The moment we are born, our fate is sealed. Death is inevitable. A life isn't measured by length, years are not fungible, a year in my life is not a year in your life. I'm in my mid 30s and I have long since made peace with my inevitable demise, I could die tomorrow and I wouldn't mind, I've lived a very long life that I am grateful for. For others, the thought of dying in their 30s is unthinkable, their life hasn't even begun, they have another hundred years of things to do, places to go, people to see, love to give.
Jason lived a life on top, the youngest black professor at Cambridge, a book deal, he was living in rarefied air. He wasn't breathing that air from the top of a mountain, though, he was standing on a tower of milk crates. Each crate of lies made the tower even more unstable. He knew that. Every day he knew that his life as he knew it was on borrowed time. Long before the front page news and the social media buzz, he knew that someday it must end. Maybe he had reckoned with this, maybe he made peace with this, maybe he knew that he couldn't live as Jason Arday the disgraced fraud once the myth of Jason Arday the groundbreaking academic shattered.
I hate the discourse around Jason being driven to his death or even more disgusting the idea that he was lynched. We don't know how Jason felt or what Jason wanted. Maybe this was how he wanted things to end? Maybe he had made peace with how he would deal with his inevitable downfall. Maybe he wasn't prepared to pay for 10 years on top with 40 years of shame. Maybe, he reasoned, he was ready to pay for a few years on top with his remaining few decades of breathing.
Death is hardest for the living. Every day we must reckon with our mortality, leaving our family and friends behind, every death of someone we know, whether personally or through some pixels on a screen, confronts us. The people outraged about Jason being driven to his death aren't really upset about what happened to Jason, in fact, they may not even care at all, but they are struggling with their own mortality. What if they were outed in the press for a mistake they make? What if their loved ones were? How would they handle it? Are they just one news cycle away from death?
I can't speak for Jason, maybe in his final moments he felt that the entire world was demanding his death, maybe he wanted desperately to live but saw no way to continue... we don't know, we can't presume to know. That said, I'd be pretty irate if I killed myself tomorrow following a press exposé on some dumb things I did, and every think piece author was blaming the people who clowned me in the reddit comments for my death. Uh, no, the hypothetical me ended my life because I'm happy with my lot, and 50 years living with the fallout of my mistakes doesn't sound fun.
We can be sad that a man is dead, we can be sad for his family and friends, we can look at how we treated the story and consider whether we should have handled it differently, but to say that we are responsible for his death, that we killed him, that we lynched him is to rob him of his agency. I'm sure at this very moment, Jason is living his best afterlife, perhaps plagiarising for his latest submission to Cambridge Journals' Politics and the Afterlife Sciences, What Do We Know About Suicide Amongst Disgraced Black Academics in UK Higher Education? or perhaps regaling the other ghosts with stories about the time he won the world cup for England in 1966 by scoring a goal from the stands, or the medication he invented to cure racism, or the billions of people who followed Ardayism, so on and so forth.
And for the record, if I kill myself after being outed for professional misconduct and someone makes a GoFundMe, I'll be haunting them relentlessly. Likewise, think piece writers blaming anyone but me for my choice, their papers and pens will be mysteriously blowing off their desks for many years to come. Let me rest in peace, buried beneath the mess I created.
Sent from my iPhone 20