PARLIAMENTARY REPRESENTATION

Senator WHISH-WILSON (Tasmania) (17:05): Every day here, we begin by paying our respects to Aboriginal people, the traditional custodians of this land. Words are cheap without actions. If we really respected our First Nations people, we would do so much more to walk the path towards reconciliation and justice and heal the wounds of the past.

I rarely hear the words 'truth and treaty' spoken these days—or 'closing the gap', for that matter. We know what needs to be done; let's get on and do it. I want to make an important disclaimer suitable for this day and age, and that is that this speech has been written without the use of AI—and also probably that viewer discretion might be required for the bros in the manosphere, because there will be some real men tears today and it may be triggering to some of them.

Last autumn, in my home town of Bicheno, we copped one of the biggest swells I've ever witnessed on the east coast of Tasmania. And, by the way, Bicheno, my home town, just got voted the No. 1 small town in Australia by Australian Traveller magazine—not to mention there have been some recent UFO sightings off the coast that have been well publicised. That has nothing to do with my retirement—or I hope it's got nothing to do with my retirement!

Nevertheless, it appeared the force of this swell picked up the sand and pushed the barway connected to Redbill Beach across to beautiful Diamond Island, a hundred metres north. When another massive swell hit a few weeks later, this time from the north, a whisper began about town that something very special and magical was going to happen—underground rumours and whispers that a mythical wave might come to life.

I'd heard it all before, but, looking through my telescope, there it was. I could barely believe my eyes. Through the pines and the afternoon sea mist, long walls of ocean energy were rolling perfectly off the island, the dark figures of a few local surfers flying down their faces—and they're okay with me doing this tonight, because it's a public place and everyone knows where it is.

With only a few hours of light left, my son, Finn, who's here tonight, and I couldn't get out there fast enough. My local beach that I feel deeply connected to had transformed into one of the best waves in the world, and that afternoon I shared some of the best waves of my life with my son. Getting back on the beach in the fading light, the ocean a perfect mirror of an intense magenta sunset, I remember putting my arm around Finn and saying, 'This is as good as it gets for me.' I couldn't help thinking, 'How many of these moments have I missed over the years, always travelling, constantly away from home?' Walking back in the dark, surrounded by the thunder and energy of the surf, my decision to leave politics was made.

I reckon I've got at least 10 good years of surfing left in me, so I am going to make hay while the sun shines. I'm only too aware that the deep connection that I share with my coastline is a blessing and a source of inspiration. But, truth be known, it can also be a burden.

David Attenborough recently stated: After … 100 years on this planet, I now understand the most important place on earth is not on land but at sea … If we save the sea, we save our world. Those of us who have eyes wide open to what's happening in our oceans know that it's going to take a lot of saving. When you're connected to nature, you see the wounds of the world—wounds that are largely self-inflicted in places like this and the other parliaments of the world.

That makes them more painful, harder to bear, especially when you're one of the rare, privileged few who get elected to parliament but struggle to turn the tide. As I was sitting on my surfboard in that autumn dusk, the lights from Nic's famous little penguin-viewing platform and rookery should have been flickering on. The sandbar should have been alive with these iconic creatures—and I have one of them on my lapel tonight—returning from fishing in the open ocean to feed their chicks.

But the lights were off. The penguins vanished that summer. For the first time in its 35-year history, the Bicheno Penguin Tours closed up shop.

This was the biggest tourist attraction in town, and it was distressing and devastating to my community. My wife, Natalie, and daughter, Bronte, who are also here tonight, and I went for walks through the penguin rookeries that summer and watched helplessly as the penguin chicks left behind slowly starved to death waiting for parents who wouldn't return, wandering around dazed in the sun, eating sticks, desperate with hunger.

Not one survived. A marine heatwave had forced their parents too far out to sea in the search for food. Some of them eventually returned, towards winter, as the water cooled, but far too few and far too late.

The marine heatwave, I remind you, is linked to the burning of fossil fuels. Looking north from that same sandbar, this area of coastline was historically so full of giant kelp that it was famously difficult to get boats into the area. It was so thick it would foul their props.

