TL: GREENPEACE EXAMINER   December 1985
SO: Greenpeace USA (GP)
DT: December 1985
Keywords: greenpeace us periodicals digests gp /

Antarctica's Unspoiled Wilderness
Greenpeace Mounts the First People's Expedition
Antarctica Special
Flotilla to Moruroa
Radwaste Vote

Eco NOTES

Whalers Down But Not Out

Like the boy who cried wolf, the U.S. government has taken its
legal case for whaling to the courts twice and lost. When the
government appealed a third time, the courts refused to listen.
In October, after reviewing the past two decisions, the nine-
member Appellate Court of the District of Columbia denied the
Commerce Department a new hearing.

In the original decision, the D.C. Federal Court of Appeals
ruled that Secretary of Commerce Malcolm Baldrige acted
illegally by allowing the Japanese to ignore quotas on the
killing of whales as set by the International Whaling Commission
(IWC). The 1979 Packwood-Magnuson Amendment requires that the
President halve fishing quotas in U.S. waters of any nation that
violates an IWC decision. 

Japan first ran afoul of the law last October when it killed
endangered sperm whales. At that time, the Commerce Department
refused to impose sanctions in exchange for a vague promise from
Japan to halt whaling by 1988. This violates an IWC-imposed
moratorium on all whaling scheduled to begin in 1986.

The Commerce Department may appeal to the Supreme Court, but
legal experts doubt that the court will hear the case. The other
recourse is to lobby Congress to appeal the Packwood-Magnuson
Amendment. 

Across the seas, the Commerce Department's deal with Japan has
encouraged other whaling nations to ignore the IWC moratorium.
In a letter to IWC Secretary Dr. Ray Gambell, the Philippines
stated it plans to continue commercial whaling until 1988,
inferring that otherwise the Japanese would have an unfair
commercial advantage. In the same vein, by taking advantage of
a special IWC provision that allows members to issue whaling
permits to their nationals for "scientific research." Iceland
and Korea each plan to take 200 whales a year until 1988. And in
October, Norway joined the chorus by declaring it would ignore
IWC prohibitions on minke whaling in the north Atlantic.       


A Beluga In the Rhine

In July, divers from the Greenpeace ship Beluga spent a day in
the Rhine River blockading a ship headed out to dump toxic waste
at a site near Rheinberg, West Germany. Greenpeace chemist
Michael Braungart, meanwhile, spent his day meeting with the
local environmental minister. Four days later, the dumpship
turned back, its load of waste still on board. Within three
weeks, the Rheinberg town council voted unanimously for an end
to the dumping, and planned legal action against Bayer and
Sachtleben, the companies that use the dump ship. The state
environment ministry has since called on Sachtleben to produce
a recycling plan within six months.

So went Beluga's first direct action campaign. Dedicated in
March, the ship has embarked on a survey of Europe's rivers,
beginning with the Rhine. With its state-of-the-art water
analysis equipment and crew of scientific experts, the Beluga is
a most formidable addition to the Greenpeace fleet.

The Rhine is a most formidable challenge for the Beluga. The
river is one of Europe's most important water resources and one
of its most polluted. Twenty percent of the continent's chemical
industries are located along its banks. From these factories and
Rhine municipalities come a constant flow of sewer sludge, PCBs,
heavy metals and organic phosphates. Along North Sea estuaries
i] The Netherlands, phosphate levels have increased fivefold
since 1962, threatening both drinking and irrigation water. 

Since its first action, the Beluga has continued up the Rhine
through West Germany and into Switzerland, confronting polluters
at Mannheim, Flotzgrun and Karlsruhe, meeting with environmental
authorities and conducting press conferences and public
protests. Viel jluck, Beluga, good luck.

Dumping: A Missed Opportunity

Small nations put up a big fight, but the world's nuclear
dumpers won out in September at the meeting of the London
Dumping Convention. Under tremendous pressure from
internationally powerful radioactive waste dumpers, the LDC
decided not to risk a vote an amendment that would permanently
ban dumping low-level radioactive waste at sea. Instead, the
regulatory body extended indefinitely the dumping moratorium
passed at its 1983 meeting.

The division in the 25-nation LDC was clear. Throughout the six-
day meeting, the United States, Britain and four other nations
pushed hard for a resolution to end the moratorium, while the
Pacific island nations of Nauru and Kiribati led the anti-
dumping nations and lobbied for a permanent ban. Carving out a
middle ground were those nations pushing only to extend the
moratorium. 

Hundreds of thousands of citizens, as well as the European
Parliament and the 13-nation South Pacific Forum, have
repeatedly called for a permanent ban on waste dumping. But at
the LDC meeting, dumpers remained obstinate. At one point,
Britain threatened to pull out of the LDC. The U.S. prepared to
mount procedural objections. In the end, Spain tabled a
resolution calling for the extension of the moratorium and the
LDC passed it, with only six votes opposed.

Britain has since said it will ignore the vote and dump nuclear
waste into the sea, if the results of a government study deem it
"the best practicable environmental option." But who will sail
the dump ships? The members of the British National Union of
Seaman have said since July of 1983 that they won't sign on for
radioactive waste cruises.

A Time to Say 'No More' 

"You watch your kids get sick, your neighbors die, your home
fall apart and finally one day you say 'no more' and you fight
back." That's the last thing the owners of the Hunter
Resources' toxic waste dump expected from the dump's neighbors,
the 175 residents of Casmalia, California. In August, the people
of that town joined with campaigners and crew from the
Greenpeace ship Alcyon to successfully block trucks from dumping
more waste at the dump. 

Hunter Resources' 250-acre toxic waste treatment facility
accepts any quantity of industry's most hazardous wastes,
including PCBs and dioxin. During just one month in 1984, it
took in 63 million pounds of liquid and 9,000 cubic yards of
solid waste.

Last year, a nauseating and sickly sweet chemical odour from the
dump swept into Casmalia, a quiet, rural town deep in the
foothills of California's central coast. Since then, the noxious
odour has brought an epidemic of the "Casmalia flu" (upper
respiratory problems, migraine, sore throat and liver damage,
among other symptoms) and is a suspect in the deaths of seven
Casmalia residents. A quarter of the town's residents have left,
local businesses and the town school are forced to close from
time to time because of fumes from the dump. 

Following the August blockade, California physicians,
legislators and regulators have joined the residents in calling
for the facility to be closed. But they must fight opposition;
the dump brings in $40 million a year, 10 percent of which goes
to the county. While the fate of the dump is uncertain, one
thing is clear - this small town is another graphic example to
the world of the very real dangers of industry's needlessly
created, poorly managed toxic wastes.     


ANTARCTICA

We're going to Antarctica. From small beginnings - a 1982
meeting in New Zealand, contacts with environmentalists in
Washington, a demonstration outside a Treaty meeting - has
emerged an Antarctic expedition, the largest and longest-lasting
direct action Greenpeace has ever launched. Its goal to prevent
Antarctica's destruction.

In late November, the Greenpeace will sail from Sydney. On its
arrival in Antarctica, the crew will build the first permanent,
non-governmental Antarctic settlement. The Greenpeace expedition
team that remains there when the ship leaves in March will spend
at least a year documenting biological data and monitoring
activities at national bases.

Antarctica is the earth's last true wilderness. As such it
serves as a measure of humanity's environmental consciousness.
If the people of the earth can spare Antarctica the degradation
we have inflicted on the rest of the planet, we will have set a
revolutionary example of human behaviour. From that beginning
we can build a new way of looking at the world, and so, through
saving Antarctica, save ourselves.


A Sanctuary

BY JIM BARNES

Antarctica. A vast, beautiful, ice covered wilderness nestled at
the bottom of the world, one tenth of the earth's surface,
surrounded by seas teeming with life. Perhaps the last region of
earth where tens of millions of whales, seals, penguins and sea
birds can breed, feed and migrate according to the natural order
of life. 

Antarctica's natural order is now threatened. Behind closed
doors, the 18 nations that control this pristine wilderness
under the Antarctic Treaty are negotiating an agreement that for
the first time will allow them to extract oil and minerals from
Antarctica. Though drilling will not start in this decade - the
global demand for oil is not high enough to justify large
investment - France, Japan, West Germany, Great Britain and the
United States are openly conducting sophisticated seismic
surveys that some claim have already produced evidence of oil
deposits. 

Does the world "need" Antarctica's oil? Taking into account the
dangers to the world eco-system from the "greenhouse effect" and
acid rain, it is apparent that what we need is the discipline to
cut down on our use of fossil fuels. Antarctica has more
important things to offer: astounding landscapes and mountains,
secret valleys, pristine fresh-water ponds and ancient beds of
moss and lichens. We need to protect Antarctica's role in
controlling global weather and climate, and the nutrients that
its rich seas provide to the world's oceans and human beings. We
need to preserve Antarctica for the secrets it holds of the
earth's past, and for its capabilities as a monitoring zone for
how we are-collectively-poisoning the earth. 

