 Benjamin T. Jones is a historian and social commentator based at the Australian National University. He's published widely on Australian Republicanism, nationalism and citizenship, and I'd like to say that in fact no other academic has done more for the Republican cause in recent years. There have been others in previous years, but as far as I'm concerned, Ben Jones is the hope of the academic side at the moment, and I thank him deeply for that. Ben completed his PhD in 2012 at the ANU's Humanities Research Centre on the granting of responsible government to the Australian and Canadian colonies. He's the author of a number of books, Atheism for Christians, Republicanism and Responsible Government in 2014, and his co-editor of a book that a number of you will know called Project Republic, which was co-edited with Mark McKenna. His next book is titled This Time, Australia's Republican Past and Future, and it will be released on Australia Day 2018. Tonight's lecture is an Australian Republic and the Politics of Hope. Some of you will know that it is a reprise of the Daniel Dennehy lecture, which was given in Melbourne last Saturday night. I think there are one or two people here who are at that lecture, and they say it went over extremely well, and I'm a great believer in, if I can speak as an ARM member, of not just speaking in Canberra, which in some ways is an easy audience, but speaking in Melbourne and other parts of rural New South Wales, so I thank Ben very much for that. So I'd like to call Ben Jones to the podium to give a public lecture on the Australian Republic and the Politics of Hope. Please give him a warm welcome. Thank you for those very kind words. Good evening fellow citizens. May I begin by acknowledging also the traditional owners of this land and expressing what a pleasure it is to speak about this topic that is so dear to my heart and indeed many of us here, and I also thank the School of History and the Humanities Research Centre. And while this is partly a reprisal of the dennehy oration I delivered in Melbourne last week, so there is a lot of attention given to colonial politics in the 1850s and the way dennehy framed the Republican argument in the language of hope. But what I really want to emphasise tonight is the deeper meaning of republicanism, a term which in the 1990s was largely gutted of its ancient and enduring spirit. So perhaps rather than Daniel Dennehy repeat, a better title for tonight's talk is Why Do We Want a Republic Anyway? In 1999, the Australian Electoral Commission released an official referendum pamphlet with the wording and some general information and then a case for the yes and no team. They were given nine pages each and it was colour coded, a blue page for the yes team, a yellow page for the no team and one of the big headings on the yes side was a small step important and safe and then it went on to list not why Australia should become a republic but what would not change. The flag would not change. Australia Day would not change. The running of our everyday government would not change. And while the no camp used all nine of their pages, the yes camp used just four so towards the end of the pamphlet there was page after page of monarchic propaganda followed by blank blue pages offering no rebuttal. So why did the yes side take this approach? It was entirely defensive in its structure. The no camp had been waging a unabashed scare campaign for the better part of a decade with some frankly outlandish claims. A republic would destroy the stability of Australia's Westminster system. It would give inordinate power to politicians at the expense of the people, divide the nation, be an assault on Australia's Christian heritage, be disrespectful to the Anzacs and leaders, inevitably down the road to becoming some South American style banana republic. And with all of these falsehoods and wild rhetoric and hyperbole lost in a sea of fake news as it were, you can understand the strategy of wanting to emphasize the smallness of the republican movement and the safeness of it. But the problem is the debate ended up being on monarchist terms. If you were intentionally trying to make the Australian republic seem like some second tier issue, some inconsequential minor bit of tinkering, you could hardly come up with a better slogan than small and safe. Another header from the yes camp read, becoming a republic simply means having an Australian header state instead of the queen. And once again, this is a very defensive statement. And it's true, of course, in a legal sense, but it ignores what would be the broader social and cultural significance of having an Australian head of state. A republic, I put to you, is the key to breathing new life into our common wealth. It is an investment in civic currency and nurturing a culture of active citizenship. And I mentioned at the denuhi oration that Golben perhaps has the best claim to be the home of Australian republicanism. And back in the 90s, when spirits were high, when republicans had a spring in their step and some wind in the sails, there was even talk of creating a great museum of Australian republicanism to be based in Golben. And it's still a very worthy goal, in my opinion, because civic education is at the heart of classical republicanism. And it's worth imagining the subtle and not so subtle differences it would make to our body politic if we reconceptualised the way we show national honour. Australia excels at public veneration of soldiers and of royalty. If you go to any major city, and indeed most minor towns and other areas, there will always be some public monument to those who fought for king and country in the First World War, and a litany of streets and buildings