Proposed Canterbury landfill on hold
A drone image showing protestors on the Waimakariri District Council lawn in Rangiora last year. Photo: LDR / Supplied by Mike McCaleb
An application for a proposed managed fill landfill in Canterbury is on hold.
Environment Canterbury has confirmed an application for resource consents to establish and operate a quarry and landfill operation at White Rock has been suspended until August 15 at the request of the applicant, Protranz International Ltd.
Christchurch-based Protranz applied to ECan and the Waimakariri District Council for the consents last year. It is seeking to restore the Whiterock Quarry, at 150 and 174 Quarry Road, North Loburn, to near its previous landform, by filling it with managed fill, building and demolition waste and contaminated soil material, including asbestos.
The company bought the quarry in 2022 with plans to fill it with soils and inert construction rubble removed from building and land development sites in Christchurch and North Canterbury, which are sent to Kate Valley Landfill.
Protranz founder Gerard Daldry said the company commissioned a wide range of testing including site investigations, technical assessments and design to support the resource consent applications.
But the proposal has faced strong opposition, with 510 of the 573 submissions opposed to the managed fill landfill, including the Rangiora Ashley Community Board.
More than 100 people marched from Southbrook in Rangiora to the Waimakariri District Council lawn in High Street in September last year to express their opposition.
Local residents have expressed concern about potential environmental damage to the Karetu River, which feeds into the Okuku River, and then the Ashley / Rakahuri River.
ECan said a revised timetable and hearing date will be issued after the suspension ceases.
By David Hill, Local Democracy Reporter
■ LDR is local body journalism co-funded by RNZ and NZ On Air.
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A drone image showing protestors on the Waimakariri District Council lawn in Rangiora last year. Photo: LDR / Supplied by Mike McCaleb An application for a proposed managed fill landfill in Canterbury is on hold. Environment Canterbury has confirmed an application for resource consents to establish and operate a quarry and landfill operation at White Rock has been suspended until August 15 at the request of the applicant, Protranz International Ltd. Christchurch-based Protranz applied to ECan and the Waimakariri District Council for the consents last year. It is seeking to restore the Whiterock Quarry, at 150 and 174 Quarry Road, North Loburn, to near its previous landform, by filling it with managed fill, building and demolition waste and contaminated soil material, including asbestos. The company bought the quarry in 2022 with plans to fill it with soils and inert construction rubble removed from building and land development sites in Christchurch and North Canterbury, which are sent to Kate Valley Landfill. Protranz founder Gerard Daldry said the company commissioned a wide range of testing including site investigations, technical assessments and design to support the resource consent applications. But the proposal has faced strong opposition, with 510 of the 573 submissions opposed to the managed fill landfill, including the Rangiora Ashley Community Board. More than 100 people marched from Southbrook in Rangiora to the Waimakariri District Council lawn in High Street in September last year to express their opposition. Local residents have expressed concern about potential environmental damage to the Karetu River, which feeds into the Okuku River, and then the Ashley / Rakahuri River. ECan said a revised timetable and hearing date will be issued after the suspension ceases. By David Hill, Local Democracy Reporter ■ LDR is local body journalism co-funded by RNZ and NZ On Air.
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I was a normal boy. I was interested in all the boy things. I was mad about footy, hockey, tennis, cricket, baseball and boxing. Indeed, from a very young age, I excelled at both individually competitive, as well as team, sports. I was also fascinated by, and interested in, mechanics, engineering, motor vehicles, and aviation and continued to actively participate in 'male' activities as I matured and developed. At 17, I commenced training, and by 18 I had qualified as a pilot. But unlike my male peers, I was also interested in pretty colours, pretty clothes, pretty hair, pretty shoes, dolls and I adored babies. Strangely, though, given what I have read about gender ambiguity, I never ever recall ever actually wanting to be a girl. As a young child, I never wanted to wear girl's clothes. I was though very envious of girls with their pretty shoes, pretty hair, pretty ribbons, pretty dresses and other colourful clothes. Whenever the opportunity presented, unlike the other boys, I participated in the girls' skipping and pretend games. In truth, I have always adored everything about girls and women. My experience as a child at home, and in the Boys Home, was that it was my sisters, my mum and then the ladies at the Boys Home that had held my world together. In contrast to girls, during and immediately after the 1940s war years, boys of all ages were uniformly dressed in navy blue, grey or brown. Unlike myself, other boys were almost paranoid about avoiding being labelled sissies. I recollect too, the frequent visits to hairdressers after adults harped on about my hair being too long. At the hairdresser, a 1940s boy's hair was literally shorn off. I resented and rebelled against this what is now so simplistically referred to as stereotyping of boys. When at the Look Out Point Boys Home, I sometimes became very vocal about having to have my hair cut and having to wear navy blue, brown or grey drab clothes. Looking back, I am sure my