CONDOLENCES

Senator WONG (South Australia—Minister for Foreign Affairs and Leader of the Government in the Senate) (15:35): by leave—I move: That the Senate records its sadness at the death, on 20 April 2026, of Kay Janet Denman, former senator for Tasmania, places on record its gratitude for her service to the Parliament and the nation, and tenders its sympathy to her family in their bereavement.

I rise on behalf of the government to acknowledge the passing of former senator for Tasmania Kay Denman on 20 April at 88 years of age. I first want to send my personal sympathy and the condolences of the government to her family, in particular her two children, Janet and Paul; Trevor, her son-in-law; her only grandson, Angus; other friends and family both here and beyond; and, of course, all who shared in the joy of knowing Kay.

Social justice is a train that usually runs late. That's how Kay Denman used to think about it. The train may not arrive on time.

It may not always be there when you want it, and there will be those in need left waiting. But Kay's belief that the train would arrive, that justice would be served and that the wrongs of the past could be addressed resonated throughout her life—a refreshing perspective when held up to contemporary cynicism. Kay Denman's life is a testament to that philosophy and a demonstration of the change each of us can make.

Whether it was in her decades as a teacher, her time spent in this place or the abiding commitment she showed to the Labor Party and our movement or to the people she cherished, when Kay picked a cause, saw an injustice or identified an issue, you knew she would see the journey right through to the destination. Born on 22 July 1937, Kay Denman was of that generation who knew the hardship of growing up during World War II and never stopped for a second to complain about it.

Her early years were spent in Railton, a small community on the north-west coast and a town of no more than a thousand people at the time. The asbestos factory just outside town was the only major industry nearby. Kay's father and, later, her two brothers would work there at various stages of their lives.

Many who worked in that factory, including many who Kay knew, would tragically die or have serious health complications from their time working there. Fortunately, Kay's parents would come to enjoy full lives living in their small community of Railton until their passing, and she completed her schooling at the primary school there and, later, at Devonport High School.

Continuing her education at the University of Tasmania, she discovered a love of teaching and education, a calling she would answer for decades, during which time she would welcome into this world her two beloved children, Paul and Janet. While continuing her teaching career, the late seventies contained some of Kay's first steps into public life. She became involved with the Mersey Leven Community Welfare Planning Group, and, in short order, her experiences of living with disability, and those of people she knew, encouraged her to fight for children with disabilities to be cared for in local day-care facilities—a sign of things to come.

Kay Denman also became a contributor to Family Planning Tasmania, where she remained involved until her early parliamentary career. She later recalled from her experience as a teacher that they 'used to use family planning to talk to the children about various issues to do with health—not just women's health but men's health too'. And, as a teacher, Kay made herself a resource for countless young people who came from rural areas who didn't have the easy access to health advice so many people take for granted.

The year 1980 brought a lot of change to Kay's life. She moved to Devonport, where she quickly became involved in local community groups. But, most importantly for all of us in this chamber, that was the year Kay joined the ALP, and those years saw Kay's involvement in local community groups continue to flourish, her activist flame well and truly ignited.

Holding various positions in local branches and the state party, she garnered the respect of many for her fair-mindedness and compassionate manner. Kay Denman's compassion, her resolve to see justice's train to the next station, was boundless. Many in this place will remember that, until 1997, homosexuality was still a criminal offence under Tasmanian law.

In fact, its statutes at the time were amongst the harshest in the developed world. On World AIDS Day in 1999, Kay recounted her memories of how some chose to respond to that crisis, calling out the groups who inspired a rise in hate crimes and poisonous misinformation. She showed up early for our community and she stayed there.

I am not alone in my admiration and my gratitude for what Kay did. It wasn't always easy, and it certainly wasn't always popular—Ulverstone, Tasmania being known for its high-profile anti-gay rallies at the time. Undeterred, she confronted this intolerance head on and publicly, and she was called names, harassed and even spat on.

Yet it was there that was home to her office for many years—a safe space in difficult times for a vulnerable community. So Kay's allyship with LGBTI Tasmanians was a constant. It mattered, and it is remembered.

And today that legacy lives on in Working It Out. Tasmania's sexuality, gender and intersex support education and advocacy service. Kay was a member of the initial committee whose report led to the Working It Out project, an organisation that has gone on to touch the lives of thousands of Tasmanians.

Kay herself admitted that her arrival to this chamber wasn't a planned endeavour. Filling a casual vacancy left by Michael Tate, who passed only in June of this year, she entered this place feeling slightly lonely. But, in delivering her first speech, she did so determined to use her time in this place to continue the work towards a more equitable society.

