Empathy: Walking in Another's Shoes

He walks toward a dream. Young, orphaned and barefoot, the embodiment of hopelessness. Yet, he boards a train full of a childlike, tenacious hope that his destination holds everything he dreams of. The dream is that of the American flag, billowing and whipping in the wind: it symbolizes freedom, a prosperous life, and the colorful diversity that forms our nation. The little boy who gazed up at this dream, who came to our country in the early 1900’s, is my great-grandfather, Baltazar Gonzales. I am the daughter of a Gringo and a Latina, the product of two cultures but one nation. My mother, Baltazar’s granddaughter, grew up in the border city of El Paso, Texas. Her mother, Nicolasa Marquez (my namesake) was born in Mexico in the middle of the Great Depression and became a naturalized citizen when she married Baltazar’s son, Baltazar Jr., who was born in Texas. My mother grew up in a mixed culture and bilingual household, married an all-American Indiana boy and together they achieved the “American Dream.” She and other Mexican-Americans are the outward representation of the social melding of these two cultures.

My great-grandfather crossed the bemired Rio Grande because he was in search of a better existence. Most of the immigration into our country from our southern neighbors is a result of that same objective. There is so much debate and controversy over all the illegal immigration into the United States. I won’t pretend to know the answer-I’m certainly not old enough to fully grasp the issue and all the political, moral, and social nuances. What I can comprehend is the innate, human need to yearn and strive for something better. In this respect, one cannot deny our similarities. Because of all the turmoil and ignorance surrounding this subject, a culture - a beautiful and lively culture, and of simple people who are deserving of our benevolence, have become the substance of ridicule and crude jokes. All I want to do is present a case of compassion, of empathy, for the Mexican immigrant (illegal and legal), and to provide insight into their means of living, daily challenges and a revelation of their basic human equality to you and me.

When a young aspiring immigrant crosses the border to look for work, a variable spread of eclectic and commonly considered “lowly” jobs greet him as his career options. Immigrants often do the work no one else wants: jobs of disgust, backbreaking labor, and sometimes of ambiguity because this is necessary not to be caught by the law. In the book Coyotes, Conover discusses his arduous labor among (legal and illegal) aliens in the orchards, picking oranges and lemons (43-44). Other occupations of his immigrant companions include brick laying, roofing, janitorial work, maid services and many other minimum wage odd jobs. Another means of income for some is the migrant family route. During planting and harvesting season, Mexican fathers in border cities uproot their families and travel to Minnesota, Wisconsin, and other agricultural centers, and pick produce from dawn to dusk. It is a hard, dirty and grueling task, and usually only for a paltry sum. But it is often one of the only means of income they can get with what they are up against: little education and ethnic and social prejudices.

The impoverished circumstances of jobs carry over to the home. Many generations of family live under one (usually small) roof, leading to crowded living spaces. Clothes are hand-me-downs and charity donations. Parents of first-generation children often times do not have a complete high school education. A lack of help at home, worldly exposure, and resources all contribute to a poorer education for their children and places them at a disadvantage for competing in the job market later in life. (This of course, leads to the minimum wage jobs mentioned afore.) Due to the financial difficulties that are the bane of many immigrant families, college is often a distant dream, and the road to it onerous. For these fellow citizens, so many little luxuries that we appreciate everyday- like a store-bought cake for dessert, or a new pair of shoes “just because”- are too frivolous and costly to spend precious wages on. They lead a simplistic and frugal life, foreign and unimaginable to the majority of America.

“It seems it would be impossible to be a dainty teenager if you’re a Mexican migrant girl. But my sisters tried to be. Even in the beet fields, my sisters worried about cleanliness….they combed and brushed their hair carefully in the morning….they took combs in the pockets of their jeans to the fields” (Hart 119). So opens the beginning of chapter 9 of Barefoot Heart, a poignant memoir of a migrant child. This paragraph struck a chord in me. Up until then, I was aware of the necessities and physical objects these people go without. It never occurred to me that their deprived lifestyles could take away what I take for granted: being a teenage girl. The joys and little indulgences of being a young girl are something that does not differ from city to city, or nation to nation. Girls enjoy being pretty, and playing with their hair, and smelling nice. This is only one of many examples and evidences that prove we and them, she and I, he and you, are not that different. Human nature, the capacity to love and hate, a need for affection and basic mortal impulses are all things that span generational, cultural, economical and social boundaries. This is the basis out of which stems empathy, because out of understanding comes compassion. Mexican immigrants - our fellow citizens, our neighbors - deserve empathy and compassion because, above all else, we are not that different from each other.

