Richard Dowling (Tasmania, Australian Labor Party) Share this | Hansard source

I begin by acknowledging the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, the traditional owners on the land on which we meet, and I honour their continuing culture and unbroken connection to this place we now call parliament. I also acknowledge the Tasmanian Aboriginal people, the first people of my home state.

I don't come here with a remarkable story but I do stand here with a proudly Tasmanian one. It's a story of how strong Australian institutions can open doors and give a fair shot to an ordinary kid from Hobart. I was lucky to grow up in a household that believed those things mattered. I never felt limited growing up in Tasmania—a community that cared, public services that did their job and most of all, my family's love and grounding. We didn't have everything but we had what counted. I pay tribute to my mum and dad, Judy and David; you provided a shield to life's struggles and a trampoline of opportunity.

Before I go on, let me thank my wife, Georgia, who I will speak more about a bit later; my family, friends and colleagues; and the labour movement, especially those who took a chance on me. A prime ministerial speechwriter once told me: 'Avoid lists of names in a thank you. The longer the list, the more offensive it is to the person you forget.' So I'll leave it at that. To everyone who helped me reach this place, thank you; you know who you are.

I went to public schools and I was taught by some outstanding teachers who nurtured my love for knowledge and numbers. My schools weren't polished but they were decent. They were full of kids who got their hands dirty, who looked out for each other and who taught me more about fairness than any book ever could. Even though Risdon Prison was just down the road, the neighbourhood never felt unsafe. It was the kind of place where everyone knew your name, and sometimes your business, but they'd also drop everything to help you when you needed it.

The so-called mainland felt like a distant land. Melbourne may as well have been the moon. Tasmania is often overlooked but it has a quiet strength, a deep sense of place and a resilience that shapes how we see fairness and community. But, even back then, growing up, I could sense where things were starting to fray. When I got to year 11, many of the kids I'd grown up with weren't there. They'd left school early—a culture that's all too common in Tasmania—not because they didn't want to learn but because too many of them didn't see the point. That's not a failure of students; that's on us.

My first brush with politics came through an old ABC show called Order in the House, a weekly wrap-up of parliamentary proceedings. I stumbled across it by accident and lost a good chunk of my childhood watching it. But I was hooked—the drama, the characters, the consequences. What happened in that building, this building, affected people's lives and could change them for the better. And that's where the fascination began.

At uni, I started to fall out of love with politics. The debates felt more like performance than principle, more karaoke than Keating. So I found a new love: the so-called dismal science of economics. I liked that it didn't pretend to be noble. It tried to explain how people really behaved, not how we wished they did. It gave me the tools to understand the world.

Initially I supported my studies by coating drumsticks with Colonel Sanders's secret herbs and spices at KFC. Part way through my studies I landed a cadetship at the Tasmanian treasury and went from the fryer to fiscal policy. With that promotion came the hefty responsibility of washing the treasury secretary's car! I also learned that responsible economic management is the foundation of any good government.

A few years after, I became chief economist at the Tasmanian Chamber of Commerce and Industry. I was in my early twenties—so I knew a lot—and I was in the local media a lot, talking about interest rates, exports and the dollar. There wasn't an economic issue I wasn't willing to do an interview about. On reflection, the chamber of commerce could have stayed neutral on the rising price of shoe hire at the Moonah bowling alley! Jokes aside, it's fair to say there was a mixed reaction to my commentary. One reader remarked:

Tell that kid … to give his dad's suit back.

Dad, I'll give it back tomorrow! Another asked:

When is Graph Boy … going to show us another one of his charts?

This is not the usual pathway to a Labor Senate seat, but I kept my party membership through that time, and I never bought into the idea that, in a modern economy, labour and capital should be enemies. Maybe that's a Tasmanian perspective. We're too small to be fighting each other.

Strong industries and secure, well-paid jobs go together. Indeed, after a day talking about markets, I'd often end up in the Australian Workers' Union boardroom after hours, engaged in spirited policy debate. Sometimes we came at it from different angles, but we cared about the same thing—dignity at work and a decent future for working people. I'm proud to be a member of the AWU two decades later. It remains one of the unwavering defenders of traditional industry, our export economy and the many thousands of Tasmanian and Australian families who rely upon it. And, yes, there's nothing quite like being called a 'comrade' and a 'capitalist' by the same person in the same sentence.

Eventually, I'd said so much about the local economy that someone in government either agreed with me or wanted me to stop. Lara Giddings, the Premier, offered me a job as her economic adviser. We joke that she hired me just to shut me up. I owe her a lot, and I acknowledge Lara here in the gallery tonight. She showed me that policy isn't just about numbers and graphs; it's about people. Behind every budget line is a life, a story, a community. Lara showed me what courage looks like in politics. She led through very challenging times, and she copped it, often in ways that were cruel and personal. But Lara Giddings never wavered. She stayed the course at great personal and political cost, and I'll always admire that.

By a fortunate twist of events, I also met my wife, Georgia, during this time. I was sitting in the government advisers' box—a bit like the one over there. It was a small chamber in the Tasmanian parliament, and I noticed a new face in the opposition advisers' box who was of far more interest than whatever motion was being debated. So I leaned over to the finance minister and asked if he knew who she was. He subsequently leaned to the Premier to ask if she knew. She subsequently tapped the Tasmanian speaker, who subsequently asked the opposition leader. Finally the answer travelled back via the same sequence of MPs, 'Her name is Georgia, and she's just started in the opposition office.' I eventually manufactured an excuse to meet her, and, over a decade later, she is still here with me. Whoever said politics can't bring people together? Georgia, you've stood with me through every storm, lifted when I faltered and steadied when I wavered. Georgia, none of this would be possible without you.

