Kindness, to this day, gives me a queasy, uneasy feeling. This occurs most poignantly when I feel like I should be kind, but I cannot produce the feeling within me — with strangers, for example, or with individuals whose personalities clash with mine. In these moments, I tend to adopt a mask of rigidity.
Part of this may be attributed to inherited cultural norms, particularly masculine ones that view kindness as “soft”; part of it may be my instinctive belief that kindness is naive — those who are kind are simple, or superficial. A smile is easy to produce — I’ve done it endlessly; it’s my default expression when I feel discomfort, sadness, anger or happiness. I smile more to hide my thoughts than to reveal them. Therefore, it’s natural for me to view kindness, or its outward expression, as a kind of performance.
There is also a sort of vindictiveness in kindness’s near-opposite: cynicism. It creates a sense of empowerment that you know the world more deeply than others, and, with this newfound knowledge, you rebel through withdrawal. One sees the world as it “really” is: dark and corrupt and hopeless.
The logical conclusion of this mindset is disengagement. To withdraw from the world as best you can. It’s comforting, isolating. This isolation is coupled with a disgust towards those “simpler” emotions, such as kindness. It feels more truthful and honest to draw attention to the darker aspects of human nature.
The media, saturated with genuine horror stories, reinforces this outlook. Breaking news is always about violence or tragedy; positive news isn’t considered urgent or necessary. Which is reasonable — tragic news often carries larger consequences.
However, this constant source of negativity alters perception. With countless articles written about disasters, when they do sprinkle in the occasional feel-good story — a lottery winner or a rescued dog — it feels gross to even take note of it. In our minds, an acknowledgement of happiness becomes an ignorance of suffering.
Cynicism and kindness are not as opposed as they appear. The opposite, in fact. The more cynical someone is, the more they may recognize a need for kindness; they just come to believe kindness is impossible.
A common, cynical response to depressing stories is “why are humans like this?” or “of course this happens.” Underscoring both emotionally-defeated statements is a deep-rooted desire for kindness, an expectation for people to be good; repeatedly unmet expectations have turned their aspirations into bitterness. Their high hopes in humanity produce their dark rejection of it. So they consume more and more negative information, reinforcing their worldview with a grim satisfaction of being “correct.”
And because, secretly, many have not given up these ideals, they retreat; their beliefs of how the world “should” be prevent them from interacting with the world as it is. They become serious, but passively so; anything less would seem like a betrayal of their values.
I don’t think that cynicism is inherently wrong. But I think it often forgets itself, consumed by the intense whirlwind that sadness evokes. We can both appreciate the mundane joys in life and acknowledge existing broader injustices. To do so, I believe we must accept certain ideas.
First, kindness is a form of resistance. We act kindly precisely because cruelty exists. Before we return to our roles in a world that’s confusing and scary, let us offer each other the space to feel that confusion and fear. Kindness is necessary because of suffering, not despite it.
Second, kindness is a conversation — a difficult, uncomfortable one. It asks something of ourselves; it prompts an internal confrontation. When we are unable to be genuinely kind — perhaps displaying only the superficial manners of a warm, stiff greeting or a hollow “How are you?” — it may be a sign to look inwards. We frequently assign blame externally, but our inability to extend kindness also reveals something about ourselves. It might stem from self-judgment, shame or nihilism. Sometimes, we lack kindness because others were never kind to us.
Recognizing our own agency in kindness — not as a reaction to others, but as a deliberate choice — raises some tough questions: Do we have a duty to break this cycle of unhappiness? If the world is so cruel and undeserving as it seems to be, why offer compassion at all? If someone has caused harm, are we obligated to respond with kindness?
I don’t know. At a talk on “Bridging and Belonging,” hosted by UCLA’s Bedari Kindness Institute, guest speaker john a. powell suggested: “Start somewhere.” If it’s too hard to be kind to your adversary, start with a friend, a stranger or even yourself. Then slowly expand outwards. Compassion — even if it’s solely internal — takes a surprising amount of strength and composure.
To be sure, kindness does not eliminate accountability. It does not absolve someone of blame. Compassion is humanizing, even sympathizing. But that doesn’t erase judgment. We can both pass judgment (“I was hurt by what you said,” or “What you’re doing is not right”) and do it compassionately. Compassion involves an intimate acknowledgment of cynicism: “It’s human to be flawed — I’ve done wrong before, too” and “I think you’re a terrible person, but I know that this world — the world I’m a part of — can be terrible as well.”
To judge cynically is, unfortunately, only part of the truth. We live in an imperfect world, but not an inhumane one. The world is terrible; the world is beautiful.
Holding both realities is difficult. Viewing someone wholly can be uncomfortable; we often shy away from it by flattening and reducing them. Professor powell refers to this process as “breaking” — refusing to recognize another’s humanity. This reduction, I believe, goes both ways. Diminishing humanity in others diminishes humanity in ourselves.
And I am talking about genuine compassion. Superficial kindness remains superficial, and toxic positivity remains toxic. These disingenuous expressions of kindness should not be used to distort the real value and potential kindness holds.
In many ways, cynicism is a precondition for compassion. To see the world as it is and still choose compassion is to not let that awareness have the final word. It is to remember the small power we still possess.
Is it realistic — or even appropriate — to hold ourselves to such a high standard? Perhaps not always. But difficulty alone is not a reason to abandon it. Kindness, in its most authentic form, is not a weakness; it is something worth fighting for.
In a world that invites cynicism, we could all use a bit more compassion — the intentional, deliberate kind.
