Fiona Scott (Lindsay, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

I rise tonight to offer my condolences to the families of Katrina Dawson and Tori Johnson, to the 16 hostages whose lives will forever be changed, to the many friends and families who are now left with a hole in their heart. To our police and emergency services: you have truly gone above and beyond the call of duty. We as an Australian community are blessed to be served and protected by such fearless and brave guardians.

Ten days before Christmas, we watched on, hopelessly, as an act of unspeakable evil unfolded before our eyes: Martin Place, a setting so familiar to so many Sydney-siders; the Lindt cafe, a venue that is home to the daily caffeine fix for inner-city workers—or, for me, a treat before or after a meeting in Martin Place. But it was in that familiar place that true evil showed its face. A man driven by mad hatred held 18 people at gunpoint, concluding with the tragic loss of two innocent lives—the tragic loss of Tori Johnson and Katrina Dawson. Many people have remarked how ordinary yet extremely exceptional these two individuals were. Katrina: an expert lawyer, dux of her school, mother, daughter, wife and friend. Tori has been acknowledged as a man of honour and respect. He in fact worked with my cousin Melissa for many years. She remarked to me what a beautiful man he was, that he was a friend to everyone and that his death is an absolutely tragic loss.

The tragic loss of the lives of these individuals, cut down in their prime, is wrong in every sense of the word. The loss of their lives will never make sense to me—and perhaps it never should, because trying to fathom an answer, in a strange way, gives the perpetrator some sick type of credibility, and they do not deserve any of that. Sadly, the events of last year became a confirmation that home-grown terror in this country is so sad, but, sadly, it is real.

But Martin Place also became a place of resilience, or a line in the sand drawn by the Australian people, because as the horror of 15 and 16 December was realised, a single posy of flowers was laid as a mark of respect near the edge of the cordoned zone in Martin Place. Within hours, from a single tribute grew a field of flowers—a field that would grow to cover four areas of Martin Place as well as an area in Phillip Street, outside the offices where Katrina Dawson worked. A few days before Christmas, and it was surreal to be in Martin Place. There was an eerie quiet in the air as thousands of people stopped to line up and pay their tribute that week. People were quiet and courteous in a way that made it noticeable. The normal ebb and flow of people rushing about, for that short while, had disappeared.

The Christmas tree down at the George Street end felt so far away, and kind of out of spirit. And it seemed unbelievable that this all happened 10 days before Christmas, because 10 days before Christmas our home had changed forever; 10 days before Christmas it was not about shopping or Santa Claus; 10 days before Christmas it seemed that time itself was simply standing still, even as the GPO chimed. By Thursday evening you could stand beside the Lindt Cafe on Martin Place, and perhaps it was the saddest scene—workmates and friends using the seating there to congregate and comfort each other. There would be quiet talking and spontaneous tears, then silence. Then, perhaps between the embraces, someone talking. Others who did not know this group would simply stand nearby looking at the floral tributes. All of them walked away with tears in their eyes because, out of something vile and horrific, people power had prevailed. And flowing on from the day that it happened, a very simple hashtag: #illridewithyou. The resilience of the Australian people arose—our digger spirit, our camaraderie, our mateship. No evil we face will stop the peace we love in our country; no extremist will ever take away our freedoms. As a nation we stand united. We fight for our home—our Australia. And like that floral tribute that flowed, our national character stands stronger, more resilient, unified against evil. To the 16 survivors of that terrible day and night: you will forever be the guardians of that horrific event. You are the witnesses who must forever keep the bravery of Katrina and Tori alive. I know that for many of you that will be extremely hard, and I know that a number of you are still battling with the wounds and scars of that horrible event—people like Robin Hope from Emu Plains.

Robin was in the Lindt Cafe that morning with her daughter, Louisa—normal people doing a normal thing. But because of that day Louisa remains in hospital. Her left leg around her ankle and shin is still infected from the wounds caused when bullet shrapnel ricocheted around the room. She has had three operations and is having skin grafts. Robin had shrapnel removed from her shoulders, but she lives up to it as well. She simply says: 'At the end of the day, two people lost their lives. Our injuries are only setbacks.' But there is something else about Robin and Louisa Hope that makes them as heroic as Katrina and Tori. These two women made a pact; a pact that they were willing to die, willing to do whatever they could to let the younger ones escape. In the face of evil they made a decision to allow good the best chance of winning. They are heroes, but they did make the decision to be heroes. Of Katrina and Tori, Robin says: 'Katrina was a beautiful person, and she died beside me in hospital. Katrina was hit by police shrapnel. He didn't take two lives; he only took one.'

Let the chimes of the GPO clock forever bear witness to that horrible 16 hours, 10 days before Christmas, and let those chimes forever be a reminder of the 18 innocent people, and their families, whose lives will be forever changed. As Kenneth Slessor wrote about his mate, Joe:

Why do I think of you, dead man, why thieve

These profitless lodgings from the flukes of thought

Anchored in Time? You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

Kenneth is describing how a person dies three times: the physical, the memorial service, and when the name at last is spoken or remembered. We must never forget Tori Johnson or Katrina Dawson. In closing, when we reflect on this event, we as a nation must always be stronger. And in the words of Jack Layton:

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world.

See this speech in context