Life on the Edge

.....And if, in the end, all other avenues are denied us, if it takes standing on the road to the pulp mill site and placing our bodies between their machines and our home, we will stand there, in peace and with pride, united against hate and greed, joined in our love for our island. And if we are arrested and thrown in jail, then we will go to jail in our tens, we will go to jail in our hundreds, we will go to jail in our thousands, and Paul Lennon will have to build seven new prisons to house all the people who will come and who will keep on coming before they even attempt to pour the foundations of one new pulp mill.

If it must be, I will stand on that road to the pulp mill. Raise your hand if you will stand there with me, raise your hands so Kevin Rudd can see he was wrong, raise your hand so Peter Garrett can see that people care, raise your hand so John Howard can see this matters, raise your hand so that ANZ, Perpetual, AMP and the Commonwealth Bank can see that will have to deal with the fallout of the biggest civil disobedience campaign in Australian history since the Franklin River blockade if they do not take action now.

Now is the time for turning, now is the season for our change, now must come that moment when we no longer are cowed, when we cease to be silent, when we speak the truth to power and say no to this pulp mill and yes to a future in which we are governed in the spirit in which we live: with goodness, with the interests of others in our heart and not the leash of greed tearing at our throat. Now is that hour, now is our future. The journey is long, the road is dark and frightening, but together we can reach our destination: the Tasmania of which we all dream, where all are welcome and all prosper, made no longer of lies but truth, built not of rich men’s hate but our love for our island and for each other. Our love. Our Tasmania. Let’s take it back.
....Richard Flanagan in a speech to 15,000 people at a Anti-Pulp mill rally in Hobart last Saturday

And when Richard asked the rally crowd of 15,000 people to raise their hands if they would commit themselves to block the construction of the pulp mill, we all did. Such a beautiful thing to witness: all those hands waving in the air.

photo: Matt Newton

The above photo of “giant” spiral snail slugs in the tomato patch was originally “set up” in order to post this year’s April Fool’s Day blog in a manner similar to the jokes of last year and 2004. The story line was to have been along the lines of: potent sea weed compost leads to invasion of tomato eating snail slugs never before seen in the southern hemisphere; probable cause being ballast water from ocean going wood chip freighters.

I say “was” because the recent news concerning the antics of our two major political parties (Labor and Liberal) has taken the humor and fun out of the moment and has made me more angry and pissed off than usual.

Late last week I went to a rally in front of Parliament House in a vain attempt to pressure the parliamentarians inside not to vote on the legislation before them—legislation to fast track the building of a pulp mill instead of having an independent environmental assessment—but to no avail. Only the Greens voted against it with all the Labor and Liberal politicians giving it their assent. 

The only bit of good news was that some of the state and national newspapers (who usually side with the government) were hard on the parliamentarians:

.....Something rotten in the Apple Isle

.....In many democracies it would be enough to trigger an independent commission of inquiry. 

And, although not directly related, the best quote came from the national online journal, Crikey:

...the shallow gene pool that populates state politics with drones, dolts, timeservers and incompetents...

Fairly harsh criticisms, for sure, but it hasn’t “undone” the passing of the legislation. Even this morning on the news, the two major parties continued to defend their actions.

So, no April Fool’s blog on April 1st. Sorry. The fools, I feel, are too much in power and it is depressing to contemplate how much damage they are doing in so many areas.

In fact, the fools are in the garden creating as much destruction as they can and munching away without too much impunity, it seems.

When I contemplate on the sound of the word “garden”, I hear within it the sound/word “guard”. This might not be the true etymology for garden, but it rings true to me. We must guard the garden. We must remain vigilant against the slugs and pests—the drones and dolts—that would infest our gardens.

Not always easy. Not always enjoyable. But necessary, none the less.

I just wish there was an environmentally friendly, non-toxic way of getting rid of Tasmania’s slimy, sleazy slugs.

At the Forest Rally this past Saturday ten thousand people walked and carried banners through the streets to voice and display their concern over the continual destruction of the Tasmanian rain forests. At one particular moment in the march, as I looked at the massed crowd curving its way back and further back again into the heart of downtown Hobart, I felt immensely elated and joyful and part of a whole greater than any one person. Being with the masses was a spiritual high. Chanting, walking with a slow, rhythmic cadence, waving placards, beaming smiles and absorbing the positive energy coming off everyone, it was enough to induce an immediate enlightenment. What a buzz. However, there is the saying: "after the enlightenment, the dishes".

