Gavin Pearce (Braddon, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

I'm very proud of my job, in representing the good electorate of Braddon, but I'm also very proud of my service as a digger, and it's from that perspective, the digger's perspective, that I want to speak today. Having spoken to the digger veteran community that I have close contact with, I know they're frustrated with the way in which certain spheres of our media and our politics are turning the current operation into something that is beyond belief. The way this is being whipped up, when we still have boots on the ground, disgusts me, and I know it disgusts my fellow veterans.

I'm a former radio operator. The call sign 'Contact! Wait out' is an important one for us. When we hear that on a radio net, our concentration goes to what is happening. It means that a particular team has engaged the enemy. From that point on, only the commander on the ground or the supporting elements will talk on the radio net. That's for a very good reason. It's to allow the focus to be where it needs to be—that is, on the boots on the ground in the firefight. It's to allow the commander on the ground to have his head to manoeuvre his troops and to call for support when necessary. It's absolutely vital. It's life and death. As far as I'm concerned, the stage we're at at the moment is: 'Contact! Wait out.' We have boots on the ground.

When I talk about 'the ground', I don't mean just any old ground. This ground is the most dangerous on the planet. The dangers that those soldiers, air crew and former field personnel face is second to none. The threat is ever present with every step they take. As we close in towards the final stages of this mission, the threat increases commensurately. I encourage everybody in the place, the media and all those who are forming their opinions from the comfort of their lounge chairs to consider the ones on the ground, the ones in the firefight, the ones extracting valuable personnel from the most dangerous part of the earth.

On 11 September 2001, at 22.46 kilo, I was called into the operations room at 7th Signal Regiment, electronic warfare. Two aircraft had just hit a building in New York. The subsequent 2,996 deaths sent that operations room into turmoil. I would ask all those out there today who are considering the current position to cast their minds back to that time 20 years ago. I remember it very distinctly. I remember the looks on the faces of the diggers in that operating environment. I remember them with their cans on—their headphones on—listening to the traffic that was coming in. We didn't know whether it was World War III or whether it was an isolated incident. We were looking for intelligence everywhere to try to support the mission and tell our commanders where they were situationally, tactically—to do our job. I still remember the look in the eyes of those diggers, the state of confusion, disbelief and shock. But as those diggers maintained that look they immediately fell into their job, their mission. That is exactly what they were trained to do and that's what diggers do—they do their job.

The job that we have at the moment in Afghanistan, at Kabul, is one of the most important missions we've seen for some time. I can guarantee you that every single one of the soldiers involved in that operation is not thinking of politics. I can guarantee you that they're not thinking of the next headline in the paper. I can guarantee you that they're not thinking about social media, in relation to sensationalising the mission that they're on. They're thinking about their mission: what they have to do, keeping their mates on their left and their right alive and protecting the life of the asset that they're exfiltrating—protecting the people that they're charged with protecting. That's what their job is. And I'll tell you what, Mr Speaker: the families of those soldiers involved don't think about politics either. They don't think about headlines. They don't think about social media. They think about their loved ones.

When I hear the term '41 brave Australian soldiers', it has a different connotation for me. I see each and every one of them. I see them as a fellow brother. I see their families. I see their wives. I see their kids, who will never see their fathers again. I see mothers. I see fathers. I see human life. So, to me, it has a very different connotation.

It's also time for our nation to reflect on the sacrifice that our defence families make in supporting their loved ones. They didn't sign up for this; they never raised their hand, but they're along for the ride anyway and they bear a lot of the burden that our defence personnel incur during their service. Often, when the discharge happens and that particular digger gets out, the families are the ones who suffer. So today I think it behoves us all to think of the loved ones—the families, the kids, the mothers, the fathers—because, in some cases, all those loved ones have is a flag. I've been on the wrong side of delivering that to a particular mother, and it'll never leave me—the look in her eyes when we gave her that flag to replace her son. I know that the tears that fell on her flag were real, and I know that she would treasure that flag because that is the only connection that she has. Families do it tough, as well as our veterans.

When our veterans consider and contemplate, when they do get time to consider what they've done, what has occurred and what they've had to do as part of executing their mission, then that becomes confronting as well. Sometimes—particularly given the situation with the current exfiltration at Kabul in Afghanistan—veterans may become bewildered and disappointed: 'Why were we there? Why did we bother?' But, for us as a parliament and a country, I, as a bloke, want to talk to every single last veteran out there today and tell you very sincerely, very honestly, to raise your head high, because of the difference that you made in defending your country, in maintaining and carrying out your mission and in looking after your mates. You have protected a complete generation of Afghanis. You've given them hope. And that's what the Australian flag gives, when locals that we're protecting in-country look up and see that. They see a very special soldier—they see a digger. An Australian digger is renowned for being not only one of the most lethal, deadly soldiers on the planet but also, as lethal as they are, one who can turn around and pick a little kid out of a piece of razor wire, or take a lolly out of their basic pouch, or give a little child a drink or help it with its first day. That's what diggers are renowned for. They've got compassion. They've got the care. They've got a heart. So these conflicting qualities of lethality and care are, I think, very much something to be proud of. I, together with all my colleagues here and with the nation, want to assure all our veterans and all our veterans' families, and all those who have suffered and continue to suffer, that we're immensely proud of you. Lest we forget.

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