What Happened to the Titan Submersible Is Sad. But How Some People Reacted Is Revolting

I’ve always known the internet can be incredibly vile and venomous—a place where people display the absolute worst of humanity on a daily basis, and everybody else just goes along and even gives a thumbs-up or haha react like it’s no big deal. This incident with the OceanGate submersible has convinced me that that fact is likely not going to change anytime soon. 

At this point, the facts of the case are common knowledge to anyone who spends even a limited amount of time on social media. Five very rich and influential men willingly chose to go down nearly 13,000 feet (nearly 4,000 meters) deep onboard a tiny submarine named the Titan to see the wreckage of the Titanic. The men included Pakistani investor Shahazada Dawood and his 19-year-old son Suleman, British billionaire Hamish Harding, French adventurer and Titanic expert Paul Henri Nargeole, and the CEO of OceanGate Stockton Rush, who was also the pilot of the submersible.

ALSO READ

Thanks LTO, But LGBTQ+ People Aren't That Special

TVJ Exiting Eat Bulaga Is the End of an Era. No, Really

Just hours after they set off on the journey, all communications were cut and the Titan had gone missing. It didn’t take long for news of the mishap to travel the globe as an international search and rescue mission was immediately mobilized. Over several days, as the world waited for news of the fate of the explorers, pundits and casual social media commenters—basically anybody with an internet connection really—began sharing their thoughts about the situation.

On Twitter and Tiktok, on the comments section of news items about it on Facebook, and likely on private chat groups or messaging communities, people initially expressed shock and disbelief—how could this happen with incredible advances in technology, where people can track your every move and know precisely where you are at any given moment?

But then, after news came out about exactly who was inside the submersible—essentially a group of insanely wealth deep sea tourists and a pilot who had apparently ignored warnings about the safety and seaworthiness of the submersible—people quickly turned on them.

From sadness and messages of concern, sentiment turned to derision and mockery, zeroing in on the caprices of the wealthy and how hopelessly out-of-touch they were with real-world concerns that they had to resort to lavish but ultimately inconsequential things like “go on a deep-sea sightseeing trip to visit the Titanic.”

I will admit to letting out a chuckle at the memes that came out, and might even have shared one or two to private chat groups. But as time went on and the fate of the Titan’s passengers became more and more certain, I struggled to comprehend the sheer volume of inane commentary, crass jokes, and generally vitriolic reactions about the fact that five people had met a particularly gruesome death. 

I know what it is, of course. It’s schadenfreude—or that very specific pleasure we get upon hearing about the misfortunes of others. In this case, it’s even more pronounced and widespread because the target of our collective ridicule is a bunch of rich people who many of us think clearly got what they deserved. There is a distinct feeling of satisfaction when we see millionaires and billionaires struggle or fail, and, in this case, even lose their lives.

People who dropped jokes or shared callous remarks about the situation have every right to do so, of course. It’s a free world, there’s free speech, yada yada yada. And all the elements of a humorous sketch were there—rich people, a submarine, a steering contraption apparently made out of a video game controller, the frickin’ Titanic. To be fair, it all just felt too easy. 

But there’s something especially troubling and heinous when we glorify and delight in the catastrophic and fatal mistakes of others. It feels like we lose a bit of our humanity when we openly cheer and celebrate as other people are literally dying before our eyes. I’ve always advocated for people to be able to freely express whatever’s on their mind, but it’s just disappointing and frankly a bit revolting when people choose to squander that freedom by doing the virtual equivalent of hitting a man when he’s down.

And it’s not like the victims all did something that made them immediately deserving of such a horrible fate. Except maybe for Rush—the pilot who reportedly cut corners, fired his safety guy for sounding the alarm on safety issues concerning the Titan, and likely did not divulge the true risks of the voyage to his passengers—all the occupants of the vessel were really guilty of was the desire to go on an adventure and do something that precious few on the planet have the means and opportunity to do. We can’t fault them for that, can we?

I can’t help but be reminded of the internet culture here in the Philippines. We’ve seen people here build up and worship everyone: from actors and politicians to sports personalities and social media celebrities. We help construct their pedestals so we can place them there and gaze up admiringly and cheer them on as they reap successes. But we’ve also been witness to how fast people can turn on their idols—to hurl insults at them and tear them apart at the slightest infraction.

Everybody loves a winner, but you know what we love more? Bringing them down and putting them in their place. 

That’s my takeaway from the OceanGate saga. Had Rush and co. survived and brought back up photos and stories of their time gazing down at the rusted remains of the luxury ocean liner that sank 111 years ago, it would have barely made a dent on the news cycle and on our social media feeds. It was just another thing a bunch of rich people got to do that none of us will even get close to experiencing in our lifetimes.

But that they all perished in the chase for something extraordinary—that’s the bigger story. They flew too close to the sun, and we all know that the Icaruses of the world will get what’s coming to them. We’re all just down here with our jokes and memes at the ready.