By Monday I was shovelling dirt again. The last three days have seen me in the ditches laying water pipes. Over half a kilometre (500 yards) of pipe. My legs beg to sit down. My back would love a massage. This is "the dishes" aspect of life. In the end, though, there doesn't seem to be too much of a difference between Saturday and today, because this afternoon, as I looked at the twin pipes (one for irrigation, one for drinking) curving their way along the ditch, I felt immensely elated and joyful and part of a whole greater than any one person. These pipes represent both the drinking water for all the many guests who will visit Windgrove over the coming years and the dam water for the small orchard and garden where apples, tomatoes, spinach, squash, blueberries and other beings will come to life and flourish. Such nourishment. As an aside to the Forest Rally, let me say how proud I felt that in this tiny state of Tasmania such an enormous gathering could take place to protect the trees. Would this have happened in America? I doubt it. In Europe or anywhere else? I doubt it. In every place other than Tasmania, the environment is off the agenda. Only here will people still take the time to walk the streets to keep the environment politicised. May peace prevail on earth. May the forests be saved. May clean water be freely available to all.

To be prepared for the destructive aspects of a fire requires that I commit time, effort and money into setting up a system that is in place if need be, but hopefully will never be called upon, to water down any encroaching fire, real or otherwise. What I am asking is: "What do I/we need to do in order to have access to a source of water?" Two days ago my neighbour, Steve, and I worked all day putting in an extension of the water line from the dam to the house and then connecting it to a fire reel and hose at the far wall in the above photo. We both walked away from the job exhausted. The only hint that we had done any work at all the whole day was the scarred line of replaced turf grass over the buried water pipe... and my sore knees as I hobbled down to the beach for a none too vigourous swim. From the water as I draped my tired body over the boogie board and floated aimlessly, I looked up towards the house and land and wondered whether or not this "defensive" approach to protecting the house/myself/valuables was worth it. Could I not just live more fully in "trust" and pray daily for everything to be looked after and, in effect, not tiring myself out so much looking after my land and house. Maybe yes, maybe no. This morning I am coming down on the side of a more disciplined preparation. Especially, when it concerns acts of civil disobedience.

I say this because tomorrow I will drive into Hobart to be at the police station when Neil Smith, also known as Hector the Forest Protector, becomes the latest political prisoner in Tasmania when he begins serving a jail sentence of 51 days for refusing to pay a $5,000 fine for "interfering with the operation of a vehicle" during a protest to save the ancient, old growth forest, Mother Cummings. While Neil was perched in a tree, an excavator had to deviate around this tree delaying it for about 20 minutes. The law under which Neil was charged was repealed in January 2000, but the present government has refused to drop his sentence choosing instead to make him a political prisoner because of his environmental stand. The only photo I have of Neil shows him (wearing glasses) standing behind Heather Rose, spokesperson for Artists for Forests, during the chilly August morning of the Parliament House Vigil. With hands up, Heather seems to be saying to those in Parliament House (behind the camera): "Stay away from Hector the Forest Protector". When in jail, what will serve the well being of Neil Smith? What "well" is there for Neil do draw upon to quench what needs quenching? Does this quiet looking man have any defensive preparations ready for his incarceration? Over the years has Neil done the necessary emotional, physical and spiritual work to lay the water pipe that up until now has remained hidden? Does he have an inner source of water to use to put out whatever fires of anger, resentment and hatred will torment him in jail? Fires started by others but capable of burning him out. Our prayers are with you Neil....... Stay strong. Letters of support can be sent to:

For what seems like forever, I have been sitting at my desk sending out email after email to drum up support for the Parliament House Vigil (August 19). On average, 60 per day; individually written, no mass mailings. Whenever my back begins to hurt or my energy begin to fade, I turn to the right, gaze outside for a moment, and am reminded what it is I am trying to protect. Our children's future. The world itself will survive in one form or another. Whether humans will be along for the ride much longer will depend largely on our collective attitude towards each other and towards all other living beings. Reverence for all life seems such an easy concept. "Love thy neighbour as thy self" seems an appropriate guide to sustainable living. Last night there was on television a troubling documentary on the secrecy and lies behind the American governments campaign to bomb Iraq. One CIA analyst said that within the CIA, the people who are now in charge of America's foreign policy were once referred to as "the Crazies". Intelligence gathering used to be concerned with the truth, he said. Now, it is used to aid and abet what the government wants us to believe. Lies are an essential part of doing business at the White House. So, I look out to my little patch of trees. The beach and breaking surf is visible through swaying branches. It is all so beautiful. Worth a sore butt.