In 1839, Charles Darwin, on the voyage of the Beagle, visited Tasmania and the Southern Ocean, falling in love with these exact same giant kelp forests, stating: I can only compare these great aquatic forests … with the terrestrial ones in the intertropical regions. Yet if in any country a forest was destroyed, I do not believe so many species of animals would perish as would here, from the destruction of the kelp.

How prophetic. Darwin was hauntingly right. It took less than two centuries.

The giant kelp has now long vanished from my coastline, along with the profound loss of biodiversity he predicted. Ninety-five per cent of all Tasmania's giant kelp forests have disappeared. This loss is directly linked to the warming of the East Australian Current and the march of marine invasive species.

Both are tied to climate change. Bicheno, typical of so many small towns on Australia's east coast, used to have dozens of operating fishing boats. Only a few remain now.

The loss of this habitat has had devastating consequences for Tasmania's fisheries and the communities that rely on them. The loss of fisheries and tourism income in just one small town among many along the Great Southern Reef is one of the economic consequences being felt because of the greed of the fossil fuel industry and our corrupted political system that has for decades refused to act meaningfully on climate change.

I've spent the last chapter of my Senate career travelling the nation working with scientists, other inspiring individuals—many of them here tonight—community and environment groups; using my platform to bear witness to the sad decline in our natural world; raising awareness on the devastating impacts that our addiction to fossil fuels is having on our oceans; and advocating in here for the strongest possible climate action.

That 2025 summer, that marine heatwave, smashed also our World Heritage coral reefs, and for the first time we recorded mass coral bleachings on both the east and west coasts at the same time. I joined scientists at Ningaloo Reef and out at Heron Island on the Great Barrier Reef—also with Penny, Steph and Larissa—and saw the devastation caused by water temperatures that reached as high as 36 to 38 degrees Celsius.

That's bathwater. If a bushfire destroyed millions of hectares of precious World Heritage biodiversity on land, it would be declared a national emergency—but not heatwaves at sea, apparently. Senators, look at what else is happening around our coastlines.

Six hundred and fifty thousand shearwaters washed up dead on Australia's east coast beaches last summer, believed to have starved to death because of a marine heatwave. Travel west to witness the algal bloom and dead sea in areas of coastal South Australia—also linked to a marine heatwave. And it is with great sadness that I relate that, while I was writing this speech yesterday, new counts on South Australia's giant cuttlefish have plummeted to record lows.

Just like with Bicheno's penguins, tourism operators in Whyalla have cancelled cuttlefish season, with millions in expected losses, while populations of fur seals are declining and other species are weakened further as the new strain of pathogenic bird flu also arrives on these shores. Go further west and witness the massive decadal loss of seagrasses in central Western Australia—a thousand square kilometres—and up, across the Top End to North Queensland, to witness catastrophic mangrove diebacks.

An estimated 40 million trees across thousands of kilometres are believed to have perished. It's official. As of yesterday, July again was the warmest month our oceans have had globally on record.

They are literally off the charts. Models now show the strong likelihood of a record El Nino and the real possibility we will all get a taste of two degrees warming above pre-industrial levels next year, in 2027. But you won't hear any of these truths in the Murdoch press misinformation machine.

A death cult of powerful corporations and elites in and outside of parliaments continue to do what they've done for more than 40 years—either deny climate change altogether or lie, deceive, delay and distract from what's necessary to decarbonise our economies and radically reduce emissions in line with what the science tells us. We are all collectively the frog in the pot, metaphorically and literally on top of a gas stove, and we can't climb out or extinguish the flame because a bunch of lying, greedy bastards won't let us do it.

They will go to any lengths to protect their profits, including legalised bribery and blackmailing of corruptible political parties. This is happening globally. It's frightening, and it's bloody infuriating.

If you told me, as a senator starting 14 years ago, about what I'm seeing now—especially this ongoing stubborn denial, greed and disregard in the face of our safe climate breaking down—I wouldn't have believed you. And I came in here as a climate ocean campaigner. But, then again, in 2012, I hadn't witnessed the historic Clean Energy Future Package—legislated by the Labor and the Greens' power-sharing government and held up as a global standard in climate policy—defeated by the climate denial machine in this country.

