Empathy

No One Should Ever Suffer Like This

When my mother spoke about Auschwitz, she emphasized its universality.

Updated January 16, 2025 | Reviewed by Margaret Foley

Key points

My mother’s plea for empathy challenges us to address and break the cycle of hate and bigotry.
Despite the persistent presence of political agendas, education remains a powerful counterforce to bigotry.
Effective education not only imparts knowledge but also equips us with the tools for emotional flexibility.

Close-up of people holding up the earth at the beach

Source: FG Trade Latin / iStock

When my mother spoke about her experience in Auschwitz, she rarely dwelled on the traumatic details. Instead, she offered a summation of her pain that remains seared into my memory: “No one should ever suffer like I did.”

Her words, though simple, carried an extraordinary weight. They weren’t just a plea for herself or her family, but for humanity. Despite enduring one of history’s greatest atrocities, she refused to let bitterness consume her. Instead, she issued a call for empathy, a universal declaration that suffering—of any kind—should not be perpetuated.

But as I reflect on her words in the context of today’s world, I wonder: Have we learned anything? In an age marked by polarization, violence, and political turmoil, suffering continues unabated. While education offers a path toward healing and understanding, it often feels powerless against the forces of hate fueled by political and economic agendas.

This article explores the relevance of my mother’s message in today’s world and asks whether education can serve as a counterforce to hate—while grappling with the uncomfortable reality that political and economic systems and societal structures often stand in the way.

The Persistence of Suffering

When my mother spoke about Auschwitz, she didn’t just recount her suffering; she pointed to its universality. Her experience, while uniquely tied to the Holocaust, spoke to the shared vulnerability of humanity when systems of hate and dehumanization take hold.

Today, we see echoes of this in countless crises. The rise of islamophobia, antisemitism, racism, and bigotry is reflected in hate crimes and inflammatory rhetoric. Refugees fleeing war and oppression—whether from Venezuela, Ukraine, Gaza, or Myanmar—are often met with indifference or hostility. Meanwhile, political movements around the world continue to manipulate fear and division for power, scapegoating minorities and fueling mistrust among communities.

These events are not isolated. They stem from the same failure to learn from history that allowed atrocities like the Holocaust to occur. And yet, the question remains: What can we do to break this cycle?

Education as a Tool for Empathy

As a professor, I’ve grappled with this question deeply. My Harvard course, Psychology of Diversity, explores how scientific thinking can help students engage with difficult, polarizing topics. Using the Science of Diversity Method, my head teaching fellow, Dr. Menna Saleh and I teach students to critically examine data, challenge their biases, and approach controversial issues with fairness and open-mindedness.

But this method goes beyond intellectual rigor. It’s designed to cultivate emotional flexibility—the ability to listen, empathize, and engage without resorting to hate or judgment. This is no small feat in today’s climate, where even casual conversations about politics or identity can quickly devolve into hostility.

One powerful moment in the classroom stands out. Two students—one opposed to immigration, the other in favor of immigration—were able to confront their polarized views through scientific dialogue. They didn’t agree on everything, but they researched the subject together and evaluated the data. In that moment, education became not just a tool for understanding, but for constructive dialogue.

The Reality of Politics

And yet, the transformative power of education often feels insufficient against the reality of politics. Hate can be profitable after all. It can drive clicks, win elections, and consolidate power. Leaders and media outlets alike capitalize on our divisions, using fear as a currency to build loyalty.

Take the refugee crisis, for instance. While some leaders call for compassion, others stoke xenophobia, painting all desperate people as criminals and threats. The result is not just political polarization, but a societal desensitization to suffering. It becomes easier to look away when we’re told, implicitly or explicitly, that “those people” are different from us.

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Education can teach empathy and foster understanding, but it cannot dismantle the systems that thrive on hate. It can inspire individuals to act, but it cannot singlehandedly reshape institutions. This tension—the gap between what education can do and what politics often undoes—is one of the greatest challenges we face.

Honoring My Mother’s Legacy

My mother’s plea, “No one should ever suffer like I did,” wasn’t just a wish; it was a challenge. It was a call to build a world where empathy triumphs over indifference, and where systems of hate and dehumanization are challenged.

But honoring her legacy requires more than ideals. It requires action. It requires that we face not only individual prejudices but also the larger forces that perpetuate them. Education is part of that solution. At the same time, her message reminds us that even small, personal acts of empathy can ripple outward. In my classroom, I’ve seen students transform their perspectives—not because they were forced to agree, but because they were given the tools to listen and think scientifically. These moments give me hope that change is possible, even if it’s slow.

A Call to Action

So where does this leave us? If hate can be learned, can it also be unlearned? If division can be sown, can connection be cultivated?

I believe the answer lies in a specific type of education. Education that is built on scientific thinking that goes beyond imparting knowledge; it fosters empathy, unbiased views, and two-sided meta-thinking.

As I reflect on my mother’s words, I’m reminded that they were both deeply personal and profoundly universal. They were a testament to her suffering, but also a blueprint for a better world. Her legacy lives on not only in my work but in every effort to ensure that no one, anywhere, ever suffers as she did.

The task is daunting, but it is not impossible. We can start by asking ourselves: What are we doing, today, to break the cycle of hate and one-sided thinking? And how can we ensure that her plea becomes a reality, not just a hope?