Supreme Delight in the Misfortune of Others

Guest Opinion

By Isiah Smith, Jr. | Oct. 24, 2026

Within 24 hours of Katie Zacharia’s firing, Trump’s short-lived press secretary, social media erupted with glee over her spectacular rise and fall from grace (or was it waste?).

This glee had all the marks of a collective sigh of relief that someone other than oneself has been publicly degraded and made to look like a fool. Behind all the tomfoolery and AI-assisted mockery online were clear signs of relief that “no matter how bad my life is, at least I’m not her.” The reliably poisonous online commentary from the electronic wasteland of social media exceeded its shabby reputation in its rush to dance on the unfortunate young lady’s pitiful, warp-speed self-immolation.

If I’m being honest, I must admit I wasn’t immune to smug schadenfreude. Like many of us, I suffer from occasional bouts of the dreaded imposter syndrome. It plagues most of us, and in our lonely, sleepless nights, I wonder why I have fallen short of the ideals I set for myself and missed the golden ring of outstanding accomplishments.

Perhaps those feelings of failed aspirations are why we glorify apparently successful people with such outsized admiration, lifting them so high that they are bound to shatter when they fall. And when they fall, we feel relieved to escape our own small lives.

Secretly, in the dark corners of our minds and hearts, we long to see them fail, to see them rejoin the ranks of the ordinary. That’s largely the truth of our mundane, quotidian existence. We spend much of our lives in the den of the ordinary: we wake up, perform our toilette, eat a generally unsatisfactory breakfast, put on unremarkable clothes while watching sordid cable news, then head out into the world, where most of what we do is unimportant and inconsequential.

Sadly, much of what we do each day is meaningless, uninspiring, and easily forgotten. Yet inside, we long for more, for evidence that, as the Shirley Bassey dirge mournfully says, “I was here.” Meanwhile, we indulge in noonday reveries and cultivate schadenfreude.

Social media is overflowing with videos and posts that literally scream, “Look at me! Please look at me; I matter. My life is full of meaningful activities because I matter, people like me, and I’m making a difference! I’m just as important as all those famous people you see on television.”

We often fail to realize that all those “famous people” feel just as lost and dispensable as you do. Behind almost every gleaming, made-for-television celebrity smile lies a lost child seeking love and validation. Too late, we learn that the meaning we sought can be found only within ourselves. It takes a lifetime to become yourself; hopefully, that happens before it’s too late, before the final bell rings.

I laughed along with everyone else when Zacharia made a fool of herself at her first press appearance, but then I caught myself. “Here I am, big old me, all civilized and noble. Except when I’m not, which may be most of the time. Who am I to criticize the other schadenfreude merchants?”

Schadenfreude can feel like justice, but we must be honest: often it’s just relief that it wasn’t me. Our laugh felt clean, but it was actually soiled, dirty, and full of self-regard. It is cruelty wrapped in the relief that my own cracks aren’t on display for at least a few minutes.

I still laugh when the mighty slip on rhetorical banana peels. I probably always will. But I’m starting to wonder whether that quick spark is less about their fall and more about my fear of falling. If I’m honest, the laugh sounds a lot like relief. And relief, it turns out, isn’t the same as innocence. So the next time I laugh, I might quietly ask what I was so grateful not to feel about myself just then.

One last thing before I go. If this doesn’t humble you and me, nothing will: Donald Trump, not known for being touchy-feely, sounded downright compassionate when his short-term press secretary flamed out on live television. He said he encouraged his press secretary to “reconsider” her new job.

“Honestly, if I were you, I’d reconsider,” he told reporters, recounting the conversation. “Katie, do you need this? I don’t think you need this.” He added that he didn't want to see her go through the media lambasting she’d faced over the past 24 or 36 hours.

If the man 70 percent or more of Americans despise can show compassion and humanity, perhaps the rest of us can, too. Remember, when you point the finger at someone, three fingers point back at you. We all make mistakes; how about a bit of grace and understanding for our fellow human beings?

Isiah Smith, Jr. is a retired government attorney.