Welcome to Unfiltered with Jessie Gurunathan, our new regular Capsule column. As an advocate for diversity and mental health issues, Jessie brings her personal experience and perspective to the big topics. For her first Capsule column, she delves into the murky world of schadenfreude, and how the public response to the resignation of Greens MP Golriz Ghahraman has highlighted a growing lack of empathy for public figures.
TW: Suicide, mental health
I used to think we lived in a world where we were encouraged to strive for success and celebrate achievements, but there’s a strange phenomenon that contradicts this, and it’s called schadenfreude syndrome.
If you’re not familiar with the word schadenfreude, which is German in origin, I guarantee you’re familiar with the concept. The literal translation is “harm-joy” – the experience of pleasure, joy, or self-satisfaction that comes from learning of or witnessing the troubles, failures, pain, or humiliation of another.
‘I’ll be completely candid and admit to feeling absolutely crushed.’
If you just read that and found yourself repulsed by the idea of someone experiencing any kind of pleasure from witnessing another person’s misfortune, I get it. That was my initial gut reaction as well. But, let’s be honest for a quick sec – how many of us have secretly delighted in the fact that the classroom ‘know it all’ put their hand up in front of everyone, all cocky, and wound up giving the wrong answer during a math quiz? Or what about when you found out your asshole ex is apparently miserable in their new relationship?
Well, my friends, this = schadenfreude. Whether we care to admit it or not, we’ve all been there. If you’re still reading this and saying nope, never, not me, you’re LYING!! But you do you Mother Teresa.
Researchers found that there are three driving forces behind schadenfreude: aggression, rivalry, and justice. But what happens when social media enters the chat? Well, in my opinion, this is where certain aspects can amplify or exacerbate the negative and harmful potential of schadenfreude.
Just this week, the internet has been abuzz after the revelation that Greens MP Golriz Ghahraman had been accused of multiple shoplifting offences. Then the CCTV footage emerged. All hell broke loose, the internet was heaving with noisy commentary, and two very clear camps quickly emerged. It was Team Schadenfreuders vs Team Empathisers, and the media have been having a field day adding gasoline to the increasingly ugly discourse that continues to unfold.
I get it. We expect our elected politicians to behave in a way that reflects their role as a servant of the public in government. It is not unreasonable to expect our MP’s to be model citizens and lead by example. In the aftermath of the allegations, Golriz released an official statement taking full ownership and responsibility for her actions. In that statement, she also chose to be vulnerable, acknowledging that the pressures of her role had taken a toll on her mental health and led her to behave in uncharacteristic ways. Then she handed in her resignation effective immediately.
I’ll be completely candid and admit to feeling absolutely crushed. Growing up as a mixed race WOC who immigrated to Aotearoa in the mid-90’s, I longed to feel and see any kind of representation that reflected my unique lived experiences and perspective as a minority in a majority Pākehā society.
In my early twenties I accidentally became that representation for many other young brown people when I won a reality television show. Suddenly I became acutely aware of the fact that I was the first person of South Asian heritage to be on mainstream popular telly. In a sea of white, mostly blonde girls, I, the token brown “exotic” one, took out the title. People would come up to me on the streets and tell me how much it meant to them to see someone that looked like them on their television screen.
‘[They told me] “We have to work twice as hard as all these white folks to prove we deserve to be here.”‘
Around this time, I was given a piece of advice from a Māori veteran entertainer. “Just remember, there aren’t many of us [BIPOC] that are lucky enough to get a seat at this table,” they told me. “That means something; it matters to all the young people who look up to you and see themselves in you. Don’t let them down. We have to work twice as hard as all these white folks to prove we deserve to be here.”
I remember how that made me feel. Proud, overwhelmed, frustrated… and absolutely terrified of doing anything that would bring shame or disappointment to the people who believed in me.
Back then social media was in its infancy (thank fuck!) and all that existed were news tabloids, gossip magazines and blogs. It was a different time, but the downside to not having platforms like Facebook, Instagram and Twitter yet meant that whatever was written about you, true or false, was taken as gospel. There was simply no way to have your own say or take control of the narrative. Some of the things that were written about me were cruel and had a huge impact on my mental health and my self-worth as a young 21 year old.
I couldn’t hack it and as a result I slowly began to retreat, making myself smaller and eventually disappearing behind the camera instead. For many years, I had to work incredibly hard to break away from people’s preconceived ideas about me and be taken seriously or given a chance. Even now I still encounter the odd person who thinks it’s ok to attack my character and throw a bunch of unwarranted abuse my way, based on the assumptions they’ve made about me because of something they read about me once upon a time.
