One of the largest mine clearances in the world is taking place on the edge of Kakadu National Park. It is a high-risk operation where the failure could be “cataclysmic”.
Outside the surface of a cracked lunar landscape, a small seedling stretches out into the light.
“Yam,” says Peter ‘Christo’ Christophersen, identifying the species as he embraces the leaf in his palm.
On the surrounding plateau, dozens more are fluttering in the breeze, which is as hot as the explosion of a hair dryer.
More than a million trees are expected to be planted in the Ranger pit by 2030. (Supplied by: ERA)
These outbreaks are among the 1.1 million new trees a mining company promises will be planted in this rocky wasteland in the Top End.
The 500-hectare site is a former uranium mine in the early stages of rehabilitation.
The task ahead is huge.
To restore this tedious operation, the size of 200 MCG playing fields, at a level suited to one of Australia’s most prized natural wonders.
The Ranger silos will soon be demolished and buried as part of the rehabilitation work. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
Safely bury 65 million tons of contaminated scrap metal, silos and mining machinery, without poisoning the surrounding ecosystems of Kakadu National Park.
And to convince cautious traditional owners that their cultural values will not be ignored as they were, deeply, when the Ranger uranium mine was established.
“The consequences of not doing well are a bit cataclysmic,” says Justin O’Brien, CEO of Gundjeihmi Aboriginal Corporation in Kakadu.
In the far north of Australia, where nothing is cheap or easy, the precarious balance is in place to try to repair the Ranger and the broken relationships since its inception.
To date, more than 30,000 native seeds have been sown by hand.
Christophersen, a gardener from the nearby town of Jabiru, is an expert on native plants.
He leads the revegetation efforts, along with his daughter Delise.
For both of them, these seedlings are a sign of rebirth.
Looking at the country of Jawoyn from the Yurmikmik viewpoint in Kakadu National Park, where uranium was formerly mined. 2 (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
“This is a cure,” says Mr. Christophersen, with red eyes as he looks at Kakadu.
The wide-shouldered Bunitj man’s voice breaks like the ground beneath his feet.
Something is moving inside him, something about the location of the mine where he is.
Something about its history.
A story of lovelessness and money.
And from a displaced people.
“That’s what this mob doesn’t see,” he says, gesturing to the team at a nearby mining company (managers and scientists) with their four-wheel drive.
“They don’t understand evil.”
The cost of doing business
Within Kakadu, a scenic flight over stunning scenery and important dream spots is a common attraction for tourists.
But visitors are often surprised by the expansive mining that yawns at the park’s entrance.
The large holes in the ground surrounded by escarpments and tall eucalyptus trees.
Ranger’s graves.
For four decades, the extinct uranium project of Energy Resources of Australia (ERA) supplied the core component of nuclear power to some of the world’s superpower nations.
In its 40-year lifespan, Ranger produced more than 132,000 tons of uranium oxide. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
With over 132,000 tonnes of yellow cake produced over the years, Ranger was an unexpected financial for Australia.
Next to the mine was the construction of Jabiru, a self-sufficient Top End municipality to house the mine workers.
The Rangers labor force and their families once lived in the nearby town of Jabiru. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
At its height, Jabiru was a dynamic community center.
Those who gave a chance to the remote Northern territory were rewarded with a decent salary and an energetic existence on the shores of Kakadu.
But that success did not come without its casualties.
The traditional owners of Mirarr were shaken when their land was dug up for the creation of the mine, decades earlier.
For some, grief continues as well as concern about the current risks to their country.
Mirarr’s elder May Nango is among those with reservations.
He has persistent doubts about the mining company’s ability to complete the multimillion-dollar cleanup without further affecting the national park.
“Our concern is that if there is pollution, the water here is flooded,” he says in Kunwinjku language, with his partner Djaykuk Djandjomerr by his side.
“And it would spread pollution everywhere.”
As the region moves away from mining and into tourism, there is also a fear that the embarrassment at the Kakadu Gate will not be repaired to a high enough level.
“Tourists are amazed when they get on a plane and fly off the Jabiru airstrip, and then realize that right next door is this great mass industrial development,” O’Brien says.
“It’s an important scar on the living cultural landscape that is Kakadu National Park.”
