“I used to run into Brink regularly in my frequent trips up to the Gender Institute in Schermerhorn Extension, and we would talk about university politics, his plans for programs at the Center for Palestine Studies, and sometimes, even, the books we were writing.  It was always an immense pleasure because he was intensely interested in ideas but leavened every conversation with his understated humor. He had an idea that the Center should do more on the Arts and drew me into programs on Palestinian theater and performance that reminded me why Columbia on its best days can draw people together across disciplinary boundaries and can undertake projects of real political importance.  Brink's enthusiasm for the Center was infectious, part of what I came to recognize as his steady commitment to both scholarship and to justice. I miss him.”

“Brink hired me at ​Columbia in 2016, just after I'd finished an MA ​the Kevorkian Center. ​All of a sudden, my work inbox looked like the syllabus of ​Problems and ​Methods or ​Zachary ​Lockman’s ​History of ​Modern ​Egypt. ​It was intimidating to be surrounded by all these scholars ​I admired, to write to them with small questions or asks. ​Brink’s generosity with his time​ and his genuine interest in what ​I thought gave me the courage to do the job. ​He took me on walks around campus, introducing me to people as we went and — without me realizing it — gave me the information ​I needed to do my job well. ​He taught me the history of our part of ​Columbia, how people and units were connected, and who would help. ​Brink always said yes in a sea of no’s. ​He encouraged me to develop programming and trusted me to pull it off. ​He bought and cared for plants in our suite, proudly hung every poster ​Nas designed for CPS on his office door, hosted community gatherings at his family home, and took up every opportunity he could to learn and speak about Palestine.”

"Victory

There is this essay Brink wrote, which has not gained sufficient attention (did Brink get sufficient attention?) and speaks, it seems to me, volumes — archives and libraries — about Brink, his way of thinking, his character and his way of being. With great modesty, Brink entitled that essay “Notes on Transliteration.” He elaborates there on what he called “techniques of the ‘trans,’ of the relations and movements between languages.” Brink says there that he found translation daunting (Brink didn’t always recognize his own worth, he certainly downplayed his accomplishments, always looking to others, listening with an acute ear and sustained attention). He was looking to reflect on a “minor practice,” one by way of which he sought “to avoid the dangerous traditore in traduttore.”

It would seem like an exaggeration to say that much about Brink gets conveyed in this essay. And yet, the movement of languages and across languages — the sheer brilliance of what was, for him, a kind diplomatic excellence, a superb “technique of the ‘trans’” — the minor practices, the small letters and diacritics, the script and its shapes, behind which great things are hidden or revealed, and the scrupulous avoidance of betrayal, which is to say, the steadfast loyalty Brink demonstrated everyday with regard to texts and artifacts, causes, cultures and above all peoples — these certainly begin to draw a good number of components in the memory theater, the space of remembrance that we ourselves have begun to build, in the midst of growing devastation, with and for Brink.

I’ve said this on other occasions but I’m happy — and also sad, so very sad — to repeat it here. I do draw solace from the repetition as mourning demands repetition. Brink, I couldn’t help but notice, acknowledged only two kinds of events. For him there were “victories” and then there were “good signs.” I was fortunate to find myself at Brink’s side on a number of occasions, a number of events that required Brink’s singular “techniques of the ‘trans’.” These were moments where moving, moving languages, from persuasion to affirmation, from reaction to invention, was necessary and Brink excelled at it. I confess to finding it difficult to recall the victories. Perhaps everything that happened over the years was nothing but a succession of good signs, rather than indisputable successes, let alone victories. Yet Brink was surely persistent in announcing a success that remains elusive, an unfathomable future, one harder and harder to imagine. One thing I do know. Brink’s way of being-in-the-world, not to mention, his being-in-the-university constituted an indisputable victory and a good sign. What kind of victory? It might be quaint, not to mention pedantic (two things Brink wasn’t) to mention Seneca here, although God knows we need a good dose of Stoicism these days. I know, moreover, that I am nowhere near what is required when invoking or choosing a model. And who today can find one? But what Seneca says, in a letter aptly entitled “On the Blush of Modesty” (one thing, to repeat, Brink had plenty of), struck me as worth holding onto, worth aspiring to, and particularly so when having had the good fortune of knowing Brink, of witnessing his multiple “techniques of ‘trans’” on many occasions. Let us call it Brink’s victory, since it is, regardless of what we ourselves are capable of. “Choose a master,” Seneca writes, “whose life, conversation, and soul-expressing face have satisfied you; picture him always to yourself as your protector or your pattern. For we must indeed have someone according to whom we may regulate our characters; you can never straighten that which is crooked unless you use a ruler.”"