I hadn't witnessed with my own eyes LNP senators laughing as they did a joyful 'ring o'Rosie', dancing on the grave of this same legislation in this chamber and in the other one. That legislation has turned out to be the only real historic climate action ever seen in this country. I hadn't yet worked and lived through a decade of the swamp and desert years of climate policy paralysis under the LNP, which I note continues to this day, or witnessed three prime ministers toppled over climate policy or witnessed a Labor government, elected in 2022 after campaigning on climate action, repose national climate targets whose ambition equated to two degrees of global warming—a death sentence for most of the world's coral reefs.

Even today, astonishingly, the Labor Party is still approving new fossil fuel projects. In particular, the clock is ticking on the approval of fossil fuel giant Woodside's Browse project to drill and risk pristine Scott Reef and fuel the recent shameful expansion of the North West Shelf extension out to 2070. Twice, I've watched Donald Trump get elected and become arguably the most important man on planet politics, the narcissist-in-chief of our ally the United States, an antiscience climate denier totally corrupted by big money from his fossil fuel and billionaire donors and a puppet for powerful interests dividing us and risking our future.

The question I keep asking myself—and everyone I know, by the way—is: how did our system get infected by this mass political psychosis? Information is power, and those who control this control the agenda. But our information environment, which dictates the daily decisions we make, has changed radically since I started as a senator.

It's official that most of us now get our news from social media platforms, a system set up to incentivise engagement and that rewards anger, outrage, fringe views and the spreading of lies. Politics has itself become entertainment that feeds on this anger, these lies and fringe views. Engagement hackers use rage baiting to lure voters and channel them towards more extreme, dangerous political views.

I remind senators the World Economic Forum, two years in a row, in 2024 and 2025, said that disinformation, the poisoning of our information system, is the biggest threat facing humanity. This disinformation, combined with the physical threats posed by climate change, they labelled as humanity's biggest long-term threat. While politicians and parliamentarians are at the pointy end of our climate wars, there exists a well-oiled denial machine behind the defeat of climate policy globally.

PR firms, consultancies, think tanks, compliant conservative media outlets like the Murdoch press, and mercenary online armies funded by billions of dark money are often linked to fossil fuel interests coordinating global efforts to obstruct climate action. Don't take my word for this as a Greens senator. Ex-Chief of the Defence Force, Admiral Chris Barrie, and his climate security experts group, recently released a report stating this organised campaign to be akin to information warfare.

In a world where AI provides an industrial platform for endless dis- and misinformation, we have to restore trust in science, our democratic institutions, public policy and polity. Senators, if we lose this fight, we lose everything. There is much we can do as a parliament to tackle this and reset the agenda.

There is hope. I'm proud of the work and the recommendations of the Senate select committee I recently chaired that looked into this clear and present danger, and I want to acknowledge some of the other members here tonight—Senator Pocock, Senator Darmanin, Senator Ananda-Rajah and Senator McLachlan—for working cross-party on getting this report done. I urge you all, please, in the years ahead, to jump into this critical work before this cancer on climate action and our democracy becomes terminal.

I feel like I've given it a good crack over the last 14 years. Some political waves caught, some missed. Some people have said to me, 'Peter, it's a good time to be leaving politics.' I know it's the right decision for me and my family, but, truthfully, it doesn't feel like a good time.

But I accept there probably never is a good time. If you care about the environment, the ongoing genocide in Gaza, the need to fight for a pathway for justice and reconciliation for our First Nations people, to unshackle ourselves from the US military industrial complex and so many more issues, your work is never done. But it gives me great comfort on the eve of my departure that other warriors in this chamber, across political lines, and this parliament are willing to stand up and carry the torch on such critical issues.

I'd like to take this opportunity to congratulate my successor, Vanessa Bleyer, who's over here in the chamber today. You'll be all getting very familiar with Vanessa shortly. She will be a formidable senator for the Greens, for Tasmania and for nature.

Murray, I think I can say confidently you'll probably be wishing I was back in six months time after you've been grilled by Vanessa a few times. Senators, we really do have one of the best jobs in the world to build platforms for change. We get to poke our noses into nearly everyone's business.

We have incredible tools, powers and resources at our disposal, especially the committee system. Clerk, President, I've been so fortunate to have initiated and chaired dozens of Senate inquiries in the past 14 years, and I'm in awe of the committee staff that I've worked with over the years. I'm sure all senators in this chamber feel the same way.

