{"id":6299,"date":"2026-05-05T15:17:03","date_gmt":"2026-05-05T13:17:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/babmsr.com\/en\/?p=6299"},"modified":"2026-05-05T21:10:27","modified_gmt":"2026-05-05T19:10:27","slug":"lina-el-wardani-writes-hani-shukrallah-always-present","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/babmsr.com\/en\/2026\/05\/05\/lina-el-wardani-writes-hani-shukrallah-always-present\/","title":{"rendered":"Lina El Wardani writes: Hani Shukrallah, always present"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Egyptian journalist Lina El Wardani remembers Hani Shukrallah\u2014her first and last editor: his humour, his defiance, and his unforgettable spirit.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I first met Hani Shukrallah when I was 21. I graduated from the Faculty of Languages at Ain Shams University in 2002, after training at several newspapers\u2014Al-Ahram<\/em>,\u00a0Al-Akhbar<\/em>,\u00a0Al-Alam Al-Youm<\/em>\u2014as well as television. Once I was sure I was addicted to journalism, my father took me to meet Hani Shukrallah, who was then the managing editor of\u00a0Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hani welcomed us very warmly. He noticed my tan and asked if I needed a vacation. I smiled and said I had just gotten back from a summer trip. He said, “Sometimes you need a vacation from your vacation.” And sure enough, as the days went by, I came to understand just how true that was\u2014coming back from vacation to the daily grind takes a transition period, for those who can afford it. But I was young and excited to work, so I joined Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em> and stayed for three years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hani handed me over to Fatema Farag, the head of the investigations section. Fatema was very serious. She would assign me a topic, I’d write it up on the clunky old Mac, she’d go through it with a fine-tooth comb, then leave it for me. I’d do whatever was needed: rewriting, interviews, finding sources, fact-checking. Then I’d submit it to her again on the same old computer in the investigations room at\u00a0Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This went on for three months, until finally my piece was ready for publication. Then, on a Tuesday, just hours before the paper went to press, Hani called me to his office. I walked in, completely at ease. He went over it with me word for word, letter by letter. “Hani, Fatma already looked at this, plus a language editor, a reviewer, and a proofreader. Why are you going over it again word by word?” Hani replied, “I want you to get roughed up a little. I want you to really sink your teeth into the work. Never take anything at face value. I want you to be meticulous.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I won’t lie to you: I didn’t even know what that word meant back then, or maybe I knew the definition, but I didn’t understand how to put it into practice. But after three years of working with Hani, I got it. He would read every single word in the issue with painstaking care, leaving no letter untouched. He was the first to arrive at the office and the last to leave, working with extreme precision, moving effortlessly between Arabic and English, just as he moved from desk to desk. He fluttered over us like a butterfly, covering us all with his care. He would sit in deep thought and then surprise us with a sharp observation or a sarcastic joke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was a product of Egyptian schools and universities, and everything I knew about language came from reading, which was an addiction for me. From childhood, I was surrounded by the great books of English literature, with my dictionary always by my side. Hani loved to read too. He always carried a book in his jacket pocket\u2014”my weapon against boredom,” he used to say. He always had a book in the car, in the office, at the beach, everywhere. If you don’t believe me, ask Hani’s daughters. I have pictures of Malak, Farida, and Sara with books at the beach, by the pool, on a swing, at a restaurant, you name it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"hany
At an Al-Ahram Weekly meeting \u2013 Photo by Randa Shaath<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0learned most of what I know about journalism from Hani. I also learned a lot of what I know about life. My bond with Hani grew strong, and Fatma became my dearest friend. I also got close to Hala and Alaa Shukrallah Hani’s siblings to his son Hossam, to my friend Aida (his ex-wife), and to Nahed (another former wife). I grew to love this whole extended family immensely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I joined them for parties, gatherings, funerals, and seminars. I never expected to attend Hani’s own funeral. I never imagined that day would come, even though the signs were there. Over the course of his life, Hani had more than a few heart crises\u2014I remember open-heart surgery, a stroke, and other things I can’t recall now. Every time I visited Hani in the ICU, I found his room by following the smell of cigarette smoke. He never listened to the doctors; he smoked despite his asthma and his failing heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took everything to heart. He never accepted half-measures. He would often open the door to the editor-in-chief’s or managing editor’s office, and a man in a suit would walk in, carrying the board chairman’s displeasure. Hani’s answer was always a calm smile: “Let them be upset. We’re doing our job. My resignation is ready if they don’t like it\u2014fire me. We’re not changing the coverage.” I felt happy and proud that my boss feared nothing and no one. We would ask him, “What do we do?” He would say, “We do what we have to until they kick us out.” And even though he never accepted half-measures himself, he always advised us the opposite: “You have to stay in your positions. Tomorrow, when the revolution succeeds, we’ll need open-minded people in places like state newspapers and TV.” He was incredibly excited about the revolution\u2014even before it happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the revolution, life surged back into Hani’s heart. He seemed to grow twenty years younger. I remember that on January 25, 2011, I didn’t go to work. I went out to the streets and didn’t come back until February 13. Hani understood completely. He didn’t pressure me or half of the staff who were camped out in Tahrir Square. He understood that I couldn’t write about the revolution as a journalist because I was part of it, so he simply asked me to keep a diary of what happened and turn it into a report. I wrote testimonies, profiles, and reports about January 28 and February 2 the Battle of the Camel in a series I called “Faces of Tahrir.” On the day Mubarak stepped down, I wrote several more reports and testimonies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the fall of the regime, Hani called me and said, “Congratulations to us. Bravo. Take a rest tomorrow, then come to the office the day after. We’ve got work.” When I arrived, I found him absorbed in writing the revolution’s manifesto,a detailed article about what should come after.