“I had the great privilege of working closely with Brink on revitalizing the Islamic Studies program at the Middle East Institute. He was an erudite and meticulous scholar who cared deeply about Islamic Studies at Columbia. As co-founder of the Center for the Study of Muslim Societies, he loved bringing faculty together from across the university for conversations and events. He never got bogged down by bureaucracy, always keeping the focus on our research, students, and his deep appreciation of carpets! He was a dear friend, and I miss him greatly. Columbia will not be the same without him.”

"I worked with Brink mostly as one administrator to another. To me, he was an exemplary scholar, absent-minded and devoted to his students and his scholarship, as professors should be, but also level-headed and devoted to his colleagues, as administrators should be.  Rigorous, kind, joyful, curious, modest and principled, fortunately for us all, he leaves a legacy of students and colleagues who strive to follow that example.”

"As Brink had his office at the extension building to Schrmerhorn (where my office is), I used to bump into him on a weekly bases while using the elevator of his building, escaping the usually overloaded elevator of Schermerhorn. Every encounter at the corridor ended up in a great conversation about art and the material world Islam, especially of the culture of the book, or I should rather say the visual culture of ink and paper, and of course about the academic landscape of the field. Short encounters as such, caused by chance and being the results of mundane accidents, turned to be exceptional and having lasting impact because, there, at this corridor, next to the elevator door, he would suggest me a name of a Muslim scholar or any other academic publication, which could lead our rapid conversations, say about weaving carpets, calligraphy, or the Shari'a attitude to photographs and films, into another path of inquiry. Always engaged, always enthusiastic, always ready to rethink possibilities of opening another door for contemplating Islam, Brink was.  

Peace on him."

“I have affectionate and admiring recollections of Brink imprisoned in my memory and feel a great sadness on hearing of his death. He was, apart from being a fine scholar, a sane, shrewd presence on the Columbia campus, a man of sly and wry humour, and courageous and industrious in his steering of the Center for Palestine Studies, an institution that more than ever now needs the support of courageous and industrious people.”

"I met Brink for the first time in Ann Arbor in 1995. I had arrived there in early January accompanied by a blistering snowstorm. For me, the weather never quite improved during the rest of the semester. The cold and bleak days were relieved by the company of several colleagues who would thereafter become close friends - Brink and Karen being two of them. In long conversations, Brink instructed me in the intricacies of Islamic law about which I had much curiosity but little knowledge. I also discovered in him an endearing personality whose warmth and kindness were palpable.
       The friendship was renewed a couple of years later when I began my stint in the Anthropology department at Columbia. I then discovered another trait in his personality - a readiness to accept institutional responsibility even when the job was formidable or unpleasant. During his years at Columbia, he was Chair, DGS and DUS in both Anthropology and MESAAS departments, tackling knotty issues, mediating in divisive debates and smoothening ruffled egos. His kindness towards students was quite amazing. I know of cases where students guilty of what I thought were unpardonable lapses were let off by Brink in the belief that they deserved another chance. He was usually right in his judgment. One foreign student told me how Brink would visit her in hospital when she was suddenly taken ill and had no one else to help her.
       The other remarkable element in Brink's personality was an unflinching intellectual and moral integrity. At a particularly difficult moment in the history of the MESAAS department, Brink did not hesitate to take a strongly critical public position against one of his closest friends who had made untrue statements about his colleagues. He also took a leading part in setting up the Center for Palestine Studies at Columbia - the only such centre in the United States. His political statements were never loud; they did not seek attention or acclaim but were deeply thought out and resolute.
         Brink was an enthusiastic but discerning observer of politics. One of the rituals I became part of during my Columbia years was watching the unfolding results on election night with Brink, Karen and their daughters in their living room. If I am not mistaken, I was there for six presidential elections between 2000 and 2020, walking home in the early hours of the morning, sometimes joyfully, at other times crestfallen. Thankfully, I wasn't there in 2024.
         Some ten years ago, when I was thinking of retiring from Columbia, one of the first persons from whom I sought advice was Brink. He heard me out, expressed his disappointment that I might be leaving for good, but endorsed my reasons. Looking back, I cannot thank him enough for supporting me: it was just the right time to leave Columbia, an institution from which I had gained a great deal but which was on the precipice of a gigantic crisis. I did not have Brink's commitment to institutional responsibility.”

