With the passing away of IA Rehman, Pakistan may have lost the most significant and consistent voice among human rights campaigners. He had such passion for justice. The man who almost single-handedly yanked the peripheral concerns for rights of the minorities towards the centre of national discourse would be equally missed across the country’s media landscape. Journalism was his first and enduring calling. His last column appeared in Dawn just a few days before his death. At 90 he was as fiercely engaged with ideas as he was with his loyal readers, and not to forget a whole cohort of writers and journalists who looked to him for inspiration and wisdom.

He fitted the sage archetype, almost perfectly. This particular archetype believes that by collecting credible and reliable information, and sharing with others, we can almost transform the world. We will come to this a bit later. First, let’s try to understand what his strong presence and influence meant for those in the media like this writer. He was the last of that remarkable trio of editors (Aziz Siddiqui, Tahir Mirza and IA Rehman) who commanded the journalistic heights across several decades. They were the quintessential thought leaders in time of national crisis, such as martial laws and wars. Gravitas, learning and a joyful disposition mostly defined them.

While Tahir Mirza, the guy from the BBC and the now all but extinct The Pakistan Times, and Aziz Siddiqui, a reclusive professorial, lived in their bubble, IA Rehman remained accessible for those who sought his guiding hand. Seventies, eighties and nineties were the times of real journalists who did not shout at the top of their voices; they were not gesture-driven and would not think of stopping their interlocutors in mid-sentence. Definitely no hubris-laden journalist genes were on display at the time. One could argue that in IA Rehman’s death, we have pulled shutters over a glorious period of quieter and responsible journalism in Pakistan.

Before we can talk about his eventful and emphatic transition to the human rights domain, it would be remiss not to focus on his humanity and robust work ethic. About his editorship of The Pakistan Times, colleagues seem to fondly reconstruct their professional lives under his stewardship. He was irrepressible and would not bow before bureaucratic/government pressure. His attitude was democratic and collegial towards those working for him. It was normal to feel overwhelmed with his stature, yet he hand-held reporters and subeditors with something bordering on affection and empathy. During editorial meetings, he was often heard telling rookie reporters to “put a human face on the story whenever possible. Avoid long introductory clauses; favour simple sentences with subject-verb-object order instead of using complex sentences.”

He was for omitting superfluous and redundant words and favoured action verbs. His dislike for contractions too was something worth bearing in mind. Important: there was nothing pretentious about his own writing style. Indeed, no self-conscious display of multi-syllable words. Any meaningful critique of his writing and the themes he explored would be largely going-with-the-grain kind. Clarity and brevity were the hallmarks of his writing. He mostly wrote thesis-driven short essays with high readability. He could make strong moral and legal argument with the finesse of an artist.

He took a liking to this writer and followed his trajectory with interest, be in the United States, Singapore, Cambridge and lately in LUMS. He wanted to listen to the progress about books this writer was embarking on. His voice, a mild baritone, still rings in the ear “Javed Sahib I am waiting for your book to read.” That was a strong nudge to complete the project. Coming from your editor, it sounded aptly as an order. Sharing different panels on human rights with him at LUMS meant a frisson of pride, and having to watch over every word that tumbled forth in the presence of a great editor and supporter. As a speaker, he commanded respect and attention for his views. Students and faculty alike listened with rapt attention. No pretence, no fuss. He responded to questions with patience and would smile often, a surefire ice-breaker. Students would gravitate towards him after he had concluded his clear-eyed presentations.

IA Rehman had put family right in the centre of his peaceful and tranquil life. He was often seen shopping in the company of his granddaughter. The stoic in him was alive and kicking as he continued to wage a quiet battle with some serious ailments.

It would have been tempting to ask IA Rehman during his lifetime about which of the two incarnations —being a journalist or top human rights leader—he liked. We suspect he liked both in equal measure. This is the time to talk about his embrace of human rights as an overarching theme and indeed objective of his life. He took to the grim and gaunt human rights world inhabiting Pakistan with gigantic energy. To those who know Rehman well, it was a natural extension of his role as an activist editor. As a writer his usual themes had ranged from rights of the citizens to the rights of four provinces, working of the Pakistani federation, violation of rights of the marginalised communities and, importantly, the state of democracy and the onslaught against freedom expression in Pakistan.

As somebody with tremendous persuasive skills and above-board integrity, Rehman succeeded in creating Pakistan’s first human rights entity with some teeth to show. His rights platform today has come to maturation, and its voice cannot be lightly ignored. Part of Rehman’s crusade is aimed at blunting the sharp edge of radicalism in the country. Here he showed courage to confront the conservative narrative. Thanks to his work, the country is now a little less daunting to the vulnerable segments. Those bearing his legacy will be reminded of his commitment to democracy, rule of law and, in plain words, to life itself.

The writer teaches Media Writing & Communication at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS)