I thought I was the one who was going to cry. Okay.
Many of you know the story of the Stephen Lewis Foundation — how my father, devastated by what he saw as he moved from one cataclysmic moment to another in the lives of tens of thousands of people in families and communities across the African continent in the early 2000s at the nadir of the AIDS pandemic; how the foundation was really born out of his despair, his refusal to accept the stasis and neglect of the international community, how intolerable it was to him to see African women struggling to keep families and communities alive and together with little or no recognition or support. Their suffering and tenacity haunted him.
Joining him for 17 invigorating and luminous years was like plunging into my father’s fiery operating system: urgent and indefatigable. I watched him powered by incendiary outrage, and it was like he was incandescent with it. He carried with him every story, every face, every child, every grandmother, every AIDS denialist, every delinquent politician, diplomat, every activist and author. I marveled at the way he refused to buffer himself from pain. It took my breath away.
And at the same time, his modesty could be so damned infuriating. “Ilana,” he said, “leave the UN and start the foundation with me. I wanted to call it the Stephen Lewis Foundation.” He was appalled. “What then? Well, call it the Grassroots Action Foundation.”
“Dad, I’m not leaving my excellent UN job to be the executive director of GAF.”
[laughter]
“Oh, Ilana,” he said, “you’re the only one who cares about acronyms.”
“No, Dad, you’re the only one who doesn’t.”
[laughter]
And — uh — thank goodness for David Suzuki, who somehow made the idea palatable.
His profound pleasure in seeing others, as you’ve heard so much today, particularly women, step into the fullness of their potential — it was never singularly about politics. It was about a deep human connection through work in common cause. That’s why it’s so hard to separate the father from the comrade, the personal from the political. Because with all the fiery, inspiring oratory and totally uncanny capacity to amass and retain damning facts and figures, there was humor and light and mischief and genuine affection and care.
And when I came out, he did a little dance in the front hall of our home.
[laughter]
And he sang an aimless, ridiculous song about my finally being a lesbian. I won’t repeat it for you. It was too silly. He put a picture of me and my partner in his UNICEF office, and with a twinkle, he would mortify any conservative government official who met with him by beaming at them and proudly pointing out that this was a picture of his daughter who also worked in the UN, who was — if they hadn’t noticed and appreciated adequately — a lesbian.
[applause]
And when I was agonizing over which sperm donor to choose, I called my dad, of course, and he met me at a deli between our offices in New York. And he meticulously reviewed each of the profiles with me, and we ultimately agreed on the same donor. And he gave me a long, joyful hug. And he walked off jauntily, saying over his shoulder, “Just remember, AI isn’t artificial insemination — it’s anticipated infants.”
And how he adored them when they arrived: Zev and Yoav. He took the time to share his sense of urgency about equality and human rights. Discussions of democratic socialism and feminism abounded with their grandparents. And he took every opportunity to learn who they were and to tell them how eternally proud he was of them.
Many of us today have tried to capture how he really saw people for who they are — not objectifying them, not glossing over disparities or different realities. He was truly disgusted and outraged at the core when anyone was treated badly, whether individually or systemically, because of who they are or who they love or how they identify or where they’re from. Every person was seen and valued, precious and necessary, dignified and deserving of a voice and an unflagging ally.
And as a father, he communicated that love of humanity, compassion, and the deep desire for each of us in our own way to join him in the struggle and through it find sustenance and meaning in life — join in his impish hilarity, and use the absurd and our conviction to keep defeat at bay, and never, never give up on improving the human condition.
[applause]