But the importance of Antarctica goes even beyond its value as
a pristine ecological laboratory or global bread-basket. Those
who drafted the Antarctic Treaty laid the legal and moral
framework for a revolutionary idea that sovereign governments
can cooperatively manage and preserve a continent. With that
vision in mind, they removed Antarctica from the arms race:
nuclear weapons tests, conventional armaments and the disposal
of radioactive waste are prohibited on the continent. Now the
spectre of development threatens to destroy the idea of
Antarctica as a sanctuary, and with it a unique and exemplary
vision of international cooperation.

No nation owns Antarctica; all must share responsibility for its
preservation and wise use. As a first step, the continent should
be formally protected as a World Park or Preserve-with mining
and drilling forbidden. In 1975, that was the course staked out
by New Zealand, a signatory to the Antarctic Treaty, but more
powerful Treaty nations crushed the plan.

Antarctica reflects - like a "clear mirror," one friend terms it
- the pure vibrancy of nature, of DNA working out its fate and
ours in a sinuously resilient dance through time. The
willingness to see where that dance leads, to peer into the
future and examine the intertwined implications of our present
and past actions is absolutely essential. The ancients would
fall to their knees in thanks to the rain. We blithely turn it
to vinegar. In Antarctica, there is time to change; we have a
choice, and a responsibility.            

- James N. Barnes is an international environmental lawyer,
Director of the Antarctica Project in Washington, D. C., counsel
to the Antarctic and Southern Ocean Coalition (ASOC) and a
member of the Greenpeace USA Board of Directors. He is the
author of "Let's Save Antarctica, " a citizen's handbook
published in cooperation with photographer Eliot Porter.

The Making of An Expedition

BY ELYSE CHILAND

Andrew Hill is sitting on a couch, pondering BBC television
news. He rises and turns down the volume of the T.V. to observe
and partially lament that "people just don't know what
Antarctica is." Andy has some idea, he spent 1982 and '83
working in the British Antarctic territory as station
meteorologist at Halley Bay. At the end of 1984, he accepted the
job of Greenpeace Antarctic expedition coordinator. 

Now, sitting back down on the couch, he continues. "Antarctica
is not just ice and penguins. It's a beautiful continent with
mountains, lakes, volcanoes and two- and three-thousand-foot
cliffs coming straight out of the sea. I love it. It's the most
impressive area in the world."

From an armchair, Gerry Johnson agrees. Voyaging to Antarctica
with the Greenpeace will begin Gerry's eighth trip there in 11
years - this time he'll be leader of the Greenpeace base camp in
the southern Ross Sea area. A mechanic, he is one of four people
- along with a scientist, a doctor and a radio operator - who
will staff the camp through the winter, remaining in Antarctica
for at least a year in an area where the midwinter temperature
averages -18 degrees Fahrenheit.

"Four is about the minimum number of people you can overwinter,"
says Andy. "The mere act of having to look after yourselves -
hauling 45-gallon fuel drums, working on the buildings and the
antennas, the lot - requires a great deal of work, and you need
enough people to do it." One hundred people over winter at the
largest Antarctic base, the United States' McMurdo Station.

"Overwintering can get quite lonely," Andy says. "To an extent,
you have to learn to turn inside yourself. You read a lot of
books, and there's an awful lot of photography. Or you have
impromptu parties, you dress up, you cut your hair off,
all sorts of things."    

Invasion of The Humans

BY ANDRE CAROTHERS

The lure of riches first compelled explorers to search for the
mythic Southern Continent. In the 1770s, the French explorer
Yves-Joseph de Kerguelen-Tremarc promised a treasure of "wood,
minerals, diamonds, rubies and precious stones and marble" to
financiers of his second expedition. "South France," as he
called Antarctica, "will furnish marvellous physical and moral
spectacles."

A scant two years later, the myth of a paradise at the South
Pole was shattered. "I make bold to declare," wrote Captain
James Cook after completing the first successful
circumnavigation of the continent, "that the world will derive
no benefit from it." His prediction, albeit limited to
commercial benefit, has remained true, at least for the
continent itself.

Antarctica's productive surrounding waters, however, have been
the scene of unrestrained slaughter. In the early 19th century,
hunters almost exterminated seals from the surrounding islands,
and the 20th century saw the whaling industry drive blue,
humpback and southern right whales to the brink of extinction.
Today, uncontrolled fishing has wiped out some of the region's
formerly abundant schools of fin fish. But the ice-covered
continent remained inaccessible and commercially useless.

Two hundred years later, we have come full circle. Nations are
once again eyeing the continent itself for commercial
exploitation. Japan, France, Great Britain, West Germany and the
United States are beginning to search the Antarctic continental
shelf for oil. A Texas consulting firm's analysis of potential
Antarctic oil reserves is being snapped up at $10,000 per copy.
The Soviet Union and South Africa are prospecting for deposits
of platinum.

Antarctica is currently managed by eighteen countries under the
1959 Antarctic Treaty. These nations, committed under their
treaty to act in the interest of Antarctica and the world, are
holding secret meetings on the mining of the continent's
presumed mineral deposits. The Antarctic gold rush promised by
the explorer Kuergelen, with all its political and environmental
implications, is on.

Claimstaking

For two centuries after its discovery, Antarctica remained free
of conflicts over territory. Seven nations have claimed pieces
of the continent and several of these claims overlap. But
clashes have been avoided, essentially because there was little
to have and plenty for all.

After World War II, Antarctica came under more intense
international scrutiny. In 1946, the United States launched
"Operation Highjump," under Admiral Richard Byrd. Employing 13
ships and over 4,000 persons, it was by far the largest
Antarctic expedition. Operation High jump's secret agenda was to
extend U.S. influence over the largest possible area. The Soviet
Union also took an interest in the southern continent and
scuttled a 1948 United States plan to put the continent under
United Nations administration by declaring Moscow would not
recognize the arrangement because it was made without Soviet
participation.

Political Science

Diplomats realized in the mid '50s that the time had come to
deal with the question of Antarctica. At the same time,
scientists issued a global call for cooperative research as the
best way to study such subjects as magnetism weather patterns
and glaciology. This confluence of interests resulted in two
international landmarks: the 1957-58 International Geophysical
Year (IGY) and the Antarctic Treaty.

During the 16 months that comprised the IGY, 5,000 scientists
from 40 nations devoted themselves to Antarctic research; 60
research stations sponsored by 12 nations endured the harsh
polar winter of 1957. The IGY was hailed as a unique example of
international cooperation.

Capitalizing on this atmosphere of goodwill and cooperation, the
United States invited the 12 nations that participated in the
IGY to come to Washington and negotiate an Antarctic Treaty. In
the interest of gaining con census on the document, negotiators
specifically avoided comprehensive discussion of the overlapping
claims and possibilities of resource exploitation. Nevertheless,
it took more than 60 meetings over 18 months to hammer out the
Treaty.


The time was well spent; what emerged is an agreement virtually
unprecedented in international relations. The Antarctic Treaty
specifically prohibits "any measures of a military nature, such
as the establishment of military bases and fortifications, the
carrying out of military maneuvers, as well as the testing of
any type of weapons." Nuclear explosions and the disposal of
radioactive waste are also prohibited. Finally, all parties have
the right to travel anywhere on the continent and inspect all
other nations' research bases. 

The conduct of these 12 nations in drafting the agreement is an
inspiring example of international cooperation. Unfortunately,
this collaboration has not extended to protecting the
environment. Not only have the treaty nations failed in all
substantive attempts to adequately protect the region's
wildlife, they are now negotiating an agreement to explore and
eventually exploit the region's presumed oil and mineral
deposits. 

Antarctica represents a fragile balance, both politically and
ecologically. Right now, the disputed questions of Antarctic
territorial claims and mineral deposits are reemerging in the
context of a resource-hungry world. If this generation of
nations does not restrain itself, Antarctica's political - and
environmental - integrity will suffer. 

In 1983, Gerry and Andy over wintered together in northern
Antarctica at Halley Bay. Halley, on the eastern Weddell Sea, is
built on a floating ice shelf. What's more, it's under ice. "Ice
accumulation buries the base," Gerry says. "So about every eight
or ten years, you've got to rebuild. From outside of Halley, all
you actually see are the shafts of the walls sticking out of the
ice."

The room feels cooler. As I study the gas heater's blue burn,
Andy assures me that Antarctic bases stay warm even during
storms. "You make sure there's enough fuel stored inside the
station to power the generators for four to five days - that's
usually long enough to sit out a serious blow. But whatever the
conditions, you can always refuel."

How? You don't send someone outside in the middle of an
Antarctic storm.

"Of course you do," Andy says. "If you need the fuel you do it."

