The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

Perhaps it will be broad-banded...

It's a new era. Things change. Things need changing.

You know, I crap on a lot about Rio, rarely speaking sense and almost never offering constructive solutions.

My defense?

That's what mine management is paid to do. They manage. Micro-manage. Even mis-manage. I whinge or, as I like to say ... I protest.

Of course, I do have a few thoughts on the subject of protest:

A half dozen years ago a person I cared for deeply disappeared off the face of the earth (Revolution In Peace, Niamh). Months after her disappearance the gutless prick that was last seen giving her a lift took a dive off the Transit Centre rooftop in Brisbane whilst under police escort for a seperate sexual crime hours earlier. There was, and still isn't, any closure to Niamh's disappearance.

Anyway, Niamh, was one right out of the box. The kind of chick who had the balls to play the song 'Blow Up the Pokies' on the sound system whilst working at the RSL. She was a fiery bugger, full of justifiable rage at the world's injustices. I wish I - and you - had half her energy. If I had it, I'd put a match to the world.

We went searching for her body. We traipsed through acres of forest down south with the memory of Niamh's parents sharing table conversation nights earlier, discussing the usual light dinner topics: decomposition, cadavar dogs ... drugged-induced rape. Talk that no parent should ever have to broach.

It was all to no avail. The loggers came in and the whole joint was destined to be flattened. Niamh probably wasn't there anyway. She certainly wasn't in spirit. She was with her fractured Ma and Pa. She was in their kitchen flogging biscuits out of the cupboard after school. She was locked in her bedroom, moody and self-loathing. She was out past curfew at some party in town. She was buried... but she was never going to be dead. Not in spirit.

Now spirit is a funny thing. We all have it. We just don't know how to use it.

Which brings me to Rio Tinto in a round-about way. You see, I'm not against mining. How could I be? I drink rum out of aluminium cans, I drive a car with alloy components. Hell, I even close aluminium sliding windows to keep the friggin bauxite dust out of my house!

What I am against is idiocy.

I'm against the company mining too close to rivers and smaller water-courses nearby. It impacts waterborne wildlife. I'm against crap regeneration, because I have kids that will hopefully outlive me. I'm against local management decisions being made by wealthy upper-level managers in big cities. I'm against shareholder profit at the expense of sanity.

Why can't things be managed better? Why can't mis-management be punished with leaked information that shames the powers-that-be into making amends or reassessing. Let's say that running a mine with 'Best Practice Sustainability' results in 2 million less tons this year ... big fucking deal. Shovel it out the next year. The bauxite's not going anywhere. Fuck, I'll sell Rio the half million tons of dust in my lounge-room for nothing.

My point to all this?

God knows.

I think it has something to do with 'Priorities'.

On your way to bed tonight, stop by the kids' room (if you have any) ... take a moment to smell the room, savour the scent of your little boy or girl's pillow, feel the soft dent where their sweaty little head lolls each night. Now go to your own room ... run your fingers gently through your partner's hair. Watch their reaction for a moment and remember how you began this journey with them. How it all seemed possible.

Now go to sleep knowing that each one of these people will die.

Soon.

Sooner than you could ever imagine. In possibly the worst scenario you could ever imagine. Buried by circumstances that you could never ever imagine.

When you wake up and head off to work ... take a moment to email me ... and let me know how important the extra tonnage of dirt is to your life.