Let me tell you about my friend Michael. Michael and I served together on the Development Committee for the Gandhi Institute, and from the very first day, he brought something you cannot teach. Energy. Real, honest curiosity. He wanted to know how things worked and how we could do them better, and he cared about the mission all the way down to his bones. We shared a passion, the two of us, for finding new and creative ways to raise the money that keeps that vital work going. And working next to someone who lights up like that, well, it makes you light up too. One of my favorite things we ever did together came straight out of Michael's spirit. Every other month, we turned our committee meeting into what we called a Stewardship Soirée. We would gather up some snacks and our lists of donors, and we would sit down and make phone calls. Not to ask for anything. Just to say thank you. Just to tell people they mattered. It was fun and it was collaborative, and it built something between all of us, a little bit of community, and it was one of the most rewarding things we did. And it was Michael who gave us that. He believed in the power of a good story. He knew that if you want people to care, you have to help them feel something, and it was a joy to watch that creative brain of his go to work. In one of the last emails Michael ever sent me, he asked for my feedback on the Annual Appeal. And you know, that is Michael in a nutshell. Right up to the end, he was curious. He was eager to get better. He made me feel safe to tell him exactly what I thought, no worry, no judgment, just two people building something together in the same warm space. That is a gift, and not everybody has it. I am bereft that his life was cut short the way it was. Michael was a beautiful, bright soul who had so much to give, and here is the thing, he gave it. He didn't hold it back. He didn't wait. He gave it. And I carry what he taught me. How to care about people. How to stay curious. How to keep growing and pushing and changing, all the way through. I miss you, Michael. I hope I get to see you on the other side.

Expansive. Kind. Attentive. Warm. I don’t remember a day at the Institute where Michael didn’t check in about something I cared about. It didn’t matter how trivial. It could be the latest fantasy book I read, what sports drama I was following, whether I made it to boxing class… He brought care and compassion to every conversation. He would remember details about your life. He would celebrate wins with you, and sympathize when things went awry. Plenty of times I got grumpy and pessimistic about a volunteer recruitment, or the seemingly endless list of garden tasks. Michael listened and affirmed my feelings. Then he helped me problem-solve. Sometimes that problem-solving included sacrificing his time, which he always did graciously. I still shake my head (with fondness) thinking about us making pretzels for hours in freezing, snowy Buffalo for a cut of the Bills’ concession earnings. I usually saw Michael making things happen behind the scenes - development, coordination, finances. But my favorite memory is when I saw him speak at the Peace Concert in 2025. I slid into my seat, excited to experience a Gandhi Institute event as a community member, not full-time staff member. The music was gorgeous, but what I loved most was getting to hear Michael weave together mission and story so succinctly and beautifully in front of a crow that it made me wonder if he had a theater background I didn’t know about. Michael knew how seriously I took Lord of the Rings, and appreciated a good fantasy narrative. When I reflect on all I love about him, I think about a quote from the Hobbit, “There is more in you of good than you know [...] Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” Michael valued those little pieces of life that help us build beloved community: food in the form of community dinners, cheer in the form of prompts to make us laugh in staff meeting), and song in the form of karaoke and guitar. Michael had so much good in him.

Michael had a way of always getting me to stay behind after our Wednesday staff meetings. To chat about music, or anime, or just life in general. It meant a lot that Mike made such an effort to learn about me, one of our school staff, because Wednesday was one of the only days we could check in. And he remembered things that were important to me. Mike would send me funny or educational video references on my community garden insta account (that no one else used/ that we should use more). His efforts, I assume all selfless, 100% are part of the reason why I feel so close to such a wonderful team of people. Michael was an amazing, thoughtful person and I will miss him so much.

