Introduction: what the Woodside decision reveals about Australia’s environmental safeguards
Australia’s main environmental law, the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act (EPBC Act), is often framed as a shield for nature and culture. But the Woodside case—centered on the North West Shelf gas plant in Western Australia—reads more like a case study in how that shield operates in practice. The federal government’s 74-page statement of reasons, accompanying Minister Murray Watt’s approval of a 40-year life extension for the plant, lays bare a pattern: approval is granted, and protection is negotiated in the shadows of the process rather than guaranteed in the statute’s framework.
What the decision shows about Indigenous heritage protection
The Watt statement rejects Woodside and the WA government’s claim that acidic pollution from the plant—primarily nitrogen oxides and sulfur dioxide—had not damaged Murujuga’s rock art. The Murujuga cultural landscape is home to some of the oldest Indigenous art in the world, with some works estimated at more than 50,000 years old, including what researchers believe is the oldest known representation of a human face. The department’s advice, which Watt ultimately accepted, warned that ongoing pollution could damage or degrade this extraordinary heritage.
This kernel of finding raises immediate questions about how a program intended to monitor and protect rock art is actually functioning on the ground, and whether the WA government’s monitoring may be sufficiently independent and robust. Federal authorities concluded that risks to the site exist in the near term, even as they framed the overarching decision as a balance between culture, energy supply, and jobs.
The path from “detectable limit” to progressive reductions
Initially, Watt’s approach would have required Woodside to reduce acidic pollution below the “detectable limit” affecting rock art. Woodside countered that such reduction was not technically feasible and warned that the move would effectively amount to an outright shutdown of the plant. In the end, Watt backed away from that hardline stance and imposed conditions that mandated a 60% reduction by 2030 and a 90% reduction by 2061.
The minister acknowledged that advancing to progressively stricter targets carried the risk of short-term harm to Murujuga’s heritage, yet he argued the overall social and economic benefits justified the approach. Woodside framed these revised terms as providing “certainty for the ongoing operation” of a project that has powered Australia’s energy system for decades. That framing is telling: the objective becomes keeping the plant open rather than delivering immediate environmental protection.
Backroom deals or transparent governance? The structural issue with the EPBC Act
What this illustrates, critics say, is a broader problem with the EPBC Act: a process that is often solvent for industry outcomes through case-by-case negotiations. Environmental and First Nations protections become secondary levers in the negotiation, with climate and broader ecological health receiving comparatively less emphasis. A 25-year history shows only a handful of proposals blocked outright; many are resolved through settlements that let development proceed with negotiated conditions.
In balancing the act’s aims, Watt suggested that consultation with developers is an ordinary feature of decision-making. Critics argue that this model undermines genuine accountability and transparency, and it depends on a political timescale rather than an independent, science-driven process.
Where reform might come from—and what it would take
Critics—from conservation groups to Indigenous leaders—are calling for a fundamental reform: strip politics and backroom bargaining from development approvals by empowering a genuinely independent Environment Protection Agency. The proposal aims to replace ad hoc negotiations with enforceable, science-based protections that have teeth beyond annual ministerial rhetoric. Watt has promised legislative action by November to reform the environment law; whether that will translate into a durable, independent regulatory framework remains uncertain.
Conclusion: a turning point or another stopgap?
The Woodside decision strengthens a long-running argument: the EPBC Act, as currently applied, does not fully safeguard Indigenous cultural heritage or the broader environment. The case underscores the urgency of comprehensive reform—independent scrutiny, stronger front-end protections, and climate considerations that are not sidelined by industrial interests. If reform stalls or remains cosmetic, Australia risks more cases where development proceeds with a veneer of environmental due diligence, while essential ecological and cultural assets bear the cost.
