Not a Crow Will Weep

The phrase “not a crow will weep” is often attributed to the 16th-century Japanese warlord Oda Nobunaga. It conveys an absolute — so brutal and total were his purges that not even the lowliest scavenger would mourn the dead.

Today, that phrase feels eerily resonant in the digital age, where tragedy is met not with collective sorrow, but with indifference, mockery, and politicised commentary.

The fatal air charter crash this morning that claimed the life of Maharashtra Deputy Chief Minister Ajit Pawar — along with four others on board — was met with precisely this fragmented, jarring response.

Rather than a unified moment of mourning for a human life cut short, social media buzzed with debate over why he died, how he died, who he was, and whether the tragedy fits into a political narrative — reacting more like a headline than a loss.

There is a long tradition, across cultures, that when someone dies, we remember first the good they did — however imperfect their life might have been. This instinctive empathy is what draws crowds to mourn Gandhi and John F. Kennedy, leaders whose deaths were met with a global outpouring of grief. Today, in the age of relentless digital reaction, that instinct is being eroded by instant judgment and political calculation.

Political figures like Pawar — whether admired, criticised, or contested — are still human beings whose deaths should prompt reflection rather than reflexive scoring of their legacy. Yet what followed online was exactly the opposite: a surge of commentary where the nature of death became the story, not the humanity of the deceased.

This trend is not limited to politicians. Bureaucrats, journalists, judges, everyday citizens — death has become yet another arena for opinion battles rather than a space for empathy and respectful mourning.

The values that once guided communal grief — restraint, dignity, compassion — are giving way to cynicism and apathy. Greed, selfishness, corruption, and callousness have hollowed out emotional responses until even the most basic human reactions feel optional. And sadly, this isn’t just online — it’s reflected in public discourse, public squares, and even private conversations.

Some reactions in political circles today, questioning every angle of the crash and probing motivations, are further proof of how politics now permeates even the darkest hours of tragedy. Lives lost become ammunition in debates instead of reasons for solace.

In that context, one can only close with a simple wish that feels almost radical today:

May the soul of Ajit Pawar rest in peace.