Inside a camp in remote Australia where music, tradition and ceremony are persisting against an unlikely backdrop: Adani's Carmichael Mine.
The flames never stop and smoke is always rising from this fire, nestled in a small camp surrounded by a sprawling expanse of cattle country.
Through scorching days and long nights, a Wangan and Jagalingou traditional custodian has sat within a ceremonial "bora" circle, and kept the fire burning for more than a year.
Here, a six-hour drive inland from the coast of Central Queensland, they have built and maintained a camp they call home.
But their neighbour doesn't want them there.
And the feeling is mutual.
A few hundred metres away, production of thermal coal at the Carmichael Mine is in full swing.
Its operator, Adani, became a household name after years of protests, planning and political debate prior to the mine gaining full approvals in 2019.
The company's Australian arm has since been re-branded as Bravus.
And the mine's been exporting thermal coal since late 2021.
Watching the pit grow larger with each passing month are some of its most staunch opponents.
The group has been living opposite the mine since August 2021 — occupying an area of the mining and pastoral lease in what's been described as an "innovative" use of human rights law.
Members of the camp say there can be anywhere between six and 50 people at the site, depending on what's happening or if there's a gathering.
The Wangan and Jagalingou people at the camp represent a small portion of local traditional owners.
Many don't share their views or support their efforts and have reported a constructive working relationship with Bravus.
The company says the camp is being used as part of a "dishonest" and "deceptive" public relations campaign.
"The overwhelming majority of Wangan and Jagalingou people support the Carmichael mine and we're proud of the lasting benefits our collaborative partnerships with Traditional Owner groups are delivering for First Australians who want to build a more prosperous future for them and their mob," a Bravus spokesperson says.
However, the group at camp say their outlook hasn't changed: they have no plans to leave.
With mining well underway and happening before their eyes, why do they remain?
Inside Waddananggu
The ceremony here is called "Waddananggu", which translates to "the talking" in the local Wirdi language.
The group hopes to spark conversation, treaty and connection.
"Grandad comes out, [he'll] teach us language, teach us dance, and also teach us how to talk to nature," Wangan and Jagalingou man Nathan Baira says.
"It's incredible to have those things still, and just to even speak the native tongue here."
Over the year, the site has grown from a few campers to a kind of cultural hub.
There's a kitchen, campers, tents, solar panels and stuff to keep the kids entertained.
At the heart of it, an old motorbike trailer has allowed them to spread their message far beyond the remote camp.
Rap music blasts from within, breaking the silence of the isolation.
In this makeshift recording studio, Wangan and Jagalingou man Abraham Jarrett is creating his own music.
His brother, Nathan also helped to kit out the trailer and produce songs.
They have lived at the camp since it began in August 2021.
It's a remote lifestyle, and the music studio is a welcome outlet.
“It’s home. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Nathan, 24, says.
"This isn't anything fancy, we're just out here on country just busting a few raps," Nathan says.
"The craziest thing I love about it is that we don't have to go all the way into the city just to record our own stuff," 21-year-old Abraham says.
"We've got our own booth in the middle of nowhere."
In just over two months, hundreds of thousands of people have listened to the songs made here.
The brothers' uncle, Coedie McEvoy is behind a lot of the music.
His most popular song so far, Onamission has more than 270,000 views on TikTok and 138,000 on YouTube, with almost 60,000 listens on Spotify since its release in September.
Its lyrics — some even hinting at violence — point to the tensions between the group, the mine and authorities.
"I'm on a mission to win while pissin' the government off
So let's hit 'em again, they'll be running for courts
So let's settle this like gentlemen, which one you constables is punchable?
Start back peddling
Checkmate brothers, I'm astounding you yet?
Settle the score with lore."
Abraham says the music is about channelling their energy into something constructive.
Living permanently at the camp, his life looks very different to most others his age.
He takes turns with other Wangan and Jagalingou people being by the fire in the bora circle.
Once, he spent two days straight here.
#endblock
The fire is a key part of their ceremony, which they say proves connection to country and culture is alive and ongoing.
"Our aim here is to come back home on country and live … how we used to live," Abraham says.
Abraham says his family hold concerns over the impact of the mine on cultural heritage, the land and its ecosystems.
"I need to do this. This is for the next generation. If I don't do it, who will?"
