My father, the wise owl

Haitham El-Zobaidi called himself a humanist, dedicated to the betterment of all people across the Middle East and beyond, regardless of race or religion.

Politics and journalism often force people into camps—pressured to choose the side they dislike the least, and then to excuse or overlook the wrongdoings of that side. In a world increasingly shaped by outrage and division, impartiality is rare.

But my father, Haitham El-Zobaidi, was different. He refused to take sides. When I asked how he maintained objectivity in his journalism, he told me that one must become an observer—like a wise owl, watching silently in the night. His goal was never to defend one side over another, but to seek out the truth, however complex or uncomfortable it might be.

This is what made him so unique in today’s polarized climate: his ability to rise above ideology, detach from emotional bias, and look clearly at the reality on the ground. His deep dislike for extremism in all its forms stemmed from his own experiences growing up in Iraq—a place that has suffered profoundly because of division and radicalism.

He called himself a humanist, dedicated to the betterment of all people across the Middle East and beyond, regardless of race or religion. That belief wasn’t just a professional stance—it shaped his personal life, too. His kindness and generosity were defining traits that everyone who knew him will remember.

He faced his battle with cancer with unwavering courage and refused to surrender, even toward the very end. Though his body weakened, his mind remained razor-sharp—an enduring inspiration to me.

In the days after he passed, memories overwhelmed me like waves: the two of us laughing at one of his dry jokes, the nights we spent watching Star Wars—which sparked my lifelong love of science fiction—and the time he took me to the O2 Arena in London to watch WWE live, before I understood that pro wrestling was staged (yet still undeniably impressive). These are moments that will stay with me forever—nostalgic, bittersweet, and at times like a sudden stab of grief.

But his kindness, generosity, and wisdom didn’t pass with him. They live on in us. And now, it’s up to us to carry his torch—to help light the way in an ever-darkening world.

Omar El-Zobaidi is the son of late Haitham El-Zobaidi, Chairman of the Arab Publishing House