NO DAMS!

GREENIE ACRES

We had quickly outgrown the camping ground at People's Park, and pretty soon had moved to some land lent to us on the outskirts of Strahan. It didn't have anything like the appeal of People's Park, but it did have plenty of space, which was the important thing. And we were able to build some decent showers and a greater number of toilets as well, which made life more comfortable.

One of the drawbacks of the greater numbers of people though were the seemingly endless meetings! Every day we had two of them. The first was at 8 a.m. which was a ludicrous time for those of us who were really busy. The communications people would have nothing to do with them, and nor did a lot of other people, although we were supposed to go to meet new people, discuss general tactics and get the latest news.

Consensus was used at these meetings, and was in general a nice idea. At People's Park and within smaller groups it worked really well, but with meetings of a hundred people or more (as we were getting at Greenie Acres), and with a long agenda and the increasing need for urgent action, it became ludicrous. The meetings went on for hours sometimes, achieved little and ultimately created discontent and frayed nerves.

Some of the facilitators of these meetings were fanatics about consensus. That put me off - I began enthusiastically enough, but when there was work to do, it wasn't possible to sit in a ring of people for hours and achieve zilch. Perhaps the size of the blockade took them by surprise and they couldn't adapt. Now they weren't dealing with keen fully paid-up T.W.S. members, but with hundreds of people from all walks of life, more accustomed to the "usual" ways and means of society. They weren't going to sit still and not interrupt at a meeting. They weren't so easily going to modify their objections to a motion simply to allow consensus. The meetings went on and on. Some of us could not believe what was happening...

The NVA tactics were also wrong by then. From a two day crash course of some value, it had blown out to a whole week of training, just to be arrested! It was pretty pointless really. For the "action" groups (ie those planning extended periods of protest action) it may have had some worth, but the majority of people arriving in Strahan now simply wanted to go upriver, walk straight up to a policeman, get arrested, take bail and go home again. For them, seven days of training were not warranted. It fascinates me now how that kind of bureaucracy developed. It was like a disease. No-one wanted it, and I'm sure no-one designed it that way. It just seemed to grow by itself. People were arriving from everywhere, and the logistics were becoming daunting. And so it was at this stage that the Blue Sky affinity group decided it was time to get serious about going to the "front line" and getting arrested.

ARRESTED

Anyone who bothered, for whatever strange reason, to visit a non-descript paddock on the outskirts of Strahan on a moonless night in the freezing rain at about 2 am on the 8th January 1983, would have been somewhat surprised to see large numbers of people in waterproof jackets standing around in small groups in deep discussion and looking anxious in the torchlight. The reason for this bizarre behaviour was that word had just arrived that the first heavy equipment for the dam construction was at that moment travelling along the highway toward Strahan wharf. The result was instantaneous - all the affinity groups in camp held emergency meetings to determine what their course of action would be. The dilemma for most groups was that the action was beginning before they had gone upriver. That was the ideal for most people - to get upriver and protest and be arrested on the river itself. Large numbers of people were scheduled to go to the Gordon camp that day, and it was an agonising decision to cut all that short and be arrested on boring old Strahan wharf!

Many decided they would take the boat upriver regardless. Rather than blockade the first heavy machinery, many instead opted to wait and see just how much would actually arrive through the day, or else get upriver and blockade it there when it arrived by barge. However three affinity groups, including Blue Sky, made the commitment to a blockade on the wharf in Strahan where the equipment was to be loaded off the trucks and onto barges for the trip upriver. Happy with our decision, we tried to get a couple of hours sleep before having to get up before dawn to be on site in time for the arrival.

The sight of a long line of wet and bedraggled greenies trudging somewhat wearily, but with determination, along the road to Strahan wharf in the murky pre-dawn drizzle looked anything but a well organised, properly coordinated operation. Knowing however that the majority of those people had dragged themselves out of a warm sleeping bag on such a morning as this and after a disrupted night, not to participate in the action itself but to provide moral support for those few of us who had committed themselves to protest and arrest, filled us all with optimism. Even if this effort was to fail, the commitment these people were making was so great that it was difficult to believe they would not ultimately win.

