You don't have to be a doctor to understand this

I DON’T KNOW EXACTLY when I was infected with Ebola. As a doctor in a treatment center in Guinea in 2014, I faced hundreds of potential exposures during the outbreak there.

- By Craig Spencer

If I had to guess, the virus probably breached my protective gear while my colleagues and I cared for a young woman in the final moments of her battle with the disease. Each time she vomited or soiled herself, we changed her linens, gently laying her listless body back onto clean, burgundy floral sheets. I knew this ritual wouldn't save her life. I also knew it carried substantial personal risk. But I refused to let her die without dignity. I know there are many who would do the same.

You may never find yourself in a treatment center halfway across the world, but when suffering is close enough to touch, most of us feel the same human instinct to offer a helping hand, to not turn away.

America’s leaders are increasingly casting aside empathy and compassionate care as dangerous liabilities. Elon Musk has called empathy “the fundamental weakness of Western civilization,” and the Trump administration governs as if that is a guiding principle. The growing philosophical backlash against empathy overlooks a deeper truth: America’s strength has never come from isolation or indifference, but from an instinct to care beyond our borders. If we allow the Trump administration’s assault on empathy to define our global health agenda, or ourselves, we won't just be turning away from the world — we'll be turning away from who we are. The belief that we have a responsibility to others isn’t shortsighted sentimentalism; it’s the moral foundation of a meaningful life.