A tribute to Sir Robert Martin: The most famous New Zealander most New Zealanders didn’t know about

The way Sir Robert came into the world – through a traumatic birth – set his life on a path that seemed pre-destined. Much has been written about Sir Robert Martin's early years in institutions, foster houses (he wouldn’t call them homes) and then his journey to become the international giant of disability rights he is today. I’m not going to rehash those stories. They aren’t mine to tell, and Sir Robert told them over and over and over again (breaking his heart a little more each time), in the hopes it would stop anyone else having to go through what he did.

You can find film footage of him online easily enough – please take the time to do so and learn more about not only his story but the stories of the people who never made the limelight.

Since his passing, I’ve spoken to so many people who are hurting from their loss. One thing is consistent: everyone felt he was their close, personal friend. There is a sense of pride in people who knew him – whether through one meeting or a lifetime of shared memories. To be able to do that – make everyone feel like they were his person – what a gift.

Wherever he went, Sir Robert left a deep and lasting impression on people – whether through his powerful words that could silence a room, his out the gate sense of humour that left you in stitches or his incredible knowledge of sports, music or the animal kingdom. He always wanted to meet Sir David Attenborough, he was so proud that he was a Sir like Sir David. I wish we could’ve made that happen.

We would joke that after he finished his term on the United Nations Committee on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, Rob should be a founding member of a new international committee, on the Rights of Animals. It was a joke, but actually, he would’ve put the same heart and soul into that role that he did for his UNCRPD one if he’d had the chance.

The most incredible times I saw Rob connect with people, was when he met with disabled people. Out of a room full of statesmen, dignitaries and paparazzi (who all wanted to have a photo with him), he would make a direct beeline for the disabled people speaking at the UN, or who had travelled to the Spanish Parliament, or who were working in one of the airports we were travelling through, or who we saw on the street. He would see people. He would genuinely ask them about themselves; he would listen and he would carry them with him.

I am blessed to have a million little memories of Sir Robert – from the devastating to the hilarious, which I will treasure forever. And I’m glad everyone else does too. It’s in this way that he will be remembered. He truly gave his life for this work and now we have to carry that torch for him. In his name, let’s continue the fight to close institutions – large and small.

Let’s keep pushing for people to be able to choose where and with whom they live. Let’s make a world where people with learning disability can get married if they want to, have and be assisted to keep their children with them, not be sterilised without consent, know what it is like to grow up in a loving family and have their own possessions that bring them joy. Go to school, be listened to when they need healthcare or mental health support, have meaningful jobs, listen to music they love, play Yu-Gi-Oh to their heart’s content and all the sport they want (only Rob would be at the UN and just see a perfect cricket pitch!)

These were his passions, and in this way, we can truly honour him.

I don’t generally put people on pedestals – it’s unfair and doesn’t let people mess up. But Rob, you were the best of us. Flaws and all. We won’t forget you, mate. You changed our worlds, and the world. You can rest now. Hope you’re somewhere playing footie and having a nice scotch whiskey. Love you, my friend. 'Till we meet again.