Data Connection: Turning Statistics into Shared Understanding
The Hon Andrew Leigh MP
Assistant Minister for Competition, Charities and Treasury
Assistant Minister for Employment
Pre-dinner Address
11th Australian Government Data Summit
Canberra
2 April 2025
Introduction
I begin by acknowledging the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we gather this evening, the Ngunnawal people, and pay my respects to their Elders past and present. For over 60,000 years, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples have collected, shared and applied knowledge – not in spreadsheets, but through songlines, stories and systems of deep observation. In many ways, they are Australia’s original data stewards – reminding us that the power of information lies not just in recording it, but in connecting it to community.
It’s a real pleasure to be here among a roomful of public servants who care deeply about the craft of government – especially those who know that, in the right light, a histogram can be almost romantic. You are the kind of people who get excited about sample sizes and quietly judge others for misusing the word ‘median’.
As many of you know, I speak often about data collection. And rightly so. This government has made significant investments in modernising our statistical systems – revitalising our longitudinal studies, restoring underfunded surveys, and expanding the frontiers of what we measure.
But tonight, I want to talk about something we don’t always give enough airtime to. Something just as vital, but far less discussed. Data connection.
We live in a world flooded with information – more graphs than grains of sand, more dashboards than actual cars. And in that world, we face a peculiar risk: that we gather more and more data, but fail to connect it with people’s lives. That a table gets published, but no one sees themselves in the numbers. That a chart goes viral… only among economists.
This isn’t a new challenge. Back in the 19th century, Florence Nightingale didn’t just transform nursing – she changed public health by using polar area charts to show how many soldiers were dying from preventable diseases. Her diagrams cut through red tape like a scalpel.
In 1854, John Snow mapped cholera deaths around a single water pump in Soho. It was data visualisation before PowerPoint – and it saved lives.
Fast forward, and we’ve seen Hans Rosling bring global trends to life with bouncing bubbles. The New York Times makes data feel like narrative. The UK’s Office for National Statistics has used sandwich metaphors to explain inflation. In the Netherlands, CBS StatLine invites citizens to dive into interactive dashboards on everything from carbon emissions to childcare.
And here in Australia, our very own Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) has taken up the baton – or perhaps the pivot table – with work that is not only accurate and informative, but clever, relatable, and, dare I say it, downright fun.
So tonight, I want to take you on a light-hearted tour of ten examples from the ABS Communications Team. These are moments when data became more than data. When numbers turned into nods of recognition. When statistics stopped people mid-scroll and made them say: ‘That’s me!’
1. The Average Aussie is as Tall as Charizard
Let’s begin with an image that will forever change how you see your next GP visit: the average Australian man, it turns out, is slightly taller than the average Charizard.
175cm vs 170cm.
Now, this could have been a dry demographic stat. But instead, the ABS gave it wings – literally – by placing it alongside a fire-breathing Pokémon.
Suddenly, a number becomes a dragon-sized mental image. You’re not just reading a stat – you’re imagining someone eye-to-eye with a creature that can incinerate you mid-conversation.
This is the magic of cultural anchoring. Take a familiar pop icon, pair it with a stat, and you’ve got a connection that’s not just memorable – it’s viral.
2. ‘Lose Yourself’ in the Census
Next up, the ABS took the Census… and channelled Eminem.
‘If you had… one shot… or one opportunity… to gather all of Australia’s important data…’
And somehow, they pulled it off. We learned there are 160,000 Italians, 20 deer farmers, and that Lord Howe Island is still smaller than that town you forgot to visit in Year 10.
This wasn’t just parody. It was emotional infrastructure. A message that said: We know filling in the Census can feel like a chore, so here’s a rap to make it unforgettable.
And really – who among us hasn’t wanted to drop stats like they’re hot?
3. Most Consumed Non-Alcoholic Beverages
This one was a surprise: a visual showing the daily per capita consumption of beverages. Cordials barely register. Energy drinks clock in at 12ml. But soft drinks? 161ml a day. That’s nearly a can – per person, per day.
The infographic shows straws of different lengths rising from drink containers, like a sugar-powered game of pick-up sticks.
And this is where the visual does something brilliant. It doesn’t guilt you into drinking water. It simply shows you yourself – through proportion and design.
You can shout about nutrition until you're blue in the kale, or you can show it in a way that gets people thinking before they open the next can.
4. Pesto the Penguin vs. a 5–7-Year-Old
Let me now introduce you to Pesto. Not the sauce. The penguin.
Pesto is a gentoo penguin from Sea Life Melbourne Aquarium who became an unexpected celebrity thanks to one remarkable fact: as a chick, he weighed more than both of his parents combined. That’s right – this was a baby bird who could’ve pulled rank at the dinner table.
His hefty hatchling days earned him media attention long before the ABS came calling. But when the Bureau wanted to illustrate the average weight of a 5–7-year-old child, they saw an opportunity – and waddled straight into it.
At nine months old, Pesto tipped the scales at 23 kilograms – almost exactly the same as the average Aussie primary schooler.
Now, childhood weight isn’t the easiest stat to connect with. But pair it with a penguin who looks like he’s been stealing snacks from the gift shop, and suddenly the number lands – adorably.
This wasn’t just data. It was flipper-assisted engagement. A reminder that sometimes, the fastest way to public understanding… is through a penguin with a personal brand.
5. Happy Pi Day
On March 14 – 3.14 – the ABS served us a treat: exactly 3.14% of bakers in Australia are women living in South Australia.
