Dear Rekha Basu,
Thank you...
Dear Rekha Basu,
As far as I remember, we met only once; this past summer at Julie Gammack’s Okoboji Writer’s Retreat. Yet, when I read of your upcoming retirement from the Register the other day, I felt a profound sense of loss. While I can’t remember if I was reading the print edition, or if I read the copy online, I do remember that I leaned forward, put my elbows on my desk, my head in my hands, and sighed. I realized that for these many years I have taken your work for granted. I just assumed that you would be there forever, standing up for those who too often stand alone, the poor, the downtrodden, and the oppressed. And you weren’t just standing up for those who were named in your stories--you were standing up for everyone like them.
Throughout your career, you have been a champion for so many who so badly needed one, yet had no hope, until you knocked on their door. Or maybe their jail cell. You became their bulldog, with sharp words instead of teeth. Week after week, year after year, for thirty years, you stood in the trenches; sometimes between good and ill, but more often between good and indifference.
For most of us, injustice is easy to ignore. We walk by, shake our heads, and do nothing. Not you.
You gored the powerful and they bellowed. Administration after administration. Republican or Democratic. The powerful fear you. The misplaced and forgotten love and honor you. Being you must be exhausting; I’m sure that in your mind there is always one more person to help, one more politician to skewer, and one more story to write.
At the conference, I watched you teach and learn, share whispers, laughs, and hugs with people who know and love you. When you came up and asked me to sign a copy of my book for you, I was overwhelmed, wondering if my loving stories and poems of people and place would be enough for you. I knew they would be as you comforted me when I had to ask, embarrassed, for you to spell your first name for me. I suspect you have had to do that many times before, but still, your response was kind and warm.
One time our friend Rachelle Chase, then a new columnist, and I were having a conversation about happenings at the Register. I can’t remember if it was in person, or over the phone (sorry, my brain is leaky…). Rachelle was telling me how supportive you were of her in her new job. I don’t remember my exact words, but I recall telling her how much I valued your work, but at times it made me “uncomfortable,” or something like that. Rachelle raised an eyebrow (yes, I can hear Rachelle raise an eyebrow even over the phone), asking, “Really?”
While I couldn’t give Rachelle a good answer then, I can now. As a white guy on the wrong side of sixty, there were probably plenty of times you made me “uncomfortable,” and deservedly so. It’s during these “uncomfortable” times when the very best and most important type of learning takes place.
I think your world travels and immersions in different cultures gave you a perspective many of us lack--a perspective that doesn’t center one race, one culture, one party, one place, one gender, one sexual orientation, one class, or one faith, but opens doors for us all. Now, that’s what I call freedom.
I hope they hang a big, framed photo of you up in the Register newsroom, so you will always be looking over the shoulder of their fine staff as they seek truth and justice.
Under that photo, I hope they inscribe the following:
Rekha Basu--”She comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comfortable. Go forth.”
Love,
Bob
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Terrific letter. I have been so disappointed in the disappearing... DM Register. Now with Rekha gone, there is little left for me to read. I have unsubscribed & resubscribed so many times in the last few years. I was one of those people that was in the comments defending Rekha's viewpoints or calling out some of the ridiculous trolls for their unresearched, uneducated, racist etc. etc. comments. Until I just couldn't stand to write another word, because it didn't seem to matter. But, Rekha MATTERED!!!! I called her about unfair issues, to sound the alarm. I unabashedly used her name in situations with those who tried to flex those racist/unfair/etc. muscles & asked how they would like to see that in print? Thank you, Rekha for everything. I already miss you. Now, tell me who do we call?
Spot-on, moving, and a fitting tribute to one of the finest writers and people I know.