named George, Victoria, Elizabeth and other royal names in honour of people, many of whom never stood foot on this ancient land. Would it make a difference if school kids making their U6 excursion from Sydney to Canberra as I did more decades ago than I care to name at the moment if they stopped in Golben on the way and visited the Museum of Australian republicanism? And what would it look like? Statues and portraits of colonial republicans. Dennehy, of course, is the star attraction with his speeches and various artefacts. Perhaps the paintings and the letters of Adelaide Ironside would be on display. Perhaps an actor with a long fake beard would dress up as Charles Harper and would be there to read The Tree of Liberty and other poems. There could be a first edition copy of John Dunmore Lang's Freedom and Independence for the Golden Lands of Australia behind glass and then a reproduction for sale in the gift shop. I often mention how ironic I find it that there is a first edition copy of Tom Paine's Rights of Man in the Museum of Australian Democracy, but this seminal work by John Dunmore Lang from 1852 sits in the dusty bowels of the National Library, waiting to be caught upon by the odd historian. And this museum could work its way through the bulletin writers of the late 19th century, Jeffrey Dutton, Donald Horn, the republican revisionists of the 1960s, Keating and Howard and the campaign of the 90s and perhaps a room at the end for the future, a place to imagine our republic, to think about new flags, new coins, a new preamble, and perhaps also a new date for Australia Day. A museum of this kind would be significant, not only as an exercise in national storytelling, but a form of nation shaping also. There is no neutral history. By highlighting certain people and events from history, we are necessarily making a value statement. What we choose to cherish from the past cannot be unchained from our hopes for the future. Australia's constitution, its national symbols, its roads, its cities, its honour system, all combine to tell a story of benevolent monarchy, a ubiquitous presence that cannot be challenged or criticised. For my new book this time, we went through the usual process of securing the copyright to use the various images throughout, including an image for the front cover, and only very late in the production did the copyright holder realise that the design, our cover designer had come up with, is sort of meant to represent a museum where the Queen's portrait is being carefully taken down, placed on its side, on the door of the way out. And we received angry correspondence. This individual was aghast that we would contemplate to present the Queen in such an undignified position sideways, and they withdrew our rights to use the image. And we probably would have been within our legal rights to go ahead with it anyway at that stage, but happily we were able to find another similar image where the copyright owner was a less dutiful servant of the crown. But I couldn't help but contemplate during the whole saga, where does this veneration come from? And is there a single Australian who that person who denied us the copyright would also say, no, there's no way you could dare to even slightly disrespect. Is there a single Australian who they hold in the same regard? In a thoughtful article in The Guardian today, Julianne Schultzard argues that Australian needs a new narrative, and she quotes the Irish writer, Fintan O'Toole, who says, nations tell themselves story. They're not fully true. They're often bitterly contested. They change over time, but they are powerful. And perhaps the Irish have thought a little more seriously than us about what a story of democracy and independence really looks like. In 1948, the enormous statue of Queen Victoria that sat outside the Irish parliament was removed. How inappropriate it was felt to have a foreign monarch announce the entrance to this temple of democracy. After decades in storage in 1987, the statue was unveiled outside the Queen Victoria building in Sydney. Conscious of the irony, the organizers of the 1988 bicentenary were quick to point out that this wasn't actually part of the celebration. But the problematic nature of celebrating Australia's biggest birthday, as it were, with the dour face of an imperial monarch from centuries past, was not lost. What difference might it make to our body politic if the same level of public commemoration devoted to foreign monarchs was given to those who fought for democracy, those who fought for the eight hour day, our suffragette movement, our freedom riders, those who have championed racial and sexual equality and stood for social justice, those who believe that citizenship is a verb. The concept of the citizen lies at the heart of republicanism. Citizenship matters. And of course, with Section 44 of the Constitution, this has given us an opportunity to consider what citizenship really means. Is it as hollow and mechanical as someone who happens to live and pay their taxes here, and possibly not even the latter? The republican tradition screams against this base interpretation. Whenever the citizenship test is debated in public, many people dismiss it as a worthless exercise. And inevitably, it is debated, what do Australian values really mean? But through it all, the trident that both conservative and progressive Australians seem to agree on is democracy, meritocracy, and community. But if these three are the values we hold dear, then there is a fundamental disconnect between what we stand for as a nation and what is stated in our constitution, between what we say we believe and the national symbols we hold. What would Dennehy make of all this? He was small in stature, but