Claire Clutterham (Sturt, Australian Labor Party) Share this | Hansard source

I believe that if you have the capacity to speak up for others, you should. It's this unwavering belief that has brought me to this place. That I stand in this place today holding that belief feels truly remarkable because, when I look back at my life, I consider myself to be the most unlikely candidate to have found a voice and to have been given the honour of using it in the Australian parliament. It feels remarkable to me because for the first 25 years of my life, until I moved overseas, I was utterly paralysed when it came to speaking up for myself, let alone speaking up for others. I was crippled by shyness and self-doubt, issues which can still linger today, because of significant and sustained bullying and harassment throughout my primary school years.

Picture this: the local public primary school in a small country town with old transportable classrooms, creaky air conditioners that barely worked and 30-plus kids crammed into a room. Picture the bathrooms, with cold concrete terrazzo floors and a row of leaky taps that either couldn't be turned on or stayed on permanently. Now, picture recess and lunchtime, and picture a young child in year 2, year 3, year 4 and then year 5 hiding in one of the stalls, because to hide in there alone was better than sitting outside alone where everyone could see you were alone, where you might have to face another jibe, another comment: 'Loser, wuss, square, boring.' If this happens enough, you start to believe it is true. You are a loser. You are boring. You have nothing of value to add. Nobody likes you. If it happens enough, it means the moments when the teacher calls on you to speak up in class become moments of dread, when you start to sweat, to stumble and to blush so heavily you turn a deep red—or beetroot, as the other kids liked to describe the colour of my face.

We moved around a lot because of Dad's job as a bank manager. This meant three different primary schools and three different high schools, each move requiring hard work to make friends and try and fit in. The start of year 6 in 1993 heralded another move, and this time there was a little bit of promise. They were a couple of girls in the other year 6 class who I was pretty friendly with, and in year 7 those girls would eventually go on to become my people. Alex Taylor and Lisa Dickeson, I'll be forever grateful to both of you for that. And, Lisa, one of my favourite moments of the Sturt campaign was the day I fortuitously doorknocked you, having not seen you for almost 30 years. Good girlfriends really are like chocolate and champagne; they make the world better. And so, to my besties of today, Merryn and Jayne: thank you both for continually making my world better.

But back to year 6, which brought with it both a new primary school and, sadly, new dental work—not just braces; they were the least of my problems. I unfortunately needed the torture device known as headgear. Time for another visual. Picture a thick silver wire attached to braces, hooked into a platelike contraption at the back of my mouth, jutting out to sit outside of my mouth, curving around my face to the back of my head, all strung together with a strap—a nice thick strap, the colour of blue denim. There would be no first kiss that year. The boys couldn't have got past the wire even if they'd wanted to. Dad was pleased! I looked like a Transformer, but I definitely didn't have superpowers. My chosen sport was swimming, and I did a lot of it, so I was also usually accompanied by the intoxicating whiff of chlorine. Looking like a character out of a Marvel film, smelling like a swimming pool and being cripplingly shy, with a permanently beetroot face, meant one thing: I was a target for bullies, and school life was difficult.

But, despite what was happening to me, there was someone in my year 6 and year 7 classes who had it worse—someone who was a bigger target. I was so caught up in my own misery I never once spoke up for her. I never said a thing, even though I knew what was going on, even though I knew how terrible it must have been for her. My lack of courage in not speaking up for her has stayed with me and has led me to this place. When something is hard or challenging or is going to take courage, I think of my primary-school classmate and her struggles. It took me 25 years and a move to another country to find my voice, but what about my classmate's voice? Did she ever find it?

All children have a voice and the right to use it. All children deserve an education that is meaningful and allows them to grow and develop free from the crippling mental health impacts of bullying and harassment, so they can become fully functioning adults who have the capacity to meaningfully contribute to the community and to become people who have the capacity to speak up for others.