I reach for a small wool blanket on the couch, and Gerry and
Andy smile. "Sure it gets cold," Andy says. "Very cold. But
you're there, and that's it."

The press conference to announce the Greenpeace expedition is
scheduled to begin in one hour, at 10 a.m. in London, here on
the Greenpeace. Tea and coffee flow from the galley as two dozen
crew members, Greenpeace directors and campaigners stuff press
kits, hang banners and align rows of chairs on the top deck. In
the sunshine on the wharf along the ship's port side, a
determined photographer directs Antarctic Campaign Coordinator
Roger Wilson and Greenpeace Captain Jon Castle. The two stand
stiffly, with Andy and Gerry squinting beside them - a tableau
with ship's prow as backdrop, a classic pose in the manner of
historic expeditions. 

At 9:55 the wind picks up ash from a pile of burned rubbish on
the dock and blows it onto the deck. The reporters, under siege,
give most of their attention to the swirling soot, until Roger's
words win out. 

"Antarctica is the last true wilderness, and we cannot watch it
be destroyed. For the first time in Green peace's history, we
have the chance to act before a major ecological disaster
occurs. On behalf of future generations, Greenpeace will set up
its own base and declare Antarctica a World Park for all the
people of the earth."

He explains, together with Greenpeace Director Peter Wilkinson,
that the expedition embraces the goals of Green peace's
wildlife, toxics and disarmament campaigns. They note that the
research base will make Greenpeace the first nongovernmental
organization to fulfil the requirements for becoming a
Consultative Party to the Antarctic Treaty. And they stress that
a pre-requisite of both expedition and camp is to create no
significant environmental impact.

On television that evening, a one-minute broadcast uses a film
clip of Antarctica and quotes from the press conference. It's
the first news coverage of a small group of people who are, as
Wilkinson has phrased it, "doing their best to focus the eyes of
the world on the fate of the last wilderness."

Behind three gulls hovering outside the bridge, a deep pink sun
sets over the Greenpeace as it rolls through the sea toward
Amsterdam. Below, I review notes I've taken on the equipment
needed to build the base and house four people: a tractor (a
huge Muskeg with a winch, to haul supplies over ice and snow),
sledges (two for cargo, one for field travel), loop stitch wool
socks (don't hold moisture well; no blisters even if worn for
days), quilts (not sleeping bags; feather down in bags takes
forever to dry), two types of boots, 87 pairs of underwear. . .

When the Greenpeace arrives in southern Antarctica, the
expedition team will work 12-hour shifts, 24 hours a day, to
build the camp, parts of which will have been loaded onto the
ship in prefabricated units. Working in an area of Antarctica
where the snow melts during the January summer, Greenpeace
should complete the base camp in three weeks.

The core of the base will be two buildings made from insulated
plywood panels and enclosed in an outer shell to protect them
and minimize wind noise. The smaller building will hold the
camp's generators, while the larger will house work facilities,
a communal cooking and living area and four separate sleeping
chambers-the expedition planners believe it is important for
each overwinterer to have a place to be alone. The sleeping
quarters will be similar to a ship's accommodations: bunks with
storage space underneath. Four pyramid tents will be stored at
the base for emergency shelter.

During the year the overwinterers spend at the station mail will
arrive regularly - once. Research will endure year round,
however, as biologist/overwinterer Ralph John photographs,
counts, weighs and monitors various species of Antarctic fish.
His data, which will provide clues to species composition, the
fishes' diet and their daily and seasonal biological cycles,
will be available to aid scientists working for the conservation
of marine resources in the Southern Ocean. In short, there's a
lot to do.

The Greenpeace docked in Amsterdam this morning. This afternoon,
three people started stripping two aft cabins to make room for
base camp cargo. In the days ahead, the ship will be dry-docked
and its hull and machinery tested. In the weeks ahead, it will
be transformed into a polar expedition ship. Ice protection fins
will be fitted on the stern in front of the propeller, the bow
and foreship will be ice-strengthened, a look-out shelter and
hydraulic marine crane installed. Decks will be extended, cabins
converted, shelves built, ice-adapted inflatables loaded,
satellite and weather-monitoring machines installed. There's
more, too. A lot of work and a lot of money, and not much time
at all.

I plan to leave the Greenpeace in a couple of days - that is, if
I am well enough to do so. It seems I've contracted Antarctic
Fever, the worsening symptoms of which include a severe desire
to see Antarctica firsthand, recurrent fantasies of voyaging on
the historic "people's expedition" and a horror for the idea of
returning to life behind a word-processor. Ship's doctor Laura
Mitrani prescribes a dose of clear thinking: the expedition will
succeed only if ship's cooks cook and engineers keep the engines
running; while campaigners plan direct actions, accountants
balance the books. A Greenpeace magazine editor, meanwhile,
better get the word out.

The words are here, the prescription worked. Bon voyage,
Greenpeace, and good luck to the expedition. In the name of my
grandchildren, give my love to Antarctica.      

The Film

Award-winning film-maker Axel Engstfeld will produce a feature-
length film about the Greenpeace Antarctic expedition.

The Book

Edwin Mickleburgh, who has made several Antarctica, will
document the expedition in written form.


A Look at The Land of Extremes

With elegant plumage and haughty demeanour, the emperor is the
aristocrat of penguins. It is also one of earth's largest birds,
weighing up to 90 pounds and standing four feet tall. Emperors
breed on the Antarctic sea ice during the dark and desolate
winter, when temperatures plummet to the coldest on the planet
and blizzards shriek at 200 miles an hour. Several weeks later,
the female lays the egg and leaves it with her mate. The male
incubates the egg under his belly through the long Antarctic
winter - without leaving it for so much as a meal - until the
female returns from a two-month ocean feast.

Upon her return, the female must pick out her mate in a rookery
of squawking penguins that may number in the thousands.
Fortunately, the couple have a distinctive song, and the female
usually finds her husband guarding their fuzzy gray chick. The
Emperors' young feed hungrily through the spring, and by the
next winter are self-sufficient.

"For all its grim and hostile character, Antarctica, with its
pristine snows, its unbelievable clarity of air and its blue,
cascading ice, is sublimely beautiful. The atmosphere is so
clear that one is easily deceived by distances; mountains that
seem 100 kilometers away may be 400.... The colors of objects
are not like those in other parts of the world."

Such is photographer Eliot Porter's testimonial to Antarctica,
the land of extremes. Here, on the world's fifth-largest
continent, a Soviet research team recorded an evening when the
mercury plummeted to 127 degrees F. below zero. Here 19th
century explorer Douglas Mawson endured a winter during which
the wind blew over 60 miles an hour, on average, for nearly 60
days. Here scientists study mysterious dry valleys that are the
only places on earth approximating what it may be like on Mars.
Here a permanent ice mantle up to three miles thick holds 70
percent of earth's water and covers 98 percent of the continent.

Here, nature must be innovative to survive. Species of algae and
lichen have taken up residence in the pores of rocks; a stone
split in half will reveal concentric circles of rainbow hues -
different species of microscopic plants. Hundreds of species of
fungi, moss and microscopic animals have adapted to this
continent punctuated by mountain ranges and lunar valleys, where
the sun shines half the year and darkness descends the other
half. But the forbidding climate sets clear biological limits;
Antarctica's largest mobile land resident is an insect - a
wingless midge 6 millimeters (1/4 inch) long.

The sea surrounding the continent is the world's most fertile
ocean - comprising 10 percent of the earth's ocean, it rivals
the other 90 percent in productivity. At the base of the
Southern Ocean ecosystem are microscopic plants. In the almost
constant daylight of the six-month summer, these phytoplankton
grow in enormous blooms of life that, along with multi celled
plankton, provide food for Southern Ocean marine life.

A blue-green fire, stretching over a half-mile of ocean surface,
glows in the night-time Antarctic waters. This is a swarm of
krill generating the chemical light called bioluminescence.
Gathered in massive swarms of as much as 10 million metric tons,
the three-inch, shrimp-like krill are a "foundation species,"
providing a major source of high-protein food for many Southern
Ocean denizens: whales, seals, fish, squid and sea birds. Baleen
whales, such as the blue, fin, humpback and southern right,
survive mainly on krill; by mouthfuls that can weigh as much as
a ton, they consume some 50 million tons of krill a year.
Biologists estimate the total krill stock to be somewhere
between 200 and 600 million metric tons. 

Life thrives in one other Antarctic environment - the thin
margin where water, land and sun meet to allow the survival of
penguins, seals and sea birds. Because shifting ice shelves
render shoreline living precarious, the most accessible and
productive of these coastal ecosystems exists on a stretch of
Antarctic coast, barely 500 miles long, that remains ice-free.

