Herow Zangana
I met Balen in 2002, when I joined VOA with no background in journalism. I was young, uncertain, and completely new to the profession. He was the daily editor at the time, confident, sharp, deeply respected, and he didn’t hesitate to take me under his wing. He taught me everything. He shaped my values, my skills, and the way I understand journalism. He trained me with patience, day after day.
But he didn’t just teach me how to report. He taught me how to believe in journalism. He taught me that truth is sacred, that we must never lie to our audience, and that the responsibility of a journalist is not just to inform, but to serve.
Over the years, we hosted hundreds of programs together. He worked closely with me on my Kurdish, correcting me, encouraging me, guiding me. He introduced me to Sherko Bekas, Nali, Mahwi and Hemin’s poetry, and through them, to a deeper love for my language and culture.
Years later, when I became the web editor, Balen never stopped showing me respect. Even though he was my senior and my teacher, he would send me his articles to review and approve. At first, it felt strange, how could I edit the work of the man who trained me? But he insisted. He asked for feedback, always with sincerity. That humility, that mutual respect was one of the many reasons everyone looked up to him.
Balen had a deep love for detail and storytelling. He didn’t believe in rushing a thought or cutting corners just to make something shorter. He spoke to his audience with care, with context, with full explanations. His articles—and the introductions to his radio and TV programs were often long, because he believed in giving people the full picture. In today’s fast-moving, bite-sized world of social media, I’d sometimes ask him to keep it to 800 or 1000 words. He would smile, shake his head, and argue for more. And after much back and forth, he’d maybe cut a single sentence and then come back to me, grinning: “It’s under 1500 now.” That was Balen—committed to the craft, not the algorithm.
Outside the newsroom, he was more than a mentor. He was family. After I lost my father, Balen became a father figure to me. I turned to him with my personal struggles as much as my professional ones. He never let me down. He always listened. And he always found a way to help.
He had this signature presence calm, thoughtful, and quietly strong. I still imagine him outside the VOA building, cigarette in hand, one hand tucked behind his jacket, calling out to me, “Are you leaving, bawka? Did you bring your car?” And if I said no, I’d take the train, he’d shake his head “I’ll drop you.” I’d protest, saying it was too far for him, and he’d just smile and say, “It’s okay bawki mn, I’m heading the same way anyway.”
On winter mornings, I see him stepping out of his car with a cup of tea, no jacket on, looking at me and joking, “Why are you wearing that big coat? It’s not Alaska!”
He also had a rare emotional sensitivity. I sat next to him for years, and no matter how hard I tried to hide my sadness on difficult days, he would notice. He’d look at me and gently ask, “Are you okay, bawki mn?” I’d say yes, trying to brush it off, but he wouldn’t buy it. He’d say, “Let’s go out. We need to talk.” Then he’d invite me for a cigarette break even though he knew I didn’t smoke, just to get me away from my desk, just to give me space to breathe and talk. That was Balen: someone who noticed, who cared, and who acted.
He was the soul of our newsroom. When any of us faced a challenge, personal or professional, we turned to Balen. And he would listen quietly and say with a soft smile, “Just have faith in God Bawka.”
His passing is not only a personal loss, it is a loss for Kurdish journalism, for the free press, and for everyone who had the honor of knowing him. His voice, his integrity, and his love for his job and truth will live on in the people he trained, the stories he told, and the wisdom he left behind.
I miss him terribly. Losing him felt like losing my father all over again. But his presence is still with me—in my work, in my words, and in the values, he gave me.
Rest in peace, kaka Balen,You are truly irreplaceable.