In that speech, she set a precedent which would come to be a feature of many of her remarks over the years. She quoted Simone de Beauvoir early in her speech. Her literary references continued in her closing, where she paraphrased the Russian poet Yevtushenko.

Clearly, her tastes were broad. But, referencing Yevtushenko, she said: … I believe that justice, if it is running late or lagging behind some current development, will eventually arrive but that often we have to struggle, to wait … I aim to do something to improve the train's timetable of justice over the next six years … And what was justice to Kay? Well, it was many things.

It was the long-awaited decriminalisation and antidiscrimination legislation in her home state of Tasmania. It was spreading the benefits of technology more evenly across our society. It was improving the standards for disability carers and those they helped, and much more.

Although advocacy for inclusion and acceptance, action in aged care and disability welfare were near-constant features of Kay's public life, her effort was not limited to these fields. Kay lent her voice and advocacy as one step along the difficult path to Timor-Leste's independence. In 1999, she spoke of their right to self-determination, a position she had articulated since at least 1991, when she became a member of an East Timorese support group in Tasmania.

And, close to my heart and work as Foreign minister, Kay recognised AIDS for the global health challenge it is. With characteristic rigour, she observed in a speech on World AIDS Day in 2000 that the preconditions for the spread of AIDS, which existed in other parts of the world, were not so dissimilar to conditions faced in our own region, including by our nearest neighbour, Papua New Guinea.

And it is regrettable she was right. In my time as Foreign minister, we have seen HIV rates in our region continue to rise. We've also recognised that supporting our neighbours not only matters for them; it is also paramount to our own health.

I've spoken in recent years about the challenges we face when social cohesion is worn down. Kay observed the same in 2001 when she said: … when social cohesion breaks down, the costs are self-evident. Then she was commenting on the importance of intergenerational connection.

She was commenting on the loss felt when communities lose their younger generation to economic necessity. In that same way, she recognised the cost to our social fabric when so many struggle to get an education or to own their own home. Kay was known in this place for her sense of humour.

She was quick to laugh and probably quicker to crack a joke, especially at the Canberra bubble's expense. Her affable nature extended into her parliamentary life as well as, of course, her friends in this place, who numbered many, including across the chamber. Kay Denman ended her time in this place in the way she did most things in political life: on her own terms.

A 1993 interview with the Canberra Times reveals the extent of this planning, where she confirmed her intention was to hold a seat for two terms, and so just shy of 12 years since she entered this place Kay delivered her valedictory. It underlines exactly the sort of person she was. Coming into this place with big ideas and ambitious objectives, she had this to say of her time: Then, as now, I was absolutely committed to the implementation of social justice and a more equitable society.

Whilst there have been many improvements, this task still lies ahead of us. Improvements there were—indeed. When she entered this place, homosexuality was punishable by up to 21 years of imprisonment in her home state of Tasmania.

Antiracism and sex discrimination legislation were passed federally and the standard of education for Australians with disabilities rose in the national profile in no small part due to Kay's advocacy. But so much more still lies ahead, and there are still those waiting for justice to arrive. Kay's final words in this place were a joke and a promise.

She assured those of us remaining in the Senate that her and her famous collection of witch dolls 'will be watching', and it was true. I would often receive a text from Kay after an interview or during Senate question time, of which she remained an avid spectator. She would tell me to wear more red or at least more colour.

She would tell me when I did well in an interview and she would ask for an updated family photo. One of her last messages to me was, 'Are you sitting next week?' and when I replied that we weren't, she said: 'Oh, blow. I shall have to find something else to do.' It is a blessing knowing that for all those years she was always cheering us on.

She never left politics and she never left Labor—remaining connected to many of us who were around then. I like to think she's still watching us and laughing at the zingers that land, maybe politely smiling at the ones that don't or probably more likely rolling her eyes. Kay was a friend, a confidant, a mentor and a comrade to me and to many more of us.

We will miss her wisdom and her perspective. We will miss her kindness and her toughness. Kay saw through fools, and she didn't suffer them.

But to those she loved she was fiercely loyal. To Angus, Kay was always Nanny Dragon. Janet opted for the abbreviated form of Dragon.

But, whichever Kay, you wanted her on your side. She was formidable, she was warm, she was wise and she was loved by family, by friends and by our movement. So once again to Janet and Paul, to Trevor, to Angus, to all of Kay's family and loved ones and to those who were lucky to know her as a friend I extend my deepest condolences.

Vale Kay Denman.