Bill Shorten (Maribyrnong, Australian Labor Party, Shadow Minister for the National Disability Insurance Scheme) Share this | Hansard source

The sad irony of condolence motions is that you wish the clocks could somehow be turned back so that the subject about whom you speak can hear the words that are actually said. That's certainly the case today for the fine tributes we've already heard, and it was certainly the case at that generous, affectionate, pitch-perfect celebration of Bob Hawke's life at the Opera House.

Like many members in this place, when I brave the crisp Canberra morning for a jog through the parliamentary triangle I pass the statues of three great Australian prime ministers. My running pace, I'm pleased to say, allows me the time to study the detail of the sculptor. On the path between those old boarding houses at Barton and the chamber down the hill, Ben Chifley and John Curtin walk side by side. It's a beautiful pair of statues. It captures the quiet moment ahead of another busy day—two old friends sharing a laugh; two giants who shared the burden of winning a war, securing a peace and building a home fit for the heroes who returned. Further down the road on the shores of the lake he saw come to life, Robert Menzies walks alone. There's a winning smile on his face—the expression of a man accustomed to success, confident that it will last.

It was back on his 87th birthday that I asked Bob, and his beloved Blanche and his children and a crowd of wellwishers, how we could capture Bob's likeness in a statue. Maybe it could be with a microphone or a megaphone in one hand and the other moving in time with the words, rallying, inspiring and delighting his audience. Maybe it could be with his head cocked, one hand grasping his earlobe, listening respectfully to an Aboriginal elder, a captain of industry, an American president or a local parent out doing the shopping. Maybe it could be in the stands of our racecourses, with creased and folded form guide in hand, ticking off another winner. Or maybe it could be in 'that' jacket, mouth open, roaring with laughter, wearing the champagne, giving his prime ministerial blessing to a national sickie!

Very quickly, on Bob's 87th, we came to the conclusion that, whatever the pose the sculptor opted for, the statue could never be tucked away in some quiet corner of our bush capital. It would have to be out amongst the Australian people, the people who loved Bob because they could tell Bob loved them, the people whose innate wisdom Bob trusted and whose support secured, more often than any other Labor member, that of the people. In reality, no matter the final location, no matter how lifelike the bronze or how skilled the hands that shape it, no artist will ever be able to surpass the monuments that Bob and his government already built larger than lifetimes.

So many of those achievements, the product of fierce debate and hard decisions, have earned the ultimate compliment from Bob's political opponents. They now gently reweave and rewrite history to pretend that they supported them all along. This brings me to that magic Hawke word that's frequently invoked and less well understood. The word is 'consensus'. Consensus is what attracted me to join the Labor Party. Consensus is what Hawke and Keating and Kelty, and those marvellous Labor leaders of that generation, delivered. Whether it's protecting our environment, standing up to racism or progressing economic reform, looking outwards to the world, consensus was never the low-rent, low-risk pursuit of the lowest common denominator. It wasn't about agreement above all else—a communique without content. It wasn't about compromise at any cost. Bringing our nation together did not mean presenting people with a set of soft options or leading our people down the lazy path of least resistance. Bob and the brilliant cabinet that he chaired so assuredly, so generously to his colleagues to include their talents, didn't demand consensus or capitulate to it. They built it through leadership, through persuasion, through what Paul Keating in his wonderful tribute described as their shared obsession with a more clever and creative Australia.

It's true that Bob had a genuine and unique connection with the Australian people. He nurtured that and treasured it. But he also deployed this connection of his in the service of something bigger, in the service of our country. Bob understood that political capital was destined to depreciate, no matter what. He understood that the true test of a leader's qualities and a political party's worth are whether they choose to invest that capital in national progress. Bob has left us unfinished business, too: treaty, climate change, a more independent foreign policy, better Medicare.

When we were young we were warned not to meet our heroes because we were told that they are destined to disappoint. Like so many in the opposition ranks, it's amongst the great privileges of my life that not only did I get to meet my hero but I had the honour of knowing him as a friend and learning from him as a mentor. I never lost that sense of wonder that comes from turning to your hero for advice though, just as I could tell that Bob never tired of his deep interest in national political debate, his deep affection for the trade union movement, his profound belief in the Labor Party and its values and his boundless love for the Australian people.

I last saw Bob just days before he passed away. He was sitting out on his beloved balcony. He had a crossword in front of him. There was a dictionary, a strawberry milkshake and a cigar, which was removed for the photo. The sun was on his face. He was at ease with himself. I understood that this visit was most likely goodbye, although he had a sturdy constitution, because I had visited him twice before in previous months thinking that that too, perhaps, would be when I last saw him. I tried to tell him what he meant to me and what he meant to all of us. I'm not sure that I found the right words for the weight of the moment. Yet still I think Bob knew. He wanted to talk about everything else, not himself. But he knew what he meant to Australia. He knew what he had achieved for our country. He knew that he was loved by his family, by his friends, by his former colleagues, by the people, right to the end.

To Bob's family: the families of those who have served as leader will know what you've been through, but many others can't. I mean no malice by that. What you have endured and given very few will understand, but please be assured that many can appreciate that sacrifice for public service. Chloe has asked me to place on record her and her family's gratitude to Hazel, Blanche, to Sue, to Ros, to Stephen, to Sophie, to Rupert, Ben, David, Paul and Gabi and to their beautiful children Evie and Bronte, Kel and Sam, and Louis.

We will miss you, Bob. We will carry up your unfinished business. We will recall your lessons but we understand that there will never, ever again be another Bob Hawke. You were one and you were unique. From all of us in the future who receive the benefits of you and your government and your passions: we are grateful. May you rest in peace. I thank the House.

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