vocal objections to this dreadful stereotyping was another reason why the Dunedin-based Child Welfare department officials thought I was a bit mentally retarded. I still have very fond memories of an occasion when, at about seven or eight years of age at the Boys Home, I found a pretty blue ribbon an unknown girl had used for tying up her hair. That ribbon became very precious to me. It was a beautiful shiny blue and I carried it around in my pocket for weeks after the find. It was my secret! I recall I also imagined growing my hair and shaping it into a ponytail using the pretty blue ribbon. Eventually, however, the ribbon became worn, crinkled, tattered, lost its shine and had to be discarded. I still recall though, when that pretty ribbon was in my pocket, I felt so completely different about myself. I felt confident. I felt strong and I recall it doing wonders for my self-esteem. That pretty blue ribbon made me feel whole. Much later, my puberty years proved to be an absolute nightmare. Like all of my mates I was attracted to girls and needed and had, a number of girlfriends. I was a normal heterosexual (and always have been), but I couldn't understand why I, in contrast to my mates, was also interested in pretty things like girls were. Moreover, I didn't have any time for 'boys talk' about girls, which so often degenerated into ugly obscenities. I also could not understand why I never really felt whole as a teenage boy. At about 18 years of age I was living in a sleep-out on a farm I was managing a short distance out in the country from Oamaru. I was still anguishing about not being in an engineering apprenticeship at the time and this was further aggravated by some confusion in my mind about who and what I was. By 18 years of age, I was well aware that there was something a little different about me in comparison with other boys my age. * My first real collar and tie job was with the New Zealand Police Association. This pinstriped suited national secretary role involved constant meetings and dining with people in high places including Prime Ministers, leaders of the opposition, cabinet ministers, state officials and the like. I had 13-plus years' experience as a police officer and had risen to the rank of Inspector and an advisor to the Commissioner. From the day I first started, I felt uncomfortable and somewhat inadequate in a suit and tie and deeply resented what I regarded as this 'male uniform'. When dressing for work, my self-esteem tended to plummet because suits and ties were turning me into something I was not. In truth, the creative and original thinking that was the key to the success of my job as national secretary was being stiflingly suffocated each and every day by 'proper dress' before I even got to work. The proper dress required in my Police Association leadership role was so completely different to the colourful shirts, trousers, skirts and dresses I wore when not at work. 'Proper dress' was turning the 'creative flower' I had been when a detective, a doctoral student, and senior university lecturer into cold damp piece of clay. When a police officer, I had worn the police uniform, which included a blue-collar shirt and tie. I had had no problems whatsoever with that! I also played rugby for the police team. So there had to be something strange going on in my head. There is no doubt whatsoever that my revulsion to 'proper dress' in my new role resulted from my resentment of stereotyping and a need for me to have complete choice in the matter of my own quite different preferences. This was likely aggravated by a reminder from deep within my subconscious of my unhappy experiences of the male 'officials' dressed in suits and ties who, with the very best of intentions, had taken me from my home and family and imprisoned me when a small child in the Look Out Point Boys Home. With few exceptions, as a child, I resented decision-making 'officials'. Yet here I was, years later with 'proper dress' having turned me into one of them? After a few months in the job, I toyed with the idea of resigning from the Police Association and seeking other employment where I could wear the casual clothes, dresses, caftans, skirts and lava lava's etc., that I had previously felt comfortable and confident in. Alternative employment was a realistic option for me because I was well qualified with a doctoral degree to pursue an academic or business career and I had had job prospects at universities in New Zealand, Australia, the US and Canada when I took on the Police Association role. Farming was also an appealing option, particularly as I already owned a farm. I opted for what I thought might be an acceptable compromise. I wore safari suits with polar neck jumpers or Hawaiian shirts with slip on shoes, pendants necklaces and wrist bracelets. Initially, there was no objection raised and when I became more settled in the job in which I had started to excel, this, together with a from time to time occasional acknowledgement that 'proper dress' required a suit and tie, the safari suit became my reasonably relaxed and colourful daily work wear. This style of dress wasn't just something I wanted to do. It was something I absolutely needed to do in order to feel whole. Deep down, however, I always knew that, ultimately, safari suits were never going to be enough. * One morning as I readied for work in a cream safari suit and blue polar neck jumper, I noticed my wife's beautiful pearl necklace hanging from a hook by her dressing table. It was the perfect match for my suit and polar neck jumper and, with her quizzical permission, I borrowed the pearl necklace for the day. I was already very good at my job as national secretary and totally committed to professionalising the police at all levels. My whole of industry approach and commitment was recognised and valued by the Police Commissioner Bob Walton, who with his wife Marge, had