In Memoriam

Miriam Makeba has passed away, aged 76. Apparently she suffered a heart attack after a concert last night.


It's very sad occasion, I'm sure, and I wish her family, friends and admirers all the strength in the world. But it's not what I'm sad about.


She was, I have been reliably informed by countless newsbroadcasts today, a South African jazz singer who opposed the apartheid regime and was exiled for a number of years because of this. I'll take their words for it, because I had never heard of her before. She is, apparently, known for her world-wide monster hit 'Pata Pata'. Again, no bells ringing. I'm sure this is partially because Jazz is entirely lost on me, but I'm generally reasonably knowledgeable in music, even from genres I'm not fond of, and even when a song was a hit years before I was born. I'm racking my brain endlessly, but I really cannot recall ever having heard of her. Ever!


Don't get me wrong: I don't have anything against Miriam Makeba or her music. I think it's wonderful that the media are paying her attention in death as they didn't while she was alive. But here's the contrast:


Last week, American Author Michael Crighton, aged 66, lost his fight against cancer. He happens to be one of my favourite writers and has written well-known works such as Jurrassic Park, Disclosure, The Thirteenth Warrior, Congo, Timeline, Airframe, Rising Sun and Sphere. He was the executive producer and script writer of ER, one of the most celebrated and succesful hospital dramaseries ever, which has won numerable Emmy awards. Many of his novels were translated into major Hollywood blockbuster movies. Additionally, he is an inspiration to me. I will always strive for, but probably never achieve his standard of researching or of building arguments.


I'm sad that the only reason I know of his death is because I happened to be flicking through the Text pages on my TV last week, looking for news on the US Elections. Somewhere in the 'short-news' items of the Netherlands 1 Teletext service, they found exactly 4 lines to dedicate to him. When I tried to find that same piece half an hour later, it was gone.



I don't know who decides the value of a human life.
I don't know why one person is dragged out of obscurity after death.
I don't know why another is almost completely ignored.
But it sure stinks.