People matter.
In a world where we become more and more disconnected from each other, where we shout hatred at strangers from the safety of our cars, where we congregate on Facebook groups to farm outrage, where we can refuse to see our own responsibility in alleviating the pain, hardships, and suffering of others, we become deeply disconnected.
Worse, we become unkind.
We are in an empathy crisis, where we are witnessing a rise of hatred and an extinction of care.
We are in a climate crisis, a cost-of-living crisis, a housing crisis, a biodiversity crisis.
Radical kindness is missing at every level of government. It’s absent in our decision making. It’s how we justify roads through koala habitat and house hoarding while women and children sleep in their cars. It’s celebration of cruelty. Because cruelty delivers cash.
Pain is everywhere. The world is hurting. Our kids are hurting. And we are complicit in causing the pain. How do we break the cycle?
How do we become radical healers instead of mindless perpetrators?
There are days when it’s too big. When I feel complicit and helpless and sorry for myself.
Where I feel scared, because the solutions are sometimes more uncomfortable than the consequence.
Am I brave enough?
Hate is easy. Anyone can yell abuse, be a bigot, and perpetuate misinformed and hurtful views.
Can I love? Can I express care for even those who are hardest to care for?
‘Radical kindness’ is about intentionally building bridges across differences, developing solidarity and shared ground, and promoting social connection between different groups and communities.
We need radical kindness as much as we need air and water.
Last night I felt sad. I peered into the abyss of human hopelessness. I felt the despair pull me in.
Then I remembered Mary.
When I was 25 she opened her door to a stranger. That stranger was me.
I was driving a work van in Lismore Heights one Thursday afternoon delivering plants. A massive hail storm blew in, out of nowhere. In minutes, the blue sky turned black and olive green and giant bolts of lightning cracked around me.
I was terrified. The rain was so heavy I couldn’t see. I pulled over onto the verge, put on my hazard lights and started to cry. I think I must have been having a panic attack. A passing car almost hit me. There was nowhere to go.
In my hysteria, I got out of the car and ran. I found myself at the front door of a random house and I knocked. Actually, I think I pounded like a madwoman. A tiny, beautifully dressed, elderly woman answered the door. She looked as terrified as me. I was in giant garden boots and my work gear. I was drenched. And I was crying. All I said was, ‘Can you let me in? I’m scared.’
She opened her door wide and said, ‘of course, come in’.
She sat me at her table. She covered me in towels to dry me off. She bought me a dry shirt that had been her dead husband’s. She made me tea. And she gave me biscuits.
Mary sat at the table with me, and we drank tea and ate biscuits for two hours while the storm raged outside. She told me about her life. I told her about mine. She was 85. Sixty years older than me. My frail angel.
We laughed about how scary I looked at the door.
She told me she was lonely, and that she was glad she let me in.
We had this strange and delicious intimacy while the storm raged outside. When it was over, I helped clean the dishes and I got ready to leave.
We had a hug. Big me and this beautiful little old lady.
I drove home dressed as her husband. I told her I would be back.
A few weeks later I returned with flowers and a freshly laundered husband shirt. But I couldn’t find the house. I must have knocked on 20 doors.
My Mary was gone.
But that moment, of being cared for by a stranger will live with me forever.
Kindness changes people.
It changed me.
Now it’s my turn to be Mary.
Mandy Nolan’s Soapbox column has appeared in The Echo for almost 23 years. The personal and the political often meet here; she’s also been the Greens federal candidate since before the last federal election. The Echo’s coverage of political issues will remain as comprehensive and fair as it has ever been, outside this opinion column which, as always, contains Mandy’s personal opinions only.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