There - in the same areas appropriated by most of the
continent's few human residents - live leopard, Weddell, crab
eater and Ross seals. These seals live largely in the water,
while two more species, elephant and fur seals, colonize on
land. Over 100 million birds of seven major families breed in
Antarctica each year, including four of earth's 17 species of
penguin.

Antarctica, enormous and forbidding, is also vulnerable - to
pollution, overfishing, even simple contact with things not part
of its delicately balanced ecosystem. In the 19th century,
humans almost eliminated some species of seals from Antarctica's
surrounding islands. In the last decade, fishing fleets have
commercially wiped out several species of fin fish. (See Page
14.) Now these fleets are eyeing krill. At the same time,
several Antarctic Treaty nations are testing the ocean's floor,
hoping to find evidence of huge oil deposits underneath.

We don't know what effects these drastic events might have on
Antarctic biology, now or in the future. A marine ecosystem is,
in the words of one marine biologist, "intermeshed in a very
important way. It's like a rug with a very intricate pattern."
One piece cannot be affected without threatening the stability
of the entire system - particularly in Antarctica, where one
species, krill, plays such a crucial role. A massive reduction
in krill, for example, might starve the world's few remaining
whales. And in the continent's intense cold, biological
processes - such as the degradation of oil and other
contaminants and the regrowth of depleted species - take an
especially long time.

You, all of us, have a responsibility to preserve Antarctica and
to cherish its place in the heritage of future generations. It's
a responsibility that requires taking action. Below are
suggestions as to how you can begin.

You Can Help Save Antarctica

Urge your government to work for Antarctica to be declared a
World Park or Preserve, protecting the region from all oil and
mineral activities.

Circulate the Antarctic Declaration petition, available from
Greenpeace offices around the world, to schools, churches,
societies, clubs and other organizations and send them to your
Legislature or Parliament.

Urge sympathetic politicians and lawmakers to hold inquiries or
hearings on your government's position on Antarctica.

Work with television, radio, newspapers and magazines to make
public the imminent threat of oil and mineral exploitation and
full-scale commercial fishing in Antarctica.

Write letters to newspapers, and articles for magazines.

Join Greenpeace. Become a friend of Antarctica.


Pointe Geologie: Destruction Under Cover

In late 1982, without conducting a formal environmental
assessment or officially informing fellow Antarctic Treaty
nations, France began blasting an airfield out of the rocky
peninsula known as Pointe Geologie, site of one of the few
mainland homes of Antarctica's rarest penguin, the Emperor. The
partially completed airfield cuts across the route the Emperor
penguins use to move from the ocean to their nesting and
breeding grounds. In the course of its construction, workers
have smashed eggs, destroyed nesting sites and blown up Adelie
penguins. 

The project violates several of the major provisions of the
agreements governing Antarctic activities. Under Article VI of
the Agreed Measures on the Conservation of Antarctic Flora and
Fauna, Treaty nations are prohibited, except under very limited
circumstances, from "killing, wounding, capturing or molesting"
any native mammal. Article VII prohibits any activities that
constitute "harmful interference" to animal populations. Of the
10 bird species that nest in Antarctica, eight nest at Pointe
Geologie. 

In January of 1984 at a meeting of Treaty nations, Greenpeace
delivered photographs of construction in progress at Pointe
Geologie. Among other activities, the photos showed dynamite
explosions. At first, the pictures were met with disbelief.
"These photos could have been taken anywhere," said one
delegate. When France admitted that the airstrip project did
indeed exist, the government declared that the Scientific
Committee on Antarctic Research had approved the project and a
1983 U.S. inspection of the site found everything in order. In
fact, the committee never formally considered any kind of
proposal or environmental impact statement, and the U. S .
"inspection" consisted of a short visit to France's research
station at Dumont D'Urville, the team never saw the airfield
site. 

Following the January meeting, French authorities ordered work
on the airfield halted and convened an international "Committee
of Experts" -eight scientists - to review the environmental
impact statement prepared for the project by the Expeditions
Polaires Francaises. The committee's assessment which the
embarrassed French government at first refused to release, was
that the E.P.F.'s study was unacceptable; the committee outlined
the significant damage the project had caused and would cause
and demanded a new evaluation. 

Under Article X of the Agreed Measures, the Treaty nations
pledge "to exert appropriate efforts . . . to the end that no
one engages in any activity in the Treaty area contrary to the
principles and purposes of the Agreed Measures." In fact, none
of the Treaty nations has acted to make the French accountable
for their actions. It is precisely this reluctance to monitor
their own activities and enforce their own rules that calls into
question the Antarctic Treaty nations' ability to administer the
continent competently. It also underscores the need for an in-
dependent Antarctic Environmental Protection Agency, with
inspection and enforcement powers, to oversee and regulate
activities in the sensitive polar environment.

Bye-Bye to N. Rossii

Notothenia Rossii, a species of Antarctic cod, used to be
abundant in Antarctic waters. Today, due largely to overfishing
by the Soviet Union and eastern bloc countries, the N. Rossii
population is a fraction of what it was 15 years ago. Other
species are suffering similar, if not quite so drastic, fates. 

The decline of Southern Ocean fin fish stocks has followed the
pattern typical of global resource management: exploitation
continues unregulated until the damage, sometimes irreversible,
is done. The Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic Marine
and Living Resources (CCAMLR) (see Page 15) came into force
three years ago to prevent just such mismanagement.

Unfortunately for N. Rossii, CCAMLR has failed. The Commission
did not even begin to discuss the implementation of a management
regime until its third meeting last year. The Soviet Union and
its allies argue each year that protection regimes cannot be
implemented without more data, and then fail to provide their
fishing logs. At the 1984 CCAMLR meeting, the delegates agreed
to a token protection regime already adhered to voluntarily by
the fishing nations most responsible for the over-exploitation.
In 1985, the Soviet Union and eastern European countries once
again blocked con census on effective protection measures. 

As goes N. Rossii, so goes CCAMLR - the futures of both appear
bleak at the moment. While the Treaty nations negotiate, it's
business as usual in the Southern Ocean: the fishing fleets
continue, with few constraints, to wipe out the region's
finfish.       

Oil on Ice

"I am very certain that someday we will go down there and give
it a go," says a consultant for oil companies contemplating the
Antarctic. If there is to be minerals development in Antarctica,
there will also be oil spills. 

Accidents that dump large quantities of oil in the ocean are
devastating anywhere. In the Southern Ocean, where biological
processes are slowed and the ecosystem is remarkably interwoven
and uniquely dependent on the health of krill, the effects of a
major spill could be catastrophic. 

An oil spill in the freezing Antarctic waters could be a
biological hazard for years. Large quantities of oil could be
trapped in ice, to be distributed and released during thaws over
subsequent summers. A storm would soak and kill penguin and sea
birds with oil; clean-up activities would scatter and destroy
rookeries.

Burning, the preferred technique for cleaning-up oil, is only
effective immediately after a spill. The notoriously stormy
Antarctic weather would delay clean-up and disperse oil slicks.
And in ice-clogged waters, oil is difficult to ignite.

Oil kills. Crude oil is not a single substance but a complex
mixture of chemicals, some deadly poisons. Even minute amounts
can collect in the tissues of krill and move in ever stronger
concentrations up the food chain. Other negative effects-on the
refractive quality of Antarctica's ice, on microorganisms that
feed under the ice (where oil would collect), and on the
consequent implications for the entire ecosystem - are unknown. 

Hollow Words

Since the Antarctic Treaty came into force in 1960, the
Consultative Parties have met formally 12 times. At these
meetings the delegates have reached consensus on some 150
recommendations, including such questions as the designation of
historical sites, the mechanics of information exchange and
improvements in telecommunications. They have also concluded two
far-reaching agreements on the protection of Antarctic wildlife:
the Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living
Resources (CCAMLR) and the Agreed Measures for the Protection of
Antarctic Fauna and Flora.


On paper, the Agreed Measures and CCAMLR are very progressive.
CCAMLR demands that when assessing environmental impact, studies
address "the ecosystem as a whole." Impact statements must
evaluate the effects of a contemplated action on all
interrelated wildlife. CCAMLR also demands the "restoration of
depleted populations" of harvested species. The Agreed Measures
require that no animal be killed, harassed or captured without
a permit issued under strict guidelines.

In practice, however, the words lose much of their meaning.
CCAMLR has been criticized as "a triumph of calculated
ambiguity." None of the requirements are binding; a Treaty
nation can simply choose not to comply, and there are no
enforcement mechanisms. Moreover, con census decision-making
means that protection measures can only be as strong as the most
recalcitrant member wants them to be. Finally, CCAMLR meetings
are closed to all non-governmental bodies.

At CCAMLR headquarters in Hobart, Australia, delegates met last
September to discuss questions vital to the health of the
Antarctic ecosystem: protection of declining fin fish stocks
possible limits on krill catches, the use of pelagic drift nets
and the need for adequate exchange of fisheries data. As was
expected, they made little substantial progress.

