For Michael Gordon: "A defining column in the cathedral of Australian journalism and opinion" by Paul Keating - 2018

16 February 2018, MCG, Jolimont, Melbourne, Australia

Well, we're here to celebrate Michael's life and to mourn his passing, to pay tribute to his life's work, to regret his voice having been stilled. We're also here to share the grief and pass on our condolences to Robin and to his son and daughter, Scott and Sarah.

In a place of many pillars, Michael was a defining column in the cathedral of Australian journalism and opinion. He journalism was marked by its integrity and consistency, a point Jim has already referred to. Perpetually characterised by his own lack of self importance, his determination not to inject himself into his stories, the ability to stand back and talk.

He possessed journalism's most fundamental attribute — to dispassionately assemble facts, to present them in a digestible and intelligent way, to give the reader the credit of understanding their import, to allow the reader the opportunity to come to a conclusion without the story needing colouring.

Michael's journalism carried that quality of understatement, which over time engenders regard in a reader appreciative of fact and insight, particularly in the age of self-expression where bellicosity is too often the hallmark. it takes a strong presence of mind and sense of self to remain unharried, to remain both focused and content with one’s judgements. Michael's line was always marked by that focus and conscientiousness of purpose.

Long careers in journalism and the judgments which attend them are part of the skeins which form the fabric of the country and society. And the loss of any one, an important one, carries a loss to us all. This is why Michael's passing transcends even the primal loss carried by his family and friends.

He was always fascinated by ideas and as his career was fundamentally in political journalism, he was fascinated by political ideas. In my case, this brought him to extend his journalism to a book, which Jim has already mentioned, ‘A Question of Leadership’, which he had published in 1993. This was built around what journalists have since labelled my Plácido Domingo speech, the December 1990 addressed to the National Press Club, perhaps, not perhaps certainly my one and only unguarded speech to the gallery. And the cause of my unguardedness was the death of the secretary to the treasury the previous evening, who had returned from Melbourne to Canberra to participate in an athletics event, only to die tragically coming off the field. In the reflection and sombreness of it, the following night, I was not of a mind to offer an entertaining political speech when someone of such substance, conscientiousness and commitment had been taken from us.

So I focused on the topic of why we were all there. What would we doing there? What was the essence of our mission? What was our duty to public life? And what was the appropriate role of journalists in the political side show? And in the speech I spoke of participants and voyeurs — whether journalists wish to be part of an integral integral to the national project, or whether they wish to sit on the fence and remain voyeurs, to report the high points but too often in the context of sensationalism. Or were they going to be in it for the policy ride and share the uplift, the psychic income or then to be diverted by the then opposition’s alternatives?

I argued what was central to national progress was leadership. That politicians as a class change the world, and that good ones make it very much better.

That is providing they have support on the big upshifts —when we move the whole structure up. I was trying at the time to convey the righteousness of the project and the constructive role journalists had already played in the big reforms to that time, and to not now fall for what was then the Thatcherite agenda of the then opposition.

Well, this whole notion of leadership and the role of leaders and the co-option of the media in the project really got Michael's attention. Mainly for the reason he was already a committed participant, as both Jim and Robyn's remarks make clear, the patriot in him always willed him to the high road agenda. In reality, he could not resist it. The speech got me into great trouble, of course, because of my focus on leadership, where I had said that Australia had never had leadership of the kind that had been provided in the United States at critical by Washington Lincoln and Roosevelt. As it turned out, this caused certain offense in some quarters <laugh> that the United States had a deeper sense of itself than we had, and that it had snatched its independence had written a constitution to guarantee and protect it.

Nevertheless, Michael saw the Plácido Domingo speech as me laying out the contours of an even larger canvas than the reformation of the economy. And hence his book ‘A Question of Leadership’ was written to alert people to that possibility, to that likelihood. So when I became prime minister, it was no surprise to him that having given the country a new economic engine, I wanted to reorient Australia towards Asia, attempt a true reconciliation with the indigenes and embrace a Republic — to let the country discover its blood energy, to let us know who we are and what we are, to give us the power to head full steam into the fastest growing part of the world but with our heads held high.

