It was around this time that we received the first of several letters sent by US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, aimed at blocking our charge. The letter said in part: ‘We urge all IWC member governments to remain engaged in this process and not take precipitous actions outside the IWC that would compromise the chance of a diplomatic solution.’ It seemed to be a clear warning to Australia not to take the Japanese to court. The communication set off senior bureaucrats in the Department of Foreign Affairs and the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, and a flurry of emails and meetings followed. But I just noted the content of the letter on the ministerial brief that came through and we kept ploughing the same furrow.
My next trip to the US, in December 2009, was ridiculous—forty hours of travel by commercial airlines for twenty hours on the ground—but necessary. The occasion was the fiftieth anniversary of the Antarctic Treaty, to be marked with a ceremony in Washington. Australia had been a founding signatory and placed great store in the treaty, and it was important to register our ongoing commitment by attending.
At lunch following the meeting, I had a cordial conversation with Hillary Clinton, who was hosting the event. The two nations had worked well in relation to the Antarctic and whaling in the past, but now some differences had emerged. We were not for turning, was my unambiguous message.
The issue would now come to a head at the June 2010 meeting to be held in Agadir, Morocco. In the meantime, we maintained the arguments, and moved ahead with the non-lethal research program that was already making good progress. The early findings demonstrated what most people suspected intuitively: that harpooning large numbers of whales and dragging them, often bleeding and in distress, onto factory ships was not in any way scientific. There were non-lethal research techniques that could be used, like taking blood samples by dart. Allowing this mass slaughter to continue was making a mockery of the IWC.
I visited whale-watching enterprises in Australia and New Zealand to highlight the case for the economic benefits of keeping whales alive. This became an unexpectedly hazardous activity, as along with the mysterious arrival of the cold-water allergy, I’d now developed chronic seasickness, which materialised at the first hint of motion once on a boat. I could only wistfully recall my time as a teenager, sailing in catamarans with a friend around Pittwater. Then it was a case of the wilder the better. Now I longed to get back to dry land, while struggling to keep from vomiting—which no doubt would provide an amusing yarn for the press corps who often tagged along for these scenic trips.
As it happened, a dirty tricks campaign was now running in the media, a sign that our opponents really meant business, and a reflection of the utter bastardry that infects sections of the fourth estate. Typical was a story in The Sunday Telegraph alleging I’d spent a record sum on overseas jaunts to do with the whaling issue. Politician’s travel expenses are a no-brainer for the press, and sometimes the criticism is justified. But the figure seemed way too high, and for a reason. It included the travel costs of most of the officials and our IWC commissioner as well—but there was no opportunity for comeback.
We stayed the course, pushing hard to get Conservation Management Plans, which clearly outlined how whale populations were to be protected, accepted at a previous IWC meeting. They provided a great example of what the IWC could do in the future, as well as established a precedent for conservation-based action. Nearly half a million blue whales had been slaughtered in the period of industrial whaling, and even since the moratorium these peaceful giants of the sea were at less than 2 per cent of their pre-whaling numbers. It was in this context that the core parts of our reform initiative needed to be advanced. I specifically wanted civil society—the NGOs that had long led the campaign—to have greater access to IWC processes and better communications with government too.
We had initiated a series of regular meetings with conservation groups such as Greenpeace, the International Fund for Animal Welfare, the Humane Society and Pew, and invited representatives of these organisations to the government’s daily meetings when the IWC met. These were long-term players that worked hard in public outreach and behind the scenes. Despite lacking the resources of government, I knew they could always be relied on to show up and put the case, although Pew and Greenpeace’s support for the compromise had taken me by surprise.
Sea Shepherd didn’t participate, as they’d been banned from the IWC meetings. Instead they mounted an attack on anyone they perceived to be inside the tent, even those organisations and countries that were vigorously opposing the pro-whaling nations. Leader Paul Watson would lurk in the hotel lobby, demonising the meeting and the participants as sell-outs. This was the sum total of the Sea Shepherd contribution, other than sending protest ships to harass the Japanese fleet every year. I had always publicly supported direct action—and still do—but, like most of the NGOs who’d been working on the whaling issue for decades, I was far from convinced that in this case it would deter the Japanese from sending their fleet to hunt whales.
There was no doubt that getting in the way of the whaling fleet could disrupt the kill, and confronting Japan on the high seas was dramatic stuff and came with great images—Watson always had a camera in tow—which provided a terrific fundraising platform for Sea Shepherd. (‘We are the only ones with the courage to take on the Japanese, so support us!’) But neither their rhetoric nor their actions could deliver a long-term solution, no matter how many nail-biting docos they made for National Geographic. And there remained the very real risk of harm to activists—whose motivation was never in question—so far from land and in such a treacherous stretch of ocean, who would need to be rescued by ‘sell-out’ governments if things went pear-shaped. The final irony, which seemed lost on most people, was that Sea Shepherd’s last resort was to call on these very same governments to do something: institute trade bans, send a ship, arrest Japanese seafarers, whatever.
