death

Obit tourism

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By Christian Nielsen

Visiting friends and relatives is a thriving tourism sector. But is visiting the dead a growing, if somewhat morbid, niche market?

14 January 2010

Flicking through the newspaper the other day, an unusual headline caught my eye: Obit tourism. A few pages further in and it struck me as too weird, so I went back to the page to verify. Sure enough, it read Orbiting tourism or some such prosaic stuff.

But the obit tourism idea stuck. There is a whole category of tourism called visiting friends and relatives, or VFR if you’re in the business. Tourism authorities even put together detailed statistics about this breed of traveller, along with other categories like business or leisure.

So, why not a new sub-category called visiting dead friends and relatives, or VDFR? I suspect this is a hidden but growing form of tourism. Surely, it’s worth considering.

It’s hard to prove this theory with hard facts, obviously, but observed trends online are a fair proxy of off-line trends nowadays, and the increase in geneology websites and services in recent years shows people are keener than ever to trace their family roots - dead or alive.

Often this will translate into a domestic or international trip to trace that long-lost branch in the family tree - take a few pictures of great aunt Missy from Glasgow’s headstone, sort of thing.

For those who live away from their family, overseas or interstate, the death of a loved one is also very often a strong pull factor in tourism, leading to last-minute travel.

Granted, it sounds like a pretty morbid branch of tourism but one that perhaps deserves a bit more attention. It could be a niche play in a struggling sector, or a good marketing opportunity, if you’d dare to have a go at advertising your Cook’s Obit Tours.

On reflection… perhaps it’s a stretch.

Published with the author's permission. © Christian Nielsen. All rights reserved.

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Good grief!

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By Christian Nielsen

There is something of an inner circle to mourning whose circumference varies from culture to culture. Knowing where you fit in takes some research.

4 November 2009

You never greet the ‘real mourners’ at a Jewish funeral. Only the closest family at a Swedish funeral wear a special white tie. And you bring condolence money in a special black and silver decorated envelope to a Japanese funeral.

The news of death is never easy to take but for those not in the inner circle it can also be confusing and awkward, from what to say on the card to what to wear at the funeral, or even if you should attend the funeral or send a card.

Attending funerals in a foreign country, with different traditions and mourning practices, is really a minefield. Do you send flowers? If so, what kind? Do you attend the ‘party’ afterwards – what do you call the party?

Grief seems to be a universal response to death or loss, but just how it is expressed – ritually and emotionally – differs between people, communities and cultures. The Encyclopaedia of Death and Dying – it really exists – even notes a scholarly distinction between grief and mourning on a cultural level.

“Grief is a subjective state, a set of feelings that arise spontaneously after a significant death,” it says, “whereas mourning is a set of rituals or behaviors prescribed by culture's tradition.”

But the concept of grief is a modern construct, it goes on. “Grief as a real subjective state grows from a culture that prizes and cultivates individual experience.”

In Japan, for example, grief can be considered an expression of social harmony – within the family or community – not an individual expression. Hitan, the nearest equivalent word for grief in Japanese, doesn’t necessarily imply a response to death or loss – just sadness or sorrow.

The Irish, on the other hand, appear to embrace both grief and mourning for its individual and ritual significance, typified in the Irish wake where kin and community come from near and far to pay their respects to the departed and his family.

Outward expressions of grief like keening – a mix of wailing and chanting – are less common nowadays, but still form part of the Irish myth. The Catholic religion also obviously plays its role in traditional wakes, with mourners taking turns to kneel by the body to pray or offer a Rosary. After the funeral, people gather again at the deceased’s home or a venue to remember and celebrate his life.

“There’s grief and sadness, but there are also anecdotes and shared memories that collectively celebrate the person’s life, not his death,” an Irish friend tells me. “And then there’s the Guinness – the elixir mediating grief and gaiety,” he adds.

Protestant and private?

Now take the Swedes, whose mourning is more private and inward – more Protestant, dare I say. Only the closest of family and friends attend the funeral. It is altogether more discrete and sombre.

An Englishman recently posted a question on an online forum in Sweden to find out how he should respond to the death of a colleague’s father. The responses were mixed. Many said, yes, he should express sympathy to the colleague (a card, message of condolence) but that it would not be appropriate to attend the funeral or other arrangements.

A similar question was posed in which the person wanted to know how to behave when his girlfriend’s father died… what to say, wear, do, etc. He didn’t feel he could consult anyone close to the deceased, as it felt out of place. The answer he got speaks volumes about the different cultural responses and rituals even from one side of Europe to the other.

And I quote: “It is usual to ring the number on the press announcement to the funeral home and inform them you will be attending (catering). It is usual to take a single flower (like a rose or something) as well as any other flowers you might send to place on the coffin at a particular moment in the service where the vicar asks people to come forward and say their goodbyes.

“Sometimes there is a clue in the press announcement about whether the family want a donation to a charity instead of a funeral bouquet from relatives (although you should still take the single flower).

“There is usually a ‘do’ afterwards – often in the church hall or a nearby restaurant. Usually it is something simple like open sandwiches/salad [sic]. Close relatives and friend[s] make speeches.”