But I wanted to give a special shout out to Patrick, Stephen, Tas, Alan and Kate to just name a few. I'd also like to thank you and all the Senate staff, especially in the chamber here tonight—the parliamentary staff, the COMCAR drivers and security guards—from the bottom of my heart. Of course senators would be nothing without our staff—overworked, underpaid and often unrecognised, consistently going beyond the call of duty.

And it is a calling for our staffers. Thanks and respect to Jess McColl for the work she does in Larissa's leader's office and to all Greens staffers for what they do—in fact, to all staffers. But to my crew especially—Meg, Eddie and Chloe, Jack and Lily, who are currently working with me, and it's great to see some of the old gang back in the building tonight, in particular Charlie, Thomas and Tim.

Also a big thanks to Emma and Maddie, who couldn't make it. Now, I didn't want to write this bit, because I felt like it was too scripted, so I'm going to kind of speak off the cuff here. Megan, my chief of staff, has been with me since I started, which is a massive, massive task, let me tell you.

And I don't think I can remember that she's ever taken a day's sick leave, but I'm sure she has! She's an absolute trooper. Thank you for protecting me.

Your intuition is legendary. I've learnt to take advice because of you, and you're nearly always right—just like my wife too, by the way! I wanted to say this is as much your journey here tonight as it is mine, and it absolutely couldn't have happened without you.

To Chloe and Eddie: someone once said to me that I was lucky to have hired the daughters of two fishermen—brought up on the coast, down to earth, straight shooters, salt of the earth and more than a bit of salt in their blood, lovers of the ocean. I just wanted to say to you both tonight—there you are, Eddie—enjoy your break that you're going to have and time with your beautiful partner, Gandy, and with your dogs and time in the ocean.

I'll look forward to seeing you in the soup! I feel like we've been to war together. You followed me all around the country and you've always had my back.

Thank you. Chloe, I kind of feel like your time with me is only going to be a footnote in one chapter of your book. You've had such a fascinating life.

You're such an incredible individual, and I'm so fortunate that you have consistently saved my bacon on so many occasions—although you're vegan, and I shouldn't have used the word bacon! But I'm eternally in your debt, and I look forward to keeping our relationship going. Jack, when you joined me, you had two twins on the way.

You came to my office. You started an MBA. You took out a mortgage.

We all looked at you and thought: 'What the hell. This guy is incredible.' Mate, you should be so proud of what you've achieved. You have not only turned up day in, day out and been an incredible friend and confidant, but you have achieved great things and you should be very, very proud of that.

Lily, thank you for the million views that you've got me on social media in the couple of years that you've been with me! It's been really good to work with you, and the Greens are very lucky to have you. Libby especially is lucky that you're now going to go and join her office.

I wanted to say, more broadly, thank you for your loyalty—that means so much to me—and your respect, your humanity and your good advice. You stuck with me till the end and you never wavered, and I'll be forever grateful. Not yet!

I'm close. I wanted to say tonight a big shout-out to Fraser Brindley, who, sadly, passed away while working in this building three years ago to this week. I dearly wish he was here with us tonight.

Working for Nick and me and the Greens for many, many years, Fraser proved MPs weren't the only ones driving change in this place. He turned up every day and he did change the world. He was a leader and a giant in our movement.

His inspiration and memory is a compass that we still take our bearings from. His mum, Helen, is with us here tonight. Please know your son is dearly missed and was loved and respected by so many of us.

Sorry; this is called a circuit breaker—because I knew this was going to be a struggle. That one's for the manosphere, President! Our team, over the years, has got some serious work done.

We've helped people almost every day, and together we've had a powerful platform to fight for change. But I wanted to say tonight that any achievements we've made have been collaborative efforts, working across our party room and across the political aisles. Getting Senate work into policy outcomes and legislation isn't easy.

Forget the making sausages analogy; it's more like baking a cake. You can have all the best policy ingredients added and mixed in the right way, but if the oven is not set to the right temperature, it will flop or be inedible. That temperature is the politics of the day, and this building is the oven.

I'd like to think my team has baked a few delights over the years. I'm proud that we got an effects test, arguably one of the biggest competition policy reforms in a decade, and we did that working with the Nationals. I'm proud that we've legislated in this place tranche 2 anti-money-laundering laws, and I wanted to especially shout out to Deb O'Neill, who's not here tonight, for her decades of work on this, and to Senator McKim and to Fraser.

