You can thank the lovely and brilliant proprietor of this site for providing the impetus behind today's rant; I, after all, was just innocently perusing Facebook when I happened across where Mademoiselle Konst had posted this question: "Do you think Americans suffer from compassion fatigue?"

As you may have gathered, I think way too much about things that other people barely think about at all, possibly as some sort of attempt by my brain to raise the national average. As such, this question sent me off to the races.

First off, let's define for the reader: what is "compassion fatigue?" Wikipedia describes it as "a term that refers to a gradual lessening of compassion over time." It can best be summarized as a form of burnout, where the constant exposure to examples of suffering, trauma, or human need end up desensitizing the observer. The process by which a person's ability to identify with their suffering fellow man is slowly bottled up as a defense mechanism against a world with too much pain in it.

Not to be confused with people who are simply bastards quite on their own.

"Compassion fatigue" may sound silly, or obvious, but this is a real world problem, one that happens every day. Caregivers, relief workers, and others who spend all their time and energy attending to people who are suffering are affected by it the most. But does it affect Americans as a whole? We do, to a great extent, live an isolated sort of life, even the most social of us. We're insulated from the suffering of people who are out of sight, both those in impoverished nations overseas and the less fortunate right here at home.

Is that truly a nationwide case of "compassion fatigue," though? Not really. When you look at recent history, there have been plenty of instances where Americans as a whole have risen up and shown that they were ready and willing to do what their consciences called on them to do. The reaction to Hurricane Katrina, with people taking strangers into their homes, simply because the need existed. Or the surplus of blood donors that nearly overwhelmed the Red Cross after September 11th--people giving not even necessarily because it would help, but because for most people it was the only thing that they could do, in the face of fear and uncertainty.

What do all these things have in common? In each case, what was needed was a special connection, something to break through the normal day to day routine of life. Most of us spend every day in our own world, concerned mostly with the things that affect us personally: can we pay our bills, are the kids alright, is my job still going to be there in a month. Sufficient unto each day are the troubles thereof. The fact that someone else's troubles may be greater simple doesn't often occur to people without a reason. If there's something we need to chance, it's how aware we are of the world around us, rather than how we react to that awareness. Lacking perspective is not the same thing as lacking compassion.