Retired journalist, editor and government media adviser Graham Earle was called at his Maleny home about 8am on April 14, 2004, and told about the Deen Bros and police arrival. He grabbed his digital camera and went to the site with his wife Jenny. In his words:

It was chaotic, at least 200 residents making a noisy but non-violent protest. A huge truck carrying large machinery was trying to enter the site next to the hotel. A man, a retired teacher in his 70s, was clinging to the bullbar shouting to the driver to 'Go back!' Others stood in the truck's path. After a brief standoff, police wrenched the man from the bullbar and thrust him into a paddy wagon parked nearby. He made a defiant V for victory sign before the door shut. I walked quickly to a nearby real estate office to call The Courier-Mail, my former employer, to advise them of  the newsworthy event. The acting pictorial editor asked me to take what I could on my small camera while he organised a photographer and reporter to come.

A burly policeman removes protesters from the site

Returning to the site, I saw some protesters had gained access by walking knee-deep through Obi Obi Creek next to the Riverside Centre. Others followed until about 30 were on site. Some joined hands around key native trees and chanted; some climbed trees; others spoke amicably to police officers asking if they had seen a site map and whether they realised the Deen Brothers were acting illegally by felling vegetation on riverine land without a permit. I joined two others recording events with a camera and video camera.  I asked a female officer if she knew of a permit. She asked why I was taking pictures and I said I was taking them for the media.  She asked me and another man taking photos, Steve Swayne, not to get any closer to an excavator that was smashing down a tree about 30 metres away toward the old house on the site. We did not. I stayed close to the forked bunya pine that some people had climbed and spoke to a friend who was in a persimmon tree. I took about 20 photos of people and machinery.

A protester (in his 70s) stands on a truck bumper denying
entry to heavy demolition equipment

The sound of trees being hit by swinging excavator buckets is sickening and unforgettable. Large trunks smashed like matchsticks.  The rumble of big diesel engines, shriek of chainsaws and screaming of protesters added to the horror. This continued for about 15 minutes until word went around that work would stop while senior police, workmen and protest leaders conferred. While they were talking, I noticed several police officers move towards a bamboo patch in the direction of Bunya Street, 20 metres from me. Protesters were in the bamboo and some had climbed nearby trees, including a karri pine. The officers entered the bamboo and I saw a woman acquaintance being manhandled toward the Bunya Street, a police officer at each end. She protested loudly, screaming 'Get the maps, get the maps. You have no permit'. As I took pictures of the woman's undignified exit, a young police officer asked me to 'Get back' . He did not give any reason or say how far I should move.

A native fig tree was cut down metres from the creek bank.
This tree was not anywhere near the building envelope
and need not have been cut down.

I took several paces back and said: 'I am from the media.' He asked: 'Have you got ID? I said 'Yes, it's in my car.' I carried my former press pass in my wallet. The officer said: 'Will you go and get it?' and I said 'yes'. As I turned to leave, an older officer grabbed me by the left arm and another officer grabbed my right arm. With an officer each side, I was marched on to and across the Cornerstone site towards Bunya Street some 40 metres away. I thought 'what the hell is happening?' but did not struggle or put up any resistance. The older officer was bending my left hand sharply up under my wrist. I said 'That is really painful. I am going peacefully. There's no need to hurt me so much'. The officer said nothing but applied more pressure to my wrist, increasing the pain considerably. I thought 'You're nearly there ... stay cool. Don't resist or swear... that's what they want'. I remained calm at the Bunya Street footpath where the senior officer twisted my camera from my right hand and put it in a camera bag I was carrying. He then took the bag from my grasp and pushed me into a police paddy wagon.

The machinery carries out its grim work. Photo taken within a
stand of trees which were all ripped out.

I was shocked because I had thought the police were just escorting me off the site. I suddenly thought I would never see my camera again, or the images I had taken. I said I wanted my camera back. An officer said something like 'you'll get it back later'. As the paddy wagon door was shut I again asked for the camera and the officer said the camera and bag would be given to someone if I nominated that person. At that moment, a woman friend walked past and I said 'Give it to her', which they did. She returned it later that day and some of my photographs were used in The Courier-Mail the next day and the following Saturday. After I had spent about 40 minutes in the paddy wagon, which was parked in the sun, an officer agreed to pass in water from someone in the crowd for myself and the other occupant, a retired businessman. He was older than me and said he also had a 'clean' record. We were both puzzled why we were put in the wagon. Twenty minutes later we were driven to Maleny police station where I was shocked to be charged with obstructing police. At no stage had I been made aware that I was under arrest or had broken the law. On reading the charge, I said to the arresting officer: 'Why have I been charged with obstructing police?'   He said: 'It's the standard charge. It's no big deal.'

Protesters gather around a twin-trunked bunya pine. This tree
became the symbol of the protest, was occupied by a tree sitter
for many weeks and was eventually saved from destruction.

Being charged with anything at all is a big deal to me. I was about to turn 60, a grandfather of eight, with an unblemished record. I have respect for most police officers, having worked as police reporter for The Sunday Mail for many years and gained an understanding of the policeman's lot. As well, I was media adviser to the Queensland Police Minister in 1990-92 and shared the confidence of some very senior police officers right up to the Commissioner. I also spent years as a police court reporter for various newspapers.

Seven people were arrested that day and when police finally dropped all charges, some regretted that we had not been able to 'have our day in court'. In the meantime, our lawyers had obtained the QP9 police forms which detail police allegations against each person charged. I was astounded to read what the arresting officer had written. At first I told the solicitor, 'Hey, this is not my QP9, it is nothing like what happened. It must be someone else's.' The solicitor said: 'Welcome to Queensland.'

The aftermath - shattered trees lie amid the debris on the site.

In shock, I read it would be alleged I was standing near a tree that was about to be felled and that I had refused to move for my own safety.  I had been 'secured to remove him from danger'. And then, according to the arresting officer, I had begun to struggle and had been forcibly restrained by my arms. I had also allegedly refused to hand over my camera. I had refused an instruction to enter the police vehicle and 'continued to struggle'. Then I allegedly was told that the camera was being taken 'to prevent damage by other prisoners in the rear of the vehicle'. Amusing (the last part) but, like the rest, simply not true.

My kindest observation in hindsight is to recall a newspaper editor's maxim - you send 10 reporters to an event and they will come back with 10 different stories. The same may apply to police officers, who are often overworked and 'stressed out'. My QP9 was typed two days after the event. It was supposedly a minor offence, but the errors were major. If those allegations had led to a completely unjustified conviction, I would have ‘had my day’  -- in an appeal court.

Photos by Steve Swayne