There is no question of the seriousness of these problems,
especially the drastic decline of certain species of fin fish.
What is in doubt is the ability of CCAMLR, and the Antarctic
Treaty regime, to respond to these crises. 

Sir Peter Scott:

A Lifetime Of Natural History

Sir Peter Markham Scott oversees the fruits of his years of
environmental work - and his beloved ducks, geese and swans -
from a cosy and crowded office/living room at the Wildfowl Trust
bird refuge in rural Slimbridge, Great Britain. One of his great
loves and many talents is wildlife illustration, particularly of
waterfowl; hanging from the room's walls and perched on easels
are water colors, and in the sketchbooks that line the shelves
there are hundreds more. An enormous picture window frames the
main lake of the Wildfowl Trust, one of seven such protected
areas established by Sir Peter throughout the United Kingdom. 

Son of famed Antarctic explorer Sir Robert Scott, who died on
his return from the South Pole in 1912, Sir Peter began working
in conservation in the 1930s, established the Wildfowl Trust in
19~6 and helped found the World Wildlife Fund in 1961. An early
leader of efforts to save whales, he also champions the cause of
Antarctica. He has written 15 books and illustrated 15 more. His
latest, volume II of Travel Diaries of a Naturalist was just
published in Great Britain.

After years of study of whales, fish and birds, why has
Antarctica become so important to you? 

I was brought up with the story of my father's expedition. I was
1-and-a half years old when he went away, and the news of his
death didn't come until I was about 2-and-a-half or 3 years old.
It's curious to some people that I didn't go to Antarctica in my
early years, but I was determined to make my career on my own -
not trade on my father's reputation.

So I thought that I would become a naturalist, which is one of
the things he wanted me to be. He wrote this in a letter, to my
mother, found in the tent where he died. "Make the boy
interested in natural history," he wrote. "It's better than
games, and they teach it at some schools."

My mother was quite clever at making me a naturalist, putting me
in the way of naturalists who were willing to spend time helping
me to get interested in natural history. So I can't remember a
time when I wasn't interested in natural history. But I didn't
become really interested in Antarctica until very much later. 

In 1966, I was invited by the admiral commanding (U.S.
Operation) Deep Freeze to fly down to the South Pole. I had come
to think it was sort of an empty vanity to say I wouldn't go
anywhere near the Antarctic for fear of trading on my father's
reputation, so I accepted this very kind invitation. I have been
there four times since.

The most memorable trip was in 1971. I had my wife and daughter
with me that time, and we went to all my father's huts. It was
very exciting to be able to take my then 18-year-old daughter
into her grandfather's hut.

Was it the five voyages that revealed to you the danger
Antarctica faces? 

Oh yes, I think I realized that straightaway, particularly on
that first trip. The Deep Freeze operation paid practically no
regard whatever to environmental values. They were throwing
their trash out onto ice floes and watching it float away. They
even had a nuclear power station-Nukie-poo, they called it-at
the base of Observation Hill. It has since been dismantled.

It seems that humans cannot resist uncharted land. Our instinct
is to develop, to see what can be produced from nature. We must
put our mark everywhere....

Well, this was certainly the old concept. I wonder if it isn't
getting totally outdated now. A lot of people are now coming to
believe that people shouldn't always leave their mark. "Take
nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints," as the
saying goes.

Is that what you think should be told to those who want to
explore for oil and minerals in Antarctica? 

I'll tell you what I think: I think that we ought, if we are
responsible people, to leave Antarctica alone - at any rate
for the foreseeable future. Nothing should happen in Antarctica
beyond what is being done at present - which is, at least in
theory, pure research. I am saying Antarctica should be a World
Park, untouchable; nobody should be allowed to exploit it. They
can explore it, yes, but they must not exploit it.

What about the argument that science can produce "safe"
exploitation? 

That's really the crux of it isn't it? I don't believe that any
exploitation is really "safe" in the Antarctica context. People
continue to make such terrible mistakes. And I don't believe
that the Antarctic continent belongs to the nations that signed
the Antarctic Treaty any more than it belongs to you or me. I
know that very few people will agree with that idea, but I
believe that somebody's got to say it.

You've worked on the International Whaling Commission for many
years. Has your experience working to safeguard whales given you
a lot of insights on efforts to save Antarctica? 

One thing I did learn: if you have a cause that you want to
advance, you start pulling toward what you want to do. Hard.
Other people are pulling the other way, and if you pull harder
than they do, the middle position comes over towards you. The
only thing you mustn't do is pull so damn hard that you bust the
string. Because if you do that, it rebounds the other way and
you're discredited. But you must pull, still. And a few people
have got to pull hardest of all, and go beyond what they know
they will achieve.

Your father had a great influence on your life, simply by
writing a letter. What advice would you give young people today?

Well, at what level do you want that sort of advice? I mean you
can get so pompous and sententious if your aren't careful.

I have seven grandchildren. I arranged for a plate to be made
with one of my drawings on it, to give to my grandson Peter at
his christening. One half of the plate needed some lettering so
I put on it something which is very pompous and tiresome,
really. I put this slogan: "Try always to be kind."

I think that you can't succeed in being kind all the time, but
you should try. It has some disadvantages - sometimes you get
soft when you oughtn't to be but it's not a bad precept.

It means you have to think of other people - what is kind to
them and what is unkind. I'm not really able to do it myself but
I think it's a worthwhile principle to bring a kid up on. I'm
hoping my grandson will try always to be kind.


So that's at the top level. What sort of advice do I give to
people when they are starting off? First of all I would tell
them they can do a lot worse than becoming, as I did, a
naturalist.

If one studies nature and becomes involved in it, is there a
certain kindness that might come of that? 

Yes, I think the two go together quite well. Being a naturalist
means taking an interest in wildlife and natural environments
and getting excited about the little things in the world, as
well as the big things. You find yourself caring very much about
conservation, and thinking that somehow or another you've got to
persuade people to become more conscious of conservation than
they presently are.

Do you think this environmental consciousness is emerging and
growing in the world? 

Oh, yes. I have spent my life trying to make people interested
in the natural world - trying to educate people. I'd go out and
shoot myself if I wasn't sure it was growing. Because I would
have failed. 

Well, maybe I wouldn't shoot myself. I'd just go out and get
drunk. 

Prospecting In Secrecy

When the Antarctic Treaty was being negotiated in 1959,
discussion of possible minerals exploitation was taboo. The
delegates skirted questions of whether oil or valuable minerals
might be there and if so, whether they should be extracted and
who should profit. But things have changed. Since 1977 the
nations that control the continent have convened seven closed
meetings in different cities around the world to work out a
regime for exploitating the Antarctic.

Despite the treaty nations' efforts to minimize publicity, these
secret deliberations have attracted the attention of the world.
But inside information is hard to get. Twice, after the 1983
meeting and prior to a United Nations debate on Antarctica in
1984, Greenpeace obtained and distributed copies of the draft
minerals treaties drawn up in these secret meetings. Before
this, the rest of the world had little knowledge of the treaty
nations' plans.

The proposals considered thus far in these meetings have been
criticized as highly inadequate to the job of comprehensively
protecting the fragile Antarctic environment. Nowhere in the
draft agreements obtained by Greenpeace is there any mention of
a mandatory environmental oversight mechanism and nowhere are
there any provisions for international enforcement of rules and
regulations. 


The draft treaty would allow for the granting of exploration and
exploitation contracts by majority vote of a 10-nation
regulatory committee. Thus, the future of vast tracts of acutely
sensitive wilderness could be decided by as few as six nations.
Pressures could be overwhelming for a vote that's agreeable to
powerful national business interests.

A gold rush mentality pervades discussions of Antarctica's
future. The treaty nations' insistence on secrecy and refusal to
discuss alternatives to exploitation are alienating the
international community. Benign scientific research is suffering
as national priorities are redirected to the minerals question.
"We are geopolitical pawns," one Antarctic ecologist told Life
magazine. And the negotiations have unfortunately resurrected
the divisive debate long set aside for the sake of cooperation-
the rights of those seven countries who claim Antarctic
territory. 

Greenpeace supports the creation of a protection regime which
would prohibit all minerals activities. "Let's draw the line
here," says Jim Barnes, international environmental lawyer.
"Antarctica is a scientific treasure chest where wildlife has a
chance to be in a largely natural state, something that could be
unique in the world by the next century."

ACTION ACCESS

The Bloody Hunt In the Faroes

The Faroes, a protectorate of Denmark, are 18 tightly grouped
islands lying between Iceland and Scotland in the North
Atlantic. For more than 400 years, pilot whales have been driven
ashore and killed. The practice began as a means of providing
food to the Faroese people. Today, however, an expanded fishing
industry provides the islands with both an alternative food
source and one of the highest standards of living in Europe.

