Some thoughts on compassion

As the situation in Afghanistan develops and unstoppably unfolds, our mere humanity is being brought into question.

The world is divided by so many things, I would argue compassion is the most divisive of them all.

Parents throwing their infants over barbed wire into the arms of a foreign soldier is the ultimate act of hope… and desperation.

Even as foreign powers have abandoned the people and ideals they had sworn to protect, mothers entrust the lives of their children to American men covered in military gear.

What level of desperation must a mother reach to surrender her baby to an unknown person, perhaps to never see them again?

On the other side of the virtual fence there’s the rest of us, watching the suffering of millions of people through a computer screen and thinking we are informed because social media keeps us up-to-date.

Us, the mostly silent world, sometimes empathetic, other times angry, mostly apathetic to the life and death of those we deem as “other”.

While waiting in line at Starbucks, we rush through posts about the overflowing crowds outside Kabul airport, where the Taliban have the ultimate say in who gets to live, leave, or die.

We feel sorry for the crying children, and perhaps give the post a “like” to show our support.

Then we grab our coffee.

For every limp “like” we give, there is a comment about how we’re bringing the Taliban to our countries.

For every rushed “read” of a post, there’s dozens of others who didn’t bother to read the article but bothered to share their ideas about “us versus them” and how our countries can’t possibly take in foreign people because we have “our own” to take care of.

Who do we think of as “ours” and why aren’t those desperate to find safety part of that group?

Is it that we can’t see ourselves reflected in their eyes, in the colour of their skin, in the language that they sing or in the food that they share?

Do we only feel compassion for people who we think are somehow like us and therefore more worthy of our empathy?

It saddens me, the “otherness” people feel towards suffering that they find unrelatable.

Surely, we can all relate to fear, distress, broken-heartedness and sorrow.

How then, are these people unrelatable?

Even outside of knowing that the sudden overtake of the Taliban is a direct consequence of the lack of planning and carelessness of the United States when they decided to leave Afghanistan without further a-do, the responsibility of the world still should rest on all of our shoulders.

As the privileged of the world, it is our duty to help those who desperately need it.

Our privilege was decided by factors we could not control, and so was the fate of millions around the world who weren’t born to a family who could take care of them, who’s governments failed to protect them, who never had a way out of their poverty because opportunity is also a privilege.

We sit here in our comfy, warm, living rooms and decide that our hard work got us this far and if “they” want out of their situation, they can work hard as well.

What an incredibly superficial way to judge the human condition, without taking a second to inform ourselves about the stories of life and misery that people everywhere endure.

People I’ve met in India and Cambodia, who have worked hard for the entirety of their existence and will do so until they can no longer stand, will never be able to “like” a post from their smartphone while in line to get overpriced coffee.

There are few things we can give which are as powerful as a helping hand when someone else needs it, and it is truly a privilege to be able to lend it to them.

As thousands come in seeking shelter, it gives us a beautiful opportunity to open our hearts to people we once thought of as “other”.