Our information had been spot on, and we beat the arrival of the machinery by about half an hour. A mobile crane was met on the outskirts of Strahan by about 200 protesters and a very small and very surprised looking police contingent. Unfortunately (and to our annoyance) there was not a single media person present! We quickly learnt in the days that followed that the media were not going to get up at dawn for anyone! Surprisingly, once the police got over their initial shock at seeing so many of us they simply disappeared back to the warmth of the Strahan police station and left us to get on with it alone!

It was as the crane was rolling slowly down the hill into Strahan that I witnessed the only truly stupid act of the whole blockade. Realising that the only way the crane was going to be stopped was to lie down on the road in front of it, one of the younger and more enthusiastic protesters did just that, but threw himself down so close to the thing that the driver would not have been able to stop in time even if he had been able to see him, which he couldn't. It was only by luck that two people were close enough to drag him out just moments before he was crushed. Being severely castigated did nothing to dampen his "enthusiasm", and he was closely watched after that until finally he was sent upriver and arrested harmlessly in the bush.

The police did nothing to stop us blockading the crane at Strahan wharf, probably because there was no intention of actually loading the thing onto a barge for some time anyway. However, once the media arrived they figured they had better be seen to be doing something, so reinforcements and paddy wagons were sent for from Queenstown. Not too hurriedly mind - if we wanted to sit in the rain and catch pneumonia, then that was fine by them!

We sat in two groups, one at each end of the crane, and talked again about whether we wanted to be arrested and whether we would refuse bail and go to prison or not. Only a couple decided that they would leave when asked to do so by the police, who didn't arrive in any numbers until 2 hours later. Meantime the driver of the crane had taken himself down to the T.W.S. shop to buy souvenirs!

The whole mood changed when the Queenstown police contingent arrived. The Strahan police were somewhat grumpy, but the arriving reinforcements were great. They were courteous and enthusiastic, and when we had our photos taken with our arresting officer, they actually smiled for the camera! I was hoping (for publicity sake) that we would be thrown into paddy wagons and carried mercilessly away, but instead we were politely bundled into a large, warm and comfortable police bus that would have served well as a tourist coach.

They firstly (and very politely) informed us that sometime soon they would be coming over and asking us to leave, and that if we didn't, we would be arrested for obstruction. They then gave us another hour to think through again exactly what we wanted to do. I think only one of my group at the front of the crane decided to get up and leave when asked. The rest of us were there to be arrested and most had determined to refuse bail and go to prison as well.

Two police officers then began the lengthy process of asking each of us in turn to leave, and then reading us our rights. I was the second last person to be arrested. The last was Jules Davison, who is wheel-chair bound and was being arrested for the third time!

Shortly before our arrest on Strahan wharf. Seven of the nine of us
went to Risdon Prison. The author is circled.

After being arrested we were taken to the bus, driven to Strahan police station where we were formally charged, photographed, then put back on the bus again and taken to Queenstown, supposedly to be taken before a magistrate to determine bail conditions.

In Queenstown there was a problem with the magistrates and we were confined in the Queenstown police station holding cells, but not before we were allowed a legal visit, which is where I first met my wife Jane. There were several people from the T.W.S. legal support group interviewing each of us, telling us our rights, finding out our intentions, and offering to organise gear, make phone calls and so on for each of us. Jane and I still celebrate our meeting on that occasion on January 8th each year!

After a long wait in a crowded holding cell, we were put back on the bus and told we had to be taken to Hobart to appear before a magistrate there in the morning. By the time we left it was early evening, and after a long stop somewhere along the highway for reasons that weren't fully explained, we finally arrived in Hobart after midnight. For a day charged with drama and tension, we had done an awful lot of sitting around!

The holding cells at the Hobart magistrates court were apparently unavailable to the men for some reason, so we said goodbye to the women for the time being and we were sent over to Bellerive police station where they had enough cells for us. Bellerive was great. The sargeant there gave us all a hot drink, saw us smilingly into our cells and promised us breakfast in the morning. We were very tired but grateful and slept well.