his ideas were large. His voice was soft, but his words were powerful. Universally acknowledged as a brilliant orator, he was eulogised as the vehement voice of the South. He was not interested in small, safe, constitutional tinkering, but rather the great work of nation building. As his friend Dr. Lang stated in 1853, the goal of colonial republicans was to see Australia counted, quote, among the mightiest nations on the face of the earth. In a famous letter to Lang penned on 6 June 1854 at his office in Mandelson's hotel, site of the future Museum of Australian Republican history, perhaps, he said, my eye is fixed on one point, doing my duty and establishing republican institutions and advancing in every genuine method my native land. In one of his last speeches, he called for native born Australians to be filled with minstrel fire. And I firmly believe it is time for republicans today to also get some fire in their bellies. For too long, Australian republicans have been walking on eggshells, constantly afraid, afraid of offending monarchic sensibilities, afraid of appearing strident or arrogant, afraid of seeming disrespectful or scaring off potential allies if we state plainly what we believe in the essential equality of all people and the utter rejection of the validity of hereditary birthright. And let me tell you something, small and safe does not win people to the cause and does not get referendums over the line. Passion and conviction do. In 2013, I put together a book called Project Republic, and it was the first call for an Australian republic in about a decade. And back then, it was difficult at times to muster the energy. And there was a sense that some of the contributors could barely bear to lift their pen or get to the keyboard one last time to reprise the arguments they'd been making over and over again for the better half of a decade. As a movement, republicans were still licking their wounds from 1999. There was a Tony Abbott prime ministership to deal with. There was the reintroduction of knights and dames and a sort of gloating monarchist movement saying that with the popularity of the photogenic young royal family, Caden Will, and their children that republicanism was doomed and we might as well all just give up. So I would like to honour those who kept fighting during those difficult years and John Warhurst's name certainly comes to mind as someone who's been indefatigable over many decades now. But today things are pretty different. And I'm sure the current prime minister will not mind me plagiarising him when I say there has never been a more exciting time to be an Australian republican. The ARM has expanded fivefold in recent years. Every state and territory leader is now a republican including almost all the opposition leaders apart from actually our own Alistair Co here. But anyway, we have a republican prime minister, a republican opposition leader and we now have an opposition leader promising a republican plebiscite should he win the next election, which may well come sooner than 2019 if you're following the news. Along with that we have for the first time ever the portfolio shadow minister for an Australian head of state. And I was quick to get in touch with Matt Thisaway and congratulate him on this historic appointment. And I'm pleased to say he's gonna be launching my new book next year. But really if you can't get excited about an Australian republic now you need to check your pulse. This is a good time for republicans. And can I please urge you, there are a number of ARM people around sign up if you're not part of it and if you are get someone else. Talk about this stuff to your friends and your family. It is all about momentum. If we all get one person to join the republican movement it doubles in a day. And get involved as well. Turn up to events like this. Use your social media platform. Give people ARM memberships as their Christmas presents. Turn your thoughts into words and let your voice be heard. So to return to my theme, why do we want a republic anyway? What does a republic really mean? In his genealogy of morals, Frederick Nietzsche posits that it's only that which has no history, which can be defined. In other words, concepts with a long and colorful history are inevitably going to be contested. And so it is with republicanism. Perhaps for some republicanism really is just a small step. Simply replacing the queen with an Australian head of state and as a result, nothing else happens. Monarchists love this kind of republicanism because it prompts the question, well, why bother then? Why is it such a big deal? This is not the republicanism of denihie. And I put it to you, it's not the republicanism we should strive for either. For denihie, republicanism was not just a system of government but a system of values. It was a political philosophy that championed virtue, patriotism, seeing yourself not simply as an individual with rights, but as a citizen with duties. The republican project is not just about having an Australian head of state, but building civic currency, fostering a sense of community, encouraging people to emotionally invest in a shared future. As the classically educated denihie was aware, the roots of republican thinking go back to the Hellenic Hills. The policy of classical Athens was driven not by a monarch or oligarchic clique, but by a community of citizens committed to civic virtue and the common good. The surviving records of classical Athens speak of a culture of active participation. Citizens were not merely permitted but required to attend the public assembly, the Ecclesia, and take pardon policy debates. A special police force roamed the streets when the Ecclesia was in session and