We Are the Change

We as human beings often form judgments quickly and subconsciously. Our eyes tend to sweep swiftly across the plastic surface of life, rarely penetrating into its essence or core. This insensitivity isolates us from one another. People need empathy to make connections and build authentic, fulfilling relationships. Celebrating each person’s “story” creates meaning for humanity as a whole. Destroying an individual’s sense of worth negates the value of the human experience. I gained understanding of these defining insights through personal experience. I learned the value of human respect through a life-changing relationship.

In my sophomore year of high school, I met an underweight, tall, wiry haired teenager. This person never missed a day of class and always wore the same unkempt clothing. She was never spoken to; however, she was often spoken about. We actively shunned her, calling her cruel epithets behind her back, such as “weirdo,” “dork,” or “ugly.” Our unhealthy group rejection of this individual drew us together like a pack of wild animals, and we lashed out at her weakness with cruel aggression. Upon reflection, I see that we all secretly feared being alienated from the group, and this phobia led us to victimize Brittany. Psychologically, we sought to “dump” our fears on Brittany, making her a scapegoat. In short, we were willing to sacrifice an innocent classmate to the “god” of peer acceptance. Further, we sought to cover up our own imperfections by drawing attention to those of an “outcast”—someone who stood out as “different” from the majority.

One day the power of “light” changed my world view. My teacher assigned a group project, and she placed Brittany and me in the same group. At first, I was angry that I had been forced to interact with someone so unpopular. I glanced enviously at several of my friends who were laughing together in the same group. Slowly, I struggled through the jumble of scraping desks and socializing students to the far back corner of the room. There I plopped down despondently, next to Brittany. Ironically, as my body landed on the cold hard seat, my eyes swept across a brightly colored poster on the wall, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Though simplistic, this message sharply resonated with me, as I connected it to a family mantra: “Love one another.” In that moment I realized how far I had drifted from living out my true values. Although I had never directly abused Brittany, I was actually just as guilty as the ones who had. I saw that passively “going along” with the group was as morally wrong as committing the offense. As Mahatma Gandhi so aptly observed, “Non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as cooperation with good.”

This epiphany—which redefined friendship for me—radically shaped all my future relationships. I learned that Brittany possessed exceptional artistic talent, and beneath her introverted exterior lay a quirky sense of humor and a resilient sense of individuality. I also learned her story. Brittany had run away from home to escape the abuse of her mother and her mother’s boyfriend, who were both addicted to drugs and alcohol. She had hidden in the filthy bathroom of a local gas station, and had scavenged dumpsters for food. Fortunately, with the help of a counselor, she had found refuge in a foster home with an older couple who truly cared about her. Despite all the hardships her parents and classmates inflicted on her, Brittany somehow maintained a positive outlook. She said that we could only control responses to others, not the people themselves. She said that she had decided to “let go” of the negative feelings and focus on positive energy. Moreover, Brittany shared her dream of becoming a child psychologist and opening a clinic to provide free counseling services for the needy.

Empathy: Walking in Another's Shoes

Peacefully slumbering, I was irate when the sound of banging and thudding outside my window woke me up. I threw my blanket off, turned on the light, and peeked out the window to see what all the ruckus was about. A short, filthy, vile woman was tearing through our trashcans at the end of the driveway. The grimy homeless lady was picking through the old scraps of meals like they were treasure. “I can’t believe this lowlife pig is ruining my day. Why doesn’t she just go get a job or something!”? I thought to myself. I balled up my fist and pounded on the window a few times to get her attention. She fearfully looked up at the window and sprinted into the distance, carrying bits of my leftover Chinese food. When the horrible blur of dirty brown muck disappeared from my sight, I jumped in bed and quickly faded back to sleep.

I woke up. The brightness of the radiant sun was surrounding me. Confused and bewildered, I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was seeing correctly. I peered around me and saw that I was in some sort of woods. The sounds of cars roared not too far behind me, and figured out I was near a highway. When I looked down, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was wearing nothing but tattered, sooty rags. I felt my face and the grime of mud smeared on my hand. Home was nowhere in sight. By now, I was taking deep breaths to try and calm myself down, in attempt to eliminate the chance of passing out. Somehow, I ended up stranded, deserted, and abandoned- I was homeless.

