Jess Teesdale (Bass, Australian Labor Party) Share this | Hansard source

I believe that we learn through stories, so please me allow me to share mine. A little boy handed me a button. His name is Archie. No explanation, no big moment—just a quiet, unexpected gift at the door of a stranger. It was the final week of the campaign. I was tired, hopeful and stretched to my limit. And there he was, a small hand reaching out offering me something precious. Something small, yes, but full of meaning. Did he sense, maybe, at that point in time, I really needed a lucky button? Perhaps. I carried it with me through the final week. I kept it close on election night, and I brought it here with me today, because this button became a reminder of kindness, of trust—of why we do this. This chamber hears a lot of talk about policy, priorities and power. But it's the small human things that actually hold us together, especially when distant horizons feel like they begin to darken.

As I hold Archie's gift, I'm reminded that we walk in the footsteps of generations of his ancestors and on lands filled with deep stories far older than any of us. I acknowledge and pay my deepest respects to Palawa elders past and present, community members, their families and the Palawa people that passed too soon and did not make elder status yet who remain in the thoughts of their families and their community across Lutruwita/Tasmania. I acknowledge Palawa are the traditional owners and carers of country and sea country of Lutruwita that span millennia. There is a strong connection to country for Palawa, who continue to pass on cultural practices and knowledge to the next generation in my electorate of Bass.

I extend my acknowledgement and deepest respects to the Ngunnawal people, whose country we are standing on today. I recognise the enduring strength and wisdom of First Nations people and the importance of listening, being led and sharing decisions. I recognise the significance for truth telling, healing and justice to be part of Australia's future and a strong link to closing the gap for better outcomes for First Nations people.

I'm here today because of the people who stood beside me and those who came before. To Michelle O'Byrne, who stood in this chamber nearly 20 years ago and asked when it would reflect the true diversity of Australia: thank you for your service, advice and encouragement. It's taken time, Michelle, but this week we are finally taking a step towards a parliament that truly looks like its people. To Janie Finlay, who showed me how to make the most of every moment and turn it into the change that we want to see: thank you.

I'm deeply grateful to the many ministers who offered their support during the campaign and beyond. I took each moment as a lesson, and I look forward to learning and working beside each of you. Prime Minister, I particularly thank you for being present at key moments throughout my entire campaign, from introducing me as a candidate to hosting the major Medicare announcement in Launceston to flipping sausages for volunteers who had worked so hard to support our dream. Your presence, constant belief and support have made these moments particularly special for everyone who was involved.

To Bridget Archer: I know you care deeply for Bass and its people. You stood up for what you believed in even when that meant standing alone. I thank you for your service in this House.

To my small but mighty family: you show up. You ask for nothing and make everything better. Laughing with you is my favourite thing in the world. Thank you for working through every challenge and harebrained scheme together. To Liam, whose radiant smile and front-row cheerleading is the truest expression of love that I have ever known: thank you.

To my campaign team: we started small, just Luke and me, learning the ropes as fast as we could. What we built together grew into a team of some of the smartest, hardest-working and most dedicated people I now feel lucky enough to call friends. Seeing your joy on election night was a gift that I will never forget. Thank you.

To the unions who supported and engaged with us: thank you. Australia's union movement is something we can be rightly proud of, and many countries look on with envy at the hard-won conditions that it has secured.

To our intrepid volunteers: thank you. You show up with kindness, grit and good humour, no matter the weather. You keep us going, keep us fed and lift us up when we need it the most. I'll never stop being grateful.

When I think about people who shaped me, not just as a politician but as a person, I think of teachers. Only a few months ago I was a teacher too. For 14 years I worked in remote and regional schools teaching students from prep to year 12. Because of the diverse needs of the students in front of me, I kept studying. I became skilled in supporting students who were learning English as an additional language or dialect and those students with disabilities or additional needs. Teaching brings so much joy. There are days full of laughter and light and others filled with frustration—frustration in a system that too often feels inflexible and doesn't allow teachers to meet students where they are.

There are many moments I look back on with deep fondness, but my greatest passion will always be teaching people to read. There is nothing quite like helping someone at any age unlock the English language. To watch someone start to enjoy reading, to see their confidence grow as they engage with text, is one of the great privileges of teaching. It's not just about books; it's about science, instruction and conversation. It's about opening doors to further study, meaningful work and communication. Reading is one of the most important skills a person can learn, and I know so many teachers across the country who share the same joy in helping people, young or old, discover the power of reading.

But, if you've been in a classroom lately, you know that teachers wear too many hats. They carry too many roles. They're educators, counsellors, snack providers, data collectors, resource creators, learners, reporters and event organisers, often all in one day. But through it all they focus on their students. They carry their hopes, their futures and their fears. Teachers walk beside us quietly, steadily, believing in us, even when we don't always believe in ourselves. During the campaign, some former teachers reached out. Many I hadn't seen in years. They were proud, encouraging and quietly cheering me on, and that's what great teachers do.

But too many of our teachers are burning out. They're being stretched beyond what's fair, and many are leaving. That's why I'm really proud to be part of a government that is listening. We're fully funding public education. We're delivering free TAFE, reducing HECS, expanding mental health support and taking bold steps to give our kids a break from the relentless noise of social media. It's not just about policy; it's about people and the future that we want.