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I convinced Hani to go cover the revolution in Libya after Egypt. He agreed easily, gave me all the support I needed, and edited my articles himself. When war broke out, he didn’t ask me to come back. He let me do my job, and I stayed there for a full month, after covering everything thoroughly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Honestly, I feel lucky because I started and ended my working life with Hani. He was both the first and the last editor-in-chief I worked with at\u00a0Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em>, and then my last editor-in-chief at\u00a0Ahram Online<\/em>. I worked with him for three years from 2002 to 2005 at\u00a0Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em>. Then I joined the BBC, moving from radio to television “countries that take me and countries that receive me,” as the saying goes, until 2010. I was as happy as a child when Hani asked me to help him launch\u00a0Ahram Online<\/em>, and I stayed there until 2013.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We travelled together to Ras Sidr, Alexandria, and Hurghada. I loved Hani and his whole family, both immediate and extended. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Even after he passed away, I often catch myself imagining that when I knock on the door, he’ll open it, and that all this silly time without him has just been a prank\u2014that Hani is still alive and will come back to argue with us and scold us for neglecting our work and our country.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hani didn’t like gloom, and he never gave in to sadness. He had an incredible energy for creativity and work,more energy than twenty young men and women put together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Ahram Online<\/em> experience was truly a joy. The gap in time between it and Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em> had made the journalism giant Hani calmer, more relaxed, so to speak. He had nothing left to prove to anyone. He worked simply for the pleasure of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Twice, Hani paid the price for his independence, his freedom, and the journalism he defended. The first time was at\u00a0Al-Ahram Weekly<\/em>\u00a0in 2005, when the government was furious over the paper’s coverage of the infamous 2005 elections. Back then, it was a giant newspaper,it rivaled\u00a0The Independent<\/em>\u00a0and\u00a0The Guardian<\/em>. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but it was a unique paper, the strongest in Egypt in terms of language, coverage, and journalism. But it gradually collapsed after Hani left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"hany
At an Al-Ahram Weekly meeting \u2013 Photo by Randa Shaath<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

And I saw the same scene play out in 2012, when the Muslim Brotherhood came to power and decided to dismiss everyone over sixty to get rid of anyone who wasn’t a Brother. I will never forget the packing of boxes, the removal of Malak, Sara, and Farida’s drawings from Hani’s massive library, and watching him leave. Twice. A scene I will never forget as long as I live.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember a moment that was both funny and heartbreaking. It was in the ICU at Dar Al-Fouad Hospital. I was with my father, Mahmoud El Wardani, and my mother, Aisha El Fishawy. We put on the blue hospital protective gear over our shoes, heads, and coats to maintain sterility, then went in one by one during visiting hours. Suddenly, my mother burst out laughing at the sheer sight of it: Hani sitting up in bed with a desk tray over him, surrounded by multiple phones, a computer, and a tablet, completely absorbed in work. “Well, why did we put all this stuff on? Those computers are enough to make you sick all by themselves.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As for Hani’s stories, they were always entertaining. Indeed, he didn’t remember the names of many colleagues and friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For example: “Fatemah, you’ve invited Hussein to the wedding.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hussein who?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That’s how he was. He didn’t remember names, but he remembered specific moments and recounted them with tremendous passion\u2014like the revolutionary days of his university years, the 1970s and the student movement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hani knew everything about me. I would tell everything to Fatemah, and she, in turn would give Hani a daily report over the phone before she even got home. And Hani would give me advice directly, with no sugarcoating. “Of course, I found out from your friend,” he’d say simply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What brought us together was a shared love of reading, of our country, of justice, of children, and of Edward Said. I attended a memorial for Edward Said in London, and Hani was deeply moved as he delivered his speech.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw many sides of Hani, and I loved them all: Hani the serious manager and editor-in-chief, the great thinker, the role model of dedication, precision, and love for the craft; and Hani the loyal, loving friend. His company was a joy, his voice was warm, and you could always count on him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As for Hani the father, he was a wonderful father not only to his three daughters and his son Hossam, but also to Salma Shukrallah, Maya Jowaili, and Aida El Kashef. He was a very tender father, throwing himself into playing, debating, singing, and dancing with the children. And he spoiled his own kids rotten.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I always admired Hani’s enthusiasm and his fierce seriousness. He took everything very seriously. And he left the way he wanted: quietly, and without fuss. “When I die, pull the plug. I don’t want to be kept alive on machines in a hospital.” Or: “When I die, I don’t want drama, sadness, and gloom. I want you to throw a party, listen to music, dance the twist, eat, and drink.” That’s what he always said. But we couldn’t do it. Hani left suddenly, and with him, the joy left too.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Egyptian journalist Lina El Wardani remembers Hani Shukrallah\u2014her first and last editor: his humour, his defiance, and his unforgettable spirit. I first met Hani Shukrallah when I was 21. I graduated from the Faculty of Languages at Ain Shams University in 2002, after training at several newspapers\u2014Al-Ahram,\u00a0Al-Akhbar,\u00a0Al-Alam Al-Youm\u2014as well as television. Once I was sure …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":35,"featured_media":6302,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[96,1],"tags":[53,1752,4176],"class_list":["post-6299","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-greater-cairo","category-uncategorized","tag-culture","tag-journalism","tag-memory"],"yoast_head":"\nLina El Wardani writes: Hani Shukrallah, always present - BabMasr<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Egyptian journalist Lena El Wardani remembers Hani Shukrallah\u2014her first and last editor\u2014his humor, his defiance, and his unforgettable spirit.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/babmsr.com\/en\/2026\/05\/05\/lina-el-wardani-writes-hani-shukrallah-always-present\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Lina El Wardani writes: Hani Shukrallah, always present - 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