We know that kids today not only endure bullying in the classroom; they endure it before school, after school and on weekends. The online world has created a platform where torment is public and continuous and cannot be erased. It is there forever. It is a constant reminder. As well as social media restrictions, we need data driven minimisation strategies for schools, informed by stakeholders with lived experience. We need more mental health support in schools, to support victims of bullying but also to redirect the mindset and pathways for those who are doing the bullying so they understand why they are doing it. I'm proud to be part of a government championing an antibullying rapid response review that will deliver on this.

We also need to better equip young and mature aged teacher education students with the knowledge and skills to manage the dangerous and potentially lifelong adverse effects of bullying in the classroom. And we need to do this urgently. I found my voice, but not everyone does. For some kids and their families, the outcome is catastrophic and irreversible. To the kids out there who are suffering, including those children who go to one of the 44 schools in the great electorate of Sturt, please hear this: I did not speak up for my classmate but I will speak up for you to ensure that you have the confidence to go to school, that you enjoy going to school and that you develop the capacity and self-assurance to find and use your voice. To the beautiful little people in my life who are at school—to my darling niece, Caitlin, who will always be my girl, to my fierce but kind nephew, Jack, and to my precious, dear, brave stepdaughter, Niamh: you can tell me anything, and I will always help you and I will always speak up for you.

The country primary schools where I spent my formative years were in the Riverland, which meant that I grew up with the mighty river Murray at my backyard. There is a degree of serendipity in this, given I now have the honour of representing an electorate named for Captain Charles Sturt, who was known for exploring the river Murray. I learnt two important lessons from my 15 years of country life—firstly, that the river Murray is the environmental, economic and social lifeblood of the state of South Australia and that respecting and protecting it so it has the capacity to sustain us for generations to come is critical. Secondly, I learnt about the value of strong communities—how they create a sense of belonging and security and that they do not grow and thrive without volunteers.

The two most dedicated volunteers I knew whilst growing up were my mum and dad, for whom nothing was too much trouble. Mum and Dad, I learnt so much from your dedication to my sister and I but also from your dedication to our broader family and to our country community. I thank you for teaching me this and for always supporting me. Mum and Dad coached and umpired netball and basketball, chopped oranges for half-time, washed the gear, ran swimming carnivals and contributed as voluntary officeholders to multiple sporting clubs. I saw echoes of Mum and Dad during the Sturt campaign when I met true-blue volunteers who had dedicated decades of time to community sporting clubs, such as Dom at the Campbelltown City Soccer & Social Club, Tom at the Glenunga Rams footy club or Rob, Nick and Maria at the MetroStars soccer club. But it was Mum's and Dad's example that encouraged me to become a volunteer in my community, be it through my stepdaughter's local netball club or by being a volunteer director on the board of the Royal Flying Doctor Service.

The RFDS is one of the most brilliant organisations in this great country, providing rural and remote health care and retrieval services to Australians who need it. Every year, the RFDS performs approximately 33,000 life-saving air and medical retrievals. There are 900 patient contacts every day, and, as I speak right now, there are no less than 10 to 15 RFDS red-belly planes transporting doctors and nurses across the country as they provide the finest care to the farthest corner. The RFDS is an organisation that is worth volunteering for. Access to quality remote and rural health care is worth speaking up for. So, to my colleagues at the RFDS: I promise I will speak up for the work that you do at every opportunity.

I took a leap of faith when I was 25 and decided to move overseas to the Middle East. It was a reinvention of sorts because no-one knew me. It was the quintessential fresh start. I remember waking up after my first night, in a hotel in Dubai, opening the curtains and looking out across the desert that was glowing red and gold in the 40 degrees heat and thinking two things. Firstly, what am I doing? And, secondly, I'm so glad I'm here. I couldn't wait to explore the world, to go beyond, and so I joined the so-called great South Australian brain drain of the early 21st century and left. I left for nine years, and those nine years that I spent working as a lawyer in Dubai and Hong Kong were life changing—great travel, great work, great opportunities, but, most importantly, great perspective and a slow but growing realisation that this country, Australia, is a paradise.

