The Spectacle of Grief Through Media

A standard opener on the nightly news might involve an innocent child being hit by a stray bullet in the back of his father’s car; a policeman, having been fired on first, killing a young black man; or an older Hispanic woman run over by a hijacked car. The stories often feature relatives of the deceased, interviewed through their tears. They usually tell the reporter what a sweet, generous, remarkable person the deceased was. (“She lit up any room she entered.”) They affirm that they want “closure,” and some plead with the murderer to turn himself in so they can achieve it.

On rare occasions, a reporter will remark that the victim’s family is too distressed to be interviewed. But usually they are there, tearing, crying. In some instances I have seen full-out weeping. For the television stations, and for the families of the violently deceased, the once clear distinction between grief and mourning has gone by the board. Under this distinction, mourning was public; grief, which was deeper and always personal, was exclusively private. One might mourn the death of a great artist, actor, political figure, or athlete. One reserved one’s grief for those one knew well and loved.

Grief has now, clearly, gone public. As local television channels have long had reporters specializing in covering the mafia or sports, so they might now have reporters devoted exclusively to grief. With the rise in crime all round the country there is enough of it to go around.

That grief has turned public is another victory for the therapeutic culture, whose first commandment reads, “Thou shalt not repress.” Today fewer people do. Thus one sees public hugging of a kind once confined to show-biz folk. When athletes lose a game or match, they sometimes break down. Now they also tend to cry when they win. Why hold these emotions back? Release them! The enemy is repression. Let go! Cry!

Closure, a feeling that an emotional or traumatic experience has been resolved, isn’t all that easily achieved. (“Come to closure”—the phrase suggests nothing so much as the advertising tag line for an expensive spa.) Often, as in the death of a husband or wife, son or daughter, brother or sister, closure isn’t readily available. The hope for a satisfying sense of finality to one’s loss may never arrive. One has to live out one’s days trusting, hoping, that the emotional pain will recede. And if it doesn’t, is this really so bad? Isn’t it, in fact, natural? Why after all should one wish to forget one’s loss?

One doesn’t envy the job of television reporters on the grief beat. What questions can you possibly ask? What were you thinking when you learned that your mother was run over on her bicycle? Did you ever think you would lose your son just before he was about to begin college? What, by the way, was your daughter doing out alone at 3:45 a.m.?

Meanwhile, watching someone weep from the comfort of the couch feels intrusive, embarrassing, wrong. Perhaps grief shouldn’t be televised. Perhaps we aid these sad spectacles by watching them. Perhaps we should pick up a newspaper, magazine or book and turn off the television set. Perhaps that’s all the closure we’ll ever get.

Mr. Epstein is author, most recently, of “Gallimaufry: A Collection of Essays, Reviews, Bits.”