would lasso absent citizens with a rope dipped in red dye. The resulting stain on their tunic was a mark of shame. And I kind of wish we had something like that for donkey voters today. I think it would be wonderful if there was some sort of exploding die pack or something whenever someone donkey votes and they go out covered in paint and everyone goes, aha, there is someone who is not taking their civic duties overly seriously. It was Plato's student Aristotle who famously described people as politicon zoon, political animals. Humans are inherently social creatures with a necessary interest in the welfare of greater society. The Ecclesia met regularly to discuss and debate matters of importance to the polos. All citizens had the right to vote and to speak and nine citizens were chosen by lot to serve a term as prodigy and oversee the assembly. The appointment by lot was an article of faith in Athenian democracy because it was predicated on the firm belief that all citizens were equal but also that service to the polos was a responsibility. In 1993, a philosophy lecturer at Western Sydney University, one of my old teachers, Michael Simons, published this idea saying that if Australia becomes a republic, we should also choose our president by lot. Everyone's name on the electoral role who's not in prison or medically unable goes into a big lottery. The name is pulled at random and they become the head of state. And a lot of people laughed. They thought it was a very wild idea. But like the ancient Greeks, the root of this idea is that citizens should be willing and ready to serve the nation whenever they're called upon. And how often do we hear it lamented that people, especially young people, are politically ignorant and apathetic and we bemoan that they're not interested in anything, but that is exactly the type of attitude Monarchy is designed to produce. Leave the problems of governance to the king, to the aristocracy, and to your better. The spirit of republicanism is one of active participation. It is a citizen's duty to be informed, to be looking at the welfare of others and to be ready to step up into a public position when called upon. And of course, if Simon's idea was adopted, Australia would be the only nation in the world who could say it and really mean it that any one of our citizens can rise to the very top. The ancient republican theorists were drawn upon by many influential writers, Machiavelli in Renaissance Italy, James Harrington in 17th century England, James Madison in the United States of the late 18th century all took inspiration from the classical republican tradition when looking for the best form of government. From the Latin res publica, it literally means a public matter. Republicanism places citizens at the heart of the polos. It is the act of political participation, the pursuit of the common good and the placement of legitimate authority in the hands of the people that distinguishes it. Monarchy by contrast focuses on the king or queen. From public ceremonies, festivities, the passage of law, the naming of streets, all aspects of life are filtered through the unearned power of the monarch. It is the king's birthday the nation celebrates, the king's highway that has traveled, the royal assent that is given and sacred indigenous land is renamed Crownland. A royal subject is passive. Their duty is to cheer as honor is poured on their sovereign. A republican citizen by contrast is active. They seek honor for the nation they belong to and are empowered to participate in the process of governing. To use Isaiah Berlin's terms, republicanism is a positive theory of liberty. It's not just the absence of oppression that makes a society free, but the presence of democratic institutions geared towards active participation in the common good. An ideal republican state should have programs and processes in place to encourage active citizenship and the pursuit of civic virtue. And Australia already has many republican features. I was recently in the United States and while I was there a terrible shooting took place in Las Vegas. And it was called the worst massacre in modern US history with 59 dead and hundreds wounded. And in the aftermath, listening to the news and just talking to people, there was a palpable sense of hopelessness and despair. Yes, this is terrible, but there's nothing we can do because it simply is an individual right. And I couldn't help but contrast this with Australia and the approach we took to Port Arfa under a conservative government, no less. And what becomes clear to me is that our nations understand freedom in very different ways. While the US has been so profoundly shaped by liberalism and the primacy of individual rights, Australia has looked to republicanism and asks first what serves the common good. And this is at least part of the answer why Australia has no bill of rights. And apart from a few academics and legal people here and there, there's no great movement to gain one either. This is why as the 2016 election demonstrated, Medicare is the sacred cow of Australian politics. This is why mateship is seen as a national totem. This is why the Eureka Stockade used a communal rather than individual oath. Not I stand for my rights, but we stand and we swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by each other, to stand and fight to defend our liberties. But republicanism is not just about the common good and active citizenship. It is also about the essential equality of citizens. It is about judging people on their actions, not their lineage, and it shows admiration not for material wealth a person may have inherited, but the social wealth a person can contribute to their nation through acts of