Michael loved the whole set of ideas, from Mabo to native title, the throw to Asia and of course the Republic. He would occasionally opine what a terrible loss the shift to a Republic had been in later life in conversations I had with him, and agreed that Australia could never be a great country whileever it borrowed the monarch of another country. He understood that there are no queen bees in the human hive, and as Jefferson has said, a monarchy was, of its essence, a tyranny,

Michael believed in an enlightened cosmopolitan Australia, one at a point of justice with its indigenes, open to the world, and ready to embrace its vast neighbourhood. Like the rest of us, he had to end endure the provincialism and the halting progress, but he never stopped believing in the larger schematic.

We will truly miss him.

for Gough Whitlam: 'You would go to the barricades wth such a man', by Graham Freudenberg - 2014

5 November 2014, Sydney Town Hall, Sydney, Australia

For Gough Whitlam: 'He was an enhancer, an enlarger', by Malcolm Turnbull - 2014

21 October 2014, Canberra, Australia

I am very pleased and very honoured to associate myself with all of these fine speeches today remembering my good friend and constituent Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam was always at pains to remind me that he was my constituent, addressing me generally loudly and at a distance as 'My Member, My Member', just to make it quite clear that I had certain obligations to him.

We are here also to extend our condolences to Tony, Nick, Stephen and Catherine and their families. It is a time of great sadness for the Whitlam family and for Gough's friends but it should also be a time of joy. Gough lived to a great age and he had a great life. He was a big man with a big vision for a big country. He was an optimist. He was funny. He was witty. He always said, 'Don't say I'm funny; say I'm witty.' Well, he was witty and funny. In all of that we should celebrate his life.

We know Gough Whitlam's government was not unmarked by error. It was a controversial time and I will say a little bit about the influence of that on the Labor Party in a moment. We have to remember that the economic arguments of those days have largely receded into history. The truth is that nobody on our side or on the Labor side would agree with Gough's economic agenda. We would not agree with Billy McMahon's economic agenda. Life has moved on, but what is remembered is the myth of Gough or, as Gough would say, 'the mythos of Gough'. What is that thread, that narrative that emerges from history out of the humdrum daily grind of political argument? What is it? It is an enormous optimism and all of us admire that, whether we voted for him in the seventies or our parents voted for him, or whether we approved of what John Kerr did or not, all of that recedes. What people remember of Gough Whitlam is a bigness, generosity, an enormous optimism and ambition for Australia. That is something we can all subscribe to.

As many speakers have said, Gough was a great parliamentarian. He loved this place—not this chamber so much as the one he served in. He loved this parliament but he was also an active citizen. He did not just make his political contribution while he was a member of parliament; he continued to make a contribution to Australian politics and to public affairs and to cultural debate throughout his entire life. He left the office of Prime Minister nearly 40 years ago, yet he has been an active voice in the Australian public debate ever since. He was, as the member for Watson and the member for Sydney recalled, very active in the Republican Movement, in the campaign for Australia to have one of its own as its head of state. I remember recruiting Malcolm Fraser and Gough Whitlam to come onto the same platform and speak in favour of the yes vote in the referendum. I thought I would share with honourable members my recollection from my account of that time. I rang Gough on 8 July 1999 and I noted:

I spoke to Gough Whitlam today, or rather he spoke to me, for about 40 minutes. He is happy to speak for a yes vote and with Malcolm Fraser. Gough said, 'Malcolm, I'm tired of these professors, no, associate professors of Constitutional law theorising about constitutional crises. I know about constitutional crises.'

Interestingly one of the features of the republican model in that referendum campaign, as some members may recall, was that, while the President would be appointed by a joint sitting of both houses of parliament in a bipartisan vote, the President could be removed by the Prime Minister, but the President could not be replaced by the Prime Minister. The senior state Governor would fill that place and then there would have to be a bipartisan appointment of a new President. Both Whitlam and Fraser were of the view that, if that arrangement had been in place in 1975, Kerr would not have sacked Whitlam because both of them were of the view—Malcolm Fraser especially and perhaps with more insight—that the reason Kerr had sacked Whitlam was to pre-empt Whitlam sacking him—an interesting footnote to that history.

