When Compassion Is Hard: Can Kindness Help Us Create Change?

What do you do when you believe an animal is suffering, but confronting the people responsible might 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. Because I am half Asian and half German, I have always been a person who smiles at people as 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 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. And sometimes I see dogs here being treated very differently from the way I would ever treat my own. Some dogs 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. 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 and question myself:

How can you do this to an animal?

How can you hear a dog crying?

How can you see an animal living like this and not feel the same urgency that I feel?

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, could have told them exactly what I thought, could have blamed them and could have told them that keeping a dog in a dark cellar was unacceptable. But I had a feeling that this might not help the dog at all. People rarely become more open when they feel attacked. They defend themselves, and they can become very angry. So instead, I chose another approach. I started talking to them and told them that if they ever needed help with their animals, I was there, so I offered to help. I even told them that I knew people who are looking for dogs and that I could walk their dogs if they ever needed it.

I didn't pretend that I agreed with everything. But I chose to build a relationship instead of building a wall. 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 actually open a door that confrontation would have closed.

And then I heard the crying

Recently, I started hearing the dog in the cellar crying, again and again. It went on for hours and my heart was breaking. All the emotions came back, the sadness, the helplessness and 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, but then I reminded myself: Getting angry doesn't automatically change anything, so I contacted them again, and simply asked:

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

Their response surprised me, they were very friendly and 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 I had to accept that, 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 she couldn't bear it anymore. Unlike me, she decided to confront the people directly and there was a huge argument. She demanded to know why the dog was barking and why it was being kept in the cellar. But then something happened that made me think even more deeply about the whole situation. The owners of the dog was so upset that that put up a massive wooden wall in front of the cellar, so we couldn't hear the dog anymore.

Problem solved? Not really. The dog was still there. Only now, we couldn't hear it so loud anymore.

And that was the moment that really stayed with me. Because we had managed to remove the sound of the suffering dog, but did we actually improved the dog's life??? And that is a very uncomfortable question.

Sometimes making noise doesn't create 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 and sometimes confrontation is necessary. 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.

Because 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 compassion for the animal, from the feeling that something is not right. But the way we act on that feeling matters.

Compassion doesn't mean approval

This has 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. It doesn't mean I have to become friends with them. And it certainly doesn't mean I should ignore an animal that may need help. For me, compassion means something different. It means trying to remember that if I want someone to change, I don't necessarily have to make them feel like a terrible person first.

Research into compassion and moral judgment has found that when we strongly perceive someone as “bad,” our willingness to feel compassion toward them can decrease.

And I recognize that in myself.

It is much easier for me to feel compassion for the dog than for the person I believe is responsible for its suffering. But perhaps that is exactly where compassion becomes a practice.

Not when it is easy.

When it is difficult.

I can dislike someone's behavior without hating the person

I am still learning this by the way. I can think:

“I strongly disagree with what you are doing.”

And I can think:

“I believe this animal deserves better.”

I can even feel angry.

And at the same time, I can hope that something changes inside that person.

I can wish that they develop more awareness, more empathy, more love for the animal and sometimes I even send them love and good energy in my thoughts. Not because I approve, 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 sometimes 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?But perhaps I am beginning to understand something. Diplomacy can be a strength, it can be the ability to stay connected to your goal instead of becoming overwhelmed by your emotions. In my case, my goal is not to win an argument, my goal is to help an animal and 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.There is a difference between compassion and self-abandonment. And there is a difference between kindness and pretending that everything is okay.

Protecting yourself from negative energy

There is another part of this that I find difficult. Sometimes I don't want to be around people whose energy feels completely opposite to mine. When I see behavior that I find cruel, I want to distance myself. I want to protect my own energy and I think that is important too. Compassion does not require me to absorb someone else's negativity. I can have boundaries, can step away and can protect myself. But sometimes, 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.

Not the strength to fight.

The strength to remain myself.

So what is the right thing to do?

Honestly? don't know. Maybe there isn't one universally right answer. Maybe sometimes we need to speak up loudly. Maybe sometimes we need to approach someone gently. Maybe sometimes we need to report something. Maybe sometimes we need to step back and protect ourselves, and maybe sometimes we need to try more than one approach. But what I 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.

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

But I can choose how I respond.

I can choose my words.

I can choose compassion.

And I can choose to ask myself one simple question before I react:

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

Because sometimes the loudest reaction doesn't create the biggest change. Sometimes the quiet conversation opens the 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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