He was not a police officer or a trained professional. He was simply the person closest to the moment. Later, I read that he was injured, but thankfully not critically. Only then did I realise how tightly I had been holding my breath.
In an age filled with uncertainty, most days still appear calm, even celebratory. We go to work, take our children to school, meet friends for coffee, walk along beaches and busy streets, believing, perhaps unconsciously, that danger belongs elsewhere. Until, suddenly, it does not.
What stayed with me was not the violence itself, but the choice made in that moment: to step forward.
That choice brought back a memory from many years ago.
I was driving home one evening when, at a bend in the road, a dog suddenly ran into traffic. I had no time to react. I stopped immediately and got out of the car, shaken and frightened. The dog was hurt, but not seriously. Still, my heart sank with guilt and shock.
Before I could gather myself, several young people nearby rushed over, their voices raised. Their words were harsh, angry, and relentless, the blame quickly turning toward me.
I remember standing there, unable to speak. I was distressed about the dog and completely unprepared for the intensity of the accusations. In that moment, I was close to tears, not because I was being confronted, but because I did not know how to carry everything at once.
Then two elderly couples who lived nearby stepped forward.
They did not know me, but they had seen what happened. They said clearly that the dog had run into the road on its own, and that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it.
The younger people refused to listen. Some snapped that the elderly were interfering, that it was none of their business.
The couples did not argue back. Their voices remained calm. They simply stayed where they were.
As the anger continued, they stood quietly and firmly, placing themselves between it and me.
One of the women, her grey hair softly framing her face, noticed the tears in my eyes. She stepped toward me and wrapped her arms around me briefly and gently, as if that alone might steady me.
“Dear,” she said softly, “you don’t need to blame yourself. This isn’t your fault”.
She added something I have never forgotten.
“If someone’s vocabulary consists only of angry words,” she said quietly, “there is no point trying to explain anything”.
“You should go now.”
The couples remained until I was able to leave safely.
It was an ordinary street, like so many others. I still remember how carefully they tended their small gardens, nothing flashy, just neat, quiet, and orderly.
Years later, watching the Bondi Beach footage, I realised these moments were not so different.
One person stepped forward and used his body to stop danger. Others responded with presence and a simple act of care to protect someone who felt helpless and overwhelmed.
Though the places and circumstances were different, both moments were shaped by people choosing to speak up, through words or actions, for what felt right.
We are able to keep believing in this world not because it is free of danger, but because, when danger appears, someone is still willing to step forward.
