Deniliquin and the surrounding district is a community that has consistently “punched above its weight” in contributing not only to its own prosperity, but to the growth, development and economic strength of the nation.
I cannot readily think of another community of comparable size — though I acknowledge my parochial bias — that has been the cradle of two rural industries that so profoundly shaped Australian agriculture.
The development and refinement of the Merino sheep transformed the national wool industry and altered the course of Australia’s economic history.
As the dominance of wool waned, Deniliquin and its district again stood at the forefront through the expansion of broadacre irrigation and the establishment of the rice industry.
That evolution reshaped Australian agriculture and saw the largest rice mill in the Southern Hemisphere prosper in Deniliquin.
Today, both industries stand as a shadow of their former stature — but its legacy, and the community that built it, should not be forgotten.
As Deniliquin is reflective of its successes, it is also a living and breathing example of the downside to regional prosperity.
But Deniliquin’s current position is not simply emblematic of the changing nature of agriculture that has seen the collapse of small regional communities throughout Australia, though this has contributed.
It is the “textbook” example as to what happens on both a micro and macro level when public policy fails. And in Deniliquin’s case it is very obvious.
The introduction of the Reserve Price Scheme in 1970, together with the establishment of the Australian Wool Commission, marked a pivotal turning point for the Australian wool industry.
What had long been one of the nation’s largest and most reliable export earners began a slow but steady decline. Over time, an industry that once underpinned the Australian economy diminished to a fraction of its former scale.
It is worth recalling that many of Australia’s largest wool producers voted against the introduction of the scheme.
Their opposition was not driven by self-interest; on the contrary, it reflected a concern for the long-term preservation and sustainability of the industry. They understood the risks inherent in artificial price supports and market intervention.
When the initial vote did not deliver the desired outcome, the voting rules were altered, enabling a revised system to prevail. The warnings of those producers were ultimately set aside.
What followed is now well documented. The accumulation of unsold wool, the distortion of market signals, and the eventual collapse of the scheme inflicted profound damage on growers and regional communities alike.
The rest, as they say, is history.
The Water Act 2007 and the subsequent enactment of the Murray–Darling Basin Plan in November 2012 marked a profound turning point for Basin communities.
Once again, the legislative process proceeded despite the deep concerns of those most directly affected.
While consultation occurred, many regional communities felt their practical realities were not properly understood, and in many cases their warnings were largely set aside. Smaller irrigation-dependent towns, in particular, felt overlooked.
The consequences of the Basin Plan have been — and in many respects will continue to be — more disruptive than the Reserve Price Scheme was to the wool industry.
The speed and scale of change have left little time for adaptive transition, both at the farm gate and within the broader community. Structural adjustment on this scale cannot occur without social and economic cost.
What makes the experience particularly difficult for Basin communities is not opposition to reform itself.
If you had taken a snapshot in 2007, there would have been overwhelming support for a plan that delivered fairer water sharing and improved environmental outcomes.
The Millennium Drought was not caused by irrigators — it was a climatic event. Communities understood that reform was necessary.
What they did not anticipate was a transition of such magnitude, undertaken at such pace, with limited capacity for local influence over the final design and implementation.
We are living through a transformation not of our making, and too often without the means to meaningfully shape its outcome.
Awareness of the challenges before us — and, more importantly, the capacity and willingness to address them — will determine the legacy we leave behind.
It is my hope that legacy proves to be as resilient, creative and positive as the history of our community deserves.
- The second instalment from Harold Clapham will appear in the Pastoral Times next week
