My dearest Regis

20th September 2016

My dearest Regis,

I would have never believed, some months ago, if someone had told me that I would be sitting at my computer in mid-September 2016 writing a speech for your memorial service. But this unbearable and unjust day has come.

I’ll always remember the day you told me about your cancer. I had freshly landed back from China, very eager to speak to you again after a few weeks offline. But then you asked me to sit down and the news came. It was last June. Hell broke loose then. I haven’t been myself since then.

Anu and I were traumatised. “He will be alright,” we thought. “Our Regis is strong,” we kept repeating. You should have been with us in Finland and Sicily for a summer school and an international conference in August. We missed you too much.

The last time I saw you was in April. As always you made me feel happy, strong and cherished. Although you were already suffering a lot and had lost a lot of weight, we continued our discussions and made plans for the future. We also laughed a lot. I felt very comfortable in your and Joseph’s company. You were also happy with your Doudou, a blessing in your life. I am so glad he had you and you had him.

My visits to Malaysia and your trips to Finland were always highlights in this dull, unstimulating and somewhat disgusting academic world. Our phone calls forced me to work harder and to focus. When I was down I knew you would be there to support me. Like Montaigne wrote: “I kn(e)w that the arms of friendship are long enough to reach from the one end of the world to the other”. A good metaphor for the intellectual space that we covered between Finland and Malaysia…

Going through my e-mail archives, I found the very first e-mail we exchanged. It was on the 9th April 2008 for a conference I had organised in Finland. You came with Sep Neo. We were very (too) polite in our first messages. And then something happened. We ‘clicked’. We spoke like brothers. An avalanche of projects also took place: Books, conferences, book series, journals, associations, etc. In the years we have known each other you have been the best scholarly companion one could ever dream on. A rock.

Since you passed away, I have received tens of messages from around the world from colleagues who knew you – and even from some who did not know you. They all note that your death is a big loss to the field of the ‘intercultural’. They were impressed by your sharp sense of criticality, your desire for new ideas and… your sense of humour.

I refuse to think that this is the end though. We still have so much to do together. We still have so much to achieve together. I promise that I will keep ‘fighting’ with and for you. I will continue the dialogues with you and with others.

The world as it is today scares me and I don’t know where this is all going. But I know one thing: through your legacy we will make any tiny change we can to make it a better place for the ‘other’, the migrant, the one who is stereotyped and prejudiced against, the one who experiences sexism, racism and homophobia.

My dear Regis. Salman Rushdie wrote: “Whenever someone who knows you disappears, you lose one version of yourself”. I have lost an important version of myself last Sunday. No one will ever be able to replace the empty spot you left. And it is for the best, for I know you will always be there to guide me, look over me and cherish our friendship.

Take care my great friend and see you again one day.

Fred-Alaing-Ze Grosse

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