Video transcript
Multicultural Perspectives Public Speaking Competition 2025 - Years 5 and 6 State Final

[intro music]

TONY DAVEY: My name is Tony Davey. I help to run this competition as the speaking competition's assistant for the Arts Unit of the NSW Department of Education. I want to begin by acknowledging that we're on the traditional lands of the Gadigal people of the Eora nation. And I want to extend my respect to the Elders, past and present, of that nation.

But of course, the 10 speeches and then 10 more impromptu speeches that you're about to hear, those speeches were written on different lands all around NSW. And I'm sure you'd all join me in extending your respects to the traditional owners of those lands, as well.

All right, so one final job, it's to introduce the chairperson and the timekeeper for today. The chairperson is Kiara Murphy from Jamberoo Public School. Kiara, apparently, is great at Irish dancing. We met like a minute ago, and that's what I know about her.

And Maeve Rimme is your timekeeper. She apparently is more into the sportsy, basketbally, swimming stuff. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Kiara Murphy.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Thank you, Mr Davey. Ladies and gentlemen, in the Years 5 and 6 prepared speech section, each student may speak for 4 minutes. There will be a warning bell at 3 minutes, with 2 bells at 4 minutes, to indicate that the speaker's time has expired. A continuous bell will be rung at 5 minutes. After this session, there will be a 20-minute break followed by the impromptu speeches.

The first speaker this morning is Lincoln Moss from Gosford Public School on the Central Coast. Lincoln is the first of 5 speeches titled 'Everyone has a story'. Please welcome Lincoln to the stage.

LINCOLN MOSS: Bullets, bullets don't know discrimination, nor did the men in the trenches. Let me tell you a forgotten story, one that has never been told. But its lesson is where the roots of multiculturalism were formed.

Imagine being recruited to go to war for a country that did not allow you the right to vote or even sit in a movie theatre. My story begins as my landing craft approach Gallipoli. The year is 1915.

A high-ranking officer of the 25th battalion attempts to inspire us with these words, I don't order you to attack. I order you to die. In the time it takes us to die, other troops and commanders can take our places.

I proudly fought and died in the name of my country. And here my story ends. I was Frederick Vincent, a 23-year-old from Lismore, NSW. My army enrollment papers enlist me as dark because aboriginality was not a recognised nationality.

Being so young, I never got the opportunity to have a family who would tell my story for years to come. But everyone has a story. And that was mine.

Aboriginals faced strict laws about joining the armed forces. The Defence Act of 1909 stopped those who were not of European descent from becoming soldiers. The many Aboriginals were declined. Some, like Frederick, got past this law by enlisting themselves as dark-skinned, under the guise of being a farm labourer.

He probably enlisted as the wage for a soldier in the army was comparatively high. More importantly, Aboriginal soldiers were very hard-working. And they were given the same rate, the same rations, the same uniforms, and the same rights as non-indigenous soldiers. You heard that right, guys. Back in 1914, Aboriginal soldiers, who were not even allowed to sit in a theatre as you are today, were shown equal rights and respect in the armed forces.

Perhaps, they thought, a life was a life and a man was a man and they all fought for the same thing, to protect our home, families, and future. It is also likely that Aboriginal soldiers are very hard working, used to laborious jobs and poor conditions, and earned the respect they were afforded.

When Aboriginal soldiers returned, they thought that home would be the same as war, where it didn't matter that you were Indigenous anymore. They believed that they would be veterans of war and celebrated, thanked, and respected. But sadly, they weren't even allowed to set foot in an RSL.

When they marched on Anzac Day, they were heckled and questioned why they were there. Nothing had changed. Australia didn't even give Indigenous people the right to vote for another 53--

[bell dings]

--years. Just over 100 years later, when I was 4 years old and running my hands along the embossed names and poppies at the Canberra War Memorial, my dad called me over to look at a name. Bear with me, guys. I was just learning to read at the time. And I traced my fingers over the letters M-O-S-S. Hey, I said, that's my name.

Then the initials, F.V.-- Frederick Vincent Moss is my great uncle, an Aboriginal soldier who fought in World War I on the beaches of Gallipoli and died at Lone Pine. I'm so proud of this connection I have. And this is the reason I have never missed a dawn service on Anzac Day.

Each year we say the words, 'We will remember them.' But will we? If we don't tell these powerful stories, share their memories, they will be forgotten.

Let me propose to you my thoughts--

[bell dings]

--on what we can learn from my Uncle Fred's story. Bullets don't discriminate, but people do. Those soldiers in the trenches only survived by standing shoulder to shoulder and pushing their differences aside.

In 2025, we have absolutely no excuse to divide. But even today, around the world, people are discriminated against for their colour. Their values should not be discriminated by such trivial factors when what really matters is what's in here and here.

Everyone has a story. But the question is, will you listen? The next time you meet someone different to you, ask, listen, learn. That's how we build a country worthy of their sacrifice.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: The second speaker is Isabella Nikolsky, who goes to Maroubra Junction Public School in the Eastern Suburbs. Isabella's speech is also titled 'Everyone has a story'. Please welcome Isabella.

[applause]

ISABELLA NIKOLSKY: Everyone has a story. When I was in Year 1, I read a story book about how humans evolved. What stuck in my mind to this day is a picture of an orange. Contrary to my childish belief, we did not evolve from an orange. But what it was really trying to show us was that our entire universe was once smaller than an orange.

All things were created after the Big Bang wit particles sticking together. Essentially, our evolutionary story shows that every single human being is made of similar particles and cells that are the foundations of all our DNAs.

Did you know that humans share 99.9% of their DNAs or genetic makeup? Yes, you, me, the person sitting next to you, your teachers, Donald Trump, Taylor Swift, and even Ronaldo are nearly all made of the same cells, with only a small variation between us. In each of these tiny cells that make up your DNA is a story about you and about humankind. Essentially, our DNAs show that human beings are more similar than different.

In multicultural Australia today, we celebrate this diversity through all the wonderful foods, languages, music, and celebrations of varying bearing races. However, because of these differences, we also face discrimination and racism. And worldwide wars have even been started because of these perceived differences. But what we all need to remember in our Australian story is that despite coming from different cultural backgrounds, we are all one race, the human race.

In our Australian story, this is not historically the case. In 1901, one of the first bills to be passed through the federal parliament was the White Australia Policy. This policy discriminated against people who were not white, as the nation believed that white people were better in all aspects of life. Isn't it unbelievable that our first prime minister, Edmund Barton, exclaimed that all other races were unequal and inferior.

As a result of this policy, in 1947, only 2.7% of Australian society was born outside of Australia, Ireland, or the United Kingdom. Isn't it unimaginable that this was part of our history, our nation story? Researching Australia's history and the evolutionary story has made me wonder about my DNA and my own unique story. My Poh Poh, or grandma, and gong gong, grandpa--

[bell dings]

--migrated from Malaysia to Australia in 1987 with their family. To think that the White Australia Policy was only dismantled in 1973 and it had ended 14 years later, my mother would have not been able to migrate to Australia. This would have changed her story and my story.

