Click, Post, Hurt.

The Day Social Media Became a Messenger of Death: A Lesson in Humanity, Culture, and Caution

Imagine this.

It’s a typical weekday morning, the kind where the sky is a soft, sleepy blue, and the air carries a faint scent of dew. You wake up, say your prayers, and go through the quiet rituals of the morning. You prepare breakfast and share light conversations with your husband, maybe exchanging a joke or two. Then you watch him leave for work. In fact, not only do you say goodbye, but he even drops you off at your workplace before heading to his. Life moves on, just as it always does. Then, in the middle of your day, you decide to scroll through social media, perhaps to check the news, laugh at a funny video, or simply take a short break. You’re idly swiping, not expecting anything out of the ordinary, when you come across a shaky video clip: smoke, flames, a burning helicopter, the kind of tragedy you never wish to witness. Your heart sinks. You click the video, thinking it’s just another distant news story, something that happened in another country, to strangers you’ll never meet. You watch as the fire consumes the wreckage. Then, almost instinctively, you check the caption. And there it is, the name. The name that just this morning was smiling at you from the driver’s seat. The name you kissed goodbye only a few hours ago.

It’s him, your husband, the man you love, the father of your children, your companion through life’s storms and sunshine, gone. And the way you find out is not through a phone call or a gentle, compassionate conversation, but through a cold, public social media post. The ground beneath you shifts. Your chest tightens. The world spins. You are drowning in grief, confusion, and disbelief. In that moment, you might consider something unthinkable because the pain is simply too much to bear. This is not how anyone should learn of the loss of a loved one, especially not when the loss occurred under such violent, tragic circumstances: a helicopter crash while on national assignment.

The Ash Ritual: How My People Announced a Death

Among my people, the Dagaaba of the Upper West Region of Ghana, there is a traditional way of announcing a death. It is a ritual I have always found deeply meaningful: the sprinkling of ash. When someone loses a loved one, ash is gently sprinkled in their presence before the announcement is made. Why Ash?

Ash is the final product of fire. No matter how brightly a flame burns, it eventually cools into fine, gray powder. Ash symbolizes finality, the completion of a life. This quiet gesture of sprinkling ash communicates to the bereaved, without words, that the news they are about to receive is heavy, irreversible, and sacred. It prepares the heart to endure pain without breaking completely. This practice is not unique to the Dagaaba; many cultures across Ghana, Africa, and beyond have their own subtle, respectful, and compassionate ways of delivering such news. Words are chosen carefully, the tone is gentle, and the process allows the mind and heart to brace for what is coming. But nowadays, we skip all of that. We have replaced the ash ritual with viral posts. We announce deaths with hashtags, giving no thought to the people on the other side of the screen whose worlds will collapse when they see what we have posted.

The Day Ghana Found Out

The recent helicopter crash in Ghana is one of the most tragic stories I have ever followed. It is not only because of the loss of lives but also due to how the news spread. Within minutes of the crash, photos and videos circulated rapidly across WhatsApp groups, X (formerly Twitter), Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook. There was no viewer discretion, no warnings, and no compassion in the captions, just raw, unfiltered tragedy shared and reshared like gossip.

I kept thinking: If that were the body of your father, your sister, or your spouse, would you forward that video? Would you still share it so casually? Sam George, Minister of Communications, Digital Technology, and Innovations in Ghana, even took to X to plead with people to stop circulating the footage. But did that plea stop anyone? Your guess is as good as mine.

The Fear I Carry

One of my greatest fears is that something will happen to me one day, and instead of a gentle knock on my family’s door or a trusted friend holding my loved ones’ hands, my death will be announced to them through a stranger’s social media post. That fear is very real, and it grows with each tragedy that becomes social media content. The lack of proper regulations surrounding social media use in Ghana has turned almost everyone into a “reporter.” The goal seems to be to post information first, to be “the one who knew,” often without verifying whether it is even true. We forget that people spend years in school learning the craft and ethics of journalism. There is a reason reporters are trained in how to break difficult news. It’s not just about telling the story; it’s about telling it responsibly.

A Time to Ask Ourselves Hard Questions

Before you hit “Share” on that shocking video, pause and ask yourself:

1. What exactly do I aim to achieve by sharing this?

2. If the person affected were a family member or friend, would I still share it?

3. Have I considered the mental state of the people who will see this?

There’s an African proverb that says, “The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.” You may forget the moment you hit “share” on that video, but the people whose loved one you broadcast to the world will never forget. That wound will remain raw for a long time.

Stories From Other Places

This is not just a problem in Ghana. In 2020, when Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash in the United States, the world mourned. But do you know what hurt his widow, Vanessa Bryant, the most? She and her daughters learned about the tragedy through TMZ, a media outlet, before the authorities had even officially contacted them. She later sued the police for taking and sharing photos of the crash site. In South Africa, a family once discovered their son’s death through a viral video of a car accident. They described it as being stabbed twice: once by the loss itself, and once by the cruelty of how they found out. Tragedy is hard enough; the manner in which it is communicated can make it unbearable.

We Can Do Better

We may not be able to prevent every tragedy, but we can control how we respond to it. That begins with being human first and “reporters” second. Here are some simple ways we can all do better:

1. Pause Before You Post – Ask yourself whether sharing that content helps or harms. If it’s not your story to tell, consider not sharing it.

2. Protect Identities – If you must share information for public safety reasons, blur faces, conceal identifying details, and include viewer discretion warnings.

3. Let the Right People Speak – Leave breaking tragic news to the professionals or the family. It’s not about being first; it’s about being respectful.

4. Educate Others – Talk to your friends, your WhatsApp groups, and your community about digital responsibility. Many people genuinely don’t realize the harm they may be causing.

Bringing Back the Ash Ritual

The ash ritual may not be practical in the age of instant communication, but the principles behind it—compassion, preparation, and gentleness—can still guide us. In our modern world, “sprinkling ash” might look like:

1. Ensuring the family has been informed before posting anything.

2. Using language that is soft and respectful.

3. Avoiding graphic images.

4. Being a source of comfort rather than an amplifier of pain. There’s another proverb my grandmother loved: “When the heart is full of sorrow, even a gentle word is heavy.” Imagine, then, how much heavier a careless post can feel.

A Personal Plea

I am writing this not to point fingers, but as someone deeply troubled by the direction we are headed. Social media is powerful: it connects us, educates us, and entertains us. However, it can also cause deep and lasting harm. The next time tragedy strikes—and sadly, it will—let us remember that there are real people, real families, and real hearts on the other side of the screen. Let us choose compassion over clicks and empathy over engagement. Because one day, it could be your name in that caption, and you would want the world to treat your story with dignity. If this message resonates with you, I hope you will be more thoughtful the next time you encounter such content. Share this message. Talk about it. Change begins with one person making a different choice. May they truly rest in peace. My heartfelt condolences go out to the affected families. CHEERS!!!