Stay Human
How othering robs us of our humanity
“They asked for it.”
“The chickens have come home to roost.”
“They dug their own grave.”
“7 million voted for this.”
These are the shadowy refrains we hear when othering takes hold—when we stop seeing one another as human.
In The Way of Befriending I share my own story of how slowly, subtly, othering can strip us of our compassion and humanity. I remember exactly where I was on September 11, 2001—one year after arriving in the U.S., still navigating this place of contradiction, hope, fear, and misunderstanding. I watched the attacks live on TV an
d blurted, “Now they will know what it feels like to export wars offshore.”
I cringe to remember it. That was not my proudest moment.
Steeped in my own convictions, hurt and frustration, mixed with a tinge of self-righteousness, I was more interested in proving a point than in noticing people who were hurting. My gaze was fixed on what Americans needed to learn—at the expense of my own objectivity and compassion.
But grace found me. When I saw the images of people trapped in rubble, I imagined what it would have felt like to be inside those buildings, on those planes. The abstraction receded. I remembered our shared vulnerability. Compassion returned.
Now, again, waves of dehumanizing othering have risen in our national politics in the wake of tragedy.
On January 7, 2026, 37-year-old Renee Nicole Good, a mother, artist, and neighbor, was fatally shot by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent in Minneapolis during a federal immigration enforcement operation. Federal officials claimed the agent acted in self-defense, saying her vehicle threatened officers. But video evidence and local officials paint a more contested picture. Mayor Jacob Frey and state leaders have sharply disputed the federal narrative, and questions continue about what actually happened as Renee’s vehicle moved to leave the scene. Her death has sparked protests and a national debate over the use of force, immigration enforcement, and the responsibilities we bear toward each other—not as abstractions, but as human beings with families and stories.
Here’s the painful truth: when we talk about people in heads-up phrases like “they did this to themselves,” we forget names, we forget stories, and we forget that every person’s life is woven into a web of relationships—family, community, care, harm, joy, and loss.
We drown in indifference, rationalization, or judgment—unless we resist.
Resist the undercurrent. Reach for compassion.
Reflection questions:
Am I so focused on proving a point that I am missing other angles?
What would it take for me to recognize that I have grown callous?
What helps me recognize when I am wrong—and return?