Nevertheless, Faroese fishermen have greatly increased the
annual hunt. In the past, they killed an average of 850 pilot
whales per year; now, radio equipment and high-powered
motorboats have upped the kill to nearly 3,000.

This summer, Greenpeace voyaged to the Faroes to voice our
concerns to Prime Minister Atli P. Dam. Greenpeace asked that
the hunt be phased out and, in the interim, the Faroese
government more closely regulate the hunt, ban it from areas
other than beaches, limit the kill to the historical average of
850 and forbid the use of gaffs and hooks. Please write and urge
the Prime Minister to reduce the high kill level and implement
humane methods as a first step toward a phase out.             

Prime Minister Atli P. Dam 
Landesstryi Foroya
Tinganes, Torshavn
Faroe Islands
(via Copenhagen, Denmark)

Look What's In Store for You!

Green peace runs direct action campaigns all over the world. In
the U.S.A., it also runs four retail stores. When you give
a gift purchased from Greenpeace, you also give money to our
efforts to save the environment. Unique and creative gifts can
be found at:

612 Duval Street
Key West, FL 33040
(305) 296-4442

Thorne's Market
150 Main Street
Northampton, MA 01060

Greenpeace Cart
Boston's Downtown Crossing
Washington Street
(across from Filene's)

Greenpeace Store
125 Beach Street ff144
Santa Cruz, CA 95060
(408)425-1446


Interior Secretary Re-Leases Coast

As a result of new negotiations between Interior Secretary
Donald P. Hodel and major oil companies, the entire California
coastline is once again up for grabs. Less than two months after
he announced a "compromise," reached with key members of the
California Congressional delegation, that protected the majority
of the state's waters from drilling until the year 2000, Hodel
caved in to pressure from the oil industry and backed out of the
agreement. 

The compromise brought an end to a Congressionally mandated
four-year moratorium on oil exploration in environmentally
sensitive areas. The moratorium was enacted in response to the
extremist policies of former Secretary James Watt.

California's Congressional delegation is furious at having been
betrayed by Hodel. Senator Alan Cranston and Rep. Leon Panetta
have introduced bills in the Senate (S1668) and the House
(HR3373), to restore the original agreement. Write your
legislators and urge them to consider the importance of limiting
present offshore drilling programs and achieving a permanent
moratorium on offshore development.

Keep the Waste Ships in Port

Three years ago, a plan to burn toxic waste aboard incinerator
ships anchored off the Gulf coast of Florida was suspended
amidst public furore over contamination hazards. The EPA's
Science Advisory Board (SAB) insists that more research needs to
be done. Nevertheless, the EPA continues to push ocean
incineration as a method of toxic waste disposal.

Last spring, California Congresswoman Barbara Boxer introduced
HR 1295, the Ocean Incineration Research Act of 1985. The bill
requires that all health and safety questions raised by the
public and the EPA's own SAB be resolved before any ocean
incineration is permitted. The bill is currently under review by
a congressional subcommittee on oceanography, headed by Rep.
Barbara Mikulski of Maryland. 

HR 1295 needs support if it is to gain committee and subsequent
House approval. Write or call your Representative.


DISARMAMENT

Two days after French agents bombed and sunk the Rainbow Warrior
in July, and Greenpeace photographer Fernando Pereira drowned as
a result, ship's mate Martin Gotje spoke these words. "I'm angry
about Fernando and I'm angry about the Warrior. People talk
about revenge . . . Well, the sweetest 'revenge' will be to get
the French out of the Pacific with their nuclear testing. That
is why we must get the Peace Flotilla to Moruroa Atoll." 

Crewed by women and men of 11 nations, five ships left two
hemispheres in the next seven weeks. From Amsterdam, steamed the
Greenpeace; from New Zealand, sailed Alliance, Breeze, Varangian
and Vega, veteran of five voyages to Moruroa. As of early
November, two ships remain at the atoll Varangian, keeping watch
at Moruroa's 12-mile French territorial limit, and Vega, held
since October 24 when the French Navy boarded the ship seven
miles from Moruroa, four hours before a 5-kiloton nuclear bomb
was exploded there. 

So long as testing in the Pacific continues, the Greenpeace
campaign to end it goes onward. The crime against the Warrior
was great; the crime of nuclear testing far greater.

Tears for a Warrior A Painful Decision

Winter rain fell over Auckland in July as an elder of the Ngati
Whatua tribe of the Maori New Zealand's indigenous people, began
a "kai karanga," a keening chant performed by a woman. On the
wharf alongside the sunken Warrior, the Maori elders led the
Rainbow Warrior crew and a small group of Greenpeace supporters
in a ceremony that honored the ship, its achievements and the
life of Fernando Pereira, the Greenpeace photographer killed
when French agents bombed and sank the Warrior days earlier.
Through songs and prayers, the tears of Rangi-Tane, the sky
father, poured down-tears for the loss of one with spiritual
prestige, what the Maori call "mana."

The Rainbow Warrior remained stuck at the bottom of Auckland
harbor for six weeks following the ceremony, while everyone from
curious onlooker to skilled engineer speculated on its chances
for salvage and repair. "I hate to be pessimistic," said Warrior
radio operator Lloyd Anderson. "But the damage done is not going
to be some-thing we can fix by putting on a patch and washing
out the ship with a fire hose. The crew is prepared to do
whatever we can to see her sail again but the cost - if it's
possible to recover the boat at all - will be staggering." 

Tug boats towed the ship into dry dock at the New Zealand Navy
base in Auckland on August 22 - five weeks later the Warrior had
been made sufficiently watertight to float. But the prognosis
for repair was grim. "The Warrior's in a sorry state indeed,"
said Maureen Falloon, executive director of Greenpeace's marine
division. "She's a far picture from the ship I saw off last
March when it sailed for the Pacific from Florida." On September
26, the boat was moved to a berth lent to Greenpeace by
Auckland's harbor board. 

There the crippled Rainbow Warrior waited for a decision, while
on the other side of the globe, Greenpeace council trustees
gathered in southern England for their annual meeting.
Representatives of 15 national Greenpeace offices surveyed photo
documentation of the extensive destruction to the ship. They
reviewed detailed lists of damages, and the reports that
explained the lists. They evaluated repair estimates that would
swallow enormous chunks of Greenpeace campaign funds.
Throughout, the question of what to do with the Warrior caused
every bit as much pain as they knew it would. Opinions were
varied, and emotions, deep and strong. 

In the end, the venerable Warrior learned the Pacific it had
sailed so recently would forever be its home. "A decent burial
at sea is the only honorable end for this ship," said Green
peace Chairman David McTaggart after Greenpeace accepted a
proposal from the New Zealand Underwater Association.
"Undertaking to repair her is just not practical." The Warrior
will be thoroughly cleaned of pollutants, then sunk in
approximately 100 feet of water off the New Zealand coast.
Acting as an artificial reef, the ship will become a haven for
the marine life she campaigned to protect and a "museum" for
divers peacefully exploring the sea.    


A story of Alliance

Gael Johnson, 26, is navigator aboard the ketch-rigged,
Alliance, a 42-foot steel scow that's part of the Pacific Peace
Flotilla. The following narrative, based on a letter from Gael,
begins at approximately 24 degrees south of the equator and 17
degrees west of Moruroa. It's September 25, and the crew of
Alliance has to make a decision.

As Rurutu island appears on the horizon, we feel drawn, maybe
homesick: her bare and scrubby hills look not unlike New
Zealand's peaks. But the shore is fringed with white sand, spray
flies from the reef and coconut palms are everywhere. This is
Polynesia.

Against all odds, we have made it almost due east from
Rarotonga, "motor sailing" with winds that never blow here -
westerlies! With the help of old tarpaulins that we sewed into
huge square sails and attached to bamboo poles, we've been
pushing along at four knots, using only half a gallon of diesel
per hour. But to make it to Moruroa in time to join the other
ships, we'll need more fuel.

As Rurutu grows bigger, the seven people of our crew gather in
the wheelhouse to debate. Should Alliance risk approaching a
French-governed island for fuel? On the way to stop the bomb at
Moruroa, are we fools for even considering the port? Tony [Tony
Still, 35, owner and skipper of Alliance] goes below to soothe
the hiccups of our old Ailsa Craig, motor of many odd noises.
Above, we radio to Rurutu. No reply. We read and reread our book
of pilot regulations. We decide to go in.

After we tie up, a few locals gather. "Sharleen," who speaks
English, volunteers to go ring the gendarme for us so we can
report our entry. She runs back. "He is coming quickly. The
gendarme is very, very interested in you and your boat." We feel
a tingle.

The gendarme arrives, then drives off with Tony and Ladd [Ladd
Holroyd, 22, deckhand], who speaks French. The rest of us, with
no permission to walk the French-claimed soil, stay on board
Alliance. I study the almost-full moon's reflection on the
water, and think about the many people who are connected to us
being here. 

