Articles about radtours

Activism, like that daring airplane flight, is never an easy endeavor. The odds are stacked against you, the road periled, pot-holed and poorly funded. Activism requires individuals to stand against the status quo: to stand on principal for the collective good. The 2011 Radioactive Exposure Tour combined activists, tribal elders, nuclear veterans and concerned citizens seeking to understand the social, cultural and environmental impacts of uranium mining. Through firsthand accounts of aboriginal elders, a nuclear veteran of the British missile tests, concerned citizens, community activists and mine representatives, participants were exposed to the concerns of uranium mining and nuclear endeavors. Together, the group sought to understand more in depth the climate surrounding the extraction and use of nuclear materials.

This years RAD Tour included five children. Immediately apparent were FIVE REASONS why we should pause to consider the use of radioactive materials to feed nuclear reactors or fuel atomic weapons. Our children’s futures will be shaped by the actions of their parents, aunties and uncles, and elders. Along with thirty adults., the group traversed the South Australian outback for ten days, camping in some of the states most scenic locations. Along the way they made new friends, sampled local cuisine, imbibed fine music and explored the natural environment. The following excerpt journals our trip.

Day one: early morning in Melbourne. Trip leaders, Jessie and Kasey, arrived at FOE with the vans and trailers and began loading our gear. Before long, both trailers and buses were packed. The journey to Adelaide began as the bus marched through city streets that turned to suburbs that grew into sprawling green pastures of flocked sheep, and then sprung into wheat fields that stretched into dry desert, where cattle grazed in the distance. The drive consumed most of the day. Arriving at Single Step after dark, friend’s from Adelaide awaited with dinner. Promptly, we unrolled our swags on the soft lawn beneath the stars.

On the second day, we discovered that repacking the trailer required strategy and skill. Gangis and Jared organized the system while strong backs and helping hands piled the gear on the trailer’s tailgate. With a farewell to our gracious hosts, we were back on the bus heading toward stops at Port Wakefield and then Point Pirie for lunch.

At Point Pirie we met Adnymathanha elder, Enice Marsh. Gathering in the shade, we listened as she shared stories and experiences of growing up on native land and her early awareness of the water “poisoned” by radioactivity. She described some of the challenges to the Native Title agreement and the exclusion of some aboriginal peoples in the decision-making concerning land use and mine expansions. Though a small women and soft spoken, her voice was clear and confident, deepening our awareness with her story.

By nightfall we were making camp away from the traditional amenities of urban life. Kasey, the co-leader and instrument of complete kitchen construction, possibly magician, pulled a kitchen out of a trailer—voilà! Suddenly, on the edge of a sea inlet, between freshly unrolled swags, we had the makings of a dinner! Busy hands set about chopping and lighting, sautéing and simmering, until at last, a meal appeared. Heavy in veggies, the dinner call sounded; torch-lit heads began sashaying to the table for the good night’s tucker. With bellies full, we listened to Dr. Andrew Melville Smith describe the Roxby Downs plan to build a desalination plant at Point Lowly, potentially jeopardizing the breeding ground of the giant cuttlefish. Plans to dump the access salt in the bay, he said, would disrupt the ecological balance that maintained a suitable habitat for this exotic cephalopod. The true threat is that a slight variation in the water pH can disrupt the breeding habits of the cuttlefish. A simple equation, really. No breeding, no cuttlefish. The almost electric bodies of the meter long fish could disappear from Point Lowly—forever. The group was called to action. In the morning, we would travel to the Point and stand in defense of the cuttlefish.

After breakfast, the activist campers tucked loose ends in the trailer and loaded the buses. Because I had not properly introduced myself to our resident whistle-blower, I thought I would become better acquainted if I road along in his car. We had first met up with Avon Hudson the previous afternoon, at Point Wakefield, only to discover that his self-serviced Toyota was having some engine trouble. Maybe the fan or the thermostat, he speculated. The engine wasn’t cooling properly. Such a scenario might incline one to reconsider a caravan across South Australian in an old jalopy. Not Avon. Equipped with replacement parts, he motored on. When the tour schedule afforded him a spare moment, he popped the hood and began repairing the trouble. Beneath the hood he revealed an immaculate engine, deceptively so, considering the age and condition of the car. You could have sautéed tofu on the engine block, and it would have been petrol-flavor free: each part was cleaned and dated with the time of service. Having contemplated my own safety as a potential passenger, I now felt reassured by the apparent competency of the onboard mechanic. This was day two. Saying good luck to the cuttlefish at Point Lowly, we loaded up. The adventure of the RAD Tour was full on.

