Note: This was never intended to be the first post on Unknown Unknowns, but when I heard last night of Shadid's death I felt compelled to write something. Forgive my getting things off to such a sad start. We'll soon return to our intended fare of irreverent policy discussions.
I never met Anthony Shadid and I am not as familiar with his work as anyone who takes an interest in the Middle East should be, yet I find that news of his recent death from an asthma attack while reporting in Syria has moved me to tears.
Surely his youth, the fact that he leaves behind a wife and two children, and the senselessness of his death in light of the important work he was doing in Syria contribute to the shock of his death, but there is more to it than that. There are certain public intellectuals who radiate a sense of hope in their field in ways that cannot be measured in citations or accolades or even personal remembrances. To me, Anthony Shadid's relentless integrity, his determination to write the most complete stories from the most broken places, and the love he evinced from those who knew him shone a guiding light that it seemed others might follow into the intellectual and political abyss of Middle Eastern studies. His example offered us chance at a future where our discussions of the mid-east could be based in fact and empathy. Our country and our world would improve if we could follow that example, but today I feel that the light, to extend a tired and inadequate metaphor, has been snuffed out.
I pray today for him and for his family and that those who felt his influence may carry on his legacy.
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