Analysing Stephen Jones’ speech on the Religious Discrimination Bill
With only a handful of sitting days scheduled until the next election, Australia’s Federal Parliamentarians are currently (hotly) debating a Religious Discrimination Bill introduced by the Morrison Government.
In his speech introducing the Bill in late November 2021, Prime Minister Morrison argued that it would fill a gap in Australia’s anti-discrimination safeguards: “The Commonwealth has a Sex Discrimination Act, a Racial Discrimination Act, a Disability Discrimination Act and an Age Discrimination Act. However, there is no standalone legislation to protect people of religion, or faith, against discrimination. Or indeed for those who choose not to have a faith or religion.”
Unsurprisingly, the Bill is the subject of heated debate. There are at least two prominent strains of criticism. The first is that it is better described as permitting people of faith the freedom to discriminate rather than protecting them from discrimination because of religious affiliation. The second is that it is intended to force the opposition Labor Party into a position on the Bill, and therefore a position of vulnerability soon before an election campaign.
The most recent twist in this saga is the Morrison Government’s confirmation that, in a bid to allay concerns of moderate members while retaining the support of its conservative flank, it will introduce amendments which prevent the expulsion of school students because of their sexuality while not protecting students on the basis of their gender identity. This has been widely interpreted as an attack on transgender young people, who suffer “extraordinarily high levels” of mental health difficulties, including depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicide attempts.
It is in this context – and against the backdrop of a wary, fractious nation – that Stephen Jones, Member for Whitlam (NSW) and Shadow Assistant Treasurer, stood up and delivered the most memorable political speech of this young year.
Like many speeches which imprint themselves on our memories and cultures, it was concise, clocking in at about 1,100 words – fewer than 10 minutes in delivery. Far more important than its length was its substance. For you see, unbeknownst to Australia, Jones and his family have been negotiating a private grief: the suicide of his nephew Ollie, who was negotiating his own gender identity.
Today, I will analyse Jones’s speech and seek to explain why, beyond its content, it has made an impression beyond the green leather seats. I will be working from this edited transcript.
Opening
There are 10 sitting days remaining in the 46th parliament.
There is a crisis in our aged care system. Hundreds of Australians are dying in understaffed, underfunded homes and yet this government is doing nothing about it.
Two years ago the government promised to introduce a federal anti-corruption commission. The attorney general told us yesterday that no such promise will be delivered.
There are skills shortages and supply shortages which are preventing businesses from opening and the economy recovering.
Interest rates will rise which will make existing cost of living pressures worse.
These are the matters we should be focusing on in the final weeks of this parliament.
Instead we are debating a bill which pleases no one.
A basic and effective strategy in political speech, especially when delivered from opposition, is to ensure that the speaker is engaging on favourable terms. You see it all the time. When someone associated with an incumbent government speaks, they will amplify political successes and minimise (or preferably totally omit, unless that’s impossible) inconvenient realities.
This is what Jones, in about one minute of speech, establishes:
This Parliament is running out of time to solve problems.
And look how many problems there are! Crisis in aged care. Corruption. Shortages disrupting the economic recovery. Cost of living pressures.
The government should be spending its time solving these real problems. Instead, it is frittering away scarce time on this Bill.
Establishing credibility
I support freedom of religion. I understand many in our community who want to see the existing laws strengthened to protect their freedom of religious expression. I support that too. Although we are a long way from the days when employers could lawfully place ads in newspapers that say Catholics need not apply – I understand the desire for a greater recognition and rights for people of faith.
It is common for Labor MPs, always alert to dangers on both their left and right flanks, to acknowledge the kernel of reason in their opponents’ positions before criticising them. This is intended to serve as a tactic against the dreaded “wedge”, a perennial fascination of credulous political commentators.
Here, Jones is establishing himself as a credible critic of the Bill because he supports freedom of religion, recognises community sentiments, and understands the desire for greater rights for people of faith. Words like “support”, “recognise”, “acknowledge” and “understand” are very important when doing this.
The sometimes toxic debate that has been unleashed by the prime minister has put a spotlight on the fact that no rights are unlimited. Where the exercise of one person’s rights comes crashing up against another person’s freedoms we need to find a solution. It can be done. It is the role of this parliament to do that.
The contest of ideas and ways of life is dealt with by social norms, civility and human decency – or not. Unfortunately, the law has a very blunt way of doing it.
If we are to do this ... Then we must do it properly. If we are to believe the reports in today’s paper, the government has failed to bring forward a law which protects children.
Jones, however, is determined to not extend the credit any further than is absolutely necessary. Perhaps there is some societal need for greater protections for people of faith, he says. But this Bill is a poor vehicle for achieving those aims.
Ollie’s story
For me, this is not an academic issue.
Last week my family said farewell to my nephew Ollie. He was just 15 when he took his own life. He was a beautiful, creative, courageous young man. He was loved and accepted by his parents, brothers and friends. His mum and dad are in anguish. We all are. He was gay. He was uncertain about his gender and struggled with his mental health. Now he is gone and we will no longer be able to love him and support him on his journey throughout life. Clearly the love and acceptance of his family and friends was not enough.
It is understandable to want to add as much emotion as possible to passages that are already loaded with it. But I think that’s a temptation we should avoid, especially if one interprets “more emotion” as being tantamount” to “longer words”.
This is an example of how to do it. In just over 100 words, Jones explains that he is personally invested in this issue and tells us about Ollie, the family who loved him, the devastation of his loss and the pain of realising that the unconditional love and support of his family was not enough to save him.
His own son
My own son is also a beautiful, creative, intelligent 14-year-old. He designs and makes clothes, is a gifted makeup artist, moves seamlessly between the wardrobes of men and women. He wears heels that give me vertigo and has more handbags than his sister.
