Bill Shorten (Maribyrnong, Australian Labor Party, Leader of the Opposition) Share this | Hansard source

At Garma on the weekend, the Prime Minister and I stood with the Yolngu to remember one of their own: a man born blind who helped Australia see. He was a child of the rainbow from the remote Elcho Island of East Arnhem whose music moved monarchs and presidents alike. Dr G Yunupingu shared ancient song lines with the world, his every inflection speaking for the saltwater shore and humanity's oldest story. He also achieved a modern appeal and commercial success that not even his ever-devoted friends at Skinnyfish records could have imagined.

It is the hard truth of Australia's unfinished business that this superstar could delight a packed house and be refused a cab ride home afterwards. The unique talent that both the Prime Minister and I remember today endured all too familiar trials, celebrated and yet neglected, lauded by our nation and let down by our nation.

In remote and very remote areas of Australia, the rate of end-stage kidney disease for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians is up to 20 times higher than it is amongst non-Indigenous Australians. For Dr Yunupingu, for his uncle and for so many others, treatment can only be obtained by leaving country and connection, uncertainly farewelling family and friends. Professor Alan Cass and his task force have previously suggested that we add an MBS item to fund renal dialysis in remote areas, supporting nurses, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health practitioners and Aboriginal health workers to provide treatment on country and in communities. So today, as we move our motions of condolence, perhaps our parties too can also work together to fund this vital service, a small price to pay compared to what Australia has just lost and we commemorate now.

In one of Dr Yunupingu's songs, Galiku, he sings about gilan. Roughly translated, this is the sound of the wind that fills sails and flaps flags. It's the noise you can hear outside this building every day—the snap and rattle of our nation's flag high above the people's House. Yet so often that sound, Dr G Yunupingu's gilan, is drowned out by TV and radio, by ringing of bells and phones and, indeed, by our own voices. So it is with the plight of our First Australians. Too often, their struggles pass unnoticed in the background of our democracy. Too often, their cries from the heart are unheard by our ears. And too often, they die younger than they should from diseases that the rest of us won't.

Dr G Yunupingu will be remembered as an international superstar, a musician of prodigious talent and a storyteller without peer. His life, his music and his triumphs uplift us all. And his death—too young, too soon and easily prevented in other parts of our nation—should prod at our national conscience. Perhaps next time we scurry from one meeting to another, from one press conference to a division, perhaps we can imagine ourselves hearing the rattle of the flag above our building, we can look up and we can remember Dr Yunupingu and remind ourselves there is more to do. Our heartfelt condolences to all who loved him. May he rest in peace.

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