Would I be standing here today if the government had continued to focus on race, rather than accept our unique human differences? It is astounding to think that my British white father would have been welcome to Australia, whereas I may have been turned away because of my diverse multicultural background, which includes Germanic, Russian, and Chinese DNA.

In certain parts of this world, discrimination continues. We do not want this to be our story. As the next generation, we want to turn a new page and rewrite our story--

[bell dings]

--a story of hope, a story of peace, a positive story that we will keep proudly in our histories forever. But to do this, we must not focus on the 0.1% that makes our DNAs different, but instead focus on how humankind is 99.9% alike.

We should embrace our small differences and celebrate our multiculturalism. This means that we should welcome all the unique and wonderful cultures that call Australia home. We must remember, as the voters and potential politicians of tomorrow, that we all have one story, the story of humanity. And if we want to keep that story alive, we must all be mindful that we are one race, the human race.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: The third speaker this morning is Zahli Binks, who is from Jamberoo Public School south of Wollongong. Zahli's speech is called 'Everyone has a story'. Please welcome Zahli down to the stage.

[applause]

ZAHLI BINKS: I love to dance. My parents will tell you when I'm not at a lesson or in a competition, I'm always moving, tapping, or spinning my way through the house. Over the years, I've learned hundreds of routines. I have learned these from my teachers, my friends, mimic celebrities on the TV, and others I work out on my own. But they come and go.

There is, however, one dance that I will never forget. I learned this dance from a girl not much older than me. Listen to my words, she said. Follow my movements, and let me teach you the history of my people.

In that moment, she shared a story passed down from generation to generation, created at a time before writing in books. It made me think, what is my story? And how can I share it with those around me?

I met this girl at the Polynesian Cultural Centre while holidaying on the island of Oahu in Hawaii. The Hawaiian people share their story in a physically expressive form by doing the cultural dance known as the Hula. The movements in the dance are an interpretation of the words in the song. By teaching people like me their sacred dance, they are sharing their story and, by extension, the significance of their culture.

Regardless of how it is delivered, we must remember that everyone has a story. And it is through the sharing of these stories that we can express ourselves and, importantly, learn from others.

A strong example of this is Blak Douglas, a proud Aboriginal man from the Dhungatti people. His art is bold, political, and personal. He tells the story of what it's like to grow up as a First Nations person in modern Australia, facing racism, injustice, and exclusion, but also pride, strength, and identity.

His paintings often feature sharp colours and cartoon-like figures. But the messages are anything but simple. One of his most powerful works, which won the Archibald Prize in 2022, was a portrait of fellow Indigenous woman, Karla Dickens, standing in floodwaters, a symbol of both climate disaster and survival. But when you look closer, what you're really seeing is not just art, not just a statement to the world, but his story, his anger, his truth, his voice.

He once said, art is our tool for fighting back, for telling what's real. And that's exactly what he does. He paints what's real.

People like Blak are always looking for ways to share their story with the world. Be proud of who you are and where you come from. Don't be afraid to share your story. And don't be afraid to listen to someone else's.

Another amazing story--

[bell dings]

--is owned by a woman named Huda Hayek. Huda is the second youngest of 7 children, born to Lebanese Australian parents, who grew up in Perth and now call Melbourne home. As a child, she struggled with reading and writing through her earliest years, but knew from the time she was a young girl that she wanted to work with words.

When she was a child, she would search for books about kids like her, kids who spoke Arabic at home, who ate falafel in their lunchbox, who celebrated Eid, but also watched cartoons in English and went to Aussie schools. There just weren't many books like that, so she decided to change that and write them herself. Huda became an author because she wanted children to see themselves in books the way that she couldn't.

Her book, 'Huda and Me', tells the experiences of a loud, brave girl from a Lebanese-Australian family. And it celebrates the beauty and sometimes chaos of living between 2 cultures.

[bell dings]

When she submitted the manuscript, she expected to be asked to remove some of the Muslim references and take out the Arabic words. But the publisher said, write this book for the Muslim child, the Lebanese child. Huda reminds us that sometimes if you can't find your story, it's because you're the one meant to write it.

People like Huda and Blak teach us that in a multicultural country like Australia, we need to be curious, not afraid of the stories of others, to listen, to ask questions, and to share our own. My time in Hawaii has taught me that dance could be my opportunity to share more of myself and what I've learned, instead of simply mimicking the movements of others or mindlessly following the beat. If we can all find our own way to understand each other's stories, it will allow us to build something stronger than a country. We can build a community. And that's a story worth telling.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Our fourth speaker is Ari Crisp, who goes to Lane Cove Public School on Sydney's North Shore. Ari is the second-last finalist whose topic is 'Everyone has a story', Please put your hands together for Ari.

[applause]

ARI CRISP: She held tightly to her mother's hand as soldiers shouted and shoved. But they were seldom separated throughout the concentration camps. Through every march, every train ride, every dark and terrifying moment, her mother was there, and she needed to look after her.

Her father was already dead. She had 23 family members, those she laughed with, lived with, and loved, and almost all of them were murdered or died of disease. She was a teenager left to figure out a world that made no more sense.

But she survived. Day after day, she clung to life, even as the people she loved disappeared. She endured this for 4 long years, finding ways to survive the unimaginable hardship while caring for her ageing mother.

Finally, British soldiers liberated them from Bergen-Belsen. But just 3 years later, the Russians invaded Czechoslovakia, and she was forced to flee to Australia as a refugee with her mother, husband, and young son. They arrived with nothing, having lost almost everything, yet they built a new life from scratch, step by courageous step. That brave teenage girl who carried the weight of such unthinkable tragedy was my great-grandmother.

But why did these family stories matter so much? Well, they're passed down through generations, teaching us about different cultures and perspectives. These stories help us understand our heritage more deeply. And they open a door to stronger relationships and deeper connections with others, especially in a vibrant, multicultural society like ours.

But stories can fade. They can slip away with time or be torn from families. My great-grandmother knew what it was like to lose loved ones and the stories they carried.

Not that long ago, Aboriginal children were ripped from their families, experiencing a similar pain, their family torn apart, their voices silenced. Imagine growing up without the stories that tell you who you are, without the songs, the language, and the wisdom of those who came before. That loss leaves a silence.

Names are forgotten. Traditions fade. Children grow up unaware of the strength that flows through their veins.

Everyone has a story. And when it is stolen, it leaves an emptiness that no voice can fill. To remember, to reclaim, that is how we hold on to identity. And when those stories are shared and remembered, they become a source of connection.

