03/09/2026
I’m listening to Jason Arday’s autobiography because I very much wanted to hear his story from him.
And because it is the audiobook, I get to hear it in his voice because it was recorded and he read his words rather than having a voice actor.
I can’t help feeling an enormous sadness as I listen.
There is something very strange about hearing the voice of somebody coming through your speakers when you know that person is no longer alive.
And so recently.
I’m not listening to Sir Ken Robinson, who died 5 years ago. I’m listening to somebody who was alive just a few days ago.
Perhaps that is why it feels so unsettling.
I also find myself thinking about what happened in the weeks before Jason died.
The allegations. The headlines. The social media commentary. The extraordinary speed with which a human being can become a story for thousands of people who have never met them.
People decided what they thought of Jason. They discussed his character, his achievements, his credibility and his worth.
And much of it seemed to happen without room for explanation, investigation, complexity, fairness or kindness.
Trial by social media feels like a very modern phenomenon.
Someone says something. Someone else repeats it. The pile-on begins. Nuance disappears and suddenly there appears to be a collective verdict.
Except there is no such thing as a collective called social media.
There are individuals.
Individual people typing individual words about another human being.
Number 4 has been listening to Jason’s words too.
She has already found similarities between his childhood and her own family. His brothers sounded rather like her ‘boys’, as she calls her three brothers.
The chaos. The noise. The broken things.
I have the broken lamps and sofas. I too have heard the enormous thud of small boys launching themselves from bunk beds onto the floor above me.
That part made us smile.
Thank you, Jason, for bringing back that memory.
Then I told her that Jason had died.
And she too was struck by the strange sadness of hearing somebody talking and telling you their childhood stories while knowing they are no longer here.
We talked about what had happened before his death. About racism. About the scrutiny he was subjected to. And about what happens when thousands of people feel entitled to write increasingly cruel things about somebody they do not know.
I have read some of the threads.
Some of those comments continue even now.
And I keep thinking about Caroline Flack.
About .
About the conversations we had afterwards.
And about how quickly we forgot.
There was an extraordinary change in the way Caroline was spoken about after she died.
I’m not sure Jason has even been afforded that.
Perhaps the lesson should never have been simply .
Perhaps it should have been:
Remember there is a person on the other side of your words.
A person you do not know.
A family reading them.
People who love them.
I’m going to continue listening to Jason now.
Listening to his story, in his voice, as he chose to tell it.
Rest in peace, Jason.
I am so sorry that the final weeks of your life contained such extraordinary public scrutiny.
I hope, wherever you are, you have peace and kindness.
You always deserved both.
Emma
The Autistic SENCo
♾️
Photo: Number 4 in our garden.