So with this in mind, I think about Golriz Ghahraman, Kiri Allan and Tory Whanau.
I think about how brave these wāhine are. It’s one thing to have the courage to step into such public arenas, it’s another thing entirely to have the courage to push through the bullshit that comes with working in historically male-dominated work spaces (imagine the mansplaining *yawn*), then add being a BIPOC minority into the mix.
It makes me exhausted just thinking about it. The level of pressure on the average politician is real, but being female AND a person of colour, that’s a whole different set of pressure that unless we’ve been in their shoes, we will never fully be able to comprehend.
‘Living with mental illness is not a linear journey. There has to be room for compassion and forgiveness…’
These three women have all had to very publicly navigate the impact of these pressures on their mental health. I have seen, up close and personal, how these pressures can influence someone’s day job. My own father, a South Indian Malaysian immigrant, held two terms as Mayor of the Kāpiti Coast and I helped him during both mayoral campaigns. Throughout his time as mayor I witnessed countless unwarranted racial attacks, none of which had anything to do with his competency as mayor. Some were violent threats, some were just blatantly giving KKK vibes. I hated it, and I’m not ashamed to say I’m bloody relieved my dad is now happily retired and keeping busy with grandpa duties instead.
If that’s the level of abuse someone like my father faced in small-town body politics, I can only begin to imagine the level of ugliness that Golriz, Kiri and Tory have had to endure on a daily basis, purely for simply existing in female, brown bodies and daring to work in politics.
‘This is what I struggle with the most. Where did our humanity go?’
Imagine waking up every day knowing there are complete strangers outside the safety of your home, who wish you that level of physical and emotional harm. How would it feel to be in a constant state of fear that someone you don’t know hates you so much that they might come into your personal space and verbally or physically assault you?
This is what I struggle with the most. Where did our humanity go? When did we become a society who so blatantly and publicly revels in the misfortune of others? Something that is both glaringly obvious and increasingly unsettling is the lack of compassion or understanding many are willing to have for someone suffering from mental illness.
These women have each made it abundantly clear that they were remorseful, deeply ashamed and regretful for their behaviour. I would also like to note that they each have publicly taken full ownership and responsibility for their shortcomings. At no point did they use their mental health as an excuse – despite what many online self-proclaimed mental health “experts” have claimed.
Living with mental illness is not a linear journey. It’s complex and ever-changing. There has to be room for compassion and forgiveness – both self-forgiveness, and seeking forgiveness from others. We all deserve a chance to learn, heal and grow from our mistakes. I have MDD – major depressive disorder – and anxiety and both went undiagnosed for years. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; I hated myself for some of the irrational things I would do, that I couldn’t understand or explain. The self-loathing and shame went on for years until I hit rock bottom and attempted to take my own life.
‘We all deserve a chance to learn, heal and grow from our mistakes.’
From the outside people thought I had my shit together; I was the one that people came to for advice and emotional support, yet my calm external facade was a far cry from the internal turmoil I was experiencing. I didn’t have the tools to understand or identify what was wrong with me, and at age 23, when mental health was still such a taboo topic, I didn’t feel safe to admit I was struggling or to ask for help.
The events we have all just witnessed shines a glaring spotlight on the fact that even in 2024, the stigma around mental health is still a major problem. The level of online bullying, especially towards female politicians and, ESPECIALLY towards our WOC politicians, is peak level dangerous. (Look how happy and healthy ex PM Dame Jacinda Ardern looks since she chose to put her mental health and personal life first!)
This is schadenfreude on steroids, and it’s time we wake the fuck up and call it like it is. It’s not ok to take pleasure in someone else’s pain. It’s not ok to feast like a pack of vultures when someone is clearly hurting and needs help. We’ve reached a cultural low point where we’re wearing our schadenfreude as some kind of badge of honour for all to see. As if it’s something to be proud of and bond over.
Because what are we teaching the next generation? We tell our tamariki that they can be anything they want to be when they grow up, that they should dream big, strive for success and celebrate their achievements.
At what point do we have to break it to them that actually, we have created a really toxic society where if you dare to dream too big, or put yourself out there, you risk facing a level of scrutiny and bullying that can have a seriously detrimental effect on your mental health and wellbeing. ‘But hey kids, go for it if you have thick enough skin!’
How utterly bleak. Our young people deserve better from us, heck, we deserve better from each other. It’s not an out-there, radical concept to suggest we need to start remembering how to be decent human beings to one another… is it?
