From the gold rush in the 1850s to hydraulic fracturing which began in the mid-2000s, Australian economic growth has been heavily dependent on its capacity to dig and extract natural resources for the world market. While the Australian mining industry has produced social and economic benefits, it has also had negative impacts upon sections of Australian society. In this chapter, I apply a materialist ecofeminist critique as a means of showing how the gender gap supports increased mining and the distribution of risks and benefits of the mining industry is due to capitalist patriarchy . I show how capitalist accumulation in mining areas impacts upon and intersects with inequalities of class, gender, ethnicity, race and location. The locations I consider in this chapter are the mining communities of the Bowen Basin  and the Century Min e in Queensland as well as the Pilbara , and Pembleton communities in Western Australia. The capitalist patria rchal structures of the mining industry (and its spillover into mining communities) are mechanisms that maintain women and Indigenous people in subservient roles of ‘unproductive’ labour that sustains the male-dominated productive economic system. Emancipatory changes in mining communities might begin by connecting different oppressive structures, a task that materialist ecofeminism is well-placed to perform.

Materialist ecofeminism posits that social reproduction, care work, household chores such as food preparation and subsistence economy are fundamental elements of life needs and survival. However, this work is considered ‘unproductive’ within a capitalist and patriarch al system which undervalues women’s work by associating women’s activities with the activities of na ture (Salleh 1993: 226; Mies 1998: 37–38). While women’s work is being undervalued through the gendered division of labour and the split between the public and private sphere, men’s economic activities are given greater priori ty (Mellor 1997: 130). Male production can then focus on the accumulation of capital while domestic labour is largely left to women ( Salleh 1993: 226). This has adverse implications for mining communities.

The Two-Person Career and Women’s Subservient Role

There is a rich and complex bo dy of research about the relationship between women and mining industries globally. This research shows that in developing and developed countries alike, there is a deficit of representation of women in the large-scale mining industry.Footnote 1 In a study in the 1970s of the oil industry in Calgary, Canada, sociologist John Douglas House noted that ‘the oilmen of Calgary include no women, no radicals, no Jews, no native Indians, no Inuit, no East Indians, no blacks, and no French Canadians’. Things have hardly improved 40 years later. In 2008, the Women’s rights movement in Ghana demanded better job opportunities in the emerging oil industry, but this was rejected by the Resource Minister who stated that jobs in the oil industry were for men (GhanaWeb 2010). In Norway in 2010, Hege Marie Norheim, Vice President for research and business development of StatoilHydro (Norway’s national oil company), points out that ‘the most important jobs in the oil industry, the business jobs, are still given mainly to men’ (World and Feltus 2010: 72–73). Hence, worldwide, research shows there is a deficit of representation of women in the mining industry. If a larger proposition might be that women reject the environmental destruction brought by mining, as Indigenous women activists have done, it is apparent from the research here that women’s unpaid labour often supports mining.

In the Australian context, the poor representation of women in the mining industry is well researched. A 2016 report on workplace gender equality shows that women made up just 15% of the mining workforce (Australia Gender Equality Scorecard 2016: 11). This is further confirmed by the poor representation of women as managers and technical experts within the industry (Australia Gender Equality Scorecard 2016: 11). Social scientist Sanjay Sharma studied the work distribution in the Bowen Basin region, a coal mining region in Queensland. In this region, in 2006, the labour force participation was as follows: 67.3% of men worked full time, while 29.4% of women were employed full time (Sharma 2010: 208; ABS 2007). Nearly three fifths of women in mining towns were either not in the labour force or were employed part timewhile a majority of males were employed in the mining industry (47.8%) or in the construction industry (10.9%) (Sharma 2010: 209; ABS 2007). However, only 9.5% of women were employed in the mining industry and 3.5% in the construction industry (Sharma 2010: 210; ABS 2007).

When women are working in the Australian mining industry , the average pay gap against them is 15.8% (Australia Gender Equality Scorecard 2016: 6). Criminologist Kerry Carrington shows in Pembleton, a mining community in the remote region of Armstrong, Western Australia, a greater proportion of males than females received high incomes compared with elsewhere in Australia (Carrington et al. 2010: 400).

