Empathy burnout

We live in an age where tragedy is no longer distant. It is livestreamed, refreshed every few seconds, and placed between a cooking reel and a meme. And with every swipe, we feel a little less. Not because we are heartless, but because we are exhausted.

This is the quietest global crisis of our time: empathy burnout - the emotional fatigue of ever being constantly connected with human suffering.

Over the years, psychologists thought that empathy was unlimited. Today it has been found to the contrary: empathy is stamina-like. It drains. It needs rest. And in the digital era it gets none.

Consider the way we are drinking world sorrow. You see a Palestinian kid crying because of a ruined house. And a few seconds later you end up laughing at a pet video. Next, there is a domestic violence testimony, and then a light-hearted vlog. The whiplash of emotions is bloody. We are expected to feel everything: grief, fury, hope, amusement, all in a single scrolling session. No human psyche is designed for this avalanche of contradiction.

As a result, people are becoming emotionally hardened by survival, not by choice.

And this isn't only psychological but deeply political. Global attention has turned into a resource in the international relations of the modern world. Crises which remain visible require states to take action, give donations, intervene or at least explain why they did not take action. Nevertheless, crises that transform into background noise on the digital platform lose traction at the world scale. That is, as empathy becomes thin, diplomacy becomes thin as well.

Consider Syria. The world was shocked by the haunting image of Alan Kurdi, the small boy whose body was found on the shore in 2015. Borders opened. Donations surged. Outrage erupted. The world felt something. However, when photos of equally ravaged Syrian children emerged several years later, the world community hardly moved an eyelid. Not because their lives mattered less, but because the world had already cried its tears. In IR terms, public fatigue eroded political will due to which the crisis slipped down the world's agenda.

The same pattern unfolded in Afghanistan. In 2021, as Kabul collapsed, individuals were glued to the television as desperate families were hanging onto planes. However, in a few weeks, emotional burnout ensued. The crisis still exists today, but it is hardly trending. Governments respond to pressure, and pressure depends on visibility. When citizens feel too drained to care, states face no cost for doing the same.

The world is too saturated to demand ceasefires and this makes conflicts take even longer. Occupations deepen when people stop watching. The humanitarian norms are weakened when outrage is intermittent. Global justice is not threatened today by apathy, but by emotional overload.

So, what can be done?

We recalibrate.

We cease to drink tragedy in the manner of entertainment. We establish emotional boundaries. We recognise that sustainable compassion requires intentional rest. Employees of humanitarian organisations, journalists and activists have always engaged in empathy budgeting; deciding where to put emotional energy and when to retreat. The same discipline is required by ordinary people.

Above all, we should learn that numbness is not an ethical shortcoming. It is a human response to constant distress.

Empathy is finite but it is not exhaustible. It simply needs breathing room.

In a world that demands nonstop emotional output, protecting one's empathy is not softness; it is resistance. If we wish to preserve humanitarian principles, global solidarity and meaningful diplomacy, we must learn the radical art of resting our hearts so that we can keep them open.