Gough was remarkably generous to everyone he dealt with. As the Prime Minister said, he was a very hard man to disagree with and an almost impossible man to dislike. He was full of arcane knowledge; the Prime Minister referred to his knowledge of ecclesiastical matters, and he had an extraordinary interest in genealogy—almost anybody's genealogy. If he learned one thing about your family—a third cousin or an aunt or a great-aunt—he would remember it and then remind you of it. He was very, very well informed about this. I saw this in action in 1986, when I called him as a witness in the Spycatcher trial to give evidence on behalf of my client, Peter Wright. I was hoping that Gough would be indignant about the evidence we had produced that the British security service, MI5, had been—without any legal authority at all—bugging all sorts of people in Britain, including Patricia Hewitt, who had been the secretary of the National Council for Civil Liberties and was at that time Neil Kinnock's private secretary. She went on, of course, to become a cabinet minister and so forth. I tendered some evidence about this, and Gough immediately lit on Patricia Hewitt's name. He said, 'I know this one—Mr Kinnock's private secretary. I've known her all her life. I went to school with her mother. I've known her mother since I went to school with her in 1930. I've known her father since they were married in 1941. I've known her and her sisters and her brother her whole life.' He went on, and so I said, 'Do you regard her as a person likely to be plotting the violent overthrow of the British government?' Gough said, 'No. I've never felt myself at risk in her company.'

There has been a lot of discussion about Gough's regard for the great beyond. Gough is resolving his relationship with God as we speak, no doubt, but he was always very entertaining about those issues of the divine. I remember 25 years ago, when I was in business with his son Nicholas. Nicholas and Judy brought Gough and Margaret up to visit us at the farm in the Hunter Valley that I had inherited from my father some years before. Unfortunately, a fog had descended on this particular part of the country and you could not see anything. It was just white everywhere you looked; it was like being in a white cloud. I said to Gough, 'I'm really sorry. It's a nice view here but you can't see any of it.' He said, 'Oh, don't be concerned. I'm at completely at home. It's just like Olympus.'

We recognise that all prime ministers capture the attention of the Australian people. Not all prime ministers capture their imagination, and even fewer capture their imagination and retain it for so long. Gough Whitlam was able to do that because of his presence and his eloquence but, above all, because of that generosity of vision I spoke about earlier. He was an enhancer, an enlarger. He was not a mean or negative politician in the way, for example, that another great Labor leader, who also lived to a similar age, Jack Lang, was. Jack Lang was a great hater. Gough Whitlam is a great example to us. He obviously never forgave John Kerr, but look at the way he was able to be reconciled with Malcolm Fraser. That is a great example to all of us. We can learn from Gough Whitlam about the importance of optimism and the importance of having a big vision for our country. I might add that it is important to execute that vision with competence; but, nonetheless, think about the way he did not allow hatred to eat away at him. The reality is that hatred, as we know, destroys and corrodes the hater much more than it hurts the hated, and so many people in our business, in politics, find themselves consumed by hatred and retire into a bitter anecdotage, gnawing away at all of the injustices and betrayals they have suffered through their life. Whitlam was able to rise above that, as we saw in his cooperation and work with Malcolm Fraser on many causes—not just the republic. I recall at one point I was on the opposite side when they were busily campaigning to stop a group I was part of to acquire Fairfax. They had many unity tickets on different matters. Nonetheless, it is a great example for all of us not to be consumed by hatred.

Gough will never be forgotten. He will be given credit, I imagine, for many things that were equally or perhaps even entirely the achievements of others. I heard earlier that Gough Whitlam had ended the White Australia policy. I could just hear Harold Holt turning in his watery grave to hear that! Nonetheless, he was there at a tipping point, a fulcrum point, in our history, and he was able to embody and personify a time of change. By capturing our imagination with such optimism, he will always be a symbol of the greatness, the importance, the value of public life—an example to all of us. We can leave the political agenda to one side, we can leave the debate about his measures to one side and just remember that big, generous, witty, warm man—that giant—and, above all, we must remember that nearly 70 years of marriage, that extraordinary love affair. If Gough is in Olympus, I have no doubt that he is there with Margaret. I think that, in some respects, one of the things we can be happiest about today is the fact that that old couple are no longer apart.

for Edmund Hillary: 'He went to a height and a place no man had gone before', by Helen Clark - 2008

22 January 2008, St Mary's, Parnell, Auckland, New Zealand

There is no available video of this speech. There is audio here.