Justin O’Brien, CEO of Gundjeihmi Aboriginal Corporation, is keeping a close eye on rehabilitation efforts. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
ERA, whose main shareholder is mining giant Rio Tinto, left production on site in 2021.
Ranger’s toxic pits are now being prepared to be filled, the plant’s silos and trucks buried and the landscape come back to life.
The ERA has promised that the rehabilitation will be done to a standard that could one day see the pits built into the boundaries of Kakadu.
Supervising scientists, employed by the federal government, are overseeing rehabilitation to make sure the ERA keeps its promises.
“I think the biggest risk is related to the 65 million tons of uranium waste that is stored in the pits,” says supervising scientist Keith Tayler.
Ranger’s radioactive plants and machinery are now dormant, before being demolished and buried. (ABC News: Michael Franchi) A poster on the Ranger plant from the days when it was a bustling uranium mining center. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
“Compared to that, the old machinery and mill are actually quite a small amount of material.
“We will closely monitor the quality of the groundwater around Ranger to ensure that the environment of Kakadu National Park is protected in the long term.”
Supervising scientist Keith Tayler believes the biggest risk in rehabilitation is contaminated uranium waste. (ABC News: Hamish Harty)
ERA, despite doubts about its results, has also pledged to be able to find the estimated $ 2.2 billion needed to properly rehabilitate Ranger, without having to ask the Commonwealth for a taxpayer-funded ransom.
The company has already seen its budget for the first time skyrocketed by more than $ 1 billion.
And it won’t commit to an end date, other than to say it could extend beyond the end of the decade.
The complete restoration of natural ecosystems will take much longer, say scientists like Sharon Paulka, who is responsible for closing the site.
Sharon Paulka is in charge of taking care of the scientific aspects of mine rehabilitation. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
“We aim, about 25 years after our planting, to be on a solid path to forming a good ecosystem,” says Ms. Paulka.
“But the final ecosystem, with all the different animals and plants coming back, could take a little longer.”
For now, according to O’Brien, “the world is watching Rio Tinto and ERA.”
“It should not be limited by any arbitrary term or cost,” he says.
Water lilies in the wetlands of Mamukala in Kakadu. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
“Rehabilitation of the Ranger Mine in Australia’s largest national park, upstream of Aboriginal communities, in highly sensitive wetlands listed internationally, means they have to do the best job.”
Mr Tayler believes the ERA’s claim that Ranger could be part of Kakadu is legitimate, but no one can imagine how long it will take.
“It has not been detected. No one has ever restored a uranium mine to a standard that would allow it to be incorporated into a dual national park listed as a World Heritage Site,” says the supervising scientist.
“And that’s why I would suggest that Ranger is one of the most significant and challenging rehabilitation projects in the world.”
The boy from The Block
The man now in charge of directing the Ranger transformation is an unlikely CEO of a mining company.
He is a former indigenous land rights protester who appeared in the clip of Midnight Oil’s racial equality seminal anthem, Beds Are Burning.
Brad Welsh, now head of the ERA, in his Goodooga community with his grandfather and aunt. (ABC News: Michael Franchi) Sr. Welsh (right) with his cousin in Sydney, wearing a land rights T-shirt. (ABC News: Michael Franchi) Sr. Welsh (left) with his family in his traditional lands in New South Wales. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
Brad Welsh laughed when asked how an Aboriginal boy who grew up in The Block in Sydney’s Redfern could end up running the mine that once sparked land rights protests in Australia.
“I grew up marching through the streets for land rights, for justice,” he says.
Brad Welsh was Australia’s first Indigenous CEO of a company listed on ASX. (ABC News: Michael Franchi)
Mr Welsh, a Muruwari man from Goodooga, New South Wales, has no illusions about the harm and pain once inflicted on Kakadu Aboriginal residents by the Ranger construction in 1980.
“We built Ranger against the wishes and against the consent of the traditional owners,” he says.
“[But] we are [also now] the first company to appoint an indigenous director general to offer world-class rehabilitation that does not occur anywhere else. “
It is a job that he says could be the largest mine rehabilitation project on the planet.
He admits that the challenge of “returning the land to a level that could be incorporated into Kakadu National Park” will be an uphill march.
But he believes it is feasible.
“It may be discouraging, but we just have to remember that everyone is doing the same …