How I knew the late US-Middle East envoy Martin Indyk

But on the line, to my shock, was Martin Indyk, the centre's director (and, previously, twice the US Ambassador to Israel and a senior US official on the Middle East in the Clinton administration).

The reason Brookings hadn't warned me that he would be on the call is because they didn't know he would be until the last minute, when he asked to speak to me and conduct the interview himself.

Now, if I were applying for a senior position, I would understand. It is part of the vetting process. But for someone shooting for an entry-level job? I was stunned that he even knew I'd applied.

Yet before I got to wonder aloud why he was bothering to talk to me, he said: "You're probably wondering why I'm on the line." Frozen and speechless, I mumbled something gibberish. Then came the reply.

"I know how you're feeling," he said. "I, too, left my country in Australia and was nervous about not being accepted in my new home. But just know this: you will always have a friend when you come here."

I wasn't mature enough to fully understand his words. Frankly, all I registered was his last sentence: "when you come here." In my mind, they had already decided to offer me the job.

Still, he wanted to personally get on the phone and extend a helping hand and reassure me—like a good father would his son—that everything would be OK. That helping hand endured until his very last breath.

Mentoring with trust

From the moment I landed in Washington, Martin became not just my boss but my mentor. He took a special interest in my career and, most importantly, my wellbeing.

He believed in me when I didn't believe in myself, and he trusted my judgment (at least on Lebanon) when I had doubts. He treated me so warmly and respectfully that some of my colleagues called me "Martin's golden boy at Brookings." 

Shortly after joining Brookings, Martin called me to his office to tell me that he was sending me to Lebanon with Brookings' Foreign Policy Program director and former US Ambassador to Ukraine, Carlos Pascual, and international development specialist Ashraf Ghani, who would later become President of Afghanistan.

"I want you to go with Carlos and Ashraf to assess the post-war reconstruction efforts. You're in charge. Anything you need, you call me. You got this." I'll never forget his words.

This was right after the devastating war between Israel and Hezbollah in the summer of 2006, one that destroyed much of Lebanon, especially its southern region.

I had never been on a work trip, let alone one where I was supposed to coordinate logistics, set up meetings with senior Lebanese officials, handle security via contractors, liaise with the US embassy, serve as interpreter (Carlos and Ashraf knew no Arabic), and give my own assessments of the situation in the country.

To say that I was sceptical about my abilities is a gross understatement. I was anxious as hell. But Martin's trust gave me enormous encouragement.

The trip turned out to be a success, with Carlos delivering impeccable testimony at the US Senate which influenced US assistance to Lebanon after the war.

From then on, Martin threw me one challenge (or opportunity) after another, often the kind reserved for more senior colleagues, elevating and training me at every step.

The lesson stuck. Today, I often tell my students and research assistants that the most important thing they can do to boost their careers is to find a good mentor.

Martin was an ideal mentor, always there for me to give me honest advice, scold me when I messed up (which was often), commend me when I did well, and lift me up when I failed (which, alas, was also often).

That mentorship turned into friendship over time, and this was when I got to know Martin the person, not Martin the workaholic and famous diplomat.

The man, not the name

He was a family man above all. He'd always ask me about my family, and I'd ask him about his. He was a voracious reader, a historian, and a thought leader.

He was arrogant in public but humble to those who knew him. For those who know it, he was Clint Eastwood in Gran Turino: the grumpy old bastard on the outside, but with a heart of gold. I used to tell him that, which made him laugh.

He loved Lebanon (and Texas boots, for some reason…), especially the food. We would order mezza from our favourite Lebanese restaurant and talk all night about his experiences and adventures in Middle East peace-making.

I loved those moments and learned so much from them. It's the stuff that you'll never read in books or hear in interviews.

When I told him I was getting married in 2011, he asked if he could bring his wife with him. Oh no! "I didn't invite you because I didn't think you'd come," I said. It didn't matter. "I'm not missing the chance to meet your parents and dance at your wedding," he said. And so he did.

He and my dad embraced as if they'd been friends forever. It was a funny but memorable sight. As I write this, I'm looking at my wedding photos, Martin hugging and dancing with my father.

Martin and I were on numerous panels over the years, debating Middle East politics and US policy. We'd disagree, including on the Biden administration's latest push for a transformational plan for the Middle East, but always rooted for one another.

I am proud to say I am his protégé. May his memory be a blessing. His friendship, diplomacy, and voice of reason in this age of political insanity will be sorely missed.