And it is that which gives Australia its strength. Not its landmarks or its cities or its beaches, but its people, Australians who have brought their languages, histories, recipes and songs with them, people who have held on to who they are while part of becoming something greater. This beautiful, imperfect, ever-growing patchwork is what we call our nation. But with that gift comes a responsibility--

[bell dings]

--to listen, to understand, and to make space for stories that are not our own because when we truly listen not just to the words, but to the feelings and experiences behind them, we begin to see something powerful. Everyone has a story. Each person we meet has a history that determines who they are, the shy classmate or even the bullies at school. Their stories may be different from ours, but their feelings underneath are the same. They need to fit in, feel secure, and be loved.

So next time you meet a new person, keep in mind each face comes with a tale just waiting to be heard. And when you share yours, you welcome others to do the same, because, once, a girl held tightly to her mother's hand through the darkest of times. She survived so I could stand here and tell her story. Now it's up to us to listen to every story that still waits to be told. Thank you.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: The fifth speaker today is Purdey Killips, all the way from Brunswick Heads Public School on the Far North Coast. Purdey is the final speaker on the topic 'Everyone has a story'. Please welcome Purdey out to the front.

[applause]

PURDEY KILLIPS: It doesn't matter if you're a little Eurasian girl living in a country town like me or a new migrant or first, second or third generation Greek or homegrown First Nation with ancestry going back 60,000 years. Each and every one of us has a story about how we got here and the challenges and hardships encountered along the way.

My family's story is interesting, but not unique, for 96% of Australians have migrant heritage. My mother, for instance, can trace her European ancestors back over 200 years. And they include the gentleman bush ranger, Captain Thunderbolt. So don't leave your purse near her unguarded.

[laughter]

My father is Eurasian and grew up in England. However, my Chinese grandma grew up in Malaysia during World War II. Her experiences there were so horrific she rarely talked about them. But I did discover she was orphaned, lived on the streets, then adopted, and when she was 6 years old, sold to an old man who was planning to marry her when she reached puberty. Perhaps fortunately, he died when she was just 8, so she was once more orphaned and adopted.

Amazingly, she turned into one of the most resilient people I've ever known, and eventually found happiness when she met and married a British soldier, my grandpa, in the 1950s. And they moved to the UK where my father grew up.

Grandpa kept venomous snakes as a hobby. And after he left the British army in 1962, he was offered a job at Australia's Reptile Park near Gosford. However, due to Australia's whites only policy, Grandpa was informed he could settle here and work, but he'd have to leave his Chinese wife and children behind in England.

By some enormous irony, my mother and father's first house was near Gosford, overlooking the very site of the original Australian Reptile Park. What the whites only policy had stopped in 1962, fate and Father Time had somehow defeated. Just like rainwater eventually finding its way back to the oceans, Dad ended up in the same place he should have been 50 years earlier.

It shows that we might stumble along the way, but, somehow, humanity eventually moves closer to understanding and accepting our differences. We live in a global society. And we are realising now more than ever just how similar our stories are. They involve a rich tapestry of all manner, of pleasant as well as unpleasant things, regardless of our culture--

[bell dings]

--colour, or creed. Different stories, rather than separate us, unite us. For instance, learning about the horrors of my grandma's childhood has helped deepen my understanding of current wars and conflicts. That's why our story should be the starting point of change, not the barrier that keeps us apart.

I hope sharing some of my story has made you more curious about your own. Do you know where your ancestors came from and what struggles they had to overcome? Can you find your ancestors homelands on a map? And do you know what their cultural practices were, like, for me, celebrating Chinese New Year with a scrumptious feast and fireworks?

What about your friends at school? It is fascinating to learn about other people's stories and cultures. You never know what you might just have in common because everyone has a story.

In fact, all of us here today represent the last page--

[bell dings]

--of a never-ending story. And each of us will add more pages to that story in the course of our, hopefully, full and fruitful lives because everyone has a story.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Our sixth speaker this morning is Aviya Bhardwaj, who represents St. Andrews Public School in South Western Sydney. The subject of Aviya's speech is 'How far have we come in 30 years?' Please welcome Aviya to the stage.

[applause]

AVIYA BHARDWAJ: They say 30 years can change everything. And in some ways it has, well, just on the outside, like during history class when my teacher showed us what classrooms looked like 3 decades ago-- no laptops, just notebooks; no smartboards, just chalkboards; no asking Google. They only asked the encyclopaedia. It was the dark ages.

[laughter]

I expected her to say they fought the dinosaurs before recess. We laughed, but then she got serious. She said, back then, if you were of Aboriginal descent, you were labelled as wild or uncivilised.

Then she smiled and said, thankfully, those days are over. Discrimination in schools have been eradicated. Eradicated, that word stuck with me because if its truly extinct, then what about that time that one kid said, that can't be right; I thought all immigrants were bad at English?

And it's not just me. It's our own anti-racism officer. She said there are 60 reports of racism halfway throughout the year. I guess they were all mistaken.

Let's be honest, discrimination has not disappeared. It's just gotten better at hiding. It doesn't yell anymore. It murmurs. It shows when someone mispronounces a word. It's loaded in a question like, where are you really from, even though you've said Australia twice?

But haven't we made progress? Sure, now you're not punished for speaking another language. We have rules, policies, and assemblies with multicultural posters and Aboriginal paintings. But posters don't change hearts. And rules don't cancel out bias.

The truth is, the seeds of racial exclusion are planted in our very own schools. It's at lunchtime when a kid is left out of a friend group; or in the oval, where some voices are quieter because they've learned speaking up isn't worth it; or in the classroom where one student feels invisible because their story, their identity, isn't a part of the curriculum.

That's the root. But this is a part of something much, much larger. This is the same discrimination that keeps people from becoming scientists, actors and authors. This also leads to entire communities from having a say in their own future. And that fuels global conflicts.

Now we need to stop ignoring because, 30 years ago, racial exclusion--

[bell dings]

--was a storm. Now it's a breeze, gentle. But it still pushes you away. And facing it, is it in the hands of just the principals, the parliament, or education minister? It's in our own choices.

Do I go off stereotypes or value experiences? Do I make an effort every day to learn about a new culture? Do I ask, where are you really from, or ask, what part of your culture would you like to share with me?

And schools can also do the same. It's not enough to celebrate Harmony Day with cupcakes and t-shirts. Schools can try teaching songs or poems in different languages. This is only one of the ways a school can truly represent everybody.

So let's reflect. Touchscreens have replaced notebooks. We definitely don't use chalkboards anymore.

[bell dings]

But there are still students sitting in the classroom feeling like they don't belong. But now you can be the reason someone finally feels included. You can be the reason someone finally feels welcome. And that is the education worth fighting for!

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: The seventh speaker today is Lotus Gallpen-Brown, who has made it all the way from Deniliquin North Public school in the Riverina to be here today. Lotus is the first of 4 speeches titled 'Names matter'. Please put your hands together for Lotus.

