President Obama was criticized and defended this week for not going to the border where children from Central America have been crossing into this country illegally and are being held in overcrowded detention facilities. The debate over whether he should have gone to the border seems to be a matter of seeing and being seen.
First, there are those who want Obama to see what is going on for himself, in response to which the administration argues that the president does not need to see the border or the facilities, because he already knows all that he needs to know to do what needs to be done. Second, there are those who want Obama to be seen at the border to avoid the appearance of being aloof and detached, which would only feed into the general impression a lot of people already have of the president anyway. In response, the president has contemptuously dismissed this as a photo-op, arguing that what is important is for him to solve the problem, not to waste time posing and performing for the media.
Empathy being what it is, I naturally put myself in the president’s shoes in an effort to understand his motives. And the first thing that occurs to me in doing so is that I would not want to go to the border either, but not for the reasons given above. Now, whether my motive for staying away is also the president’s motive, I cannot say; for the difference between one human being and another can be substantial, thereby limiting the value of empathy in figuring out what actually goes on in the hearts and minds of others.
So, all I can say is that what would be a motive for me, and what may be a motive for the president, is the desire not to see and not to be seen. Some people have too little sympathy for others, and in extreme cases, we call such people psychopaths. As far as I know, there is no term for the opposite pathology, but some people have too much sympathy, and I am one of them. This gives people a lot of power over me, and while I do not mind occasionally giving in to my sympathetic urges and giving people what they want, I long ago realized that if I was to have any peace, I had to take steps to put a limit to their demands, and this means primarily by avoiding eye contact.
I used to work as a repairman. It was not my job to wait on the counter, but sometimes the sales clerks would be busy, and the customers would make eye contact with me while I was trying to repair something. Once a customer made such eye contact, there was nothing for it but for me to go to the counter and wait on him. And once I did that, I knew that I was going to have to repair the item myself rather than let someone else repair it, because the customer had invaded my soul with his eyes and taken possession of it, making me personally responsible for the repair job. Another repairman had the same problem I did, and he used to joke about it: “Well, I’m going to have to repair this one,” he would say, “because I made too much eye contact taking it in.” We finally figured out a way to put some large objects between us and the counter so that we could avoid eye contact with the customers, thereby allowing us to do our job unmolested.
Of course, this works both ways. I always prefer to do business with a company that has an office in town where I can go over there and look someone in the eye. Even in the apartment complex where I live, I always go over to the office when I have a serious problem rather than call on the phone, because ear contact is not nearly as forceful as eye contact. On the phone, it is easier for people to put you on hold, to tell you there is nothing they can do, and to hang up. In person, such tactics are not so easily employed.
Ear contact is not to be totally despised, however. In the old days, when people would call me on the phone soliciting a contribution to some charity, it was hard for me to say “No,” the result being that I often did contribute in spite of myself. But now, thanks to Caller ID, this is no longer a problem. Salesmen, charities, and needy acquaintances can all be avoided simply by not answering the phone. That is also why I do not have voicemail.
There was a time when I used to walk around with a dollar bill folded up in my shirt pocket. Whenever a beggar would ask me for money, I would hand him the dollar, for which he was most grateful. A fair exchange it was: he got the dollar, and I got to bask in the warm glow of my benevolence. Since this only happened about once a month, the cost of maintaining my good opinion of myself as a kind and charitable fellow was twelve dollars a year.
Then, the day came when I started renting movies at a video store that was located on the corner of Montrose and Westheimer, a corner in Houston notorious for being where the homeless congregate. Every time I went to get a movie or return one, two beggars would accost me on the way in, and three on the way out. Had I given them each a dollar, the cost of being charitable would have exceeded the cost of the movie. When I witness suffering, it has a strong effect on me, and that effect is augmented when those who are suffering can see me in return, so the trips to this store made me miserable. I could have given in to my excessive capacity for sympathy by becoming a saint and giving each of them a dollar, but I am not that good. And so, while I sometimes respond to my feelings of pity by helping those who suffer, I often respond by avoiding them in the first place. If I could have entered the store without being seen, I could have passed by all these homeless people without being unduly affected by feelings pity, especially if I took care not to look them in the eyes. That not being possible, I quit patronizing that video store. In fact, I so hardened my heart, that I quit carrying around the dollar and quit giving money to anyone.
I asked a friend why all these beggars would hang around the same corner, where people had become inured to their plight, when they could probably do better in other parts of town, such as River Oaks or even Memorial. Without hesitating, my friend answered, “Because the cops would beat them up, and then drop them off on the corner of Montrose and Westheimer.” His view of human nature is darker than mine, but I have yet to come up with a better answer than that one. Video stores do not exist anymore, and I am happy to say that I have been able to return to my former routine of giving a dollar to any beggar I happen to encounter, restoring my feelings of largesse for the modest sum of twelve dollars a year. I suspect that what is true of me will be true of this nation’s attitude toward the crisis on the border. When the number of those in need is small, our compassion is more than adequate; when that number is large, our compassion reaches its limit and will go no further.
When avoiding eye contact and even ear contact are not possible, the only defense left against the neediness of those around you is an appearance of cool detachment. An imperious demeanor will often act preemptively against the possibility of a request, and will make it easier to say “No,” if that request is forthcoming anyway. Any look of sympathy in your eyes or any sound of compassion in your voice will only encourage the supplicant and weaken your defense against him.
If President Obama were of a mind to allow the children to stay, he would have gone to the border and gorged himself on pity. That would have strengthened his determination to allow them all to stay as refugees. On the other hand, since Obama refuses to go to the border and the detention facilities, it may be that he knows he is eventually going to send the children back, and so he does not want to see their sad eyes or hear their pleas for mercy, for that would only make his task more difficult, if not impossible. And if his manner seems to be aloof, it may only be a pose, which he needs to keep himself from weakening.