Grief is not a performance: examining Pearl Thusi's DJ Warras tribute amid public criticism

Grief is not neat. It does not arrive with cue cards or a dress code. It spills, it stutters, and it sometimes laughs at the wrong moment.

And when grief unfolds in public, amplified by social media, celebrity culture and collective trauma, it becomes something else entirely: a spectacle we feel entitled to edit.

That is the quiet storm behind the viral backlash facing media personality and actress Pearl Thusi following her tribute at the memorial of Warrick Stock, better known as DJ Warras, who was shot and killed in Johannesburg’s CBD on 16 December 2025.

Stock’s death sent shockwaves through South Africa’s entertainment industry, another name added to our growing list of violent losses.

At his memorial on 19 December, Thusi shared a personal anecdote meant to honour their bond: a moment after a show when they shared a hotel room so Warras wouldn’t miss an early flight, asking for a “cuddle", which she framed as entirely platonic, sibling-like and safe.

A small story. Human. Tender. And, for many watching online, it was deemed deeply inappropriate.

Within hours, social media lit up. Critics called the story ill-fitting for a memorial, too intimate, disrespectful to Warras’ family, and a distraction from his legacy. Others questioned timing, tone, and boundaries, what belongs in private memory versus public mourning.

The backlash intensified when Norma Mansoor, mother and manager of rapper Chad da Don and a family friend of Warras, publicly condemned the speech, apologising to the family and calling it attention-seeking.

Her strong words resonated widely, encapsulating the outrage of many who felt the actress had crossed a line, disregarding the solemnity of the occasion and the emotions of Warras’ family.

“Sharing her feedback on her Twitter (X) page on 20 December, Mansoor wrote, "I'm so, so sorry you had to hear this pathetic speech at his memorial. I'm so disgusted by Pearl and how she tried to make this about her. What she was trying to prove only she would know."

"This time, Pearl, you went too far."

Caught in the crossfire, Thusi responded on X with visible hurt. She described the cruelty of online commentary, apologised for offending people in her vulnerability, and urged a shift in focus away from outrage and toward the larger issue of safety in South Africa.

Her response read less like damage control and more like a woman stunned by how quickly grief can turn hostile.

On her X account, Thusi responded to the outrage over her tribute.

She tweeted: "People are really cruel here. Really cruel. And I want to say your words hurt. I hope we can put as much effort in saying hurtful things about me in finding a way to changing things so we can have a safer country."

"I am sorry that my vulnerability in that moment offended so many of you. I forgot that it's not only people who knew Warras who'd be there. If we could now move on to something more important that could make a real difference to the situation," she added. 

This moment is not just about Thusi. Instead, it highlights a central tension: how we judge, manage and often police public expressions of grief, especially when women in the spotlight are involved.

Psychologists have long argued that grief is profoundly individual. That there is no universal “correct” way to mourn; people move back and forth between sorrow, storytelling, humour, nostalgia and even warmth as a way to regulate pain.

The act of telling personal stories is often how people survive grief, not disrespect it.

But public grief operates under different rules. Sociologists describe this as “performative mourning”, where expressions of loss are scrutinised for appropriateness, optics and symbolism.

For celebrities, this pressure multiplies. Every word is interpreted, clipped, reposted and moralised. Empathy competes with virality.

Into this debate stepped life coach and spiritual commentator Lundi Witbooi, whose TikTok video offered a counter-narrative that resonated widely and drew support from DJ Zinhle.

Witbooi argued that Thusi’s speech revealed more about society’s discomfort than her intent.

“You know what I realised about the Pearl Thusi speech is exactly what is wrong with society, everyone is ready to attack the receiver instead of the initiator.

"There was nothing wrong with that speech in particular, because that is who she remembers, that is a part she remembers. You cannot choose for someone what stood out for them, in things that you have done.”

In the same video, @DJZinhle wrote, “I just appreciate the fact that you can give us a totally different perspective. 🔥🔥”

Others said, “@rockpaperscissors♑: Pearl Thusi is soo misunderstood."

That word safe is doing quite emotional work here. In a country grappling with gender-based violence, a woman describing a man as a safe space is not trivial.

It is rare. It is intimate, yes, but also affirming. Witbooi’s point unsettled many because it asked an uncomfortable question: are we reacting to grief, or projecting our own moral anxieties onto it?

This doesn’t mean the criticism is invalid. Funerals and memorials are communal rituals, shaped by cultural expectations and sensitivity to those closest to the deceased.

We are witnessing the clash between personal grief and social media scrutiny. Authenticity is demanded from public figures, but when their grief does not match our expectations, they are criticised.

This exposes our discomfort with grief that is not easily packaged or controlled.

DJ Warras’ death is a tragedy. Thusi’s speech is not the story; our response to it is. In a moment meant for mourning, we revealed how uncomfortable we are with grief that doesn’t behave.

As we most certainly saw how Simphiwe Ngema was criticised for how she chose to honour her late husband Dumi Masilela.

The public criticised her for being "too open" about her mourning on social media. She was accused of "over-sharing" her pain or using her husband's legacy to remain relevant.

Perhaps the real lesson here is softer, more unsettling and more human: grief is not a performance for our approval. It is awkward, sad, and sometimes misplaced and deeply personal.