After traumatic events we look for reminders of humanity’s good, and flashes of courage from ordinary people become symbols of hope. But it can be hard to wear the hero’s crown
The smell of burning flesh and pulverised concrete is seared into the psyche of Anneke Weemaes-Sutcliffe. On 22 March 2016, the Australian expat was due to check in for a flight when Islamic State suicide bombers detonated two nailbombs inside Brussels airport. Miraculously unharmed, she sprinted to the exit after the second blast exploded metres away from her – but then, risking her life, decided to turn back.
Screams, wailing alarms and a thick blanket of dust choked the air. The ceiling had caved in. “It turned from buzzing with life to a war zone. It’s horrific, absolutely horrific,” Weemaes-Sutcliffe says.
Without hesitation, she crawled over debris and bodies to tend to the wounded, tying tourniquets to stop mutilated survivors bleeding out, comforting them and calling their loved ones to let them know what had happened.
In the aftermath of mass violence, the instinctive actions of ordinary people such as Weemaes-Sutcliffe offer a counterpoint to horror – flashes of courage that become symbols of hope. Off-duty nurse Lynne Beavis ran towards gunfire rather than to safety during the 1996 Port Arthur massacre in Tasmania to help the wounded; holidaymakers Richard Joyes and Timothy Britten rushed into a burning nightclub in the wake of the Bali Bombings, rail worker Samir Zitouni blocked a knife-wielding attacker on a high-speed train in Cambridgeshire, saving lives and risking his own….
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After the truth-shower 