Bill Sughrua

Another email to Michael:

Hello. Hi there. Saludos. Greetings. Hey there. Hey. Un saludo. With one of those words or phrases, Michael, our emails to each other have always begun, and for this present email, I’ve pulled out all those terms. As you know, Michael, we haven’t seen each in person for over two-and-a-half years because during this time I’ve been on leave from the Facultad at the UABJO and outside of Mexico with my family. However, I’ve had frequent and extensive email correspondence with you and Angeles with regard to the various articles and book chapters that we’ve been working on together during these past two-plus years. Well, “working on together” is a ‘euphemism’, as it applies to me -- because my involvement in your and Angeles’ projects simply started with me as a very interested reader who dabbled with surface things. I still remember the moment as I sat in the library in Canterbury, outside the wind howling and sleet hitting the windows, and I opened your email and read: “Hi there. Angeles and I have been talking. With all the work you’ve been doing, we want to make you co-author. We’re serious about this.” And from that email, the byline Clemente, Higgins & Sughrua emerged. As I told you back then, this was a very kind, gracious, and selfless gesture on your and Angeles’ part, because my so-called “work” on the projects was, and still is, merely as a very interested and finicky reader, one who (as Don has jokingly scolded me on more than one occasion) borders on the downright neurotic. It all has been such a fun ride.

Fun but intellectually enriching -- as has been our other academic work together. Do you remember, Michael, the October 2008 international symposium on ethnography that Angeles and the Cuerpo Academico of the Facultad organized? You, Angeles, and I presented a collective paper that attempted to profile and illustrate experimental narrative writing as a type of research repertoire to dialogue with an ethnographic portrait approach. I remember the roundtable discussion was very favorable and enthusiastic towards the ethnographic portrait ‘side’ of the paper (you and Angeles) and bewildering if not completely negative for the experimental narrative stuff (me). Nonetheless, you spent your allotted time of the presentation defending me and the experimental narrative – just as both you and Angeles had done on my behalf on various previous occasions. And after we had finished our collective presentation at that ethnography symposium, and as we stood up from the table, you told me, “Nothing at all to worry about.  Everything’s okay. You know, it’s just a matter of space and time.” And you continued, saying, “Space. You just need to put something in the introduction, opening up some space in the introduction, in order to say directly what the experimental stuff is for. No problem.”  I was going to ask you about what you meant by “time”, but you then immediately said, “And ‘time’.  Well, about that additional stuff you’ll put in the intro section, the people’ll have to take the ‘time’ to read it.”

I thought that was funny. It made the day for me. I mean, it was really clear, direct, and practical advice, but also funny.  A few weeks later that same Fall, we all (the Cuerpo Academico) were up at a university in a somewhat northernmost country.  Each of us was slated to give a presentation, one immediately after the other, in a three-hour meeting with the faculty members of this university. I remember, right before this was to start, we were all huddled around a table in an office area, checking over the PowerPoint presentations on our laptops, and chatting. There was a notable pause, and for some reason we all fell silent. I would have to check with Angeles and Mario, but my recollection is that we were just cold. Two or three of us were warming our hands on the electric space-heater near the table. It was about 2 minutes before the meeting was to start. And you suddenly said, “Well, let’s get this ‘dog and pony show’ going.” We all laughed; and that set us in the groove for what turned out to be an engaging collective presentation and follow up discussion with the language faculty of the university  --  but not without the chuckles and the hip and jazzy attitude a-la-Michael.

It has been a really good ride -- and, as I mentioned above, really moving and inspiring. From you and Angeles, I’ve learned a lot about postcolonialism, coeval ethnography, the crossing of epistemological borders, and the like; and I’ve also been very inspired about the way you and Angeles carefully and meticulously develop the ethnographic portraits of your research participants, such as the young Triqui woman and her family in “Yolanda’s Portrait” [main title] (2010) as well as the students in the creative writing course at the Ixcotel prison in “Thanks for the Blanket you Lent Me on the First Night” [main title] (currently under final review at a journal).  The way you and Angeles have written so compassionately, humanely, and respectfully about your research participants  --  to be blunt, it just blows me away.  It leaves me in awe.  You and Angeles, the perfect couple, the couple sharing an internal glow, perfect and complete ‘soul mates’, co-authors and researchers who have shared an authentically felt identification with the people they write about. 

In all these recent months, Michael, we’ve continued to be in touch -- regarding two other projects, one in which we’re also working with Don, and the other in which we’re also working with both Don and Mario. A few months into this collaborative work, I opened an email from you, Michael. It was a type of chill-out space within our fun bantering ‘back and forth’ about things to be glossed, biblios to be checked, and so on and so forth, and abstracts to be reduced, and a deadline chasing us down, and so on. In the midst of this, you wedged a space. Your email on that night didn’t mention anything about the ongoing projects. It simply read … no more, no less: “Hi. How’re you doing? How’s things?”  That three-line email has really resonated with me. Its directness, its simplicity, its sincerity, the vast ‘whiteness’ or empty space that surrounds all sides of those three lines, its “tip of the iceberg” effect (sorry for the literary cliché)   --  all that speaks to your greatness as a person, Michael. 

Seriously:  receiving such ‘asides’ from you in our email correspondence; working with you and Angeles on the projects over these two-and-a-half years; experiencing a “politics of affinity” (to borrow one of your phrases) with you and Angeles over the ‘performativity’ in research; having always received your and Angeles’ moral support and encouragement for my own work and ideas; and of course maintaining an epistolary academic relationship with you, Michael -- yes, it has been such a wonderful and inspiring journey. It has been really great. Words fail me as I try to articulate my gratitude. Just let me say: many thanks. 

And thanks for your email about three weeks ago. This was in acknowledgement of the latest project, the first of the two projects referred to above, the one you, Angeles, Don, and I did. I had written you, the day before, in order to confirm that (on behalf of you, Angeles, and Don) I had sent in the proofread copy to the respective editor. And in your reply email to me, you comment, at the very end: “That was a lot of effort for 1,000 words.” I really liked that line. It’s vintage ‘you,’ Michael. It’s a discourse that is direct, funny, ‘mock’ poker-faced, and hip -- but also, very considerate and sincere, sending thanks all around to all those involved.  And now to you, Michael, the friend, colleague, and mentor to me and so many others … thanks again.  Heartfelt thanks. 

Very best, 

Bill.