“I will always remember Brink for his openness, his optimism, his practicality, and his demeanor, which was always positive and engaging. He was the driving force behind so much of the work we did for nearly the entire time I was at Columbia, at the Middle East Institute, the Center for Palestine Studies, and in other spheres. There was no one who was easier to work with than Brink. Whether offering his home as a place for all those involved in the field to meet socially, or dealing with the crises that came our way, he was always a calm and reassuring presence. The range of Brink's scholarly interests was phenomenal, as was the breadth of his curiosity about every aspect of Middle Eastern and Islamic societies. We have lost a great scholar, and a faithful friend, who will be sorely missed by all of us.”

“Professor Brinkley Messick combined pathbreaking scholarship with rare thoughtfulness. In The Calligraphic State and Sharīʿa Scripts, he introduced new ways of understanding the Sharīʿa as both a body of knowledge and a scholarly habitus, illuminating with great clarity its textuality, materiality, and pedagogical practices. He taught us that to read these traditions is to enter a dynamic world of authority, interpretation, and community—bringing anthropologists closer to texts and textual scholars closer to anthropology. No less significant was his presence as a mentor: he took careful and patient interest in his students, guiding them with kindness, attentiveness, and unfailing encouragement. Students and colleagues alike valued his sensitivity, humility, and friendship. His lifelong commitment to the liberation of Palestine found lasting institutional expression in his co-founding of the Center for Palestine Studies at Columbia University, a testament to his vision of scholarship as inseparable from justice. He was a brilliant and generous scholar, and I feel profoundly blessed to have known him.”

“RIP Professor Brinkley Messick

A phenomenal scholar, devoted teacher and institution-builder, who knew how to navigate the Columbia labyrinth. Brink saved many graduate students from dropping out, and kept several Columbia institutes from imploding. An inveterate defender of Palestine and founder of the Center for Palestine Studies. A wonderful raconteur — stories of 1950s Ohio, 1960s Morocco and 1970s Yemen.  An impressive vinyl collection, from Little Stevie Wonder to Hamid Zahir (“where’s the best place to hear snare drums in New York?” he randomly asked at a faculty dinner.)

An advocate and lover of things Islamic. My enduring memories of him: 1/ Brink giving a lecture at a podium, speaking softly and all along stroking the manuscripts that he was translating. 2/ Brink’s annual spring ritual wherein he and his grad students would bring out his beautiful collection of Persian & Moroccan carpets, and air them out on Riverside Park. Passersby would wonder at the beautiful tapestry.”

“As many of my generation, I read Brinkley Messick’s The Calligraphic State in awe as a graduate student at UChicago. Though centering Ibb and a series of juridical texts, Brink opened up a world of synoptic, radial connections outwards and inwards across the Muslim world. I was lucky to become his colleague, to serve on search committees, programs, workshops, and the foundation of the Center for the Study of Muslim Societies which was, at least, the third institution that bore the fruits of Brink’s labor at Columbia. Somewhere in there, I learned that I had spent many years in Dayton Ohio where he was born and that became a nice way to re-orient my portrait of Brink (Yemen, Morocco and Princeton accounted). I have learned from him for the entirety of my academic life and I cherish the lessons he has taught. May his script always remain legible.”

