Readers are being urged to look beyond clever political opinions and listen for something more revealing: empathy. A personal essay in The Advocate connects arguments about Gaza, sexual violence and trans safety with the quieter ways people reveal their character, offering a useful test for anyone deciding whom to trust.

Essential Takeaways

  • Knowledge isn't character: Someone can sound politically sophisticated while showing little compassion.
  • “Devil's advocacy” has limits: Debate becomes harmful when it dismisses people facing real danger or grief.
  • Blame protects the bystander: Victim-blaming can make observers feel safer, but it distorts responsibility.
  • Ask better questions: Reactions to suffering often reveal more than a person's official political position.
  • Leaving can be wise: Recognising a troubling pattern may be painful, but it can prevent deeper harm.

Clever arguments can hide uncomfortable truths

The most unsettling people aren't always the loudest ones. Sometimes they're the polished conversationalists who can explain elections, international affairs and political theory over dinner, yet seem strangely unmoved by another person's fear.

That's the central tension in the essay published by The Advocate. Its writer describes realising that intellectual fluency had been mistaken for wisdom, while small moments of bodily unease were brushed aside. The detail feels familiar because relationships often reveal themselves in ordinary settings, not dramatic confrontations.

At a Brooklyn dinner, a friend discussed why Zohran Mamdani's platform offered hope to trans people. Instead of listening, the writer's former partner launched into an argument about the candidate's age, politics and spending plans. His defence afterwards was that he had been “playing devil's advocate”.

But disagreement wasn't the issue. The problem was treating someone else's safety and hope as an entertaining exercise in rhetorical skill.

When debate turns suffering into a game

There’s a place for scepticism. Public policy deserves scrutiny, budgets need explaining and political promises shouldn't escape criticism simply because they're popular. Still, context matters enormously.

A spirited exchange between people with similar stakes isn't the same as challenging someone whose community faces discrimination, violence or loss. When the person arguing has little to lose, while the person listening carries the consequences home, the conversation is no longer an even contest.

The essay draws a direct line between that dinner and online reactions to a civil lawsuit involving a former Cornell student. The woman, identified in court papers as Jane Doe, alleges that seven fraternity members drugged and raped her in 2024. No criminal charges had been brought at the time of the article, while the local district attorney had reopened the investigation and planned to take it before a grand jury.

As the case circulated online, attention often shifted towards what the woman had done, where she had been drinking and why she had entered the house. That familiar pivot matters. It moves scrutiny away from alleged perpetrators and towards the person who says she was harmed.

Why victim-blaming feels reassuring

The writer connects this response with the psychological idea known as the just-world belief: the comforting assumption that people generally get what they deserve. If someone caused their own suffering, observers don't have to confront how easily harm can happen to anyone.

It’s a seductive story, but it’s also a cruel one. It suggests that safety comes from making the right choices, even though sexual violence is usually committed by someone the survivor knows and trusts. A familiar house, a friend at the door or a seemingly safe relationship can all create access that later becomes dangerous.

The article also invokes Kate Manne's term “himpathy”, describing the disproportionate concern often shown towards men accused of wrongdoing rather than the people who report being hurt. In practice, that can sound like endless qualifications, sympathy for a promising young man's future or suspicion directed at a survivor's decisions.

The same logic can spread beyond individual cases. Collective blame treats civilians as responsible for violence carried out by governments or armed groups, while rarely applying that standard consistently to one's own side. The target changes, but the reflex remains: explain away the harm before acknowledging the person experiencing it.

The questions that reveal character

Political labels don't always tell us enough. Two people may support the same party for entirely different reasons, and a polished position can conceal a troubling view of other people's humanity.

The essay suggests asking more personal questions instead. What do you feel first when you see a child pulled from rubble? What do you ask when someone says they’ve been hurt? How do you respond when a friend finds hope in a political idea you dislike?

These questions aren't designed to produce perfect answers. People can learn, apologise and change, and the writer is clear that they have also revised views expressed carelessly in the past. The important distinction is whether someone can recognise harm plainly, without immediately reaching for a “but”.

That small word can carry a lot of weight. Saying rape is wrong, then adding a qualification about clothing, alcohol or location, isn't moral complexity. It's often a way of relocating responsibility.

Trust is built by what people refuse to excuse

The practical lesson is both simple and uncomfortable: pay attention to what the people closest to you are willing to excuse.

That doesn't mean subjecting every date, friend or relative to a political interview. It means noticing patterns when conversations turn towards vulnerable groups, survivors or civilians. Does the person listen? Do they show curiosity about the human cost? Can they criticise a government or movement without blaming an entire population?

For anyone considering a serious relationship, these signals can matter more than shared hobbies or impressive conversation. Your partner's opinions won't always match yours, but their response to suffering tells you how they may treat your pain when it becomes inconvenient.

The writer eventually ended the situationship and describes grief mixed with a powerful sense of relief. That emotional combination rings true. Walking away from someone isn't always a judgement on every part of their personality, but it can be an honest response to what their habits reveal.

Empathy isn't softness. It’s a safety skill

The essay's strongest point is that empathy shouldn't be treated as a decorative virtue, something nice people possess after the serious political analysis is finished. It’s part of how we assess risk, trust and character.

A person who can debate foreign policy but cannot acknowledge the humanity of a grieving family may know plenty about politics. They may simply lack the instinct to see who is paying the price of the argument.

That doesn't mean people must agree on every international crisis or election. It does mean they should be able to recognise suffering without turning it into a courtroom, a thought experiment or a chance to appear clever.

In the end, the writer returns to a question associated with journalist Maria Ressa: what are you willing to sacrifice for the truth? In everyday life, the cost may be a relationship, a comfortable story or the future imagined with someone else. Still, finding out sooner can be the safer bargain.

Empathy won't solve every disagreement, but it can show you who is safe to keep close.

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