This week, my family celebrated the arrival of my perfect niece, Willow. Hugh and Tara, thank you for the extraordinary gift of making me an aunt and asking me to announce her name here for the first time, for Willow's family and loved ones to be a part of this moment. Willow will grow up wrapped in unconditional love, surrounded by people who believe in her, who cheer her on and who will be there no matter what. But I wonder and I ask: What will define success for her generation? Will it be owning a home, or simply being able to afford rent? Will it be the freedom to choose her path, her work, her family and her future? Will it be growing up safe, supported and seen, no matter who she is or where she's from? I hope Willow learns from wise teachers. I hope she grows within a strong and kind community. I hope she's held by a world that prioritises keeping her emotionally and physically safe. I hope she knows that she belongs, that her voice matters and that fairness isn't something she has to fight for; it's something that she can count on.

This leads me to one of the most common questions I was asked during the campaign: why? Why would you put yourself forward for a job like this, and what makes you worthy? While hope is integral to us in our humanity, it is not enough only to hope for change; it must always be partnered with action. The truth is I had very little interest in politics growing up. Mum worked hard to make sure that I had what I needed, and I was happy. It wasn't until I began to travel and to really understand how systems work and how policy touches every part of our lives that I started paying attention.

My first teaching job was in Ramingining, a remote Yolngu community in Arnhem Land about 800 people strong. On a good day, it's a six-to-eight-hour drive to Darwin, and in the wet season you hold your breath as your tiny plane dances around storm clouds. Ramo is an extraordinary place. I loved my job and my time there, and I learned every day, from my students, my neighbours, my colleagues and the families who welcomed me in.

But, like many remote communities, Ramo faces real challenges. Housing was scarce; people had to sleep in shifts. Diesel didn't always make it off the barge to power the generators. When someone needed urgent care, getting to a hospital could take hours, if the weather allowed it at all. People learned to rely on one another; they had to. But, as independent as we tried to be, we also had to rely on funding and being heard and understood by those who control it. I watched politicians fly in, make announcements, take some nice photos with the kids and leave within the hour. But I also saw something different: leaders who sat, who listened and who asked questions to understand. That's when I started paying more attention, because that's what politics should be: community led, grounded in respect and driven by care.

When I came back to Tasmania, I joined the Labor Party, not because I had a grand plan—I certainly didn't expect to be here—but because I wanted to help inform good policy. I remember walking into my first Tamar branch meeting, nervous and unsure if I belonged, but I'm so glad that I did. I found acceptance. I found people who cared, who wanted to serve and who could share ideas and disagree respectfully. I know many of our Tasmanian branch members are watching today, and I thank you for your ongoing support.

I know politics can leave a bad taste for people, but I believe that, when more Australians get involved, we build better policy and a better country. So, if you hope for a different future, if you have an idea or if you want to help, find a party that fits your values. Go to a branch meeting, get involved and be part of developing a future that you want. That is why I am here. This is my purpose: to build a future where every child feels heard, seen, supported and free to dream big.

That question—what kind of future do we build?—is at the very heart of this role. After the election, I asked myself: What now? What does it actually mean to represent a place, to serve? The answer came quietly, as most good answers do: to connect—to connect people to services, to connect ideas to action, to connect the dots between problems and solutions and to make sure that, when someone walks into my office nervous, frustrated and out of options, they leave with something: a path forward, a next step and a sense that they were heard. That's what I want that job, this experience, to be, and that is how I will measure my success for this role as a federal member for Bass.

Eight generations of my family have called Bass home, near the beautiful Kanamaluka River. We've farmed, built boats and mined gold. I know Bass, and I know that Bass is exceptional. We have world-class vineyards, Australia's only UNESCO City of Gastronomy and some of the world's best mountain-biking trails. We have landscapes so breathtaking and so commonplace that we sometimes forget just how lucky we are. We also have grit, innovation and history. We were the first area in the Southern Hemisphere to use anaesthetic, the first city in Australia to be powered by public hydroelectricity and the first Australian city with underground sewers or to take an X-ray. Bass doesn't wait for the future; we lead it. And, today, we still do. We have cutting-edge manufacturing, renewable energy and incredible community organisations, such as the Benevolent Society, still operating after 190 years, with over 70 volunteers helping furnish homes and helping people feed their children. That's the spirit of Bass—bold, innovative, generous—and I was lucky enough to see the impacts of generosity from a young age.

I was raised by strong, hilarious and fiercely intelligent women: Marion, Kimbra and my exceptional mum, Ann. These women saw volunteering and supporting their community as a given—not even a question. Your community is what you make it, so give what you can to it. That's how, at age 13, I started volunteering at the YMCA. And what I learned is this: volunteering isn't just about helping others; it's about discovering and improving yourself and the way that you engage with your community. It builds us, it connects us and it makes us better, and I see it every day in Bass at Shekinah House, Strike It Out, parkrun, Rosie's Reading; in op shops, Men's Sheds, Neighbourhood Houses; in Rotary and Lions clubs; and in the quiet acts of courage, patience and dedication that never make the news but change lives all the same. This is the strength of our community.

But, even in our strong community, there are fractures that we cannot ignore. Tasmania has some of the worst health and education outcomes in the country. We have some of the lowest year 12 completion rates and some of the highest rates of chronic illness. Too many young Tasmanians are struggling with literacy, with housing and with hope. These aren't just statistics; these are people. They are your neighbours, your children and your friends. And that is not good enough. My job—our job—is to change that, to improve these statistics and to make sure that no-one in our community is left behind.

So, yes, I brought this button in with me today. It fits in the palm of my hand. It's not shiny. It's not worth anything on paper. But it's Archie's button—a child's act of kindness, a moment of connection and a symbol of what matters most. Leadership doesn't have to be loud. It can be gentle. It can be generous. And it can begin with a button. To the people of Bass, whether we've met yet or not, I carry this for you too. My promise is simple: I will listen, I will act and I will connect. And I will never forget what brought me here. Let's lead with kindness. Let's connect with courage. And let's build something better together. Thank you.

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