“How to fathom the loss of Brinkley Messick? At our celebration of his retirement from Columbia a year ago as we were losing too suddenly our dear colleague to illness, I spoke as a colleague, friend, and comrade about his institutional legacy. I thanked him for showing me how as individuals we could make our home in the university and transform it through our scholarly passions and political commitments. He created forums to bring together communities. He did so in a self-effacing way--quietly, calmly, and generously.  With steady vision and unbounded optimism, Brinkley Messick shepherded the Anthropology Department in my first years at Columbia. He developed Islamic Studies through the Middle East Institute. He realized a long-time dream of founding a Center for the Study of Muslim Societies. He was devoted to seminars like Ifriqiyya and the Shariah Workshop that brought scholars from across the country to Columbia. This was before the gates were locked.

On an institutional level, but not only, what meant the most to me personally was his constancy and integrity around the question of Palestine.  He didn’t have to embrace this cause; all his scholarship was on Yemen and Morocco. He came from Ohio. But he did so with dedication and spirit. In the early 2000s, after the Israeli onslaught in Jenin, we called on Columbia to divest from companies that produced military equipment used by Israel against Palestinians. Brink testified in front of the Committee on Responsible Investing. We were shut down immediately, foreshadowing the intensification of the Palestine exception to human rights, free speech, and academic freedom that we live with now. Brink found legal loopholes to continue bringing up  issues of justice in university forums. But then he began to wonder why we had to be reactive, always protesting after the fact. Why not turn it around and do something positive? Could we connect Columbia to our Palestinian colleagues?  He helped found a Center for Palestine Studies. It was the first in any North American university. It honored the legacy of Edward Said, who taught at Columbia for 40 years. Its mission was to support scholarship on Palestine and the cultural creativity of Palestinian artists, filmmakers, and playwrights. I was puzzled that Brink’s favorites in the arts were the play-readings that involved students and faculty. Until I remembered that he loved texts. Most transformative for him was his first and only trip to Palestine in connection with the CPS project Nakba Files. He never tired of showing people photographs of  his serendipitous meeting with a mufti in the Shari’a Court of Jerusalem.

Above all, Brink was a scholar. He was immersed in a scholarly tradition that is too rare today. He carried his laptop and notebooks in a satchel, off to work in Avery or Butler every morning. His startling contribution to the field of Islamic studies and historical anthropology is to have demonstrated--through his formidable and deep scholarly study of a treasure trove of legal archives and texts that he discovered in the highlands of Yemen—now tragically torn apart by war--as well as fieldwork among living legal scholars in the Zaydi tradition in this one place where the shari’a survived as a guide long after it was shrunken and codified elsewhere with the emergence of modern nation-states and secular governance, how it was that for centuries the shari’a was a rich, lively, agonistic, intellectually supple guide to life in the Muslim world.   For anthropology, what was most fresh was Messick’s proposition that the anthropologist can and should be a reader of texts, not just an observer of everyday social life. His last book, Shari’a Scripts was the fruit of decades of careful translation and analysis, confirming that indeed anthropologists read texts in ways different from others.

His work on Islamic law challenged conventional scholarship by both historicizing it (showing how dynamic processes such as colonialism and modernist projects across the Middle East, as well as the advent of printed religious and legal texts, as he showed in his first book, The Calligraphic State, transformed the character of Islamic law as a form of knowledge and practice) and, on the basis of his field research in Yemen, by bringing to light the actual practices of jurists and local level interpreters who use religious/legal texts in the everyday.

I came to understand the core conceptual distinction he made between the archive and the library in a new way when a group of us last year, faculty and students, took on responsibility for his office when he could not. Humbled by the archive he had amassed and overwhelmed by his staggering library, we looked for good homes for these. His books on the Middle East and Islamic Studies went to students and to expand the library of Columbia’s Global Center | Amman. Some joined the books donated by our former colleague Rashid Khalidi to the new MESAAS library. His Arabic volumes filled gaps in Columbia’s and New York University’s collections. Most touching, after wrangling with DHL and thanks to support from the Anthropology Department, we managed to donate his Anthropology books to the Francisca Keller Library of the Social Anthropology Program at the National Museum of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro that is being reconstructed after a devastating fire that had burnt it to the ground. His extensive archive of Yemeni texts, along with notes, went to the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton where he had been a visiting fellow. They may find a final home at Firestone Library, at Princeton University, where he received his PhD.

Brinkley Messick made homes for so many of us within the Columbia community.  In these dark times, we feel his absence keenly.“