People who have witnessed an horrific event — say, a man being bashed and stabbed to death in the most ordinary of places at Sydney airport — do strange things. It’s the shock, and the numbness that manifests itself in a physical state of weirdness.
Like grabbing the family dog and nestling to sleep in the bottom of a wardrobe in the middle room of the house — the one farthest away from the street in case there is a drive-by shooting. The head says this is completely irrational but the body moves in a parallel universe. I know this, because this was me in 2009. I remember well that March 22 morning, having returned to Sydney from filming an ABC Offsiders show in Melbourne to cover a Manly rugby league match.
I discovered later that I had missed the first vicious little scuffle of the two bike gangs, the Hells Angels and the Comanchero, just outside gate 5 at Sydney domestic terminal because I was off the plane quickly and went straight to the washroom to remove my television makeup. When I emerged I fell into place behind some burly men. One, with tattoos across the back of his neck, was identified later as Comanchero boss Mick Hawi.
I first sensed something was seriously wrong when the men turned from heading to the exit and sprinted across the check-in area to confront another group of men near the security scanners. What ensued still flashes through my mind: the blur of men fighting and bashing and picking up those heavy steel bollards and smashing and hitting — arms and legs rolling like tumbleweed. At one point I counted in my head the number of times one man swung a bollard: one, two, three, four, five.
When the fighters dispersed, a small man, later identified as the victim, Anthony Zervas, lay severely injured on the floor, blood surrounding his head. Several of us went to help him. An off-duty nurse started working on him.
Zervas’s brother, the Hells Angel Peter Zervas, was exhorting his brother to hold on. Soon after, Peter Zervas paced outside the terminal like a caged lion. Within days he was shot while pulling up to his Sydney driveway.
Police advised witnesses to the killing to take precautions, including avoiding social media. There was a genuine fear gang members might try to intimidate the small group of people who were in the terminal at the time, including a couple aged in their 90s. Witnesses were offered protection.
After the first few nights, when even the comfort of a snoring dog failed to soothe my nerves, I visited friends in the country.
I gave evidence at the trial and then watched from afar as I was working in London when the sentences were appealed, and Hawi’s 21-year jail term was reduced when he pleaded guilty to manslaughter.
Now he has died, and once again I am numb.
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