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naddr1qq…w60jI, like many others, have been horrified by what I've seen in the recent tragic murders of Charlie Kirk and Iryna Zarutska. However, their recent deaths have stirred a wide spectrum of reactions across political divisions. As with many tragedies, we watch people in our cultural and political space respond in strikingly different ways.
There’s a hard truth here—one that may feel controversial to say out loud: our capacity for empathy is limited.
Empathy is our ability to understand and share in the feelings, thoughts, and experiences of another. It requires recognition, reflection, and often an emotional resonance within ourselves. But empathy is not infinite. It is shaped by our backgrounds, our knowledge, our lived experiences, and our sense of similarity with those who are suffering.
This is not about celebrating tragedy—that, to me, is evil. What I’m talking about is the reality that some losses hit us harder than others. The degree of empathy we feel is tied to who we are in that moment.
As a critical care neurologist, I’ve spent over 8 years with families facing the unthinkable—brain injuries in children. My job requires honesty, clarity, and compassion, even when the hospital is chaotic and I am stretched thin. I know, painfully well, that I am a limited resource. The families I serve deserve my best—but even at my best, I am still finite.
Empathy works the same way. When tragedy strikes halfway around the world in a place I know little about, I may not feel it deeply. But when a colleague loses a loved one, or when I see a father robbed of time with his children, I feel that pain more vividly. As a father of three daughters and a son, I felt a powerful sense of empathy for Charlie Kirk’s family, and for Iryna Zarutska in her final moments of shock and loneliness. When we see our own humanity reflected in others, empathy comes more naturally. When we don’t, it doesn’t mean we are cruel—it simply means that in that moment, we are limited.
And that’s okay. Empathy doesn’t have to be equal everywhere, all at once. What matters is that it is real.
The danger lies in feigned empathy. Pretending to feel something we don’t is a form of deception—both to others and to ourselves. Just as a person pretending to be a doctor without training or knowledge can cause real harm, so too can false empathy distort how we respond to tragedy.
Modern society often pressures us to display empathy, even when it isn’t authentic. News outlets and social media amplify certain events and demand we express grief for people we’ve never known, in places we don’t understand. In turn, we can be nudged toward reactions—political, cultural, legislative—that may cause more harm than good. In this way, empathy becomes a tool for manipulation, rather than healing. The modern mainstream and social media environment has matured the chessboard that we are placed on, and there's a compulsion for us to act as pawns in someone else's game.
When we lack expertise, we acknowledge it. That’s the first step toward either learning what we need to know or seeking help from those who do. Empathy should be no different. Recognizing the limits of our empathy is not failure—it’s honesty. And in that honesty lies the possibility to either deepen our understanding or direct people to those better equipped to support them.
Our world does not need more performative empathy. It needs more genuine empathy—the kind that is honest, rooted, and real. Only then can it serve as a force for good rather than a mask for manipulation.
BrianAppavu on Nostr: In the wake of the recent murders of Charlie Kirk and Iryna Zarutska, as well as the ...
In the wake of the recent murders of Charlie Kirk and Iryna Zarutska, as well as the mixed reactions I've seen all around me, I felt compelled to write essay.