When Empathy Gets Drowned Out
Reflections on Protest, Media, and Connection
I’ve had a lot on my mind lately—honestly, for the past five years, maybe even longer. I’ve seen things that have been deeply troubling to me, both in my own life and in the world around me.
This past weekend, protests took place all over the country—and even globally. I wasn’t able to attend in person, but I saw coverage from our local news network. They posted photos and updates on Facebook from protests here in my own town. And I felt proud—proud of our local community for showing up and speaking out.
But of course, the comments section told another story.
There was name-calling. Dismissive, cruel judgments. People ridiculing peaceful protesters for simply exercising their constitutional rights. Many of these commenters seemed to be parroting narratives straight from heavily biased sources like Fox News and OAN. I saw things like:
“Apparently these morons think everything was just perfect under Biden!!! OMG!!! They don’t have a clue!!!!”
“These people need to get jobs. How much George Soros money is involved with this stunt?”
“Looks like a bunch of homeless people and old people. How much are they getting paid to do this?!”
It was disheartening. And familiar.
When I was growing up, the news was mostly just something we watched around dinnertime or before bed. It was local, and it felt more neutral. At some point, Fox News started playing more and more—often as background noise—and I remember really noticing it after my husband, kids, and I moved back to North Dakota. We made a conscious decision not to let our kids watch it. Frankly, we didn’t want them learning that kind of behavior, that kind of mindset.
I know not all of this blame lands solely at the feet of the media. People learn this behavior from home, school, and their community. But I also know many of us were taught something different—basic kindness, respect for others, and the importance of listening. Somewhere along the way, that got drowned out by outrage and division.
So, I commented. I said:
“All of you calling people names—have you ever bothered to sit down and have a conversation with someone outside of your circle? Someone whose experiences differ from yours? The lack of empathy or curiosity to understand one another is so sad.”
Unsurprisingly, my comment was met with defensiveness, false equivalencies, and assumptions about who I am or who I do or don’t speak to. It’s interesting—often when someone makes an accusation, it reveals more about them than the person they’re pointing fingers at.
I’ve made a choice over the years to quietly remove people from my Facebook page who openly support Trump and his administration. Some might call that creating an echo chamber, but for me, it’s about safety. I have friends and family—especially LGBTQ+ folks and others in marginalized communities—who are often harmed by those policies and that rhetoric. I protect them by protecting the spaces I share with them. That’s not about avoiding opposing views—it’s about setting boundaries.
I’m not against discussing differences of opinion, especially with people who genuinely want to engage in respectful, productive conversation. But there’s a big difference between a conversation and an attack disguised as one.
I’m sharing all of this because I’m deeply concerned. I didn’t grow up in a family of introverts, but I have introverts in my immediate family now, so I’ve come to understand the value of individuality and the need for solitude. Still, I worry that as a culture, we’ve learned so far into hyper-individualism that we’ve started to lose something essential: genuine connection.
When we encounter someone who doesn’t think like us, we assume they’re lying or that they’re the enemy. We’ve stopped being curious. We’ve stopped listening.
And without empathy, what are we left with?
Photo for blog image was created with an image i took and layered with a photo from friends on facebook J Anderson & Shannon