Human geographer Robyn Mayes explains that the poor representation of women in the mining industry conceals other more insidious forms of patriarch al dominance (Lozeva and Marinova 2010: 181; Mayes 2014: 122). Women working in the industry have further confirmed its masculinist culture. In 2002, social scientists Joan Eveline and Michael Booth researched the working environment of the Emsite , a remote mine operation in Western Australia’s Pilbara region. They showed that women employed in the mining industry had to face overt and persistent sexism and sexual harassment as part of their everyday work life (Eveline and Booth 2002: 149). The women who were interviewed believed that the sexist culture of the mining industry was a manifestation of the men’s resistance to their employment (Eveline and Booth 2002: 149). In a qualitative and quantitative survey conducted in the Pilbara mining region of Western Australia in 2015, social scientist Bobana Kljajevic wanted to understand the causes behind the lower number of women in the industry. She showed that while some women were not deterred from working in the mining industry, they were quite aware of dominant patri archal organizational cultures in the industry (Kljajevic 2015: 144). According to the women interviewed, the patriarch al culture was most acutely illustrated by some male senior managers hiring men rather than women (Kljajevic 2015: 145). The women interviewed also denounced the negative work culture towards them and the lack of enforcement of non-discriminatory policies (Kljajevic 2015: 146). Women identified masculinist values as the cause of their lack of career advancement opportunities (Kljajevic 2015: 146). Preferential treatment of men in the mining workforce in the Pilbara region accounts for the underrepresentation of women in that mining industry.

The discrimination against women in mining industries throughout Australia still exists despite decades of policies and initiatives attempting to boost the number of women employed. Women’s groups, government and mining corporations have been actively trying to address the underrepresentation of women in the mining industry for decades (Mayes and Pini 2010). One particular milestone was the equal opportunity movement and the Equal Employment Opportunities Act passed in 1987 which aimed to provide a legal basis to counteract such discrimination against women (Mayes 2014: 127). The business media described the policies and initiatives implemented to boost women number in the mining industry as a ‘feminine revolution’, particularly if women could reach a critical mass large enough to influence the oil industry’s working culture (Mayes and Pini 2010: 238). In the media this ‘feminine revolution’ depicted men’s dominance in the industry as an historical rather than contemporary phenomenon (Mayes and Pini 2010: 238). Indeed, Mayes and Pini show how the media’s claim of a ‘feminine revolution’ in the mining industry suggests that women have feminine advantages due to a range of naturally occurring attributes. These ‘feminine advantages’ act, according to the media, as a counterbalance to the masculinist structures of the mining industry (Mayes and Pini 2010: 234). But, as Mayes and Pini conclude, women who are admitted into the industry tend to try to blend in rather than foreground their gender. For instance, a female mine manager interviewed said: ‘I’m not one of those women’s champions. I just get on with the job and I happen to be a woman’ (Mayes and Pini 2010: 239). Despite efforts to improve the relation between women and the mining industry, it remains dominated by men. Rather than being a sign of improvement, the belief that a ‘feminine revolution’ has already taking place in the sector reinforces the masculinist values of the mining industry.

Wage levels in the mining industry are approximately double the average weekly earnings in the retail trade and industries (ACIL Consulting 2002). Women are more likely to be employed in the non-mining industry sector, but these jobs are less likely to be as well paid as in the mining industry. In the mining towns of the Bowen Basin region, for example, women were mostly employed in the retail trade, education and training, accommodation and food services and health care and social assistance (Sharma 2010: 210; ABS 2007). These jobs reflect the traditional patriarc hal characterization of women as primarily fit to be ‘carers’ (Salleh 1993: 227). A s the masculinist cultures of the mining industry spill over into the mining communities, the sexual division of labour is perpetuated, pushing women further towards the unpaid work of sustaining the mining communities.

The concept of a two-person career, developed by social scientist Hanna Papanek, shows how reproduction, care work, household and subsistence economy are often hidden within the private sphere (Papanek cited in Rhodes 2003: 150). As Papanek notes, the two-person career is a combination of informal and formal work, in which women are confined to the unpaid work of the household and men to the well-paid jobs in the mining industry (Papanek cited in Rhodes 2003: 150). This sexual division of labour means women are predominantly left to perform the supportive and nurturing work that is considered ‘unproductive’ within capitalist societies. In the context of mining communities, the wives of male workers are often expected to cook and host dinner parties, a well-entrenched popular activity in these isolated regions that have few other forms of Western cultural entertainment. These dinner parties contribute to forging and consolidating business relationships in the mining communities and can also contribute to elevating the personal status of a mining engineer (Papanek cited in Rhodes 2003: 152). The sexual division of labour is perceived by mining companies ‘as a firm foundation for successful mining operations’ (Papanek cited in Rhodes 2003: 152). The masculinist values of the mining companies are thus aimed at deterring women from entering the industry and instead encourage women to perform labour that sustains the economic activities of the male-dominated institutions.

