Remembering Senator Kennedy

ON August 26, 2009 in my home in Boston, I woke up to the news that Senator Ted Kennedy had died. It was of course not an unexpected passage; the Senator had been suffering from brain cancer for over a year. But as I heard repeatedly in the countless testimonials from well-known personalities that poured into the news, it was still a difficult moment for many Americans. After all, it is difficult to be prepared for the passing away of an icon, a towering figure in the American political scene who was at the heart of so much of the progressive social legislation, from immigration to health care, that has been passed in this country since the 1960s.

Those who lived through our War of Liberation in 1971 might recall the supportive role played by Senator Kennedy, who stood by the people of Bangladesh at a time when the Nixon-Kissinger leadership endorsed the policies of Pakistan. As a child at that time, I have a recollection of Senator Kennedy visiting Bangladesh after the war in 1972. I remember how my mother obtained his autograph on a dinner menu at a state reception given for him by the newly formed government of Bangladesh.

Twenty-four years later, in January 2005, my father Shah AMS Kibria was assassinated by grenade attack in Habiganj, Sylhet. Confronted with a BNP-Jamaat government in Bangladesh that was doggedly unwilling to conduct a complete and fair investigation into the murder, our family launched a campaign for justice. Since I am based in the U.S., I contacted the offices of several U.S. legislators, seeking their assistance in my efforts to obtain a full investigation. Not surprisingly, many of my requests went unheard, pushed aside by the often harried staff who run these offices. But just a few days after contacting Senator Kennedy's office, one of his legislative staff members called me to offer assistance. I was astonished to find that she was already familiar with the details of my father's case; upon the instructions of the Senator, she had spent several hours reading up on it as well as familiarising herself with the political scene in Bangladesh.

A few months later, I was given the opportunity to meet the Senator. He was attending an event in Boston and I was told that he would meet with me before the event. After he entered the meeting room, we shook hands and he spoke fondly of Bangladesh, recalling the Dhaka University campus and a tree that he planted there in 1972. I spoke about my father's assassination and our futile efforts to ensure justice for him and the other victims of the attack. At one point I struggled to hold back the tears. He reached out to hold my hands and as his eyes filled with tears he nodded and said, “I know, I understand”. I felt the enormous powers of his empathy, his ability to make you feel that what holds us together is far greater than what separates us.

Later on, after our meeting, he took the time to personally telephone me to talk about the progress of the case. I was astonished when he remembered to ask after my children, even recalling that I had a son and a daughter and that I was struggling with the autism diagnosis of my son. I will never forget the moral support that he gave me and my family, and the prodigious efforts of his dedicated staff members to help us achieve justice.

For me, Senator Kennedy and his life of public service is inspirational in so many ways. I find myself thinking today of its significance, not only for how I live my own life but also in what I seek and indeed expect from my political representatives. Among other things, it has given me a certain vision of political leadership, of the way things can and should be in the world. He was a political leader of great privilege and power who never forgot that these were the very things that gave him the moral responsibility and indeed the obligation to look out for those less fortunate than himself.

He came from a political dynasty but yet he did not seem to take his own position for granted, working tirelessly to successfully build his own distinctive political legacy. He was a superlative manager, maintaining a highly efficient and professional team of staff members with whom he worked closely and with mutual respect. He was a bridge-builder, able to work closely with political opponents on controversial issues in ways that helped to create common ground. And last but not least, there was his tremendous humanity, his ability to care about others, never forgetting that politics is ultimately about making the world a better place.

The writer is Associate Professor of Sociology & Director, Graduate Program in Socilogy, Boston University.