Even before I understood what it was, I’ve believed in radical empathy. Looking back, I realize that it has been a throughline in my life, quietly guiding me in ways I barely recognized as a child. I was bullied, often singled out, excluded, and at times made to feel small or powerless. And yet, in response, I never wanted to hurt anyone back. I never wanted to be mean, to strike out, to retaliate. Instead, my focus was on understanding. I wanted friends. I wanted to know people, to connect, to care about their wellbeing—even when they did not want me, or even when they actively rejected me.
From a young age, I felt a responsibility not just to myself, but to others. I was concerned about how people felt. I did not want anyone to feel bad, even if they had hurt me. Even if it might have been understandable, even if it might have been considered justified for me to push back, to strike back, or to lash out, I could not bring myself to do it. It simply did not feel right. I did not believe in hurting others. I could not accept that cruelty, even when deserved, was morally acceptable. I think that mindset is where the seeds of radical empathy took root in my life.
I later recognized, though I didn’t always frame it this way, that much of this belief came from early teachings I absorbed from religion—particularly the teachings of Jesus. I was taught to love others, even those who wronged you. I was taught to value human life, to prioritize compassion over retaliation, to resist the impulse to mirror cruelty. Those lessons, whether I consciously internalized them or not, shaped my approach to relationships and conflict from the beginning. Even as I moved away from organized religion and became less religious in my adulthood, the underlying principle remained: nonviolence, pacifism, and the commitment to avoid harming others are core values for me.
This belief does not mean I am naïve. It does not mean I ignore danger or allow abuse. Self-defense, in my view, is a last resort—a necessary act in extreme circumstances—but it is not the default response to conflict. Beyond that, I refuse to inflict harm. I refuse to treat others as objects to be punished. My instinct has always been to respond to cruelty with understanding, not with cruelty of my own. I think this is what sets radical empathy apart from mere kindness. It is not conditional. It is not transactional. It is a principle that guides thought and action even in situations where retaliation would be understandable, even where the emotional stakes are high.
Looking back, I see now that this approach has shaped not only my personal relationships but my broader view of society, politics, and morality. It underpins why I believe unconditional empathy is so essential in the face of societal violence, political division, and systemic cruelty. It is why I reject the idea that empathy can be rationed, that compassion should be selective, that some people are unworthy of moral consideration. That mindset is not just wrong; it is dangerous. It is exactly the logic that totalitarian regimes have used throughout history, and it is the logic that allows cycles of violence and dehumanization to continue unchecked in our own society.
This principle of radical empathy has been with me for a long time. It has survived rejection, bullying, and even moments when it would have been easy—or perhaps understandable—to give in to anger or hatred. It has survived political conflict, ideological battles, and personal grievances. It has survived the momentary temptation to think that some people do not deserve kindness. And it has shaped my belief that compassion, nonviolence, and the recognition of shared humanity are not optional moral luxuries—they are necessary acts of resistance against cruelty in all its forms.
In many ways, radical empathy has been my compass. It has guided how I respond to others, how I interpret conflict, and how I approach the complex moral landscapes of our society. Even when I see others engaging in conditional empathy, when I see the world teaching retaliation as the default, I return to the principle that has guided me for as long as I can remember: do no harm, seek understanding, and recognize humanity even in those who resist it.
This belief is not easy to live by. It requires vigilance, reflection, and courage. It requires resisting the impulse to justify harm or to participate in cycles of cruelty, even when society encourages it. But it has been a part of me for so long, a quiet yet persistent guiding force, that it feels like a truth I cannot abandon. Even now, in adulthood, even in the face of political violence and social conflict, I see radical empathy as both a moral imperative and a practical tool: a way to navigate the world without replicating the cruelty I witness, a way to assert moral power without inflicting harm, and a way to preserve humanity even when it seems most at risk.
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