Multinational tax transparency and multinational tax avoidance laws—working with the coalition over many years, we've got billions of dollars from big corporations to help pay for schools and hospitals. A royal commission into banking and financial services shook corporate Australia and led to significant legislation in this place. Crikey, there's a whole book in the telling of how that royal commission came together.

I did want to say it was a combined effort, working across the aisle with the Labor Party and with the coalition—especially Wacka Williams, who I wanted to give a very special mention to tonight, and to Sam Dastyari for the work and the leadership he showed on this. I'm proud that we solved the backpacker tax impasse in return for $100 million for Landcare and Indigenous Protected Areas.

A levy on the big banks to help pay for services that protect our most vulnerable—I could go on. I'm also proud my team and I have initiated some groundbreaking world's first Senate inquiries into tackling marine plastic pollution, shark protection and risk mitigation, exploring the impacts of warming oceans on our coral reefs and marine habitat, the dangers of seismic blasting in our oceans and, of course, the need to tackle climate driven marine invasive pests like the long-spined sea urchins that are doing so much damage to my precious coastline.

There was also an inquiry into how we stop illegal fishing in the Southern Ocean—which I think, Senator Colbeck, you were involved with—and whaling in the Southern Ocean. The last inquiry, I think, stood me in good stead for probably the best and most challenging experiences of my parliamentary career, being the only politician willing or stupid enough to self-fund a trip to Tokyo and directly lobby the Japanese parliament to stop this barbaric practice.

I'm confident our parliamentary work has helped communities and campaigners better protect their oceans, coastlines and wild places, and it's a solid foundation for others to continue to build on. Last night I did an adjournment speech, shouting out some of the important fellow travellers on my journey, like the many scientists I've been lucky enough to work and campaign with.

I also have very fond memories, and will always have fond memories, of the environmental campaigners I've been privileged enough to work with. There are too many to list here tonight, but a special thanks to Darren Kindleysides, the previous CEO of the Australian Marine Conservation Society and, in the chamber tonight, Paul Gamblin, the new CEO. Thanks for arranging a beer with Tim Winton, too; I'll be eternally grateful for that, Paul.

Also Alexia Wellbelove, who I've worked with now for well over a decade. Thanks for being here tonight, Alexia, and thanks to all the crew at AMCS for all you do, and, in fact, to all the marine conservation organisations. Of course, my other tribe are surfers.

I'd like to shout out tonight to Josh Kirkman and Tim Silverwood, who are here tonight. Tim, you get a double mention because I'm about to talk about plastics in a second. Thank you for being here tonight.

At Surfrider Foundation, where I was a board member before I came into politics, Drew McPherson, Damo Cole, Brendan Donohoe, Wendy Harmer and Paul Maddock, to name a few. My last act in the Senate tomorrow is bringing on a private member's bill for debate to make producers of plastic packaging responsible for their pollution. I'll be thanking many folks tomorrow when we talk about this issue, but a special thanks to Jeff Angel, Tim Silverwood again, Gayle Sloan and Suzanne Toumbourou, who are here tonight.

I really appreciate you being here, and I hope you come along tomorrow too. I'm proud to have worked and fought with so many legends, and I hope post politics we can continue to work together in some way. Reflecting on the last 14 years in this place, there is one thing I'm especially proud of.

It was the opportunity to play a small leadership role working with so many of my heroes and campaign to get Australian journalist Julian Assange out of his Belmarsh prison hell and back home to Australia. I have a spray painting by Tasmanian artist Jamin of Australian father of the year Terry Hicks, the father of David Hicks, on my office wall here in parliament.

Terry has always been a hero of mine because of his love for his son, a love that conquered all. When Julian Assange's father, John Shipton, came to parliament in 2018 seeking help to get his son safely back to Australia, we discussed Terry's odyssean efforts against all odds to get his son David out of Guantanamo Bay so he could face a fair trial and extradition back to Australia.

The first Trump presidency made it clear they were out to get Julian Assange and WikiLeaks. They wanted his head on a pike. They set out to extradite him to the US to face a bogus trial behind closed doors and a probable virtual death sentence.