Walking at the head of a protest march in the Styx Valley of the Giants this past Sunday with other invited speakers was an interesting position for me to be in. The view ahead was a muddy logging road empty of people except for the television and newspaper crews running around searching for the next best vantage point from which to photograph. If I had chosen to just stay focused (and smiling) on what lay ahead, I would have missed out on the overpowering great mass of hope and exuberance behind. Turning around and seeing this line of people stretching back a half mile and still coming, was overwhelming. Staying turned around and listening to this 5000 strong joyful chorus of civil disobedience was unbelievably empowering. Later, standing on a makeshift podium built on top of a hugh twelve foot diameter tree stump that, itself, was on a hill side, when I first took hold of the microphone to address the massed people below, I was stunned into a temporary silence defined by humility, yet tempered with a truly deep love with what I was witnessing. The prepared speech stayed folded in my jacket pocket; the first words that I spoke were: “I feel like an angel”. And indeed I was. Not of my own making, but because of the intensity of the crowd’s focused love on me and the tree’s focused love on me. It was palpable. And I glowed. What I said after this I am not sure, but it was along the lines of the following: “I am a sculptor who uses wood, but I clearly understand that there will never be a work of art as beautiful as a standing tree. I can, however, when using wood, do so with reverence and respect and try to create something that speaks of the beauty, sacredness and necessity of our shared earth. Likewise, although I am here speaking, I understand that there is no one person who will ever be as eloquent nor deeply informed as the collective voice of the people and trees surrounding me. I can, however, offer my little story to add to this great gathering of stories. The trees need us as we need the trees. In this reciprocal relationship we bless each other. In this greatest of cathedrals, we are in the presence of the ancestors; we are all sacred and divine. And we need to protect these trees, not only for the tree's sake, but for our own soul’s sake.” I went on for another minute or so talking about the need of being an “unrepentant sinner” in the name of protest; aiming for peace through love, but not feeling too bad if our arrows miss the mark. Later still, walking back to the car and finding myself alone for a few minutes, I felt a deep gratitude for the teachings my environmentalist mother gave me when, as a child, she took our family every summer to the north woods of Michigan and instructed us in how to listen to, love and feel connected to the father/mother god she felt present in the forests. I thank her.

Curled up in bed this morning -- a morning of cold, wet and grey -- I couldn’t help but feel slightly depressed about the ongoing destruction of Tasmania’s old growth forests; especially now that the government has both lifted a moratorium against logging in the Tarkine, the world’s largest remaining tract of temperate rain forest, and commenced logging in the Styx Valley where some of Tasmania’s tallest trees live. Wrapped in my warm doona, I also reflected on how today is also the day that the Wilderness Society is beginning a thirteen day, around the clock presence at the Styx Valley to coincide with the July 1 High Court decision 20 years ago that stopped the flooding of the Franklin River. “Brrrrr”, I thought. “They are going to have a miserable time erecting their marquee and maintaining high spirits in this weather.” With the thought of dedicating my morning prayers to the Styx Valley crew, I jumped out of my snug confines and made my way over to the Peace Garden in the light rain to greet the ancestors before making my way to the Peace Fire. And what should happen...... The dawning sun breaks through a small opening in the clouds and throws a rainbow down. It was as if to say: “Listen, within the storm resides beauty and hope. What you witness as turmoil is an agent of change, out of which compassion and love for this earth will grow. Stay steadfast in your commitment.” I went back into the warm house more than buoyed to carry on in my own small way to raise awareness of the reciprocal, reverential connection humans need to have for this earth. Edward Abbey came to mind: “We are obliged, therefore, to spread the news, painful and bitter though it may be for some to hear, that all living things on earth are kindred.”

Sometimes it is not enough to just plant trees on the hillside in the soft sun; parting those pubic grasses with your searching fingers and inserting into the moist dark earth a tender she-oak seedling; a newly born about to embark on its own search for sustenance from above and below. With each placement a prayer; with each placement a new family member welcomed into an already established family of 3000 sister and brother she-oaks planted over the past ten years. Beyond the goodness of this act, just a mile away bulldozers this past spring cut a swath through ancient soils and elder trees; trees whose roots, reaching down for countless years, have allowed branches to reach up and bring into the light of their leaves a co-existent beauty shared by many; trees who have asked nothing of anyone except to be who they are. The equivalent of my planting of ten years was undone in less than one day. Was it enough to "turn the other cheek" and continue to plant in contemplative silence on this particular hill while, within earshot, an unjust pain was heard just over there through the roar of engines. I thought not. Using my artistic mind, I had fabricated a professional looking, large metal sign (seven feet by four feet) and erected it at the entrance to my drive along Roaring Beach Road. After two months, I took it down feeling that it had served its purpose of "bearing witness" to the unethical, yet legal, practice of clearfelling.