There are moments when history doesn’t feel distant. It feels deeply personal.
Watching Kamala Harris step onto the stage at the Gold Coast Convention Centre — confident, calm, deeply intelligent — wasn’t just about hearing a political figure speak. It was a moment of profound recognition.
Regardless of where you sit politically, one truth is undeniable: Kamala Harris is currently the most successful woman on the planet. The first woman — and the first woman of colour — to hold the office of Vice President in the United States. And here she was, speaking to 4,000 real estate professionals in Australia. Speaking with authority, grace, and unwavering conviction.
For women of colour, of which I am one, it was more than just a keynote. It was a mirror.
There is something powerful — almost indescribable — about seeing someone who looks like you, who shares some of your lived experience, take up space so unapologetically. To hear her speak about growing up with a mother who was “five foot but walked like she was six,” about navigating a world that made assumptions based on her skin, her accent, her height — resonated.
Because representation is not a box to tick. It’s a lifeline. It tells us that the rooms we were told weren’t built for us can, in fact, be transformed by us.
And she didn’t hold back. She spoke about tough negotiations with people like Jamie Dimon, about standing firm for what was right when others told her to fold. About empathy being a strength — not a weakness — in leadership. About the importance of innovation with purpose, especially when it comes to housing and AI. About the power of preparation, self-awareness, and staying grounded in your truth — even when it's unpopular.
She also shared a story that took us back to her early childhood, when she was part of a class that helped desegregate public schools in Berkeley, California. Two decades after the landmark Brown v. Board of Education ruling, Kamala was bused from her predominantly Black neighbourhood to a school in a white area. She didn’t know it was history in the making — for her, it was just how she got to school.
But in telling the story, she reminded us that real change doesn’t happen the day a law is passed — it happens when it hits the streets, the classrooms, the people. That story, and the way she honoured her teacher Mrs Wilson — who not only taught her in first grade but showed up to her law school graduation — was a reminder that legacy is built moment by moment, act by act, person by person.
She shared a lesson from her mother who said:
“You may be the first to do many things. Make sure you’re not the last.”
I know that for many of us from ethnic backgrounds, this message will resonate.
As Kamala so powerfully said:
“Some people think breaking barriers means you start on one side of the barrier and end up on the other. Oh no — there’s breaking involved. And when you break things, sometimes you get cut, sometimes you bleed. And it's worth it every single time.”
And for those of us who have broken barriers and bled know it is always worth it. Because the work isn’t just about rising. It’s about opening doors so others can rise too.
That’s the truth of leadership that often gets left out of the headlines — the pain behind the progress, the personal cost of change. But that’s also where legacy is built.
Kamala’s presence on that stage reminded all of us — especially the young women watching — what’s possible. That ambition is a good thing. That we need to expect more of ourselves, and of the systems we’re part of. That truth and integrity are still the foundation of lasting leadership. That visibility matters.
To those who are just starting out — in business, in leadership, in life — let this be a reminder: You belong in the room. Even if you’re the only one who looks like you. Especially then.
Because when power looks like you, you don’t just see it.
You believe it could be you, too.
Kamala shared how she doesn’t hear no — not the first time, not even the tenth. “I eat no for breakfast.”
It's a mantra forged from decades of pushing through closed doors, dismissals, and being told “not yet,” “not ready,” or “no one like you has done this before.” And yet — she did it anyway.
Alongside that boldness, she offered advice every woman — every person — needs to hear:
Be intentional about who you have in your life.
Choose the people who will hold you up when you’re exhausted, who will laugh with you when you fall, and then help you up and push you forward. As she said, “None of us achieves success alone.” You need your circle. The ones who know what you’re trying to do. The ones who see your vision — even when others don’t.
That kind of resilience is not just inspiring, it’s instructive. It reminds us that rejection isn’t a stop sign. It’s a test of how much we believe in ourselves. In our vision. In the future we’re working toward.
So if you’re hearing “no” — take a moment, feel it, then move forward. Say thank you for the feedback. And then get back to building the thing they said couldn’t be done.
At the Australasian Real Estate Conference, Harris also addressed the pressing issue of housing affordability, drawing parallels between challenges faced in Australia and the United States. She emphasised the need for collaboration between government and the private sector, advocating for clear incentives to boost housing supply and make homeownership more attainable for younger generations.
She also issued a powerful historical warning — reminding us all of what the 1930s taught the world. She reflected on a time when global trust frayed, nationalism rose, and the world paid a devastating price. She urged us not to romanticise isolation or dismiss empathy as weakness, warning that “we know what happens when people stop trusting each other.”
Her message was clear: global friendships, alliances, and cooperation matter. Whether between countries or individuals, trust is not soft diplomacy — it is a strategic necessity. As leaders in every sector, we must remember: history may not repeat, but it often rhymes. The lessons are there if we are wise enough to listen.
And above all, she reminded us that truth still matters.
Not candour for the sake of provocation, not honesty as a blunt instrument — but truth as a form of care. Speaking truth, she said, is not about tearing others down. It’s about lifting others up. Leadership, she reminded us, is not defined by how many people you defeat, but how many you elevate.
And for those who confuse empathy with weakness? She was crystal clear:
“There is someone very popular these days who suggested that empathy is a sign of weakness in Western civilisation. No — it is a sign of strength.”
Empathy, she told us, is not optional in leadership. It’s foundational. To be curious, to care, to genuinely seek to understand others — that’s not a soft skill, it’s a strategic one. Because people know when you’re looking at them as a transaction. And they also know when you’re looking at them with respect, humanity, and the desire to do right by them.
In a world that often rewards noise over nuance, it was a timely reminder: leaders must speak truth. Not just when it’s easy, but especially when it’s hard. Especially when it matters most.
I walked out of that room with my heart full, inspired by her presence. Grateful I got to witness it — not through a screen, but in real time.
In awe of all she’s carried to get to that stage — and the grace in how she wears the weight.
And proud. So deeply proud to see a woman of colour standing tall, holding space not just for herself, but for every one of us who’s ever needed to see what power looks like— when it finally looks like us.