My ear pricked up when I heard voices and laughter near by. I scurried over to the noise, to find a group of hobos sitting around a campfire, playing cards and gulping down beer. “Excuse me,” I said nervously. “Would you happen to know where I am?” “Shoot, how am I suppose to know? We all have no where to go, and this is the best we got,” a man with a monstrous, black beard and torn clothing bellowed. All of the ragged hobos behind him began to chuckle and clank their bottles together wildly. I knew I had to get out of there. Bolting toward an opening in the trees, I rain until I reached an open road, with cars and trucks zooming by.

Grabbing a styrofoam cup, I sat on the curb, hoping someone might be generous enough to drop a few dollars in so I could buy something to eat. A few adults with harsh faces plopped some quarters in my hand, but most of them tried not to look over at me. They just kept staring straight ahead, eager for the red light to turn green. How could people be so cruel? I was a cold, starving, grungy person in need of a little help, yet all of the “soccer moms” and businessmen couldn’t even spare a coin or a passing glance. They were too busy yakking on the phone, or in too much of a rush to help someone out. This concept seemed very selfish and barbaric to me. After about an hour, and only receiving about three dollars from a few folks who felt too bad not give me money, I decided it was time to try something else. So I headed to the nearest homeless shelter.

By now, dark was rolling around. The air grew chillier and soft winds sent shivers down my spine. My feet were beginning to blister and swell from walking such great distances without any shoes. As I trudged from street to street, the people I came across were disgusted. All they did was merely judge my appearance, when in reality they had no idea what I had been through. Their judging eyes looked me up and down as they shooed their children inside their safe houses. I felt awful. The sky was smoky grey, and the hint of orange sky was quickly fading away. In a few minutes the moon was out and the temperature continued to drop. Right when I couldn’t take much more walking, I arrived at the shelter. I opened the door, and the warm, cozy air felt so nice. I grabbed a paper plate and a lady in an apron served me potatoes, beans, and some sort of meat. I found a seat next to an old man wearing a threadbare flannel jacket, and I sat down. The food tasted so delectable after a day of misery. Of course the meal was not something served at a black tie event, but it surely hit the spot. After eating, I remained seated and just thought. I thought about the way I felt wearing muck all day. I thought about the disgusted faces of the people around me. But most of all, I thought about how nobody knew what I was actually going through... and then it hit me.

Humanity Without Humanity

Looking at history, it is clear that mankind sometimes loses its humanity. When men become calloused to the pain they cause, they are capable of unspeakable evil. Only with an ability to understand another human being’s circumstances and feelings can someone exemplify the compassion we all value. Indeed, the need for empathy in society is clearly apparent when one considers the horrors that can occur when a group is devoid of compassion and understanding.

When giving his acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize, Eli Wiesel made a curious observation concerning the things that enabled the Holocaust to occur. He said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it is indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it is indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it is indifference." He makes the point that it is not hate that drives the horrors of this world, it is indifference. Hate causes attachment, indifference is cold, unattached and can destroy without regret. Following the logic that every evil deed stems from indifference or apathy, then one must conclude that all goodness and kindness would come from its antonym, empathy.

Had the S.S. looked past the propaganda and imagined if their own families were robbed of their possessions, would they have played the part of the thieves? Had the S.S. imagined their wives, sons, and daughters herded into cattle carts, would they have performed the role of the herders? Had they contemplated their loved ones being separated into concentration camps, where they would die of starvation, disease, or murder, what chance is there that they would have allowed the blood to be on their hands? Had they seen the horrors they committed for what they were, many could have been saved. Only by understanding the pain one’s victim undergoes, can an individual feel remorse. This is due to the fact that it is an understanding of the suffering one causes that engenders regret and repentance. By placing oneself in another’s position, an individual can see the hurt they cause and amend their ways as necessary.

While the Holocaust resonates within many people and will always be coupled in our minds with intolerance and genocide, another instance where empathy could have prevented even more bloodshed exist. Spanning far longer than the Holocaust, and claiming many more lives, was the despicable practice of slavery.

