On Thursday the bereaved mother of Jay Slater, the teenager whose disappearance in Tenerife made headlines across the world, updated the fundraising appeal launched to bring him home. When the grim news arrived, the focus of the crowdfunder turned from happy homecoming to a final goodbye; the boy’s mother Debbie Duncan urged people to continue donating and sharing to give her son “the send-off he deserves”. To date, the amount raised from well-wishers tops £66,000.

Grief is a disorientating and cruel process, particularly for those forced to endure it under public scrutiny, and as such Duncan’s actions are entirely understandable. More perplexing, though, is why so many members of the public continue to give large sums, despite the total far exceeding ordinary repatriation and funeral costs.

In this, the “Get Jay Slater Home” donors are not alone: a crowdfunder set up for the families of the victims in the immediate aftermath of the deadly shooting at the Trump rally in Pennsylvania initially sought to raise $1 million. But, galvanised by a national sense of shock and anger, not to mention good ol’ American patriotism, as of Friday $6 million had poured in. However, as with so many of these crowdfunders, it is unclear exactly how the fund will be administered or what the practical benefits will be.

The urge to “do something” in response to moving national stories might be well-intentioned, but it can be counterproductive. In 1966, when news of the Aberfan disaster broke, visitors flocked to the Welsh village to help, severely hampering the rescue and clear-up operation in the process. More than three decades afterwards, residents of the town of Soham — home to murdered schoolgirls Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman — pleaded in the national press for an end to the day trips from “well-wishers” who wanted to sign the condolences book at the parish church and leave gifts. There were so many coaches arriving in the small Cambridgeshire town that local roads became gridlocked.

In the most charitable light, such emotional outpourings can be seen as a healthy desire to show solidarity with strangers. A more cynical reading might place such gestures as a form of parasitical, and ultimately selfish, grief tourism.

Today, as consumers who are both pulled apart and drawn together by technology, the knee-jerk reaction to high-profile tragedies is to start crowdfunders and give money. Whereas most of us living in towns and cities are accustomed to walk past beggars in the street, when the request is digitised we dip into our online wallets quickly enough. It seems online culture has simultaneously stripped the shame from begging and increased our propensity to give to any good cause that heaves into view. There is now little stigma to either demanding or donating money, nor to tapping into the need for connection.

Ultimately, there is something unifying in the crowdfunder cause: it allows people to express their feelings and reach across the online void. And at a time of civil strife and community tensions, recognition of our shared national interests and emotions is to be celebrated. But whether we are being brought together for good or ill rests both in the consciences of those asking and in the intentions of donors. Before we dig deep into our bank accounts, it would be prudent to ask ourselves: who really benefits?

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Josephine Bartosch is assistant editor at The Critic and co-author of the forthcoming book Pornocracy.

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