At the height of the skirmishes in the 2009–10 season, a radio announcer on the high-rating Melbourne station 3AW put it to me that I could make myself ‘the most popular politician on earth’ by declaring war on the Land of the Rising Sun. By now, after years of effort spent trying to resolve an issue that I’d long cared about, and now as environment minister, I would have done just about anything to bring this campaign to a close—short of going to war with one of our most important regional neighbours, with whom, especially given the rise of China, we shared an increasingly close relationship.
While I wouldn’t advocate going to war, I was all in favour of taking the battle to the ICJ. I’d sent a paper to cabinet outlining the state of play and arguing for that step, but it took forever to emerge. At the end of the day, it would have to be a joint cabinet submission from my department and the Department of Foreign Affairs, which kept gnawing away, mounting rear-guard actions to prevent what they saw as an unnecessarily imprudent and uncertain course being taken. The Crown law officers were similarly unconvinced, despite the urgings of some ambitious academics, so I hunkered down with advisers to hone our understanding of international law.
I then spoke to the solicitor-general, Stephen Gageler, to get his steer on the proposed action. As you’d expect from a future High Court judge, he was cautious, and pointed out the uncertainties that accompanied taking a case to a court that had more than a dozen judges from different countries sitting at any one time.
I lobbied for the support of the lugubrious attorney-general, Rob McClelland, whose department was still nervous about taking what it described as the nuke option. I also pressed the case with Stephen Smith, the foreign affairs minister. In private a fan of all things dark and loud, and a Bad Seeds tragic, in public he was dapper and chipper—qualities not usually found in a typical Australian politician—and he had a wry take on the vagaries of political life, having been a player for many years. He would argue his department’s case till the writing was on the wall—as in this instance, with Rudd still willing to press the case, it eventually was.
Despite t
he misgivings of colleagues, I felt it was crucial to persevere. There were many reasons: we’d already promised we would take legal action if the Japanese persisted; we needed to have a fallback in the event the IWC fell apart; we couldn’t allow any country to continue flouting the rules in this way; and, finally, the times had changed. This last reason was in some ways the most important. The natural world and all living things were now more valued, and more in jeopardy, than in the past. Perhaps the international court would reflect some of that changed global thinking as well.
The eventual cabinet submission was delayed, sent back on several occasions, but finally agreed, with Rudd, Smith and me left to sort the details. To my horror, the decision was instantly leaked to a Fairfax journalist, which would have taken away the impetus of a statement, but didn’t make the splash the coward(s) intended.
As this was going on, behind the scenes the US and New Zealand had continued side discussions with Japan. Their aim was to reach some form of agreement that could be put forward at the upcoming IWC meeting and thus circumvent the need for any legal challenge. In the absence of any change in position from Japan, which throughout showed no willingness to compromise, their ambassadors mounted a last-minute appeal to the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade on 24 May, focusing on the importance of the two nations’ relationship with Australia—to no avail.
A week later, on Friday, 28 May 2010, Stephen Smith and I announced the government’s decision to take legal action in the ICJ against Japan. This was only the second time Australia had taken such a step. The previous occasion had been in 1973, when we challenged the French over nuclear testing in the South Pacific.
On the same day, a paper arrived from the Americans seeking a delay—it was too late. In two weeks I’d be at the next meeting of the IWC with the strongest position yet any government had presented against whaling.
The following Monday I met with the ambassadors of Brazil and Argentina to thank them for their support and to discuss tactics for the upcoming meeting. A day later formal court documents were lodged at The Hague in the Netherlands, home of the ICJ.
Before leaving for Morocco, I dropped in to see Lou Reed, in town with his partner Laurie Anderson, who was directing the Vivid festival in Sydney. I was relieved to be back in a hassle-free zone, if only to pause for breath, as Reed, who was filling in time doing a radio show from the Opera House studios, back announced and discussed obscure New York garage bands with his friend, American producer Hal Willner. Eventually, Lou asked me what I’d been up to.
It was difficult to know where to start, but I launched into a précis of my recent walk on the wild side.
Lou listened thoughtfully for a minute, and then said very slowly in his New York drawl, ‘Amazing. You’re actually in the government?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I replied.
Lou shook his head, clearly bemused as to why on earth anyone would want to work in politics. Then we shook hands and I headed out to the airport. A few years later he was gone.
…
Quite why officials had decided to gather in the sleepy seaside resort of Agadir on the eastern shores of the kingdom of Morocco, in a part of the world that is virtually whale-free, took a while to fathom. But it was hard to escape the suspicion—voiced by my ever-vigilant media adviser Ben Pratt, who’d spotted various spouses and relatives in attendance from other delegations—that for some it was a junket. Why else were most meetings held in such exotic locations?
