Feeling in a World That Demands You Numb Out
Empathy is not soft.
It’s not weak.
It’s not naive.
Empathy is the enemy of every system built on fear, hierarchy, and obedience.
And that’s why it’s under attack.
Authoritarianism doesn’t begin with violence.
It begins by numbing people to the suffering that violence causes.
It teaches you to question their pain but never your own.
To justify their punishment but never your complicity.
To see others as threats, not neighbors.
You don’t have to kill empathy.
You just have to convince people it’s unsafe to feel.
Authoritarianism Doesn’t Just Police Behavior—It Polices Emotion
In authoritarian cultures, only certain emotions are permitted.
Anger is welcomed—if it’s directed outward.
Pride is rewarded—if it’s tied to nation, tribe, or doctrine.
Certainty is praised—because questions are dangerous.
But compassion?
Too soft.
Too messy.
Too unpredictable.
Grief?
That means admitting something is broken.
Doubt?
That means trusting your own mind more than their rules.
So we’re taught to fear the feelings that could wake us up.
And in their place, we’re offered substitutes:
Sentimentality instead of love
Suspicion instead of discernment
Outrage instead of empathy
Because if you stop feeling, you stop caring.
And if you stop caring, you’re easier to control.
Empathy Is Dangerous to Control Systems
Empathy doesn’t just feel.
It interrupts.
It’s the pause in the punishment.
The question inside the judgment.
The ache that refuses to look away.
Authoritarianism relies on dehumanization.
It needs a clean story about who deserves what.
But empathy refuses to cooperate.
Empathy makes cruelty inconvenient.
It slows down the system.
It asks if that eviction notice is a death sentence.
If that arrest is really about justice—or fear.
If that policy is protecting anyone—or just preserving power.
Empathy humanizes the “enemy.”
It dares to see someone labeled “illegal” or “dangerous” or “other” as a person.
It dares to believe that suffering matters more than stereotypes.
Empathy makes you pause when the script says hate.
It makes you question what you were told to fear.
And that’s a threat to control.
In systems of domination, empathy is a glitch in the code.
A refusal to dehumanize.
A whisper that says:
They matter too.
Why They Mock It
Empathy gets mocked because it’s misunderstood—and feared.
You’ll hear the ridicule in political speeches.
The sarcasm in media talking points.
The contempt in sermons that warn against “emotionalism.”
They call it soft.
They call it irrational.
They call it weak.
But what they’re really saying is:
We can’t control people who feel too much.
Empathy doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you unpredictable.
You might stop going along.
You might challenge the script.
You might start seeing “those people” as your people.
Empathy blurs the lines between “us” and “them.”
And if the system depends on keeping those lines clear—
empathy becomes dangerous.
So they mock it.
To shame you.
To isolate you.
To scare you into silence.
Because if they can make empathy look foolish,
they can make cruelty look smart.
The Courage to Feel Anyway
In a world that punishes tenderness,
feeling is a radical act.
To keep your heart open when everything says to shut it down—
that’s not weakness.
That’s strength.
Empathy is a risk.
It will cost you comfort.
It may cost you belonging.
It will ask you to stand in complexity when others demand simplicity.
But it’s also a path.
To connection that doesn’t require agreement.
To solidarity that doesn’t demand sameness.
To action that flows from care, not just outrage.
Empathy is not just a feeling.
It’s a skill.
A muscle.
A decision.
It can be cultivated.
Protected.
Taught.
And in the face of systems that demand numbness,
choosing to feel is an act of peaceful rebellion.
Blessed are the tender-hearted.
Blessed are the ones who still cry.
Blessed are the ones who care too much.
Because they remind us what it means to be human.
And they are the ones who will change the world.