Jason Arday’s death should stop us before it moves us to comment. Here was a man who, by every early account, clawed his way out of circumstance. He was non-verbal until eleven and unable to read or write until eighteen. He moved into the rarest room in British academia and became proof that a story can be rewritten. This is no small feat. He refused to accept the ceiling handed to him.
These achievements alone should inspire but visibility is as much a debt as much a gift that it may be. The same platform that celebrated his ascent turned, just as publicly, on his descent. The truth of the allegations against him deserves patience, not a rushed out verdict that has been captured by headlines. Now, the man is dead a week after resigning. This fact alone should humble anyone tempted to treat another human being as a symbol first and a person second.
We are quick to elevate the “youngest,” the “first,” the “only.” We are slower to ask what it costs them to carry that weight alone, and slower still to extend grace once the story stops flattering us. This should be a well-taught lesson to all.
Through this lesson, we should learn something about how we build people up and how carelessly we can tear them down.
Rest, Arday.