The unpaid labour that women undertake in mining communities becomes more problematic still when we take into account the economic and social impacts of mining industries upon the local economies. Sharma shows that in the remote mining communities of Australia, certain policies that reinforce the containment of women in the sexual reproductive sphere sustain gender inequality within families and communities (Sharma 2010: 202). Economist John Rolfe shows how the processes of the operation of mines have a social and economic impact on the mining boom in the Bowen Basin in Central Queensland (Rolfe et al. 2007). In the Bowen Basin communities, the rapid expansion of the coal mining sector brought positive outcomes such as job creation in mining and construction (Rolfe et al. 2007: 135). However, the rapid expansion of coal mining also caused the decline of other non-mining sectors such as the service industry, retail trade and tourism sectors (Rolfe et al. 2007).

The rapid expansion that a mining boom generates distorts the local economy of other sectors. The expectation of high-paid jobs puts pressure on the wages in other employment sectors in the region. Higher wages mean higher costs and sectors such as tourism and services may not have the ability to support those extra costs, jeopardizing their existence. Additionally, the non-mining industry can find it difficult to recruit workers due to shortages of labour. As it was shown in the Bowen Basin mining communities, the high incomes that the mining sector offers attract workers, making it more difficult for other sectors to keep up (Rolfe et al. 2007). In the same way, in the energy hub community of Gladstone, in Queensland, where gas is converted to LNG (Liquefied Natural Gas), the high wages offered by the mining companies have created a shortage of labour in the nurse and police force as these workers have sought employment in the higher-paid mining industry (Mitchell-Wittington 2017: 4).

Furthermore, in an extensive review of literature on the well-being of women in mining towns in Australia, Sharma suggests that the remoteness of the mining communities—which often have extreme climatic conditions—pushes women to feel isolated from their friends and family. This leads to women’s greater social and economic dependence on their male partners. Hence dependent married women show more vulnerability to mental illness, particularly due to the demands of domestic labour (Sharma 2010: 212). In remote mining communities, women bear the emotional cost of the particular capitalist patriarc hal settings in which women primarily do the unpaid work of sustaining the male-dominated economic infrastructure.

Mining Communities and Family Violence

Criminologists Kerry Carrington, Alison McIntosh and John Scott conducted a study into family violence in rural communities in the three largest Australian states—Western Australia, New South Wales and Queensland (Carrington et al. 2010). These communities had experienced rapid community and economic growth due to a mining boom. Their study showed that the combination of the influx of high-paid workers, mostly men, the masculinist culture of the mining jobs and the remoteness of the mining communities increased the levels of family and nonfamily violence and crime and hence the insecurity of the community (Carrington et al. 2010). Traditional explanations of increased violence in rural communities have correlated with times of economic decline and rising unemployment (Carrington et al. 2010: 395). Research around mining communities throughout the world highlights the ways in which mining industry activities exacerbate existing social problems, such as alcoholism, gambling, trafficking and forced labour (Anderson 1998; Haller et al. 2007: 395; Watts 2004: 3).

In Australia, there is a link between rising social disorder and alcohol consumption, and the strength of the link increases with the level of geographic remoteness (Carrington et al. 2010: 401). In the mining community of Pemberton and the Armstrong Mine, located in southwest Western Australia, four work camps have liquor licences and regular private bus services run between the camps and the popular drinking venues (Carrington et al. 2010: 401). This shows how the community of Pemberton service the mining workers by providing facilities for mining workers to socialize. There is also plenty of anecdotal evidence pointing to a link between alcohol consumption and workplace status. A young male explained that in the community: ‘Everyone drinks to get drunk… the more drunk you are the more cool points you get’ (Carrington et al. 2010: 395). Research conducted by Carrington et al., shows that resource boom communities have, on average, higher rates of violence, debilitating injuries, motor vehicle accidents and suicides in comparison to metropolitan areas (Carrington et al. 2010: 395).

Sexism and the harassment of women in the workplace are further exclusionary mechanisms that make it difficult for women to work in the ‘male-controlled institutions’ of the mining industry (Salleh 1997: 14). The particular patriarc hal settings of mining communities that service its workers have increased levels of violence, making such sites even more hostile for women. Carrington et al. note that popular drinking venues are still very much a male domain. The ‘public masculinity’ of binge drinking in pubs in the Pemberton mining communities acts as a deterrent for women to go to the pub as ‘it is too scary to go there’ (Carrington et al. 2010: 401). Violence in public spaces further excludes women from public places, further confining them to the privacy of the home (Carrington et al. 2010). In homes in the Pilbara mining communities the crime rate for domestic assault is far higher than the state average (Gately et al. 2016).