The view from the mine
There's frustration and even weariness towards the group from other stakeholders.
In 2016, Wangan and Jagalingou representatives voted 294 to one in favour of an Indigenous Land Use Agreement (ILUA) with Adani.
This agreement took several years to arrive at and those at the camp say some people felt strong-armed into it.
Bravus says the "protest camp is used as the centrepiece of a public relations campaign that is dishonest, deceptive, and marginalises the Cultural Authority" of those who voted in favour.
There's also concern about the impacts of media coverage of the camp.
"It's disappointing that some media outlets choose to disregard the wishes and right to self-determination of the W&J majority group," a statement from Bravus says.
"Many of the occupants of the protest camp are not Traditional Owners of the local area and the camp has been used for activities that are not cultural practises."
But Nathan says fighting for their land and rights as First Nations people is at the heart of what they do.
"We're not protesters, we're traditional owners," Nathan says.
"We're from this land."
And they don't hide the fact that some occupants are not local traditional owners, saying that a key part of their ceremony is about sharing culture and conversations with other Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians.
Those working with the company say mining offers unique opportunities to be on Country, involved in land management, and find work.
A company working with Bravus on environmental management and First Nations employment was not able to comment by deadline.
Bravus' rail network also passes through parts of Jangga country.
Jangga elder, Colin McLennan says he sees the importance of having a constructive relationship with the company, and the opportunities for cultural heritage management and employment it provides.
"What I'm trying to do is to help my people … and all families too, put food on the table."
Whereas the Wangan and Jagalingou people camped at the mine have been steadfast and vocal in their opposition, Colin says he ultimately wants a positive relationship with the mine.
Working together has led to the discovery and preservation of significant sites on Jangga country.
But Colin says in recent times the relationship has not always been smooth sailing.
He says there have been difficulties in reaching agreements on the management and treatment of sites with cultural significance.
"We're not reaching for the sky or anything like that, we're just reaching for the stuff we deserve."
A human rights first
In the years leading up to the camp's establishment, police had been called to the site over trespass complaints and removed members of the group.
The Wangan and Jagalingou traditional owners took the matter up with the Queensland Human Rights Commission, and in June 2021, the Queensland Police Service (QPS) sent them a letter of regret.
"Everybody was pretty sceptical about it, if it was going to work or not," Nathan says.
A Queensland Police spokesperson said it was still continuing to investigate complaints from Bravus.
"The QPS is committed to maintaining a safe environment and ensuring public safety while looking to achieve an appropriate resolution to the presence of the group on the pastoral and mining lease," a spokesperson says.
"The QPS also acknowledges the response to these issues are complex. We have and will continue to engage with all relevant stakeholders."
The Queensland Government extinguished the Wangan and Jagalingou's Native Title in 2019, giving Adani freehold title to the land.
Section 28 of Queensland's Human Rights Act (2019) states that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples hold distinctive cultural rights.
This includes the right to "conserve and protect the environment and productive capacity of their land" and the right to "maintain and strengthen their distinctive spiritual, material and economic relationship with the land, territories, waters, coastal seas and other resources with which they have a connection under Aboriginal tradition or Island custom".
To Nathan, their presence for more than a year sends an important message.
"This just shows other tribes … you can do this too."
The group are the first to use the law in this way, according to Associate Professor Shelley Marshall, the director of the Business and Human Rights Centre at RMIT University.
"It's really an innovative use of the Queensland Human Rights Act," she says.
"And our research shows us that the acts haven't been used by other Indigenous communities in the same way, but they certainly could be."
Separately just last month, First Nations-led activist group Youth Verdict achieved another first when the Queensland Land Court ruled against a mine's development because of the impact to human rights due to climate change.
That mine was also proposed for the Galilee Basin, from which the Carmichael Coal mine operates.
No plans to leave
The camp's front row view of the mine's development has not dulled their determination.
At this point, they say their presence is about more than the mine.
Nathan recalls there being a sense of hopelessness when the mine began production.
"They were like, 'What's the point in fighting?'"
"[But] we're living proof we're doing culture still, you know?"
"In 30 years time or however long this is going to be, we'll be still here fighting."
Credits
- Words, photo and video: Angel Parsons
- Producer: Hannah Walsh
- Editor: Clare Blumer