The start we had in Tasmania set us up to explore the world, and I went on to work at the cutting edge of health care, clean energy and technology. Having a front-row seat to the voracious entrepreneurship and innovation happening around the world showed me that this country could do with a dose of optimism. On the whole, most things are improving and human ingenuity is focused on solving our greatest global challenges. I walked the halls of Westminster, Washington and Brussels, and I maintain that, for all our shortcomings, we still do politics better. Those overseas experiences reinforced what's special about Australia and about Tasmania. After seeing up close the abject poverty present in some of the world's wealthiest economies and the indifference to it, the values of a strong social safety net, a more equal society and the same fair go that I was raised with were reinforced as core beliefs for me.

One area that I believe would improve fairness in our economy is of empowering people with better financial skills, from young people trying to understand credit cards to older people vulnerable to exploitation. It's been a passion for me for a long time. Many years ago, I met a young law student named Grace. She had incredible prospects, but she was distraught. She'd applied for a $500 credit card. The bank, in its wisdom, gave her a $10,000 limit—something no young student should ever be handed. Assuming the bank knew best, she began to spend, only to realise the repayments weren't even touching the principal. She was spiralling into debt without understanding how she got there. We sat down together and mapped out a plan. She got through it, but I'll never forget what she said: 'Why don't they teach more of this stuff in school?' She was right.

Today, it's not just credit cards; it's buy-now pay-later schemes, payday loans and online scams promising instant riches. The tools have changed, but the risks to people's futures are the same, and I don't believe the answer is simply more regulation. Regulation and enforcement have their place, but they will never keep pace with technology. We have to empower people to protect themselves and to thrive, because a confident, financially capable citizen is harder to exploit and better placed to seize the opportunities the economy offers. Australians are expected to navigate an increasingly complex financial world, but we don't teach them how. Budgeting, compound interest, mortgages, superannuation and investing—we still expect people to just figure it out by themselves. The result is that too many young Australians feel like they're falling behind before they've even begun and too many older Australians are vulnerable to scams, predatory products or silent stress about money. This is a fairness issue.

In well-off households, financial knowledge is often passed down. In families doing it tough, where every dollar counts, there's rarely time or headspace to pass those lessons on. Nowhere is this more important than in places like Tasmania where intergenerational disadvantage is too often passed down, not just in income but in information. That's why financial literacy should be seen not as a private virtue but as a public good. Surveys show only half of adults can correctly answer basic questions about inflation, interest and risk, and the cost is huge. Research shows that financial stress is estimated to cost the nation over $30 billion a year in lost productivity, mental health impacts and increased reliance on social services. If we can lift financial capability, we can cut those costs and, more importantly, save lives. It's a tool for dignity—a tool for economic empowerment. A fair economy doesn't just give people a safety net; it gives them the tools to build a future. And it pays off, not just saving health and social support costs. It could lift a huge emotional burden from families. Start early, even with small habits, and you change the trajectory of a life. Teach a kid to understand compound interest, and they start to understand their own potential—to save, to grow, to thrive.

The superannuation guarantee is a great Labor initiative. It gives working people a much better, dignified retirement. Improving financial know-how will grow that nest egg and it will protect it. If we're serious about equality of opportunity, we can't leave people to navigate the modern economy without a map. We need a national plan to teach people how money works, not just once but across the school years and beyond. Financial education should be as fundamental as literacy and numeracy. Labor has always been the party of opportunity. Now we have a chance to lead again by making financial literacy a core part of how we empower every Australian.

We like to think each generation leaves things a bit better than they found them. But, for many young Australians, that deal feels broken. Housing seems out of reach; secure work is harder to find. And, until recently, student debts were rising faster than wages. That's why the Albanese government acted, cutting student debts to give people a fairer start and removing barriers to building more homes. Too often, progress gets blocked by those who have already made it, opposing new homes, new industries and even new ideas not because it costs them anything but because they don't want things to change. This isn't about intergenerational warfare; it's about an intergenerational handshake, renewing the promise that effort will still be rewarded—that each generation will invest in the next, so each generation can share in prosperity and progress.

But a fair go isn't just about housing and education. It's also about having a future in your own state, with jobs that are secure, meaningful and tied to place. In Tasmania, that future depends on strong modern industry. For more than a century, sectors like mining, metal processing, agriculture, aquaculture and advanced manufacturing have been the backbone of private sector employment. That must continue—not out of nostalgia but because it's the foundation of opportunity. Young people deserve careers, not just casual work. They deserve to help build a state, even own part of it, not just serve those who are passing through. That's why we need to back the industries that back Tasmania and back Australia, by training the workers, building the infrastructure and delivering the clean, reliable and affordable energy they need to grow.

So, yes—I stand here as a proud Tasmanian with a deep sense of duty. I don't take myself too seriously, but I take this job very seriously. If I can nudge things even a little towards economic empowerment, intergenerational fairness and a fair reward for effort, then maybe watching all that weird parliamentary TV as a kid was worth it after all. Thank you.