In early 2008, a journalist got laid off. The unfortunate fact back then (and now) was that a journalist losing her job wasn’t exactly headline news. I was working at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) at the time, and one of my chief duties was to set up reporters with CSIS experts who could give them context, quotes, and help them frame up their stories. The journalist who’d just lost her job got another at an outlet that I considered “kooky,” and I, seeking to protect CSIS’ reputation, asked my boss, H. Andrew Schwartz, if CSIS should still be giving her interviews. After all, I thought, isn’t it off-brand for a Washington institution like CSIS to be working with outlets that much of the mainstream considered a little nuts?
“No, Neal,” Andrew said, “we’re helping her. Big time.” End of discussion. A person needed help, we were in position to help. So that’s what we were going to do. Andrew was my mentor, and that lesson has stuck with me: help the people you can help. It doesn’t matter if they’re useful to you or not or if their ask was awkward for you. If you can help, you do it. (The story has a happy ending: the journalist later got a great job as a broadcast host).
Andrew Schwartz died July 16, 2025. The loss is painful not just because he was a loving husband, a devoted and relentlessly proud dad, a fun guy, and a Jazz Fest obsessive. The loss is painful not just because he was a friend, a mentor, and a confidante to whom I owe my career. The loss is painful not just because he’s in my wedding album, blessing my wife and me under the chupa.
It hurts because his approach to Washington – affable, generous, optimistic, and almost oblivious to tribal loyalties – is good for the country he loved. At a time when his caring, decent approach is so clearly in retreat, it cannot afford for one of its greatest practitioners to leave the battlefield.
People like him made Washington, and the world, better. He saw right past the labels that would cause more petty people (like me) to write someone off. He innately understood that people were more complex than two-word descriptors and, honestly, I’m not sure he even noticed those partisan or culture-war laden badges.
That may have been because he defied simple descriptors himself. Andrew was, after all, a Democrat who worked for Fox News, an adopted son of New Orleans who worked at a suit-and-tie think tank, and a digital-first communications pioneer who could barely turn on his computer. The many Republicans who worked at CSIS, like Mike Green, Grant Aldonas, Juan Zarate, and Dan Runde, didn’t just rely on his communications counsel; they treasured his friendship. Everyone from the security guard at the front door to the chairman of CSIS’ board got the same Andrew. They would hear his booming laugh. They’d see his eye contact and animated facial expressions and know he was listening to them. If he could help with whatever problem he was hearing about, he would, regardless of who was telling him about it.
He was relentlessly generous with his time, his network, and his expertise. At age 22, when I went to work for him, I was not subtle about my desire to follow in his footsteps. Even though I had far more rough edges (Andrew nicknamed me “bulldozer”) than skills or experience, he opened up his Rolodex to me. Every journalist he knew – and he knew all of them – who used to call him for help getting interviews or information were told to call me instead. The op-ed editors, congressional staff, and commentators who relied on him were suddenly relying on me. It’s only 20 years later that I can understand what an insane risk he was taking.
That’s just who he was, though. The tiniest sliver of silver lining in the dark cloud of his death is seeing how many other people can share similar stories. He helped make the “Smart Women, Smart Power” podcast a reality despite the fact he was, obviously, not a woman. He helped forge CSIS’ relationship with organizations like the Jackie Robinson Foundation after noting that “international relations is whiter than the NHL.” A talented coworker of mine wanted to be a graphic designer, so he created the role at CSIS for her. And those are just a few old examples from my time, before he became a fixture.
His generosity stretched years, even if it went against his own interest or helped his rivals. When the CEO of a different national security think tank, the Center for a New American Security (CNAS), asked him for a recommendation for who should run their communications, he told them to hire me. He did that despite the fact he knew that CNAS and CSIS competed for media attention, share of voice, and even donors. One of the proudest moments of my career was when he said “personally, I’m glad I recommended you. Professionally, this might be the dumbest decision I’ve ever made.”
It’s that approach that Washington desperately needs. His question was “how can I help,” not “are you on my team?” He refused to surrender to cynicism, believing that America could find good solutions to tough problems. He believed good people, working together, could not just identify solutions, but implement them. He believed that a single mistake, or even a string of them, did not define a person; he was close friends with many people whom others had long since given up on. He knew laughs were a good thing and conversations, even about work, didn’t have to feel like a chore.
There is no doubt that Washington is different from 20 years ago. Not that everything was wonderful back then, but the city now is meaner, angrier, less forgiving, and less generous of spirit. Good men like Michael Gerson have been replaced by the likes of Catturd and Benny Johnson. Disagreements are framed as matters of good and evil, not different solutions to the same problem.
That is the tide Andrew Schwartz fought against, not through grand gestures, but just through being who he was. As a child, I watched Mr. Rogers every day, and he would tell us, when we were scared or sad, to look for the helpers. Even then, I realized that he was the helper. As a child, I idolized Mr. Rogers for that.
As a grown man, I idolize Andrew Schwartz for the same reason.
About the Author: Neal Urwitz
Neal Urwitz is a public relations executive in Washington. He served as a speechwriter for and advisor to the Secretary of the Navy from 2021-2023.
