This diary is cross-posted at my blog: DemocracySmores
Over a bagel and a cup of coffee at the Einstein's on campus, a few friends and I talked about the idea of compassion. An idea came to me then that I latched on to, because it made quite a lot of sense to me. I don't know how coherent I was in explaining it at the time, but basic gist of the argument was: a human being does not have compassion for someone they do not know. The more you know someone, the more capacity you have for compassion. Perhaps this isn't true when we are kids, when each and every world event we hear happens in the forefront of our consciousness, but over time we all become desensitized to the suffering that pervades our experience as human beings; that is, until that suffering comes too close to home.
Compare two different events: learning of the death of a close family member, and reading a news report about the death of a protester in a foreign country. Naturally, a person would likely have a much stronger reaction to the family member's death because of the close personal knowledge. Call it love or care, in the end it is deep knowledge. This disparate impact doesn't imply that the two lives are somehow unequal in their weight; that's a judgment no one could make. But it is hard to weep over each nightly news report of the death of a protester in Iran when all I hear is that report.
As I mentioned in a blog post a few weeks ago, I have compassion and empathy for those people in Iran because I feel a connection to those people: I see a bit of myself in them, and I know (or at least, I think I know) something about them beyond the statistics I read.
At first blush, the natural conclusion from this theory seemed to be that we should abandon any hope of knowing those people outside our realm of perception. If we can't have compassion for people without knowing them, and it is impossible to know them, then why should we worry about people dying across the world? I was upset by this, because it goes against the philosophy by which I try to live my life, trying to step into people's shoes whenever possible.
It took me a while to realize that technology has catapulted us into a world where all it takes to know something about a person is a few minutes and a computer. The global free-flow of information brought us live-updates of the struggle in Iran via Twitter and brings us news and information about the world daily. I'm not naïve enough to assume that by using Wikipedia I can know all there is to know about the struggles of the Iranian people, or what it's like to live in Palestine or Israel, or the generations-old greivances of the Uighurs. I will never be as invested as those people in their individual struggles; to even lump them all into a group is to profoundly misunderstand the issues they face. But having the internet no longer limits people to their geographic community. Now, people can follow their favorite performing artists on Twitter, communicate with friends across the country via Facebook. Now, we can be a part of and make a community with people from any corner of the world.
The true conclusion is this: all it takes is a little knowledge to have empathy and compassion for a person. It's not going to come right away, but the potential is lurking right underneath our noses. That's why I get so frustrated when people say that we should go ahead and bomb Iran and get rid of the problem once and for all. That's why I get so upset when people dismiss the nomination of Judge (soon-to-be Justice) Sotomayor to the Supreme Court as an affront to all the white folks who built this country. All it takes is a little effort to know someone enough to begin to see things from their perspective, to have a little empathy.
I had a privileged upbringing. I was born a white male into a middle-class household. I have never had to wear second-hand clothing or work to support my family. Even more simply, I have never gone hungry. By any reasonable account, I have been incredibly lucky to be where I am today.
I don't want to imply that I'm somehow ashamed of my family or my upbringing; quite the opposite. My parents both worked very hard to get where they are and to provide my sister and I with everything we could have wanted. They're both quite fond of telling the story of their first apartment, a small place where the rent and utilities were only $75 a month. My dad was originally a bluegrass musician who has worked his butt off since he and my mom got married, and now owns his own business. Within the context of our society in America, I'm very proud of my parents and all they have given me.
That being said, it is important to understand that there are countless millions who will never get the chances I have had, millions who have been denied these opportunities and luxuries through no fault of their own, but the luck of being born into a different level of our global socioeconomic strata, whether it be in this country or in others around the world.
I'm not asking the John McCains and Pat Buchanans of the world to go live in a housing project or a third world country; just to realize that growing up as a white, educated male in one of the richest industrialized countries on the planet has given them a leg up that billions of others have not been afforded. I'm just asking them to have some humility and common decency. Even some empathy. Since when has that become a dirty word?