Frank [Frank Gaglia, 26, radio operator] has been lounging in
the wheelhouse with his darling radios, and suddenly one word is
loud and clear: "Vega, Vega . . . " It's Peter Willcox!
[Willcox, former captain of the Rainbow Warrior, was aboard the
Vega as radio operator.] Frank makes contact and tells him we
are in Rurutu. 

"Could you spell that, Frank?"

"Romeo Uniform Romeo Uniform Tango Uniform."

"Do you anticipate any delay?" Peter drawls. (Does he really
mean: "Will the French force you to stay at Rurutu?")

"Negative, Peter," says Frank. "Negative. No delay anticipated.
Estimated time of departure: tomorrow morning. Over."

"ETA Moruroa?"

"Ten days," says Frank. (Ten days? With a lot of luck, I think.)
Goodbye, Peter. We love you.            

At last the gendarme returns with Tony and Ladd. It seems he is
impress ed by our nighttime navigation of to. channel. The
conversation is polite. tells us we can go to a restaurant
nearby for dinner, then leaves. After dinner we return to the
boat. Paul, who's kept watch, reports that the gendarme has
revisited Alliance - and taken our passports and gone.
Evidently, he's had his ear on a telephone line to somewhere
outside of this remote paradise. We go to sleep. A ragged
night.          

At dawn, there is a woman alone on the wharf, watching the boat.
She calls to me: "You go to Mururoa?" "Tahiti," I say, but
answer "Yes!" with my eyes. I go ashore. The woman has a strong
face, watery dark eyes and tattoos on her hand. She tells me her
name is Ingrid. And she knows where Alliance is heading and why.
If the French would give us self-government," she whispers, "we
 would say no to their tests." She speaks of Oscar Temaru, the
mayor of Tahiti's second-largest city, Faa. I tell her we are
carrying a letter to give him. He has "heart and love," Ingrid
says. We clasp hands and touch cheeks. She cries almost, but is
strong.

Sometime after 1 o'clock, Tony and Ladd return from a 10 a.m.
appointment at the gendarme's office. With them are two
uniformed gendarmes, a Customs official from Tahiti and a
doctor. Do they want coffee? No. Well, yes. Then one of the
gendarmes asks to see our papers for the radio, and Tony gets
the box where they're kept. He brings it down and opens it up
and from the top of the paper-pile stares a word: the green-
inked "Greenpeace" of letterhead stationary.

The gendarme speaks first. "I know you are planning to go to
Moruroa," he says and signals the Customs agent to begin
searching the boat. The agent removes the letter for Oscar
Temaru from my handbag - but when the gendarme isn't looking, he
gives it back. "It is not good for the gendarme to see this," he
warns, and tells me the letter's words have touched him. Later,
I give him a pin with a "P" on it - for "peace" to give to his
grandson, whose birthday it is. When Alliance was in Rarotonga,
a young girl gave me the pin. 

A reporter, now, has materialized from somewhere and stands on
the ship's deck observing. The gendarme asks Tony questions.
"How many are on the ship Breeze?" "How long will you stay at
Moruroa?" And, finally, "What is your strategy?"

Well, well . . . what can we tell him about "strategy"? That we
carry letters designed specially to corrupt Customs agents? That
we held tactical training in New Zealand, and diagrammed a plot
to deliver a pin from a girl in Rarotonga to a boy in Rurutu?

Our strategy is much simpler. Part of it is to bear witness to
nuclear tests, atrocities committed against the earth. Part of
it is to carry information on nuclear testing, waste dumping and
radiation to the islands and people we visit. Part of it is to
deliver, too, whatever hope and energy we can. Our strategy is
embodied by five ships sailing through a huge ocean, united as
a flotilla for peace. It calls out from the prow of our ship.
Our strategy is our name: alliance.            
--Elyse Chiland

In Rurutu, Alliance received a permit that will allow it to
visit the islands of French Polynesia for up to three months.
The ship loaded more fuel, and set out on the last third of its
2,300-mile voyage to Moruroa. 

Three days before the Greenpeace arrived off Moruroa, the
foreign ministers of Australia and Chile condemned French
nuclear testing in speeches to the United Nations General
Assembly. Aboard the Greenpeace, campaign coordinator Gerd
Leipold noted that "the enormous sums of money France is
spending to have its naval vessels watch us would be far better
spent in aiding the victims of radiation from exposure to
nuclear weapons tests. " The Greenpeace - from the English
Channel to Moruroa - was shadowed by French warships, a reminder
that French President Mitterrand threatened force to counter the
Peace Flotilla.


Atkinson Report: Stilted Science

A sparkling acquittal is what you might expect from a murder
trial in which the prosecution, its witnesses and evidence, are
chosen in advance by the defense council. But that isn't the
result of the controversial Atkinson Report, a scientific review
by an international team of scientists who, in 1983, spent four
days at Moruroa reviewing areas and evidence made available by
French hosts. 

The scientists were forbidden from monitoring an actual nuclear
explosion, and certain areas of the atoll were off limits.
Health statistics contained in their report were furnished by
the French and cannot be regarded as adequate, in particular
because detailed information on causes of death, was, until
recently, available only for deaths occurring in hospitals.
Still, the report provides enough fodder for independent
scientists to draw conclusions discounting the French
government's claim that the report shows Moruroa's geological
structure ensures maximum safety for underground tests.

The French moved their tests at Moruroa underground in 1976 and
have since exploded more than 70 bombs. It is believed that
until a couple of years ago, the bombs were exploded beneath the
atoll's reef and that since then, tests have taken place deep
beneath Moruroa's lagoon. Why did France's nuclear scientists
relocate the tests? 

Quite possibly, according to Manfred Hochstein, director of
Auckland University's Geothermal Institute, because pressure
from the blasts caused a layer of clay that helps support the
atoll - a layer French scientists said was "impermeable" and
prevented radioactive seawater from moving up from the explosion
and into the lagoon - to compact; part of the reef subsided and
became submerged.

The French claim that about 95 percent of the radioactivity
generated by a nuclear test is encased by molten rock
surrounding the bomb blast deep within the earth. In the
Atkinson Report's summary, it is estimated that contaminated
seawater moves up from the explosion area at the low rate of one
meter per year. Therefore, the report's long-term review of
testing effects accepts an estimate of 500 to 1,000 years for
radioactive material to reach the lagoon. These statistics, say
Hochstein and Dr. George Grindley, chief project geologist of
the Geological Survey in New Zealand, are scientifically
unacceptable; they are based on rock sampled prior to testing
and do not represent conditions which now exist.           


Rongelap Update

The Marshallese people of Rongelap Atoll, who moved to Mejato 
Island last May with the help of the Rainbow Warrior, have
completed shelters for everyone living on the island, reports
Rongelap Senator Jeton Anjain. Fishing in the surrounding waters
has been good, and the people are now clearing land to plant
fruits and vegetables.

Rongelap's people asked Greenpeace at the end of 1984 to help
them move from their traditional home where radiation - and a
legacy of stillbirths miscarriages, thyroid cancer and leukemia
- remains as the result of United States nuclear tests in the
Pacific during the 1940s and '50s. 

The 350 people now living on Mejato, 120 of whom are children,
need cloth. Cotton material is best. Queries and donations
should be directed to Sebia Hawkins or Elyse Chiland at
Greenpeace, 1611 Connecticut Ave. N.W. Washington, D.C. 20009
USA, telephone (202) 462-1177.


Non-Proliferation Treaty: Vote for Disarmament

BY ANDRE CAROTHERS

Geneva, Wednesday, September 19: With 48 hours left in the four
week conference, the 86 nations in attendance were deadlocked.
All major issues relating to the Third Review of the Non-
proliferation Treaty had been largely resolved, save one - the
nuclear test ban. On one side were the United states and the
United Kingdom adamant in their opposition to any initiative
that would interfere with the Reagan administration's weapons
development plans. On the other, more than 80 of the 130 nations
party to the NPT, all of which had come to Geneva to demand an
end to nuclear tests.

Greenpeace was there, working to ensure that the call for an end
to the arms race was heard around the world. Six Greenpeace
representatives met with all the prominent non-weapons states,
sharing information and ideas on ways to organize an effective
effort to end nuclear testing.

It took 48 hours of back room negotiating, but by Friday
afternoon the two camps had reached an agreement. Instead of a
vote, the Conference, except for "certain states" (read: the
U.S. and U.K.), resolved that negotiations on a treaty to end
nuclear testing should resume "in 1985." 

While not as noticeable as a highly public vote, the con census
document is nevertheless a clear and strong indictment of the
U.S. position: the Reagan administration has not only rejected
out of hand the Soviet offer of a five-month testing moratorium,
it has also all but abandoned the pretence that a Comprehensive
Test Ban (CTB) cannot be verified. The Reagan administration
wants to continue testing for nuclear weapons development.
Period. 