[applause]

LOTUS GALLPEN-BROWN: Just outside the small Riverina town of Narrandera, there is a sign marking the name of a nearby creek. The sign itself is nothing unusual, but the name it displays is, Poison Waterholes Creek. If you're thinking that sounds a little sinister, you'd be right, because the name is a rather succinct capture of the horrible history that occurred there when a local settler, enraged at seeing Aboriginal people supposedly trespass on his land, put arsenic into the waterhole and waited for the poison to do its gruesome work.

Unfortunately, this brutal incident at Poison Waterholes Creek was not unusual in our nation's history. It was just one of the many, many examples of frontier violence that scars our national past. But what is unusual about Poison Waterholes Creek is that its publicly named in a way that so openly acknowledges the violence of our history.

Mostly, the names that are used in our towns tend to tell a very different story. In my own town of Deniliquin, there is no name, building, or statue which acknowledges the injustice done to the Wamba Wamba Perrepa Perrepa people. Instead, it is the names of white settlers everywhere you look. The name of our river, the name of our heritage centre, even the names of the 4 sports houses at my own school, all named after early white settlers.

Every day, First Nations people are continually reminded that these are the people who are valued, that it is their story that deserves to be recognised and celebrated. Washed away is the violence and dispossession of white settlement, and in its place, a much cleaner, more palatable narrative is upheld of the courageous pioneers who supposedly forged our nation.

But the record is clear for anyone who cares to look. Diaries from the white settlers themselves tell us that the early houses erected in our region had special rifle holes built into the wall that would enable easy firing on any approaching Aboriginal person. Official documents tell us that in 1843, there was a horrific massacre just outside Deniliquin when 26 Aboriginal people were killed by white settlers and Border Police.

And don't think that the insensitive glorification of certain names is confined to my small community. Spare a thought for my Aboriginal family friend who, having been selected to attend a leadership camp in Sydney, was informed of the first event on the camp's itinerary, a day cruise on Sydney Harbour with the company Captain Cook Cruises.

[bell dings]

What the continued honouring of these names shows is that our nation is deeply incompetent and offensive in engaging with our past. Ours is a nation that still has a political party that sells a sticker mockingly depicting an Aboriginal woman screaming, you stole my land, a nation that still has elected parliamentarians arguing that First Nations people should move on because, apparently, all that stuff happened so long ago.

The time has come for us to stop sticking our collective heads in the sand, to stop pretending that the history of colonisation is just some ancient or distant memory that can be sidestepped or swept under the carpet. The time has come for us to be courageous and honest enough to do what the sign at Poison Waterholes Creek does, speak the truth of our history, even when it's confronting and disturbing--

[bell dings]

--so that we might grapple with it and learn from it. So when you leave here today, I ask that you look around your town. Notice the names being remembered and celebrated. And ask yourselves this, what do those names tell us of our history of colonisation? And do they help to reveal, or do they help to conceal our treatment of First Nations people, because it is only when we properly engage with this history, when we actually begin to tell the truth of it to ourselves, do we lay a platform to meaningfully move forward?

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Our eighth speaker today is Isla Pilgrim from Kurrajong Public School near Richmond in Western Sydney. Isla's speech is also called 'Names matter'. Please welcome Isla down to the stage.

[applause]

ISLA PILGRIM: In my dance class, I dance alongside Ruby, named after her grandmother; Samira, whose name comes from her Indian heritage; and Jagger, whose parents were obviously big fans of The Rolling Stones. My class is a wonderful mix of girls whose names all reveal something about themselves.

Grace is actually really graceful. And Peppa is a complete chatterbox, much like the cartoon character we grew up watching. It is clear that, 11 years ago, a lot of thought went into our names.

Our names are like keys that unlock our sense of identity. They reveal our personalities, our personal histories, and our cultural heritage. Just as we dance in different styles, we all have our own individual style. And that is why names matter.

But sadly, I don't hear the same respect in my wider community. Whether it's at school or in everyday conversations, I often hear people mispronounce names and make little effort to learn unfamiliar names. I also hear judgments people make based on names. It is a fact that Australia has a really poor record of acknowledging that names matter.

My own name, Isla, is often mispronounced to 'Issla'. To be honest, nothing annoys me more. But I accept that the small part of my own Scottish heritage that led to my name is not culturally familiar to all. And sometimes, people get it wrong.

It's what happens next that matters. I correct them because my name matters. I explain it like Isla, like island. And I will hope that they will try again, that they will use my unique key and recognise it is important to me. And this action is the first step I can take in getting the message out that names matter.

Too often, out of ignorance or lack of respect, we use the wrong key, the wrong name, and recklessly pretend it's good enough, especially when it comes to referring to people with a different cultural background to our own. And it is not OK. We pride ourselves on rich multiculturalism, but at the same time, we allow stigmas based on names. Names that feel foreign to our own cultural heritage are met with attempts to shorten them or anglicise them.

And because of our poor record, migrants to Australia feel the need to adopt a more Australian name. It is a common practice for migrants to shorten, rearrange, or change your names altogether. It's like taking the wrong key and expecting it to still unlock the person within. Johann becomes John, and Narender becomes Nate.

It's like we're encouraging new Australians to just erase their cultural identity. What message is this sending? You're welcome here, but only if you assimilate--

[bell dings]

--into a dominant culture, only if you make yourself sound Aussie? If we can't be bothered to try and get our tongues around something as important as an individual's name, then that is a matter that needs addressing.

And excuses will not hold up, because if I say, Albus Dumbledore, Bellatrix Lestrange, Fleur Delacour, Minerva McGonagall, well, that's a mouthful. And yet we make the effort because Harry Potter is such a big part of our popular culture. It is so wrong that we can't apply the same level of respect shown to fictional characters when it comes to real human beings. Surely, popular culture is not more important than multiculturalism.

And we can all act just like in my dance class, where every step tells a story and every dance's rhythm holds its own song. We must encourage others to share the correct pronunciation and names like I do.

[bell dings]

As individuals, we need to lead by example and ask about migrants' names. We need to share stories about the significance of our own names and encourage discussions about cultural heritage. We need to shut down any judgement so we build a culture where migrants feel comfortable holding on to their unique key.

When we demonstrate this respect, we encourage others to do the same, and show that everyone's identity, everyone's heritage, and everyone's name matters. So let's not lock others out by dismissing the matter of names. Instead, let us take the lead from my dance friends, grasp a mighty bunch of keys in our hands, and, together, sway to a new tune, one that unlocks doors to understanding and acceptance and the beautiful dance of belonging to unite all Australians.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Our second-last speaker this morning is Edden Kanety, who represents Armidale City Public school in New England. The title of Edden's speech is also 'Names matter'. Please welcome Edden.

