Decolonizing Empathy

How Grieving the Ukranians’ Loss of Home During Wartime Can Drive Empathy Towards All Refugees

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

​As we celebrated Indigenous People's Day, I was struck by how we are differently impacted when observing the loss of others based on how much they remind us of ourselves. It is why, for too long, the multiple grievances suffered by BIPOC individuals have been overlooked. They simply don't look like the white majority, or what has too long been considered "us." As we contemplate what it means to decolonize the spaces we live it, I would argue we must bring that lens to how we attune ourselves to others' grief. 

As a researcher whose expertise are in death, dying, and grief, I often see life and world events through the lens of loss. The loss of home, and the grief that goes along with it, is what the Ukrainians have been experiencing over the last several months.  

 Loss of home is the collateral damage of war that, while overlooked in the violent moments of war, often has lasting impact for many generations. I am reminded of the quote by Rumi: “All language is a longing for home.” It perfectly summarizes the yearning refugees seemingly feel for home. 

 And longing or yearning, it turns out, is the most salient feeling of grief.  

 The Ukrainians are feeling this loss immensely. I was recently in a work meeting in which we were discussing ways to help a Ukrainian psychologist. He reached out for help from a group of experts in grief and loss to help his fellow Ukrainians cope with the war. What stood out to me most was that he referred not just to the loss of loved ones, but the collective loss of home. 

 Ukrainians are experiencing a loss of home and everyday life that is a common story of the refugee. This upending of life and loss of home takes a toll on mental health, and we must attend to it. Connecting to this loss provides an entryway by which we can expand our empathy towards, and in turn help, Ukrainian refugees and refugees more broadly. 

 The loss of home is a complex loss, in which one experiences both yearning for one’s homeland and guilt about being one who survived. This yearning is made worse by the inability to say goodbye—through taking pictures, saying a ceremonial goodbye, or spending intentional time with one’s home. The guilt made worse by watching fellow citizens suffer. 

 We can overlook this loss amidst headlines that force our eyes to focus on the tragedies of war, such as loss of life. Focusing on the torture and death toll is merited, and we shouldn’t look away from these sufferings. But we should not lose the opportunity to help the refugee as well. 

 I think back to my own recent experience in leaving home unexpectedly during the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. I do not, in any way, compare my experience to those faced by the Ukrainians or other refugees. But that moment of fleeing gave me empathy to try to understand what they must be feeling. 

 At the start of COVID-19, in March 2020, I was 36 weeks pregnant with a two-and-a-half year old. I lived in New York City at the time, and it was clear that it was rapidly becoming the epicenter of the virus. At that moment, the world felt scary, and I didn’t know if the NYC hospitals would be a safe place to deliver my child.  

 And so, I fled. 

 Because there was talk at that time of closing state borders to prevent spread of the virus, we acted quickly. In hindsight, it was overkill. I know that now. But at the time, it felt like we had to be decisive. We packed that day just in case and by dinnertime, we made a quick decision to head out that night. We packed our tiny Prius with a few suitcases and a few of my daughter’s toys and then fled. 

 In the aftermath of leaving so quickly, I soon began to learn about the pain of fleeing. What surprised me most were the regrets I had. As soon as we arrived at our new destination, I asked myself: “Why didn’t I pack more toys? Why didn’t I bring a keepsake or anything important to me? Why didn’t I say goodbye to our apartment and our neighborhood and our lives there?”  

 Our lives had been disrupted, and we yearned for home. As I watched the news unfold and had friends fall ill or lose loved ones to COVID-19, I wished I was there suffering with them. It’s odd to feel like you should be suffering more and yet grateful that you aren’t; but it’s your place and your people and you can’t help but feel connected. 

 Of course, it all seems so silly now. We had a soft place to land. We were still in our own country. We had the means to leave. I am aware of my privileges and grateful for them. This was nothing, not even close to wartime. And yet, that experience led me to consider the refugee and how we might be better at helping them. Why is that? 

 Well, there’s a science behind it. When we engage in perspective taking, even if we can’t fully relate to the person’s life or situation, we empathize with them. In short, imagining ourselves in other people’s shoes is the psychological key to empathizing with others, even marginalized groups or groups we don’t like. And this is important because it’s linked to actually helping others. 

 I recently read a story through homeculture by Meg Conley that shared a Ukrainian mother’s story of fleeing right before the war broke out in February. She took her son, who desperately asked her to build his new Lego set that he got for his birthday before they left. But there was no time to build them. There was no room to pack them. She perseverated on those Legos, wondering why she didn’t build them or bring them, as the reality set in that she would not be returning home.  

 I can’t stop thinking about how it was the Legos she focused on most.  

 She didn’t talk about her home or her bed or the many things we assume would be most important. I think it’s because building those Legos represents a sense of normalcy, stability, familiarity, and home for her child. It’s the same reason I wished I had packed my daughter’s favorite book or that toy she took everywhere. I was looking for a slice of belonging and familiarity. A grounding in the dishevelment. Home, when I was so clearly not home. 

 I think the reason I can’t stop thinking about the Legos is because I saw myself in that mother wishing she had just packed her kid’s Legos. I want to see myself in every mother and every refugee, not just those who look like me. All refugees are like us, regardless of their skin color or nationality. Each of them wished they had packed their Legos, just like us. Just like me. Just like you.  

 This perspective taking is key to motivating us to help refugees. We must reframe the conversation about refugees as being a threat and remember that they are merely longing for home. Each of them just wishes they had packed their Legos. 

 This exercise of imagining ourselves in refugees’ shoes may be what is needed to develop policies that welcome all refugees, regardless of skin color. There is promising research on the ability of virtual reality and simply imaginative exercises to improve the ability to empathize and help others, even if they are different than us. 

 By acknowledging refugees’ loss of home, we can help ensure their culture, language, customs, and traditions thrive in their new countries. We can help them find their common language again, and in it, home. 

 We must find actionable ways to welcome all refugees in a fair and just way, so that everyone can feel at home again. Even those that don't look like us. Empathy and perspective taking are the best start to that.

Author Bio

Megan J. Shen is a social psychologist, communication researcher, and Associate Professor at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center. She is a leading expert on death, dying, grief, and hope.

(c) 2022 Dr. Megan J. Shen