Authentic or performative? Social licence to operate in settler colonial contexts – Rio Tinto,the Puutu Kunti Kurrama and Pinikura peoples and the destruction of the Juukan Gorge rock shelters

Abstract

In May 2020, global mining corporation Rio Tinto destroyed the historic Juukan Gorge rock shelters, prompting a public outcry, a government inquiry, and financial and personal sanctions for the company’s senior management, suggesting that the company’s actions were both surprising and shocking. We challenge Rio Tinto’s interpretation and reasoning of the rock destruction by drawing on theories of social licence to operate and settler colonialism to illustrate how their actions were a logical outcome of its operating context. We treat the destruction of Juukan Gorge rock shelters as an explanatory case study, which reveals how Indigenous Australian voices were curtailed in the pursuit of mining wealth, despite Rio Tinto’s public commitment to a highly regarded Reconciliation Action Plan. We conclude that the effectiveness of a social licence to operate is determined by its relationship to both political and legal licences to operate in the same space; that Reconciliation Action Plans, as a mechanism for claiming a social licence to operate, have limited impact on corporate practice; and that Indigenous stakeholder engagement with the Australian extractive industries remains a fragile exercise.

Keywords

Australia engagement Indigenous Juukan Gorge reconciliation Rio Tinto settler colonialism social licence to operate strategic communication

Introduction

On 24 May 2020, the mining giant Rio Tinto dynamited the Juukan Gorge rock shelters in the Pilbara region in Western Australia (WA), one of the world’s oldest sites of human occupation with major archaeological and cultural significance (Ben-Meir, 2020). The Puutu Kunti Kurrama and Pinikura (PKKP) peoples have used the site continuously for 46,000 years and described their ‘immeasurable cultural and spiritual loss and profound grief’ at its destruction (Puutu Kunti Kurrama and Pinikura Aboriginal Corporation [PKKPAC], 2020b, p. 7). Although legally permitted under Section 18 of WA’s Aboriginal Heritage Act, Rio Tinto was widely condemned for its actions.

Rio Tinto had a positive reputation for its commitments to Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples (also referred to as Indigenous peoples), evidenced by the highest accreditation from Reconciliation Australia for its voluntary Reconciliation Action Plan (RAP). It nevertheless destroyed the shelters immediately prior to Australia’s National Reconciliation Week.¹ In response, Reconciliation Australia (2020) suspended Rio Tinto from its RAP programme. The fallout also exposed the Australian extractive industries’ paradoxical practices around Indigenous stakeholder engagement and the lack of legislation to protect cultural heritage.

In this article, we consider the apparent contradiction between Rio Tinto’s declared commitments and actual actions by reflecting on its RAP as a mechanism for claiming a social licence to operate (SLO). The idea of an SLO emerged during the 1990s, in response to growing criticism of the mining and extractive industries’ social and environmental impacts. It refers to company and industry efforts to consult with and justify their operations to affected communities (Kirsch, 2014; Moffat et al., 2016; Parsons & Moffat, 2014). However, SLOs are criticised for being easily manipulated in favour of organisational interests (Owen & Kemp, 2013). We use the case of the Juukan Gorge rock shelters to highlight SLO shortcomings in the context of settler colonialism. We argue that the logic of settler colonialism prioritises the erasure of Indigenous rights and interests and the legitimacy of both corporation and state (Wolfe, 2006), creating important limitations to SLOs for mining companies operating on Indigenous land.

We first outline the principles and critiques of SLOs and consider how settler colonialism raises important tensions for SLOs with Indigenous communities. We then introduce RAPs as a mechanism to demonstrate an SLO that commits to reconciliation and aligns organisations with public opinion, before discussing the case itself. We conclude by reflecting on how the case informs theorisations of SLOs and the limits that a settler colonial context imposes on them as mechanisms for protecting Indigenous interests.

‘Licences to operate’: managing risk, reputation and legitimacy

The idea of an SLO is grounded in the need to manage organisational risks that may arise from a lack of community support for their operations, by acting responsibly in relation to communities and their concerns (Bice et al., 2017) and thereby securing community approval for operations (Moffat & Zhang, 2014). They are enacted through external communication and relationship-building, and so they often lie within the remit of strategic communications departments in organisations (Hurst & Johnston, 2021). Through the high-quality, authentic community engagement needed for SLOs, scholars argue that organisations can come to understand their social responsibilities and explain to stakeholders how they are being addressed (Devin & Lane, 2014). If conducted effectively and in good faith, SLOs thereby protect organisational reputation, reduce opposition and ensure ongoing legitimacy and operational security (Owen & Kemp, 2013; Parsons & Moffat, 2014).

Two other licences to operate also help companies manage risk: a political licence indicates a context where the political environment is conducive to company operations, and an actuarial licence describes a favourable regulatory framework (Bice et al., 2017). All three licences are based on the assumption that organisations are proactively engaging with the public interest and exceeding the requirements for basic compliance (Bice et al., 2017). However, they are very differently constituted. Only the actuarial licence to operate has legal standing, based on documentation such as permits and approvals for organisational activity. The political licence to operate describes organisations’ alignment with the political and policy climate to secure support for their activity. As such, it requires organisations to align their work with existing political power structures and priorities. In the case of the SLO, however, communities are treated as genuine partners in dialogue, so that the organisation shares power, is accountable for its actions and may change its operations to accommodate concerns (Bice et al., 2017). From this perspective, negotiating an SLO is more demanding, since it requires greater and more consistent compromise on organisational priorities (Haines et al., 2022). For mining companies in Australia, for example, their sizable gross domestic product (GDP) contribution – more than 10% in 2019–2020 (Constable, 2020) – makes state and legislative alignment support for their activities much more likely, but their extractive impact means that negotiations with Indigenous Australian communities can be difficult to manage (see also Boiral et al., 2023).

