Marie Colvin (1957-2012), RIP

I’ve been very touched by the death of Marie Colvin, a journalist who died for her belief that she must keep reporting the situation in Homs “so that no one would have an excuse to say, ‘I did not know’.” A woman who believed that journalism could curtail the excesses of brutal regimes, and make the world pay attention.

I’ve been following Colvin’s writings since the mid-80s, when she started writing about Middle Eastern affairs. It’s a part of the world that I’ve always been interested in, and I spent time in 1978 travelling in Syria, where I visited Homs.

Back then, Syria was stable – it was Lebanon that was the war zone. Syria was a dictatorship, but people were relatively open in talking about the politics of the country, and they seemed happy enough. They were proud of their culture and their country, particularly when you compared President Assad (the father) with Saddam Hussein next door in Iraq. Certainly whatever oppression people might have been experiencing was not obvious.

How times change.

What struck me about Marie Colvin’s life and death was that she was totally committed to what she did, she had a strong sense of purpose, which drove her forward, and she never let being a woman stand in her way. Even after losing an eye, and ending up in a clinic with PTSD, she still continued her work.

Her death is sad because a brave woman who lived to tell the world about atrocities and oppression died while at the height of her powers. At this point, we can’t yet tell what difference (if any) her death will make to the Syrian situation. But she lived a life to the full, following her dream career, dedicating herself to instigating change where it mattered.

Here’s what her friend and fellow journalist, Henry Porter said about her, in Vanity Fair.

“What was striking about that period was her complete absence of self-pity. I never heard Marie complain about the hardships she endured or the effects of witnessing so much pain. When she was suffering from PTSD, she used to be let out of the clinic and would come round to dinner with her friend Jane Wellesley. My teenage daughters were open-mouthed at the sight of this astonishing woman with an eye patch, listening to her describe what she had done in the previous 20 years. The point, she emphasized with a tipsy flourish of cigarette and wine glass, was that women could do anything they chose.”

I know I don’t have the inclination or the courage to do what Marie Colvin did. But her death has led me to question what I can do to make a difference, to be a woman of courage, knowing that I can do anything I choose.