In the first few months of my tenure in Dubai I met an Egyptian lawyer who would go on to become my good friend. The look on his face when he realised that I was an Australian citizen with an Australian passport is seared onto my brain because it was one of envy. He told me that everyone wants to move to Australia and that an Australian passport is the golden ticket. Of course, being young, immature and a bit too smug about being an expat, I didn't think that was so, but three years later, in February 2011, I was in the office late one night with my friend and my other Egyptian and Arab colleagues as we watched the Egyptian revolution play out on television. The eyes of my Egyptian colleagues were flashing. They were wild as they saw their compatriots protesting in Tahrir Square, saying no to corruption, saying no to low wages and unemployment, saying no to arbitrary arrest and saying no to electoral fraud, political censorship, authoritarianism and political repression. Protesters were having the courage to speak up, risking imprisonment and risking their lives, and those of their families, and demand change for everyone.

Living in the Middle East during the Arab Spring had a profound impact on me because it was the first time I really reflected on Australia as a country. Yes, we have our problems, but being an Australian citizen is like having a golden ticket. In this country, we fight for working people; we don't oppress them. In this country, we embrace political freedom; we do not shut it down. In this country, we know we will be treated fairly and with due process by our justice system. In this country, we know we won't be woken in the middle of the night by the police and taken to jail, never to be seen or heard from again. What we have here in this country is precious. We need to protect it. We need to understand and be invested in what underpins these freedoms that are simply there for us as if by magic.

If we do not invest in protecting these Australian values and freedoms, we risk losing them. The level of apathy that I witnessed during my campaign troubled me deeply because apathy is the greatest enemy of democracy. If we are apathetic about our political system, we won't engage in it. If we are apathetic about how valuable our healthcare, education, aged-care, social welfare and industrial relations systems are, we will not be invested in sustaining and improving them. And if we are apathetic about the freedoms that we have in this country that we do not have to protest to enjoy, we will not defend them when we need to.

Australia is worth defending. Australia is worth speaking up for. The highly educated people of Sturt and, indeed, the people of South Australia are going to play a key role in this defence of our values and of our nation. There is no longer a brain drain in South Australia. Easily, it is one of the best places to live, work and invest, and people are flocking to it. South Australia is at the heart of our nation's defence industry, and it was with immense pride that I spent five years of my career working for ASC out at the Osborne shipyard in Adelaide's north.

The defence industry offers well-paid, meaningful and secure jobs for South Australians, including those who are still in early learning centres or primary schools or those who haven't even been born yet. That is the opportunity before us. It is the greatest economic opportunity for South Australia in the last century, and I am committed to fight for that opportunity to be realised, to fight to grow the prosperity of my state and to fight to secure the capability we need in this country to defend and deter. In South Australia we will need thousands of additional skilled workers out at the Osborne shipyard to build that capability. Increased investment in STEM research and development, enhanced cyber and AI capability, the faster and simpler transfer of technology and a meaningful value proposition to encourage people to join and remain in the Australian Defence force to conduct this mission are all part of this.

Another part of this is post-service care for our veterans. My grandfather fought in World War II, and like so many others, he had a horrendous experience; he was a prisoner of war. He suffered terrible post-traumatic stress disorder, which was not acknowledged or even recognised during his lifetime, leading to severe battles with alcoholism and unemployment. During the Sturt campaign, I met a young veteran who had served our country. He was home during the day whilst I was doorknocking, because he was unemployed. He was equipped with leadership skills, resilience, character and tenacity. During our 20-minute chat, he told me that, despite trying desperately, he couldn't land a job because his skills did not fit into a box. He was not, for example, an engineer, a doctor or a teacher.

As well as mental and physical health support for veterans in their post-service lives, we must encourage the Australian public and private sectors to continue to offer opportunities to these courageous men and women so that they can benefit from the dignity of meaningful employment and continue to contribute to our community postservice. If we do not speak up for people who have served our country, then we cannot expect others to join this country's great imperative to defend and deter. Without people, we cannot defend and deter, and without deterrence and defence, we risk losing everything.

Our Australian values and way of life are the reason a significant percentage of people who live in Sturt are migrants who have chosen to make Australia their permanent home. Sturt is in Adelaide's east, on the lands of the Kaurna people on the Adelaide Plains, to whom I now pay my respects. For the past two terms of government, Mr James Stevens ably served the people of Sturt. James, you're always classy and always professional, and I thank you for your service to your community.