The days driving covered miles and miles of South Australian landscape. The soil turned from dusty grayish-ochre to burnt umber and red. The earth rolled under us, past roving steer, mile after mile. The wheels on the bus, as the children sang, rolled round and round. Old friends were reconnecting and new friends were becoming acquainted. Trailing in the Toyota, Avon recollected history with one eye on the rising needle; he recited experiences with the accuracy of a scientist, but with a poet’s passion and potency. Propelled by stories and prayers, we rolled on toward the next town.

At Maralinga, statue-like missile bodies sprung from the dry ground: once aimed toward destruction, now hollow and empty. Outside a small school painted with aboriginal faces, Avon offered a detailed account of the missile testing. The fallout after a nuclear explosion can be radioactive for decades, contaminating the dust that intermingles with breathable air. Avon described how the men working at Maralinga were uninformed (by their British officers) about the harmful effects of the nuclear radiation. Men were sent out in severely contaminated fields wearing only shorts and t-shirts, while higher officials wore white suits and silk gloves for full body protection. Time and history would reveal the deception to those involved in the nuclear testing. The unseen sacrifice to the men and their families was to their cells and genes; from the fallout of the nuclear missiles, the environment remained contaminated by radiation…and so did the men.

After lunch, our caravan forged along miles of dusty gravel roads, heading deeper and deeper into the country toward Lake Eyre. To understand what we were about to experience, you would have to know that Lake Eyre has not been a “lake” in 35 years. Twelve meters below sea level, the salty lakebed sat empty, crusted with white flaky salt crystals. Because of the heavy rain in northern Australia, water began to fill the bed—and fill it did! As the group prepared camp, children tromped in the mucky soft soil that had been cracked and dry for over three decades. Some dredged to the salty waters’ edge for a wade. Here we were joined by the Adelaide mob that brought along Uncle Kevin Buzzacott, an Arabunna elder. Uncle Kevin planned to share stories with us, but urged us to watch the sunset over Lake Eyre first; knowing the land, he also knew the experience was rare, one we would want to see and remember.

Much of the activity of the next few days occurred around Lake Eyre. The first, an easy morning: breakfast and a chance to relax. The mornings generally revolved around coffee, children and campfire. Cups clanging and fire stoking, morning meetings organised the camp duties and the plans for our day. We also compared notes from the night: Any mice in your swag? Did you stay warm? Dry? In the afternoon a bus loaded with twenty campers, including the five children, left to check out the local culture of Andamooka, an opal-mining town nearby. By nightfall, we were back around the fire, preparing for the Olympic Dam Tour at Roxby Downs.

The next morning the group left for Roxby Downs and the mine tour. As we drove onto the premises of the mining operation, the tour leader began describing the history and resources of the mine. Uranium is one of the four resources extracted from Olympic Dam, along with copper, gold and silver. With approximately 1,000 employees on site at any given hour, the mine is a tremendous operation. The above ground infrastructure was reminiscent of a city newly under construction, consisting of few walls and deeply trenched pits. Iron and steel beams shot at right angles, cutting horizontal and vertical planes of steel into the blue sky.

Because of a growing concern for the Olympic Dam expansion, and the potential environmental threats to Spencer Gulf (at Point Lowly) the group inquired: Would the mine oppose relocation of the desalination plant? What if the excess salt turned Spencer Gulf into a “dead sea?” Was there proper consideration of the cuttlefish? Other questions concerned the working operations and safety of mine employees handling uranium and other waste products. Unfortunately, our guide could not offer solid answers to our critical inquiries, referring us instead to a newly published mining document. Leaving the mine, the tour bus drove over a small bridge and the tires were sprayed to remove potential contaminates. Post-mine tour, we ate lunch at a nearby park and posed for a photo op with a local newspaper; standing in the foreground was Uncle Kevin, arms crossing his chest, saying “NO DEAL” to the mine expansion.

Day six took us to fragile Mound Springs. Uncle Kevin captivated the children with his story about the two snakes that became the mounds, one the source of the life giving spring. Lunch at Coward Springs afforded some coveted reprieve from showerlessness. While falafel sizzled on the burner, children danced to Madeline’s ukulele renditions of favorite songs. Others showered or sat in the bubbly warm spring that looked like a wooden Jacuzzi, powered by nature. Driving back to Lake Eyre, our bus turned onto a mucky path and the wheels sunk in deep. Within minutes, everyone was off the bus, giving a big heave-ho shove. By now our group was united. Working together, we were becoming an excellent team: a solid force of collective awareness.

