By Lubna Abdel-Aziz I know the when, the where, the what, and the how. I still do not know the why. Why, why, why? A million whys have I, and answer there is none. The simplest of all whys, is why you? You who had accomplished much, but had so much more to contribute, to bequeath, to enjoy. Why you? You who have spread so much good among unworthy mortals and made them worthy. A mere smile, a nod, a friendly greeting, a kind word, a gentle touch rendered the inhuman, human. Why you who have taught us the meaning of leadership, without force, imposition, control, or command. Did God call upon you too soon, or was it his blessed mercy that saw fit to save you from a world so tainted and soiled. Death is a punishment only to the living, left to mourn and grieve their lot. Your work was the best school, your life the best teacher. As an Editor-in- Chief, you taught by example, not by directives or mandates. You rolled up your sleeves and worked side by side with your team to make Al-Ahram Weekly the most admired publication in Egypt. You applied the principles of decent journalism, of integrity, ethics, and professionalism. You walked that thin line between what was newsworthy and what was sensational. You led your life by the same rules within and without the walls of the Weekly. It is rare when a student can equal his master, but God knows we try to follow the guidelines you clearly set in the workplace. So therefore, again I ask, why you, the purest and the best of men? Six years have passed since that fateful day, but your legacy continues to guide, to teach, and to bless us all. Since you put a pen in my hand and told me to write, I have not missed a week without writing and without thanking you in my prayers. I still remember how you and your loving wife and Muse, Moushira tried for years to make me write. It was not easy. I resisted, lacking the insight to find resources within me capable of such a task. Yet you were determined and Moushira, was persuasive. I picked my pen reluctantly and signed my name to some ideas, perceptions, reflections. The hardest ordeal of all is to write about you, though you are not among us. So, instead, I choose to write to you. It usually takes me the whole week, every week, to contemplate my article, and I always ask myself what subject, what format, what choice would meet with your approval. Have I ever told you how your input filled me with gratitude, encouragement and confidence? Since your departure I have frequently entertained the idea of quitting, giving it all up - my hand aches, my head hurts, my pen is dry. Then, I remember that voice that buoyed my spirits, and I begin again with new resolve. I keenly miss that velvet voice, that gentle presence that seemed to drop a gossamer veil on the ugliness, corruption and vulgarity in our society, and shield us from it. Life was hard six years ago, but you lost yourself, maybe found yourself, in your work. You never lost the wonder within you. You always saw the beauty, heard the music, found the harmony in the right order and proportion. You provided the perfect ambiance for your army of eager helpers. Your focus always and ever, was to produce the best Ahram Weekly you and your team possibly could. You did it, and you made it seem so simple. Life today is worse. Society is more stressed out, uptight, mean, rude, short-tempered, and always angry. How could you have coped? People are even stranger, they all seem to be copies of one another, all equally insincere and double-faced. Dare I say, hypocritical! They have no sense, no manners, no guile, even to pretend to be principled. Would you still have found good in them, somewhere in the deep, dark abyss of their dark souls? Could you have tolerated their defects and infirmities within the realm of your beloved journalism? Of course there was always your impeccable tact, your inherent sense of compassion and grace. How could you have reconciled both? Perhaps only you could have achieved that, with the innocence of the child and the power of the magnanimous. It is only a step between naïveté and genius. It may really be true that you could say no evil, do no evil, and above all, see no evil! You have been lifted from a world now full of evil, and we are left behind to bide our time, until the Ship of Death sails to our shores. I know we shall all die: "we owe God a death," wrote Shakespeare, the Bard, whom we both loved passionately. Unwelcome as it is, death can be soothing and serene. This troubled world no longer can contain our dreams, our hopes, our aspirations. We must however live it, and we must live it well, as you yourself, did. You went about your business with little fanfare or commotion, but with precision, penetration and perfection. "It is the empty vessel that makes the greatest sound." Your vessel was silent, but filled to the brim. Hosny, should I laugh or cry, should I mourn or rejoice, should I hope or despair? Sorrow has been my companion these last years, for the world without the likes of you has little worth. But I have made my choice. I choose to laugh each time I remember our joys, our laughter, our deep happiness, as I recall the rapture in your eyes the night of your daughter Yasmine's engagement. Yasmine is so much like you, and her daughter, Hannah, surely fills you with immeasurable pride and joy. I choose to rejoice, because there is no person, place, or group that does not sing your praises, as the ideal journalist and the prefect man. Sweet honey flows freely at the mention of your name. I choose to hope that your legacy will neither be lost nor squandered, but preserved in the best tradition of the journalism that you embodied. What is death but a transition from a realm of impure men to a realm of pure angels, and you are where we all long to be. We embrace the splendour and nobility of your work, and we know that even the stars in heaven above smile at what you have accomplished down below. Above all, we thank you dear, departed friend. You may have left us to where the lilacs and the lilies eternally bloom. But you left behind an everlasting scent of spring blossoms and an inextinguishable desire to never settle for less than the best. That was the essence of one Hosny Guindy. The Best of men ....... ..A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breathed -- Thomas Dekker (1572 1632)
