There is sorrow and loss, but above all else, there is waste.
Two grown men are gone.
Not vanished, but taken. Not by stealth, but by meticulous premeditation.
For their families, there are yawning spaces that will never be filled. Endless days must be lived through now, with that gap, that emptiness, that pain. There will be babies never born, birthdays never celebrated, arguments never finished.
For the hundreds of people who actively fought to prevent their deaths, even the for the hundreds of thousands who stood against their state-sanctioned murder, there will be a sense of futile loss. Of failure and despair.
But above all else, there is waste.
Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan are gone.
Before they travelled to the island where they spent their final days, Andrew and Myu lived for 10 years in Kerobakan Prison. It became their home. And both men, despite the serious nature of the crime they committed, decided to make it a better one.
Myuran set up an art school, Andrew, deeply connected to his Christian faith, trained as a pastor. Family and friends came and went. Care packages arrived and were depleted. The rainy season poured, and passed. For 10 whole years.
These two men left Kerobokan Prison a better place than the one they entered. They both came to reject the drugs that had brought them to this place. Young Indonesians tell of how their lives were improved by the two Australians, how they fiercely fought the culture of drugs in the prison, how they strived to make it a place of learning, not punishment.
Countless young men returned to their homes and communities enriched by their encounters with these men in the most unlikely place on earth.
“All those people will lose the social order and the safety and the drug-free educational environment that Myruan has built on his own,” says his mentor and friend Ben Quilty of life after Myu. “That will fall apart without him in there…”
All gone. Wasted.