On September 2, 2014, journalist Steven Joel Sotloff was murdered by a member of the Islamic State of Iraq and Greater Syria (ISIS). The brutal event was captured on video and then distributed for the whole world to see. Today, on the 10-year anniversary of Sotloff’s death, Marc Marginedas—a fellow reporter who was in captivity in Syria, as well—remembers Sotloff’s courage, humor, and relentless quest for justice, despite the incredible dangers they’d experienced.
[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]It didn’t surprise me to see the expression of acceptance on Steven Sotloff’s face. He knew very well his fate—that he was consuming the last instants of his short but productive life. Two weeks before that, he had witnessed James Foley’s execution, and he had been presented by the leader of our captors, Mohammed Emwazi, the infamous man that the press called “Jihadi John,” as the next prisoner to be assassinated. “I’m sure that you know by now who I am, and why I’m appearing before you,” he started saying calmly, before repeating the propaganda statement against his country that our captors forced him to read before his demise. But that was Steven, my best friend in captivity in Syria, my dearest and most admired colleague during the hardship. Over six months, I had witnessed how this young and brilliant journalist, 14 years younger than me, had dealt with the harrowing situation he was put in with serenity, efficiency, honesty, and enormous bravery, becoming an example for me and, very likely, for others.
On paper, we didn’t have so much in common. He was American, I was European; he was Jewish, I was Catholic. But our bond was based on something more important than ideologies or cultural backgrounds. It was about values. Steven had a strong sense of justice, believed in professional excellency and in establishing links with people with different upbringings, qualities that I deeply admired. And on top of that, he had something that made him very reliable in captivity: He wasn’t ready to maximize his chances of survival at the expense of others, something that some people could feel tempted to do in extreme and challenging environments, where the best but also the worst of human nature always surfaces.
In fact, there was a critical moment in mine and Steven’s captivity, but one I still remember very clearly. Due to fighting between the Islamic State and the Syrian rebel factions, we had to leave the place that we called “The Mansion,” a big house that our captors wanted to convert into their version of Guantanamo Bay for its prisoners. We were first sent temporarily to a very precarious and exposed location that we called “The Office.” The situation was indeed dangerous. There were bombings every day by the Syrian airforce, and we could hear the shootings coming from the battles between the armed militias not so far from us. Our guards were busy fighting, so we were given very little food: a piece of bread and processed cheese in the morning, and a few dates in the evening. We were more hungry than usual.
One night, Steven noticed that one of us took more dates than he was supposed to, a behavior that we had already identified in that particular person in the past. The following night, Steven stood up, went to the centre of the chamber and said that “this” was “not going to happen” in that room as long as he was there. He stated in a firm voice that, from then on, the person who delivered the food would make sure that everybody got an equal ration. It was very important that he took this step. Unlike most of us, weakened by months of hunger and deprivation, Steven, an experienced sportsman, was strong and big. With his physical presence, he could deter anybody who was trying to abuse power within the group.
Read More: Murdered Journalist Sought to Give Voice to the Voiceless
It was amazing that Steven, a typical guy who liked hanging out with his buddies, enjoyed my sense of humor, which I imagine was very far away from his universe of friends and acquaintances in Miami. But he did, amazingly. I remember how we burst into laughter one afternoon during one of the Spanish sessions that we used to have, so he could keep his brain alive even in captivity and improve his language skills. He couldn’t pronounce correctly the word “café” (coffee), and instead he said something like “cafey.” I told him that Anglo-Saxons, when speaking Spanish, always have problems with stressing the “é,” and that he should make an effort to correct that mistake. Otherwise, he would sound like July Andrews singing “Shady Dame from Seville” in the film Victor Victoria, saying “oley” instead of “olé.” We couldn’t stop laughing for at least 20 minutes.
All joking aside, Steven dealt with the situation very skillfully. He knew that his religion made him even more of a target in the eyes of our kidnappers. They kept on beating him to force him to confess that he was Jewish, but he remained firm and never lost his face—never told them.
He knew very well what to do in such situations and had learnt the lesson that as a hostage, you shouldn’t even share controversial details of your private life with colleagues who could eventually be put under pressure. And indeed he did. He only told me that he was Jewish, holding an Israeli passport as well as an American one, when it was safe for him—when it was clear that I was going to be the first one to be released after a few days. Later on, I learnt that those times when he told us that he was too sick to eat where the days that he was observing Jewish fasting dates, and that he used to pray subtly, without us noticing it.
I now know where Steven’s sense of justice and faith came from. He got it from his parents, Arthur and Shirley, who gave—and are still giving—back to journalism despite their 10 years of grief. He got it from being the grandson of Holocaust survivors from Auschwitz, in particular being inspired by his grandmother’s Holocaust stories. Through his family, he was encouraged to be the voice for the weaker who had none.
I will never forget Steven. In captivity, I promised him that we always would remain friends. Unfortunately, the only thing I can do for him, his family, and the rest of hostages who died, is to make sure that his and their memory will remain alive. And to ensure that full justice is achieved, not just with the individuals who kept us in jail, but with those murky forces that contributed to the creation and expansion of the Islamic State, a terrorist group that has brought violence and terror worldwide.
For more information about Steven Sotloff, please visit www.2livesfoundation.org.
