By Progress Rudo Nangati
Social media can create a sense of community during times of loss. It allows condolences to reach families across the world. In moments of national tragedy, online spaces sometimes become places for collective healing and comfort.
In the days following the tragedy in Kuwadzana, when three missing children were found dead in a car boot, people turned to social media for updates and to share in the grief. Yet amid the sorrow, something deeply unsettling unfolded online.
Socialites and influencers flooded platforms with images and videos of themselves at the funeral, posing, posting, and tagging. Media writer Daniella Mints calls this “the curated spectacle of grief” and notes that social media platforms reward these public displays through likes, clicks, and algorithmic visibility.
We cannot ignore the uncomfortable truth: some of these posts generate income, engagement, and clout for socialites. The BBC reports that even the digital industry is turning grief into data points. But a lingering question remains: would some of these socialites attend if they couldn’t post about it? And when cameras hover over coffins, do we honour the dead, or centre ourselves in their tragedy?
At the Kuwadzana funerals, it was difficult to tell whether people were truly mourning or merely performing grief for their followers. It also remains unclear whether the families who lost their children had any control over what was filmed and shared.
“Afirwa haatariswe kumeso” translates as: do not look directly into a bereaved person’s face. This Shona proverb embodies the deep respect and restraint our culture places on grief. In traditional funerals, mourners sit quietly, heads bowed. Their presence, not their words, consoles the bereaved. Today, that sacred silence has been disrupted in the digital space.
Digital mourning marks a dramatic shift from the respectful quietude of African traditions. Historically, our communities understood grief as a collective, sacred act, about presence and empathy, not exposure.
There is a clear difference between expressing sympathy and exploiting sorrow. When families are filmed in their most vulnerable moments, with or without permission, it ceases to be condolence; it becomes intrusion.
It is time to redefine the boundaries of grief in the era of social media. Families deserve agency over how their tragedy is shared. Communities must rediscover the art of quiet solidarity, the ability to show up and support without making ourselves the story.
Our elders taught us afirwa haatariswe kumeso for a reason. It is not merely about lowering our gaze; it is about humility, empathy, and humanity. Let us bring that lesson into the digital world and remind ourselves that dignity should not end where Wi-Fi begins.
(Progress Rudo Nangati is a child protection specialist with Childline Zimbabwe and a Public Voices Fellow on the Prevention of Child Sexual Abuse with The OpEd Project.)
