Tragically Flawed

We in the media can’t handle suicide.

It’s not because it’s obscure. In its most recent statistics, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported that there are more than 38,000 suicides annually in the U.S. That’s 105 per day or one every 13 minutes. It’s the 10th leading cause of death in the country.

I think the problem has to do with what causes this type of death. It’s often mental illness: “Studies have consistently found that the overwhelming majority of people who die by suicide—90 percent or more—had a mental disorder at the time of their deaths. Often, however, these disorders had not been recognized, diagnosed, or adequately treated.”

That’s from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. The 90 percent figure is also cited at the National Alliance for Mental Illness and many other places. It seems undisputed and uncontroversial.

Why shouldn’t it be? It’s pretty logical that when someone takes his or her own life, that person was deeply troubled. It follows that you shouldn’t try to draw a straight line between the last thing that bothered them and the decision to end it all. Not even if a suicide note were left. It’s too personal, and it’s too complicated.

Because of this, the media doesn’t cover many suicides. Mental illness is one of the last of the great taboos. You just don’t speculate about whether a deceased person—or anyone else, for that matter—had one or more mental afflictions. Or whether they were under treatment.

In a perfect world, mental illness would be no more scandalous than physical illness. Someone suffering from depression or an anxiety disorder or schizophrenia is merely a person in need of treatment, just like someone afflicted with cancer or heart disease or diabetes. In fact, physical maladies are more likely to stem from poor choices and behaviors than mental ones, but it’s the mental illnesses that get stigmatized. Sadly, they are seen as a source of shame and humiliation for a person, or his or her family.

So when a family is grieving, respecting its privacy ought to be a fundamental concern, especially when a suicide lands on the media’s radar. While it’s not uncommon to report that a person died after a bout with cancer, that cannot be said about bouts with depression. (An exception would be cases in which mental-health issues had been previously disclosed in public.)

I’m old-school, so I’m fine with that. Even with public figures, there’s a category of things called “none of your business.” I’d put suicides right there. For all of the reasons stated above, the public square is no place to be sorting out the complex, intensely personal factors that caused someone to take his own life.

That’s why I’m really troubled by the public “conversation” about the suicide of State Auditor Tom Schweich, who was running for governor. I hate to interrupt a group hug, but the aftermath of this tragedy has taken politicians and the press to a place that they shouldn’t be going.

They shouldn’t be speculating about what might have caused Schweich to take his own life. They shouldn’t be trying to connect any dots. They shouldn’t be making any broader points about the meaning of Schweich’s death. They shouldn’t be making him a martyr or otherwise judging him, positively or negatively, for his final act.

They shouldn’t be coming together to make empty promises about improving civility and ending negative political campaigning in Schweich’s name. Those are noble enough causes. And he was a fine man. But the two are unrelated.

They should allow Mr. Schweich to rest in peace. And allow the circumstances surrounding his death to remain what they should be: unknown and off limits. There need be no more speculation.

This, of course, isn’t happening. Schweich’s close friend and mentor, Sen. Jack Danforth, used his eulogy to blast the auditor’s political foes and essentially accuse them of causing his death. Danforth placed blame for the suicide on a “whisper campaign” wrongly suggesting that Schweich was Jewish and a political radio ad comparing him to Barney Fife.

Danforth said, “Words do hurt. Words can kill. That has been proven right here in our home state.”

Danforth received rave reviews, from applause in the church to widespread praise from politicians, reporters, columnists, and even campaign consultants. There has been a veritable stampede to the cameras for the opportunity to issue self-serving mea culpas and promises.

What’s not to like here? Everyone agrees that negative campaigning is just a rotten thing. And by everyone, I mean the politicians who do it, the contributors who support it, the consultants who strategize it, the press that focuses exclusively on it, and of course, the audience, which gives it the lion’s share of its attention and response, thereby making the whole process work. For the record, positives have been tried. Negatives get better results.

But for now, we’re just saying no to those negatives. At least until we are not, which should occur right around the next election cycle.

Lost in all of the excitement is this: Danforth’s attack on attackers sounds wonderful, especially to audiences that thrive on conflict—and I’m sure it came from the heart—but it doesn’t add up factually. His charges against some of his fellow Republicans make no sense, and absent of solid proof, border on slander. He stopped inches short of accusing them of manslaughter.

And Danforth’s specifics don’t withstand even a simple inquiry. Why would someone kill himself because someone wrongly thought he was Jewish? (It’s dubious whether the “whisper campaign” even happened, by the way, which didn’t stop Danforth from referring to it as a fact). Why would a seasoned, tough, smart, and competent world traveler like Schweich feel “bullied” by a tongue-in-cheek radio ad comparing him to Barney Fife?

None of this makes any sense. But what’s really senseless is that we’re having this discussion at all. As I’ve suggested, there’s good reason why we stay away from trying to connect the dots between hurts and suicide.

I didn’t know Tom Schweich. I have absolutely no idea why this horrible thing happened. Like so many others, I feel terrible for his family and friends, especially his wife and kids. Unlike so many others, I’d like to leave it at that.

I’m certain that some might be offended that I even alluded to a broader context in the case of this particular tragedy. But I’ll tell you why. In the absence of plausible explanations about why Schweich killed himself, and if it’s considered legitimate to have a public search for rational answers to some very private questions, people might naturally start wondering whether something more lurid or sensational brought the tragedy about. That would be a real whispering campaign. And I think it would be awful.

There’s an epitaph that I think sums up what we should be doing for Tom Schweich, who from all accounts—including some beautiful words in Danforth’s eulogy—was truly a man of wondrous accomplishment. It reads simply:

“Remember that I lived. Forget that I died.”

Why don’t we let it go at that?

SLM co-owner Ray Hartmann is a panelist on KETC Channel 9’s Donnybrook, which airs Thursdays at 7 p.m.