Happy Friday, though I'm afraid mine won't be so happy.
I'm Annalisa (Nalis) Merelli, geopolitics reporter, and I just lost an irreplaceable mentor. Xana Antunes, Quartz's formidable executive editor and a journalism star as bright as they come, died this week of pancreatic cancer. Which, as she would put it in her distinct British accent, "is a bit shit, isn't it?"
(Courtesy Newswomen's Club of New York)
The first time I worked with Xana directly, it was on the biggest project I had ever undertaken. Right before the first of our long, weekly meetings to track my progress, I asked my friend and colleague Sarah Todd how Xana was as an editor. "Oh," Sarah replied, "she's the gold standard."
She was. For many months, she navigated me through a complex investigation of maternal mortality in the US. She helped me shape my narrative, pointed me towards the places that needed excavating, and dug me out of the many rabbit holes I fell down. "It's totally fine if you end up using only about 10% of your reporting in the story," she told me once, as I tried to fit an overwhelming amount of information into a few paragraphs. "You learned a lot from the rest."
Xana talked me out of panic and self-doubt: she wasn't exactly encouraging, she just projected this matter-of-fact conviction that I was capable of what she expected of me. Who was I to question that?
As a non-native speaker, I am always conscious of my use of English. Sometimes, I just speak, or write, funny. Going over edits for a feature, as I was about to add a sentence to the piece, I said it out loud. I paused, worried my wording would sound odd. "Is that how you say it?" I asked Xana, dubious. "Well," she said, "that's how you say it, isn't it? That's fine."
She taught me not to apologize for who I am, that my voice is good enough. And even if it weren't, it's all I have. Isn't it?
(Quartz)
Over Xana's career, she guided, advised, and coached dozens of journalists. Here are some of the lessons she taught Quartz's reporters and editors:
The importance of trust. I learned from Xana that the best way to deal with imposter syndrome is to trust the people who helped you get where you are. The men and women who trained you, hired you, taught you, or coached you didn't make their decisions on a whim—they know what you can do and they know that you can learn the rest. When someone who exudes confidence and wisdom supports you, that confidence is contagious. —Susan Howson, news editor
Prioritizing people. Xana had a knack for making herself available to people without letting it undermine her other work. Because of her, I manage my coworker face time closely—never turning down requests to chat, trying not to procrastinate on tough conversations, and aiming to make every talk truly a two-way street. I'm also honest about what's on my plate and when I'll be in the right headspace to have the best possible discussion. Xana taught me that it's OK to marry professional gregariousness with a bit of old-fashioned structure. —Kira Bindrim, managing editor
(Quartz)
The power of confidence. A couple months ago, Xana asked for my help in finding photos for that week's membership field guide. As she walked away, she turned around, looked me in the eye, and said, "I have great faith in you, you know" with a knowing smile. It very much felt like a vote of confidence in me that extended deeper than that small task, and I was walking on air for the rest of that day. Hearing those words of assurance from an editor as accomplished as Xana was extremely empowering and comforting. Whether one week from now or ten years from now, her words will be the first thing I think of to ground me in moments of uncertainty. —Tori Smith, editorial assistant
The right way to push. Xana's style of leadership was a magical blend of skeptical support. If she believed you were capable of succeeding, you knew it. If she believed you could succeed in a better way, you knew it too. When we first started working together, I was taken aback at how much she would push me, in her kind yet firm way, to defend my ideas and processes, never once taking an idea at face value, including my proposal to launch a mentorship program at Quartz.
It took me some time to realize that was so I could properly defend myself in the course of carrying out my work. It wasn't necessarily about questioning me—but about getting me to stop questioning myself. It was an alchemy that I'll spend the rest of my career trying to replicate. —Jackie Bischof, deputy news editor
(Quartz)
The art of the agenda-less meeting. In a heroic strike against the tyranny of productivity, Xana never met a meeting she wouldn't cheerfully derail. A typical check-in with her would involve at least 20 minutes of chit-chat about family life, office gossip, random work projects, far-flung ambitions, and current affairs before she returned to the matter at hand.
Xana's zig-zagging conversational style was genuine, but it was also strategic. Watching the way she led meetings made me realize just how much can be gained when you're willing to go off-topic.
She developed personal connections with a wide variety of Quartz staffers, making each individual feel they were her unique personal confidante. She floated new ideas to test out how they'd go over and revise her pitch, or scrap them altogether. She broke news of departing staffers or upcoming reshuffles via a whisper network, letting word spread informally so that no one was too shocked when the official announcement finally came out. And after all that, she'd get down to business, peering over her glasses at you with her trademark mixture of warmth and grit. —Sarah Todd, senior reporter
Have a good weekend, and remember to appreciate the Xanas in your life,
(Quartz)
One of the passions I shared with Xana was Yoko Ono, about whom she once almost wrote a book. My love of Yoko Ono (aka the best Beatle, if you ask me) is actually fairly recent. It stems from The Tea Maker, an essay she wrote remembering John Lennon on the anniversary of his death. It is a lovely, funny domestic tale. "On this day, the day he was assassinated," she writes, "what I remember is the night we both cracked up drinking tea." I find that just so comforting. Because memories that make us laugh through the heartbreak deal a powerful, quintessentially human blow to death. And Xana, you know, she is still making us laugh a whole lot.
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