My prayers and sympathies go out to Marie Colvin’s family. Many tributes have already been paid and she will be sorely missed for her remarkable reporting of the ghastly effects of war on people in the firing line.
She literally wore that commitment not on her sleeve but on her face. I met her only once but that once was enough for me to see the strength of a woman driven to reveal the inhumanities of war and conflict but also one who knew at first hand just a little of suffering – and only a tiny fragment, she would say.
We met about 18 months after she had lost her eye in Sri Lanka and she spoke about the pain, the surgeries and her disfiguration openly but without the slightest hint of self-pity. Her attitude was one I admired hugely.
She said she had seen far worse disfigurement and had met people who’d clearly made a complete adjustment. She was not going to let it diminish her life in any way and had already learned to get used to and ride over the tiresome side-effects. We compared notes on the staring, questions, names and turning-away that are par for the course – and ruminated whether these reactions are any worse or more inhibited in some countries than others.
Most of all, I recall her unaffected attachment to her eye patch – which was hardly beautiful or well-fitting but she thought it just about did the necessary. I told her that the man I most admired with an eye patch was a lovely barrister, Henry de Lotbinière, sadly no longer with us either, who’d made a habit, a fashion, of cutting the end off his ties to cover his eye patches – maybe she could make a similar statement. She was having none of it – not amused at all… Black and simple and functional was all she needed.
I asked her if she would be willing to be a champion for ‘face equality’ if an opportunity arose – and she politely said “of course”. But, of course, typically, she needed absolutely no request from me to be such a champion. She was one everyday and everywhere she went.
Marie Colvin, RIP.