In a Perth courtroom this spring, elders from the Yindjibarndi nation watched as their lawyers revealed dramatic claims in a landmark case. Court filings show the Yindjibarndi Ngurra Aboriginal Corporation is seeking A$1.8 billion in compensation from the Western Australian government after it allowed the Fortescue mining company to dig iron ore on their sacred country without any land-use agreement. The filings say the Solomon iron‑ore mine has “damaged their land and people”, forcing the group to claim A$1 billion for cultural harm and A$678 million for lost income.

This fight over the Pilbara mine is not an isolated spat — it hints at a much larger problem. A new study finds that nearly four out of five of Australia’s critical mineral projects sit on Indigenous lands. In fact, 57.8 per cent of operating critical mineral sites are on land where First Nations people hold native title rights, and that jumps to 79.2 per cent if pending native title claims are included. The Yindjibarndi lawsuit and these figures together paint a stark picture: Australia’s so‑called clean energy and mineral boom is playing out on the continent’s oldest lands, often without full consent from the people who belong there.

Most mines stand on country under native title

Australia’s critical mineral rush is happening at a huge scale. Geoscience Australia and academic researchers used industry data to map nearly three thousand sites involving minerals like lithium, cobalt and rare earths. Of those, 379 were active mines when the study was done, and 219 of them (57.8 per cent) were on land where Indigenous Australians hold legal rights. When you add in projects on land under native title claims, the share jumps to 79.2 per cent.

In other words, almost four in five of these new mines are on country that belongs, legally or in claim, to First Nations peoples. These figures come from a peer-reviewed UQ-led study that plotted mining and mineral data against official maps of Indigenous land rights

The government has noticed the money in these minerals. Australia’s 2024–25 budget set aside A$566.1 million over ten years for Geoscience Australia to make new maps and data showing where deposits lie. In announcements, officials praised this as a “generational investment” to find the resources needed to build batteries and renewables.

The federal Critical Minerals Strategy also brags of creating jobs “including for … First Nations communities”. But critics say most of the cash and attention is going to miners and tech, not to Indigenous people who often don’t get a real share.

Even as this boom accelerates, First Nations experts warn it’s ignoring their rights. “First Nations people in Australia are being largely ignored in the federal government’s accelerated push for critical minerals exploration and development”, said Chris Croker, co-chair of the First Nations Clean Energy Network. A new report notes that without major policy changes, “existing social, economic and governance problems may endure or potentially worsen”. In short, the numbers show this is a boom on Aboriginal lands — but much of the wealth and power still stays out of Indigenous hands.

Billions made while Yindjibarndi fight for justice

The Yindjibarndi case lays bare how one mine can drive people to the brink. In 2017, Yindjibarndi elders won exclusive native title rights over the Solomon Hub in the Pilbara — the very area where Fortescue Metals started mining in 2012. “Native title” is the legal doctrine that recognizes Aboriginal land rights after European settlement. But by the time title was granted, the mining giant had already ripped into the earth for five years without asking the Yindjibarndi people’s permission.

Yindjibarndi witnesses say Fortescue began mining in 2013 under the state government’s green light, “without any permissions or discussions with native title holders”, according to their court submissions.

What happened next was severe cultural loss. Anthropologists hired by Yindjibarndi report that Fortescue’s operations smashed at least 285 archaeological sites and cut through six “Dreaming tracks” — sacred songlines that map creation stories across the land These sites are the living memory of Yindjibarndi history. As one report notes, “the significant harm to the country, people and Dreamings continues”.

Court lawyers told the judge that Fortescue’s mine tore apart social bonds that link birth, marriage, song and ceremony. As senior counsel Tina Jowett explained, it has caused “strong emotions” and “bereavement in the community” because their ties to country were so vital. In short, the mine has left a heavy spiritual and emotional burden on the Yindjibarndi people.

Meanwhile, the state and Fortescue argue this damage isn’t legally compensable under today’s law. They flatly challenge the Yindjibarndi price tag, with Fortescue saying “disharmony” in the community is not covered by the Native Title Act. But these facts are striking: the Pilbara iron ore rush has made Western Australia around A$9 billion in royalties (with about a quarter from iron ore).

Fortescue alone took home about US$80 billion in revenue from Solomon Hub since 2013. Yet, the Yindjibarndi are asking for only a tiny portion of that — A$1.8 billion — to account for damage done over a decade. In effect, a mine feeding WA’s budget and Fortescue’s profits is being fought over by the traditional owners who never agreed to it. This single case is a fierce example of the gap between the benefits reaped and the costs borne by First Nations.

Renewables still mirror old mining patterns

It’s not the only one. Across Australia, other huge projects loom on Indigenous country. In South Australia, the traditional owners of the Nullarbor Plain — the Mirning people are negotiating with developers building the Western Green Energy Hub. This proposed clean energy complex (25 million solar panels and 3000 wind turbines) could be the world’s largest renewable project, worth about US$75 billion.

It sits squarely on Mirning land, and the Mirning have secured a 10 per cent free stake and a board seat in the project. Still, they had to fight for that deal, setting a rare example of meaningful partnership. In the Pilbara, the Yindjibarndi Energy Corporation (YEC) has teamed up with a global developer ACEN to plan a 3 GW solar and hydrogen hub.

The YEC has reportedly agreed to get 25–50 per cent equity in the projects, meaning the Yindjibarndi would finally be owners of power and products made on their land. Even in these renewable ventures, the pattern is clear: First Nations groups must negotiate hard for real inclusion. If projects went ahead without them, the result would look much like what happened at Solomon Hub — one-sided and unjust.

