Today I told someone that I felt nervous about the state of the world. It’s not like me to worry the way I have been lately, but the news has truly unsettled me.
As if the events in Venezuela weren’t enough to rattle me, now we’re confronted with two more possible scenarios: the invasion of Greenland and the halt of the midterm elections. I shared my fear about the erosion of democracy and world peace. The person I spoke to replied, “Well, I agree — an invasion of Greenland is ridiculous. It shouldn’t happen. Just like kidnapping a foreign leader shouldn’t happen. It’s wrong. But it doesn’t affect my life, so I don’t worry about it.”
I can’t fully describe what I felt when I heard those words. I was stunned. And then, after sitting with it, I realized I had just encountered the true danger. The greatest threat to democracy — to humanity — isn’t the dictator, the authoritarian, or the violent leader. It’s the absence of caring.
I am well versed in the theories about how evil manifests, how a lack of empathy allows it to flourish. But I’ve always associated those ideas with the darkest chapters of history: the Second World War, the Crusades, slavery, and other horrors committed by human beings. Yes, I’ve written about Sudan, the destruction of the rainforests, the suffering in Palestine, and countless other crises. There is no shortage of malignant behavior in this world.
But today I realized something uncomfortable: my battle against the destruction of humanity has been a safe one. Fought behind my computer, in my warm and cozy office. Focused on distant places and distant people. Today, for the first time, I felt confronted by the absence of caring in someone I know well — someone I respect — someone I never expected to respond that way.
Many have written about this. Plato, perhaps the first, said: Ignorance is the root and stem of all evil. He believed that unawareness of truth, a failure to understand consequences, and the absence of compassion create the conditions for injustice. Knowledge, he argued, is the antidote.
To a large extent, I agree with him. People often hold convictions that aren’t grounded in objective truth, empirical evidence, or even basic knowledge of history or geography. They rely on what others have told them or on their own interpretations. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that — none of us can know everything. But we can strive to learn more, especially about the issues we form opinions on. The question is: even if we knew everything, would evil disappear?
Plato believed knowledge was the solution. I’m not convinced. Modern thinkers aren’t either. At the Nuremberg trials, the American psychologist Gustave Gilbert concluded that evil is the absence of empathy. A genuine incapacity to feel with another human being.
The atrocities of the Second World War forced us to examine why people stand by and let terrible things happen. Hannah Arendt, the German philosopher, called it the “banality of evil” — the idea that great harm often comes not from monsters, but from ordinary people who fail to think or care about the consequences of their actions.
So is that where we are now? Have we become so disconnected, so consumed by the virtual world, so focused on protecting what we have and chasing what we want, that we simply don’t care about others anymore? Has our capacity to worry about strangers evaporated? In this age of disinformation and noise, have we lost the ability — or the will — to understand the consequences of certain acts?
Are we absolved from evil simply because we don’t know or don’t care?
Think about it. If our indifference contributes to famine, violence, or death, are we truly free from blame? If we shrug when a politician dismantles democratic foundations because it doesn’t affect our personal lives, are we not responsible when a country collapses into chaos?
Building and maintaining a society is, in my view, a collective responsibility. Every one of us is accountable for keeping democratic values alive. We must act when those foundations are threatened. We must help people in need, regardless of faith, nationality, or race. We must protect those facing oppression and violence — even when it has nothing to do with us.
How, you might ask? Writing a blog won’t fix it. Thousands of people are doing that. Awareness matters, but it feels insufficient in times like these. This morning, I admitted how shocked I was by the disinterest in Greenland and other threats. I said that indifference will be our undoing. History has shown it again and again: when we stop caring about others, evil takes charge. A nod and a “yes, you’re right” was polite, but not convincing. My fear is that we won’t care until evil knocks on our own door. And by then, it may be too late.
The truth is: I don’t have an answer. I don’t know what will shake us awake from this corrosion of empathy. I don’t know how to make people care if they don’t. And I certainly can’t control the politicians, the tech giants, the profiteers — those who thrive on the suffering or silence of others.
And yet, every now and then, someone surprises me — someone who does care, who asks questions, who refuses to look away. Those moments remind me that empathy hasn’t vanished entirely. They are small, but they matter.
So I turn to you, dear reader.
Do you care?
Do you know how to make others care?
Or are we all waiting for the knock on the door?
Do you think indifference is becoming normal? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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RosieGlobal 
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