Empathy is not easy. It never has been. But in today’s fractured world—where politics, culture, and identity are so fiercely polarized—empathy feels almost impossible.
When news broke about Charlie Kirk, I watched the reactions unfold. Some were shocked. Some were quietly relieved. And many were openly celebrating, mocking, and dismissing his pain. Over and over, I saw the same justification repeated: “He didn’t care about anyone else. Why should we care about him?”
And in that moment, I realized something: I wasn’t going to play that game.
Not because I agreed with Kirk. I didn’t. I vehemently disagreed with almost everything he stood for. He spread ideas and rhetoric that I believe caused harm, division, and suffering. He was, in many ways, the antithesis of everything I stand for as a progressive and as a human being who values equity, dignity, and compassion.
But here’s the thing: I still choose to show him empathy. Not because he earned it. Not because he wanted it. But because it’s the right thing to do.
This may sound controversial, even foolish, but hear me out.
The Death of Empathy in Politics
Our culture is drowning in vitriol. Republicans despise Democrats. Liberals despise conservatives. Leftists despise centrists. Everyone despises “the other side.”
It’s not just disagreement anymore—it’s dehumanization. We reduce people to caricatures, memes, or enemies. We speak of “owning,” “destroying,” or “canceling” the opposition rather than engaging with them as people. Politics has turned into a blood sport, where scoring points matters more than solving problems.
And in this arena, empathy is treated like weakness. To show compassion for someone you disagree with is seen as betrayal. To acknowledge the humanity of an opponent is considered “selling out” or “going soft.”
But here’s the thing: without empathy, politics ceases to be about people. It becomes about power. And when it becomes only about power, we all lose.
The Mental Health Crisis of Polarization
We’re not just politically fractured. We’re emotionally and psychologically fractured too.
Polarization doesn’t just shape how we vote—it shapes how we live, how we think, and how we feel. It traps us in cycles of anger, fear, and resentment.
Think about it: every time you doomscroll through outrage posts, every time you rage-share a meme about “those people,” every time you laugh at someone else’s misfortune because they’re on the “wrong” team—you’re feeding your nervous system a steady diet of stress and hostility.
This isn’t healthy. Not for individuals. Not for society. Chronic anger corrodes the mind, the body, and the spirit. It creates depression, anxiety, isolation, and despair. It makes us suspicious of our neighbors and hostile toward strangers. It makes us feel perpetually unsafe, perpetually under attack.
And yes, the stakes are high. Yes, people’s rights, lives, and futures are on the line. But if we sacrifice our humanity in the process—if we abandon empathy altogether—what are we really fighting for?
Why Show Empathy to Someone Like Charlie Kirk?
Here’s the controversial part. People ask: “Why should we care about Charlie Kirk’s pain when he never cared about ours?”
And my answer is: because that’s the only way to break the cycle.
If we only show empathy to those who “deserve” it, then empathy becomes conditional. It becomes transactional. And once it’s transactional, it stops being empathy at all.
Empathy, by definition, is not about agreement. It’s not about endorsement. It’s not even about forgiveness. It’s about recognition. Recognition that beneath all the politics, rhetoric, and ideology, there is a human being. A flawed, harmful, complicated human being, yes—but still a human being.
When I say I show empathy to Charlie Kirk, I don’t mean I excuse his words or actions. I don’t mean I forget the harm he caused. I don’t mean I stop fighting for justice or equity.
What I mean is this: I refuse to dehumanize him, even when he dehumanized others. I refuse to let hatred consume me, even when he spread hatred. I refuse to cheer at someone’s suffering, even when they cheered at mine.
Because if I cross that line, if I abandon empathy altogether, then I become part of the very culture of cruelty I’m trying to resist.
Decency in a Decency-Free Age
Some will say: “Who cares about decency anymore? Who cares about respect?”
And that’s exactly the problem. Our culture has grown so cynical, so fractured, so brutal, that basic human decency feels irrelevant.
But here’s the truth: decency is not weakness. Respect is not naivety. Empathy is not surrender. They are, in fact, radical acts of resistance in a time of cruelty.
To remain compassionate in a world that teaches you to hate—that is strength. To show humanity when humanity is mocked—that is courage.
And yes, it’s uncomfortable. It’s messy. It’s unpopular. People will call you soft, naïve, or hypocritical. But let’s be honest: hate hasn’t healed us. Division hasn’t united us. Vitriol hasn’t saved us.
Maybe empathy can.
Personal Toll: Living Without Empathy
I know what it’s like to live without empathy. I know what it’s like to carry anger like armor, to treat every interaction like a battlefield, to view compassion as weakness.
You think it makes you strong. You think it makes you untouchable. But in reality, it hollows you out. It leaves you bitter, exhausted, and lonely.
Our mental health crisis is not just about economics, or healthcare, or social media. It’s about disconnection. It’s about losing our ability to see one another as human. It’s about numbing ourselves to suffering—both others’ and our own.
When you choose empathy, you’re not just helping someone else. You’re healing yourself. You’re reminding yourself that you are still capable of compassion, still connected to something larger than yourself.
Not Preaching, Not Centrist
Let me be clear: this is not some centrist “both-sides” plea. I am progressive. I am leftist. I fight for justice, equity, and systemic change. I know which side I’m on.
But empathy does not erase that. It does not dilute it. It does not betray it.
Empathy is not about abandoning the fight. It’s about remembering why we fight in the first place. We fight for dignity. We fight for humanity. We fight for a world where compassion isn’t seen as weakness but as the baseline of decency.
If I abandon empathy even toward those I despise, then I abandon the very principles I claim to believe in.
Radical Empathy as Resistance
Showing empathy to Charlie Kirk doesn’t mean agreeing with him. It doesn’t mean forgiving him. It doesn’t mean forgetting what he did.
It means refusing to participate in the culture of cruelty. It means rejecting the cycle of vitriol. It means planting a flag and saying: “No. I will not become the thing I hate.”
That’s radical empathy. It’s not soft. It’s not easy. It’s resistance.
Closing: Why I Won’t Stop
So yes, I choose empathy. Even when it’s controversial. Even when it’s unpopular. Even when people say it makes no difference.
Because at the end of the day, I don’t want to be defined by what I’m against. I want to be defined by what I’m for. And I’m for humanity. I’m for compassion. I’m for decency—even when the world around me laughs at the very idea.
Charlie Kirk didn’t care about empathy. That doesn’t matter. I do. And I’m not giving that up.
Because empathy isn’t about him. It’s about us. It’s about who we choose to be in a time when everything is pulling us apart.
And I choose to be human.