As a
community, we face important decisions about how we will live in the place we
call home, and we can't just leave it to government to work out what's
best.
Here at
Riddells Creek, we're poised at the edge of the ravenous city to the south and a
region that wants
the best of both worlds: country life close to the big smoke. Riddell will
probably double its population in 20 years. The Minister for Planning has made
it plain that the Macedon Ranges must take its 'fair share' of Melbourne's
growth, and signed off zoning that will do just that. The Riddells Creek Structure Plan has
the Amess Road site set for development, and 'investigation' slated for the
Daffodil Farm site.
We generally leave decisions on infrastructure to government agencies, but maybe that’s not such a good idea. Agencies aren’t all that good with the discussion of community futures, and they tend to deal with problems one by one, not the interlocking forces in our landscape.
We generally leave decisions on infrastructure to government agencies, but maybe that’s not such a good idea. Agencies aren’t all that good with the discussion of community futures, and they tend to deal with problems one by one, not the interlocking forces in our landscape.
Take water for instance. What we do with waste water at the treatment plant is linked to the health of our
creeks. What we do with stormwater in the Amess Road development ties in with
this. It affects the safety of the town, and the flow in local creeks. Rosslynne
Reservoir supplies drinking water but it also releases flow into Jacksons
Creek, so we need that in the frame. Pop those issues inside a lower rainfall scenario
with more intense rainfall events, and into a town and rural landscape with new
people arriving, and it gets … complex!
How do we discuss these things? Early March, I went along to consultation on Sunbury’s Water Future. Western Water and Melbourne Water presented their options for three water services: water supply, waste water treatment, and stormwater management. Huddled around sticky note pads, we progresses dutifully through the options the experts had come up with, writing down positives and negatives. We had time for the briefest of discussions. Then the next option, and the next.
Near the end of two hours, I felt like a rat in a maze. Our hosts left 15 minutes at the end to ask: was there anything we hadn’t talked about? Those of us still able to think looked down the long mental list we had been accumulating through the evening. I came up with one: have we gone as far as we can with reducing consumers' water use? A couple of other things went up on the board, but by now we were a dispirited bunch, ready to go home.
Filling out the feedback form, it struck me: we were asked our opinions on the experts’ options, but we didn’t talk very much with each other. We hadn’t expanded our understanding of others’ views, looked at assumptions, or generated anything novel. I know that opening the floor is an invitation to chaos. People's anger at not being listened to, their resentment about decisions made years ago, their exasperation with government, can spill out and ruin a perfectly good consultation.
But is post-it notes on experts’ options as good as we can do? What about hearing how people think about the place of water in the place we live—gardeners, horticulturists, businesses, sporting clubs, new residents, environmental groups? People who think about water.
Can people who live in the same place and care about how they live untangling these complex situations? I think so, though it’s a challenge. For sure and certain, what we do now will either keep us on familiar trajectories, or open new trajectories. We have a decade or two, and then we’re out of decades.
How do we discuss these things? Early March, I went along to consultation on Sunbury’s Water Future. Western Water and Melbourne Water presented their options for three water services: water supply, waste water treatment, and stormwater management. Huddled around sticky note pads, we progresses dutifully through the options the experts had come up with, writing down positives and negatives. We had time for the briefest of discussions. Then the next option, and the next.
Near the end of two hours, I felt like a rat in a maze. Our hosts left 15 minutes at the end to ask: was there anything we hadn’t talked about? Those of us still able to think looked down the long mental list we had been accumulating through the evening. I came up with one: have we gone as far as we can with reducing consumers' water use? A couple of other things went up on the board, but by now we were a dispirited bunch, ready to go home.
Filling out the feedback form, it struck me: we were asked our opinions on the experts’ options, but we didn’t talk very much with each other. We hadn’t expanded our understanding of others’ views, looked at assumptions, or generated anything novel. I know that opening the floor is an invitation to chaos. People's anger at not being listened to, their resentment about decisions made years ago, their exasperation with government, can spill out and ruin a perfectly good consultation.
But is post-it notes on experts’ options as good as we can do? What about hearing how people think about the place of water in the place we live—gardeners, horticulturists, businesses, sporting clubs, new residents, environmental groups? People who think about water.
Can people who live in the same place and care about how they live untangling these complex situations? I think so, though it’s a challenge. For sure and certain, what we do now will either keep us on familiar trajectories, or open new trajectories. We have a decade or two, and then we’re out of decades.
Ross
Colliver, Riddells Creek Landcare, ross.colliver@bigpond.com
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