Justice Shafiur Rahman died on October 28, 2021. Following is a tribute written by his son.
It was a bright sunny day. A gentle breeze was blowing. The rain and dark clouds from the previous day were gone. It was the kind of day when he would have put on a white towel shirt and gardening pants, clippers poking a hole in his pockets and stepped out to prep, plant and prune in his garden. We laid him down, prayed to Allah that he be united in jannah with those of the family who had departed. We took him to a beautiful lush green garden, where pathways were lined with spreading oak trees and ample shade. His final resting place was ready. He would have noted that the soil in Florida is sandy and does not hold nutrients very well. It requires constant nourishment. We left him there, in the company of children of Abraham.
Knowledge was the nourishment to his soul. To him, the pursuit of knowledge and education was the ultimate goal of life. He was a voracious reader and an avid notetaker. He would take us to the library, have us read books then write a summary of what we had learnt. Watching television was not an idle pastime in the household. Every activity was followed by a time of discussion and reflection. Over his lifetime, he amassed a collection of handwritten diaries and notebooks. Meticulous and tiny handwriting, which later in life, required him to use a magnifying glass to read. We grew up around a well-stocked library. Everything from palm-reading to philosophy. Of course, a large section of it was devoted to his hobby – gardening. Nearly two dozen periodicals and newspapers would show up every month which sparked imagination and a quest for knowledge that continues in us, his children, to this date.
He wanted to become a doctor until his colour-blindness came in the way. He wanted to join the Foreign Service for which he earned diplomas in German and French. Despite his outstanding ranking, the civil services board decided that he was ill-suited for that service. He ended up in the District Management Group even though he had a temperament of a philosopher. He called it a ‘burden on the conscience’. Fortunately for him, he found refuge in the judiciary – a role that he was very happy with for the rest of his life. His patience and contentment formed the bedrock of his personality and allowed him to pursue knowledge without distraction.
Personally, he was a judge who did not judge anyone. Professionally, he carried the heavy burden of having to write and deliver judgements under the law. While serving on the bench, he kept his opinions very very close to heart – lest they may be construed as prejudice. He was not a public person. Shunning public appearances, speaking opportunities, he would seek refuge in the quote: ‘a judge speaks only through his judgement’. In his private life, he continued to indulge in long conversations with a very small circle of friends who understood him and who he understood well. I was pleasantly surprised that once he retired, he would share his thoughts and opinions much more openly and widely.
He guarded his family against the public view. However, in May of 1993, just a few months before retirement, his public responsibilities came to a head with his private life. A duty of national importance conflicted with a very private matter of his life. While it surprised many around him, to the family it was expected that he’d choose the former. I never gathered up the courage to ask him the why and how of it.
More than a parent, the loss for me is of my moral compass and a sounding board. A gentle nudging force that would guide me in the right direction no matter how lost I was. I would come to him frustrated, angry, upset and oftentimes clueless and would leave pacified and confident to take on the challenge. He never sought obedience. In fact, he encouraged dissent and contrasting opinions. I would often get entangled in intense arguments with him, only to realize later that my level of empathy and intellect was no match to his. Until his last weeks and days, he and I would discuss everything under the sun. He wanted me to explain cryptocurrency, hedge funds and the impact of drought in California. He would ask me about each fruit tree and flower plant in my garden – often pleading to leave alone a dead-looking tree with the hope that it would come back to life in spring.
My heart is heavy with the thought that you are not coming back. As I say goodbye to you, I know for sure that you would not have wanted me to mourn your death or celebrate your life. I do hope and pray that I can continue to uphold the values that you stood for.
Fahim Shafi
November 2021
Experiences of a Lifetime 