On 29 May 1953 a young New Zealander stood on top of Mt Everest with his climbing companion Tenzing Norgay. That young man was Edmund Hillary, soon to be knighted, and to become the most famous New Zealander of our time.

Sir Ed’s achievement on that day cannot be underestimated. He went to a height and a place no man had gone before. He went there with 1950s, not 21st Century, technology. He went there with well honed climbing skills, developed in New Zealand, Europe, and Nepal itself.

But above all, he went there with attitude – with a clear goal, with courage, and with a determination to succeed.

That attitude, Sir Ed’s “can do” pragmatism, and his humility as the praise flowed for him over the decades, endeared Sir Ed to our nation and made him an inspiration and a role model for generations of New Zealanders.

Today we all mourn with Lady Hillary, with Peter and Sarah and all Sir Ed’s extended family, knowing that their loss is personal and profound, and valuing their willingness to share this farewell with us all.

We mourn as a nation, because we know we are saying goodbye to a friend.

Whether we knew Sir Ed personally a lot, a little, or not at all, he was a central part of our New Zealand family. My parents’ and grandparents’ generation followed Ed’s adventures. Those of us who cannot remember the news of that great climb grew up knowing of the man and the legend, as today’s children do.

And how privileged we were to have that living legend with us for 88 years.

Prior to Sir Ed’s conquest of Everest, the mountain had often been described as the Third Pole. It had defeated fifteen previous expeditions. Reaching the summit seemed to be beyond mere mortals. It was considered one of our world’s last great challenges.

So when the news broke of the ascent by Ed Hillary, a beekeeper from New Zealand, and Tenzing Norgay, a Sherpa from Nepal, it made headlines around the world. This was one of the defining moments of the twentieth century, and earned these two brave men their place in history.

There then followed many other achievements of note.

Earlier this month, the fiftieth anniversary was observed of Sir Ed’s journey to the South Pole – when he became the first person to make the land crossing since Amundsen and Scott.

In Kiwi style, Sir Ed did the crossing on a tractor.

From the early 1960s, Sir Ed began the work which is his living legacy, founding the Himalayan Trust dedicated to the wellbeing of the Sherpa people in the high mountain valleys of Nepal, and supporting the education of their children and the development of health services.

Great tragedy struck Sir Ed and his family in 1975 with the death of Louise Lady Hillary and Belinda in Nepal. Yet Sir Ed was to carry on his work in Nepal, and for many years now June Lady Hillary, has been at his side, supporting him and the Himalayan Trust, and Sir Ed’s many other endeavours.

Sir Ed lent his prestige as patron to so many good causes. Schools and other institutions, organisations and facilities bear his name with great pride.

And Sir Ed also served our country with distinction as High Commissioner to India, based in New Delhi with accreditation to his much-loved Nepal.

Sir Ed described himself as a person of modest abilities. In reality he was a colossus. He was our hero. He brought fame to our country. We admired his achievements and the great international respect in which he was held.

But above all, we loved Sir Ed for what he represented – a determination to succeed against the odds, humility, an innate sense of fair play, and a tremendous sense of service to the community, at home and abroad.

Sir Edmund Hillary’s extraordinary life has been an inspiration to our small nation and to many beyond our shores. As individuals, we may not be able to match Sir Ed’s abilities or strength, but we can all strive to match his humanity and compassion for others.

His values were strong; they are timeless; and they will endure.

May Sir Edmund Hillary rest in peace

For Pierre Trudeau: 'Je 't'aime Papa', by Justin Trudeau - 2000

3 October 2000, Notre Dame Basilica, Montreal, Canada

Friends, Romans, countrymen.

I was about 6 years old when I went on my first official trip. I was going with my father and my Grandpa Sinclair to the North Pole. It was a very glamorous destination.

But the best thing about it, was I was going to be spending lots of time with my dad. Because in Ottawa he just worked so hard.

One day, we were in Alert, Canada's northernmost point.  A Scientific, military installation that seemed to consist entirely of low, shed-like buildings and warehouses.

Let's be honest: I was 6. There were no brothers around to play with. And I was getting a little bored because Dad still somehow, had a lot of work to do.

I remember a frozen, windswept Arctic afternoon.
And I was bundled up into a jeep and hustled out on a special, top-secret mission.

I figured I was finally going to be let into the reason for the existence of this high-security Arctic base.

