Can You Hate Someone’s Actions Without Hating the Person?

What do you do when you believe an animal is suffering, but confronting the people responsible might actually make things worse?

One of the things I love most about living in Spain is the people. I often feel as though I have come home here.

Maybe it has something to do with being half Asian and half German. I have always been someone who smiles at people. It comes naturally to me. And here in Spain, when I smile at someone, I usually get a big smile back.

There is something warm and open about that which I really love.

But living here has also made me aware of something I find much harder to understand: the different ways people can see animals, and especially dogs.

I have three dogs myself, so animals are a very big part of my life. They are part of my family, and I find it difficult not to become emotional when I see an animal being treated in a way that feels very different from how I would ever treat my own.

Some dogs here live inside the house and are clearly part of the family. Others live on plots of land, sometimes outside, sometimes chained, sometimes in spaces that are difficult for me to understand.

And then there is one particular dog I have been thinking about for a long time.

The Dog in the Cellar

There is a dog I can see from the area where I feed some stray cats. It is difficult to get close because there is a fence, vegetation and quite a distance between us, but I can see the dog.

And behind another fence, there is a dark cellar.

The dog is kept there.

I have watched it and felt incredibly sorry for it, and I have to admit something that isn't particularly beautiful about myself: sometimes I feel enormous anger toward the people responsible.

Sometimes I think, How can you do this to an animal?

How can you hear a dog crying and not feel the same urgency that I feel? How can you see an animal living like this and simply accept it?

There are moments when I genuinely think, I don't like these people.

And that is where my internal conflict begins.

Because if I really want to help the dog, what good does it do to hate the people who have control over the dog?

I Had a Choice

I could have confronted them. I could have told them exactly what I thought and made it very clear that I believed the situation was unacceptable.

But I had a feeling that this might not help the dog at all.

People don't usually become more open when they feel attacked. Most of us become defensive, start explaining ourselves or simply stop listening.

So instead, I chose another approach.

I started talking to them.

I told them that if they ever needed help with their animals, I was there. I offered to help and even told them that I knew people who could help with animals and that I could walk their dogs if they ever needed it.

I didn't pretend that I agreed with everything they were doing. I simply tried to keep the door open.

Instead of building a wall between us, I tried to build some kind of relationship.

And something quite unexpected happened.

They gave me two of their dogs to find new homes for, and I successfully found homes for both of them.

That experience made me think very differently about diplomacy. Sometimes the gentle approach can open a door that confrontation would have closed.

And Then I Heard the Crying

Recently, I started hearing the dog in the cellar crying.

Not occasionally, but again and again.

Barking and crying for hours.

And my heart was breaking.

All the emotions came back: the sadness, the helplessness and, once again, the anger.

Why are they doing this? Why don't they do something? Why am I hearing this animal suffering while the people responsible seem to be okay with it?

For a moment, I wanted to do something dramatic. I wanted to confront them and tell them exactly what I thought.

But then I reminded myself that getting angry doesn't automatically change anything.

So I contacted them again.

I simply asked, “I can hear your dog crying all day. Do you need any help?”

Their response surprised me.

They were very friendly. They explained that the dog's sister was sick and that they had separated the two dogs. They believed the dog was crying because it was now alone and said that it would eventually stop.

I didn't agree with their decision, but at least for that moment, they were not asking for my help.

So I decided to wait.

Then My Neighbor Couldn't Take It Anymore

Another neighbor was hearing the dog too, and eventually she couldn't bear it anymore.

Unlike me, she decided to confront the people directly.

There was a huge argument. She demanded to know why the dog was barking and why it was being kept in the cellar.

I completely understand why she reacted that way. If you hear an animal crying for hours, sometimes your emotions simply take over.

But then something happened that made me think even more deeply about the whole situation.

The owners put up a massive wooden wall in front of the cellar.

And suddenly, we couldn't hear the dog anymore.

Problem solved?

Not really.

The dog was still there.

Only now, we couldn't hear it.

That was the moment that really stayed with me.

Because we had managed to remove the sound of the suffering from our lives, but had we actually improved the dog's life?

We didn't know.

And that is a very uncomfortable question.

What Are We Actually Trying to Change?

I don't think my neighbor was wrong for being angry. And I don't think I am necessarily right for choosing diplomacy.

There is no simple answer here.

Sometimes speaking loudly is necessary. Sometimes confrontation is necessary. Sometimes you have to make it impossible for people to ignore something that is wrong.

But sometimes confrontation makes people defensive and causes them to hide the problem rather than solve it.

That is what makes situations like this so difficult.

When we see something we believe is wrong, our first instinct is often to stop it. And that instinct comes from somewhere good. It comes from caring and from compassion for the animal.

But the way we act on that feeling matters too.

I think about this far beyond situations involving animals. How often do we become so focused on proving that someone is wrong that we forget what we actually wanted to achieve in the first place?

Sometimes we win the argument and lose the possibility of creating change.

Compassion Doesn't Mean Approval

This has probably been the hardest lesson for me.

Having compassion for someone does not mean that I approve of what they are doing. It doesn't mean I suddenly think their choices are okay, and it certainly doesn't mean I have to become friends with them.

It simply means that I can try to separate the person from the behavior.

I can strongly disagree with someone's choices and still hope that something changes inside them. I can wish that they develop more awareness, more empathy and perhaps even more love for the animal.

Sometimes I even send them love and good energy in my thoughts.

Not because I approve of what they are doing, but because I want something to change.

And maybe that is not hypocrisy.

Maybe it is compassion.

What If Diplomacy Is Not Weakness?

For a long time, I have wondered whether my diplomacy is actually a weakness.

Why can't I just say what I really think? Why don't I confront people more directly? Why do I always try to find the nice words?

Perhaps I am beginning to understand that diplomacy can actually be a strength.

It can mean staying connected to your goal instead of becoming completely overwhelmed by your emotions.

In my case, my goal is not to win an argument. My goal is to help an animal.

If being friendly gives me a better chance of being heard, perhaps that is worth something.

At the same time, I don't want to use diplomacy as an excuse to silence myself. There is a difference between being diplomatic and being afraid to speak, just as there is a difference between compassion and self-abandonment.

And sometimes protecting yourself is part of compassion too.

I don't have to be around people whose behavior deeply affects me. I can have boundaries. I can step away and protect my own energy.

But if I genuinely want to make a difference, I may also have to learn how to stay calm in the presence of something that deeply triggers me.

That takes strength.

So What Is the Right Thing to Do?

Honestly?

I don't know.

Maybe there isn't one universally right answer.

Sometimes we need to speak up loudly. Sometimes we need to approach someone gently. Sometimes we need to report something. Sometimes we need to step back and protect ourselves. And sometimes we may need to try more than one approach.

What I do know is that my experience with these dogs has taught me something I didn't expect.

If I really want to create change, I cannot let my hatred for a person's behavior become stronger than my love for what I am trying to protect.

I don't have to like everyone, and I don't have to approve of everyone's choices. I don't have to pretend that something is okay when I genuinely believe it isn't.

But I can still choose how I respond, especially when my real intention is to create change rather than simply express my anger.

That doesn't mean I will always get it right. There will be situations where I need to speak up more strongly, and there may be moments when being diplomatic is not enough.

But perhaps before I react, I can ask myself one simple question:

“Will what I am about to do actually help?”

I think that question is worth asking.

Because sometimes the loudest reaction doesn't create the biggest change.

Sometimes a quiet conversation opens a door.

And sometimes the hardest form of compassion is not having compassion for the person we love.

It is having compassion for the person we desperately wish would change.

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