26 March 2021, Melbourne, Australia
Firstly, I would like to thank the Melbourne Press Club for this award, which just feels completely surreal. I’d also like to congratulate all the other winners tonight.
I wouldn’t be in this position without my boss at the ABC, James Coventry. James offered me some work a year ago, at which point I’d been unemployed for six months and thought I was finished in journalism. He gave me my first full-time job as a journalist, and offered me patience, trust and support, and I’ve spent every day since being thankful for that.
At the ABC, I must also thank Gaven Morris, Gavin Fang and Joh McDiarmid. I love working with them, and I love my job. I’d also like to acknowledge another of my interviewees, Heritier Lumumba, for his integrity and strength, and his willingness to make life better for others.
And before all that, my wife, Cynthia, has supported me in everything I’ve done. She encouraged me to persist with journalism, even when it felt like I’d never get anywhere. I can only do one thing moderately well at any given time, but Cynthia does everything well, always. I can never thank her enough, nor our daughter Priya for her smiles, nor my parents for their encouragement.
But there is only one reason I’m standing here right now. His name is Robert Muir.
Thanks to the Melbourne Press Club, Rob is here tonight, which has made it a very special evening for both of us. Rob and I speak nearly every day on the phone, but because he lives in Adelaide, and I’m in Melbourne, we haven’t met in person until tonight. I’ve been looking forward to that hug for a long time.
I’d always wondered about Rob’s story. All that existed was a nickname he never should have been given, a few minutes of footage, and a myth that painted him as a thug. Someone close to Rob told me something very simple but true: the person is not the problem, the problem is the problem.
Rob’s problem, as a proud Aboriginal man, was racism. Football subjected him to so much of it, for so long, that he was never able to escape it. His sporting brilliance was met with abuse. In many ways, Rob’s story, and the opportunities that were taken away from him, are a metaphor for this country.
If my story achieved nothing else, I’m glad that people now realise that Rob was a gifted footballer who is worthy of respect. I also know that he’s a kind, determined, intelligent, loving and funny man.
A lot of people have asked how my story has changed Rob’s life. Actually, it has changed mine just as much. Rob has taught me things it might have taken a lifetime to learn on my own. His strength has inspired me greatly, and he showed me that it’s never too late to tell someone’s story.
I’ll go and share this with Rob now, but to finish I have to make an admission. About a week after Rob’s story was published, I woke up at 3am and realised I’d left out an important line. I’m sure many people here know that sinking feeling, when the deadline has passed.
The line I accidentally left out was something poignant Rob said about his childhood. He said that when he was a kid, the thing he loved about footy was that for two hours every weekend, when he ran around on football fields, he felt safe.
Rob, I know we’ve still got a bit of work to do to get you the things you need, but I won’t stop until you feel safe. Thank you.