Years after Baryulgil's asbestos mine closed down, a deadly legacy remains with the people of this land
Baryulgil is about an hour's drive north of Grafton in New South Wales. (ABC News: Leah White)
Tucked into the banks of the Clarence River in Bundjalung Country, north-eastern New South Wales, lies a small town called Baryulgil.
It’s a quiet community that, to an outsider, perhaps seems as peaceful as any other rural pit stop.
But Daniella feels the history of this place running through her veins. Her ancestors lived and died on this land.
She describes it as a place of extremes.
"It holds breathtaking beauty in the landmarks where my ancestors have walked and swum for thousands of years.
"But seeped into the soil is great sadness from the scars of colonisation."
About a kilometre from the centre of town, the visible scars remain: the grave of an old asbestos mine.
From 1953 until 1979 James Hardie operated the asbestos mine at Baryulgil, employing men who spent their days drilling into rock wall for a precious white fibre.
For the people whose ancestors nurtured this land, working at the mine became their only means of staying connected to Baryulgil.
The wages they earned from crushing and bagging allowed them to build housing and a community to support their growing families.
Among them were Daniella's great-grandfather and pop, Albert Robinson and Daniel Walker.
Her mother Albatina, named after Albert, tells her they used to come home covered in fine white asbestos dust, so thick all you could see was their eyes.
Years after the mine closed down, Albert and Daniel died from mesothelioma.
Their story is just one of many in this town, of lives cut short and families ripped apart.
"Its deadly legacy has drilled deep into the core of my community," Daniella says.
Growing up in Baryulgil
Diane Randall grew up in Baryulgil in the 1970s, alongside her brother Ffloyd Laurie.
She describes her childhood as the happiest years of her life.
"We had a hard life. It was a struggle, but even with the struggles it was the happiest years of our life.
"Baryulgil was safe. All the children felt safe. If your mum and dad were home late, you always had other uncles and aunties who looked after you."
Her father worked an array of different jobs at the asbestos mine, from crushing to bagging.
"When dad worked there, they never wore any masks," she says.
"The only time they used to wear protective gear, was on the day the big bosses come up."
Asbestos tailings were used around the town as landfill for roads, around houses and the local primary school.
Diane remembers playing with Ffloyd in the mounds dotted around the town.
"We didn't know what it was. The truck would come and dump the tailings at the school. There would be a big pile of it," she says.
"They put it all around all of our play equipment. Just to fill the holes in the school grounds. And the netball court, the foundation of it was asbestos.
"So, we played in it. And on the mound, we'd run when the teachers weren't looking, we'd run and jump on the tailings.
"We had no clue that it was dangerous."
As the years went by, people from the tiny community started getting sick, even people that had never even set foot inside the mine.
Ticking time bombs
Mesothelioma, a cancer most often caused by exposure to asbestos, can take up to 40 years to develop.
Ffloyd Laurie was the first confirmed victim of the Baryulgil mine whose only exposure to the deadly dust was as a child.
He died in 2017 at 55 years of age, less than a year after his diagnosis.
It is estimated that around 4,000 Australians die each year from asbestos related diseases. These diseases include asbestosis, lung cancer, mesothelioma and asbestos related pleural diseases (ARPDs).
Professor Anna Nowak is an internationally renowned asbestos and mesothelioma researcher at the University of Western Australia.
"Mesothelioma is a result of people breathing in asbestos fibres. [The fibres] are the right size and shape to go down the trachea, windpipe and going into the periphery of the lung," she says.
Those fibres penetrate through the outside of the lung into the pleura, which is the membrane lining the outside of the lung and inside of the chest wall.
"The asbestos fibres are lodged in the pleura and over decades, they can cause inflammation and genetic changes in cells that can eventually lead to the cancer."
Contrary to what mine workers were told decades ago as they ventured into the mines, there is no "safe" amount of asbestos that you can inhale.
"We know that even people who have minimal exposure can develop mesothelioma. The longer you're exposed to asbestos, the more likely you are to develop mesothelioma," Professor Nowak says.
"I vividly recall treating one patient who worked one day in the Wittenoom asbestos mill. It was dusty hot and horrible and he said, 'this is not for me' and resigned. He didn't even get paid. Forty years later, he came to me with mesothelioma."
There have also been cases where women became ill from secondary exposure, through washing their husbands' work clothes after a shift at the mine.
"If you're unlucky or if you have a genetic predisposition, that can lead to mesothelioma," Professor Nowak says.
Diane says she lives in constant fear of the deadly disease.
"I'm a ticking time bomb. I was told it can activate at any time. One thing could set it off and then it can activate.
"You just live in fear of who's next."
'Asbestos is all around us'
Australia has one of the highest rates of mesothelioma in the world, with on average two people being diagnosed with the cancer every day, according to the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare.
In a 2022 study of 1,218 Australians diagnosed with mesothelioma since 2010, about nine in 10 people were found to have had possible or probable exposure to asbestos.
Professor Nowak says some patients who reported no asbestos exposure may have been exposed without knowing.
"Sometimes that's because the questions haven't been asked in enough detail. It's not surprising for any of us to [later find out about] the time they stayed in an asbestos shack … or that they had an asbestos fence. Asbestos is all around us," she says.
"Just because someone can't straight up say 'I was exposed to asbestos through my workplace', doesn't mean that they weren't exposed to asbestos."
Investigative journalist Matt Peacock spent years researching and reporting on the asbestos mining industry. His book Killer Company revealed how James Hardie Industries covered up the hazards of asbestos products and eventually moved its operations offshore, leaving behind thousands of victims among its former workforce and the general public.
The company set up a billion-dollar compensation fund in 2006, the Asbestos Injuries Compensations Fund (AICF), to repay those who had become sick through exposure at its mines.
Years later, these compensation cases are still playing out in Australian courts, with victims and advocates arguing the company has skirted responsibility.
'This is my country, this is my home'
Diane does not live in Baryugil anymore. According to a 2021 census, there are only about 20 people still living in her hometown.
"A new village was built just outside of Baryulgil, called Malabugilmah. A lot of us who were living in Baryulgil at the time, chose to move out to Malabugilmah for our health," she says.
She has since moved to Yamba, where she was recently elected to the NSW Aboriginal Land Council as the North Coast representative.
Danielle's family moved away from Baryulgil after her two older brothers were born. They still return to country on a regular basis.
When Daniella goes back to country, she feels a strong connection to her ancestors.
"When I was about 12, my mum and dad took me and my four older brothers to Baryulgil to teach us about our culture," she says.
"At the Pines, they taught me how to find honey from the native black bees.
"It was the first time I tried jubul [witchetty grubs]. My brothers reckon they taste like corn. We learnt how to hunt binging [turtles], bunihny [echidnas] and gorahmen [kangaroos].
"I learnt that my totems are the ring-tail possum and the wood duck. I see the wood ducks at the long bridge, where I've spent many hot summer days.
"It spans hundreds of metres across the Clarence River, where the water twists between sand banks, trees and grassy knolls.
"My brothers and cousins and I float down the river on our backs, looking at the sky.
"I feel connected to the land, the waterways and my ancestors.
"When I first came to Baryulgil, I knew this is my country, my home."