Kindness is strength

Today is World Kindness Day. I want to celebrate this because the world feels so divisive and tribalistic right now, and I wish there were more kindness, compassion, and grace in the world—that you would receive these things not despite your differences, but because of them, in celebration of what makes you unique. I want to share an insight that has been quite revelatory to me recently.

Kindness is a strength

Some see kindness as a weakness, but I personally see it as a profound strength—to be kind even when others are not. It’s all too easy to be reactive, and to react defensively when someone tries to wound you. As a trans woman, I often face attempts to dismiss my identity and lived experience, and I’ll admit that a sharp retort can feel satisfying in the moment. I don’t attack people on personal grounds but based on their beliefs and statements, but I sometimes respond with lighthearted jabs and whimsical insults, such as, “You damp pinecone” or “You wet donut.” They’re meant to be disarming, even funny. Yet beneath the humor, the message still amounts to “you’re an idiot.”

Those moments can feel empowering briefly, but they never sit well afterward. Upon reflection, I always regret responding in that way, and wish I could have responded with more grace—with a gentler, more grounded response. Yes, people can be really nasty to me as they lash out based on their own hurts and fears, but I can’t control that; what I can control is how I respond. Every time I respond with frustration instead of grace—even playfully—I feel like I’ve failed; it feels like I’ve stepped out of alignment with the person I strive to be.

The Enemies Project

I have been watching a YouTube channel called The Enemies Project, which is a docuseries that puts two people with opposing worldviews in the same room and, and Larry Rosen—who has a legal degree and a background in conflict resolution—mediates the conversation.

The format consists of the following stages:

• Airing grievances – Each side begins by stating their positions and pain points, which quickly escalates into conflict. Larry allows the initial tension to surface to illustrate how our usual way of debating—defending positions and exchanging counterarguments—rarely leads to understanding. Instead, it only reinforces our existing beliefs and deepens the divide. The participants make their strongest cases for why their views make sense, yet neither convinces the other.
• Humanize through biography – Larry then redirects the conversation away from ideology toward personal history (fear, loss, and formative experiences). He invites each participant to share something profoundly meaningful in their lives, as well as their greatest hardship. This shift humanizes both people in the eyes of the other, creating space for empathy.
  • In one episode, a MAGA woman named Nancy sat across from a trans woman, Eve. Nancy spoke about being punished as a child for wanting to play with boys’ toys, and how she came to see that strict upbringing as valuable because it “taught her to be feminine” and the woman she was meant to be. That experience shaped her conservative worldview. I sensed, though, that beneath her conviction was an unacknowledged resentment—a part of her that might envy Eve’s freedom to express femininity in a way that Nancy was denied.
  • Nancy went on to share her current struggles: barely managing to feed her children, and feeling anger that her tax dollars support gender-affirming care while her family receives little help. I could feel her pain and understand her fear, even if her anger was misplaced—directed not at those responsible for her hardship, but at someone who, like her, is simply trying to live authentically.
  • Eve then shared her own story: how, when she came out to her parents as an adult, her father—whom she has always considered her best friend—yelled at her and called her an abomination. They have been estranged ever since, despite her repeated attempts to reconnect over the past decade. As she spoke, she cried as she relayed how her da taught her to be loving and kind to others, and yet he can’t bear to express that unconditional love for his own daughter. Watching this, I cried too; it resonated deeply with my own experiences of estrangement from my father. Maybe I’m biased, but I found it hard to imagine her story wouldn’t touch you in some way even if you’re not trans.
  • What shocked me most was Nancy’s response: she expressed compassion for Eve’s parents rather than for Eve herself. Instead of acknowledging Eve’s pain, she felt sorry for what her parents “had to go through.” Initially, this angered me. How could she hear such vulnerability and empathize only with those who rejected their child?
  • But as the discussion unfolded, I began to understand her response a bit better. When Nancy later spoke about her fear of her own children being rejected if they were to come out as trans, it became clear she was identifying with Eve’s parents. Their story had touched her own buried fears. Her apparent coldness wasn’t a lack of empathy per se—it was self-protection. In that moment, she could only process the part of the story that mirrored her own pain. Near the end of the episode, though, that empathy expanded to include Eve as well.
• Perspective-taking / role reversal – Next, each participant physically changes seats—literally stepping into the other’s place—and takes on their perspective. They’re asked to voice the other’s values and beliefs as if they were their own. This goes beyond simply restating arguments; it’s about inhabiting the experiences and emotions that shaped them. Remarkably, participants often elaborate on the other’s points, adding depth or nuance that wasn’t expressed before. This process allows both to feel profoundly understood—not just intellectually, but emotionally—as they hear their worldview reflected back with genuine comprehension.
• Reconnect on shared values – Finally, the conversation turns to common ground. After experiencing each other’s humanity, the participants reflect on the values they share and what they’ve learned. They no longer see one another as ideological threats but as whole, complex people. The process doesn’t erase disagreement, but it transforms how it’s held—with empathy, humility, and the possibility of continued dialogue.

After watching this first episode featuring Eve and Nancy, I came away with a deeper understanding that most, if not all, transphobia stems from pain and deeply rooted fear. I used to think transphobes became fixated on trans people simply to fill some void or to create meaning in their lives, but I see now that many are acting out of unresolved hurt. I suspect that for some transphobic women, those fears are linked to experiences of abuse or violence at the hands of men. For them, trans women may appear to blur the fragile boundary that once offered safety from that trauma—representing, in their eyes, the ultimate breach of what little protection they felt they had.

