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Every day, families flee unimaginable hardships—war, poverty, violence, and persecution—crossing borders in search of safety and a better life. They come with nothing but hope, carrying their children in their arms and the weight of their desperation on their backs. These families are vulnerable, frightened, and exhausted, asking only for the chance to survive. Yet, too often, they are met with barbed wire, walls, and closed doors. Instead of compassion, they are greeted with hostility, suspicion, and accusations of breaking the law.
Now, imagine a different story.
One day, a high school athlete noticed a stray dog on the side of the road. It had no tags and appeared deserted, its ribs showing beneath a matted coat. Compassion moved her to action. She brought the dog home, fed it, and gave it a safe place to rest. The family quickly took the dog in as one of their own, naming her Molly. They noticed, however, that something was wrong with her right hind leg. Concerned, they took her to the veterinarian.
The vet discovered Molly had several severely broken bones that couldn’t be repaired. The only option was to amputate the leg and fit her with a prosthetic. The surgery and recovery came at a steep price—medical bills reached six figures. But the family didn’t hesitate. They chose care, love, and sacrifice for a scraggly, injured dog. In return, Molly thrived, adapting to her prosthetic leg and showering her new family with loyalty and joy.
It’s a heartwarming story of compassion, but it raises a troubling question: why do we so readily extend this kind of care to a stray dog while withholding it from human beings in need?
We are willing to spend thousands of dollars on an animal, rallying around it to nurse it back to health, but when it comes to families fleeing for their lives, we build walls instead of bridges. We speak of limited resources and legal pathways, ignoring the reality of their suffering. How is it that we can see the value in saving a stray dog but not in saving a family seeking refuge?
This isn’t to diminish the kindness shown to animals like Molly—it’s a beautiful testament to the goodness people are capable of. But it also forces us to confront the glaring contradiction in our values. The same person who would save an injured dog and proudly tell the story might turn around and say, “We can’t take in those people—they’re not our responsibility.”
Molly’s story is a reminder of what we can do when we choose compassion. But it’s also a mirror reflecting the ways we fall short when that compassion stops at the border. If we can open our hearts and homes to a stray dog, why can’t we do the same for a mother, a father, and their hungry children? Why does our empathy flow so freely for animals yet run dry for people?
Perhaps it’s time to reexamine what compassion truly means. Perhaps it’s time to ask ourselves: have we let our priorities, our humanity, and our values become upside down.
