Their deaths were preventable. We will not stop fighting.
In the long aftermath of a remote Queensland ambush that claimed six lives — among them two young constables, Rachel McCrow and Matthew Arnold — the families who endured five weeks of harrowing testimony received a coroner's finding that named the attack not terrorism, but the product of shared psychotic delusion. For those who loved the dead, the legal distinction carried weight beyond semantics: it shaped what reforms might follow, and how urgently. Grief, in such moments, becomes a form of advocacy, and these families have made clear they intend to carry it forward until the recommendations do not merely exist on paper, but change the conditions under which officers risk their lives.
- After nearly three years of waiting, families of the Wieambilla victims sat through five weeks of disturbing testimony only to receive a finding that fell short of what they had hoped would compel systemic change.
- The coroner's classification of the attack as a shared psychotic delusion rather than terrorism struck the families as a redirection — one that risked softening the urgency for the frontline safety reforms they believe are overdue.
- Judy McCrow, mother of slain Constable Rachel McCrow, delivered a carefully worded statement outside the court: grateful, measured, and unmistakably disappointed.
- Concrete recommendations — drone deployment for police operations and mandatory health assessments for weapons licence applicants — now sit before authorities, but families warn that recommendations without implementation are a second failure.
- The families have pledged to transform their grief into sustained advocacy, demanding the reforms be adopted not just in Queensland but across all of Australia, and that the cost of inaction be measured in lives, not budgets.
Outside the Queensland coroner's court, Judy McCrow held a statement she had rewritten more than once. Her daughter Rachel, a 29-year-old constable, had been dead for nearly three years — killed alongside her partner, Matthew Arnold, 26, in an ambush at a remote property called Wieambilla. Six people died that day. After five weeks of testimony, the coroner had delivered his findings, and the families had hoped for something that might prevent it from ever happening again.
Coroner Terry Ryan concluded the attack was not terrorism, but the work of three people gripped by a shared psychotic delusion. For the families, the distinction mattered enormously. A terrorism finding might have triggered different reforms, a different urgency. Instead, they felt the conversation had been redirected away from the systemic failures they believed had made the ambush possible.
McCrow thanked the coroner for enduring the harrowing evidence alongside them, then said plainly what the families felt: they were disappointed. They were not yet ready to fully process the recommendations. What they knew with certainty was that the deaths were preventable, and must never be repeated.
The coroner's specific recommendations — drones to improve police safety during operations, and mandatory health assessments for weapons licence applicants — were concrete, but McCrow made clear they were meaningless without action. She posed the question that often goes unasked in reform debates: what is the true cost, in lives and psychological trauma, when recommendations are left to gather dust? Every officer, she said, deserved protection. Every officer needed the tools to keep others safe.
The families pledged to channel their grief into advocacy — pushing for change, refusing to let Matt and Rachel be forgotten, and calling on authorities to implement the recommendations nationwide. Deputy Commissioner Cheryl Scanlon, standing nearby, called it a dark day that would never leave the Queensland Police Service's memory. But the families understood that memory alone was not enough. What mattered now was whether the system that had failed would finally be reformed.
Outside the Queensland coroner's court, Judy McCrow stood with a statement in her hands that had been rewritten more than once. Her daughter Rachel, a 29-year-old constable, had been dead for nearly three years. So had her partner, Matthew Arnold, 26. Both had been shot in an ambush at a remote property called Wieambilla. Six people died that day. And now, after five weeks of testimony—after watching videos and hearing details so disturbing that McCrow had to sit through them in a courtroom—the coroner had delivered his findings. The families had hoped for something that might prevent this from happening again. Instead, they got disappointment.
Coroner Terry Ryan's conclusion was this: the attack was not an act of terrorism. It was the work of three people suffering from a shared psychotic delusion, a twisted break from reality that had turned lethal. For the families of Arnold and McCrow, the distinction mattered enormously. A finding of terrorism might have prompted different kinds of reforms, different kinds of urgency. A finding of shared delusion felt like it diminished what had happened, or at least redirected the conversation away from the systemic failures the families believed had allowed the attack to occur.
McCrow read her statement carefully, choosing words that conveyed both gratitude and frustration. She thanked the coroner for his work. She acknowledged that he too had been forced to endure the harrowing evidence. But then she pivoted: the families had hoped the findings would guide urgent reforms for frontline police. They were disappointed. Not yet ready to fully process the coroner's recommendations, they needed time. What they did know was this—the deaths were preventable, and they should never happen again.
The coroner had made specific recommendations. Drones should be developed to improve police safety during operations. Mandatory health assessments should be required for anyone applying for a weapons licence. These were concrete proposals, but McCrow made clear they were not enough without action. She spoke directly to the cost calculation that often stalls reform: how much would it cost in financial and psychological trauma if more officers died because recommendations sat unimplemented? The answer, she suggested, was that cost should not be a factor at all. Every police officer deserved protection. Every officer needed the skills and ability to keep others safe.
McCrow's voice shifted as she spoke about what came next for the families. They would channel their grief into advocacy. They would push for change. They would not stop thinking about Matt and Rachel—not for a day, not for an hour, not for a minute. And they had a plea for authorities: do not forget these two officers. Do not let their deaths be meaningless. Implement the recommendations not just in Queensland but across all of Australia.
Deputy Commissioner Cheryl Scanlon, standing outside the court, echoed the sentiment. She called it a dark day for the Queensland Police Service, one that would never be forgotten. The loss of the officers and the community member killed alongside them remained at the forefront of the service's consciousness. But words, the families knew, were only the beginning. What mattered now was whether the recommendations would actually be put into place, and whether the system that had failed to prevent the Wieambilla ambush would finally be reformed.
Notable Quotes
Their deaths were preventable. We will continue to forever grieve and live shattered lives.— Judy McCrow, mother of Constable Rachel McCrow
We are initially disappointed with the coronial recommendations, but we need time to read, process and respond to the findings.— Judy McCrow, on behalf of both families
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does the distinction between terrorism and a psychotic delusion matter so much to the families?
Because it shapes what happens next. Terrorism findings trigger different protocols, different kinds of scrutiny, different political pressure. A shared delusion can sound like something random, unpredictable—something that can't be prevented. But the families believe this was preventable. They believe there were warning signs, systems that failed.
What were they hoping the coroner would recommend?
They wanted recommendations that would actually change how police operate and who can access weapons. The coroner did recommend drones and health assessments for licence applicants. But the families felt those recommendations didn't go far enough, or didn't address the root failures they'd identified during the inquest.
Why emphasize the cost argument—the financial and psychological trauma?
Because that's how bureaucracies work. They delay reforms by saying they're too expensive. McCrow was saying: the cost of not implementing these changes is higher. More officers will die. More families will be destroyed. That's the real expense.
What does it mean that they had to rewrite their statement?
It means their first version was probably angrier, more direct in its criticism. By the time they read it outside court, they'd had to soften it slightly—thank the coroner, acknowledge his work—while still making clear they were disappointed. It's the careful language of people who need to be heard but also need to maintain credibility with the institutions they're trying to change.
Will the recommendations actually be implemented?
That's the open question. The families are pushing for immediate nationwide implementation. But recommendations don't enforce themselves. It depends on political will, budget allocation, and whether the Queensland Police Service and other forces actually prioritize these changes. The families know this. That's why they're not stopping.