Why didn't the non-nuclear nations push for the vote? First of
all, organizing dozens of countries with diverse goals and
opinions into a lobbying force is difficult, and few nations
wanted to take the lead in opposing the United states. The U.S.
worked hard to prevent a vote, lobbying key nations in advance
and deploying a dozen lobbyists and international lawyers in
Geneva. Finally, several nations indicated they no longer saw
any potential for influencing the weapons states' defense
policies in multilateral for a such as the NPT. 

In 1995, the signatories will meet to decide if the NPT treaty
is worth keeping. Its survival past that date is by no means
guaranteed. Because of the continuing arms race, several
signatories are considering leaving the NPT, and others, such as
France and China, have refused to join.

Ultimately, of course, all nations' interests are served by a
strong and effective NPT. The NPT is one of the only
international impediments to uncontrolled global commerce in
uranium and plutonium. It is also one of the few international
agreements around which a global disarmament process can begin.
For the NPT to be truly effective in slowing the arms race, the
non-nuclear nations must be willing to organize and act on their
beliefs. For the NPT to survive and be truly effective in
stopping the spread of nuclear weapons, the United States and
the Soviet Union must accede to the treaty nations' demands for
real arms control. An informed and active public is crucial to


Rarotonga Treaty


The South Pacific is now a nuclear free zone. On August 6, the
South Pacific Forum, a 13-nation coalition including Australia,
New Zealand and island nations such as Fiji and Tonga, agreed to
a treaty banning the testing and placement of nuclear weapons,
and the dumping of radioactive waste, in the South Pacific. 

The agreement, known as the Treaty of Rarotonga, is an important
step, solidifying regional opposition to France's testing
program and providing a political foundation to global anti
testing efforts. It does not, however affect significant nuclear
activities such as testing of unarmed missiles and establishment
of support facilities (the U.S. maintains extensive command,
control, communications and intelligence networks here). Efforts
by several nations to strengthen the treaty's anti-nuclear
provisions failed during negotiations; for this reason, Vanuatu
has decided not to ratify. 


Free at Last

After over two years of captivity in East Germany (German
Democratic Republic), the Greenpeace hot air balloon, Trinity,
is free. On October 11th at 10 a.m., Greenpeace Germany Director
Harald Zindler received the $15,000 dollar balloon at checkpoint
Zarrentinn/Hagenow in exchange for a little more than $3,000 - 
to cover "costs of transport, surveillance and telephone calls."

The Trinity has been in East Germany since August 28, 1983. On
that day, Greenpeace campaigners Gerd Leipold and John Sprange
guided it into West Berlin airspace, flying banners in protest
of continued nuclear testing by the United States, the Soviet
Union, the United Kingdom and France. They crossed the Berlin
Wall and landed in East German territory near Gross-Ziethen,
where they were arrested and extradited to West Germany. 

But the balloon stayed behind, kept in custody by East German
authorities. Over the next two years, despite pleas from
Greenpeace to East German police headquarters, the cabinet
council and the Ministry of Transport, East Germany refused to
yield the balloon.

Greenpeace tried again after the bombing of the Rainbow Warrior.
"We urge you to help us get our balloon back, " said the
Greenpeace appeal. "We will use it the way we have in the past -
as a peace messenger to campaign against nuclear weapons."

In addition to the balloon, East German officers at the
checkpoint gave Zindler a written demand that Greenpeace respect
their nation's airspace and borders in the future. Zindler
responded honestly: "We will use the Trinity in future campaigns
wherever we feel it's necessary."


'L'Affaire,' In Context

BY DOUGLAS LAVALLEE

L'Express, a leading French weekly, tried to sum it up:

"News of the affair has become such a scandal and such an
embroglio that there is hardly any chance for authorities to get
out of it without designating as guilty one of their key
characters . . . " 

Following what appears to be the international norm in reporting
on the incident, L'Express took a narrow view of the "news." The
French government's culpability, which unfortunately dominated
the headlines, goes well beyond a bungled bit of terrorism. By
persisting with its nuclear weapons testing program in the South
Pacific, this country has ignored the demands of the
international community and a ruling of the International Court
of Justice, it endangers the health of thousands and the
integrity of the Pacific marine ecosystem and it continues to
behave more like a backward dictatorship than a civilized
nation. The real news is not in the offices of the French secret
service but at Moruroa - where French President Mitterrand
detonated another nuclear bomb on October 25 - and in
Washington, where the Reagan administration's definition of
terrorism has apparently been amended so as not to include "la
variete Francaise."

What irks France's ardent defenders most about "L'Affaire
Greenpeace" (a popular press label taken from "L'Affaire
Dreyfus," a turn-of-the-century French military scandal) is that
the operation was bungled. Two agents implicated in the bombing
were arrested in New Zealand and await trial on charges of
murder and arson. Meanwhile, the concern at France's Elysee, the
Presidential Palace, has been to save face. 

When President Mitterrand took power in 1981, he brought in an
old friend, Charles Hernu, as defense minister. Hernu was the
architect of the Socialists' new-found enthusiasm for expanding
France's nuclear arsenal, what President Charles de Gaulle named
the "force de frappe." It was Hernu who agreed to allow French
secret service (DGSE) agents to "reflect on ways and means to
counteract" Greenpeace actions in the South Pacific, and Hernu
who underlined the word "anticiper" in a memo on Greenpeace from
the head of the nuclear testing center at Moruroa. The verb
"anticiper" often means to "prevent" or "deliberately
forestall."

Did Mitterand know? The money to blow up the Warrior came from
a special fund earmarked for security purposes and managed by
General Jean Saulnier, the President's chief of staff. Normally,
Mitterrand would have been told of any such transaction.

In the end, L'Express' narrow analysis proved correct. President
Mitterrand fired a "key character," Hernu, who said he didn't
know a team had been sent to blow up the ship. Admiral Pierre
Lacoste, head of the DGSE, refused to talk and was also ousted.
With this token bit of housecleaning (the only people the French
government has actually arrested are those who leaked
information to the press) the Mitterrand administration hopes
the issue will go away.

In fact, the question of who knew and who didn't has long lost
its fascination, at least for those who can see beyond cloak-
and-dagger headlines. The real story is one of global security.
The French government apparently believes bombing and murder in
defense of its nuclear program to be in the national interest.
And the Reagan administration has given that defense its tacit
approval, in the form of a deafening silence, believing that to
be in the United states' national interest. These are the
lengths, then, that the international nuclear obsession
requires. And the popular press chatters on, ignoring the
obvious threat to survival that the sloppy sabotage of a
Greenpeace ship forbodes.

Greenpeace is suing the government of France. The organization
has accepted legal assistance on a pro bono basis from a team of
attorneys led by Lloyd Cutler, an internationally known lawyer
and special council to President Carter on the Salt II Treaty.
We can never replace the Rainbow Warrior, and we can never
collect money for the value of Fernando's life. But we owe it to
the Warrior and our supporters to continue the ship's campaigns.
We want payment only for what was lost, where what was lost can
be paid for.


The Stuff of Which Bombs are Made

The Australian government has declared at home and at the United
Nations its opposition to the arms race in general and France's
Pacific nuclear testing program in particular. Like many nuclear
exporters Australia purports to keep close tabs on the ultimate
destination of its milled uranium (yellow cake), and expressly
prohibits transfers of Australian yellow cake to France. In
short, Australia's anti-nuclear credentials appear, if not
impeccable, then at least in order.

That's why there was such a public outcry on September 19th when
Greenpeace publicized a letter, written by an official of a West
German company, that revealed Australian uranium was being sold
to France. And that's why Greenpeace launched a blockade of the
British-registered container ship Clydebank as it attempted to
dock at Darwin on September 21st and load nearly 100 tons of
Australian uranium headed for destinations unknown. "By
intervening at this stage," said Greenpeace campaigner Michelle
Sheather, "Greenpeace is focusing attention on the
contradictions of Australia's uranium export policy and its role
in fuelling the global arms race." 

Enormous quantities of weapons grade uranium and plutonium exist
in reactors, storehouses and warheads around the world. The bomb
that destroyed Hiroshima contained one kilogram of uranium; the
United States and Soviet Union probably have more than one
million kilograms in military stockpiles. 

Despite elaborate international safeguards, global commerce in
nuclear weapons material is almost impossible to control.
Australia may well be supplying the uranium for the French test
explosions it so vigorously condemns. Some observers declare
that diversion of weapons material into the hands of
international terrorists is inevitable. Green peace believes
Australia's best contribution to promoting arms control and
averting the threat of nuclear terrorism or radioactive
contamination would be to end its role as global supplier of
uranium. 
-Reported by Melanie Thiedeman, coordinator, Greenpeace
Australia uranium campaign