In 2002, when I was a reporter for the Western Morning News, in England, I covered the Bali bombings that killed 202 people. “Covering the bombing” from our two-man office in Truro, Cornwall, would normally have consisted of pulling in wire copy, seeking a reaction from local surfers (the North Cornwall coast is the surfing capital of the UK), and then carrying on with all the other stories of the day.

But what made Bali different was Ray and Carole Gajardo, the parents of a 30-year-old Cornish surfer called Marc who was killed in the Bali bombing. During the following days, weeks and months I spent a considerable amount of time talking to Marc’s parents, especially Ray, as they came to terms with Marc’s death, and watched the arrest, trial and conviction of those responsible. I even spent a morning sitting in their living room, having tea and biscuits, while they told me how they planned to carry on with their lives.

Ray and Carole are remarkable people. Ray is young at heart—generous, intelligent, and passionate about the world. Marc’s death threw him into a fervor to improve the life of people in Bali whose standard of living, according to a telephone call from Marc days before the bombing, was low and whose livelihoods had been shattered by the attacks. Carole was equally warm and generous. Ray did most of the talking but it always seemed like that was because Carole knew it was the best way of helping him. The pair were like the friendly, fun-loving uncle and aunt everyone wishes they could have. There was no reason why I should ever have met them and for that reason I wish that I never had. Last week’s bombing must have brought all of the feelings flooding back.

Marc’s death was made all the more appalling by the fact that his girlfriend, a feisty 22-year-old year old named Hanabeth Luke, survived the attack. The couple had been dancing in the Sari nightclub minutes before the explosion, but when a song started playing that Marc did not like he walked off the dance floor. Hanabeth escaped through the collapsed roof of the nightclub, helping a 17-year-old Australian, Tom Singer, who had suffered burns to half his body. Tom died four weeks later. Hanabeth never saw Marc again.

Hanabeth and Marc were holidaying in Kuta on their way to Australia where they had been planning to live together. Theirs was just one of 202 desperately sad stories that resulted from that horrendous night. After the attacks, Hanabeth continued to Australia without Marc and the last I heard she had entered university there. In the year following the bombing she harangued Tony Blair during a live televised debate over his support for the invasion of Iraq. Hanabeth’s quite sensible reasoning was that she had survived a horrific explosion and she was not about to let any politician cause similar suffering in the name of ‘defeating terror’. I doubt very much that she would believe anything different to this day.

Every October for the past three years I have thought of Marc and Hanabeth, Ray and Carole, in the run-up to the anniversary of the Bali bombing. Unlike September 11, and the Madrid and London bombings, the Bali attacks always seemed more random and senseless. I suppose that was because they were directed at Hindu residents and Western tourists on a Hindu island in a Muslim nation rather than directly at a Western government or city. What can be more cowardly than walking into a resort and blowing yourself up among holidaymakers? How can anyone walk past families and children and still detonate themselves knowing the carnage it will wreak? There is no excuse for such an act. None.

Bali Links:
To The Point notes that Al Jazeera commenters blame America (and Israel) for the Bali bombings