The three licences interact in complex ways (Schadeberg et al., 2024). They can work together to reduce risks to organisational operations. For example, political and actuarial licences may formalise community concerns addressed through an SLO, while an SLO may provide evidence of positive community contribution that reduces the likelihood of formal regulation, enhances a political licence to operate and embeds corporate power even further in the political sphere (Bice et al., 2017; Koya et al., 2021; Parsons & Moffat, 2014). However, the opposite can also be true. For example, when political and legal licences are based on operations that a community objects to, the voluntary nature of an SLO means it is easier to deprioritise because company activities that are legally and politically acceptable, and therefore low risk, can be pursued despite community disagreement (Koya et al., 2021). On the other hand, large-scale community opposition can alter political perceptions or regulatory frameworks, potentially limiting industry activities (Mills et al., 2025).

SLO: assumptions and challenges

SLOs assume equal power in the relationships between organisations and communities, based on long-term, dynamic and consultative relationships where organisations respond to community feedback and dialogue to balance community expectations and organisational operations (Hurst & Johnston, 2021; Santiago et al., 2021). Any SLO is therefore a contextual, contingent agreement that emerges over time (Hurst & Johnston, 2021), where its validity depends on the quality of engagement underpinning it. Johnston and Lane (2019) identify the importance of authenticity in building trust and relationships – key concepts for SLOs – where an authentic outcome demonstrates that community concerns have been heard. Authentic engagement includes the voices of all those affected by the company’s operations (Parsons & Moffat, 2014), recognising power dynamics within communities that may mean some voices are louder than others. Space should be made for those who are quieter or absent to avoid a ‘voice deficit’ that could undermine the SLO (Johnston & Lane, 2019). Grounding engagement in dialogue can also mitigate power imbalances by emphasising meaning-making, understanding and ‘sympathetic/empathetic interactions’ with stakeholders (Taylor & Kent, 2014, p. 389). These normative principles confirm that SLOs are fundamentally communicative and suggest that an authentic orientation to community and engagement processes makes mutually positive outcomes more likely.

However, SLOs are criticised for their organisational self-interest (Jelen-Sanchez, 2017). An SLO is vulnerable to misuse, given that it is rarely a legally binding agreement (Koya et al., 2021). If political and economic conditions include negative consequences for what communities do or say, any assumption of equal power in negotiations is then void, making a genuinely collaborative SLO impossible (Glückler & Gutiérrez, 2025). Moreover, because SLOs are grounded in community perceptions of company actions, persuasively performing a commitment to engagement through communication, or simply appeasing communities with high-profile initiatives that ignore underlying issues, can replace genuine power-sharing.

Several factors make this a likely outcome. First, SLOs are opaque insofar as the parameters for a ‘licence’ are contingent on the specific context. In practice, the default for companies seeking to manage risk and reputation may be to eliminate opposition rather than seek community endorsement (Owen & Kemp, 2013). They may become self-protective and instrumentalise SLOs to reduce external pressure but avoid change (Love & Tilley, 2014). In this context, fostering perceptions of engagement and dialogue may be sufficient to preclude the need for genuine compromise (Owen & Kemp, 2013; Santiago et al., 2021). SLOs can thus consolidate rather than redistribute organisational power, with stakeholder interests addressed when they align with organisational interests but marginalised if they are less acceptable (Dreher et al., 2016).

These critiques show that in practice, SLOs are deeply entwined with social and political power struggles between organisations and their stakeholders (Bice et al., 2017). While they may be commendable in principle, they can easily become a ‘rhetorical lever’ to ‘disguise or silence opposition’ (Owen & Kemp, 2013, p. 31) rather than offer communities an exercise in genuine influence. Documented SLO agreements may set out expectations, but they do not necessarily ensure compliance; if actuarial and political licences to operate are aligned with company interests, the risk of pursuing activities despite community opposition may remain acceptably low.

Indigenous communities, settler colonialism and SLOs

Performative SLOs present a particular danger to Indigenous communities attempting to engage with mining companies (Kirsch, 2014). For Indigenous peoples, ‘where they are is who they are’ (Wolfe, 2006, p. 388), and relations with land and nature are based on long-term, deep historical connections rather than short-term calculations of economic benefit (Boiral et al., 2023). Thus, influencing company decision-making in matters of land and territory is existential. SLO theory does not explicitly address the situation of Indigenous peoples; however, the particularities of settler colonialism are essential to understanding Indigenous communities’ experiences of SLOs.