I’ve never met someone like Michael Jones, and I’ll never forget the impact he had on me and others in the few years that I was fortunate enough to know and work with him. In our Gandhi Institute family, Michael and I were like fraternal twins. We joined the team at the same time in late summer of 2022, and my experience was immediately intertwined with his. One of the first things I noticed about Michael was his gentle spirit and warm, sensitive aura. Michael was full of beautiful dualities. He had a loud presence and a beautiful, boisterous laugh that you could hear across the office, and yet he could be so tender and benevolent. His smile and laugh were so bright that they were contagious. They filled the room and made you smile right along with him. Michael and I worked closely together in our roles at the Institute. We were accountability buddies, co-conspirators, and true work siblings. I valued his opinion deeply and often confided in him for professional and personal advice. He was honest, upfront, and above all, caring. He kept our small but mighty team grounded in our nonviolent mission and purpose. He embodied nonviolence in a way that made me want to do the same, like a younger sister who wanted to copy her cool, older brother. We had a lot of meetings together that were equal parts work, asking each other, “Okay, but how are you really doing?” and cracking-up laughing. I was so honored to get to know Michael as a human and friend, not just a colleague. We bonded over music, often discussing hip-hop, R&B, and reggaeton, sharing music and opinions. One day, we debated on and off for the entire day about what constitutes Neo-Soul music and what doesn’t. Michael was an excellent office DJ who could turn an ordinary day into a party. I’d ask him the name of a song so I could add it to my library, and now I have an entire playlist of music I’ve gotten from him over the years. Every time I hear these songs, I’ll forever associate them with Michael and our office jam sessions. Michael often highlighted the importance of self-care and encouraged us to do the same. He was known to “subtly” push a snack toward us when he noticed we hadn’t eaten anything yet that day, remind us to drink water, and encourage us to take care of our bodies. I always admired how he took care of himself, and it inspired me to do the same. One of my favorite rituals between Michael and me involved trail mix. I would eat everything but the raisins, Michael would laugh and tease me about my disdain for them. Eventually, I would just slide the leftover raisins to him, which he would happily eat. It became an exchange that often happened without words. I’ve always been amazed by Michael’s ability to listen, not just to music but to people. He listened to truly understand, reflected back what he’d heard, and often asked follow-up questions to learn more. He had a knack for reading the room and making folks feel seen, heard, and cared for. If I was having a rough day, he would find little ways to check in with me, whether it was a silent, questioning thumbs-up to gauge if I was okay or finding a moment to ask me one-on-one how I was doing. Empathy and compassion came naturally to Michael, and it showed in his facilitation style, his connections with folks, and his undeniable presence. Michael also had a remarkable memory for the details of people’s lives. He would make the rounds, stopping at my desk to check in about that thing he’d heard me briefly mention earlier in our morning meeting. He was really thoughtful like that. Michael was so much fun to be around. When we were both in a rascally mood, we’d sometimes lock eyes and break into laughter, song, little dances, and adlibs. We joked about social media memes, Millennial vs. Gen Z behaviors, and teased one another lovingly. I can remember him leading team activities and making us dance or sing. I’d sometimes be grumpy about it at first, but then I’d give in to the fun Michael regularly curated for us. I’d always end up having a blast, and it would turn my entire day around. Michael meant so much to so many people in our community. He meant so much to me and to this team. I send my deepest condolences and love to Michael’s family, friends, and anyone else who was lucky enough to be in community with him. Michael, I miss and love you deeply. You will always be remembered. You will always be loved. You will always be part of this Beloved Community. Some songs that Michael showed me: Otro Atardecer by Bad Bunny & The Marias Remember Me (Lullaby) from Disney’s “Coco” Stand by Me by Prince Royce Prototype by Outkast

Michael was the first person I worked with upon my return to the institute. An opportunity for a virtual book group arose, and we were both interested in taking that on. Since I’d never worked with Michael before, I was excited for the chance to learn from him. He was patient as I figured out new systems and encouraged me when I experienced a couple of setbacks. When he checked in before and after each book group session, I knew he was really listening. He had this incredible habit of reflecting back what he heard. It’s such a simple technique to stay present with the other person. “I heard this…is that what you mean?” It gave me the chance to think and confirm or add a little more nuance. When we chatted about non-work related things—a big part of how we connect at the Gandhi Institute—it was often about food, music, boardgames, and shows. During our Wednesday morning check ins, we'd all play games that pushed our competitive and collaborative muscles. He accepted my trash talk and delivered witty responses that had us all screaming with laughter. One lunch, we shared and watched our favorite anime intros and theme songs. Whatever your music taste, he'll sit and listen. He was fun, thoughtful, and so very kind. Below are some of the Japanese animations and board games he introduced me to. Enjoy them with friends, as we have done. Anime Witch Hat Atelier Apothecary Diaries Delicious in Dungeon Boardgames Loud Librarians Spots Gloomhaven Alexandria

