Amanda Stoker (Queensland, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

I rise to say a few words as a mark of respect for the life and contribution of John Fahey. I don't think it can be done much better than Senator Fierravanti-Wells or my other colleagues have just done it. As a premier, as a finance minister, as a courageous man prepared to rescue the Prince of Wales from apparent assassination attempts, as a football player, as a community man, as a husband and as a father, he was a special character.

John and I didn't know each other well, other than to say that I was a teenager when he was my local member. So, in many ways, as I was coming to understand politics he was the local example I had of how to do it. He set that example pretty well, I thought. To begin with, I didn't know much about him other than that he was elected to federal parliament as a part of the Howard government in 1996, a government that I was observing with interest despite being aged just 14 at the time. He'd moved into federal politics, of course, after his substantial contribution to the state parliament.

My most memorable brush with John was when, as a senior high school student, I was one of the kids selected to attend the school's constitutional convention, an opportunity that sparked an interest in our Constitution that, no doubt, has played a part in me being a rather embarrassing law nerd to this day. We all travelled to Canberra and there was a reception function where every attendee was matched up with their local member. As best as I can recall, there were relatively few people—about 20 kids from across the state and certainly no more than one per electorate. So every student had their local member attend to chat about what we were learning about our country and its institutions and our Constitution. It was a lovely opportunity. Everyone's local MP showed up except mine. I didn't understand why. Was there something urgent that had come up? He had a pretty big responsibility, so that would be understandable. Had I done something wrong? It was odd being the only kid on her own. I left a little bewildered about that, but was nevertheless thrilled to have been part of this experience. I left with a passion for constitutional law that, I confess, still hasn't gone away.

The mystery of my local member's nonattendance wasn't solved until many, many years later. My dad spilled the beans to me about a decade ago. With his usual courtesy and beautiful manners, John had called my home, presumably to give me a pat on the back for being selected and to let me know that we would see one another at the reception in Canberra. My dad, who ran his plumbing business from home and was under a lot of stress between managing apprentices and tradesmen and builders, wasn't coping that well at the time. He answered the phone with what I will say was a colourful bunch of expletives. It was rough as guts. On reflection, though, as an accomplished footy player perhaps John was well placed to handle that! It wasn't uncommon in the construction industry at the time. When John introduced himself with, again, his usual politeness, my father's reaction didn't improve. Shortly after, with another mouthful of swearwords, my dad hung up on poor John. When I found out this story, I learned why my dad hadn't told me about it at the time. I would have been absolutely mortified. When I think about it now, though, given the constituency he served, the jobs they did, the interests they had and, let's face it, the shared love of footy and a drink that both my dad and John had, I suspect that, had they met in different circumstances, they might have got along rather well.

No-one has sympathy for politicians, of course, but it should be said that no pollie deserves to be treated that way. It's little wonder he didn't show up to say hello. You can only imagine what he thought he was going to meet when he arrived. At times, when an irate constituent doesn't answer the phone with the courtesy that I extend to others, my mind flicks back to that story. It's a reminder we never know the challenges that the person on the other end of the line is dealing with—how hard they are or how much the person is struggling to cope. It's a reminder that some people—dare I say it, particularly some of the toughest-looking blokes—still struggle to ask for help, and the bad behaviour, as unacceptable as it is, can be a cry for help. But I've digressed somewhat.

John will be remembered for his love of sport and the sheer joy he radiated as he jumped at the news that Sydney had been selected to host the 2000 Olympic Games. I think that's the image that will always be publicly associated with him, burned into our national memory. He'll be remembered for his love of his country and for the important work he did to put this country on a stable financial footing. But I hope he will be remembered for even more than that. He was a devout Christian and, in contrast to so many politicians whose convictions wilt in roles like this, he remained firmly but respectfully pro life. The measure of the man is how he rose to life's difficulties. After the loss of his daughter Tiffany when she was just 27, he and his wife, Colleen, became guardians to and raised her children, Campbell and Amber. He battled cancer more than once, but he continued to serve his community well after his parliamentary service was over. He made the community in which I grew up better—a place where a plumber like my dad could prosper despite his occasional potty-mouth and where a girl like me could aspire to make a contribution beyond herself, and for that I'm grateful. I hope he'll be remembered as a faithful servant, a good husband and a caring father. May God rest his soul and comfort his family.