Farmer put himself on front line of Maules Creek coal protest
By Julie Macken
CLIFFORD WALLACE: 1952 – 2024
Cliff Wallace was not the kind of person you expect to see in an environmental protest – let alone putting his beloved farm, Wando, up as the staging post for a forest blockade that made international headlines and lasted two years. But he was a man of enormous courage and generosity and when he and his community were under threat from Whitehaven coal mine in Maules Creek near Narrabri, he acted.
Cliff Wallace on his farm in 2014 where he hosted a protest camp against mining in Leard State Forest.Credit: Nick Moir
Like many communities that have been caught up in the wave of coal and gas expansion projects of years gone by, Cliff didn’t choose the conflict, it was forced upon him. His biggest concern was the impact of the vast amounts of water extracted for the mine on groundwater levels in a region that was entirely dependent on it – a fear that has since been more than vindicated.
The plan to make a stand to protect the water supply, forest and sacred sites of the local Gomeroi nation began in June 2013. For several years, the Maules Creek Community Council had been pressing the company, Whitehaven, and the NSW Planning Department to look at underground mining as an alternative – an alternative that was rejected out of hand.
Protesters block entry to Whitehaven’s controversial Maules Creek coal mine development.
A few people had gathered in Cliff’s kitchen one night in the depths of winter to explore the idea of a protest camp in Leard State Forest. Whitehaven Coal was set to destroy 624 hectares of critically endangered white box gum woodland – critical koala habitat – for the largest new coal project then contemplated in NSW.
Cliff’s kitchen was no-frills and functional, in a way that reflected Cliff’s tough exterior, with his early mornings and evenings spent cultivating lucerne and grazing cattle. “I hope none of youse are vegetarian,” he said to the small group of people including environmentalists gathered in his kitchen. Heads shook all around. Dinner was his staple: a pre-cooked chook from the supermarket, half an iceberg lettuce and some grated cheese.
The protest camp was set up in the forest and, for the first few months, Cliff would drop in every couple of days to chop firewood, help with camp maintenance and share stories. Eventually, he set up his own tent, with a proper framed bed – he’d keep an axe at the tent door, where his cattle dog Charcoal would guard sentry before he headed back before 4am to start the day on the farm.
He would always take his time assessing someone’s character before trusting them completely, but once you got past that it wouldn’t be long before you noticed his deadpan dry wit and sense of humour, his deep concern for others, his landscape and community and, above all, loyalty.
Cliff respected the law and the police and wasn’t personally keen on civil disobedience but understood with regret why the failure of government processes had made it necessary for others to put their bodies on the line to slow the destruction of forests and farmlands for the mine expansion.
Protest signs at the Maules Creek coal mine construction site in 2014 when protest action escalated over clearing in Leard State Forest during wildlife hibernation.
Despite his need to look after his farm first, he’d be quick to offer to meet people released from the police station at Narrabri after they’d been arrested protesting at the mine site. At first, his concern was water but, over time, became concerned about the full impacts of the mine – on biodiversity, cultural heritage and the climate.
Despite not having been away from Maules Creek for 28 years, he drove hundreds of kilometres to Sydney to offer support during a court case – but hadn’t realised you are not allowed to bring pocketknives into a courtroom. Somehow, he managed to get it past security and then was convinced not to bring it back after a lunch break. Such was his unfamiliarity with the city that he thought he could leave it in a stump and it would still be there when he got back.
When the government took action to remove the protest camp from the forest on questionable safety grounds, Cliff didn’t hesitate to host a camp on his property. For a man who lived alone for decades – well nearly alone, since we can’t forget his dog Charcoal – it was a remarkable change of pace. He played host to a wide diversity of people – doctors, nurses, lawyers, current and future parliamentarians and political advisers, ecologists and retired miners – all concerned about the impact that the mine would have not just on Maules Creek but throughout the Hunter Valley Coal Chain as well as globally.
Beyond his direct concerns about the mine, which engulfed his life, Cliff also spent time quietly supporting young local Gomeroi kids when they needed it. His conservatism was practical and it came naturally to him that people should be treated fairly wherever they came from. It was difficult to be offended by his language because his quiet actions said volumes about who he was as a person – determined, resilient, selfless, generous and hard-working.
The environmental movement has grown very professional and well-heeled in recent decades with strategists, communication experts and lobbyists trying to turn the tide on climate chaos and ongoing extinctions. Cliff Wallace didn’t fit that frame. He was a gnarly, hard-working farmer who had to work, and fight, for everything he had. But, perhaps for that reason, he made possible Australia’s longest blockade, one of our most powerful political moments.
Clifford Wallace devoted time and energy to protest against coal mining at his farm.
Canadian author and activist Naomi Klein called it Blockadia, the mining industry called it Whitehaven, Cliff Wallace called it home. The land around Maules Creek is the site of one of Australia’s biggest environmental battles and Cliff’s farm and Cliff was right in the middle.
Cliff will be greatly missed by his friends and family. His wit, courage and endurance will be remembered by all his friends within the farming, environmental and Gomeroi community.