I was exactly right.

We drove slowly through and past the buildings, all of them very gray and windy. And we rounded a corner, and came upon a red one.

We stopped. I got out of the jeep and started to crunch across toward the front door, but I was told — no, to the window.

So I clambered over the snowbank, boosted up to the window, rubbed my sleeve across the frosty glass to see inside, and as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw a figure, hunched over one of many worktables that seemed very cluttered.

He was wearing a red suit with a furry white trim. And that's when I understood just how powerful and wonderful my father was.

[Applause]

Pierre Elliott Trudeau. The very words convey so many things to so many people.

Statesman, intellectual, professor, adversary, outdoorsman, lawyer, journalist, author, prime minister.

But more than anything, to me he was dad.

And what a dad.

He loved us with a passion and a devotion that encompassed his life. He taught us to believe in ourselves. To stand up for ourselves. To know ourselves, and to accept responsibility for ourselves.

We knew we were the luckiest kids in the world, and that we had done nothing to actually deserve it.

It was instead something that we would have to spend the rest of our lives to work very hard to live up to. He gave us a lot of tools.

We were taught to take nothing for granted. He doted on us but didn't indulge. Many people say he didn't suffer fools gladly. But I'll have you know he had infinite patience with us.

He encouraged us to push ourselves, to the limits. To challenge anyone and anything, but there were certain basic principles that could never be compromised.

As I guess it is for most kids, in Grade 3, it was always a real treat to visit my dad at work. As on previous visits, this particular occasion included a lunch at the parliamentary restaurant, which always seemed terribly important and full of serious people that I didn't recognize.

But at 8, I was becoming politically aware. And I recognized one whom I knew to be one of my father's chief rivals.

Thinking of pleasing my father, I told a joke about him. A generic, silly little grade school thing.

My father looked at me sternly, with that look I would learn to know so well.

And said: Justin, [in translation] we never attack the individual. We can be in total disagreement with someone, without denigrating them as a consequence, and, saying that, he stood up, took me by the hand and brought me over to introduce me to this man.

He was a nice man, who was eating there with his daughter, a nice-looking blond girl, a little younger than I was.

He spoke to me in a friendly manner for a bit, and it was at that point that I understood that having opinions that are different from another does not preclude being deserving of respect as an individual.

Because simple tolerance, mere tolerance, is not enough.

We need genuine and deep respect for each and every human being, notwithstanding their thoughts, their values, their beliefs, their origins.

That's what my father demanded of his sons, and that's what he demanded of his country. He demanded this out of a sense of love. Love of his sons. Love of his country, and that's why we love him so.

The letters, the flowers, the dignity shown by the crowds in bidding their farewells — all of this as a thank you for having loved us so much. [end translation]

My father's fundamental belief in the sanctity of the individual never came from a textbook. It stemmed from his deep love for and faith in all Canadians and over the past few days, with every card, every rose, every tear, every wave and every pirouette, you returned his love.

It means the world to Sacha and me. Thank you.

We have gathered from coast to coast to coast. From one ocean to another, united in our grief to say goodbye. But this is not the end. He left politics in '84, but he came back for Meech, he came back for Charlottetown, he came back to remind us of who we are and what we're all capable of.

But he won't be coming back any more. It's all up to us — all of us — now.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. He has kept his promises and earned his sleep.

Je t'aime, Papa.

John Howard: 'As the sun sets over this beautiful island we gather here in sorrow', Bali Bombings Memorial Service - 2002

17 October, 2002, Australian Consulate, Bali, Indonesia

There is no available audio or video of this speech.

As the sun sets over this beautiful island we gather here in sorrow, in anguish, in disbelief and in pain.

There are no words that I can summon to salve in anyway the hurt and the suffering and the pain being felt by so many of my fellow countrymen and women and by so many of the citizens of other nations.

I can say though to my Australian countrymen and women that there are 19 and a half million Australians who are trying however inadequately to feel for you and to support you at this time of unbearable grief and pain.

The wanton, cruel and barbaric character of what occurred last Saturday night has shocked our nation to the core and now the anguish that so many are feeling, the painful process of identification which has prolonged that agony for so many, the sense of bewilderment and disbelief that so many young lives with so much before them should have been taken away in such blind fury, hatred and violence.