[applause]

EDDEN KANETY: My great uncle Marco was born into both heartbreak and hope. Before he was born, his parents, my great-grandparents, had lost 2 children to miscarriage. In their community at the time, there was a superstition. If you'd suffered repeated loss, the only way to break the curse was to 'sell' the next child-- not literally, but symbolically-- offering the baby to someone else to confuse the spirits of death and protect the child from harm.

So when Marco was born, they carried out a small ceremony and symbolically sold him to a neighbour. It was a quiet, culturally sacred act of love. And that's how he got his name, Marco, which in their language meant 'to sell'.

His name wasn't random. It was protection. It was survival. And it was a way for my great-grandparents to hold on to hope after so much grief. Marco's name carried all of that, and he knew it.

When Marco was 17, his family's life changed forever. It was the early 1940s. My great-grandparents and their kids were living in Turkey when the country began aligning itself with Nazi Germany. Concentration camps were being prepared, and the threat to Jewish families like mine was growing fast. So with no real choice, they fled.

My great-grandparents left behind the only life they'd ever known, taking all 7 of their children-- my grandmother, the youngest, just a baby-- on a 48-hour train ride, facing stops, inspections, and wartime interruptions to what would soon become Israel. They arrived as refugees, strangers, survivors. And the first thing they were told to do, change their names.

At the immigration office, Marco was told his new name would be Michiel. It was more 'fitting', more 'Israeli', more in line with the new national identity that was being shaped. But even though Michiel was printed on his official ID, he told everyone that his name was Marco, because, to him, giving up that name wasn't just about adjusting to a new culture. It would have meant erasing the very thing his name stood for, the love of grieving parents, the memory of lost siblings, and the beliefs of a community that had long protected its own in the only way it knew how.

Marco held on to his name because he knew that names are more than just words. They are history. They are legacy.

His 2 younger brothers, Itschac and Avracham, were allowed to keep their names, likely because they came from the Bible. But his sisters weren't as fortunate. Sol became Saara. Rebeca was renamed Rivka. Their father, Leon, became Uuda. And their mother, Angela, was given the name Batya.

And then there was the baby, my grandmother. She had been born Elize, but they changed her name to Aliza. She answered to Aliza, but always felt uncomfortable in this name that had been brought upon her. Now, at 83 years old, she introduces herself as Elize. The name on her ID means nothing to her now--

[bell dings]

--because her name, like Marco's, is her story. As my grandmother once told me, these weren't just name changes. They were identity losses all stripped away in service of an ideology, one that sought to create a new, unified nation, even if it meant erasing the individuality and the heritage of the people within it.

At that immigration desk, someone else decided who my family would be. Their original names, given with meaning, wrapped in history, carrying a legacy, were taken away from them in an instant. And so they resisted in the small, quiet ways they could.

Marco held on to his name. And Elize, although she was too young to protest at first, found her way back to hers because they knew what those names carried, survival, memory, legacy, and love. What those immigration officers failed to recognise is that names reflect culture. They are the language of belonging.

[bell dings]

So let us build a world where names aren't changed to fit in, but celebrated for standing out. The next time you hear a name you don't recognise, don't dismiss it. Ask where it comes from, what it means, who gave it, because in honouring someone's name, we honour their history. We affirm their identity because every name carries a legacy. And every legacy deserves to be remembered. Thank you.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: The final speaker in this section is Karam Khasawneh, who goes to Bald Face Public School in Sydney's south. Karam is the final speaker on the topic 'Names matter'. Please welcome Karam to down to the front.

[applause]

KARAM KHASAWNEH: Imagine it's your first day of school and your teacher is marking the role. But then all of a sudden, there's a pause, a hesitant glance at the paper. But you already know what's coming, Ka-- Karum? K-- K-- Karim? Here, I say, hoping to spare them from the struggle.

My name is Karam, just 2 syllables, short and simple. But somehow, it always becomes a puzzle to solve. At first, I didn't think much about it.

But then I noticed something. Some names were always pronounced perfectly. Others, like mine, were constantly mispronounced. And that got me thinking. Do names really matter?

A name isn't just a word. It's an identity. It's a culture. It's a history. It's the first thing that belongs to us before we even know who we are.

In some cultures, names tell powerful stories like my name. It means generosity in Arabic. It's a reminder of giving and being somebody who always helps others.

But what happens when our names are constantly mispronounced or shortened? What happens when somebody goes to you and says, your name is too hard; do you have a nickname? This might seem small, but it sends a little message. Your name and your identity are too different and too difficult.

Last year, I went to the gift shop looking for keychains with names on them, you know the ones like Jack, Emily, and Ben in perfect little rows. I searched and searched, but my name wasn't there. I kept looking just in case, but, nope, no Karam.

I wasn't just missing the keychain. I felt like my identity was erased from what was considered normal. I felt like I didn't belong. It's the same feeling people get when they don't hear their names in history lessons, TV shows, and books. Names can open doors and close them depending on how the world sees them.

In fact, studies have shown over 30% of students in NSW feel disconnected from their home culture due to their names being mispronounced or shortened. In a multicultural country like Australia. our names reflect the rich mix of cultures we come from. And they deserve to be respected, not erased.

Throughout history, names have carried power. Some people have fought to keep this and made sure that their voices were heard. Others have changed theirs just to fit in.

Take Uzoamaka Aduba, a famous actress with a Nigerian name. When she was young, she asked her mother if she could change her Nigerian name to something easier. But her mother's response was--

[bell dings]

'If they can learn how to say Tchaikovsky and Dostoevsky, they can learn how to say Uzoamaka.' And she was right. When you make the effort to say somebody's name, you're not just saying their name. You're saying, I see you, and you matter.

We see this everywhere, even in sports. Take Zlatan Ibrahimovic, one of the world's greatest football players of all time. When he was young, many people judged him for his name and background. Born to Bosnian and Croatian parents in Sweden, many doubted he would succeed. People even told him to fit in more.

But Zlatan never changed, not his name, not his identity, not his culture, and not his confidence. Now the whole world knows his name, not because it was easy to pronounce, but because he made it impossible to ignore.

So the next time you hear a name you don't know, don't shorten it. Don't change it. Just learn to say it right.

[bell dings]

If you have a name that others struggle with and the teacher pauses before saying it, don't be embarrassed Say it loud and proud, and teach with confidence. And remember, our names matter. Our names who we are. And who we are matters.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: There will now be a 20-minute break, followed by the impromptu speeches.

Welcome back to the impromptu section of this Multicultural Perspectives State Final. In the Years 5 and 6 impromptu speech section, the students have 5 minutes in which to prepare a speech on a general topic provided by the adjudicators. Each speaker then speaks for 2 minutes with a warning bell at 1.5 minutes and 2 bells at 2 minutes to indicate that the speakers time has expired. A continuous bell will be rung at 2.5 minutes.

