By Meg Lister -

The United States has vowed to respond with a “swift, coordinated, and aggressive effort.” In a speech on Jan. 13, President Barack Obama outlined a three-step plan to deal with the effects: account for US citizens and embassy personnel, mobilize resources, and “ensure that the government acts in a unified manner.”

No, we have not been bombed. The terror threat level remains the same as before the event. None of our officials have been assassinated or attacked with anthrax. We are merely responding to the earthquake that shook Haiti, causing much of its infrastructure to collapse and demolishing structures throughout the capital, Port-au-Prince.

The island country, which lies next to the Dominican Republic and south of Cuba, was shook by a 7.0 magnitude earthquake on January 12th. Haiti is already the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere and suffers from extreme poverty, illiteracy, poor sanitation, and health concerns. Conditions on the ground are miserable: people scream, cry, and call for help as they or their loved ones lie trapped under rubble. This is the epitome of absolute misery and terror; it is emotional devastation beyond what any normal college student could comprehend. We sigh at the television screen, offer up a prayer at the dinner table, or donate a few dollars at a hockey game as the truly ambitious await the announcement of a new service trip: “Appalachia Goes Abroad!” Every volunteer or donor has a different reason for diverting their time or money; a sense of sympathy and humanitarian duty commonly top the list.

But how does true compassion factor into our responses? Compassion, as derived from the Slavic form of the word, means “feeling with.” It is a form of love to be able to embrace another’s pain, joy, and trials. It takes a breadth of extreme feeling and emotion to love those we do not know and have never met. In one sense, we are incapable of compassion towards the Haitians. I cannot imagine the mental or physical pain they are experiencing now, as conditions on the ground continue to worsen and media coverage gradually fades away. When I imagine losing my home, I picture my tearstained self running into the open arms of friends and relatives. In Port-au-Prince, however, there is nobody to run to, nowhere to look for consolation. Everything they know and everywhere they used to go has been destroyed. Look at it this way: If Cormac McCarthy had waited a few years to publish The Road (and slightly changed the setting); his novel might not be in the science fiction section.

Two weeks ago, I yelled energetically and goaded fans to drop a few cents into an orange paint bucket at the BC-BU game. By the end of the first period, I was hoarse and Catholic Relief Services was about $4,000 richer. It was fun to gather with my peers and bang noisemakers in the faces of BU fans. Four thousand dollars will buy approximately ten thousand bottles of water for thirsty refugees (unless purchased at the BC dining hall). Water is nice, but isn’t there anything else I should or can be doing? I cannot feasibly take the rest of the semester off, fly to Haiti, and nurse people back to health. “Appalachia Goes Abroad!” has yet to get off the ground, both literally and figuratively. The fundraising effort is a “been there, done that”, though it is always possible to contribute further. I gave twenty dollars, which is all my bank account can handle after being robbed by textbook sales. Even after logically exhausting many options, I cannot shake the want and need to do something more.

This cannot be classified as true compassion, but I hope my feelings fall into the realm labeled “Deep Sympathy.” I feel as if it is my duty to know more, feel more, do more, to share in Haiti’s human burden. I cannot find a panacea or even a logical solution to the issue—and in my defense, I doubt that anyone can. Here is the somewhat illogical moral of the story: take a day and volunteer at a shelter, like Haley House or Rosie’s Place. Buy the homeless man by the 7-11 at Cleveland Circle a sandwich. Give up your seat on the T to an old lady. The inability to feel compassion or extensively contribute for the earthquake victims has at least opened my eyes to that which I can identify with and make a difference in. Next, the illogical cliché: even in the worst kind of disaster, there is lesson to learn and progress to be made. Just try to imagine what it would be like to live on the street and watch people like yourself walk by in warm clothes, with money in your pockets. Try this and maybe the world will feel a little more compassion.