Marie Colvin - On the Front Line - The Collected Journalism of Marie Colvin

KOSOVO

How one careless phone call ended Radovan Karadzic’s liberty – 27 July 2008

PART THREE

MIDDLE EAST

Bloodied Gaza set for the endgame – 11 January 2009

Beyond the violence, a solution is on the table – 11 January 2009

Netanyahu stokes fears to take poll lead – 8 February 2009

Israel’s secret war – 15 January 2012

IRAQ

War-weary Iraqi voters catch election fever despite attacks – 6 March 2010

US departure from Iraq opens the door for Al-Qaeda – 22 August 2010

Terror returns to stricken Fallujah – 29 August 2010

Battered Kurds attempt to cling on to city of oil – 5 September 2010

AFGHANISTAN

Corrupt, untrained, underpaid, illiterate – 6 December 2009

Hamid Karzai fails Taliban who gave up arms – 31 January 2010

Swift and bloody – 9 May 2010

Afghans find pride in hunt for Taliban – 4 July 2010

IRAN

Anger at Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s election – 14 June 2009

Clashes show depth of fury – 21 June 2009

EGYPT

Flames and fighting flood along the Nile – 30 January 2011

Raging mob bays for Mubarak’s head – 30 January 2011

I ran for my life from a crazed, cursing mob – 6 February 2011

Egypt’s bloody road to reform – 6 February 2011

The kids triumph with Facebook and flyers – 13 February 2011

Feral mobs and fanatics rule Terror Square – 27 November 2011

LIBYA

‘I’ll still be running Libya when my foes have retired,’ insists Gadaffi – 6 March 2011

Siege falters as loyalists defect to side of rebel ‘rats’ – 15 May 2011

‘We had our orders: rape all the sisters’ – 22 May 2011

Professor leads adopted sons into battle – 29 May 2011

Mad Dog and me – 28 August 2011

Killing rooms plot bloody retreat of troops loyal to Tyrant Jr – 4 September 2011

Toxic tyrant’s chemical cavern – 11 September 2011

Desert storm flushes Gadaffi from oasis of dictator chic – 25 September 2011

Brutal retribution – 23 October 2011

Libya keeps silence over vampire dictator’s grave – 30 October 2011

SYRIA

‘Bombs fell like rain. You could only pray’ – 5 February 2012

A vet is only hope for Syrian wounded – 19 February 2012

Final dispatch from Homs, the battered city – 19 February 2012

MARIE COLVIN: THE LAST ASSIGNMENT

by Jon Swain – 26 February 2012

‘REPORTS OF MY SURVIVAL MAY BE EXAGGERATED’

by Alan Jenkins

Footnotes

Tributes

Copyright

About the Publisher

To me, a world without Marie is unimaginable. I am just now beginning to experience this shadow of a place, and for the first time there is no Marie to give me comfort or guide me through. Marie had so many friends and colleagues who loved her so deeply, and countless admirers who were awed by her courage as a journalist. While I mourn together with those who loved her and take enormous pride in Marie’s accomplishments, my tribute is to my big sister and lost soulmate.

I try to force thoughts of her broken body out of my mind with memories of our time together – the wild adventures and late-night talks, her offbeat advice and unique view of the world. Most of all, I try to recapture the love with which she so totally and constantly enveloped me for as long as I can remember. She was my greatest admirer, my unwavering ally, my fiercest defender. To have someone as brilliant and amazing as Marie offer such love, support and admiration to me is a gift I will always treasure and desperately miss.

Marie was always my hero and to her I was perfection. She claimed me as her own when I was just a toddler, and in her eyes, I could do no wrong. She opened a big, beautiful world to me, full of laughter, excitement and adventure. My earliest memories of Marie are the bedtime stories she used to tell me, like ‘postage stamp kisses’ – my favourite. Marie would lie in my bed and tell me about some faraway place, with vivid descriptions of the sprawling cities, dusty back roads, flowering countrysides or lush jungles. She told me of the customs, languages and dress of the people who lived there, and what they like to do for fun. She told elaborate stories of queens and medicine women, and the beautiful clothes they wore. I learned from her how people danced in the streets of Rio at Carnival and ran with the bulls in Spain. She opened a world of adventure to me, and we explored it together. Each night, when the story was over, she would plaster me with postage stamp kisses to send me off to explore some new place in my dreams.

As we got older, Marie included me in her life in ways that were extraordinary, in retrospect. She took me with her everywhere, and dressed me to her (not my mother’s) liking. We sailed all over Long Island as kids, and later in the Chesapeake Bay and the Florida Keys. We went on protest marches and hung out in the park singing to guitar music during her high school years. I tagged along with her to long classroom lectures and wild parties at Yale. She taught me the lyrics to her favourite songs by Joni Mitchell, Bonnie Raitt and Patsy Cline, and often had me sing them for her friends at parties (Marie could never carry a tune). Marie inspired me to explore the world with an open heart and mind, from backpacking through Europe at seventeen (with a luxurious stop in Paris to visit Marie) through the birth of my daughter in Santiago, Chile, nearly twenty years later.

On my last trip to London, my daughter, now 13, was still young enough to appreciate bedtime stories, and I told her that Aunt Marie was the greatest master storyteller of all time. I remembered the beautiful, exciting world she had created for me as a girl, and was thrilled for Justine to share my experience. Not long after Marie went up to Justine’s bedroom, I began to hear loud bangs, crashes and shouts. I went upstairs to find Marie throwing her hands in the air and leaping around the room delivering a full warzone soundtrack for her story, as Justine listened wide-eyed and intent from her bed, resplendent in the gorgeous new pyjamas Aunt Marie had given her. The stories had changed, but in Justine’s eyes I saw the same fascination I had felt as a girl basking in Marie’s attention.

Marie really was the greatest master storyteller of all time, there is no doubt. She could have written novels, poems or plays and enraptured the world with the gift of her written and spoken words. But Marie chose to devote her gift to bringing the attention of the world to the innocent victims of war. Even as her reporting grew so much more dangerous and intense, and the damage to her body and soul became manifest, she never forgot how to capture the imagination of a young girl, and she never stopped believing in the importance of a little girl’s dream. I hope and believe that Marie will continue to inspire young women everywhere, not only as they read about her dedication and talent, but as they dream of the difference just one little girl can make in this world.

Cat Colvin

March 2012

Marie in Amman, Jordan, 1991.

Photograph by Simon Townsley.

Basra – blitzed and battered, but not beaten

25 January 1987

Marie Colvin sends the first front-line report from inside Basra, Iraq’s besieged city.