The topic for the impromptu speech section is 'It's a mystery'. Please welcome back Lincoln Moss.

[applause]

LINCOLN MOSS: You know those times where you've put something important in your bag, and you go to get it and you exclaim, it's a mystery? And I did the exact same thing with my undies on swimming day.

[laughter]

But that morning, I thought I was a genius getting dressed in my swimmers before going to school. My mum checks my bag-- goggles, check; uniform, check; towel, check. I was all set.

When we get to the pool, everybody's elbowing their way to get to the front, but not me. I was first in, kingpin. Just call me Ian Thorpe, people.

[laughter]

Everything was perfect until it wasn't. That's when I realised my undies were still on the washing line at home going, good bye. Good luck with that ass.

[laughter]

Then came the great decision, commando for the rest of the day-- risky, one jump at recess and, boom, instant embarrassment-- or having wet swimmers for the rest of the day, like having a cold, soggy lettuce leaf under your shorts? Not very inviting.

But I didn't have to make that decision on my own. My mates shared their towel with me. They laughed with me. And they helped me layer up with some spare shorts.

That's when I realised a problem shared is a problem halved. But it's bigger than just undies.

[bell dings]

It's about friends. Friends are the ones who help you in times of need. They share the load, and they get you out of those mystery moments. Friends are the real spare undies in life.

[laughter]

They're there when you need it the most. So be that friend, the one who shares their towels with you. They share their lunches, pencils, and, yes, bad jokes, because school isn't just about learning to look--

[bell dings]

--learning math, English, and spelling. It's about learning how to solve those mystery moments. And maybe, just maybe, remember your undies on swimming day.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Isabella Nikolsky.

[applause]

ISABELLA NIKOLSKY: It's a mystery, tigers roaring in agony, stumps, the only remains of once-flourishing forests, and the ground stained red. Maybe it's a mystery to you about how all our animals and their habitats are perishing before our very eyes. But it is not to me, as, every day, us humans are ruining the homes of these innocent animals, slaughtering them.

For example, the Sumatran tigers are now critically endangered, with less than 400 in the wild due to us humans chopping down their homes to make way for roads, cities, towns, and to build palm oil plantations, which is in so many things. It's a mystery just to find out which things contain it.

Have you ever heard of the bongo? Probably not. And it's no mystery to me, as now there are less than 100 in the wild due to us humans chopping down their homes and slaughtering them for their meat and horns.

But if we can all work together, we can make sure that it's not a mystery when our animals die before our very eyes. We can all work together to make sure that this is not the future that we create.

How can you do this? Well, you can go out there, educate yourself about these problems. Go out there to zoos like Taronga, or Dubbo, which are non-profit, and are only there to help save the animals. That is what me and my family did.

[bell dings]

And that is where I learned about the Sumatran tigers and the bongos. You could go out there, donate to charities like World Vision to help support all these animals in need, protest, contact your local member of parliament to persuade them, to get them to give more funding and laws about how we should protect animals so that it's not a mystery that all these animals are dying.

And finally, when you go to the shops, you can check the labels and make sure that you try to buy--

[bell dings]

--products that don't contain palm oil. If we can all take these small steps forward, we may be able to save our animals before it is too late.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Zahli Binks.

[applause]

ZAHLI BINKS: Surely some of you kids out there have watched the show, 'The Investigators' on Netflix and how every episode is a different crime. They go out thinking, it's a mystery. How do we solve it?

Well, I'm not exactly talking about a mystery on a funny TV show. I'm talking about serious mysteries like on social media, mysteries of why do people send these awful comments, mysteries on why does it hurt people so much after a little comment?

Take Selena Gomez, for example. She's been through a lot on social media. People have been talking badly about her career, people talking badly about her physical appearance and health and racial discrimination. In fact, somebody actually said she isn't white enough or she isn't Mexican enough.

People need to stop committing these crimes. People need to solve the mystery of why people do this. Well, my answer to this mystery is people do this because they know they're not face to face with this person. If they were face to face, they wouldn't say it. They would think, if I was face to face with this person, I wouldn't say it because I'd get in trouble rather than just being online and having other people--

[bell dings]

--pile on to your conversations, liking. In fact, Selena Gomez has 417 million followers that would have seen that. And that would have hurt her even more because it wouldn't just be her saying it.

So here's my challenge for you. The next time you see the mystery of why people send these comments, think, if I was face to face with this person--

[bell dings]

--would I say this? Would I send this awful comment? And remember the golden rule, if this was you, would you want to be treated this way?

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Ari Crisp.

[applause]

ARI CRISP: You're doing an exam. It's a really important one. It can decide your future. You're scared for it. You're procrastinating about studying for it.

And once you do the test, you feel really bad. You think you messed up about it. You feel like the world is about to end.

This is quite a common example for everyone. And it's a true story about me and my OC test. The result of the test is a mystery. From the moment I finished, I was dreading the result. I didn't want to accept my own failure.

Mysteries hurt, and the truth hit me. I didn't get in. It was damaging. I was disappointed.

Mysteries, I guess they're not really fun. They just make us feel more anticipated and scared. We do not want to know the truth.

Here's the thing, after the result of the test came out, I had failed. My mystery was devastating. But here's the most important thing, after that mystery had unveiled, I got back up again.

That is the point. Mysteries and problems give us the opportunity to step up again. They give us that opportunity to succeed.

So that means the next thing that I faced, which was the selective exam, similar to the OC test, I tried my best. I had learned from the mystery. I'd learned from dreading the truth and, rather, turned it into something I was looking forward to. That mystery, I had succeeded in.

[bell dings]

So next time, I implore you, mysteries are hard when anticipating. And sometimes, they're even unsuccessful for you. But they shape us, who we are. And they help us stay motivated. Mysteries help us. Thank you.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Purdey Killips.

[applause]

PURDEY KILLIPS: When I think about, it's a mystery, I actually think about a few things. But I'm going to start with swimming because I used to do swimming. And to be honest, it was really hard. And I had to swim at least 4 kilometres every week.

But what confuses me, and, in my opinion, it's a mystery, why I kept on going even though I was really tired after one lap of a swimming pool. It's a mystery. But the more I think about it, I think about it, and it's not, because swimming was my passion.

And I liked the feeling of resilience whenever I completed my swimming training. And I thought, wow, I thought I couldn't do that, but maybe I can. And I liked the feeling of every time I tried something, I got better and better at it. And it became a life lesson.

Or even just when we adopted my second dog-- his name was Magnus. And when we first got Magnus, he was a total wreck. We had to stay in a car with him, since he was first in Brisbane, for at least 2 hours. And I have permanent scars on my legs from when he repetitively kept on scratching me. And I could have sworn he gave me tinnitus from the amount of times he was barking.

