Mr MORRISON (Cook—Prime Minister and Minister for the Public Service) (14:17): I move: That the House record its deep regret at the death, on 27 September 2020, of the Honourable Susan Maree Ryan AO, a former Minister and Senator for the Australian Capital Territory, place on record its appreciation of her long and meritorious public service, and tender its profound sympathy to her family in their bereavement. It was Mother Liguori of the Brigidines—I hope I pronounced that correctly; I'm sure I'll be corrected if I haven't—who was possibly the first to grasp the measure and strength of a young Susan Ryan. She said, 'Susan Ryan, you are not merely bold as brass, you are brass personified.' It was this strength that Susan Ryan drew upon when she entered the Senate in 1975. It's been said she was a trailblazer. True. But it's an easy word to use and not understand what that truly means. For Susan Ryan, it meant being judged daily on her gender, her age, her hair colour, her marital status, her physical size, her clothes and how she was raising her own children at that time. In her words, the criticism was relentless—in the media, community, across this chamber and within her own party. That's what she came to fight. Her slogan 'A woman's place is in the Senate' was more than a slogan about one person; it was about a broader change to advantage every Australian woman, whatever their views, whatever their background, whatever their politics. After entering the parliament, Senator Ryan spent seven years in opposition. During that time she watched closely Senator Margaret Guilfoyle, the first woman member of cabinet. Susan Ryan observed that her strength was her intelligence and competence, and she never let a provocation get under her skin—an approach Senator Ryan was determined to take when her time came as the first woman in a Labor cabinet, serving as Minister for Education and Youth Affairs, Minister Assisting the Prime Minister for the Status of Women and the Special Minister of State. Susan Ryan was the architect of our Sex Discrimination Act, which also made sexual harassment illegal for the first time, and the Affirmative Action (Equal Employment Opportunity for Women) Act. Because of her advocacy and the advocacy of others, a woman who wants to buy a house today can go to the bank and get a home loan without needing her husband or father there—something that today we sometimes just assume has always been the case, but it was not so when she made it a reality. A woman who falls pregnant is not at risk of losing her job. A single mum can sign a lease without the fear of a landlord refusing her because of her marital status. And girls everywhere can go to school and study whatever they want without restrictions. My daughters thank you, Susan Ryan. This was the world that Susan Ryan and, she would say, so many others helped to create in her selfless way. As education minister, she was most proud of having put in place policies that lifted the year 12 retention rate from one-third to two-thirds. She said that at times her world felt like being a fish on a bicycle, navigating principle and pragmatism. That tension was grasped in a conversation she had with the late Mick Young. It was the end of 1979 and Susan Ryan was in hospital after contracting a severe liver disease during a parliamentary visit to Cambodia. She was so ill that a priest was called. Young, a Catholic, inquired about the visit. 'Did you make a confession?' 'Of course not,' she said. 'You know I abandoned the faith years ago.' Mick Young shook his head. 'I would've,' he said. 'Nothing wrong with having two bob each way.' Susan Ryan was not a two-bob-each-way politician, and that is what we remember today. We also remember her service as our first-ever Age Discrimination Commissioner, and as Disability Discrimination Commissioner also—always advocating that an Australia that used the talents and capacity of its people would be a better and bigger place. Susan Ryan once reflected that politics is like diving into a blustery surf—something she spent years doing at Maroubra beach. 'You don't linger at the edge,' she said. 'You jump in and fight your way through to the breakers. Finally, you get to the still, deep water beyond. You see if you can catch a wave and ride it to the shore. Few things in life are as exhilarating. When the wave has finished it's not the end of the story.' In fighting through the breakers, Susan Ryan's life reminds us of what can be achieved in this life and, particularly, in this place. Her life helped stir and channel the currents that flow through our country today, and we are indeed grateful. On behalf of the government, I express our heartfelt sympathies to Susan's partner, Rory Sutton, her children, Justine and Benedict, and her grandson, Amir. May she rest in peace. We thank her for her service.