The recent fire at Notre Dame had me questioning how we use social media to recognize tragedy in digital times. Is it used more as a self-serving platform or to draw much needed attention to causes?

April 15 marked a monumental loss, as Notre Dame caught fire, and the world watched in shocked awe as the spire collapsed. The cathedral has stood for hundreds of years, representing a stunning example of French Gothic architecture that has become symbolic of France. Notre Dame encompasses more than a famed item of art history and architecture, however, as it also stands as one of the oldest and strongest standing symbols of Christianity. The Washington Post aptly referred to Notre Dame as the “literal and figurative heart of Paris, the point from which all distances in the city are measured and the seemingly eternal backdrop to life in the French capital.” That’s why it guts me to see the destruction of the magnificent cathedral being used for social media selfies in which I have noticed a number of white, American females posting as they commiserate the loss with a throwback travel abroad picture. Is this what our society has come to?

I point out these qualifiers, not because they are necessarily relevant, but because I have noticed that is what most of such offending posters have in common. They all feature white, American females sharing of their past travel abroad journeys. I have not noticed any of my international friends sharing past images of themselves in front of Notre Dame as they reflect upon their travel abroad experience. Perhaps I am being too harsh. I’m sure that these people I see posting were truly floored by the splendor of Notre Dame, as I was when I was fortunate enough to visit the splendid cathedral. They probably feel lucky to have experienced such a monument before its untimely (partial) destruction. But does that mean a selfie or throwback photo is appropriate to commiserate it?

Much in the spirit of French journalism, I am not suggesting that either side of the argument is entirely right or wrong. Instead, let’s explore both points to examine a larger area of exploration— the way we recognize tragedy and publicly grieve in the age of social media. To me, it does Notre Dame a disservice to use the fire as an opportunity to post a throwback travel abroad photo. It represents the epitome of what society labels as “basic.” It makes me roll my eyes to see people who are not French citizens and who possibly fail to grasp the historical and cultural significance of the cathedral seemingly lament its destruction while also posting a convenient photo op to remind others that they are indeed more cultured. (If you don’t believe me, #tbt travel abroad photos provide quite the headache.)

At the same time, perhaps it is this kind of divisive thinking that leads to the exacerbation of tensions and the failure to provide assistance in times of tragedy. It is the united front in the wake of acts of destruction, devastation, and terrorism that truly shows the lasting power of humanity and how the inherent goodness in people cannot be defeated. But was that what people were hoping to accomplish with their throwback photos? I find that in many murky situations, a key aspect of whether or not something was indeed appropriate or offensive is the question of intent. Of course, intent isn’t always transparent or black and white. (I would argue that it seldom is.) Why are people posting these photos? Are they trying to celebrate Notre Dame and mourn the loss of history and symbolism? Or are they trying to use the opportunity to remind their followers that they went abroad in college?

Sometimes I feel as though social media creates a sort of “grief appropriation” platform in which people can feign interest in causes in order to gain some sort of social points or humble brag. At the same time, I myself have used social media as a wonderful platform to express my beliefs and demonstrate unity. I have posted images of LGBTQ+ acceptance and pride, shared “Je suis Charlie” images after the Charlie Hebdo terrorist devastation, shared messages against Islamaphobe, in support of Judaism, and far more. I consider these messages not only appropriate, but personally necessary, because I want to champion my support of causes and my unity with others in the wake of adversity. I am not posting images of myself or personal sentiments, because this isn’t about me. I am showing my support for others. At the same time, I am a possible hypocrite, because I, too, have posted images of myself in front of a fallen building.

Every September 11, I post an image of myself in front of the Twin Towns, my gap-toothed smile caught in an easy arch that only youth allows while the New York skyline stands as it should behind me. And you know what? I want people to know that I was there. I want them to know that I am proud of the city that bred my father, that was the backdrop to my childhood and adolescence, that remains a part of my spirit even though I have moved across the country for the time being. I want them to know I take the terrorist attacks very personally, and I want them to remember what happened, and I want them to mourn it. So who am I to say that the destruction of Notre Dame truly didn’t mean something to the Americans posting about it?

You might think it’s silly that a few photos disrupted my mental peace enough for me to write this post. But I think it’s worth discussing how people react to tragedies and remember them. I know every 9/11, I feel irked when Americans don’t post commiserative photos of what happened. Even though time has dated the event a “textbook tragedy” for the current generation, I expect many my age and older to remember. When I was paired up in French class a few years ago with a foreign student and asked to discuss 9/11 with her, I became irate when she insisted it happened in “2011.” I want people to remember what happened, and I want them to mourn it. But I don’t want them to make the tragedy about themselves.

On the 16th anniversary of the terrorist attacks, I penned a story for a newspaper aptly titled “Remembering Our Story.” In it, I discussed my personal connection to the terrorist attacks, which occurred when I was 7 years old and living in New Jersey, my home state for the first 19 years of my life. The terrorist attacks marked a supreme change in life for me, as my former Wall Street equity analyst father narrowly avoided personal tragedy and lost some 100 colleagues, 2 close friends, and nearly 60 people from a single firm. My thoroughly New Yorker father (Queens born and bred) told me of the mass devastation of the towers that he witnessed in the aftermath and the loss of innocence as a country. Though I am grateful every day (and especially each anniversary of the attacks) that my father planned to take a late train to work on September 11, 2001 due to a last minute prayer breakfast, I still consider myself forever changed by the tragedies. For months, I suffered from nightmares, and as an already somber child, my view of the world and the safety of myself and my loved ones in it was forever altered at age 7 by what happened.

Yet at the same time, sometimes I feel as though it is not my pain to feel, not my story to tell. I was not in the building at the time of collapse, I was not living in New York, I was safely tucked across the bridge, and I had my father returned to me externally unharmed. Humans have the tendency to play the “pain Olympics,” to dictate how others feel, as they unwittingly compete to determine who is allowed to feel hurt the most. We also have the tendency to get lost inside ourselves and feel as though everything is very personal to us when it is in fact a universal or widely shared feeling, interest, thought, etc. While it is nice to feel unique, it is perhaps more beneficial to the world to let go of the ties that separate us and recognize that we are not isolated in our tragedy and grief as we at times think.

So when it comes down to it, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to recognize tragedy. In fact, it is beautiful and necessary to show support, remember significant dates, and not allow important occurrences to be buried by time. It is necessary to remember. But it is also appropriate to adjust the focal point of the story. It’s a greater story, our story if you will, and we have to remember to put something of meaning in the spotlight. It’s not all about us; it’s about something far more universal.