“There are stars whose light reaches the earth only after they themselves have disintegrated and are no more. And there are those individuals whose scintillating memory lights the world after they have passed from it. These lights, which shine in the darkest night, are those which illuminate the path for us.” -Hannah Senesch
Sasha was born on June 16, 1976 in Hershey, PA. He was a graduate of Maumee Valley Country Day School in Toledo, Ohio, and graduated with distinction from the University of Michigan in 1999 with a dual degree in Biology and Religious Studies. While at Michigan, Sasha founded and ran the International Development and Health Association to promote global development education and international health issue awareness. He worked towards awareness of issues such as the AIDS impact in Malawi and the needs of impoverished mothers.
After gaining valuable work experience at The Advisory Board Company, a global research, technology, and consulting firm in Washington, D.C., Sasha attended a dual degree program at Tufts University at the School of Medicine and the renowned Fletcher school of Law and International Diplomacy in Boston. During this time he traveled to Pakistan in 2001 as part of a medical team organized by the United Nations High Commission on Refugees to provide much-needed health services to an Afghan refugee camp housing 100,000 residents that had been displaced from their homes by war. He completed two years of Medical School and then refocused his studies towards the intersection of medicine and politics. In 2007 he earned a Master of Arts in Law & Diplomacy with a concentration in Southwest Asia and Humanitarian Studies from the Fletcher School of International Law and Diplomacy. Sasha lived in Pasadena, California. He was a prolific writer and analyst. Sasha had a brilliant sense of humor and wrote witty and insightful articles on contemporary issues encouraging his readers to consider a unique perspective. He published a column for Examiner.com as the DC South Asia Foreign Policy Examiner which explored current events with a critical eye and distinct perspective. He produced a politically focused podcast called Striking the Root, which brought awareness to serious human rights violations that were not covered by the mainstream media. In addition to his research-based writings, he wrote on personal topics of his choosing, published on his creative blog, Count Twist (named after his favorite cheesesticks at Good Time Charley’s in Ann Arbor).
Sasha was a skillful champion of using humor to approach difficult subjects, using our shared sense of humanity to bring about a common compassionate perspective, and thus encouraged his listeners to engage in positive forms of diplomacy and advocacy to develop solutions to the complex issues facing our world. Sasha leaves behind more than one hundred pieces of writing, many dedicated to the humanitarian issues, which were closest to his heart. Mitigation of the tragic injustices that befall innocent people, whether as the result of modern ethno-political conflicts around the world or other circumstances beyond one’s control, is stressed throughout his work, including trafficking of women and girls, forced prostitution, gender-based violence, mass rape, genital mutilation, the enlistment of child soldiers, unjust imprisonment of fathers, and the destruction of civilian homes and livelihoods. It is Sasha’s passion for these issues that have come to shape the mission of the Sasha G.M. Shaikh Foundation.
Sasha passed away on May 18th, 2012 at the young age of 35. Family and friends traveled from around the globe to attend a memorial reception in California celebrating his short but rich life. Riveted by his passion to help others, his ability to bring out the best in each person that knew, and his wisdom that we alone could and must bring about a better world, this foundation was started by many who were inspired to continue the work that he so passionately pursued.
Sasha was a bon vivant. When not writing, you could find him entertaining in style, enjoying cooking, music, and friends. He believed in keeping his friends close and cherishing those friendships. Forever a funny man, if you were his friend, you would often fall victim to his practical jokes. Sasha’s legacy is the boundless potential and goodness of humanity. He had a magnetic personality that touched everyone he met. His unflinching optimism, energy and passion for life were matched by an unwavering compassion for others. He was an inspiration to those who knew him.
Photo by Sasha Shaikh at Nasir Bagh Afghan Refugee Camp, July 2001.
Kabristan
by Sasha Shaikh, February 1998
The hot sun burned against my skin. We pulled into the small lonely drive, as we had every Friday for the past three weeks. My kameez stuck to my scorched back, itchy and wet against my skin. A young boy, standing close to his mother, cut long rose stems with a large blade. Carefully, with exact movements, he worked; the sweat dripped from his brow, down his puffy cheeks, along his enlarged neck before falling to his dust-covered toes. Seeing the incoming group, he ran toward us with a basket of freshly cut petals. The boy carefully avoided the burning stones of the footpath, making sure only to step in the dried grass between them. I had never seen a neck so swollen before. My mother mumbled something about lack of iodine, but all I could do was look at the strange vase-shaped neck.
Riaz Mama, my mother’s eldest brother, led us to the marble grave stone, emitting a soft pink glow under the shade of the large mango tree. Though we had been here many times, we solemnly followed, single-file, as if needed guidance. He laid the bushel of perfumed rose petals upon the stone. Far off in the distance, I heard the familiar call of a vegetable vendor, “Sabzi Walaaaa…Sabzi Walaaaa…” I watched my mother, my cousins, and my grandmother, Mithi Amma, bow their heads. The young boy, with the tiny girl upon his back, picked more flowers from the brilliant garden nearby the small shed where they were sold. After picking each bright flower, big, black eyes widened, like a sea to fall into, the boy twirled about. My heart cried out for the small face, darkened with sun and dirt. I wondered if the boy’s mother knew what his illness was. The little one, now walking on her own, picked at a tear in her shalwar kameez.
My cousin Saad’s face streamed with tears. I, too, missed his mother dearly. She had taught me my native language. Riaz Mama had finished his prayers. The boy disappeared into the cracked wooden shed, leaving the little one laying sprawled out upon the ground, putting blades of long, dried grass between her teeth. My stomach hurt.
“Meri kho bohout bookh lag gya,” I whined to my mother. Even though I knew it was no time to complain about hunger, I felt a sudden urge to create a shift in the collective mood. The young boy, now relishing a bit of machee masala, twirling about again, appeared to have heard my complaint. Running toward me in a slightly curved path, “yei lo,” he insisted. Spiced fish was a rare delicacy for this young child, I knew. I told boy equally forcefully that I couldn’t accept his generous offer. The boy was adamant, however, as it is a deep insult to refuse a morsel of food in my culture. Watching me taste the sweetness of the fish blend with the burn of the spicy masala, the child’s big, dark eyes lit up. I stood apart, smiling awkwardly, as everyone, apparently unaware of the exchange, continued toward the car. A single tear streamed down my face, as I thanked the child.
The car created a cloud of dust as we drove off. Returning to the crowded streets and bustling markets, my stomach no longer ached, although somehow I still felt sick. I remembered something I read by Ken Wilbur, in a book he wrote about his wife’s battle with cancer. Sickness and illness, according to Wilbur, are not one and the same. Illness in and of itself, is neither good nor bad: it just is. Sickness, on the other hand, encompasses all of the negative stereotypes society places on an illness. No, the young boy was certainly not sick.