Our task, on the other hand, was serious: we needed to strengthen the anti-whaling coalition and try to embed a new conservation-based vision for the IWC. At the same time, it was critical that some version of the weaker compromise floated by Sir Geoffrey Palmer, with support from the Americans, didn’t grow legs. In addition, we wanted to prevent a walkout by the Japanese and other pro-whaling nations that had been angered by the provocation of Australia’s announcement of legal action.
It was likely to be a bruising affair that would need deft handling, all the more so when our position was laid out: that all whaling should be brought under control of the IWC and ‘scientific whaling’ immediately ended; that no new whaling be allowed; that the quota for taking vulnerable species be reduced to zero; and that all forms of whaling be prohibited in IWC-recognised whale sanctuaries. We argued for better mechanisms to be developed for monitoring, compliance and phase-outs, and for improved governance. We pushed for the IWC to agree that principle-based science determine policy, with climate change impacts on whale and dolphin populations now being taken into account. There was more, but the effect of this declaration was to drive undecided nations into one corner or the other.
The US and New Zealand proposals started to lose steam as the conference ground on. This was due in no small part to the marathon efforts of several leading environment department officials, in particular the secretary, Robyn Kruk, and our representative on the IWC, Donna Petrachenko. Along with Antarctic chief scientist Nick Gales, this issue had become a labour of love as well as their job.
My experience in the international meetings I’d attended was that Australian officials were usually highly competent and diligent. Most delegates who attend meetings of this kind are skilful bureaucrats, often in the diplomatic service, but here at Agadir some were simply going through the motions. Not so our team, who had war-gamed every possible scenario. I can’t recall receiving a more thorough brief on any other issue. Our officials believed in what we were trying to achieve and it showed. And ultimately it worked.
Strong backing from the Latin American bloc and the UK, which had long held anti-whaling positions, helped as, in a blitz of last-minute lobbying—with as much personal contact with ministers as could be managed, and with significant pressure applied by their domestic NGOs—we received welcome support from the leading European nations, Germany and France.
At one point, with the Japanese team swapping restaurant tips with their allies from Saint Kitts and Nevis, and Kiribati, I accepted a petition from over a million people worldwide, which reinforced Australia’s position. It was a substantial expression of public will and, along with the displays and side events scheduled by the NGOs to sway conference delegates and media outside the main meeting room, kept the anti-whaling wheel turning.
By the second last day of the conference, Australia was starting to drive the agenda. I was pleased we’d got this far and naturally keen for people at home to know about it. Far from running up the white flag to the Japanese, as our political opponents were fond of claiming, we’d presented a new path to an international body mired in an old way of thinking. And we’d backed it up with real programs, proper science and clear thinking.
It had been a hard-fought struggle and, even though we weren’t claiming total victory, at a crucial juncture the IWC had abandoned a compromise plan that would have ended the moratorium on commercial whaling. We’d well and truly avoided the predicted defeat, and laid a much stronger foundation for the next stage in the battle to save the whales.
Due to the time difference, I was due to speak to Tony Jones from the ABC’s Lateline program just as the day was coming to an end. Ben Pratt and I were standing outside the conference hall, waiting for the interview to begin, when suddenly Ben’s phone started ringing. He ignored it, but it kept going off.
A day before we’d received calls from some members of the press gallery we knew well; something was starting to bubble. An hour or so earlier, I’d received a call from Alister Jordan, Kevin Rudd’s chief of staff, that confirmed it. He was trawling for likely numbers in the event of a leadership spill.
It was a very short conversation with Jordan. My position was straightforward, I told him. ‘As a cabinet minister, I support the prime minister, but I won’t vote for Rudd if there is a challenge, and you should know that. I’m 10,000 kilometres away and need to get back to this meeting.’ Click.
By the time I was ready to begin the Lateline interview, with a small microphone stuck in my left ear and a voice from a
nother hemisphere whispering, ‘One minute, Mr Garrett, you’re going live,’ Ben’s phone was beeping furiously. I’d put my own mobile on silent, but it was vibrating madly in my trouser pocket.
I could hear the animated voices of delegates as they poured out of the conference into the dry heat of the late Moroccan afternoon. It had been quite a day, even compared to the highly charged atmospherics that were the norm in the IWC.
Jones devoted the first half-dozen questions to the leadership challenge that was currently underway in Canberra, an event I couldn’t participate in, and one I’d given little thought to in the blur of the week’s frantic activity. I was likely the only cabinet minister in front of a camera at this moment, and had no intention of setting off a hand grenade from Morocco, much as I wished to see Rudd out of the leadership, but the spill hadn’t happened yet. Added to which I needed to make clear the government’s position at the conference to lock in our allies’ support, and let people at home know the state of play.
So many people cared about these creatures and how they were treated, and they had a right to know what had happened on this day.
So many people had fought hard to get the issue to this stage and they deserved to relish the moment.
A lot of time, effort and resources had been spent to make good ground and I felt the government, at last and at least, deserved some credit.
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