Land is central to the logic of settler colonialism: securing territory and resources are key objectives (Wolfe, 2006). For the settler, Indigenous peoples are obstructive because they inhabit desired land, and because their holistic, spiritual relationship to the environment limits the scope for its exploitation. To be successful, settlers must therefore remove Indigenous peoples from colonised territories and replace them with settler communities and ideologies. This ‘logic of elimination’ is a feature of settler colonialism’s ‘perpetual project’ (Maddison, 2016, p. 426) and forms the basis of settler colonialism (Veracini, 2011, 2016). However, the extreme cruelty of settler colonialism (evident in massacres, forced removal and sterilisation in Australia) has led to institutionalised ‘guardrails’ on unfettered violence by states and organisations: Indigenous rights to consultation in relation to territory and resources are recognised in the United Nations (2007) Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which stipulates Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC) as the international legal standard for projects affecting their communities and territories. Applied to SLOs, FPIC has the potential to address power imbalances in organisation-Indigenous negotiations and prioritises meaningful accountability (Nagar, 2021).

These guardrails notwithstanding, justifying settler colonial violence is a necessary part of nation-building (Strakosch, 2019) because the success of settler colonialism is dependent on state legitimacy, articulated both to settler citizens, who should support the violence enacted on their behalf, and to Indigenous peoples, from whom the state demands cooperation in the form of subjugation. In Australia (as elsewhere), Indigenous peoples continue to resist attempts to erase their existence (Strakosch, 2019) so that Australian settler colonialism ‘revolves around legitimate possession, and this is always performative – legitimacy [for the settler state] must be seen to exist and be endorsed by internal and external constituencies’ (Strakosch, 2019, p. 20, emphasis in original). The desire for legitimacy underpins the reconciliation movement, which emerged from the 1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody (Huggins, 2018). Reconciliation is now an established discourse underpinning policy relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, focused on a future where Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians have strong relationships that underpin a united nation. This future orientation makes reconciliation an appealing way of moving the state beyond the brutal histories of settlement and legitimising the present in a way that limits the resonance of those histories in the current Australian context.

Critics argue that this division of past (which can be acknowledged, then put to one side) from present (which looks forward rather than back) reifies the settler colonial status quo and promotes absorption, rather than recognition, of past harms that extend into Indigenous Australians’ present and future (Keynes, 2019). Reconciliation can also be read as an intentional policy shift away from undesirable calls for a treaty (which grew during the 1970s and 1980s) towards a less politically challenging relationship between the state and Australia’s Indigenous communities (Maddison, 2016). The ‘politically correct and persuasive’ language of partnership in reconciliation narratives also contributes to the erasure of settler colonial harms, by absorbing Indigenous peoples into existing structures of domination (Veracini, 2011, p. 5). Reconciliation notwithstanding, the failure of the 2023 Voice to Parliament referendum – which proposed creating an Indigenous advisory body that would contribute to laws and policies affecting them – shows how deeply settler colonialism is still embedded in Australia’s systems.

Tensions have fragmented the reconciliation movement, between (broadly) rights-based members (advocating sovereignty, treaty, compensation), equality-focussed activists (advocating equality in health care, education, housing) and symbolic supporters (advocating aspirational ceremonies, events, political speeches) (Burridge, 2007). Debates on reconciliation within Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities range from support to scepticism and criticism. Nonetheless, ‘reconciliation’ discourse remains utopian, performative and powerful (Edmonds, 2016). It has become a popular corporate engagement strategy: over 1100 organisations, many in the extractive industries, have formalised their public commitment to Indigenous stakeholders through RAPs (Fitch, 2021; Kaur & Qian, 2021; Reconciliation Australia, 2021; Schepis, 2020). Hattam et al. (2008) describe reconciliation as ‘an engaged ethical turn’ (p. 4) that promotes social responsibility, counters neoliberalism and involves complex processes of truth-telling and compensation (Short, 2008).

However, reconciliation discourse does not mean that the structures of settler colonial relations are up for discussion. It may implicitly acknowledge that Indigenous communities suffer from ongoing, collective trauma (Carlson et al., 2017), but extractive industries continue to approach territories as ripe for exploitation, to the detriment of Indigenous communities, for whom the harms of mining greatly outweigh the benefits (Leyton-Flor & Sangha, 2024). We next explain how the practical implementation of RAPs performs the required SLO for extractive industries but also perpetuates settler colonialism.

RAPs as a mechanism for claiming SLO: tensions in the settler colonial context

The Australian extractive industries have a long history of engaging with Indigenous Australians, particularly through negotiating partnership agreements to gain or protect mining leases (Schepis, 2020) by addressing both community and industry concerns. For example, Synnott (2012) argues that effective community relations can deliver support (training, jobs, sponsorship) tailored to community needs, while also supporting approval processes for mines. This collaborative and sophisticated engagement has become more common in response to activist pressure and can deliver SLOs for extractive industries as well as positive socioeconomic impacts for Indigenous Australians (Langton, 2015).

RAPs may be understood as a form of institutionalised governance of SLOs for extractive industries (Glückler & Gutiérrez, 2025) in a wider context of Indigenous recognition. Introduced in 2006 and accredited by Reconciliation Australia, RAPs are voluntary agreements that set out the terms for organisations to develop, implement and promote their commitment to Indigenous Australians. They offer a ‘standardised framework on public commitments . . . to promote Indigenous reconciliation’ (Schepis, 2020, p. 1) and ‘show social responsibility and leadership’ (Huggins, 2018, p. 74). Public demonstration of good intentions is built into their purpose: they require information about reconciliation activities to be communicated effectively to Indigenous Australians, partner organisations, employees, customers and shareholders. This promotional work is crucial not only for building community relations but also for profiling organisational commitments to moral obligations and social justice by publicising actions such as engaging in dialogue with Indigenous Australians about organisational decisions and policies, supporting Indigenous organisations and investing in social justice programmes.