service, philanthropy and civic mindedness. And no one knew this better than denihie. In the early 1850s, New South Wales was a society in transition. The colonial masters in London had acquiesced to long running demands for a democratic constitution. Given the freedom to draft it, the colony faced an existential crisis. What kind of society did they want to become? On the one hand, the powerful squatter class wanted to cement their own oligarchic position through legislation. Led by the native born William Wentworth, the squatocracy proposed a bill that not only discriminated against the urban metropolis of Sydney through fixed unequal electoral boundaries, but would confer hereditary title and reserved up a house seat upon themselves and their descendants. Wentworth and denihie epitomised two very different responses to classism, elitism, snobbery and inequality. Both were native born and both were made to feel inferior because of it. Both were the children of convicts. Wentworth remained hurt and bitter his entire life because it didn't matter how many mountains he crossed or how much wealth and land he accumulated, he was never accepted by the Sydney elites and even his beloved daughters were deemed unsuitable for marriage into respectable Sydney families. So what do you do when faced with this kind of discrimination? Well, you can either beat them or join them. And Wentworth fantasised about joining them. If only he were ennobled as the Lord of Vore Clues, if not he, then at least his descendants would command, respect and deference based on birthright. Denihie approached this in a different way. Opposing Wentworth's vision of an antipodean nobility was a growing class of urban liberal Democrats, many of whom were Republicans or supportive of eventual separation. And in this heady atmosphere, Daniel Denihie first came to prominence at a protest meeting in Sydney's Victoria Theatre on 15 August, 1853. There had been five speakers already and in the typically verbose manner of Victorian-era speeches, the event had gone on for about six hours before Denihie had a chance to say his bit so you can appreciate that even with their somewhat larger attention spans, back then the crowd was a bit restless. And his speech didn't begin well either. His first sentences were uttered in a small whispery voice and he was frequently interrupted with cries of speak up. But Denihie's volume did increase as did his confidence and soon the audience was transfixed. Wentworth and his allies defended the proposed unelected upper house and hereditary title with the simple logic that it would be recreating the system in Britain. Denihie went against a sacred cow in saying that we don't want to just recreate British institutions. Australia is different and our system should be different also. And his speech is now a part of Australian political folklore. He ridiculed hereditary title out of any serious contention when he dubbed the squatters a banya paristocracy. And there were rules of laughter as Denihie described the mushroom order of nobility, the harlequin aristocrats and the botany bay magnificos. And he imagined what would MacArthur's royal crest be perhaps say a barrel of ramen, all that sort of stuff which. Take my word for it was funny then, maybe not as much now, but. And he finished by saying if Australia is to be blessed with an aristocracy, let it be based on Jack the Strapper, not William the Bastard, which again was funny at the time, was a reference to William the Conqueror and also a subtle jibe at Wentworth who was rumored to be illegitimate. But it's significant that Denihie was not against people rising in a society as far as their talents would take them. This is just in the short aftermath of Marx and Engels communist manifesto. But these were not the ideas that interest Denihie. He was okay with people rising, but if we're gonna honour and celebrate individuals, let it be based on what they contribute. He was a rising star at this point and on 7 September, he spoke to a crowd at Circular Key, estimated to be the largest ever at that stage assembled in Australia. More generous newspapers put it at 12,000, but again, this is over hours and hours of lectures and would have oscillated between maybe three and 5,000 at any one time. And he repeated his zinger about the Banya Paristocracies. If you've got a good joke, he might as well use it a few times. But he finished with this idea of what a Republican meritocracy should look like. And he said, there is an aristocracy worthy of our ambition. Wherever man's skill is eminent, wherever glorious manhood asserts its elevation, there is an aristocracy that confers honour on the land that possesses it. That is God's aristocracy. That is the aristocracy that will grow and expand under free institutions and bless the land where it flourishes. Reading these words today is obviously jarring. The language is obviously sexist and there's a presumption of whiteness and who should be included in this group of active citizens was much smaller in the mid 19th century than what we would want today. But we also see the seed of meritocracy and the part of the speech that is timeless and is worthy of celebration is this idea of a fair go. There's a well-known saying that says, what's your words because they become your actions and what's your actions because they become your character. And it speaks to the incredible culture defining power of language. Words matter. And it is worth considering what are the words we speak over our nation every day? What are the words we speak over our children? When we look at our coins, the word that screams out, not just to us but to every foreign visitor is subject. When we look at our flag, the word that