In fact, the federal Critical Minerals Strategy commits billions to promoting mining and processing, but offers no dedicated funds to ensure Aboriginal communities benefit. Huge loans and subsidies ($4 billion for a “Critical Minerals Facility”, for example) go to miners and project developers, while nothing is explicitly set aside for First Nations participation. In the name of clean energy and critical metals, companies and governments are once again driving a coach and horses through native land — a modern echo of colonial resource grabs.

Green colonialism repeats old injustices

The phrase “green colonialism” has begun to circulate among activists and scholars. It refers to the way climate-friendly industries can replicate old injustices if they ignore Indigenous rights. In Australia, the overlaps are striking: clean energy and battery materials are supposed to save the planet, yet their extraction is imperilling the people of the land.

As researcher John Burton of the University of Queensland says, these critical mineral policies “must consider Indigenous peoples’ rights and interests in land upfront — not as an afterthought”. So far, however, they mostly have been an afterthought.

The facts expose the mismatch. The national strategy talks about “genuine partnerships” and benefits for First Nations, but observers see the plan as more slogan than substance. Government plans promise to make a clean energy superpower and to extract more value onshore (including jobs for Indigenous communities), yet years after those words, mining licences still often get signed without Free, Prior and Informed Consent.

The human costs are real. After Rio Tinto blew up the Juukan Gorge caves in 2020 — another Pilbara disaster public outcry forced talk of reform, yet real changes are slow. For every mining company claiming green credentials, critics recall the colonial past. Research shows that since colonisation, “expropriation of Indigenous peoples’ lands for mining has been occurring” and that Indigenous peoples have not shared fairly in the wealth.

One reason is that most First Nations communities are highly disadvantaged economically. Pouring money into new technologies will do little to close that gap unless communities have real ownership.

Beyond Australia, the same pattern appears globally. Some studies find that more than half of global lithium or rare earth resources lie in or near Indigenous territories. If Australia’s mines require 80 per cent of development on First Nations’ land, imagine the pressure worldwide.

Native Title Act offers talk, not power

Part of the problem is legal: Australian law doesn’t guarantee Aboriginal people a final say. Under the Native Title Act 1993, Indigenous landowners have a “right to negotiate” when a mining company comes knocking. In practice, though, this right does not mean they can veto a project. The state can still approve a mine if negotiations drag out, leaving communities to sue after the fact instead of having any power up front.

International norms are stricter. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (endorsed by Australia in 2009) says Aboriginal people should give “free, prior and informed consent” (FPIC) for any development on their lands. It’s not just rhetoric: free, prior and informed consent means projects should only go ahead if the community agrees in advance, with full information.

The Mirning people, for example, insist that any work on their land must meet that standard. But at the federal and state levels, FPIC is still not a formal legal requirement. In fact, Aboriginal claimants often have to spend years in court arguing that consent was never sought.

The Yindjibarndi case highlights this gap. Their lawyers note that Fortescue’s Solomon Hub got state approval in 2013 even though the Yindjibarndi — who had native title rights by then — never consented. Traditional Owners argue this violates not only their culture but basic fairness. Yindjibarndi chair Michael Woodley told reporters this case “could have the power to reshape how mining’s cultural, social and economic impacts on First Nations people are understood”. He hopes the courts will force a new balance: if companies take resources from their land, owners should get a set percentage of royalties or benefits.

In short, real consent remains elusive. Aboriginal leaders insist any new mine or wind farm must genuinely respect their authority over country, not just tick a legal checkbox. They point out that current policy praises partnerships but lacks teeth. Right now, if a company says it consulted (even poorly) and the government nods, a project can proceed — leaving Indigenous people to fight in court later for scraps. Critics say that is no kind of consent at all.

Green future cannot be built on old colonial ways

What does all this add up to? The Yindjibarndi fight is a test case. If the court grants even part of their $1.8 billion claim, it will open the door to many more claims for “past damage to their land”. It would send a signal that neglecting Aboriginal rights carries consequences, even in the name of urgent climate goals. First Nations communities around Australia are watching closely. They know that roughly three-quarters of the clean-energy minerals boom has been built on their lands, and they want it to stop being one-sided.

The facts speak for themselves: the Pilbara mine has given billions to state and industry, but Yindjibarndi people still have no agreement. Western Green Energy’s developers offer Mirning a board seat only after years of pressure. ACEN’s Pilbara project only gives Yindjibarndi people a share after relentless advocacy. In each case, the pattern is the same — Indigenous consent is negotiated for after the minerals are already in sight, not before the shovel hits ground.

The takeaway is clear: Australia’s clean energy boom is still running roughshod over Indigenous rights. If the country is serious about justice, it must rewrite the story. Only by ensuring free, prior and informed consent, genuine land deals, and fair benefit sharing can the so-called green revolution avoid becoming just the old colonial mission in new clothing. The Yindjibarndi case may be just one headline, but the message is national: renewable energy and mining cannot truly be “clean” unless they respect the people whose lands they call home.

Image: Fortescue’s Solomon Mine site (Wikimedia Commons)
 

This piece is sponsored by CoPower, a non-profit cooperative that sells energy to households. What makes them different is their mission to change the energy system to make it work for people and planet rather than shareholders or corporate executives.

You can get fair energy and help increase CoPower’s impact by switching your energy to CoPower here or by calling their local customer service team on 03 9068 6036.