This needed fact checking.
“We are the most compassionate nation in the world,” declared Secretary of State Marco Rubio, presumably with a straight face and no visible signs of irony poisoning. A bold claim from a government whose idea of compassion often looks a lot like a sanctions package wrapped in a press release and sprinkled with humanitarian buzzwords.
Let’s consider the evidence. Compassion is generally understood to involve empathy, care, and support for people in need. In practice, America’s version of this seems to include drone warfare, slashed refugee caps, and a healthcare system where GoFundMe is basically a national safety net. Sounds heartfelt.
On the immigration front, our treatment of asylum seekers is so “compassionate” it comes with barbed wire, family separations, and bureaucratic mazes that would make Kafka blush. We detain families for fleeing violence, then congratulate ourselves for occasionally releasing them under “monitoring.”
Internationally, we’re so generous that we’ve managed to simultaneously bomb, rebuild, and then abandon the same countries within a single fiscal quarter. We pledged climate aid to the Global South, only to deliver it at the speed of a glacier—one that’s melting thanks to emissions we still haven’t curbed.
And then there’s Palestine. Our selective compassion tends to skip over civilian casualties when they’re inconvenient to our strategic interests. But don’t worry, we send thoughts, prayers, and maybe a strongly worded statement if things get really bad.
So when Rubio says we’re the most compassionate nation, one has to assume the bar he’s referencing is buried somewhere in the Marianas Trench. Or perhaps he meant it in the same way a CEO says, “We’re like a family,” right before announcing mass layoffs.
If this is what passes for compassion, then sure, we’re number one. Just don’t ask the people on the receiving end of it.
@GGTvStreams
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