Day seven broke camp at Lake Eyre and said goodbye to the strange and wonderful region, the source of many Arubunna dreamings. Jessie, co-leader extraordinaire, had us salivating at the mention of quandong and roo pies at Copley. As an appetizer we stopped off in Marree to see the aboriginal cultural center and found ourselves pulled by near gravitational force toward another kind of culture: the general store. Suddenly, we found ourselves ordering chips and coffees—captivated by the strange array of items from camping equipment to cough drops to authentic bush attire, all available in one convenient location. The cultural center, by contrast was filled with art, artifacts and relics from the desert; a brief talk offered another dimension to the aboriginal struggle to ward off further mining on native land. For the last leg with Uncle Kevin, we stopped off at the Ochre Pits, a deep hand-dug canyon, millennia in the making. Used for the purpose of ceremonial painting, medicine and trading, the clay walls of the canyon echoed the colors of region: mustard, beige, ivory, pumpkin, and rust. Before saying goodbye, Uncle Kevin appealed to the group one last time. He wanted our experience to incite change. We said farewell and then drove for pies. By torchlight we made camp at Nepoire Creek.

The next morning a bus left camp and drove to the Beverly Mine. In contrast to the very public location of the Olympic Dam, the Beverly Mine is tucked below the Gammon Ranges, far from observing eyes. With a gated periphery, the bus awaited chaperone. Escorted into the conference room, we were welcomed with a tray of yellow frosted yellow cake, warm cups of tea, coffee and a slideshow. Prepped for the potential spear flinging Rad Toursits, the presenters were forthright on some occasions, however, they deflected many tough questions, leaving palpable dissatisfaction. We were hungry for concrete answers. The company reassured us that stored tailings sealed underground aquifer was a secure solution for the long haul. Their convictions validated by current scientific standards. The skeptics among the group were well acquainted with the occasional misgivings of scientific validation. Unfortunately, the gap between the present and future sometimes presents a void too great to predict potential calamities.

Our next stop was lunch and showers at Balcanoona Station. The warm camp showers were a sweet reprieve from the dust and grit of camp life. By mid-afternoon we would be settled in the Gammon Ranges. Marsupial mice were rumored to be lurking about and the site was lively with the adventures of hiking explorations. Camped near a creek bed on the rolling slope of hillside, we made shelter for the evening. By accidentally digging the pit toilet in the creek bed, I witnessed firsthand the salt of my fellow camper, Kate, pregnant as could be, who helped me dig a second hole across the road. Though digging silently, I felt a sense of comfort in knowing that my traveling companions followed their conviction with solid action.

Day nine brought us to Arkaroola. Our fearless explorers examined the mountains and the gift shop with equal fervor. We met with Marg Sprigg, whose family once journeyed across Australia and settled in the Arkaroola wilderness area. Widely known as caretakers of the region, Marg spoke of opposing Marathon mining company if their explorations of the sanctuary proved fruitful. After lunch, we boarded the bus. With plenty of daylight and miles to cover, we pressed on toward the Flinders Ranges, through mountain valleys, once thirsty, now fed by brimming streams, past hopping kangaroos and camels, rolling hillsides and plains.

The final days were heavy with driving. Near nightfall, we said goodbye to Avon and pressed on toward Adelaide, leaving others there, until only the Melbourne mob remained. To lessen the miles, we drove late and made camp around midnight. The small group cozied around a warm fire, on soft, grassy terrain. In high spirits the fire brimmed with laughter; the worn and weary were raised by the hand of friendship—swag and all—to higher ground and restful sleep.

By the time we arrived in Melbourne, everyone was tired, but giddy. Hugs and laughter peppered Smith Street as we unloaded swags and gear from the bus. The trip had gathered an incredible group of people, uniting them toward a common cause. If we struggled at all, the lesser force was the wind. Though the tour had equipped us with a better understanding of the challenges the greater resistance lie ahead, in a future we would need to create.

The 2011 Radioactive Exposure Tour began almost three decades ago as a simple idea that manifest into action. This year the RAD Tour brought together a melting pot of citizens: students, activists, professionals and tradesman. People concerned about the well being of both Australia and the earth. Participants gained an over-whelming awareness of the potential impact of the human use of radioactive materials. They were learning by doing…and only by action can our ideas take flight.

Radiaoctive Exposure Tour – 2009

Write-up of the radtour by Ania Anderst

As a student living in Perth, I found myself remarkably lucky to have made it out to the South Australian desert for ten days in May on the Friends of the Earth Radioactive Exposure Tour. The ‘radtour’ is a unique experience allowing people interested in learning about the nuclear industry to go out on country to see uranium mines and to meet people directly affected by the nuclear industry past and present.

Tackling the nuclear industry can be an overwhelming experience, mostly because there is no end to the amount of information on the issue; from uranium mining, nuclear reactors, waste issues, to nuclear proliferation, it’s easy to get lost in the information. And there’s also the added factor of the multi-million dollar mining companies we’re fighting, not to mention the governments siding with them.

The big picture can be rather scary, but actually stepping out onto uranium mines, onto country, and making connections with people who have for years been directly affected by these mining operations makes it easier to understand. It’s no longer some abstract mine in some landscape you can’t imagine, affecting some people you’ve never met before; these are real people with the real deal on their doorstep.