Grief, not all human

Just for interest’s sake, apparently grief is not strictly speaking a human preserve, according to the wonderful Death and Dying Encyclopedia.

“In every culture people cry or seem to want to cry after a death that is significant to them,” it says. Grief could also be an instinctive response shaped by evolutionary development. “Primates and birds display behaviours that seem similar to humans’ in response to death and separation. Instinctual response in this sense is a meta-interpretative scheme programmed into our genetic inheritance, much as nest building or migration is hard-wired into birds.”

It goes on: “Culture, of course, influences how people appraise situations, yet similar perceptions of events trigger similar instinctual responses. A significant death, then, might be regarded as a universal trigger of grieving emotions, although which death is significant enough [to] spark such a response depends on the value system of a particular culture. Universal instincts, then, might provide the basis for concepts that could explain behavior in all cultures.”

So, there you have it.

Published with the author's permission. ©Christian Nielsen. All rights reserved.

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Promises of immortality

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By Khaled Diab

Religion has been promising us eternal life after death for millennia, can science deliver us immortality right here on earth – and do we want it to?

4 July 2009

Death is up there with sex on the euphemism scale. When someone breathes their last, they don't simply "die". They pass away, go to a better place, meet their maker, give up the ghost – and more colourfully, bite the dust, push up the daisies or, with a hangman's macabre wit, kick the bucket. Why do people have so much trouble mentioning that unmentionable state? It is, as the morbidly glib never tire of reminding us, as natural as life. In fact, considering that we spend more time dead than alive – we may live to be 100 but we are classified as 'dead' forever after – it is perhaps a more natural state.

In addition to the grief and the sense of loss death conjures up, we, as a species, are scared to death of dying and so would rather not talk about it, in case that ancient superstition is true and we tempt fate and draw the unwanted attentions of Death. Well, fingers crossed and hearts crescented that the Grim Reaper or Azrael do not read The Guardian.

Our fear of and fascination with death have been the lifeblood of religion since time immemorial, and have left us with some of human civilisation's most impressive monuments. Religion promises us that death is not the end, but the beginning of a life immortal – if we're good, we go to heaven or are reincarnated as a higher being, and if we're bad … then hell hath no fury like a god scorned!

In the absence of faith, death takes on a whole other dimension. I feel a strange sense of emptiness and humility that, one day, I will only 'live on' in the consequences of my actions. Without the prospect of heaven and just an endless, empty void to look forward to, life, at first sight, can seem like hell. But since we're not going to be sentient of it, it's actually a pretty good prospect, especially since we're all likely to suffer eternal damnation according to one religious tradition or another.

After killing God and condemning humanity to death after death, can science fill the heaven-sized void left in our conscience? One scientist, Aubrey de Grey, is on a one-man mission to end the greying of the human condition and herald in the age of immortality.

The secret to becoming immortal lies not in some mysterious elixir of life but in the power of regenerative medicine. His 'strategies for engineered negligible senescence' (SENS) are based on rather the same concept as renovating or restoring an old house. Perhaps inspired by the religious significance of the number seven, De Grey has identified "seven deadly assassins" in our bodies – including our immune system – which, if combated, will allow us to live indefinitely.

Once a treatment for these seven deadly bodily sins has been developed, all that needs to occur is for a patient to spend a couple of months in hospital undergoing stem cell, gene therapies and vaccinations. Once they've checked out, a 60-year-old patient will have, say, the body of a 30-year-old, making them in theory immortal but not indestructible. This means that we would be left with the mind-boggling situation in which my mother could be physically younger than me.

Despite the eccentricity of his dream, De Grey is, in fact, not the first to tread this path. In fact, a humble jellyfish seems to have discovered the keys to eternity. Like an underwater Benjamin Button, the Turritopsis Nutricula is able to turn back its body clock and become a juvenile once it mates.

So how long will it be before we can become jellyfish-like immortals? According to De Grey, we will reach what he calls the "human longevity escape velocity" within 25 years. "We have at least a 10% chance that we'll not get there for another 100 years," he also cautioned in an interview with the BBC's Focus magazine. Not surprisingly, much of the scientific community is not impressed with De Grey's pseudo-prophetic promises of immortality.

Of course, there is a certain appeal to the idea of turning back your biological clock for real and having a second stab at youth but with the experience of age. But even if it were possible, would such an Everland be a utopia or a dystopia? Well, at first, such expensive technology is only likely to be available to the very rich and will act as a futuristic substitute for Botox and cosmetic surgery. Imagine what it would do to the class struggle if the more arrogant members of the upper crust not only acted like gods but lived like demigods?

Even if such treatment eventually becomes available on the NHS, it raises profound questions. Should people's lives be extended indefinitely? If not, should society or the individual choose when to pull the plug? Should a 250-year-old physical teen be treated as an adult and served alcohol or not? Would society take long-term threats, such as the environment, more seriously because people will actually live to see the consequences? Does living so long rob future generations of their right to life? Would you like to live in a society without death?

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 2 July 2009. Read the related discussion.

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