“The self without sympathetic attachments is either a fiction or a lunatic.” — Adam Phillips
Can the value of human kindness return as a vital thread in society’s moral fiber? This might be one of the most potent questions of our time…
If you read the news, watch climate reports, or take in a popular T.V. show or two, you might think you’re bearing witness to the decline of humanity and our planet. The only possibility of stopping the rapid decline of all things life-sustaining, might be in simple acts of kindness — inspired by empathy and a recognition of our interdependence on each other. Kindness, care for one another, and “kinship” (as psychoanalyst and philosopher, Adam Phillips, describes it), are inherent qualities within us — some scientists even claim that empathy and compassion are wired into our DNA. In On Kindness, Phillips looks to philosopher Alan Ryan to further his point that kinship is integral to a genuinely happy and fulfilled life: “‘We mutually belong to one another’… and a good life ‘reflects this truth’” (6). Belonging to each other happens when we dispel the myth of autonomy and recognize our interconnectedness (whether or not we share a location or the same experience): “We are group animals,” Phillips explains in an interview on providing shelter, “and we can only live because we are interdependent on each other.”
Another example of our human impulse to connect with others, to nurture, and to show love for another living being, is found in the episode, “Looking Out,” from Ear Hustle, a podcast with Earlonne Woods and Antwan Williams, residents at San Quentin, and Nigel Poor, a Bay Area artist. In this episode, Woods and Williams unpack the human quest for connection through the lens of deprivation. In the most stark of environments, inmates crave connections and fulfill this desire through “looking out” for each other by helping new inmates learn their way around or attain necessary supplies. They also do this through caring for “pets”: spiders, frogs, lizards, mice, swallows, and more. Inmates, like “Rauch” describe how they often relate to animals better than people. They share stories of how they care for these animals by catching flies to feed their pet lizard or catching bugs in the yard to feed a pet black widow. Their desire for connection and care is so great, that even an insect or reptile brings comfort and a sense of purpose.
In On Kindness, Phillips explores the multi-faceted issues of needs — both meeting the needs of others and having needs ourselves. Phillips examines the clashing narratives of kindness as self-serving and altruistic: “Popular icons of kindness — Princess Diana, Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa — are either worshipped as saints or gleefully unmasked as self-serving hypocrites” (8). Phillips also points to society’s duplicity when it comes to having needs, quoting psychoanalyst, Donald Winnicott, “‘Needing others is perceived as a weakness. Only small children, the sick, and the very elderly are permitted dependence on others,’” (95). According to Phillips, both serving others and having needs ourselves are both dismissed or diminished in today’s society.
In my work (community and professional), I often struggle with my own desire to care for others — both as a liability and a strength — in addition to caring for others being in conflict with caring for myself. These challenges are shaped by my own tendencies, as well as social influences. In my efforts to respond to the needs of others, for example, in my work in the abolitionist movement, I struggle to respond to my own needs and care for myself. Some of the ways I support survivors is raising money and collecting and donating items, while I often go without money or items I need. In these instances, is my work really being of service? Or is this self-serving? Recently, I was distributing items in the Tenderloin in San Francisco, handing out socks, underwear, food, and other necessities. I got home feeling very fulfilled for my day spent serving others. I went to bed thinking of and praying for the women of the Tenderloin, not feeling that I had ended their battles, but shared love for just one day. The next morning when I got dressed, I found that I did not have new underwear or a pair of matching socks. I realized that it had been several years since I bought new underwear, a seemingly basic necessity, and socks. Why was it acceptable for me to wear clothing with holes, but make sure that other women living in poverty did not? Was this service truly helping others, or was it an act to make me feel better about myself or alleviate guilt about other people’s suffering? Is it ok for me to to serve others and meet my own needs?
I do believe that kindness is the key to problem-solving many (if not all) of the issue plaguing the world today — in society and on the planet. Phillips claims, “We depend on each other not just for survival but for our very being” (95). Through empathy and concern for other people’s wellbeing, we, as fellow humans, can step out of our day-today experiences and “walk in the shoes” of others. In my global advocacy work to end gender-based violence, I work with women experiencing alarming rates of violence as a result of forced migration. Maybe climate change is not impacting my life the same way it is causing my sisters in the pacific islands to flee their homes; however, knowing about their experiences and the danger they live in, propels me to act on their behalf in my own community by taking action to fight climate change. I can only be genuinely successful in these efforts though if I am mindful about my motivations and act in balance with the rest of my life.
I believe that my vulnerability, and not just my vulnerability in connecting to the pain of others (survivors), but my vulnerability in taking “risks,” as Phillips describes, to respond to survivors with human kindness by respecting their humanity, and providing much needed comfort, understanding, and support. This is one of my greatest assets — born out of my own experiences of oppression and discrimination — and, yet, my vulnerability is also the greatest threat to continuing my work. The more I continue on this path, the more survivors I meet, and the more types of violence I learn about, and the more oppression and exploitation I come to realize… the more I am overwhelmed with the enormity of the response that is needed. To address my overwhelm, I have learned that I need to practice radical self-care to avoid burnout and to practice discernment, responding with: “What is mine to do?”
The sentiment, “No one can do everything, but everyone can do something,” is a common edict shared by religious leaders, environmentalists, and activists alike. I would add, if we raise a “love army” to perform acts of kindness, together we could change (and care for) the world.