It was a dark and trying time for Julian's family and his supporters, who, like Terry Hicks, were up against some of the most powerful forces on the planet. But this wasn't just an attack on Julian Assange; it was an attack on press freedoms and universal human rights, an attack on all of us. It was meant to send a message.

And, as we warned at the time, it was a taste of things to come. If I recall correctly, John, who's here with Julian's brother, Gabriel, you were only able to get a few meetings in your first trip to parliament. I think they were with myself and Andrew Wilkie.

It seemed Julian was persona non grata in this building back then. Great revolutionaries threaten entrenched powers with an inevitable backlash. The political assassination of Julian's character and freedom over the years meant few politicians wanted to lend him a hand at the time, including, to be fair, amongst my own mob.

John and I had many discussions over the years about how we could humanise Julian and rebuild his reputation, such as documenting his family's fight to free him and establishing a Parliamentary Friends of the Bring Julian Assange Home Group. Within five years of the establishment of that parliamentary friends group, a handful of MPs grew to 65 senators and MPs from across the political divide—and it's a deep political divide—calling for Julian's release and return home.

The motion backing his return to Australia passed the House of Representatives. Our parliamentary friends group also embarked on the most unlikely parliamentary delegation to Washington, I'll wager, ever seen by this institution, including Senator David Shoebridge and Senator Alex Antic—who also said he was going to come tonight; sorry, Alex!—Monique Ryan, Tony Zappia and Barnaby Joyce.

Because we were able to put our political differences aside to campaign for the release of an Australian who was being tortured in a maximum security prison, so too did the Democrats and Republicans, and an alliance was built across the Pacific. Gabriel, you did a magnificent job, including by, I understand, accidentally bumping into senators and congressmen on trains and at the coffee cart, getting us meetings and building the most unholy of alliances.

That was very successful in the end. Our presence was certainly noted in Washington prior to an important visit from our prime minister. Tonight, I would like to personally thank the Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese, for the quiet diplomacy and leadership he showed when getting Julian Assange home, which, by the way, I'm sure our not-so-quiet diplomacy from the parliamentary friends group aided and abetted.

I thank Kevin Rudd, who hosted us in Washington, and the British high commissioner at the time, Stephen Jones, both of whom played a significant role in Julian's return home to his family. And, of course, this wouldn't have been possible without his wonderful wife, Stella, brother, Gabriel, and father, John, and so many other champions, like Jennifer Robinson, Greg Barns, Stephen Kenny, Barry Pollack, Geoffrey Robertson, Nils Melzer, Scott Ludlam, who has also joined us tonight, Flick Ruby and way too many others to mention here tonight, who all took up the campaign and legal battles that ultimately got Julian released.

While Julian is home with Stella and their boys, Gabriel and Max, the campaign continues to clear his name of charges negotiated during a plea deal to return home. I helped start this political campaign because I could see John loved his son, as I do mine, and would do anything to help him. That's what inspired me.

It was nothing more complicated than that. Sometimes you need to be true to yourself and follow your heart, listen to your humanity, ignore political expediency, be inspired by great people and never give up fighting. On that note, I want to acknowledge Bernard Collaery, who is also here tonight—thank you for being here, Bernard—and what he sacrificed personally to get justice for whistleblower Witness K and the people of East Timor.

On the topic of whistleblowers, I understand Gabriel has now established the Information Rights Project, which fights for whistleblowers facing persecution. And, importantly, David McBride has his parole decision tomorrow. Good luck, David.

There are many in this parliament who support you. Speaking of love and family, I'm so lucky to have had such strong women in my family life: my mum, Rosemary; sister, Kerri; wife, Natalie; and daughter, Bronte. Mum, who can't be here tonight—I'm looking forward to spending a lot more time with her—was always the original greenie and a loving, empathetic mother to all.

She could also be really bolshie, and that's absolutely where I get it from. To my kids, Bronte and Finn: Bronte, I actually found this note this afternoon, serendipitously. 'I love you, Daddy'—this is 2012, the very first week I started and gave my first speech—'Just remember: don't listen to them. Just think of surfing with Finn and I in Bicheno.

Don't forget us.' I've never forgotten either of you. I'm so proud of who you've become and proud of the fact that I can say that you and Finn are two of my best mates. I'm so sorry I was away so much of your life.