The use of violence to control women is further highlighted by high levels of skimpies and prostitution in these regions. Skimpies are barmaids who serve food and drinks in their underwear, or in some cases work topless, and are found in most rural mining towns in Australia. In Kalgoorlie , skimpies and brothels are viewed by the local community as inevitable due to the notion that ‘men have an uncontrollable heterosexuality’ (Pini et al. 2013: 173). The belief in ‘natural sexual urges’ is not a new phenomenon and has led the local communities and the mining companies themselves to discreetly organize prostitution in mining communities by accepting brothels or by organizing fly-in prostitutes (Scott 2013). The local mining community believes that these ‘uncontrollable natural sexual urges’ need to be released in order to avoid sexual and other kinds of violence (Pini and Mayes 2014: 432; Pini et al. 2013: 173). According to a local in Kalgoorlie , ‘if we did not have them (the prostitutes), we would have a lot more rapes and murders’ (Pini et al. 2013: 173). Skimpies in Kalgoorlie talk about the horrific ‘violent experiences of abuse and harassment they are subjected to’ (Pini et al. 2013: 173–174).

The use of skimpies to service the mining workers is further highlighted by their containment to particular designated areas of the community. Indeed, in the Kalgoorlie mining community, for instance, while the community believe that skimpies and prostitutes should be used to service the sexual needs of the mining workers, they also believe skimpies and prostitutes should be policed by ‘the behaviour and practices of residents’ (Pini et al. 2013: 174). In Kalgoorlie , the skimpies are confined to the ‘Skimpie house’, a decrepit building with minimum facilities. One justification for their isolation offered by the community is that it is ostensibly for their well-being, for fear that they will be ‘potential recipients of violence’ (Pini et al. 2013: 174). Yet, their spatial containment is reflected socially in the way skimpies are ignored by the general community and by clients when they venture into the streets outside their workplace. The social exclusion of skimpies and prostitutes in mining communities like Kalgoorlie has to be understood as an insidious and effective social mechanism that contains women and confines them to subservient roles.

In addition to gender issues, Australian Indigenous communities suffer at the hands of an industry which prioritizes the needs of mining workers in mining communities. Indigenous anthropologist and geographer Marcia Langton highlights how Indigenous communities living close to particular mines suffer from what is known as ‘the resource curse’ (Langton 2010). The concept of the resource curs e came out of development economics (theoretically grounded in neoliberalism) and describes the present relations between natural resources endowment and economic growth (Langton 2010; Langton and Mazel 2015: 35–37; Auty 1994b). Economists of the development economics school view a nation’s natural resources as an asset for the country’s economy (Auty 1994a: 12). However, economist Richard Auty has shown that some developing countries such as Venezuela, Nigeria and Angola do not transform the revenue streams coming out of the extraction of rich and plentiful natural resources into benefits for the whole nation. To illustrate the resource curse in Australia, Langton shows that there is a ‘city-bush divide’ in her research about Karratha and Roebourne in the southern Pilbara region of Western Australia (Langton 2010). Karratha is a port and dormitory town on the coast of the southern Pilbara regions of Western Australia. Roebourne is an Indigenous community half an hour’s drive inland from Karratha. Karratha has amenities such as a motel and shopping centres to service the miners and their families. However, Roebourne is in the bush, ‘old and dusty, showing signs of years of neglect’ (Langton 2010). The community of Roebourne is what Val Pl umwood would call the ‘unconsidered backgr ound’ (Plumwood 2002: 104) to the ‘civilization’ of Karratha.

The city-bush divide is further illustrated by the underrepresentation of Indigenous people in the mining industry. This underrepresentation is still prevalent despite relations between Indigenous peopl e, the mining industry and the federal government improving over the last 40 years. Several milestones have contributed to this improvement. First, the Mabo vs. Queensland High Court recognition of native title in Australia, which reversed the ‘longstanding fiction of terra nullius ’ (Langton and Mazel 2015: 39), recognizing the traditional rights of Indigenous Australians to their land and waters in common law. The High Court decision was followed by the Native Title Act (NTA) in 1993 that established procedures to deal with the development of natural resources projects. In some cases, th e NTA gives native title-holders the right to be notified and consulted about the development of natural resources projects.

