When presented with death, regardless of the relationship with the deceased, there is a general inclination to feed into an echoing and vacant somber song, and while I understand that the passing of any human being is inherently, collectively painful, mass mourning ultimately confuses me. In the wake of neighborhood deaths, particularly in high school, I remember witnessing an outpour of eerily mournful posts, most of which were preceded by the phrase “I didn’t really know you, but…” This kind of pedestrian, rapid-response to death is not only directed towards celebrities and influential figures in society – we see it happen with everyday people as well. But a lot people like playing “Candy Crush,” and some subsequently felt compelled to compose a 140 character commemoration about how they are “literally crying right now.” There was a passel of Facebook statuses, tweets, articles, blog posts and mawkishly minimalistic eulogistic images that heralded the man as a visionary, hero, genius and “great guy” – despite the fact that most of these people didn’t even know Jobs, and those who did personally, including his colleagues, friends and own sister, unanimously conceded that the guy was a complete a–hole. Steve Jobs, the co-founder and CEO of Apple, died of pancreatic cancer in 2011, and the world found itself in a hysterical frenzy of web tears. Perhaps this phenomenon of mass, hollow bereavement is better understood through another example. What doesn’t make sense, though, is that there was mass mourning. Regardless of whether anyone personally knew or enjoyed Walker, his passing was objectively unfortunate and sad. What happened was still a tragedy, and it obviously carried enormous negative significance, particularly to Walker’s family, friends and coworkers. This is not to trivialize Walker’s death, or death in general. My Facebook was flowered with statuses like “RIP Paul Walker :(,” “Paul Walker died, I’m so sad” and “RIP Paul Walker, I’m so sad.” And as I stared into a sentimental quote superimposed on a black and white image of his face, I realized something: I don’t care that Paul Walker died, and neither do you, probably. Walker, who held a significant role in the series, died last week – ironically enough, in a fiery car accident.Īs news of this surfaced, I watched social media outlets flood with grief at the 40-year-old star’s death.
Walker was an American actor known for his role in The Fast and the Furious franchise – a collection of action movies and video games that basically is about Vin Diesel driving fast through explosions. You’re with me and the millions of other Americans that had no idea who Paul Walker is, or at one point did but forgot. If you don’t know who Paul Walker is, you’re not alone.
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