Some Indigenous Australian leaders believe RAPs are an important vehicle for promoting Indigenous cultures, changing public opinion and demonstrating civic responsibility (Huggins, 2018). Opponents argue that aspects of the broader reconciliation movement and/or RAPs are ‘government propaganda to smooth over oppression and historic and contemporary injustices’ (Huggins, 2018, p. 75), discounting Indigenous sovereignty and primarily benefitting non-Indigenous peoples. At their worst, RAPs constitute ‘PR and symbolism’, rather than justice and genuine change (Huggins, 2018, p. 76). Such scepticism may be justified: research has shown that Indigenous harms from Australian mining are long-term and affect every aspect of their lives (Leyton-Flor & Sangha, 2024). Engagement with Indigenous Australians remains a marginal concern: just 8% of mining companies listed on the Australian Stock Exchange mentioned Aboriginal engagement in their annual or sustainability reports, and many narratives were brief, with most emphasis on community outreach and legal compliance on consultation about land use and little evidence of engagement with Indigenous communities as equal partners (Kaur & Qian, 2021).

RAPs demonstrate an SLO insofar as they articulate a commitment to Indigenous communities’ inclusion, voice and rights in relation to organisational activity. However, in the Australian context, they are subject to settler colonial logic: securing territory for exploitation is the priority, rather than negotiating across ideological and ontological positions about land and its use (Kirsch, 2014). Giving up territory is nonsensical, and the existence of an RAP does not change this logic. For a mining company with origins in settler colonial occupation and faced with the need to justify ongoing exploitation of Indigenous Australians, the risks being managed through an RAP relate not only to company operations or reputation but also to two more fundamental dangers. First, that land may be removed from the stock of capital available to the extractive industries and be ‘wasted’ because it produces no economic value. Second, that Indigenous claims undermine the company’s right to ownership, because to admit that land may be perceived or used differently, and that this justifies making it unavailable, is to accept that the company – and its settler colonial heritage and logic – is/was wrong. It follows that a ‘successful’ RAP might be defined by its ability to protect, rather than compromise, an organisation’s existing reputational, commercial and ideological advantage.

Thus, even though RAPs have had positive outcomes for Indigenous partners, the settler colonial context still places significant potential limitations on what they can achieve.

For example, it remains difficult for Indigenous Australians to resist mining projects because they still struggle for recognition of sovereignty. As with SLOs more generally, publicly committing to an RAP does not guarantee action: RAPs ‘ultimately only tell us what companies say they do’ (Kaur & Qian, 2021; Schepis, 2020, p. 8), and organisations have been criticised for failing to ensure that commitments are translated into practice. In the mining sector, RAPs do not constitute a statutory obligation; relations between companies and Indigenous Australians are regulated by legal partnership agreements. These can look very different to the stated intentions in an RAP, lacking dialogical characteristics that would address ethics and power in company-community relationships, such as transparency, openness or mutual recognition (Leyton-Flor & Sangha, 2024). Instead, they frequently curtail the ability of Indigenous Australians to speak out about issues of concern. Much of the work around cultural heritage – often paid for by mining companies – is subject to contractual confidentiality, and Indigenous Australians are additionally constrained by non-disclosure clauses (Centre for Social Responsibility in Mining, 2020). This makes it much more likely that a company’s actuarial licence to operate will override any community disagreement.

In terms of the political licence to operate, almost no development projects in Western Australia (WA) are stopped due to concerns over cultural heritage (Huntley & Wallis, 2020); mining companies applied for permission to destroy or disturb 463 heritage sites between 2010 and 2020; no applications were denied, and Indigenous Australians had no right of appeal (Wahlquist, 2020). Although the state government repealed the outdated Aboriginal Heritage Act 1972, which included the controversial Section 18, following the destruction of the rock shelters, they also repealed the new legislation designed to embrace the cultural authority of Traditional Owners and to better protect cultural heritage, the Aboriginal Cultural Heritage Bill 2021, after just 5 weeks, following campaigning and public pressure in late 2023 (Adams & Bates, 2025; Prestipino, 2025).

In the remainder of this article, we consider how a settler colonial critique of RAPs as a mechanism to demonstrate SLO can help to explain the destruction of the Juukan Gorge rock shelters. We argue that the case highlights the ongoing limitations of RAPs, and SLOs more generally, for Indigenous communities trying to assert their voice and rights. We next provide an overview of our method before introducing the case and analysis.

Method

This explanatory case study focuses on the communication and engagement activities of PKKPAC and Rio Tinto, during the period leading up to and after the rock shelters’ destruction. These actions occurred while the RAP was in place, which should have protected the rights of the Traditional Owners to be consulted about the future of the rock shelters. The case study approach is suitable for identifying the complexities of Rio Tinto’s actions in the context of its organisational and societal relationships (Yin, 2018) and because it generates meaning from the rich and multiple sources of data available (Daymon & Holloway, 2010; VanWynsberghe & Khan, 2007). We asked:

How does a settler colonial critique of Rio Tinto’s RAP as a mechanism to demonstrate Social License to Operate, help to explain Rio Tinto’s actions and practices in relation to the PKKP peoples?