However, as anthropologist Deborah Bird R ose showed in ‘Women and Land Claims’, while there have been improvements in the relations between Indigenous communities and the mining industry, these improvements have developed within particular patriarc hal settings. Land claim processes were prepared mostly by men who were largely disinterested in representing the rights of Aboriginal women (Rose 1995: 15). Indeed, Rose shows that the relationships between the government, the mining companies and the Indigenous communities to negotiate land rights largely excluded women and their right to make claims over particular areas of land (1995: 16). In 1998 the N TA was amended to include the introduction of Indigenous land use agreements. This amendment opened the door to negotiations in matters of access to land, resources and infrastructure, but also environmental management, compensation, employment and training opportunities for Indigenous communities impacted by the mining industry (Langton and Mazel 2015: 40–43).

Despite these improvements, in a study of Indigenous communities in the Pilbara mining area, human geographers John Taylor and Ben Scambary show that the engagement of Indigenous people within the mining industry is very recent and the change of economic status for Indige nous people is still limited. They cite a complex set of reasons for this, including Indigenous dependence on government and the limited capacity of Indigenous communities living close to the mines to organize themselves to take advantage of the mining boom (Taylor and Scambary 2006: 1). Overall, and despite improvement, there is still a big gap between the employment rate of the general population and the employment rate of the Indigenous communities, especially Indigenous women in the mining industry.

In a study of Indigenous communities living in remote Western Australia around mining areas, social scientist Alfred Dockery shows that the mining areas ‘did not display higher than average Indigenous participation and employment rates’ (2014: 83). Dockery concludes that between 2006 and 2011, none of the empirical tests revealed any improvement in Indigenous unemployment rates relating to mining activities (2014: 83). Similarly, social scientist Joni Parmenter notes that Indigenous women at the Century Mine of northwest Queensland are suffering from a double discrimination: sexism and racism (Parmenter 2008: 7). In the 2006 census, it was shown that only 0.4% of the total mining workforce was made up of Indigenous women. The jobs that Indigenous women had in the mining industry were predominantly as cleaners and kitchen hands (2008: 7). The challenge for Aboriginal communities to have their land rights recognized and to be fully integrated in the development processes of the mining industry reflects a long history of denial of their presence. Their lands were appropriated in the same process that considered Indigenous activities inessential to capitalist patriarchy . The denial and neglect of Indigenous women are further indicative of a patriarcha l capitalist system that privileges profit above all else.

Historically and today, however, Indigenous communities have been at the forefront of resistance to mining projects. For instance, the Jabiluka Mine in Kakadu National Park in the Northern Territory showed how the Indigenous people of Mirrar, the traditional owners of the mine site, local environmental movements and international organizations worked successfully to resist the mining of uranium. The resistance against uranium mining attracted international attention when the two community leaders, Yvonne Mar garula and Jacqui Katona, were arrested for trespassing when protesting against the mine. The two women were awarded the US-based Goldman Prize for their environmental protection work. This award was an encouragement for the Gundjeihmi Aboriginal Corporation (GAC ), to which the two women belong, to get the Kakadu National Park on the UN World Heritage (UN WH) ‘endangered’ list. The GAC and the Jabiluka Action Group (JAG) used legal and international appeals to the UN WH committee to show that mining Jabiluka was illegal (Hintjens 2000: 379). The federal government used what JAG has called ‘diplomatic blackmail’ towards the UN WH (Hintjens 2000: 379). Despite strong resistance, the mine opened in 2000. Women’s resistance to mining is grounded in their recognition of a connection between different oppressive structures. Patriarch al structures affect Indigenous people , particularly women and ignore their mediation with nature. They bear the overwhelming cost of the white male dominated economic infrastructure. All oppressive structures need to be addressed for their emancipation.

Conclusion: Towards an Ecofeminist Ethics in Mining Communities

The strength of ecofeminism is its capacity to shed light on the connections between different oppressive structures and to recognize potential emancipatory possibilities. Ecofeminist ethics argues for the creation of different, non-hierarchical and integrative ways of viewing the world (Plumwood 2002: 168). According to Plumwo od and Salleh, deconstruction of the patriar chal system and its attitudes towards the environment and women will involve revaluing the contribution and moral worth of both women and nonhuman nature (Salleh 2006: 12, 14, 2001: 3; Plum wood 2002: 168). In mining communities such as Bowen Basin , the Century Mine , Kalgoorlie , Pilbara , and Pembleton, there is a clear gender gap in the distribution of the economic gains of mining. Using an ecofeminist approach I have shown that this gap is due to the particular gendered settings that create circumstances where women are encouraged and, in some cases, coerced into labour that sustains the social infrastructure that privileges men’s economic advancement. This impedes women’s choices, opportunities, agency and autonomy while their unpaid work is too often usurped for corporate profit. It may also impact on anti-mining activism.