You can’t plan that sort of symmetry. Well, unless you’re a statistician.
This was timing and wit at their best. It wasn’t just a stat – it was dessert with a decimal point. A perfectly timed slice of numerical humour, baked to precision.
It’s not just a pie chart. It’s a pie with chart.
6. Where Shrek Could Live Happily Ever After
Now, to swamp matters. The ABS posed a crucial question: where in Australia could Shrek live?
The answer: Bakers Swamp. Dismal Swamp. Buckley Swamp. Greenswamp. Swamps, swamps, swamps.
This is more than novelty. It’s a geographic invitation to explore our own place names – and perhaps admit we’re a nation that slightly overuses the word ‘dismal’.
It makes people laugh – but it also makes them look at a map, perhaps for the first time since high school geography.
7. Beatles vs. Taylor Swift Ticket Prices
In 1964, Australian fans paid the equivalent of $63 to see the Beatles live. Sixty years later, tickets to Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour ranged from $80 to $1,250 – depending on how close you wanted to be when she sang The Archer.
On paper, it’s a simple price comparison. But culturally, it’s a story of two musical phenomena, each defining their era. One had Beatlemania. The other has Folklore and Evermore.
For economists, it’s a useful illustration of how scarcity, production value and willingness to pay shape markets over time. The Beatles played half-hour sets through stadium loudspeakers designed for sports commentary. Taylor Swift delivers a three-hour show with LED bracelets, live costume changes and carefully curated eras.
But for fans, it’s about more than production. It’s about emotion and identity. Swifties aren’t just buying a concert – they’re investing in All Too Well, Enchanted, and a carefully soundtracked chapter of their lives. Just as Beatles fans weren’t just buying tickets – they were buying a chance to see Something, or to scream through Twist and Shout.
Presenting this comparison visually does more than tell an economic story – it bridges generations. It reminds us that cultural value doesn’t live in spreadsheets. It lives in setlists.
The data is a reminder: we’ve always paid a little more for music that helps us make sense of the world.
8. A Tale of Two Cities
Sydney and Melbourne, side by side: population, rent, income, languages spoken at home.
Sydney: higher wages, higher rents, slightly smug. Melbourne: more affordable, more artistic, slightly damp.
What could have been a table of ABS figures becomes a portrait of civic personality.
It’s proof that when you show data comparatively, you get curiosity, not defensiveness. And you don’t need a policy paper – just a clean layout and a good rivalry. Or in Canberra’s case, a quiet confidence that the data probably favours you anyway.
9. Top Suburbs for Greek-Born Australians
Here, we see the top suburb in each state and territory for people born in Greece: Reservoir, Earlwood, Prospect.
It’s more than migration data. It’s a map of belonging.
You don’t need a thesis. Just a postcode and a plate of spanakopita.
And once again, we’re reminded: the census doesn’t just count people. It tells us where communities form.
10. The ABS Love Letter to CSIRO
And finally: the Valentine.
‘Roses are red, violets are blue,
There are 96,000 scientists in Australia… but I only want you.’
And the pièce de résistance:
‘Like the 18th element, I love you most argonly.’
It’s pun-filled, slightly nerdy, and utterly charming.
This is the ABS reminding us that even in the land of significance tests and standard deviations, there’s room for poetry.
Closing
So what do all these examples show?
That data, at its best, is not just about measurement – it’s about meaning. It’s not just tables and charts. It’s stories, identities, and connections.
In a way, data is one of humanity’s oldest impulses. From Babylonian clay tablets tracking grain harvests, to Incan quipus – knotted strings used for record-keeping – societies have always sought to describe the world with clarity and pattern. What’s changed is not our instinct to gather information, but the scale, speed and stakes of how we now use it.
In the 19th century, a few well-placed dots on a map helped John Snow identify a contaminated water pump. In the 21st century, a few badly placed pixels can spread disinformation across the globe in minutes. The challenge today isn’t just generating data – it’s defending it from distortion, and making sure the truth cuts through.
And that’s where the craft of connection comes in.
We live in an era where misinformation is abundant, but shared understanding is scarce. Where the sheer volume of data can numb rather than enlighten. Where the public square has moved online, but trust in institutions hasn't always made the move with it.
That’s why good data storytelling is more than a communications strategy – it’s a civic responsibility.
When people laugh at a penguin, they’re more likely to remember the statistic. When they see their suburb, their language, their generation reflected in the data, they feel recognised. That feeling matters. Because recognition builds trust. And trust underpins democracy.
Public data, clearly communicated, helps foster civic understanding. It opens up conversations. It equips people to see not just the world around them, but their place in it. And when that’s done with care – with creativity, even – it builds something harder to quantify, but essential to a healthy society.
And here in Australia, we’re lucky. We have world-class public data. But making that data felt – that’s the next frontier. That’s where humour, design, metaphor and culture come into play. Not to dumb things down, but to open them up.
Because ultimately, a well-crafted visual or a clever caption isn’t just garnish. It’s a bridge – between analyst and audience, between evidence and empathy, between the civic and the personal.
So here’s to the data whisperers. The analysts who find meaning in the noise. The communicators who turn 10,000 rows of CSV into something you actually want to share with your mum.
You are not just informing the public – you are fortifying the commons.
Thank you – and may your data be clean, your insights be contagious, and your next PowerPoint contain at least one Pokémon.
Enjoy dessert. It pairs beautifully with pi.