Choosing Compassion

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“Hatred and fear blind us. We no longer see each other. We only see the faces of monsters, and that gives us the courage to destroy each other.” —Thich Nhat Hanh

As a psychological first responder, I have provided trauma support services after several high-profile incidents including the alt-right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, a mass shooting in Virginia Beach, and the events in our nation’s Capital after the January 6 insurrection.

The people who were directly impacted expressed grief, shock, and sadness. At the same time, our country reflexively entered a debate on hate. While some struggled to comprehend how the perpetrators could carry such venom and still be part of the human race, others wrestled with who or what was to blame.

As both our nation and the world are, once again, witnessing man-made tragedies, the struggle for understanding continues. Sadly, even the attempts to come to terms with such events devolve into angry diatribes with finger-pointing and name-calling as the norm. After supporting victims of these events and then watching as talking heads put their own spin on it, it’s clear to me that hate is not a new phenomenon, but an age-old poison finding new means of expression.

The field of psychology has numerous theories to explain the genesis of hate and its manifestations. These range from the social conditioning model, which sees hate as a secondary emotional response resulting from personal experiences, social conditioning, and cognitive processes, to studies from neuroscience on the misfiring of neural networks. While each explanation has its own insight, they all share one thing in common: None soothe the devastating wounds inflicted on our basic sense of humanity. Even the apparent spiritual mantra of “hate the sin, not the sinner,” falls short of providing a true sense of understanding after having one’s basic sense of decency violated.

What, then, are we to do when the hydra of hate rears one of its ugly heads? How do we make sense of a world in which those who value love and understanding become the victims of bigotry and violence? Will tearing down the symbols of hate spare us from the next tragedy? Will revamping our mental-health or legal system ensure a world free of this destructive force? Finally, will prayers for peace, compassion, and understanding bring forth a new consciousness that will remove our courage to destroy each other?

It is often suggested that hate is the opposite of love. It seems more apparent that it is the absence of love, and in this darkness, we turn others into monsters. This would suggest that healing the wounds of hate needs to take place in the light of loving compassion. This was profoundly on display when, at times, family members of the victims of these tragedies chose to forgive the person who brought it about. As one said, “I choose not to live with hate inside me.”

That these spontaneous acts of selflessness do not create the same headlines as the acts which bring them about speaks to our cultural tendency to fight fire with fire. That our attention is more drawn to violent expressions rather than pure manifestations of love speaks to our unsettling level of comfort with choosing revenge over reconciliation and conflict over cooperation.

I can’t help but wonder what would result if we were to follow the example of those brave family members who chose not to fan the flames of anger and retribution. What would result if every time we were confronted with our dark nature we chose to dedicate ourselves to illuminating the void rather than cursing its emptiness? Sadly, it seems that as long as these traumas continue to spark debates on symbols, politics, and policies, and not a national conversation on love, compassion, and forgiveness, we will continue to have our collective hearts broken.

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” It’s ironic that after tragic events there is an outpowering of compassion. It’s commonplace to see flowers lining the site of a tragic mass shooting, posters in memoriam of those lost, sermons, demonstrations, and social media platforms praying for healing. One of the questions I run across when providing psychological first aid is, “Why does it take tragedies to bring out our better nature?” Moving through the vacant and fractured halls of Congress, I couldn’t help but wonder if, rather than a temporary reactive response to hate-filled tragedies, we practiced preventive measures in which love is the default mode, we could spare ourselves having to mourn such losses.

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According to Hungarian writer Stephen Vizinczey, “All a great power has to do to destroy itself is persist in trying to do the impossible.” Returning hate for hate in the hope of eradicating its evil influence seems to place our nation on such a path. Flawed as he was, President Nixon stumbled upon this great truth when, in his final address to the nation he said, “Always remember, others may hate you, but those who hate you don't win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.”

In an attempt at true healing from these tragedies, we would be wise to meditate on the words of the American journalist Sydney J. Harris: “The three hardest tasks in the world are neither physical feats nor intellectual achievements, but moral acts: to return love for hate, to include the excluded, and to say, 'I was wrong.'”