Slavery can serve as an example of discrimination and bigotry allowing a clearly immoral institution to be unopposed. What enabled this terrible mistreatment of an entire ethnic group was simply a lack of understanding or concern for what was truly going on. Had people thought of the fairness of working without pay, or of slaves as people instead of property, they would have assuredly condemned the practice. Unfortunately, many of the people of the time only saw it in the eyes of their society not from the eyes of the sufferers. The song “Amazing Grace”, written by John Newton, a former slave ship captain, contains a line that describes this terrible ability of men to overlook the evil right before their eyes. The line goes, “I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now, I see.” When asked why he wrote this line, Newton would answer that he had never before seen the evil of what he did for much of his life. In short, he had been blind to his terrible crimes against humanity as it was acceptable to his society. It was only when his eyes were opened to the terrible suffering that the slaves underwent that he turned his life around and devoted his life to God and to opening the eyes of others. By thinking emphatically and placing himself in the shoes of his victims, John

Newton helped the world see for only by attempting to see from another point of view can society’s “blindness” ever be cured.

William Wilberforce, a member of Parliament, campaigned for much of his career for the abolition of slavery in Great Britain. To this end, he attempted to make his fellow legislators recognize the abomination of slavery and its terrible impact on the slaves themselves. He focused on getting them to be aware of the brutal conditions under which the slaves would spend much of their lives. He presented bloodstained manacles and chains on several occasions and brought forth poignant accounts of the slaves’ plight. On one occasion, he even went so far as to trick some members of Parliament into visiting a slaver’s vessel. This vessel had just returned from a trip and was still filled with the human waste of the slave hold which had not been cleaned out during the entire duration of the three week journey. Needless to say, this image of filth and misery stuck with formerly hardened and obstinate representatives. Over the course of almost twenty years, Wilberforce’s emphatic appeals to his fellow legislators’ humanity won out and the slave trade was outlawed in all of Great Britain as, once men are willing to look beyond their understanding and empathize with those they impact, the world can be changed.

Empathy: Walking in Another's Shoes

"It would really be handy right now if I could drive and drink my coffee at the same time," I thought to myself. I was weaving through cars on the main highway when I looked down at the arm that stops at what once was an elbow. It used to eat me up inside knowing that I would forever be known as “the girl whose surgery went wrong”. Though I’ve learned how to function with only one hand, I’m still self-conscious about the way it looks ever since the humiliation doled out by my middle school peers.

I turned into the parking lot of the crowded community center and then spotted Stan waiting by the entrance. After getting out of my car, I rushed over to Stan to receive my ticket. We were going to see an inspirational speaker that came into town only two weeks ago. With Stan being my best friend, I had to believe him when he said the last session was “life changing”.

“I said 5:30 sharp,” Stan looked down at his watch, “not 5:39.”

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded, “there was just a lot of traffic”

“It’s fine, lets just hope he hasn’t started yet.”

I looked around to see that people were rushing in the same general direction that we were. Stan and I entered a large auditorium with rows of red velvet seats. After our tickets were checked, we walked over to our seats, which were the fifth row from the stage. Stan looked down at his watch and said, “It’s 5:42 he should be starting soon.” A minute later, the lights started to dim and a man walked onto the stage. He had snowy white hair with deep lines that covered his face. The man was barefoot and was wearing all black except for his olive green tie. Stan became very excited and joined the crowd in an overwhelming applause. The man sat down on the single chair that was set in the middle of the stage.

“For those who don’t know me,” he said to the microphone clipped to his jacket, “my name is Allan and I must ask you all a question. Do you know what it’s like to be… different?” I swallowed when he said this and thought immediately about my arm.

“Last week we were here talking about how life can be more useful if we appreciate what we have, and that material things aren’t really that important. I’m going to start today with the same general theme in the hope that one word will have you all evaluating your conscience.” There was a long pause before we went on, “Empathy. Yesterday, I read an article about a fourteen-year-old girl who committed suicide after being tormented by her classmates because she was overweight. I know that everyone in the audience today can still remember a person who had made life miserable at one point.”

