The Empathy Gap: Why I Can't Convince You to Care
Like many of my fellow citizens, I've hit a wall—not so much with politics itself, but with the ceaseless sparring that passes for dialogue these days. It's not that I've exhausted my supply of clever retorts or bulletproof statistics to back my stance. It's that I've stumbled upon a more existential conundrum: How does one persuade someone to care about others?
Consider this: I'm more than willing to shell out an extra quarter for my morning coffee if it means the barista can afford a decent living. If the notion of paying a bit more so someone else can get by rubs you the wrong way, then perhaps we're inhabiting different moral universes.
I have two children, and I gladly contribute tax dollars to public education—not just for them, but for all children. I believe every kid deserves access to quality education, because a society where only a select few are educated isn't one I want my children—or anyone else's—to inherit. If that seems like an unreasonable burden to you, we might be standing on opposite sides of a chasm.
When it comes to healthcare, sign me up for whatever it takes to ensure my neighbors can see a doctor without taking out a second mortgage. In the wealthiest nation on earth, it feels a tad barbaric to let treatable ailments turn fatal because someone can't afford a co-pay. If you're comfortable with that trade-off so the ultra-rich can add another zero to their bank balance, then we have a fundamental disagreement that transcends policy.
It's not that I'm out of arguments; it's that I can't fathom how to instill empathy where it seems absent. I can't engage in debates with those who are unfazed by widespread suffering if it means marginal gains for themselves—or, more ironically, for someone wealthier whom they've never met.
Sure, there are pragmatic reasons to support a livable wage (employees who aren't juggling three jobs might actually focus on the one they have), to fund education (an informed electorate is less likely to, say, fall for internet hoaxes), and to ensure access to healthcare (pandemics, as it turns out, are inconvenient for everyone). But if the basic well-being of your fellow humans isn't a compelling enough reason, then I'm at a loss.
Perhaps it's not about left or right, conservative or liberal. Maybe it's about whether we see ourselves as part of a larger tapestry or just isolated threads. If the idea of contributing to the common good feels like an imposition rather than a privilege, then I suppose we've reached an impasse.
In the end, I can cite studies, share anecdotes, and appeal to logic all day. But if compassion isn't part of the equation, I'm not sure any amount of evidence will bridge the divide. And so, with a weary heart, I find myself stepping back from the podium, unsure of what more there is to say.
