Answering the Call Without Feeding the Fire: A Compassionate Look at Fear-Based Activism

Protestors gather in peaceful solidarity, one holding a sign that reads “Enough”—a powerful image of activism rooted not in fear, but in compassion and conscious change.

We live in a world where tragedy is increasingly visible. From genocides to climate disasters to systemic oppression, our access to suffering is unprecedented. We don’t need to wait for news cycles—atrocity now comes live-streamed straight into our homes and pockets. And for many, this kind of constant exposure creates an overwhelming sense of urgency and helplessness. The natural human response is: Something must be done.

It’s from that urgency that a recent social media post emerged:

“Stop Ignoring Genocide: Living happily and normally during an active genocide being globally live-streamed in 4K is not normal human behavior, not ‘resilience,’ and not ‘self-care.’ It is extremely pathological behavior and catastrophically averse to what constitutes a functioning human conscience.”

To someone already in pain, this may feel like a justified outcry. And to others, it may land as an attack—an attempt to shame them for not responding the “right” way. But if we take a step back, breathe, and really feel into the energy behind this message, we find something deeper than judgment. We find despair. We find a person who is feeling the magnitude of suffering in the world and hasn’t yet found their way to transform that feeling into clear, empowered action.

That is something we can all relate to. That is a very human experience. Many people are awakening right now. They are becoming more sensitive, more aware, more attuned to injustice. They feel it in their bodies. But without tools, without models for how to alchemize that pain into meaningful contribution, the overwhelm becomes reactive. The pain needs somewhere to go—and so it spills out, often in the form of guilt-inducing posts directed at others.

This type of misguided approach doesn’t have to induce negative emotions in us. We can use it as a practice in compassion and intentional response.

In our current cultural model, when we feel called to action but unequipped to do the work ourselves, the default is to urge others to act. If I don’t know what to do, maybe you will. But this pattern—broadcasting fear in the hopes someone else will fix it—does not lead to sustainable change. It leads to shame, overwhelm, guilt, and division.

What this person is really saying is: I’m scared. I’m heartbroken. I don’t know what to do, and it feels unbearable to see the world continue on as if this suffering doesn’t exist. That is a vulnerable place to be. And when we speak from that place, persecuting others for not doing enough, without first moving through the energy, we unintentionally spread the same chaos we wish to heal.

When engaging with social media that amplifies anxiety rather than offering solutions, move forward with compassion—for yourself and for others.

Before we post, we must find the alchemy. We must let the emotion metabolize into wisdom. That means sitting with the grief long enough to let it teach us—not just react from it. Then, and only then, can we begin to speak from a place of clarity and offer a true call to action—one rooted in love, in solutions, and in mutual empowerment.

The truth is, no single human can be a full-time activist for every injustice in the world. The emotional bandwidth required to be present for every crisis is more than any one nervous system can handle. Each of us carries seeds for certain causes. Each of us has a particular thread to weave in this vast tapestry of healing.

It’s not that we stop caring about the whole. It’s that we discern what part of the whole is ours to carry. Ours to change.

That discernment is vital. It allows us to feel compassion for all suffering without taking on the impossible burden of fixing it all ourselves. It helps us know the difference between a cause we grieve for, and a cause we are called to take action on. When we’re tuned into that calling—when we recognize the unmistakable pull of “this is mine to mend”—we can step into action with energy that is sustainable, focused, and grounded in purpose.

Some are here to respond to genocide. Others are here to heal the earth. Others still are called to protect animals, children, workers, ecosystems, elders, water, art, language, culture. It takes all of us. There is no wasted effort when it comes from alignment. But when we try to do everything—or when we try to guilt others into doing everything—we dilute the potency of our own medicine. We deny the unique blueprint of each or our seeds.

Until our personal calling becomes clear, we serve best by maintaining our energetic clarity—by living lives rooted in peace, not panic; in integrity, not guilt. That is not pathological. That is profoundly human.

It is also a contribution. When we remain calm in the storm, we become stabilizing forces. When we choose compassion over judgment, we make it safer for others to feel, reflect, and rise. When we protect our joy in a world unraveling, we remind others that beauty and love still exist—and that they create balance in a world craving stability.

So let us hold space for the anger and sorrow behind posts like the one above. Let us meet them with compassion, not defensiveness. But let us also remember that the most effective activism begins not with outrage, but with presence. With discernment. With the quiet, strong decision to move from love, not fear.

When we act from that place—when we speak, write, protest, build, donate, and create from that inner clarity—we become the change we long to see. And that change ripples outward, in ways no angry post ever could.