That abstract image of a mine in the back of your head becomes the physical site of the ugly and protruding Olympic Dam uranium/copper mine, or the hundreds of white pipes sticking out of the ground at Beverley uranium mine where they practice in-situ leach uranium mining. Those people become real when you hear the stories of Arabunna Elder Uncle Kevin Buzzacott, Maralinga veteran Avon Hudson and Adnyamathanha custodian Jillian Marsh. Their personal stories, dating decades back, make the issues more human, more accessible.

There’s no better way than to see it yourself – and not only tour the mines and ask the workers questions, but then to juxtapose that intense, sometimes hostile experience with the peaceful time shared around the campfire with people who share your passions and willingness to fight the machine.

When BHP Billiton took us on a tour of Olympic Dam – which takes 35 million litres of water daily from the Great Artesian Basin for free – it was hard to believe some of the things they had to say. According to the BHP employee giving the tour, the mine had less of an environmental impact than pastoralism would have, and the nuclear industry was alleviating people from poverty by providing poor countries with power. It was difficult not to get hostile and emotional hearing that somewhat bent rationale for the existence of such an unsound industry. There was an answer to every one of our questions and the tour bus was filled with suffocating negative energy, lie after lie.

For me, Heathgate Resources’ Beverley mine was even harder to stomach because of the propaganda which included giant placards covering an entire wall concerning their ongoing relationship with Aboriginal communities in the area and showing pictures of Aboriginal kids smiling. When in fact, in May 2000, local Aboriginal communities were at the gates of Beverley protesting and were subsequently put in a shipment container and capsicum sprayed by the SA police. An 11-year-old local Adnyamathanha girl was capsicum sprayed.

BHP Billiton really seemed to believe what they were saying, they were proud of what they were doing. In comparison, the PR chump at Heathgate Resources was a blundering boy behind a company t-shirt. He didn’t answer questions properly, referring mostly to reports he hadn’t seemed to have read, and it felt like he had something to hide. When asked about the shipping container episode, he refused to comment.

Both companies claimed to have excellent relations with Aboriginal communities, but after listening to Jillian and Uncle Kevin talk, it seemed more like mining companies were deliberately creating an ongoing war of attrition amongst Aboriginal communities who are not consulted properly, and are instead split over whether to take a mining company’s money. If resources are needed in a remote community, people living there shouldn’t have to have a uranium mine (or a waste dump for that matter) in order to have health care and infrastructure. These are basic human rights and Aboriginal communities shouldn’t have to settle on corporate sponsorship and give up land rights for health and housing.

Coming face to face with these issues on country was confronting but the land itself allowed some peace of mind. Being out there, seeing the landscape and setting foot on red earth or on Lake Eyre, I had the strong sense that this country was alive. It surprised me how alive it was, with it’s gentle and soft sands, yet rough, hard, contrasts in colour.

Every night we camped somewhere different, and by the end it felt like we’d been all over the state of South Australia – Woomera, Roxby Downs, Lake Eyre, Copley for coffee and quandong pie (more than once thanks to a trailer tyre which caught on fire), Marree, a bit of a crazed dip into the hot springs at Coward Springs, the Blanche Cup and Bubbler Mound Springs with Uncle Kevin, the Beverley uranium mine, Arkaroola Wilderness Sanctuary, the ochre cliffs near Lyndhurst, Brachina Gorge, the surrounding Gammon Ranges, Port Pirie …

Aside from the heavy nature of what we were doing, life on tour was a lot of fun. As a group of 40 people with a range of ages, levels of experience, and approaches to the issue, it was what some called a social experiment. It was particularly lovely having a few children on the tour to emphasise the importance of the issues. Each night a different group helped set up dinner and campfires, and slowly the swags would surround the fires and the stars would come out at full capacity. Music was around all the time, singing tunes on the bus, off the bus, while the bus was bogged, while tyres were flat, while the bus wouldn’t start, while faffing …

And while we were out in the desert it was interesting to see the newspapers filling with related stories; with BHP announcing its proposal to the federal government for a uranium mine at Yeelirrie in WA, followed by the nuclear bomb test in North Korea. While North Korea gets a slap on the wrists from the UN, BHP in WA gets a tidal wave of anti-nuclear groups on it’s ass. This spells out to me that it’s better to stop them before the mines get going, because the safeguards against nuclear proliferation aren’t safe, and while they’re not we shouldn’t be touching uranium (amongst other reasons to leave it in the ground).

Seeing such amazing country, meeting so many beautiful people and seeing the mines for what they are was an inspiring experience, and thanks to this opportunity I feel a lot more equipped to do whatever I can to make sure uranium stays where it belongs – in the ground.