I can on behalf of all the people of Australia declare to you that we will do everything in our power to bring to justice those who were responsible for this foul deed.

We will work with our friends in Indonesia to do that and we will work to others to achieve an outcome of justice.

Can I say to our Balinese friends, the lovely people of Bali, who have been befriended over the decades, by the generations of so many Australians who have come here, we grieve for you, we feel for you, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the love and support you have extended to our fellow countrymen and women over these past days.

As the chaplain said there will be scars left on people for the rest of their life, both physical and emotional.

Our nation has been changed by this event.

Perhaps we may not be so carefree as we have been in the past but we will never lose our openness, our sense of adventure.

The young of Australia will always travel, they will always seek fun in different parts, they will always reach out to the young of other nations, they will always be open, fun-loving and decent men and women.

So as we grapple inadequately and in despair to try and comprehend what has happened, let us gather ourselves together, let us wrap our arms not only around our fellow Australians but our arms around the people of Indonesia, of Bali, let us wrap our arms around the people of other nations and the friends and relatives of the nationals of other countries who died in this horrible event.

It will take a long time for these foul deeds to be seen in any kind of context, they can never be understood, they can never be excused.

Australia has been affected very deeply but the Australian spirit has not been broken, the spirit remains strong and free and open and tolerant.

I know that is what all of those who lost their lives would have wanted and I know that is what those who grieve for them want.

For Lee Kwan Yew: 'Yeye showed me that you could make a difference in this world', by grandson Li Hongyi - 2015

29 March 2015, Mandai Crematorium, Singapore

Some years ago when I was preparing to go to university, Yeye gave me a camera. This was the first and only time he ever gave me a present. Over the next few years I got deeply into photography and took thousands of photos of my time in college. After I graduated I got a book printed with my favourite ones. I presented it to him as a thank you for his gift and hopefully to show him I had done something good with it.

Yeye was more than a grandfather to me. He was an inspiration. As a child, I looked up to him and wanted to grow up to be the kind of man he was. And even now, I still do.

We would have lunch with Yeye and Nainai every Sunday at their house. We always ate simple things: mee rebus, nasi lemak, popiah. He was never one concerned with luxury or lavishness. The idea that he would care about how fancy his food was or what brand his clothes were was ridiculous. His mind was always on more important things. He would have discussions with our parents while my cousins and I would sit by the side and listen. I would always feel a bit silly after listening. He made me realize how petty all my little concerns were and how there were so many bigger problems in the world. He made me want to do something more with my life.

He was not an especially charming man. Yet when he spoke you felt compelled to listen. Because when he spoke you knew he was being straight with you. He was not trying to cajole or flatter. He would be completely frank and honest. After speaking to him in person you knew that his speeches were not puffed up fluff. They were truly his opinions on the matters he cared most about. He would never echo empty slogans or narrow-minded ideologies; it was always thoroughly researched and well-considered perspectives. I had the privilege once of accompanying Yeye to a ceremony in Washington where he was receiving an award. Hearing him speak and watching the entire room listen made me feel so proud. His charisma came not from showmanship but from pure substance.

Yeye understood the limits of his knowledge. He made it a point to try and understand the flaws and risks of his own perspectives better than anyone else. This was especially true when it came to Singapore. He refused to let blind nationalism run this country into the ground. He cared deeply about this country and made sure that he was aware of any weaknesses that could cause us harm. And yet he was very proud of Singapore and confident that we could be better.

Yeye showed me that you could make a difference in this world. Not just that you could make a difference, but that you could do it with your head held high. You didn’t have to lie, cheat, or steal. You didn’t have to charm, flatter, or cajole. You didn’t have to care about frivolous things or play silly games. You could do something good with your life, and the best way to do so was to have good principles and conduct yourself honourably.

People admired Yeye for his brilliant mind. They admired him for his ability to lead and rally us together. They admired him for all of his staggering accomplishments. These are all true. But to me, what made him a great man was the person he chose to be. A man of character, clarity, and conviction. We should remember him less as a man who gave us great gifts, and more as a man who showed us the kind of people we could be.

When Yeye gave me that camera years ago, he wrote me a note. It was a simple note without any flowery language or cheap sentiment. He simply told me that he hoped I made good use of it. I hope I have.