He has more courage than any boy I have met. He swims against the tide.
I love and support him unconditionally and brag about his talents to whoever will listen.
But I worry myself sick every time he leaves the house. I know that the love and protection that he enjoys with his mother, with his friends and family is very different to the reception he may receive in the world outside.
Could this be the day when we get a call telling us that something has happened? That he has been attacked just for being who he is?
This is about my kids, but it’s not … this is about the families and every child who has the courage to swim against the tide just to be themselves.
What message do we want to send?
Jones spends more time talking about his own son than he does about Ollie. After all, Ollie’s story does not “belong” to Jones in the same way as his own son’s. But it is also about the knowledge that only intimacy can bring. Jones bursts with pride and love for his son. And why wouldn’t he? Children who explore their own gender, just as they explore every facet of their identity and personhood, are every bit as deserving of love.
Then, after the boasts of any proud father, the worries. The anxiety that comes with being a parent to a child who is marked as “different”. The fear of “the call” – main ingredient of parental nightmares.
To be effective, a personal story used in a speech must achieve two things. It must elicit the attention of the listener. And it must be directly relevant to “the hook” – the big, hairy message of the speech itself. This story (it could be argued that it’s two, as it has two subjects) does the first. Now we will see if Jones, currently in the air after attempting a couple of somersaults, sticks the landing.
Responsibility and accountability
Earlier today the Prime Minister said we should exercise our power with love. It is so easy to giggle and dismiss a phrase like that … But I agree. I’m asking the Prime Minister to reflect on those words as we consider this bill.
I’d ask the prime minister and every other member in this place to put themselves in the shoes of the parents or the heels of their kids as they step out in public.
What message do we want this parliament to send to these kids? Are they as loved and cherished and respected as every other kid? Surely we aren’t saying to them – it’s OK if you are gay … Just as long as we can’t see it.
Because the thing that every parent of every gay or trans kid knows is that the love and protection that we provide for them inside our homes and families is not enough.
At some stage they have to step out into the world and deal with it as it is.
So we as parliamentarians have the power to shape that world … by what we do and what we say. What message do we want to send to our kids?
One of the challenging things about political speech is to transition from scene-setting to attacking while maintaining tonal coherence. It would have been jarring if, after speaking so poignantly about Ollie and his son, if Jones were to immediately dial up the aggression by, say, castigating the Prime Minister as a bigot.
He doesn’t do this. Instead, in keeping with the tone of the speech – delicate, magnanimous, empathic – he asks the Prime Minister to reflect. He asks Parliamentarians to reflect on the messages that their actions are broadcasting to young Australians. Jones does not denounce, or rage, or plead. Perhaps he felt like doing all of these things. But instead, with grace, he asks his colleagues to reflect on the obligations created by their position.
Gentle magnanimity isn’t always the best approach to take. Sometimes speeches call for anger, scorn, contempt, or humour. But not this one.
The promise of Australia
You know there’s a simple ease in which members of this place toss sausages at a charity barbecue, drink a beer, place a cap on our head and smile for a camera, put a footy jumper on and cheer for our favourite team. I do it regularly.
And when we do it we know that we are signalling to Australia that we are just like you … or at least that Australia as we imagine it to be.
But the fact is Australia is a much more diverse place than we project from our pulpit in this place.
Being an Aussie is much more complex than punting on the Melbourne Cup or shouting “go Sharkies”.
It is the high responsibility of us called to this place to reflect and shape the sort of Australia we want to have.
It’s a bloody diverse place.
It is black and white and brown. It prays in a church, in a mosque, at a shrine, in a hall, or on a surfboard just behind the breaking waves.
It’s men and women, it’s straight and gay and trans and intersex … the whole bloody lot.
We are the Australia of Storm Boy, of Breaker Morant, of Puberty Blues and Priscilla Queen of the Desert.
Every single person who has ever had MP after their name has tried to assert their vision of What Kind Of Nation We Are. Unsurprisingly, this vision is always tightly correlated with one’s political allegiances.
This is what Jones does. He’s framing his argument, similarly to how he did when claiming his support for freedom of religion. Jones is ensuring that the rhetorical battle is taking place on his terms, not on the Prime Minister’s: this is Australia, and this is the standard we are currently failing to meet by not protecting trans young people.
Note, however, the difference in scale. Throughout his speech, Jones has gone from talking about himself (an individual), to another individual (Ollie), to another (his son), to the Prime Minister and Parliament, and now to the nation. A megaphone is the same shape: small at the beginning and big at the end. That’s how the sound gets amplified.
In conclusion
It’s not easy crafting a national story that includes us all – but that’s our job. And that national story must have a place for all of us and all our kids – how we imagine them.
But more importantly how they are. If a young kid has the courage to be themselves and own their identity – the least, the very least we can do is say “welcome”.
There have been too many funerals and too many grieving families. We have in our gift the power to do something.
Let’s not let it pass.
Any good conclusion to a speech will do the following:
Reemphasise the stakes, either by highlighting the benefits of action or the costs of inaction.
Remind the audience of their responsibilities.
Make a clear demand of the audience: you’ve listened to me, now here’s what you’re supposed to do.
I’ll leave it to you to decide if you think Jones succeeds with his conclusion.
It can be tough to evaluate the “success” of a political speech. Especially in an attention economy in a permanent state of recession, no single speech can ever definitively be said to “win” an election. So if that can’t be our standard of success, what is?
Some speeches are meant to solicit donations. Others, to rally one's own side. To make fun of the other lot. To rouse anger and hatred. But sometimes, speeches are delivered in order to tell stories about people. To urge others to not let their loss be in vain. To use their example as moral fortification, when cowardice is the easier option.
This is one of those speeches.