I remember Melanie Stilwell perfectly and how she turned all the girls in my seventh grade class against me. The hurtful notes, nicknames and rumors made me want to cry when I came home from school. “Obviously we know many ways to describe this person, but one word would not be empathetic.” Allan continued, “The sad thing about this article was that it didn’t even make front page. Do we really care more about the latest fad than someone around us who commits suicide? I’m sure if parents taught their kids to not judge a book by its cover then the world wouldn’t be as full of hate and wars. Maybe if more questions were to be asked, we would learn the answers from another’s perspective.” He looked into the distance and his face became stern, “I have a friend that I grew up with who is Muslim and wears the traditional turban around his head. He tried to fly up to Illinois to see his very sick mother but ended up missing his flight because he was accused of being a terrorist. Sadly, an hour before he boarded the next flight, his mother passed away. One day I asked him what it’s like to be judged so easily and he simply replied that if people knew what it was like, they would understand how hurtful it is.” Alan walked over to the chair slowly and sat down, leaning with his elbows on his knees. “See if people took the time to experience another’s perspective, there wouldn’t be nearly as much judgment. If the girls who caused the suicide of their classmate understood what she experienced on a daily basis, that little girl might still be around today. If before we declared war on a country, took time to understand their side of the argument, there would be more compromising and less bomb dropping.”

He stood up in his chair and looked down at the crowd, “I want you all to go home tonight and think about how the world would be if everyone thought about other people’s feelings. Think about how your life would be if you didn’t feel judged for the things you can’t control. Thank you so much for your time and I hope we’ll see you next week.”

Empathy: Walking in Another's Shoes, the Bettering of Two Worlds at Once

One of the most commonly used phrases in our culture is ‘life isn’t fair’ and it isn’t. There is no denying that some people have better lives than others and nobody can truly say why. While many people would say that the recognition and acceptance of this axiom is essential to human growth and development, the opposite is true. The empathetic desire to mitigate the effects of the world’s indifference and the undertaking of action to achieve this is what makes a human great and allows for the bettering of the world.

Empathy means different things to each person as everyone has had unique experiences that alter their perceptions of the world and they all have distinctive problems to deal with. When a person puts on another’s shoes, the differing backgrounds, cultures, and personal views are put aside. Empathizing with another allows one to not only help the person but also discover solutions to one’s own issues through altruism and caring. Finding someone who needs a little help in life is not only the province of movie stars propping up their public images or those who have the time and money to do something truly wonderful about the catastrophes of the third world countries and human tragedies. Everyday people who live rather ordinary lives by society’s standard today can still be in need of a little human compassion that would enrich multiple lives for the better.

Walking in another’s shoes gives the walker perspective on the world and how his or her life fits into it. By putting problems and beliefs into the larger picture, common ground can be found and compassion spread. As the miles blur beneath the borrowed shoes, the walker’s strengths are thrown into sharp contrast with his or her weaknesses so that self improvement can be made. However, this is secondary to the revelations about the shoe owner’s difficulties. The highlights of the person’s life can be expanded upon to help them through the lean times as just the knowledge that someone out there cares enough to slip into their shoes can make a world of difference.

Personal experiences are shared and mistakes learned from. Perhaps the true beauty in the simple act of empathizing with another is not only that one improves another’s life but that one improve one’s own as well. Everyone has a story to share about the horrors they have experienced or heard about though most people would not describe their lives are hard or troublesome. Even I, who thought I was living the ordinary American life, discovered the gift of empathy with a classmate.

Growing up, one of my friends in school was a girl named Ayla. Her family was from Syria and we had gone to school together. We were never close but in class we would share inane conversation and laugh over shared events. As religion has never been central to my life, it is never a topic that I bring up with friends in everyday conversation. I knew Ayla was Muslim because she work a head scarf and was absent on Muslim holidays. Perhaps I was too focused on my own issues in school but I never realized how some students treated Ayla differently. Certain classmates would never sit next to her or help her out on a tricky math problem.

Last year I overheard some disparaging remarks made about Ayla and her religion specifically. For a few moments I was so outraged that I could not form a coherent sentence before I gave those people a piece of my mind. Immediately after I sought Ayla out and we had an in depth conversation about her experiences in the United States. My eyes were opened as I slipped on her shoes and experienced hatred, intolerance, and emotional pain such as I never had before. As I empathized with her, not only did I help to relieve some of the loneliness she felt but I also discovered something about myself. If this girl who was constantly put down and had her beliefs cast into doubt could remain strong and faithful to herself and her ideas then I had no reason to waffle in my life. Through her strength, I found my inner identity. The catty comments from petty classmates made no difference to me now because I was secure in myself while Ayla found a friend that would not judge her for the deity she believed in.