Senator McKENZIE (Victoria—Leader of the Nationals in the Senate) (16:04): I rise today on behalf of the National Party to acknowledge the passing of Graham Frederick Richardson, a formidable figure in Australian politics, and, for many of us in this chamber, a reminder of a different era of parliamentary life. Much has been said about Graham Richardson, the Labor warrior, factional operator, powerbroker, fixer and colourful Labor identity. He understood his role in the labour movement, as evidenced by his autobiography, with the title Whatever It Takes, a book that became a must-read text for a generation of political aspirants. But today I want to reflect on the Richardson who does not always appear in the official biographies, one I came to know personally. When I was a young senator, particularly as Deputy Leader of the National Party, many years ago, Graham was unexpectedly generous with his time and advice, despite coming from opposite sides of politics. When others on your own side are telling you to bide your time, Graham was encouraging, enthusiastic and, of course, unfailingly direct about not wasting a moment in this place. Born in Sydney in 1949, the son of a respected union official and a mother who worked as his father's office manager, Richardson was shaped early by the Labor movement and the realities of working-class life. His parents were not Labor Party members, but they were fiercely anti-Communist, a sentiment that informed his later ruthless and absolutely single-minded determination to keep the New South Wales Left at bay, including stomping on the early career of our now prime minister. Richardson joined the Labor Party as a teenager and, after a brief period at university, plunged straight into the world of political organising. He was a fast learner. By his 20s, he was already a key operative in the New South Wales Labor machine, and, by the late seventies, he was the party's state secretary, navigating the brutal factional battles of the era. He entered the Senate in 1983, beginning a parliamentary career that saw him serve as minister, negotiator, tactician and political lightning rod. Graham Richardson was undeniably a senator to his core. Those of us who've been here for a long time know when we meet a senator's senator, as opposed to other people here who aren't senators' senators. He understood the importance of this chamber— Senator Wong: There was a pause! Senator McKENZIE: Just take a look around! He understood the importance of this chamber and its role in our democracy, particularly ensuring that there wasn't a rubber stamp for the executive, a place where legislation was scrutinised, contested, amended and, at times, defeated. That is all of our job. Graham knew the power structures, the evolving nature of the Senate, the delicate balance between government and crossbench that defines this place. Even when his own prime minister was dismissing the Senate as 'unrepresentative swill', Richardson defended its—our—purpose. He understood, perhaps better than most, that this chamber's authority is a shared endeavour. Please be in no doubt that, had Senator Richardson and I been contemporaries, we would have been fierce and passionate adversaries in this chamber. As a daughter of a timber worker, I would have fought him every step of the way on his portrayal of forestry communities. Indeed, Graham Richardson's most controversial and enduring political legacy was to deal with the Greens in Tasmania in 1989. This was the agreement that brought the Greens formally into the fold, to secure support for the minority Labor government in Hobart, a decision that reshaped Australian politics well beyond Tasmania's borders. Inside the Labor Party, it was bitterly contested. Then the finance minister Peter Walsh warned that Labor would become hostage to sectional interests rather than governing in the national interest. Whether history proves Walsh or Richardson right is a matter I'll leave for others on this day—although, I obviously have my own view. In reflecting on his ministerial legacy, it's impossible to ignore Graham Richardson's decisive role in the aftermath of the Helsham inquiry into Tasmania's forests. The inquiry's majority report had recommended keeping much of the contested southern forests open to forestry, an outcome that placed the Hawke government in an awkward political position which guaranteed continued opposition from environmental activists. Richardson, the then serving environment minister, believed the findings of the inquiry were inadequate both scientifically and politically, and he refused to accept what he viewed as an untenable compromise, telling Hawke, in characteristic Richo style, that the answer is, 'No, you'—insert expletive. In one of the most assertive interventions of his career, Richardson persuaded cabinet—and overruled his own prime minister—to adopt the minority report instead, expanding World Heritage protections far beyond what the inquiry had recommended. The decision was, for many Tasmanians, a deep betrayal of the regional communities, and a precursor to the forestry politics that have evolved and often escalated ever since. What we now know today is that Richardson's win was the activists success in their onward quest of moving the goalposts. But it also showed Richardson's unmistakable style, a tough-minded minister prepared to use ministerial discretion and an instinctive understanding of seizing the key moments of politics when they arrive. That Tasmanian settlement had profound consequences for rural and regional Australia. His engagement with forestry debates, particularly the fights over old-growth forest, wilderness protection and also the Daintree and Kakadu decisions, placed him squarely in the centre of the environmental conflicts of the era. I now think of how the nation finds itself in the midst of yet another environmental battle, one in which the government is trying to save the environment by destroying it. Graham Richardson was many things: partisan warrior, factional head kicker, bon vivant and later an insightful media commentator on a variety of channels. But he was also a parliamentarian who believed in the contest of ideas, in the importance of debate and in the value of a robust Senate and a robust cabinet. He believed, too, that politics was a human enterprise run by flawed humans, of whom even Richo himself would concede he had flaws—and, yes, he had a few. Yet his encouragement of younger senators, even those from the other side, his disarming ability to charm and destroy in one fell swoop reminds one of the often forgotten verse from Peter in the Bible, that charity covers a multitude of sins. On behalf of the National Party, on behalf of those who respected him across the aisle and on behalf of my own personal relationship, I extend all of our condolences to his family, his colleagues and his many friends. Question agreed to, honourable senators joining in a moment of silence.