Empathy, Compassion, and Respect for the Other
In the span of a single week, events have unfolded with such density that one has the uneasy feeling that the political architecture of our planet has shifted—not through a dramatic collapse, but through a series of cracks that were already there, now widened.
Sham elections in Myanmar.
Maduro’s forced exit from Venezuela.
The slow, grinding approach of complete economic collapse in Cuba.
And in Iran, an ever-growing discontent—often whispered, sometimes coded, always courageous—expressed by people who still dare to hope that the ruling elite may one day join Assad in comfortable exile, far from the consequences of their decisions.
What links these events is not ideology or geography. It is the human cost.
Empathy and compassion
—for the Burmese
—for the Iranians
—for the Venezuelans
—for the Cubans
I write this not as a distant observer relying on news cycles or social media fragments. I hear voices—direct, unmediated, intelligent voices—from all four countries. These are not slogans or statistics; they are lived realities narrated by people who share one fundamental condition: they are governed by regimes that were not freely elected, are not accountable, and no longer represent the will or welfare of their populations.
Despite the cultural, linguistic, and historical differences between these societies, the complaints are strikingly similar:
the absence of adequate food,
the scarcity of essential medications,
the arrogance and indifference of bureaucracies,
and the constant, exhausting awareness of surveillance by state intelligence.
Anthropologically, this repetition is revealing. Different civilizational trajectories, yet the same political structures produce the same patterns of suffering. Authoritarianism, wherever it takes root, seems to erode dignity in predictable ways—by narrowing choice, criminalising dissent, and transforming everyday life into a series of careful calculations.
These four countries are close to my heart. I have lived in some, returned to others repeatedly, and with Iran I remain deeply connected—intellectually, culturally, emotionally—even if geography and politics keep me physically distant.
Empathy and compassion are not sentimental gestures; they are relational acts. They arise from proximity, from listening, from recognising the other not as an abstraction but as a mirror of one’s own vulnerability.
I am reminded of the Dalai Lama’s simple and disarming wisdom:
If you want to make others happy, be compassionate.
If you want to make yourself happy, be compassionate.
At this moment, I find myself enveloped in compassion—for friends, for interlocutors, for lovers of life and thought, in Burma, Cuba, Venezuela, and Iran. Compassion does not erase injustice, but it anchors resistance in humanity rather than hatred.
May the coming days bring good news as swiftly as the unsettling surprises of recent days have arrived.
