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ABOUT THE QUICK TAKE Every Friday, the Quick Take columnists will offer their views on an issue of significance to American University. Notable members of the campus community will also be invited to contribute to this new feature. Suggestions for topics and other ideas from readers are welcome and encouraged, so please submit comments to edpage@theeagleonline.com. |
With a few weeks between us and the tragic death of Whitney Houston, the event has gained a little bit of perspective. Or has it? The outpouring of affection for a complete stranger may seem strange to some. But to others, an artists' impact through their songs still counts as a personal interaction, and their passing is just as terrible as that of a friend. How should we be reacting to Houston's passing? Our quick take columnists weigh in:
Derek Siegel
Aiden Pink
All deaths deserve mourning
By Derek Siegel
Houston’s passing was a tragedy to some, an annoyance to others. Some of us cried when we first heard—we spread the news on Facebook and Twitter, listened to her greatest hits, shed tears during Jennifer Hudson’s tribute at the Grammys, and wept again during her funeral. Others looked at these emotional displays with disdain. People die everyday under far more tragic circumstances. Why is she so special?
Personally, I wouldn’t judge someone for ‘overreacting’ to a celebrity death. It’s presumptuous to assume that I have the power to determine which reactions are appropriate and which are overwrought. We all experience emotions differently and have our own unique methods of coping with death.
While it’s tempting to dismiss this so-called ‘overreaction’ as an extension of our celebrity culture, that wouldn’t be fair. Because even though we don’t know celebrities personally, each of us can recall a performance or a song that inspired us, empowered us, or changed the way we view the world. For instance, I’ll always remember the first time I read Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” I devoured it in a single day, sitting with my back against my mother’s bookshelf, the summer before I started high school. I was struck by her lyrical prose, her curiosity, and her compassion. I may never meet Maya Angelou, yet she remains one of my role models and a woman I care about deeply.
Celebrities are part person, part idea. They are capable of leaving profound impressions on our lives, of shaping the people we become. While Whitney Houston was never a significant figure in my life, I can empathize with those who did feel a connection with her. In 1991, for instance, she delivered a captivating rendition of our national anthem. This performance, soulful and and unconventionally arranged, heralded in a spirit of patriotism during the Persian Gulf War. And she’s been a huge figure in the gay community since the 80s. For a community enduring national marginalization and the stigma of AIDS, Houston was a diva who inspired fans across America.
I can’t understand why some people seem to think that reacting to celebrity deaths and reacting to ‘regular’ deaths are mutually exclusive. It’s not like crying at Whitney Houston’s funeral means that you don’t care about your community or our soldiers fighting abroad. It means that you were touched by the work of a woman who dedicated her life to entertainment. There’s nothing wrong with mourning the death of a woman who meant something to you.
Whitney Houston is trending
By Aiden Pink
I’m too young to remember Whitney Houston in her prime. My only real memory of her is when she sang “When You Believe” from The Prince of Egypt with Mariah Carey at the 1999 Oscars, and I only remember it because the two divas were seemingly competing to see who could hit the most ridiculously high notes, and in the process dropped any pretense of sticking to the melody or enunciating the lyrics. For a few weeks afterwards, my new favorite activity was imitating them, singing “Wheyeyeyeyen YouuuuuuOOOOOOO” and then screeching like a starving owl. My parents did not find it amusing.
All of this is to say that I’ve never had a particularly strong opinion on Whitney Houston. Of course, that had never before stopped me from sharing my thoughts on Facebook and Twitter. The first step was research. I followed links posted by those who remembered Whitney at her peak: her triumphant national anthem at the Super Bowl, the isolated vocal track to “How Will I Know,” the music video to “I Will Always Love You.” Then I proceeded to phase two: coming up with the perfect joke.
I had previously had a lot of success posting insensitive and – in my mind, at least – hysterical tweets. Nothing was off-limits for me: the death of Amy Winehouse (“Congratulations on being one week sober,” posted a week after her death) for example, has been in my crosshairs. But nothing clever was coming to me in regards to Whitney Houston. Why was I struggling to make light of someone who had long ago devolved into self-caricature?
I realize now that our increasingly fast-paced and interconnected society has led to a culture where everyone is expected to have an opinion on everything immediately. And not just any old opinion: You have to come up with one that is clever and original enough to be “liked” and retweeted. Whitney Houston’s death was no longer a tragedy; it was an event, something to talk about around the virtual water cooler.
We have never had more entertainment choices, but this has led to cultural fragmentation and disconnect. Today, 40,000 people are enough to make your album number one. It’s sadly fitting that Houston, who sold 44 million copies of her soundtrack to The Bodyguard, was once again part of something that had all of America talking. It seems we still need shared experiences – and shared entertainment. So no, I did not cry for Whitney Houston. I was just frustrated that I had nothing clever to say about her.