Our analysis is based on secondary qualitative data (document review) from multiple sources of evidence collated in the 12 months following the destruction of the shelters. Documents include news and trade media stories; industry reports; scholarly articles; communications from Rio Tinto and PKKPAC, including media statements and annual reports; submissions to the Parliamentary Joint Standing Committee on Northern Australia Inquiry; and the two reports resulting from that inquiry, Never Again and A Way Forward (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, 2021). Materials were sourced through journal databases, Google search and online newspapers using the search terms ‘Rio Tinto’ and ‘Juukan Gorge’. We analysed news articles and media commentaries, six journal articles, eight reports and annual reports, 177 submissions to the inquiry and eight media releases.

We pieced together the events that led up to the destruction of the site to understand the relationship between Rio Tinto and the PKKP peoples. We adopted a critical theoretical approach, drawing on aspects of SLO and settler colonial theory that would help to explain the events. In particular, we considered evidence of the presence or absence of dialogue between Rio Tinto and PKKPAC, as well as the structural characteristics of the case, including the relationship of the RAP to other actuarial and political licences for Rio Tinto to operate, and how the two settler colonial logics of Indigenous erasure and settler legitimacy underpin Rio Tinto’s actions.

Our analysis is shaped by our respective personal and academic standpoints. We are three women who specialise in critical, decolonial and Indigenist public relations and communications studies. We predominately focus on women’s standpoints, activism strategies and analyses of inequality. Two of the authors are Australian: one, an Indigenous woman committed to contributing to activism narratives and decolonial processes; the other, a White woman of Anglo-Celtic heritage committed to advancing understanding about the societal impacts of organised communication practices and their support of hegemonic interests. The third author is British; her commitment is driven by the importance of accounting for the ongoing impact of British settler colonialism, and more generally, revealing the inequalities perpetuated through communications practice.

The destruction of the Juukan Gorge rock shelters

Rio Tinto was one of the first organisations to achieve the highest level of accreditation, ‘Elevate’, for its RAP, which requires leadership, a strong history in Indigenous engagement and more ambitious targets and reporting than a standard RAP (Lloyd, 2018). Their 2018 Progress Report stated that ‘working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people is fundamental to our business success’, achieved ‘through direct engagement and negotiation with Traditional Owners to develop complex mutually beneficial land use agreements’ (Rio Tinto, 2018, p. 6). Thus, Rio Tinto’s public rhetoric emphasised working in partnership with Indigenous Australians and recognising Indigenous rights and protocol. Nonetheless, on 24 May 2020, the company destroyed the Juukan Gorge rock shelters, prompting international outrage.

Inquiry submissions reveal a significant cultural shift at Rio Tinto with the appointment of Jean-Sebastien Jacques as CEO in 2016. Langton (2020) noted that, despite long-standing good relations with Traditional Owners, after Jacques’ arrival ‘community relations personnel in Australia were made redundant and the complex native title agreements were handed over to spin doctors’ from the Australian Heritage division. Similar comments were made in many submissions, including by former Rio Tinto staff, who lamented transferring responsibility ‘essentially into the PR division’, which had no expertise in Indigenous stakeholder engagement or local knowledge (Sims, 2020; see also Aston, 2021; Piper, 2020).

The shift in corporate culture prioritised commercial gain and expertise in performing communication and engagement, over any meaningful power-sharing with Indigenous Australians that would underpin an authentic SLO. The shift was personified by the figure of Rio Tinto’s global head of media and corporate communications, Simone Niven. At the inquiry, Niven admitted mentioning ‘an issue at Brockman’ (the rock shelters were destroyed to expand the Brockman mine) to Jacques and telling him to talk to ‘the chief exec of iron ore’ [Chris Salisbury], as she considered it ‘an operational matter’ rather than a corporate affairs problem (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, 1.29). However, the inquiry revealed that the ‘Business Resilience Team’ – which included the Head of Corporate Relations, responsible for Indigenous Relations and reporting directly to Niven – had planned a reactive media statement in the event PKKPAC commented on the destruction of the rock shelters and ensured company lawyers reminded PKKPAC of the non-disparagement clause in their Participation Agreement (Rio Tinto, 2020b, p. 570). This non-negotiable framework agreement bound the PKKP to a fixed commitment to land use that favoured Rio Tinto’s activities and could not be publicly contested (Nagar, 2021). Further evidence contradicting Niven’s claim that Juukan Gorge was an ‘operational matter’ included Rio Tinto pre-emptively engaging lawyers to prepare an injunction and a PR agency to manage the fallout (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, 1.29). The Inquiry found Niven’s testimony ‘unreliable’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020, 1.27), and she became a lightning rod for public criticism.

While the changes in priority and responsibility for Indigenous Relations and Native Title agreements within Rio Tinto had devastating consequences for the PKKP peoples, they made sense as an example of ongoing settler colonial practices, uninterrupted by the existence of an RAP. Rio Tinto’s reconciliation leadership generated positive visibility, but it did not fundamentally change the company’s operations or purpose. In their submission, Rio Tinto (2020b, p. 3) stated they had submitted 95 applications to destroy heritage sites since 2011; 94 were approved (one was withdrawn), and Traditional Owners had few options to contest decisions. Destroying Juukan Gorge therefore aligned with Rio Tinto’s actuarial licence to operate, which facilitated Rio Tinto’s strategy of securing and exploiting the land, even though it had previously invested in archaeological excavations that explained the rock shelters’ unique cultural value and had promoted their significance alongside the PKKPAC.