Stretching from Hope Valley in the north across Adelaide's vibrant green eastern belt all the way to Glen Osmond in the south, Sturt is home to the famous Norwood 'Redlegs' men's and women's footy sides; the brilliant Penfolds Estate winery; the Menz FruChoc shop, which is a South Australian institution; many home grown businesses in the industrial north of the electorate; and several growing and thriving multicultural communities, particularly Indian, Chinese and Italian. I have forged strong relationships with the Italian community in particular, and I now give a big shout-out to my dear friends at the Altavilla club, the Sicilia club, the Marche Club, the Fogolar Furlan Club, San Giogio la Molara club and to Nathaniel's Coffee and Panini on Payneham Road—all of whom I hold responsible for the transition in my wardrobe to almost exclusively elastic waisted garments!

I also thank the Prime Minister for his multiple energetic visits to Sturt during the election campaign, and for the faith and trust he placed in me right from the beginning—faith and trust that never wavered, even when no woman had ever held the seat, and Labor hadn't held it for 53 years. I particularly thank the Prime Minister for rolling his sleeves up at what turned out to be a working visit to a growing business called Nonna's Cucina in Holden Hill, where the Prime Minister was offered a job as an apprentice chef, just in case things didn't go well at the election. Under the leadership of Marco, Dario, Stef, Mel, Rebecca and Michael and their team of volunteers, Nonna's Cucina delivers Italian-style home cooked meals to and does welfare checks on 500 elderly households per day. That is truly an endeavour worth speaking up for.

I am a volunteer delivery driver with Nonna's Cucina. I do home delivery runs as regularly as I can, happily sharing this time with one of the biggest influences on my political career and life, Ms Cressida O'Hanlon, the member for Dunstan in the South Australian parliament. Cressida taught me what it means to be a grassroots campaigner and a true and strong local voice. Cressida, your persistence and effort are a credit to you. I'm so glad we met, and I truly value our friendship.

As well as the incredible people who volunteered tirelessly on the Sturt campaign—particularly my team of Jason Byrne, Daisy Miller, Antonia Larizza and Ella Shaw—whose effort and dedication I now benefit from and can never repay, there are many other incredible people who strongly encouraged me to put my hand up to run for the seat of Sturt and who supported me not with judgement but with frank and full advice throughout that 11-month campaign. There are too many to list now, but these incredible people include Senator Don Farrell, Senator Penny Wong, the Hon. Amanda Rishworth, the Hon. Mark Butler, ALP state secretary Aemon Bourke, and Josh Peak and his formidable team at the SDA.

To Senator Marielle Smith, another incredible person: Marielle, what a journey! From that very first meeting on 6 April 2024 at the St Peters bakery, you believed in me. Your clear and sensible advice was always spot on, and I am so excited that we now share not only a workplace but a dear friendship.

Finally, to the two superstars in my life—firstly, my sister, Lisa. Lisa, I'm wearing a little yellow sparkle today in your honour because yellow is your colour and I wanted a bit of you here in this place with me, even though you are all the way across the world in Washington, DC with Caitlin, Jack and Dom. 'Sparkle' is the only way to describe you. When we grew up together, you were always the one who spoke up for others, no matter the cost. You still do this. I can only aspire to your integrity, generosity, courage and loyalty. Lisa, I dedicated my campaign to you, and I now dedicate my first term as the member for Sturt in this House to you.

And to my Ben: Ben, you are the bravest person I know and my best friend. You are a beautiful dad to Niamh, and every day you show me how to move forward with purpose, no matter what adversity life brings. I will never forget the clarity I felt on our wedding day—the knowledge that saying, 'I do,' to you was the absolute best decision I could ever make for myself and for our little family. Ben, the second greatest privilege of my life is to stand here in this place. The greatest privilege is to do it knowing you are by my side. Your support gives me the courage to speak up for my community.

So to my community, to the people of Sturt: it is a privilege to represent you. Thank you for trusting me and for giving me the honour of speaking up for you every day.

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