as long as we can in the hope that, as the issue becomes more mainstream, public opinion forces the government to have a change of mind about the extraction of coal seam gas.’
There were groans from those more interested in taking direct and forceful action.
‘I remind you that the premier is speaking on this subject in this very hall tomorrow fortnight, and this will provide us with an opportunity to demonstrate peacefully in front of the cameras,’ Carmody said, and the catcalls were more numerous and louder. It wasn’t only Billy McGregor and his gang who were looking for a violent solution.
Harry O’Brien had been in Australia for twenty years but still spoke in a rich Irish brogue. He owned a small boutique winery in the valley and to look at him you would think that he spent most days sampling his wares. ‘What if we get rid of this Labor government and replace them with the conservatives?’
‘It won’t work, Harry,’ Tom Morgan responded. ‘This state is stuffed, services are terrible and the government’s been running budget deficits for years. They’ve had to offer the gas companies five royalty-free years so they can steal an advantage over Queensland, but they’re gonna get hundreds of millions in the future. And when you put a heap of cash on one side and an environmental issue on the other and ask a politician to make a decision, no matter which party he represents, the heap of cash is always gonna win. And don’t forget the federal government will reap even more in taxes.’
‘What about the Greens then?’ O’Brien persisted.
‘Yeah, they can help,’ Morgan said. ‘But they’re not in a position to alter government policy. They can help with the media and maybe get us some coverage but, Harry, do you want to support a party that’s into euthanasia, legalising gay marriage and taxing you out of existence?’
‘Euthanasia’s a good thing and I can think of a Porsche-driving gas exec I’d willingly inject,’ O’Brien said, to cacophonous applause.
Dennis Fulton rose to defend the Greens but the firm hand of Jack Thomas on his arm caused him to sit down again. Thomas knew that this was a crowd that didn’t need to be side-tracked or incited.
‘Should those of us with unencumbered properties take our business away from the FBA as a show of protest?’ A farmer sitting in the front row asked.
‘According to Andrew Brown the other big banks will soon be taking the same action as the FBA,’ Breckenridge said. ‘So you’d need to give your business to one of the smaller regional banks. If it makes you feel good, then do it, but it won’t have any impact on the FBA.’
‘We need to get more press coverage, more documentaries on television; and more stories about the damage the gas miners are doing to rural communities and we need to get the city folk on our side. There’s a brilliant documentary, Gasland, showing at the Majestic, that sets out the American experience and you should all get along and watch it,’ Len Forrest said, before his gravelly voice was drowned out by groans.
‘Did it help the Americans get rid of the gas companies?’ someone asked. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘If we wait that long, it’ll be too late for most of us,’ someone else said.
‘You can groan all you like,’ Len said. ‘But when I was young, people power brought our country’s participation in a war to an end. One hundred thousand people mass
ed in Melbourne to oppose our involvement in Vietnam and the government brought our troops home. If they could stop our participation in a war, then surely we can garner enough support to stop the gas companies.’
‘Charles. Charles Paxton,’ someone asked. ‘What do you think we should do?’
There was an excited buzz and someone else said, ‘Let’s blow up a few more gas wells.’
‘I can’t think of anything that will make the FBA withdraw their demands but I think we should form a group along the lines that our friend Dennis Fulton suggested, which can act at short notice to blockade the gas companies at the gates to any property they’re trying to enter. If we stop the gas wells, hopefully we stop the bank from making any fresh demands.’