Managing Leadership^®

When I first met Hakan, it had been a year since he learned that he had cancer. He had already lost a lung to surgery and his hair to chemotherapy. Over the next three years, the disease relentlessly pursued its course – sometimes slowed, sometimes momentarily baffled by the medical measures employed against it, but always finding a way forward. Each time Hakan and I got together, the effects of this advance played an increasingly prominent role. At first, we would meet in coffee shops or restaurants in various of the many exciting, bustling neighborhoods in Istanbul – Taksim Square, Baghdad Avenue, Istiklal Avenue. Once, he took me on a tour of his alma mater, the famous Bogazici University. We strolled the wooded hillside campus, pausing every few steps, pretending to admire the striking views of the Bosporus while he caught his breath. As time went by, we were able to meet less frequently, and when we did, it was at his home, where he became progressively less mobile. For the last week, it was at the hospital, where I was fortunate to be present when he emerged momentarily from a sedated slumber. He smiled in recognition and gripped my arm. Early Tuesday morning he passed on – mercifully, in his sleep.

But when we sat down three years ago at the coffee shop overlooking Taksim Square, it was to talk about other things. We had learned that we shared certain ideas and interests in our professional pursuits, and we wanted to talk about those. Hakan was a curious, engaging, active person, and I learned quickly that he possessed an intellect that was at once powerfully penetrating and creative, and guilelessly focused and honest. This was paired with a character that was deeply gracious and profoundly influenced by and inquisitive about the world around him. He was interested in learning about my projects, and he described his. Yes, he told me about his cancer, also – but that was only because he felt that his obviously untimely baldness called for the subject to be addressed openly, in order to be done with it and to be able to return freely to the real topic at hand.

The cancer was a factor in his life, of course, but there were others. They each, in their own way, either contributed to or constrained his plans, and he thus measured and paid each of them the attention they deserved. Hakan knew, for example, that the time remaining to him was further restricted by the varying degrees of clarity he was able to muster between bouts with both the tumors embracing him from within, and with the various treatments unleashed inside of him to battle them. So, he frankly incorporated this factor into his calculations. And he kept working on his plans. They were the primary factor in his life. In the time I knew him, he published one highly regarded and successful book on career management which he co-authored with a friend, and another, which was an updated compilation of a hugely popular series of columns he had written over the years. He has also completed another – a brilliant commentary on various aspects of life in Istanbul and Turkey – which is due to be published in the next few weeks, and he was working on a fourth.

The last time I saw Hakan in his home was about two weeks before he died. He told me how the publishing process for his third book was going, and he talked to me about the project he was working on currently. He also carefully and meticulously inquired into how my current writing was developing, making me elaborate the outline and progress, and offering thoughtful, intelligent suggestions. In recent months, the cancer had been taking a larger role as a topic in our conversations, and it did in this visit, also. He spoke frankly and directly about it. I think he knew he wouldn’t be finishing his fourth book. But he nevertheless looked forward to the next time when both his pain and his pain killers might give him a bit of a rest, leaving him with sufficient lucidity and focus to do some more work on it.

The meaning of Hakan’s life is not to be found in his death, nor in the manner of his dying. He persistently strove to use all of his time as constructively as possible, whether for the benefit of his work, his friends, or his family. The cancer was an inconvenience in this respect, inasmuch as it encroached on his ability to make the best use of his time. Mind you, he didn’t affect to be dismissive of his disease; he acknowledged and respected it, but he then went about his business with his typical discipline, graceful and elegant intelligence, and friendly and respectful poise.

In the end, Hakan did lose his battle with cancer, but he never surrendered to it.

In his writing, as well as in his influence and his relationships, we remember and maintain him.

Jim Stroup
Istanbul
27 January 2006