In the morning we were given breakfast and were allowed to try out the padded cell, which was fun! Then we spent some time waiting and chatting. Our spirits were good, but the longer we waited, the more apprehensive we became, although we realised it was good for the cause that they were having trouble "processing" us. By this stage, some 400 people had been arrested, and already the prison was full to over-flowing, which was one of the main tactics the TWS were using to force the government's hand.

Eventually we were loaded back onto the bus and taken to the magistrate's court for our appearance. We were just a little disappointed that there were no supporters there to greet our arrival as had been promised, but our morale was still high.

We met another legal representative who checked that we hadn't changed our minds since the previous day and the proceedings began. To my surprise I was the second person up before the magistrate. The first person had accepted the bail conditions and was whisked away very quickly. My case then came up. There were two charges: one of obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty (i.e. clearing the Strahan wharf of protesters) and one of obstructing a "public" officer (i.e. the crane driver) in the course of his duty. No plea was made as this was just a bail hearing. The magistrate allowed bail on the condition that I wasn't to enter the precinct of Strahan, and he was then (surprisingly) a little taken aback when the lawyer rather nervously stated that "his client" (me) objected to the set bail conditions and could not accept them. The magistrate said he saw no alternative than to remand me in custody, and once he was satisified that I understood this meant being held in Risdon Prison, and that it would be another week before I had another chance to change my mind about the bail conditions, he sent me away.

REMANDED

Perhaps the biggest surprise of my life occurred shortly after the hearing. I was led from the court by a police officer who was to take me to the holding cells which were located at the back of the court. However, he said that because of some apparent building work going on (of which there was no evidence), we would have to go out the front door and down the side alley to get there. This seemed rather odd. Further to that, he said that because we were going outside the building and therefore in public, and because I had been remanded in custody, he would have to handcuff me for the trip! I was already feeling a bit depressed by all that had happened, and this just worsened it. He was very apologetic, but had a mischievious look in his eyes that intrigued me... he knew something I didn't!

To my astonishment, as I was led handcuffed down the front steps of the courthouse and onto the street, a large crowd of supporters had materialised and burst out cheering and applauding! There was no media around, so clearly it wasn't just a show for the cameras and made me feel a million dollars! So I felt really on top of the world at that stage, but the long wait afterwards, in the cage-like holding cells out the back, was really frustrating. It seemed to take an eternity for any of my colleagues to follow me down to the cells.

The Hobart holding cells were the worst I encountered. They were simply three-sided cages placed against a wall with a bunk in them. It really felt like being in some tin-pot dictator's personal prison for poitical dissidents. Years of graffiti had accumulated on the floor and the back wall and attested to the utter boredom in there.

With the reality now sinking in, and having endured countless hours of waiting, we were not really in a celebratory mood. I was therefore a little shocked when eventually we were put back on a bus for the trip to Risdon Prison, to find the women who had also refused bail, were in very high spirits! They had made themselves up and were singing protest songs and laughing - quite at odds with the way we men felt. Missing out on lunch didn't improve our mood either!

RISDON PRISON

By the time we actually got to prison though, I think any apprehension had been replaced by sheer relief that we had actually got this far. There was at last a sense of accomplishment, and the crowd of supporters outside the court had been a really great morale booster.

We were keen to find out where we would be put in prison. We knew there were already a lot of blockaders there, and hoped to be placed with them. We were slightly apprehensive because due to the overcrowding, the remand section was long ago full, and greenies were being placed in the main prison with convicted prisoners. We were warned that our bus load may well be separated, but as it happened we were kept together and put in cell block 'H' - the maximum security wing which was serving as an overflow remand section!

First we had to be processed of course, like so much grist for the mill. "Name - address - date of birth - empty your pockets. Anything else?" A slightly bemused and sympathetic warder warns me that he now has to search me and will personally keep anything he finds. From the look on his face I feel confident he won't search too carefully. In any case I don't really believe he would confiscate the pen and paper I have concealed inside the waterproof pocket in the lining of my rain jacket, which is hard to find unless you are really looking for it. It's a cursory search, and I'm thankful.

