This article was originally published in Common Dreams under Creative Commons 3.0 license. Read the original article. Contact: editor@commondreams.org
By Randi Mccray
How do we hold compassion for human loss while also confronting the harm of the beliefs they carried into the world? This tension came into sharp focus in the aftermath of the shooting of conservative commentator Charlie Kirk. Social media quickly split between mourning and condemnation. Some offered condolences to his friends and family, while others condemned his legacy and criticized his supporters.
The clash revealed a deeper duality that many now feel: Grief for a human life lost alongside clarity about the damaging impact of certain viewpoints. If you find yourself torn between mourning a life and rejecting a legacy of harm, you are not alone. This is the conflict of our moment: how to honor our shared humanity without excusing the consequences of speech that undermines it.
The tension is understandable. We can hold compassion for a person who is harmed because of their viewpoints, while at the same time making clear that harmful speech cannot be dismissed as just another opinion. Violence is never the answer, but neither can we ignore the ways speech shapes lives and communities. Respect cannot coexist with speech that dehumanizes.
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Balancing compassion for human loss with accountability for words that dehumanize is the only way both truths can coexist—and the only way society can survive.
The path forward requires more than moral outrage; it demands frameworks for engagement. Compassionate engagement, the process of creating the conditions for compassion and accountability to exist side by side—offers one way to navigate this difficult terrain.
Compassion is not absolution. To mourn a life is not to excuse the harm that that life’s words or actions set in motion. Compassion marks a refusal to celebrate violence, even as we continue to confront and resist the ideologies that wound communities. Accountability can—and must—stand alongside compassion.
For example, some argue that Kirk was respectful in person and that he simply had a viewpoint. Others note that he could be dismissive, using selective or misleading “facts” as counter-arguments and engaging in rhetoric that cast entire communities as less than fully human.
Compassionate dialogue can help build community across these different perspectives. It is a framework that allows us to hold and navigate varied viewpoints without a communications breakdown. Compassionate dialogue is not about agreement; it is about a way of engaging that opens conversations rather than shutting them down.
Compassionate dialogue begins with three practices: listening before responding, asking questions that invite reflection, and resisting the impulse to reduce others to their most polarizing positions. It asks us to slow down enough to see the person behind the viewpoint, even when we disagree. These practices don’t erase disagreement, but they keep it from collapsing into contempt.
Research backs up what compassionate dialogue shows in practice. Studies of intergroup contact consistently find that when people are brought together across differences in structured ways, trust grows and prejudice decreases. Evaluations of dialogue programs also show that approaches built on storytelling, perspective-taking, and listening can reduce polarization. Even large-scale studies of everyday conversations suggest that when people take turns fairly and truly listen, they come away feeling more connected. The lesson is clear: Dialogue done with care doesn’t erase disagreement, but it can soften division and build enough trust to imagine solutions together.
I have seen this in practice during dialogue sessions at the Yale School of Public Health. Participants who had built trust within their groups were able to express divergent perspectives openly and, at times, discover solutions by grounding themselves in shared values rather than clinging to distinct viewpoints. This approach allowed everyone to remain anchored in a “both-and” lens that centered their shared human experience.
There are glimpses of what this middle can look like. On a trip to West Virginia, Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) spoke with Trump voters. Instead of beginning with a scripted pitch about his political agenda, he asked attendees to share their own perspectives on healthcare in their county. By starting with listening rather than persuasion, he opened a conversation that revealed shared concerns about dignity, affordability, and the future.
His question demonstrated a possible approach to cut past party divisions, inviting people to reflect on their lived experiences—what it feels like to try to afford healthcare, pay bills, or build a stable future. By starting with listening rather than persuasion, Sanders revealed that people who appear divided by ideology actually share common desires for dignity and opportunity.
This approach mirrors what compassionate dialogue calls us to practice: leading with questions, grounding in humanity, and finding connection without erasing difference.
Compassion and accountability are not soft ideals, but obligations born of relationship. Coexistence depends on meeting in the middle, where shared humanity becomes our compass. We can choose compassion without losing accountability and build a society that refuses to let either stand alone.
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