Published 04 Aug 05

30 December 05 Steven Vincent would have been 50 On December 19, Lisa Ramaci Vincent marked her 13th wedding anniversary – and the first without her husband. Steven Charles Vincent, a freelance journalist, was kidnapped, beaten, and shot to death last August in Iraq – retaliation for an incisive investigative article he had written for The New York Times, exposing the "assassination squads" that had infiltrated the Basra police and operated, unchecked, under the blind eye of the British security forces. It was just such a squad that is believed to have abducted and murdered Steven Vincent. At the time that Steven died, the Vincents had spent 23 years together, linked by love and so many shared passions, beginning on the very day they met, standing by the concession stand in the lobby of a movie theater in New York City. On the last day of this year, December 31, Steven would have celebrated his fiftieth birthday. I write this not just for Steven, but for the many journalists and soldiers who have lost their lives in wars – and especially, now, in Iraq. I write it for their families, who must continue on without them. I write it in the hope that the killing will stop, and the truth will prevail. Peace in the New Year.

The killing of an arts journalist

By Abigail R. Esman
World Defense Review columnist

They killed Steven Vincent.

Not, like Theo van Gogh - a man with loud and angry opinions who spoke against religions or people or ideas - but a journalist who only wanted to tell the truth; a journalist who, like me, spent most of his career writing about what was beautiful, about the great achievements of humanity, of civilization, the products of abstraction, of metaphor, of ideas. He wrote of those who challenged 'what is,' those who challenged beliefs, not with bombs but with paint and clay and marble. And when he himself challenged ideas, he did not use bullets. He used a pen.

But it was bullets they used to kill him for his words, just as it was bullets they used against Van Gogh and his words.

They were two men I have known: Two men who believed in truth and art and freedom. Two men killed, slaughtered in the name of that same truth, that same art, that same freedom.

Steven went to Iraq because, he said, he was too old for the military; but he could write, and through his writing, enlighten others.

Like Steven, after September 11, 2001, I turned from writing about art to writing about terrorism, about Islamic extremists and the ideas that drive them. Then, shortly after our presumed "victory" in Iraq, I met Ayaan Hirsi Ali [Somali-born Dutch parliamentarian and author] for the first time. I told her I was considering visiting artists in Baghdad, and maybe finding funds for a museum. Like Steven, perhaps, I thought the art might open eyes, might spread ideas, might nourish, might even, perhaps - as he wanted to do - enlighten.

"It's too soon," she told me. "The country isn't stable yet."

But still, I held the idea close, and when I heard that Steven Vincent, my own colleague at Art & Auction magazine was there; I envied and admired him for his courage. Silently, I hoped with all my heart for his success.

But the people who snuffed out his life in a few moments of personal horror for Steven were not people looking for enlightenment. They sought, rather, where possible, to destroy it.

And so they silenced Steven, just like they had silenced Theo van Gogh and others. But they cannot silence all of us.

"What do I do?" I asked a friend when I heard that Steven had been shot.

"Write," he said.

I'm writing.

Abigail R. Esman is an award-winning author-journalist who divides her time between New York and The Netherlands. In addition to her column in World Defense Review, her work has appeared in Foreign Policy, Salon.com, Esquire, Vogue, Glamour, Town & Country, The Christian Science Monitor and many others. She is currently working on a book about Muslim extremism and democracy in the West.

Abigail R. Esman can be reached at esman@worlddefensereview.com.

Visit Esman on the web at abigailesman.com.

© 2005 Abigail R. Esman

Abigail R. Esman story archive

NOTE: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author, and do not represent the opinions of World Defense Review and its affiliates. WDR accepts no responsibility whatsoever for the accuracy or inaccuracy of the content of this or any other story published on this website. Copyright and all rights for this story (and all other stories by the author) are held by the author.