Given the threat that any compromise on land exploitation might present to Rio Tinto’s (settler colonial) justifications for its actions, locating responsibility for social performance under corporate affairs is logical. It affords that department control over defining, managing and communicating organisational risk, responsibility and legitimacy – an ideal location for engagement grounded in an SLO agreement (Kemp & Owen, 2020). However, the move also reflects how organisational structure and reporting lines can ‘erase opposition: from drowning out community and advocate voices . . . through to approaching the social performance function as agent of risk to the business’ (Kemp & Owen, 2020, p. 836). From this perspective, and despite their RAP rhetoric, Rio Tinto’s alignment of social purpose with public or corporate affairs ensured support for commercial self-interest and reputation rather than ‘sharing or conceding power’ (Kemp & Owen, 2018, p. 497).

Rio Tinto’s initial response to the outcry against its actions was to apologise, but in a way that continued the dismissal of the PKKP peoples’ priorities and preserved the company’s legitimacy (Kaur et al., 2025). The first apology, from the Chief Executive of the Iron Ore Division, appeared to blame the PKKP peoples for their failure to alert Rio Tinto to the rock shelters’ significance (Rio Tinto, 2020b, 25:1). The company also resisted external scrutiny by commissioning an internal review limited to heritage issues within the iron ore division. The review concluded no single cause or individual was responsible for Rio Tinto’s failure to meet its Communities and Social Performance Standard and Code of Conduct and its commitment to align with the UN Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Rio Tinto, 2020a, p. 18). It did not acknowledge Rio Tinto’s RAP as a benchmark for engagement, but it recommended that a new Social Performance function be established; internal oversight and communication processes be improved; and that performance and incentive payments for Jacques, Salisbury and Niven be withheld (Rio Tinto, 2020a).

The internal review was variously described as ‘little more than a public relations exercise’ (Australian Centre for Corporate Responsibility); lacking in ‘any meaningful accountability’ (Australian Council of Superannuation Investors); and ‘fall[ing] significantly short of appropriate accountability for those responsible’ (AustralianSuper) (cited in Butler & Allam, 2020). The strength of the reaction was unprecedented; one business reporter likened the demands of investment and superannuation funds for greater accountability as a ‘tectonic shift’ in power relations within the business world (Verrender, 2020). Shareholder concerns resulted in the negotiated departures of Jacques, Salisbury and Niven, and on 6 May 2021, investors voted to reject Rio Tinto’s 2020 remuneration report, where the payouts were documented (BBC, 2021; Paul, 2021). In their Annual Report, Rio Tinto noted the three executives’ positions were untenable and recognised the urgent need to integrate environmental, social and governance (ESG) performance management into their operations (Rio Tinto, 2021a, p. 145). In 2021, chair Simon Thompson announced he would step down in response to the crisis (Rio Tinto, 2021b).

PKKPAC resistance

The outrage at Rio Tinto’s actions illustrates how the wider political context of recognition for Indigenous rights has the potential to challenge the company’s legitimacy when its actions contravene normative expectations of its key stakeholders in relation to Indigenous engagement, in such a sensitive context. Rio Tinto’s responses, which eventually recognised the scale of this outrage and the damage done and resulted in a new partnership with the PKKPAC (Rio Tinto, 2022), suggest penitent reform on the part of the corporation. However, an examination of the PKKP peoples’ attempts to prevent the destruction of the rock shelters and Rio Tinto’s efforts to actively silence them are illustrative of the underlying drive to Indigenous erasure that characterises settler colonial environments, influencing events leading up to and following the destruction of the rock shelters.

The PKKP peoples’ profound grief at the loss of their shelters is rooted in the deep spiritual connection with ‘Country’ for Indigenous Australians and the importance of preserving sacred sites over generations (Pierce, 2021). PKKPAC (2020b) challenged Rio Tinto’s claims that they failed to communicate the rock shelters’ significance, noting that since 2003, PKKP representatives had participated in multiple archaeological and ethnographic surveys funded by Rio Tinto that identified their significance. PKKPAC acknowledged they had ‘an active working relationship’ with Rio Tinto (2020a) but argued that it was not equitable, with Rio Tinto providing limited information and taking ‘a narrow procedural approach’ (p. 8). This was evident in the way the PKKP peoples first learnt of the planned destruction of the rock shelters, following a request to visit them during NAIDOC Week² (Wahlquist, 2020).

PKKPAC’s evidence to the Inquiry illustrated the lack of dialogue and authentic engagement with Rio Tinto, suggesting that the RAP, as a mechanism of SLO, was primarily adopted to manage company risk and further company objectives (Nagar, 2021). While it functioned as a public commitment to improving engagement, it was overridden by legal agreements that permanently defined which sites were culturally important and included non-disparagement and confidentiality clauses, severely constricting what PKKPAC could say or do about Rio Tinto’s actions. PKKPAC’s submission revealed a detailed history of unequal negotiations. Their weak position resulted in significant concessions, including accepting the Brockman mine as a ‘Priority Project’ on the understanding that cultural sites would be protected (Nagar, 2021). ‘Priority status’ meant the PKKP could not object to the Brockman mine under WA’s Aboriginal Heritage Act, even though Rio Tinto’s application to Section 18 for access to the site was later found to be seriously flawed, in ignoring its significance (Commonwealth of Australia, 2020). This disconnect meant that ultimately, Rio Tinto’s actuarial licence to operate made the destruction of the rock shelters possible, even though there was no legitimacy for such action in the eyes of the PKKP.