But my mum, with her resilience, decided she was going to train Magnus. And now Magnus would probably cry if he killed an ant. He's naturally probably the most--

[bell dings]

--innocent soul I've ever seen. Or even just when I learn a dance routine-- I've done dance since maybe when I was 5. And I've always found it hard since I'm definitely not a natural. But because somehow it's not a mystery, I kept on going. And I showed resilience.

So yes, it's maybe not a mystery why people keep on going and trying that they're going to commit to something.

[bell dings]

But I think we should keep it that way, because why do people give up? Because maybe they lose their passion. And even when people work hard for things, or even when they do something for a job, sometimes they don't even enjoy it. So in life, what really matters is maybe finding that mystery and deciding, I'm going to work for this because that's my passion.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Aviya Bhardwaj.

[applause]

AVIYA BHARDWAJ: I heard my mum saying, it's a mystery. Why do you always follow these trends? And I asked, what's so mysterious, because it's fun and exciting? But my mum said, the fact that's so mysterious is that you're following them, even though they might not even be safe in the first place.

But I didn't listen to her. Of course, my friends are doing it, so I will do it, as well. Often, this mystery, which adults can't seem to solve, is quite explainable. We get caught up in the excitement, hype of trends, so we follow them.

But we should learn that trends aren't always so safe, like the boiling water trend where you pour boiling water over your friend. That's not safe. That's definitely going to cause third-degree burns.

But how do we recognise what's safe and what's not? First of all, ask your parents. Even if it might seem mysterious to them that you're doing this, maybe they'll try and understand. After all, they're adults.

Second of all, think for yourself. Are these trends really worth it? Is it going to harm myself? And third of all, is it practical? Think to yourself--

[bell dings]

--should I do this? So the next time your parents go, that's mysterious, why do you keep on doing that one dance-- why, it's so mysterious that you probably don't-- you know it's not safe, but you're still following it. Tell them, it may be mysterious, but I know. And even if it is to you, I'm doing it safely. That's what matters.

[bell dings]

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back. Lotus Gallpen-Brown.

[applause]

LOTUS GALLPEN-BROWN: Hidden, unseen, a mystery that many people do not see, homelessness is a mystery behind closed doors. So in my speech today, I want to talk about how we need education and awareness-raising and support if we are to solve the mystery of homelessness.

One big mystery in homelessness is the problem of couch surfing, when people are moving from houses of families, friends, people who they half know and don't have a fixed address that they call home. This was illuminated and highlighted for me in a book that I read earlier this year in English class called, 'Queenie in Seven Moves'. Queenie was couch surfing just with her mum after the house that they had been renting was sold.

No one knew what was going on for Queenie. She was unstable at school. But it was a big mystery because she didn't feel comfortable telling any of her friends.

For people who are couch surfing or are homeless like Queenie, they can often feel unstable in many environments. This impacts their education because they're not concentrating on that very important part of their life. They're too concerned about causing this-- about solving this mystery.

It also affects their social life. They can't keep stable friendships because they're--

[bell dings]

--not feeling safe in their environment. So what can we do? We need to make sure that this is no longer a mystery. We need education and awareness-raising. And our schools are a great place to start this.

We want to be taught about this problem so that we can solve it. And once that's done, we can donate to organisations like Vinnie's, so that they can give the support that they need to these people who are experiencing homelessness.

So remember--

[bell dings]

--we need education, awareness-raising, and support if we are to solve the mystery of homelessness.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Isla Pilgrim.

[applause]

ISLA PILGRIM: At Rose, my cousin's fourth birthday party, it was a pink explosion. Her presents were kitchens, dolls, tea sets, and a whole lot of Barbies. But it made me think, what presents would have Rose got if she was a boy? Trucks and building sets came to my mind.

What is a mystery? A mystery is when you don't know the answer to something. It's a mystery why we're telling girls that they're going to be nurturing and domestic and boys that they're going to be aggressive and competitive. It's a mystery that we're placing barriers and restrictions onto kids, and making assumptions on what they're going to be when they grow up. It's a mystery why we're doing it to our own kids.

If we do an exercise and we picture a nurse, a hairdresser, a truck driver, and a builder, we probably picture that the nurse and the hairdresser were female and the truck driver and the builder were male. It is nothing to feel guilty about, but something that's been conditioned into us from a really early age, since we got the present ourselves.

But it's 2025, and it's a mystery that we're not letting-- it's a mystery why we're not letting kids dream to be what they want to be when they're older, even if it still means girls like dolls. It's a mystery that-- it's a mystery that has to be stopped because it's 2025, and this is not OK. We need to stop this mystery by showing role models out of their gender bubble, out of their list--

[bell dings]

--of what they're supposed to grow up to be. And we need to talk about opportunities for all jobs. And we shouldn't base it off their gender.

We also need more possibilities in playtime, not narrowing it down for what gender they are. And we also need to buy gifts that are gender neutral or challenge stereotypes. So for Rose's next present, I think I'll buy a truck and a doll because we need to stop this mystery.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Edden Kanety.

[applause]

EDDEN KANETY: It's a mystery to me why we, as a society, never seem to learn from our mistakes, whatever they may be. For me, my sister recently bought a speaker for a super good price. It was ridiculously cheap. But when she got it, guess what? It didn't work.

So she bought another one from this same place. And guess what? That one was also broken, surprise, surprise. But it was a mystery to me why she didn't learn from her mistakes and get it from a better, more reliable brand.

I think this has happened to all of us. We've been influenced into getting something that seemed super awesome when really it was useless or broken or fake. And to me, it's a mystery why we can't seem to learn from our mistakes and stop believing everything we see.

Dr Seuss was actually trying to warn us about this in his famous book 'The Lorax', when the Once-ler destroyed an entire forest of truffula trees, trying to make Thneeds, the fine thing that all people need, when really, it was completely useless. And because everyone believed that it was amazing and wonderful, an entire forest died until, well, it was completely useless because he couldn't make any more. It's a mystery that they even manage to get more truffula trees after that, after all the damage they had caused because of the Thneeds.

Dr Seuss was trying to warn us that--

[bell dings]

--because we, as a society, always seem to be wanting more and more, to be buying again and again, and be caught up and have the same thing as all of our friends, well, he was trying to warn us that this isn't good. We need to stop treating this mistake as a mystery, because, really, it isn't because we know what's going to happen because it's happened to us before. And the fact that we keep treating it as a mystery, well, we just need to acknowledge that it isn't. Thank you.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: Please welcome back Karam Khasawneh.

[applause]

KARAM KHASAWNEH: Imagine being a 10-year-old boy working in a factory all day long. Your fingers ache. Your back hurts. But you're stuck here. Instead of going to school, you have to work in a factory.

This isn't fair. The worst part of this problem is that it's a mystery. Nobody knows where it is or how it's happening. That's what makes it hard to stop.