is whispered as it flutters in the breeze is dominion. When we read our constitution, we don't find the words prime minister and cabinet. When we read the preamble, we don't see the word democracy. The word that is used to describe our nation, our states and territories is Her Majesty's possessions. Subject, dominion, possession. These are not words worthy of free people. And of course, pragmatists will say, well, what does it matter? They're just words. It doesn't reflect how we really live. No one thinks of themselves as a subject. We don't think of ourselves as a dominion. Who really cares what these words say? I had the honor of being in Parliament House in 2008 when Kevin Rudd delivered his apology to the stolen generations. I saw First Nations people from around the country breaking down in tears, embracing, all because of the power of one word, the word sorry. You can't tell me that words do not matter. That symbols do not matter. Words seep into our consciousness and shape our attitudes and our behavior and our actions. Let's become a Republic that cherishes the ideals of freedom and equality, not servitude and elitism. Let's invest in civic currency. Let's choose our words carefully. Let's speak words of hope for ourselves and the generations to come. And the good news is, we don't really need to convert a whole bunch of monarchists to make an Australian Republic a reality. Overwhelmingly, Australians already agree that an Australian should be the Australian head of state and that all public positions should be chosen on merit. In 1996, one poll found 76% said yes when just asked plainly, should Australia have an Australian head of state? We don't need to convince Australians by and large that egalitarianism is right. What we need to do is reignite the flame. We need to motivate others to be proactive and to fight for our Republic. And that begins with motivating ourselves and reminding ourselves that so long as we persevere under an unelected foreign European monarch, as long as we tell our children that their talent and effort will only take them so far but they will never be worthy of achieving the highest position of constitutional honour, the system is most certainly broken and we should fix it. The year 2026 will mark the Quasque Centenary of Australian Federation. For 125 years, this indissoluble Commonwealth of Australia has for all its faults been a beacon of stability and democracy in an uncertain world. How will this event be marked? It may well be that the Queen at 99 years of age still reigns over us and her approaching centenary on 21 April would likely be anticipated with even greater enthusiasm than Australia's occasion. Certainly for monarchic sycophants but for Australia's reactionary mainstream press as well, every royal rumour, every taxpayer-funded tour, every new outfit for future sovereigns, adult and child alike, is deemed important news. Like the Queen's Diamond Jubilee in 2012, 2026 may just be another year where Australia basks in the reflected glow of a non-Australian monarch. Should the Queen shuffle off her mortal coil before then, 2026 might look very different. It could be a year in which Charles is our King, the King of Australia, every new coin will bear his likeness, schools and government departments will hang his portrait, monarchist groups will sing his praises and the disconnect between our values and our symbols will continue. But there is another vision of 2026 worthy of our ambition. Instead, imagine Australia is an independent republic elected or appointed, imagine if nearly two and a half centuries after dispossession, an indigenous woman or man becomes the first Australian head of state. As the celebrations continue, the streets are lined with flags that signify a proud and free nation, one that includes all and privileges none. Coins, statues, streets and buildings are named in honour of citizens, not foreign monarchs. The national ethos of Australia in 2026 is that a life lived in service to others is a life truly worth living. This is a nation mature enough, confident enough to honour its own heroes. And the greatest celebration of all is saved not for 26 January, the day the British flag was hoisted but for a true Australia day, the day our republican moment finally arrived. On this day, we'll not look nostalgically to Europe or anywhere else to find a mother country. If you are one of our citizens, Australia is the mother country. There will be no Australian republic though without passion. It is not enough to support a republic in principle and then excuse yourself from the hard work of debate and agitation. As republicans, our starting point must be to overturn the pervasive idea that the declaration of an Australian republic is a second order issue. Now is the time to recognise the republic is in fact the key to our national renewal. To reinvigorating the spirit of our commonwealth, we need to first reveal the fundamental incongruity at the heart of our body politic. Our head of state no longer represents or embodies the society we have become. The 17th century republican theorist James Harrington claimed that unless someone from the lowest can rise, the commonwealth is not equal. Australia's challenge is to draw a line in the sand and declare that in this nation, any one of our citizens has the opportunity to rise to the highest post. That in this nation, all citizens are equal and worthy of the same respect and opportunities. That in this nation, democracy, meritocracy and community represent our standard. That in this nation, we bow to no monarch and that in this nation, the only legitimate source of power is the collective will of the citizens of Australia. Long may they reign over us. Thank you.