Kirsha Kaechele’s plan for Tasmania’s forestry industry

Artist Kirsha Kaechele, Mona’s other half, believes Tasmania should lead the world in forestry practices. To aid radical diplomacy between foresters and environmentalists, she’s establishing a forest embassy.

Kirsha Kaechele. Picture: Mona/Jesse Hunniford

I love loggers. They are real men (yes, most of them are men). At the Timber Tasmania Gala, my girlfriend leaned over and whispered: “Wow, I haven’t seen actual men like this in a while.”

Sylvia Elphinstone raised an approving eyebrow.

We watched her husband, forester Graeme Elphinstone, receive his lifetime achievement award. To my right, Steve Whiteley noted my interest in a seat on the Sustainable Timber Tasmania board (if they’ll have me). The Britton sawmill boys and I danced into the night. Neville-Smith’s crew joined in.

Then came the chainsaw cowboy, who showed me a video of himself felling a massive tree – hollow, on fire, flames exploding upward like a chimney. By 4am, we’d shut down the Wrangler Bar and set out on a tequila-fuelled tour of Launceston’s night clubs.

“I’m the only greenie in the room!” I shouted.

“We’re all conservationists,” one logger corrected me.

Tasmania's Styx Valley. Picture: Steve Pearce, The Tree Projects.

Foresters are good people. Protesters are good people. Both bear the scars of conflict.

In my three-year immersion into the world of logging, I’ve learnt there is such a thing as good native forestry. Good foresters don’t loot and run – they collaborate with nature and think generationally. A well-managed native forest is a permaculture garden – rich in wildlife and attuned to the tapestry of nature.

Plantations, by contrast, are monocultures: poisoned, fertilised, stripped of biodiversity. They have their place (someone must supply the matchsticks), but the idea that plantations are the only forestry acceptable is anathema to me.

A conservation CEO said, “When we improve plantations, they’ll be more biodiverse.”

I replied, “When perfected, they’ll look like well-managed native forests”.

The debate rages. Leading environmental organisations say “end all native logging”. Several Australian states have. In Tasmania there’s little consensus, only stalemate.

Kirsha Kaechele, of Mona. Picture: Rosie Hastie

And then there’s the Styx Valley. Coupe TN062G. Or Puralia’s Stand. Where Palawa elder Uncle Jim Everett was arrested.

An emerald sanctuary of mossy carpets, fern chandeliers, sassafras candelabras, and a gum as wide as a truck – 4.4m across. A breathing symphony of life. A fairyland.

It is due to be logged imminently.

I’ve been transparent with my logger friends: I don’t support old-growth logging. Most foresters, in truth, don’t either.

As Graeme Elphinstone himself says, “Some forests should never be touched.”

One industry CEO put it: “It’s very hard to say we’re sustainable when the world sees images of single-log trucks carrying rainforest giants. Everything we do must be defensible in the court of public opinion.”

But then come the questions from industry. “What about the forest we’ve already locked up? Will nothing ever be enough?”

I understand the frustration. The Tasmanian Forest Agreement protected huge swathes of forest, incorporating them into the Wilderness World Heritage Area. This shrank the productive estate to the point that harvesting at existing quotas became unsustainable. The deal satisfied no one: the industry felt strangled; environmentalists felt betrayed. But it was an agreement.

With time comes change. Pristine ecosystems grow rarer, and thus more valuable. Public values shift – the court of public opinion now extends into actual courts, with the Hague drafting legislation on ecocide. Economies evolve: carbon and biodiversity markets mean old forests may be worth more left standing, while eco-tourism demand surges, creating new revenue streams. The long-term wellbeing of communities demands a strategy that looks beyond the next harvest.

Kirsha Kaechele, who organised the Forest Economics Congress at Mona, in 2023. Picture: Rosie Hastie

For many Tasmanians this is spiritual. They see old growth forests as cathedrals. Walking through coupe TN062G, I can see why. Just because one of your children is safe doesn’t mean you’d sacrifice another.

Old growth forests are diamonds. Priceless and rare. We’ll all be richer if we keep them.

So I am establishing an embassy, I will take up residence in an old-growth forest and host leaders from all sides of the conversation. Two years on from the Forest Economics Congress, where we hosted 120 forest leaders at Mona, the task of getting people to the table is less daunting.

Many, on both sides of the debate, have said they are ready for a new deal.

Over formal dinners with the forest as backdrop we will discuss what is possible.

Tasmania should lead the world in forestry practice. But we must decide on a pragmatic path forward. It should be guided by First Nations voices; it must consider how we continue to supply traditional Tasmanian artisans with specialty timbers without undermining environmental values; it must ensure that rural communities shape their own futures and that profits stay with locals, not outside investors. It must balance the needs of industry with ecological integrity.

Kirsha Kaechele. Picture: Mona/Jesse Hunniford

And we must consider land swaps – trading ancient forest for lower-significance coupes already logged in the past. Although difficult for many to consider, this may present the most immediate opportunity to save old-growth forests.

This isn’t about sacrifice. It’s about abundance. Imagination. Courage.

This may shock my environmentalist friends, but:

Dear loggers, I know I’m annoying. But I love you. I love your families, your courage, your chainsaw-laden Facebook pages, your authentic Tasmanian culture.

And I love old-growth forests. Take the lead and protect them. Make Tasmania’s forest industry the best in the world.

Boys, please: don’t touch fairyland.

No logger left behind.

No paradise lost.

Kirsha Kaechele is a US-born artist and curator, now based in Hobart