The Role of Negative Examples

I once received a Native American ceremonial rattle: a buffalo rib painted with red ochre, ornamented with a raw hide thong that secured crow feathers, a coyote tooth, and a patinated, over-sized  brass jingle bell.  The legend on an attached card said that in the Lakota Sioux tradition personalities and roles were grouped into clans or societies.  This rattle belonged to the small group known as the “rotten-bellies,” the naturally disruptive.  At social gatherings and even during sacred rituals, these few might fart and belch (hence, a rotten belly), speak out of turn and otherwise misbehave.  Rotten bellies were at the almost intolerable edge of society.  But they served an important service—to be negative examples.  A parent or leader might say to a child, “Stop that.  You don’t want to grow up to be a rotten belly, do you?”  The child had a palpable and disgusting, example before her or him.

This is a rather odd lead-in to tragic celebrity deaths, such as just occurred for Whitney Houston at age 48, a fallen diva of the 1980s and early 1990s.  She was found DOA in a Hollywood hotel bathtub on the eve of the Grammy Awards.  The autopsy report is being withheld.  Foul play isn’t suspected.  She may have drowned.  Probably drugs and/or alcohol played a part. 

Her history of drug and alcohol abuse long provided grist for the great American celebrity media mill.  A famous interview in which she claimed “crack is wack” became the subject of comedy spoofs.  Her stormy marriage to another celebrity singer likewise played prominently in popular culture—a latter day Ike and Tina Turner maelstrom of outrageous behavior, possibly including physical abuse.

How could someone so beautiful, so talented, and so successful, who grew up in a religious setting and who sang inspirational songs, allow herself to succumb to such publicly-apparent mistreatment and self-destruction? Whitney Houston, who seemingly had it all, inspiring a generation of young women, especially young black women, how could she not be the happiest woman in the world?

Once the initial grief and the tributes to her greatness have waned, there will be opportunity for the tragic arc of her life to be explored.  Now, there is simplistic talk of demons  she battled with.  Then, there will be more thoughtful analysis of influences that led her into torment and an early death, and even more important, choices she made to feed a downward spiral ending in a hotel bathtub. A cautionary tale of her life waits to be told—needs to be told.

Why do I say needs to be told?

As society has evolved, becoming at least not so much familial or tribal, rather somewhat global, our examples increasingly come from the media and involve celebrity.  Once, Whitney Houston provided a positive example. Iconic is a popular descriptive.   Now, in death, she provides a negative example, as the rotten bellies once did for the Lakota Sioux.  Her life narrative is complete.

I don’t pick on Whitney Houston in a gossip-mongering or in a peek–through-the-keyhole and invade her  privacy sort of way.  She chose to be a celebrity and reaped the benefits.  As a society we are justified in seeking the meaning of her death.

I think we can, in a loving way for our children, say, “Look at her life.  This is what brought on her fall and an untimely death.  Don’t you do the self-destructive things she did.”