What Ann Widdecombe's death tells us about civility in the age of social media
If you cannot speak with decency when someone dies it is best to say nothing at all
To corrupt an old phrase: if your first instinct when someone dies is to say something awful about them, it’s best to say nothing at all.
Within minutes of the announcement of the death of former MP Ann Widdecombe on Thursday, the hounds of social media started baying for even more blood.
Like most, I initially presumed her passing was due to natural causes. Sharing neither her politics, nor knowing her personally, I felt an ‘oh!’ of surprise at the news, before getting on with my day.
Not the approach taken by many. I’m afraid to say the identitarian left’s now characteristic inhumane vitriol about anyone outwith their stable was once again very much on display.
At the news of the demise of an elderly woman who happened not to be one of them, who nevertheless constantly demonstrated tolerance of her opponents, the storm of online hatred they whipped up – for no reason I can fathom – has been at times extremely disturbing, and difficult to witness.
‘BIGOT!’ thundered controversial activist Peter Tatchell. ‘Hurrah! Ann Widdecombe Is Strictly Dead’ gloated the Socialist Worker.
Perhaps predictably, the most unhinged responses came from the trans activist world, who can always be relied upon to express grotesque hatred of women whenever the opportunity arises.
‘Despite her best efforts, the LGBTQ+ movement has survived Ann Widdecombe,’ preened activist-commentator, Steph Paton. Widdecombe never wished death on anyone, of course.
But why resist the temptation to falsely claim victimhood?
‘I hope it was an extremely painful death. I hope she was handcuffed to the bed while screaming in agony,’ sneered trans-activist and former Labour-turned-Scottish Greens candidate Heather Herbert, betraying the nauseating misogyny at the heart of their movement.
When it transpired Widdecombe had been murdered, the Socialist Worker quietly removed their article. Tatchell deleted his post, later apologising for his ‘insensitive’ comments.
Meanwhile, freelance commentator Adam Boulton – not of the identitarian left whatsoever - gave an interview to Sky News about Widdecombe. Speculating on her sex life, he referred to her as an ‘old maid’ and a ‘spinster’, rendering a lifetime in politics and public service to a sidenote.
Whether consciously or not, Boulton reduced a highly successful woman’s career – which, no matter what you think of her politics was no small achievement – to how men may have viewed her.
He eventually came to his senses. Issuing a mea culpa, he said he’d been trying to speak to Widdecombe’s life ‘in the round’, but recognised he’d been ‘premature’ and ‘clumsy.’
While forgiveness is important when apologies are issued, it’s nevertheless extremely unlikely any male politician’s death would ever be responded to in this manner.
Any woman with even a modicum of public profile is highly attuned to the raging double-standards they face compared to men; always palpably aware that, whatever success they enjoy is vulnerable to this kind of undermining.
It’s a ‘clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right’ experience being a vocal woman of any sort in the age of social media. Even in death those judgements do not stop. Not even when brutally murdered, it seems.
Outside of the fire of punditry and online activism, endless others have felt the need to comment in the following manner: ‘Obviously I hated the woman, but,’ or, ‘Of course she was a hateful bigot, however…’
Did such people really ‘hate’ a woman they did not know? I doubt it. I’d be surprised if they gave much thought at all to Ann Widdecombe or her politics, given she didn’t remotely affect them.
I genuinely struggle to understand the impulse to publicly say these things. If we can all agree – by the standards of pre-digital ethics – that we wouldn’t picket someone’s funeral with placards celebrating their death, then why discard said values on social media?
Of course, in pre-digital times, it wouldn’t have been possible to see these ghoulish celebrations. Nor would we have to bite our tongues in the face of chin-stroking moralising like, ‘how soon is it acceptable to say we hate someone who has died’, asked by those who falsely believe their own political views are squeaky-clean, universally held, and righteous.
Perhaps it’s holding beliefs some deem ‘problematic’ that has me on high alert to the types of celebrations I’ve seen this past few days. The types of people who gleefully enthuse about famous people’s deaths don’t tend to limit their hatred to the politically powerful.
I know how jolting it is to encounter online commentary gleefully wishing for your demise. It’s been disturbing – though thankfully rarer than it once was - to have witnessed such sentiments about myself or dear feminist friends, due to our ‘gender-critical’ belief women are adult human females.
Should I cork it tomorrow, I don’t want loved ones subjected to that. While I don’t share Widdecombe’s Christian beliefs, the ‘do unto others’ ethic has always struck me as a solid one to live by. The ugliest aspects of social media are increasingly hard to thole, no matter what positives such forums may have otherwise.
People are more than their politics. They’re keen gardeners, lovers of jazz, friends who turned up when things were tricky, or doting aunties - as Widdecombe reportedly was to her nieces and nephews. She was an elderly woman, living alone with her rescue cats, following a rich, varied life of public service.
I didn’t know Ann Widdecombe, but I know some who did. They’re hurting; shocked by her unexpected death, sickened her life was cut short.
I say to them the only things that should be said in these circumstances: I’m sorry for your loss. My sincerest condolences.
If you can’t say similar, it’s best to say nothing.
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