But sadly, this isn't one boy's story. Around the world, over 160 million children experience child labour. This is almost 1 in 10 kids. But I've realised, even in our daily lives, we can make a difference.

When families are buying soccer boots, uniforms, or even snacks, we can choose products that are made fairly, without the work of children. This sends a message, children deserve schools, not factories. By doing these things, we can help more and more children get out of this problem. And this makes it unmysterious.

But some people say child labour makes products affordable and more cheap. That is true. But a bargain isn't worth stealing a childhood.

So here are 3 ways to make this product-- this problem unmysterious. Buy products that are made fairly, without the work of children. Support charities that fight child labour. Spread awareness by telling family--

[bell dings]

--and friends about this issue. So if we all do this, we're helping this problem get unmysterious.

[applause]

KIARA MURPHY: A representative of the adjudication panel will now announce the winner of the 2025 Years 5 and 6 State Finals.

[applause]

AMAN MOHAMED: Thank you very much for having me. I think, first and foremost, an enormous congratulations is in order for all of our finalists today. The panel was unanimously extremely impressed by the quality of the speeches, by the care with which each of the speakers had crafted their thoughts and perspectives. And so I think a huge round of applause is in order.

[applause]

Being at this wonderful and high-quality grand final has, in some ways, made me think of my own time doing public speaking and other oratory activities at school. When I was in primary school, I was incredibly shy. And I would not have been able to deliver a speech even a quarter as good as anything we have seen today. And so I'm genuinely very impressed by all of our wonderful finalists.

I must say, though, that things got a little bit different for me once I entered secondary education. Thanks to the wonderful opportunities I had in my public high school, I was encouraged and able to participate in the Lawrence Campbell Oratory Competition, the Premier's Debating Challenge. And I was on the Combined High Schools Representative Team.

With training and perseverance, I went from crippling nerves to very much enjoying connecting with my audience, sharing my perspective, and even changing the minds of others with only my words. This is a skill that has since served me very well. For starters, I think I understand myself, and what I think much better, because to share a perspective in a public speaking or debating speech, you must first understand what your perspective or story is. To say something at all requires first having something to say.

Moreover, it has helped me think critically about the world around me and about the different cultures within it. For instance, it has helped me recognise that in a time of pollution, rivers next to fracking plants catching on fire, and climate change, that Indigenous principles of custodianship, where land is not property, or a set of resources to be owned and dominated, but rather something to be cared for, might be an important value that we should all adopt and import into our own way of thinking. Thinking about speeches helps you understand those sorts of issues with much greater depth and clarity.

But perhaps most importantly, my participation in public speaking and debating taught me to believe in myself and to be confident. Not just confident to speak to others in an auditorium or theatre such as this one, but confidence to say, in 2015, when terrorism in the Middle East was all over the news and people came up to me and asked if me, Aman Mohamed-- if I was part of the Taliban or ISIS, that no, I was not, and that I believed in the values of democracy, inclusion, and religious tolerance.

Confidence to reject champagne on a Friday at a new job despite my new colleagues numerous times insisting that I have a glass, and the confidence to know that I can explain the cultural reasoning behind my choices not to drink-- no matter who you are, we will all have times where we will need to justify ourselves, explain ourselves, and demand respect for our values.

In an era of anti-immigration rallies, the re-emergence of far right politics, and discrimination online, it is more important than ever to know how to speak, to be understood, and to do so with grace and truth. Public speaking and debating and other oratory activities are fantastic training grounds to cultivate this skill. And so to the finalists, but also all other orators in the audience, you have such sparkling speaking features ahead of yourselves. And I encourage you to take on every opportunity that our wonderful public school education system has to offer.

It is for that reason that I also think we ought to extend an enormous thanks to the Department of Education and the Arts Unit. Justine Clark has asked me, particularly, to thank Tony for his tireless efforts in the organisation of this invaluable competition that provides us the ability to learn about different cultures and the ability for students to learn how to speak. So another round of applause, please.

[applause]

Let's now talk about the competition. I'm first going to talk about the prepared speeches, then the impromptu speeches, and then I'll announce the winner. Overall, the panel, as I've already stated, was incredibly impressed with the speeches. And of course, that extends to the prepared speeches.

We thought, in particular, that every speech was extremely well-constructed. All speakers had beautiful turns of phrase. But it was clear that speakers had also thought how they wanted to convey their message. For instance, they all had sentences of emphasis that when putting their voice and passion into their words, helped connect them with the audience.

Secondly, we thought that a particular strength of this year's speeches was the personal perspectives ripe in each one. This meant that the audience could connect and care for what every speaker had to discuss. But it also demonstrated a genuine and deep reflection by each speaker of their own stories, which is exactly what this competition seeks to achieve.

We thought better speeches, however, had, first of all, more clear and specific takeaways and solutions to some of the problems they were talking about, problems that, at the end of their speech, we knew how to tackle an action with great specificity. Second of all, we thought that the better speeches typically tended to involve the audience a little bit more. We thought, for instance, that all speeches shared fantastic stories, but the better speakers were able to help us relate to those stories a bit more and understand how those stories impacted us on a personal level, as well. And finally, we thought that the better speakers in the prepared section had speeches that were more contemporary, where they were able to link up history and discrimination and the different ways Australia has dealt with multiculturalism to what we see nowadays in our present political and social climate.

On the impromptu section, we thought that all speeches had very clear lessons, which is very wonderful for us to see. We thought that the topic was used quite well by all speakers, and that every speaker tended to be personable and engaging with authentic voices in their own way, some through great wit and humour, others through great passion and enthusiasm. We thought that all speakers delivered their speeches very openly, addressing the audience really well, and not being nervous, despite the very difficult constraints of 5 minutes to prepare for such a task.

As to the better speakers, though, we thought that those that performed better were ones that took us by surprise and taught us something that perhaps we didn't know. We also thought that the better speakers, when they identified a problem in their subject matter of their speech, explained why that problem came to be and the specific impacts of those problems. That means that they had more analysis over the subject matter of their speech before jumping straight away to the solutions.

At the end of the day, though, despite fantastic performances across the board, only one person can win. And the panel here was unanimous. We thought that the speaker in their prepared section had a really focused subject matter with a very unique take and inversion of the topic. We thought that they had courageous opinions that were supported by well-researched and challenging but important facts, and that they were very structured in the way they delivered their speech.

We thought on their impromptu, they explained the impact of their subject matter exceptionally well. They spoke with a lot of passion, which in itself was extremely persuasive, and had a really solid suite of recommendations to solve their problem, which is very fitting, the idea of having more education to solving the issue of mysteries where we don't understand why certain things are the way they are. And so for those reasons, please put your hands together one more time for the 2025 champion of the Multicultural Perspectives Public Speaking competition, from Deniliquin North Public School, Lotus Gallpen-Brown.

[applause]