By Alicia Wallace

Death comes, whether expected or unexpected, bringing questions and upheaval with it. Death, like human life, is complicated. It can bring as much relief as it brings sorrow. It can be violent and painful, or it can be quiet and peaceful. It is the end of a life, and the beginning of a change for who and what is left behind. There are few incidents more revealing than death.

When someone dies, we learn about their life. Who was in regular contact with them? What was their health like? Who took care of them if and/or when they were ill? Did they live alone? Did they know their neighbours?

Sometimes, in the aftermath of a death, misinformation is spread and people latch on to what is shared as fact. The truth is that, when someone dies, people feel the need to lie. That goes for people close to the deceased and people who only knew (of) them in a very specific context and/or at considerable distance. In many cases, where people attain celebrity or celebrity-adjacent status, the persona they present to the world is readily and easily accepted as true, consistent, and complete rather than a face and an act put on for a job or an audience. The contrived character the person creates for themselves is perceived as reality by the people who are not close enough to see past it. When such a contrived character is tied to particular events, memories, and roles, people become attached them and reluctant to see them as only part of a whole person, much less a deliberate fabrication.

It is always interesting to hear people speak of the dead. We all know of the supposed rule that we are not to “speak ill” of the dead, and that this is taken to the extreme. Not only do people contort themselves to avoid saying anything negative about dead people—especially in the first few weeks following their death—but they go to the extent of lying in order to make positive statements about them.

Over the past few years, I have observed conversations about people in the early days following their deaths and the way people handle lies and the truth. Because the lies are “positive,” they are regularly allowed to pass while “negative” truths draw ire. “Don’t speak ill of the dead!” The miserable grandparent, the philandering parent, and the abusive uncle have a tendency to be eulogised as kind, caring, and pleasant. It is not that people focus on the positive or make middle-of-the-road statements. They outright lie, and they cannot give a reason for beyond “ya can’t speak ill of the dead”.

Even when people are not physically dead, but their careers die or career death looms, there are people who are quick to come to their defense, supposedly because they are already suffering and/or their achievements are perceived as more important than the truth about their character. We can look at the discourse during the sexual assault case against Bill Cosby as well as the public reaction to the sexual abuse cases against Robert Kelly, also known as R Kelly. There was a clear division between the #BelieveWomen and the #NotAllMen groups in both cases, but there was also a weakly formed and strongly pushed argument that their violent crimes did not and should not take away from the television shows and music that they produced.

The added layer that seems to complicate public positions on heinous crimes and the people who perpetrate them is the moral judgment that is—and should be made—of the people who continue to consume their products, knowing their crimes and the harm they have caused. What does it mean when a person insists that they cannot stop listening to songs they have not even thought of in years “just because” the singer is a rapist who preys on young people, using his (perceived) industry power to manipulate them? What does it mean when a person says they loved a television show too much to “throw it away” “just because” the creator raped scores of women?

When a person dies and difficult truths are revealed about them, it is almost expected that people will come to their defense and accuse survivors and those with inside knowledge of lying. They say that people are lying in order to have a moment in the spotlight, or to diminish the person and their achievements. Survivors, however, know that any spotlight that comes from speaking the truth about sexual violence is likely to be unpleasant and have long-standing negative effects. Speaking no ill of the dead and minimising personal responsibility (in consumption, particularly of media) seem to be priorities—not historical accuracy, and certainly not the health, safety, and wellbeing of women and girls.

There has been social media discourse following a few recent deaths of well-known Bahamians. Some praised the deceased for long service, excelling in their professions, being funny, having ties to organisations and other people, making specific comments, and generally being connect to certain events and both individual and collective memories. It is not unusual that, when there is significant praise for people who have also done wrong, people want to remind others of the harm the same talented, popular, celebrated people caused to others. Just as their positive contributions may be true, their bad decisions and violent actions may be true. No one can do so much good that the harm caused—especially without apology and repair—is erased or can never again be mentioned. What we do can last longer than we do, and those who remember may choose to tell.

As community members, consumers of traditional and social media, family members, friends, and people who are grieving, we are entitled to our opinions, and there is a reasonable expectation that we accept and respect other people’s decisions to share their experiences and observations. We do not all like one another. We do not all agree with one another’s words or actions. We do not all agree on what should and should not be said about public figures. We do not have to agree on these things. We do, however, need to remember that our experiences are not all the same. We need to be honest with ourselves first.

Who was that person? Which parts of themselves did they show to me, and what did they withhold? What might others have seen? Why do I think one cancels out the other? Why do I think my story, my experience, and my beliefs are more important than someone else’s? Does what I know and what I share make what anyone else knows and shares any less true? Who is harmed by the truth, and why? Who is harmed by silence and the absence of truth, and why? Who do I feel compelled to defend, and why?

It is easy to side with power. It is easy to rush to the defence of a person, especially when that person, their reputation, and the version of them we construct for ourselves is deeply connected with the way we see ourselves. It is okay, though unpleasant, to be uncomfortable. It is even better to reflect on that discomfort and find the source. Our personal stories, as individuals, are not the only ones.

Grief is an experience we will all have, again and again. We all live complicated lives and have complex emotions. Truth-telling will always be important, powerful, and life-altering. There will be discomfort with many truths. Still, when it comes to recounting and retelling people’s lives, the multiple truths matter, and the resulting discomfort is an opportunity to learn more about and challenges ourselves, our beliefs, and our priorities. There is no one right time to tell a discomforting truth, and there is no wrong time to tell the truth either. We have to make these decisions for ourselves. We cannot make them for anyone else. May the discomfort with multiple truths lead us to introspection that inspires growth. May we be truthful about the ills of the dead and set ourselves free of lies and spare others continued harm.

Recommendations

1. Shakespeare in Paradise. The festival is in its final days. Ralphie’s Regiment will take the stage on Thursday and Saturday at 8pm, and December will entertain the lucky 70 ticket holders (each night) on Friday at 8pm and Saturday at 4pm. Ralphie’s Regiment is actually two plays—Ralphie’s Barbershop and A Merry Regiment of Women. The former, written by Philip A. Burrows, is about a stranger in a neighborhood barbershop and the latter focuses on the women in Shakespeare plays. December is described as a “poignant love story by Jamaican playwright Patrick Brown about two elderly Jamaican immigrants facing the ends of their lives in a New York apartment building.” Visit shakespeareinparadise.org to purchase tickets for these plays as well as ticket to see Nassau Rock, a Bahamian animation that is screening on Sunday at 8pm. Support The Dundas and Shakespeare in Paradise, and remember that donations are especially appreciated as these pillars of the art community try to, quite literally, keep the lights on.

2. You Are A Lot. This is a podcast about attention deficit hyperactive disorder (ADHD), hosted by Jen Kirkman who was diagnosed with ADHD in her 30s and only started responding to it and what she calls “recovery” in her 40s. She shares personal experiences, research by experts, and ideas for navigating life as a person with ADHD, whether diagnosed by a doctor, or self-diagnosed with the wealth of information available online.