Receipt for personal property taken upon arrival in prison.
Some items were never returned!

We were not allowed to take anything inside with us except the clothes we wore at the time - fortunately remand prisoners were not required to wear prison clothes. The only writing allowed were letters that you had to write on official prison correspondence forms. These forms with their wide-spaced lines were more suited for junior primary school pupils, having barely enough space to say "Hello, wish you were here". The paper I smuggled in became exceedingly precious to me as paper was very scarce. Even so, I asked for a bible in case I needed to tear the fly-sheets out should my own supply run out. I also used a copy of the prison regulations which I smuggled out in the end as a souvenir.

Strangely, the request for a bible provoked an odd response. Some time after I submitted my request on the official form provided to us, I was marched into the prison governor's office, told by the warder to march (yes, march!) along a row of coloured tiles(!) that led to the centre of the room, then salute (!!) the governor and await his response! Naturally I swaggered over all the tiles I was not supposed to walk on, and stood roughly in the middle of the room without saluting. As it happened, the governor couldn't understand why the warder hadn't just given me a bible in the first place, and so I was taken back to maximum security and given a Gideon's Bible from a large stack in the warder's office.

One fellow in H block, ironically quite a nice bloke, was remanded on a charge of murdering his wife. He was later convicted, and it was really strange to find this really rather pleasant person (completely unlike the other brash, "tough" boastful characters) facing the prospect of spending the best part of the rest of his life in prison with these guys. Although he was smiling, it didn't show in his eyes. He was trying to fit in, and yet it was so obviously a completely alien environment for him. I felt sorry for him, despite what he had done. The murder, indeed any of the crimes committed by the inmates just didn't seem real. Everything to do with the "outside" seemed irrelevant. That was a different world, quite removed from "in here". You didn't think of the outside world as "real" - the only reality was the "here and now" of imprisonment.

Most of the "regulars" in the remand section with us were not there for the first time, and seemed quite pleased to have the distraction of greenies to divert them from the grim tedium that was prison life. There was certainly nothing to be joyous about. Locked up for 14 hours per day in a solitary ten by nine foot cell, the only diversions being the exercise yard (which was like a drab, ashphalted 1930s school quadrangle but with security cameras, armed guards and solid steel mesh for a roof), and the kitchen at meal times. Meals were awful. Saveloys and mashed potato seemed to be about the most exciting dish. Nothing vegetarian was on offer, which was a disaster for some of the green brigade. One person dared to complain about the food and was promptly put in solitary confinement for his trouble. Eventually we went on a hunger strike, but I don't think it made a big impression, except with the regulars who got to eat our meals as well as their own.

I was in cell 23, H block, which consisted of a hard bed, a tiny cupboard, an even tinier writing desk (which was ironic seeing as we weren't allowed any writing paper), a toilet and hand basin. The decor was a grey floor, white ceiling, and appropriately green walls. The cell door and sink unit were a tacky brick red! There was no heating, except that provided by a single, bare 150 watt light bulb that was remotely turned off at 9:30 pm sharp. After lights out there would be shouted conversations between the more boisterous of the H block inmates, conversations that reverberated around the block and intruded into your thoughts. It was the obscenities that grabbed your attention - streams and streams of them, as if they were the life blood of the prison.

CONFINEMENT

The effects of being imprisoned are not easy to understand to anyone unless they've been through it. And there again, the true effects of confinement, for me at least, weren't fully rammed home until my release, when the sudden restitution of freedom made me realise just what I had been deprived of in prison. There are many shocking elements to prison life, and although I was only there a week, it made quite an impact that re-shaped my attitude to life in general.

There were a couple of things that really stood out. Firstly, in H block there were two blockaders who had been in remand for nearly a month, having being arrested very early in the blockade. They were amazingly uninterested in us newly arrived blockaders, preferring to play cards with the "regulars", and being basically very antisocial toward us. We were told they had been that way for some time - it was apparently an effect of their incarceration.

