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.
