A generalised hatred of corellas in the wheatbelt is remorseless and obvious. Not only do shires carry out ruthless culling, but if one hears corellas coming into a zone, it’s inevitable that gunfire will follow. I’ve been writing about this for decades, and all that happens is I have an index of poems lamenting the violence, the aggression, the excuses for cruelty.
And the excuses meted out by the killers? That the birds are an agricultural pest. Everyone who lives here knows about their loss of habitat — less than 3 percent of pre-colonial vegetation remains in the wheatbelt — and everyone knows that the birds are managing their environment in the best ways open to them.
Everyone knows that these are flocking birds with complex social interactions, and everyone knows that arguments around them being ‘invaders’ are ludicrous. Further, everyone knows that these birds are considered ‘fair game’ across various parts of Australia and are treated as animals without any rights. Western and little corellas live in the paradox of being ‘protected’ under the 2016 Biodiversity Act and also being labelled an agricultural pest.
I have intervened in culls (York 2003/4), written poems and stories against them, and recorded observations in an attempt to oppose them. I am not alone in this — many others have spoken, written, and campaigned against the slaughter, and continue to do so. There was a recent mass cull across a number of shires in the ‘Avon Valley’, and that has also brought an outcry, as it should.
But until the mistreatment of these birds and many other animals across the wheatbelt is highlighted, and until shooting while arguing on the grounds of the common good (‘anti-feralism’) is shown to be an hypocrisy (sport gained out of killing), and the other methods of killing exposed for their cruelty, this will continue. Grain growing areas are inevitably going to ‘collide’ with the wildlife that have been ousted, but rather than this kind of abuse of animal rights, it seems essential that more areas are set aside for these creatures, and that non-violent means of working towards a co-existence are investigated and put into practice.
Apropos of all this, indifference to targeted animals becomes a masking of cruelty. The other day we witnessed someone calmly driving their car over a stunned corella (but standing and surrounded by other birds) — literally crushing it under their tyre. Did they perceive this as a ‘mercy killing’ (what a sick concept — ‘putting out of its misery’) or did they just see themselves as extending the cull? It happened next to the Northam Grain Terminal, where corella shooting is a regular occurrence (I wrote and published a story relating to this last year), and the roadside was a display of battered corpses.
What was one more corella? It was a sentient life. It was in need of help which could easily have been provided by a vet or animal care worker.
Before we could intervene, the deed was done and the driver left the scene, slowly returning to the speed limit. People who treat animals with cruelty are also capable of treating humans the same way. This poem is part of a collaborative work I am involved with which acts as witness, but really, the actions have to be on a personal level across the entire community. Some are speaking out; may many more.
Malice
In the age
of the short
attention
span
a white car
approaches
arrangements
of white
feathers —
a clutch
of corellas
on the road
alongside
the great
A-class
wheat bin
(longer
than
a ship);
one of the birds
has been injured
and rocks
back
& forth,
tended by
its companions
the white car
glides then slows
and almost stops
before the driver
guns the motor,
crushing
the injured,
shocking
those birds
tending;
it’s as specialised
an act of cruelty
as I’ve ever
witnessed,
deliberate
as a war
crime.
John Kinsella