I hope I've done you proud. I might get that box off you again in a second. Love and gratitude also to my brother, Dave, in Freo, to my sister, Kerri, who is watching this live with Martu mob out in the Little Sandy Desert tonight, and to my father, Tony, a man of principles and deep conviction who worked hard with my mum to give all our family the best chance in life.

Nat, my beautiful wife—not just my soulmate but also my best mate—I'm grateful for your love every single day and I would be lost without you. I remember dragging you over to Tasmania 23 years ago. We'd lived in seven cities in 10 years and you wanted to put down roots in WA, which is fair enough, but I remember you eventually relenting and saying to me, 'I think we've got one last adventure left in us.' Here we are in the Australian Senate 23 years later, and I hope we've got more adventures ahead.

I love you. Thank you. In 2022, the Australian Greens celebrated 50 years since the world's first green environmental party, the United Tasmania Group, was established—I apologise to Mehreen and David from the New South Wales Greens, because this is often very controversial—in the Hobart Town Hall in 1972.

And if I speak loudly enough, hopefully I can talk over them. Could you bring them to order, please, President! Could you bring my colleagues to order!

I often say that Tasmania's most important export to the planet was the green political movement, and I feel so proud every day that I'm part of a movement that turns up day in, day out, rain, hail or shine, to change the world. Obama was right when he said politics is hope in motion. That's why I joined the Greens in 2008.

I thank each and every Greens member and supporter from the bottom of my heart, and a special mention for the Tasmanian Greens' long-term and long-suffering convenor Damien Irving. Thank you for your steadfast support over many years, and to each and every Tasmanian who voted for me, giving me this opportunity of a lifetime. The forces rigging our economy, undermining our democracy, polluting our planet and stoking hatred and grievance for their own ends are counting on you, me and all of us to give up.

That's their strategy. I can say with confidence tonight that there is no bloody way that is going to happen—not a chance in hell. The Greens will never ever give up.

So to my comrades and fellow green warriors and mates—to each and every one of you—you're all wonderful. It's been an honour and a privilege to serve with you and those who have gone before. I think the ultimate compliment to all of you is that I actually genuinely do feel like I'm a better human for the time that I've spent with you, and I'm so grateful.

I thank you for your support and your respect. I want to give a special shout-out to leaders of political parties—and this is all leaders of political parties; I don't think there is a harder job on the planet—and especially to previous party room leaders Bob Brown, who I replaced; Christine Milne, who was a mentor to me; Richard, who's a good mate; Adam, who's a good mate; Larissa; and Nick, with your time being the leader of the Tasmanian Greens.

It is literally the hardest job on the planet. It's completely thankless. The buck stops with you and you are a lightning rod for so much discontent, including in your own party.

It's the most difficult job. Everyone has different theories of leadership, but, in my opinion, a leader—a true leader—enables and works to bring out the best in each and every member of their team. If we all shine so do you, and our movement benefits.

Larissa, you've done such a wonderful job doing that, and you've got this, mate; you've got this. I'm nearly finished, thank God! This is not an easy job—we all know that—especially when you care deeply.

I know most people here—in fact, all people here—do. The wheel moves slowly in this place, and it can be a heavy burden to bear sometimes. So please look after yourselves, comrades.

May all your journeys bring you wisdom in the struggles of the heart and courage in the heart of the struggles ahead. Lastly, to all my fellow senators—for at least another 48 hours, anyway!—all of us here are ordinary people who have been given an extraordinary opportunity. One day, you will likely also be standing here giving your valedictory.

I ask you to reflect this afternoon on how you want to feel when this happens, whenever that may be. Here's a little message from over thousands of years for you, some stoic wisdom and reflection from Marcus Aurelius that I think is particularly and especially important for all of our time here in the Senate: 'Whatever you do, you're going to be forgotten anyway.

So live your life in such a manner that, while you remain, you belong to yourself.' Adios and thank you. The PRESIDENT: Senators, I do have a list in front of me, so I'm going to go through the order because there are quite a few speakers. If we can get Senator Whish-Wilson back, that would be lovely.

He can hear all the nice and maybe not-so-nice and funny things people are going to say about him. Senator Duniam: They'll all be nice! The PRESIDENT: They'll all be nice, as Senator Duniam just said!