Al-Ahram Weekly | Special | The joy of mourning

To mark the fifth anniversary of the death of Hosny Guindy, Al-Ahram Weekly 's founding editor, Louis Greiss and Samir Sobhi recall the early days of the paper and their close association with a man they variously describe as making journalism in Egypt an ethical profession, a visionary, a lasting inspiration and a friend

Was it only yesterday that I sat gazing at you, as if to fix your features firmly in my memory? I can still see those sparkling eyes, full of kindness and warmth, like the golden rays of the summer sun. I can still hear those cordial tones in your voice, your bursts of childlike laughter. Was it only yesterday? Yet, sometimes I feel it has been a hundred years since you left us to muddle through on our own, in this dim and deadly darkness. Sometimes, however, I know you are amongst us still, helping us, guiding us, leading us to the light, for how could you abandon all who drew their breath from your strength and fortitude? Perhaps you were never here at all, just a mere figment of our imagination, created out of our need for the presence of the ideal human that you were, a figure of perfection to inspire and teach, as we too seek a state of perfection in life. What a perfect creation you were, what more could we ask of a father, brother, husband or son. Draped in the mantle of kindness and compassion, you possessed a deep understanding of the strange complexity of human nature. Blind to the wrong, the wicked, the inefficient, the immoral, your eye could only see the good; your heart could only see the grace. How did you do it? People are so quick to cut us down, expose our shortcomings -- not you. What radar did you possess that could isolate our virtues from the midst of the rubble. You had that power of penetration, always seeking to dig so deep, or so surely, beneath the tuff. Out of the pit of insecurity and doubt, you alone could bring up to the surface those qualities that came to define us thereon.

It will always be a mystery to me how you saw a pen in my hand and an idea in my head, worth writing and, surprisingly, worth reading. I know that you were greatly inspired by your life's love and companion, your muse, Moushira. She fired your imagination and served as your eyes, your ears, your very heart and soul. Together you made, not a couple, but a whole. Together you achieved perfection. Was it not Plato who said we are born twins, separated at birth, and spend the rest of our lives seeking our other half! It does not happen often that we find it, but when it does, a symphony of happiness and harmony is born. You and Moushira were among the lucky ones who reached the zenith that few can claim. Is she the secret you were able to achieve what other men can only dream of?

To conceive, develop and produce Al-Ahram Weekly is no small feat. This Herculean effort was executed with modesty, passion and grace, adding greatly to the cultural life of all who are interested in the Egyptian point of view. It was fair and fearless, honest and truthful, and not without courage and the biting that cries for improvement. Yes you, the most meek and kindly man I knew could stand up against any hostile force, firmly, tenaciously, without knuckling under. The Weekly was your life's mission. Then and now, we are all the better for it. This venue of fine journalism, articulate reporting and incisive commentaries, sizzled and vibrated in a sea of empty repetitious and hollow words. The Weekly became the reference you could rely on. It mirrored your spirit of bravery and commitment, as well as your gallant chivalry. How often have I heard it referred to as: "the best newspaper in Egypt". Did I mention that in the community of journalists, they all looked up to you as the perfect professional? That word "perfect" keeps cropping up again and again. It is unavoidable when you are the subject.

Did I sometimes detect a shade of hopelessness in your otherwise twinkling eyes? Was it grief for the loved ones you would leave behind? Was it disappointment and despair in mankind? Was it fear for your life's legacy that you so carefully nurtured? I can still see your eyes, smiling at me, urging me on. When was it? Was it yesterday? Was it years ago? Was it a lifetime since I last saw you? No, it was an eternity. Yet somehow you are here with me, smiling at me, urging me on. You have never left.