Filipinos and empathy
Of all the words we can ascribe to our shared traits as Filipinos, nothing is more left out than “empathy.” Our being “empathetic” is a forgotten trait, discarded for the more agreeable “hospitable,” “godly,” or “romantic.”
Our hospitality may be known the world over, even packaged as an attraction to tourists of all sorts, whether from neighboring regions or distant continents. Even better known is our being religious, which is made obvious in the lively town fiestas and odd arguments in Congress. Or our romanticism, as our words and actions can aptly express.
But our empathy is different. It has a different packaging, almost custom-made. An outsider may not understand our empathy at all. Because sometimes we ourselves can’t.
Empathy is defined in Merriam-Webster as the ability to share someone else’s feelings. Simply put, according to Psychology Today, it is when you place yourself in the shoes of others and feel what they are feeling.
My most recent encounter with empathy was when my mother and I bumped into an acquaintance, the kind whose face you recognize but whose name you can’t readily remember. Strangely, as if on impulse, this acquaintance geared the direction of their conversation toward the lives of my college classmates, from most of whom I have grown distant, geographically and socially. Her empathy for them was so deep that my mother and I received full updates, including their goals and ambitions, even their plans of resigning from their current jobs. She not only planted herself in their shoes; she also walked in those shoes for kilometers. The encounter left me wondering if Filipino empathy is a means to some other end.
Western culture seems to dwell on the trait of being individualistic, so much so that we generalize Westerners to be frightfully frank, or even sometimes apathetic. By contrast, our culture is different; we tend to form crowds around scene-stealing scandals in public areas, or leverage on empathy to form massive movements for people in need through, say, social media.
Our empathy has made it possible for us to share the plight of needy young people, like the “Badjao girl,” and help them build better lives for themselves. It has made us confused and angry over a letter of a congressman’s daughter that went viral online, alleging abandonment and neglect. It has made us avid fans of underdog characters, whose success stories we laud. It has made celebrities out of ordinary people, with millions of us glued to reality TV and their spin-offs.
Our empathy can border on triviality, to the point of thoughtless gossip. It is strange how fast news travels from one end to another, like “electricity,” as Jose Rizal described it in “Noli Me Tangere.” It is as if our empathy has put our subconscious on default, where the success of one and the misfortune of another are the headline of the community. We attempt to walk in other people’s shoes, and if we can’t, we grab and pull these off, just so we can have a place to put our feet in. Worse still for others, if all else fails, we step on their shoes.
But worst of all is the absence of empathy where empathy should have been. Ours is a country peopled by the ridiculously rich and the shockingly poor. In their book “Elite Perceptions of Poverty and Inequality,” Elisa Reis and Mick Moore point out that our country’s elites feel a greater sense of social distance from the poor and are consequently more prepared to criticize them. Perhaps it is one major reason for our country’s underdevelopment, alongside the mismanagement of our rich resources. Not only is there inequitable distribution of wealth, the privileged are also apathetic to the condition of those at the margins.
Ours, too, is a country that has caught the attention of the international community for the increasing number of extrajudicial killings: The phenomenon has landed a spot on the front page of The New York Times. Yet no mass outrage from the citizenry has emerged. There is an absence of a public outcry, as Vice President Leni Robredo has observed. The image of the Filipino at the margins is the image of a weeping Jennilyn Olayres embracing the lifeless body of her partner Michael Siaron sprawled on the pavement. Violence begets violence and apathy begets apathy. Noel Celis, writing in the Inquirer, reported the woman to have shouted at the photographers at the scene: “Stop shooting and help us!”
Filipinos and empathy are a strange mix. Out of this empathy have come forth cries for help, social causes, and the spark of revolutions. But out of this empathy also come malice and inappropriate behavior. We plunge in beyond our limitations, in an attempt to put ourselves in other people’s situations and thereby generate a buzz in the community news—not so much to earn more empathy for another as to call attention to ourselves.
And out of this empathy is also no empathy at all. We shed a little tear over the plight of the unfortunate few: the Olayreses and the Siarons and the thousands of men crowding a decrepit prison. Because these are the things that happen to “those types” of people and “those kinds” of places. It is the least of our concerns. Not until it happens to us. Not until it is too late.
Curiously, a Filipino word for empathy is “pakikiramay.”
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