Can empathy be taught? Yes and no.

Even when I was just a kid, whenever I heard about a tragic act of violence I would think - “Please, don’t let the person who did this be one of us.” For my family and my community it specifically meant mexican / hispanic / black / an immigrant / undocumented / brown. For a child to acknowledge that the actions of one person could falsely condemn a whole community, while internalizing a fear that it may affect one’s own life, speaks to the cultural and political climate that we Americans grow up in.

Growing up in Arizona as a first generation American was definitely interesting. It is a border state, and one of the most vicious when it comes to its political vitriol. It’s a very unique dynamic to grow up in. I am brown, I have dark hair, I “look Mexican.” As an adult I have pride in these things. But as a kid I learned to internalize these traits as less than favorable, and even learned to hate them. When you’re just a kid you don’t really comprehend the things your parents go through. You don’t understand why your mom was so profoundly upset at something that happened in line at the grocery store. You don’t understand why she is angry that a white woman made her leave the gym pool with three little ones in tow. You don’t understand why the people she works for look down on her. Hell, you don’t even realize that they look down on her. But you know something isn’t right.

Like many children of immigrant parents, I saw my parents work so incredibly hard to provide a childhood for me and my sisters that was infinitely better than what they ever had. I feel guilty for not comprehending what my parents did for me at the time. My mom especially. For 30 years she has worked cleaning houses and it has cost her parts of her health. But why did she do it? For us. I wish I had been able to comprehend the immensity of her sacrifice when I was a kid so that I could have appreciated her even more. As an adult I feel guilt. That heavy, thick kind of guilt. Because of her I am able to worry about seemingly petty things - about time management, about what specialty to choose, or what my sister should name her dental practice. My mother always told my sisters and I - “You have to get an education because no one can take that away.” And so, as a child, I learned that I had no excuse but to get educated and be a successful person because the road was paved for me in the struggles of another. I learned that in order to escape a stereotype I had to distinguish myself in some way. And since you can’t change people’s opinions about your community, you have to change yourself in hopes that it has some significance, right? You hope that you can become an exemplary citizen whose contributions dispel prejudices about your community. You hope that you can change minds for the better. And so you start university thinking that you’re one step closer to making a difference by separating yourself from what the majority hates. But you’re wrong. I was wrong. Becoming an educated citizen of the world was a step closer to understanding the infinite suffering of others around the globe and feeling lucky but utterly useless all at once.

Becoming a Muslim brought me immeasurable peace at a time where I thought I would not have long to live, and continues to push me to be the best version of my self in hopes of bettering the world. Becoming a Muslim came with a lot of responsibility: praying five times a day, fasting during the month Ramadan, giving back in charity, and just being a good person. But what I didn’t know is that it also came with a new level of social responsibility: to shatter stereotypes about muslims, to denounce the marginalization of the muslim community by the mainstream media, to work towards disproving political leaders who use the defamation of the muslim community as a means of cheap political gain. As a child I learned that the actions of one do not define the whole, and now as an adult and a muslim this lesson is more important than ever. Was the education and success I sought out and achieved enough to distinguish myself and my community, or is there more to be done? There is always more.

The deaths of Deah Barakat, his wife Yusor Abu-Salha, and her sister Razan Abu-Salha this week are monumentally tragic and are a product of the American culture of hate that is propagated widely and shamelessly. This atrocity fundamentally strikes me not because I am a Muslim or an ethnic minority, but because I am a human. As a medical student this breaks my heart. Deah was a second-year dental student who, with his wife Yusor, gave back to their community at home and abroad. Yusor would have started her first year of dental school this August. They had a promising future and would have impacted the lives of many. I pray that my future children live the way these three did. My heart aches. It aches because this could have been me, my sisters, my friends. They are all of us. The world has lost three young leaders in a senseless act of hate. They were educated, bright, compassionate, exemplary young people who had incredible lives ahead of them. They had achieved everything I grew up thinking would keep someone safe from the hate and discrimination of others. They had distinguished themselves and were truly exemplary in their character, yet their lives were still taken.

Regardless of what community one is part of, we all have a duty to uplift the downtrodden and show solidarity with those who are marginalized whether they are in our city or across the world. So, can empathy be taught? Yes and no. Humanity is a prerequisite of empathy, it cannot be taught because it is already a part of us. The human soul cannot see suffering and not feel compelled to relieve it; it cannot see tragedy without the need to seek justice. It is our humanity that gives us the ability to empathize with the struggles of another. The experiences in our lives simply solidify this and teach us how important it truly is. To deny our ability to empathize and show solidarity with our fellow humans is to deny our own humanity. It is our responsibility as fellow humans to work, with sincerity in our hearts, towards a better world. Towards a present and future where no child inherently knows that they are part of a marginalized community where they will have to work to distinguish themselves from a stereotype; where no child has to grow up fearing that their life could be taken because of what they look like or how they worship.

☮♥