I don’t share that perspective, and I certainly can’t see myself as a man—let alone a threatening one. But I can empathize with the fear beneath it. When you’ve been traumatized, the world can narrow around that pain until it becomes your reality, and it takes time and safety to process it. It’s heartbreaking that some people’s unhealed wounds have turned into hostility toward me and others like me. But I understand their pain and fear. I’ve been sexually molested by a stranger myself, and while I don’t project that experience onto an entire group, I know what it is to be afraid of men—and how long it can take to feel safe again. I mean, I will always fear men when I walk alone at night; I’m not taking any chances. I just don’t let that fear inform my opinions of men in general. There are plenty of warm and compassionate men.

The death of human empathy?

So why am I sharing this? You might come away with a more cynical conclusion—that we shouldn’t bother empathizing with those who deny our humanity or refuse to see us as we are. But my takeaway is different. We so often treat each other as abstractions—collections of ideas rather than complex people. When we attack someone’s beliefs, we often end up attacking the person as well. It’s feels so objectifying and dehumanizing to be reduced to an ideology, to feel someone’s hostility is aimed not at who you are, but at what they imagine you represent. Yet the more threatened we feel, the easier it becomes to compartmentalize—to defend ourselves through argument rather than understanding, even when those beliefs are inseparable from our sense of self.

I’m also reminded of the meme below I came across last week, juxtaposing a quote by Elon Musk (“The fundamental weakness of Western civilization is empathy”) with one from Hannah Arendt (“The death of empathy is one of the earliest and most telling signs of a culture about to fall into barbarism”). The difference between them is striking: Musk speaks from resentment, Arendt from concern. One sees empathy as a flaw; the other, as the foundation of civilization itself.

I do worry that we’re drifting toward a kind of modern barbarism as empathy fades and tribalism deepens—each of us retreating into our own circles, finding solidarity mainly in opposition to someone else. Maybe this comes with being young, but I used to feel like a distinct individual with a strong sense of self. Now I often find myself defined by labels—leftist, autistic, trans—and while these identities matter, I’m weary of feeling like a single drop in a pond bound together by shared outrage at another pond across the way.

What’s next?

So what should we do with these reflections and realizations? Honestly, I’m curious to hear your thoughts. As for mine—I’m not here to preach love or forgiveness toward those who openly wish us harm, whether through ideology or violence. And I don’t think I have the right to tell anyone else how to respond to hatred. Still, whether or not you resonate with what I’ve shared, I hope there’s something here you can take with you, even if your conclusions differ from mine.

But for what it’s worth, this is what I have decided I want to do:

• To stop putting others down, even in so-called “whimsical” ways.
• To approach people with curiosity—to listen and empathize where possible, even when faced with someone I see as an adversary.
• To focus less on winning arguments and more on genuine dialogue.
  • In a recent exchange, I was so intent on pointing out that the other person was sidetracking the conversation with a red herring. When I reflected on that exchange later, I realized that even though he acknowledged nothing I said and tried to derail the discussion, it was a missed opportunity to acknowledge the other person’s concerns. I could have said, “I hear what you’re saying, and those are valid points. I share some of those worries—but here’s what also concerns me…” That small shift could have transformed the conversation.
• To validate others’ fears and experiences without expecting validation in return. Doing so not only honors their humanity but also makes it more likely they’ll extend the same courtesy.
  • Just last week, I spoke with a woman expressing anger toward the trans community—her words verged on transphobic. I told her that her perception of us made me sad. To my surprise, that honesty opened something between us. We began talking about our shared experiences as women, the fears we carry, and the ways we’ve been hurt. For a moment, we weren’t adversaries but people meeting in mutual understanding. It was disarming, beautiful, and heartwarming. It’s one of those rare conversations that will probably stay with me. I want to strive to have more such interactions.

The importance of validation

Lastly, let me share something that made me laugh, but which highlights the importance of validation. Below is Peter, who is asking people for a solution to this problem he faces with his wife, where she presents a problem, he presents a solution, and she says she doesn’t want that solution.

Peter’s follow-up tweet is quite hilarious to me. Like someone commented:

How ironic—Peter doesn’t want a solution; he just wants to be heard. And of course he does. It’s funny how often men frame that need as something uniquely feminine—the desire to be listened to rather than “fixed.” But really, it’s universal. We all want to be understood. Sometimes there isn’t a clear solution to our problems, or at least not one we’re ready to hear. What we need first is to feel seen and heard—to have our feelings acknowledged and validated. Once that foundation of empathy is there, then we can explore solutions together.

That’s what I want to do: to validate others more. It’s a small display of kindness, but it can bring understanding, a genuine human connection, and it can feel quite empowering and heartwarming to both parties. We should try to understand and lift each other up more.

Kindness is not a weakness; it’s a profound strength. And when we extend it even to those who seem least deserving of it, we often find they’re lashing out precisely because kindness has been absent from their lives. That, to me, is deeply sad—and all the more reason to offer it. I don’t know is everyone deserves validation and kindness per se, but I do think it makes the world better if everyone feels like they have that.