Rio Tinto did not discuss various pit options with PKKP, some of which could have protected the shelters, but instead chose the option that would maximise profits (Kaur et al., 2025). PKKPAC made desperate attempts to preserve the shelters through meetings with Rio Tinto, by contracting a lawyer to petition state and federal government ministers (thereby attempting to shift the foundations of Rio Tinto’s political licence in their favour), and even employing a consultant to see if the explosives could be safely removed, but without success (Kaur et al., 2025). They then issued a media release on 25 May, their first public comment about the destruction of the rock shelters (PKKPAC, 2020a). Even at this point, Rio Tinto was offered the opportunity to review the media release and requested that references to Rio Tinto and its Brockman operations be removed (PKKPAC, 2020b, p. 262).

PKKPAC’s submission confirms there was no real partnership with Rio Tinto, and ‘it was not PKKP’s voice that was the issue, but rather Rio Tinto’s preparedness to hear it’ (PKKPAC, 2020b, p. 62). Legal agreements tightly constrained their communication, while Rio Tinto had strong opportunities to tell its side of the story (e.g., funding the promotion of their Juukan Gorge page in Google searches) (Rio Tinto, 2020b, 25:4, p. 9).³ The Inquiry found ‘severe deficiencies in the company’s heritage management practices, internal communication protocols and relationship practices with the PKKP’ (Commonwealth of Australia, 2021, p. 7). However, the conditions for silencing and erasure remained in place. Following the global outcry, PKKPAC (2021) stated they were ‘overwhelmed by the support from across Australia, and indeed from around the globe’; nonetheless, they had to negotiate change while still ‘compl[ying] with its obligations under our Participation Agreement’ (pp. 10, 13).

These realities illustrate two important logics of settler colonialism as they operate in a corporate context. First, the need to secure legitimacy among actors who have the authority to undermine or limit land exploitation (in this case, shareholders, the Australian and international public, and politicians with the power to regulate the sector). Second, the need to erase Indigenous interests and claims from the operational landscape (in this case, the voices and evidence of the PKKP in relation to these and other negotiations). These logics co-exist, coming together in the interactions between Rio Tinto’s corporate priorities (extraction and profit) and RAP commitments (Indigenous consultation). The site for these interactions was the Juukan Gorge rock shelters, where conflicting ontologies of land as resource and land as spiritual relation and heritage were resolved through destruction that quite literally erased Indigenous realities. The process of interaction was inequitable, where one side spoke in line with their RAP entitlements, and the other refused to listen, in line with their corporate priorities. There was nothing inherent in the existence of the RAP (as a mechanism for demonstrating SLO) that guaranteed Indigenous inclusion or recognition of sovereignty before the shelters’ destruction. In part, this is because that sovereignty is recognised in a law (the Native Title Act, Section 18) that does not sanction unequal or insincere negotiations (Nagar, 2021), and thereby facilitates settler priorities over Indigenous rights. In part, it is because non-disclosure agreements controlled Indigenous participation. Thus, the physical erasure of Indigenous land, in this case, is preceded and facilitated by the erasure of Indigenous voice.

Concluding discussion

An SLO is grounded in a vision of business-community relationships that simultaneously serve both social purpose and profit, suggesting that a harmonious coexistence for organisations and society is possible. This case supports arguments that critique the optimism underlying this assumption (Bice et al., 2017; Owen & Kemp, 2013) and instead point out that community concerns may, and often do, become marginalised or overruled where political and actuarial licences to operate run counter to community interests.

Furthermore, our analysis suggests that, in settler colonial contexts, pursuing an SLO with Indigenous peoples cannot be separated from a corporation’s historical role in the colonial infrastructures that subjugated Indigenous populations (Quijano, 2000). In Australia, the relationship between Indigenous Australians and corporations is shaped by histories of exploitation that continue to influence corporate engagement by instrumentalising Indigenous Australian interests through the RAP system. It may result in increasing consultation with Indigenous communities, but it holds no guarantee that such consultation will actually share corporate power. As the case shows, Rio Tinto’s engagement prior to the Juukan Gorge disaster was flawed even before the arrival of a new CEO unconcerned about relationships with Indigenous Australians. The PKKPAC’s interactions with the company were pervaded by inequality.

Bice et al (2017, p. 48) call for more attention to ‘how, by whom and on what/whose terms various competing stakeholder interests are balanced and addressed’ in SLOs. Our case shows that analyses in settler colonial environments should explicitly account for settler colonial history and logic in SLO implementation and impact. It also highlights that, in settler colonial contexts, the ‘public interest’ that constitutes the focus for social, political and actuarial licences to operate (Bice et al., 2017) is contingent on who is included in the idea of a ‘public’ and whose ‘interests’ count (see also Haines et al., 2022). Indigenous groups in settler colonial environments are consistently marginalised politically and economically, suggesting that both their legitimacy as a ‘public’, and the importance placed on their interests, will be fragile at best, with potentially devastating consequences. The situation is exacerbated by the ontological differences between Indigenous communities and extractive industries in their approach to nature (as a cultural and historical relationship/an economic resource), leading to fundamental cultural barriers to mutual understanding (Boiral et al., 2023).