Let me tell you what I learned about Michael, and what he taught me that will stay part of me forever. Michael had a dynamic range from serious to playful, and from quiet to boistrous. His big laugh would elevate everyone in the room, and when he would raise his hand to contribute to a group discussion and lead with “What I’m hearing is…” you knew that what followed would be the skilled, on-point synthesis that can only come from deep listening. He modeled capacious listening — he listened not to respond (as so many of us do) but to understand. He embodied the practices of nonviolent communication in every encounter. And when the situation called for it, he could be hilariously silly and bountifully joyful. As a facilitator, Michael was patient, and generous. He taught me about waiting for insights to emerge from the room rather than goading or force-feeding the take-home points. His sense of timing was exemplary, and I hope to carry the deep patience and trust in emergence that his manner of facilitating conveyed. His joy when I brought fresh pineapple or mango to the institute for a snack during our staff meetings will stay with me — I will never eat these fruits without thinking of him. I loved hearing him talk about the guitar students he was teaching, about the challenges of keeping kids engaged and inspired; the work of meeting each one where they were, and laying patient breadcrumbs to draw them deeper into developing their skill. Michael had many friends but I got the sense that he did not let people in readily; when he did share his interiority it was always with purpose. For example, when we talked at staff retreat about how we feel about giving and receiving feedback, I learned that Michael tends not to voice feedback often, preferring to carry disconnects himself rather than share this into a relational space. This prompted me to specifically ask him for some one-on-one time to try to create some space in which he might feel more comfortable sharing his thoughts and perspectives, not as an obligation but as a gift to my further development as a human. I feel like we had only begun to scratch the surface of this deeper level of sharing and I am so so sad to lose the chance to continue getting to know the reflective surfaces of his brilliant mind. One more gift I am grateful that Michael brought to my learning journey: the writings of Mariame Kaba. As I have grappled with how to contain harm while pursuing restoration and repair, Michael recognized that her works could help me deepen my understanding of the community-building work that is a vital foundation upon which restorative justice rests. This is just a sampler of the many ways that Michael has durably changed my life, my heart, and my mind. His presence will continue to ripple forth through the many lives he touched.

If I had to describe Michael to a stranger, I would simply tell them that he was a wonderful person. I have had to do just that these past few days as I’ve confided in my loved ones about the tragic passing of my coworker. It wasn't very long ago that I was a stranger to Michael myself, but even though I did not have the privilege of knowing Michael for very long, I am so grateful that I got to know him at all. It didn't take long to appreciate how kind and thoughtful he was. I first met Michael when I was being introduced to the Gandhi Institute team in a room filled with laughter, dance, and joy, and I now believe that those things would be pretty difficult to avoid in any room Michael was in. Michael did not hold back his joy, his enthusiasm, himself. I think there is a bravery needed to offer your authentic self like that, and anybody who had the pleasure of meeting Michael felt the value of that gift. Michael will be remembered by countless people who were inspired by his unabashed dedication and sensitivity, and whose lives were brightened by his genuine desire to connect with others.

I remember Michael's relentless positivity and good-natured spirit. One of my big regrets was missing out on getting a guitar 'masterclass' lesson from Michael for the Soulforce auction. I was outbid because I imagine so many were eager to benefit from his expertise, teaching, and warm approach to interacting with others. His absence will be felt in the Institute and the world at large, but his smiling presence will live on in our memories.

One of the things I will always remember about Michael, and I will do my best to live up to his example, was his commitment to clear and skillful communication. He was a master at reframing what he thought he heard. This didn’t just help his understanding- it gave the other a real sense of being seen, heard, and valued, and the conversation always went deeper afterwards. He was such a genuine soul, full of compassion and care for everyone he encountered. And his laugh- that booming reminder of the authentic presence and joy he brought.

Remembering Michael - My last interaction with Michael at the Gandhi Institute’s Community Dinner encapsulates so much about him. I arrived late and deliriously tired, having spent the previous two days getting ready for a cross-country move. Michael was in the conference room, dancing a little to the music he’d undoubtedly queued up. Michael loved to dance and he was often curating a playlist, adding in everyone’s favorite songs. He greeted me, asking “how are you?” I replied something like “fine.” He entered the hall where I was, locked eyes with me and asked, “No, how ARE you?” Michael wasn’t prying or pushy, but he liked realness. We both laughed when I revised my answer to “deliriously tired.” I remember thinking, “I’m going to miss him.” I shared an office with Michael. We developed a ritual of making up new lyrics to familiar songs every time we collaborated on a grant proposal. One joint proposal involved Abba’s “Dancing Queen” and included some choreography. Everyone appreciated Michael’s good-natured, teasing banter and booming laugh. He enlivened every room. He knew how to have fun, but also kept staff commitments and meetings on track. Michael was a skilled practitioner of nonviolent communication, and I admired his tact and sensitivity. I’m glad that my final exchange included complimenting Michael on the flattering color of his sweater. He seemed pleased. After a beat he asked, “what color is it?” It was teal. I’d forgotten that he was colorblind. I was counting on my scheduled weekly Zoom meetings with Michael to keep me tethered to Rochester. I’m sad that I can’t talk to and laugh with him again. Above all, I’m sad that he was robbed of a longer life. I’m grateful, however, that I got to know him. I send my deepest condolences to his mother and family.