become personal friends. Police national executive meetings were held once every week in the commissioner's office at police headquarters and, of course, the senior police staff, including the commissioner, invariably wore their Police uniforms. There was an executive meeting the morning I wore the pearl necklace with a blue polar neck jersey under a safari suit. At the time of the meeting, everything proceeded as normal, but after the meeting, and after the deputy and assistant commissioners and superintendents had had an opportunity to get into a 'huddle', one of their number told the commissioner that if Moodie attended an executive meeting again wearing a 'woman's' pearl necklace, they would walk out. Commissioner Bob Walton told me about the walk-out threat he had received and expressed his own personal disapproval of the threat ever having been made. Walton was an outstanding leader. He wanted my experience and whole of industry approach available to him at his police executive meetings. He not only wanted it, he knew he needed it, because achieving substantial change to his Department required a consultative approach. In typical Bob Walton style, he asked me in a kindly manner to please avoid wearing a pearl necklace at the following week's Executive Meeting. I immediately agreed to his request. At the following week's executive meeting, I kept to my agreement with the commissioner when, instead of the pearls, I wore my favourite blue polar neck jersey under a pretty yellow and red dress with blue stockings and a lovely gold chain necklace accessory. No one walked out. No one uttered a word of disapproval. They were stunned. Later this silly business erupted again with Detective Superintendent Wally Baker complaining, on behalf of his executive, that my wearing caftans, dresses and skirts was anti-Christian. I was able to quickly silence this complaint, however, with the response, 'I had never once seen a picture of Jesus Christ in trousers.' The consideration of most importance to me personally was that if imprisoned in a suit and tie, there was no way I could have done the Police Association national secretary role at the level needed to modernise and professionalise the Police. I would have been like a bird in a cage, or a fly on sticky paper. With the support of my Police Association executive, I needed to be able to be myself. I needed to do the police job on my own terms, and in my own way. I never minded how people interpreted what I was doing. Some times when quizzed about it by my police members, I would volunteer that the clothes I wore reflected my love of pretty things. And yes, I sometimes responded, 'I might be a bit queer', while immediately querying, 'But how do you actually know?' With the aim of causing them to think more deeply about what was right and what was wrong, I adopted a light-hearted approach when talking about my dress preferences. * For many months during 2009, I had been experiencing severe testicular pain. At times, this was dreadful, nine out of 10 pain when sitting in a plane or car. When it persisted, I sought medical advice and, after extensive ultrasound imaging and surgery, the cause was finally removed. The surgeon had found and removed what he described as a 'third testicle'. A third testicle that he thought likely to have been the source of the pain. This then led to speculation that the 'third testicle' might instead have been an ovary, a part formed ovary or some deformity resulting from the biological processes that determine sexuality during gestation. Whatever it was, following removal of this 'third testicle', the pain stopped, and so also did something else. After recovering from the surgery, for the first time in my life, I did something I realised I had never really experienced during my life. I suddenly took a real interest in my appearance as a male. Menswear window displays were almost immediately of interest to me, and my life long preferred alternative interest in ladies shop window displays, and particularly displays of ladies' shoes, ended completely. For the first time in my life, I was wholly focused on my identity as a male. This change in my self-awareness and male self-esteem was quite extraordinary, but it was not without an accompanying considerable sense of loss. Indeed, a sense of loss that remains with me even to the present day. I had both liked and enjoyed being the strong, colourful and free-spirited person I had been prior to 2009, and his loss felt very much to me like the death of a close family member. I in fact grieved over my loss for many, many months. Aided by professional counselling, I increasingly adjusted to my new reality and identity, and became the quite different unambiguously male person I am today. A mildly abbreviated chapter taken from the 400-page memoir The Justice Mirage by Rob Moodie, who writes extensively about four cases he handled as a defence lawyer. Martin van Beynen profiled Moodie for Stuff, and wrote, 'His main motivation was to record exactly what happened in four cases where he represented clients whose lives he feels were destroyed by the justice system.' There was the case of Superintendent Alec Waugh, the district commander of Whanganui, who was charged with defrauding the police; Moodie succeeded in having the convictions quashed and, in an Employment Court action, had Waugh reinstated as a superintendent with a payout of $1.5 million. There was the case of King Country farmers Keith and Margaret Berryman. The army built a bridge on their farm to use as a training exercise, but it collapsed in 1994, killing beekeeper Kenneth Richards; after an inquest, the Coroner absolved the army and pointed to alleged failures by the Berrymans. Moodie got involved and the High Court later ruled the Coroner's finding was unsafe. 'For far too many people,' he writes, 'our concept of justice is an illusory mirage.'