For Australian extractive industries, the case shows how Indigenous ontology, particularly their relationship to Country, is a direct threat to settler colonial logics of capital accumulation and to corporate legitimacy. In response, engagement practices erase Indigenous agency and voice, while the RAP, as a mechanism for demonstrating SLO, creates a façade of integrity for public view. Decisions about protecting cultural heritage are made in the context of financial compensation, which has significant consequences for Indigenous communities that object to corporate action and undermines FPIC principles (Huntley & Wallis, 2020). Sara Slattery, Robe River Kurama Traditional Owner and CEO of the Robe River Kurama Aboriginal Corporation in the West Pilbara, highlighted the ‘box-ticking’ processes that result in Traditional Owners ‘consent to [. . .] all of Rio Tinto’s iron ore business and its ongoing expansion’ (Slattery, 2020, p. 5). Similarly, research by Trigger et al. (2014) on engagement in Australia’s coal seam gas (CSG) industry identified complex and time-consuming legal processes, material inequalities between organisations and communities and contrasting governance models between a property-oriented corporate and legal approach and collective Indigenous principles. In line with settler colonial logic, the engagement processes they describe remained structured on the terms of the Australian state, corporate and industry interests, making it particularly difficult for Indigenous Australian voices to be heard (see also Boiral et al., 2023).

The case also illustrates the dynamic interactions between different licences to operate and their effect on corporate legitimacy (Schadeberg et al., 2024), as well as the conditions on which these interactions depend – in particular, the influence of mandatory and voluntary forms of regulation on company actions, the stakeholders that create momentum for change (see Bice et al., 2017, p. 51) and the dangers of institutionalising or systematising SLOs in a way that undermines their power (Glückler & Gutiérrez, 2025). Prior to the destruction of the shelters, Rio Tinto’s actuarial licence to operate supported their legitimacy in two ways: first, legal permits for its mining activities were invariably granted, and the law offered no right of appeal; and second, the partnership agreement required PKKPAC to sign away the right to object to specific projects. These formal regulations created a structural barrier for an authentic SLO because they minimised opportunities for legitimate Indigenous challenges and increased the incentive for inauthentic engagement. Rio Tinto’s political and actuarial licences were aligned, while the RAP was flawed; in combination, they allowed Rio Tinto’s public legitimacy to be preserved by performing engagement while imposing Indigenous silence.

However, following the global public outcry, the political context shifted; the Inquiry resulted in change both to Rio Tinto’s engagement practices and to the legal regime governing relations between mining companies and Indigenous Australians (Commonwealth of Australia, 2021). In other words, the risk associated with community opposition increased to the extent that it was taken into account in the conditions for political and actuarial licences to operate (Bice et al., 2017). The result was a shift in the company’s approach and stronger acknowledgement of the harm caused (Kaur et al., 2025).

This outcome suggests that an authentic SLO with Indigenous communities might be possible if all three licences align, all address commonly agreed inequalities between communities and corporations, and if powerful stakeholders provide vocal support. However, without this, the danger of inauthentic engagement remains. Indeed, we would argue that the risk of SLOs being performative is particularly high for Indigenous communities, because it is much less likely that their concerns will align with wider capitalist, neoliberal priorities that underpin settler colonial economies, or be perceived as a legitimate, more general ‘public interest’. In such contexts, formal regulation – that is, a shift of Indigenous interests from the domain of SLOs to the domain of actuarial licences to operate – may be needed to protect their communities.

Overall, our analysis suggests that the realities of settler colonialism mean SLOs in these contexts are subject to an irresolvable tension between acknowledging Indigenous interests (creating space for Indigenous voice and agency) and serving corporate and state objectives (shutting down Indigenous voice and agency). Only a truly radical approach, where Indigenous rights are at the heart of engagement and the political and legal context provides genuine sanctions for their neglect or abuse, has any prospect of delivering a meaningful ‘licence to operate’. As it stands, the dominant practice is characterised by rhetoric and engagement that manipulate public perception to protect corporate interests (see Scherer & Palazzo, 2011).

On the first anniversary of the rock shelters’ destruction, PKKPAC director, Burchell Hayes (2021), stated: ‘We’re not opposed to mining, however we want to ensure that we’re around the table when it comes to decisions about making an impact on our country . . . I’d rather have the rock shelter back than you write me a cheque’. PKKPAC (2021) continues to fight for better heritage protection and has now engaged in a new partnership agreement with the company (Rio Tinto, 2022). It remains to be seen whether any real difference in Indigenous power will result from this new development.

Footnotes

ORCID iDs

Kate Fitch

Lee Edwards

Funding

The authors received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.

Notes

Author biographies

Kate Fitch is an Senior Research Fellow (Affiliate) at Monash University, Australia. She investigates critical, historical and social justice perspectives on public relations and promotional culture to understand the broader societal impact of communicative activity.

Treena Clark (PhD, BA Honours, BA PR) is a Kokatha and Wirangu emerging researcher based in Adelaide/Tarndanya, specialising in Indigenous Australian public relations, activism, feminism, fashion, and wellbeing. She completed a Bachelor of Public Relations and Bachelor of Arts (Honours) degrees from the University of South Australia and a Doctor of Philosophy degree from the University of Technology Sydney (UTS).

Lee Edwards is Professor of Strategic Communications and Public Engagement at the London School of Economics. She focuses on the relationship between strategic communications and inequalities, social justice, democracy, and media literacy. She writes extensively on topics including deliberative engagement in media policymaking, media literacy, and public relations and democracy.

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