Another thing that really stood out about imprisonment was the pacing. Starting from about half an hour towards the end of the "exercise" period everyone, almost without exception, would begin pacing up and down the length of the quadrangle like caged animals. It was a ritual, and a very powerful one at that. You couldn't help but do it, despite how ridiculous it must have looked. It was during these times that you had your really good talks with people. During one of these pacing sessions I struck up a friendship with my next-cell-neighbour Tim - a theology student - and we had several really good conversations.

After the evening meal (at 4 p.m.!), when we were locked up for the night, you had a chance to think about the things people had said, and to ponder the amazing sensation of actually being forcibly locked up, a danger to civilisation! And while I certainly thought that it was odd not being able to get up and walk away from the place, that real sense of loss didn't really hit home until I was released, and then it was with a sense of complete horror that I looked back at that time in gaol. To this day I still take great delight in simply knowing that I can get up and walk out the front door any time I like!

Perhaps the most shocking thing I saw in prison though was the bribery that went on. The young guys we were remanded with (who were facing charges of robbery with violence) went to great pains to bribe the regular inmates with anything they had to hand, such as tobacco or chocolate, just to smooth their transition into the "real" prison system later on. They would hand these bribes to the regular inmates through the grill of the kitchen door during meal times, while the prison warders looked on from overhead, never once stopping them.

I guess the other surprising thing about imprisonment was the "Post Risdon Depression" that seemed to afflict all of us afterwards. It seemed as if all the blockaders that went through Risdon would afterwards experience a frustrating period of doubt and uncertainty. There would be a general lack of motivation, even a distaste for returning to Strahan, and in fact several people simply didn't go back. I returned to Strahan almost against my wishes, having no enthusiasm left at all. But gradually (and it did take time) this feeling was replaced with one of achievement, and I no longer have any doubt that what we did was right, and worthwhile...

Risdon's Prisoner's Rule Book, and a letter my brother sent me while I was
inside (note the prison censor's appropriately triangular stamp!)...

REFLECTIONS

On my return to Strahan, I couldn't really settle back into any kind of routine. Feeling as if my job was done, I did what I could, but began looking forward to returning home, especially once I learned that I got the job I'd missed the interview for!

A federal election had been called, with the Franklin River one of the major issues. The T.W.S. organised massive rallies around the country, and with one set for February 4th, I returned home to participate in the rally there before starting my new job a week later.

The rest is well documented. The rally in Hobart was enormous, as were the rallies elsewhere in the country. The Australian Labor Party won the federal election, and during his victory speech the new prime minister Bob Hawke reiterated his promise to stop the dam! We were ecstatic! The federal government took the Tasmanian state government to the High Court and the dam was stopped! We had won!

A little over a year later Jane and I went back to the west coast and revisited the area we had come to know so well during the blockade. It was totally bizarre. We stayed at People's Park, which was empty and wonderful, saw sheep grazing over Greenie Acres, and took a trip with a boat load of tourists up the Gordon River. From the boat you could just see a few steps cut into the bank where the blockaders' camp had been. Contrasted with the mess left behind by the H.E.C. at their dam-site, we felt justified and vindicated.

Some years later we stopped our activities with the Wilderness Society and also Greenpeace to concentrate on raising a family of (hopefully) environmentally aware boys. We also left Tasmania, leaving the economic, political and environmental turmoil to move to South Australia in 1989, where we still live happily with our three sons.

It's hard to explain properly the legacy of the Franklin River blockade. On the wider scale of course it shows that public opinion can stop governments and change entrenched values and ideals. On a more personal level, it's harder to analyse, but certainly it gives you a clearer perspective on what can and can't be done in life, and what can be achieved when like-minded people selflessly work together. Not only did we save a river, but also learnt that after all, nothing really is impossible.

STATISTICS

During the course of the blockade 2,613 people registered with the T.W.S. at the Strahan Info Centre. Of those 1,272 went on to be arrested (including 44 who were arrested twice, and 4 who were arrested three times), and a total of 1,324 charges were laid against them. Of those arrested, 447 people went to Risdon Prison. Many more would have also been jailed, but once the prisons were full, magistrates had no choice but to release people on bail whether they accepted the terms of bail or not. Only 27 people were eventually fined ($50 each)... all other charges were dropped (including mine)!