I was living in Jordan when I applied to Berkeley’s graduate program.  I had been living in Lebanon and Jordan for six years and hadn’t managed to keep up with what was happening in my field.  Once accepted into the program, I turned to friends in Chicago and San Francisco to get a sense of what I had missed.  Both were sociologists, and both encouraged me to work with Michael.  This was well before ordinary mortals had access to the internet, so learning about Michael’s work awaited my return to the US and a visit to Ann Arbor.  As I made my way through his scholarship, I had two thoughts.  The first was not the kind of sociology I wanted to do.  The second, that he was the kind of sociologist I wanted to be.  That confirmed for me that choosing Berkeley was the right decision.

Halfway through the program, however, I decided that I did not want to pursue an academic career.  I shared that in passing in a conversation with a fellow graduate student, who promptly advised that I withhold that information from my advisor.  But why, I asked.  I would think it would be important for an advisor to know.  My colleague replied simply that Michael might stop taking me and my work seriously.  Of course, for me, this made informing Michael a matter of principle and great urgency, if only to confirm that he was indeed the kind of sociologist I sought to emulate.  The reader will not be surprised to learn that he didn’t even blink, as they say.  His reaction was essentially, okay, now we know.  

That was Michael.  That’s the public sociology that I learned about much later.  It was likely his immersion in the work of his students that enabled him to see all kinds of possibilities and potentials–a fearless openness and readiness to engage with whatever a student brought to him.  It takes an enormous amount of dedication to students and selflessness to go there.  Michael was both incarnate. 

Although I was clear that I wanted to take my training elsewhere, and more specifically to human rights, I stayed in the program.  I did so because I loved my thesis and the search for the answer to why the Palestinian movement had failed.  At some point, Michael said he feared I was becoming depressed working on this question, and that what I needed was “to go to South Africa.”  Oh, how right he was.  

Through the many years of working on my dissertation, Michael’s support was a constant.  Whether from campus or from afar during a sabbatical or travels, he was always ready to provide incisive and thoughtful comments.  I recall with great affection his tremendous generosity, in the time he gave, the number of drafts he was prepared to read, in bringing graduate students together to hear and learn from each other, and much, much more.  

Eventually, I finished my thesis and headed out into the world without a job.  Every now and then, Michael would check in and ask if I was sure I didn’t want to apply for a teaching position.  I would thank him for his concern and repeat my desire to work on human rights.  A year later, I found a human rights role.  In the meantime, though, I began receiving letters from publishers expressing interest in my book.  I was utterly perplexed when the first letter arrived.  How did they get the manuscript? I certainly hadn’t sent it.  I called Michael and learned that he had submitted it for consideration to several publishers, because he “doubted” that I would do it.  He was probably right. 

Several years later, I returned to Berkeley at Michael’s invitation for a panel of three sociologists who took sociology out into the world.  He organized the event for the sake of graduate students to hear about real-life options for a variety of careers.  I spoke about my journey into human rights, a field that had been dominated by lawyers and legal experts since its inception, and which seemed to see limited use for other expertise.  That has since been changing with growing recognition of vital contributions from every field and walk of life if fully rights-respecting governments are ever to be realized.  At some point during that event, I turned to Michael and said something along the lines of “If Gramsci were alive today, he, too, would be a human rights advocate.”  To this, Michael mischievously scoffed and added that he doubted that.  Now, I understood what he meant.  For Gramsci, the persistent centrality of the state in the human rights framework would remain a problem.  However, human rights can serve as an effective third “war” to conquer state hegemony, so I decided I would try to convince Michael that Gramsci would have joined us.  But that had to wait until I had more free time. 

That time was finally coming into view in 2024 as I prepared to wind down to retirement.  Michael had been in touch about his work on “Palestine/Israel,” and I couldn’t have been more delighted.  I shared some preliminary thoughts on Gramsci and human rights.  We agreed that we would get together the next time he was anywhere near DC on the East Coast.  

Despite the invaluable role he played in my work and life, I hadn’t seen Michael in person since that event at Berkeley.  But I nevertheless feel the terrible loss.  I am so profoundly grateful for all he did to encourage and support my scholarship, and all I learned from him.  Those things and Michael will remain with me forever.