Selective Empathy: A Gentle Reminder on Our Convenient Morality

Selective Empathy: A Gentle Reminder on Our Convenient Morality

A Poisoned Honey Morning Essay

✍️ Author’s Note

This reflection was born in the early morning — that hour when the world is quiet enough to reveal its contradictions. The prevailing self-image of the Netherlands has long been one of international openness: a small nation with a wide horizon, shaped by trade, ideas, and influences from abroad. Since 1581, we have prided ourselves on tolerance, on welcoming different cultures and religions, and on being a refuge for those fleeing persecution. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the Republic indeed served as a safe haven for Protestants and Jews from across Europe. Around 1700, almost forty percent of Amsterdam’s population was foreign-born.

Today, the Netherlands still likes to see itself as a humane nation, guided by the spirit of the Refugee Convention. Yet beneath this comforting self-portrait lies a quieter, more complex truth: our morality has become selective, our empathy conditional, and our humanitarianism increasingly filtered through the lens of cultural familiarity and personal comfort. This piece speaks in a gentle tone — but behind that gentleness lies a sharper observation.

“Prosperity made us pious; piety helped us prosper

— and neither came without a cost.”

There is something charming about the way the Netherlands speaks of its humanitarian tradition. We signed the Refugee Convention with the serene confidence of a nation convinced of its own decency — a polite country, with polite values, expressed in pleasantly rounded Dutch vowels.

We were, we told ourselves, on the right side of history.
And in many ways, we still are — as long as history stays at a manageable distance.

But the sweetness of our self-image has a distinct aftertaste.
A touch of bitterness.
A hint of something metallic.

We love humanity, of course.
Just not always human beings.

The Art of Distant Compassion

Dutch generosity remains impressive, especially when exercised from the comfort of a Brussels conference room or via a dignified wire transfer labelled humanitarian support in the region. This is compassion with good posture: principled, structured, and ideally far away.

We do not close the door to refugees — not at all.
We simply prefer that they kindly do not knock on it.

When they do turn up, uninvited by geography or fate, their situation becomes more “complex.”
Not morally, of course.
Administratively.

And as any civil servant will confirm with a serene smile,
bureaucracy is a remarkably effective moral filter.

A Quiet and Unspoken Hierarchy

We would never say we favour certain refugees.
We are far too tasteful for that.
But reality often whispers what our mouths will not speak aloud.

The Ukrainians — Familiar Strangers

They arrive, and we recognise something in them.
Their faces, perhaps.
Their churches.
Their children who look reassuringly like the ones in our school photos.

We welcome them without hesitation.
It feels natural — almost effortless.

Generosity, when wrapped in familiarity, is the easiest virtue.

The Others — Strangers Made Strange

For those who arrive from farther horizons, the tone softens, cools, and becomes soothingly procedural.
We express “concerns.”
We refer them to shelters that do not exist.
We mention “capacity issues,” “integration challenges,” and “return agreements,” each word polished to bureaucratic shine.

We insist it’s not personal.
It’s policy.

And in a way, that makes it even more impersonal.

The Government That Balances Values With Scissors

The caretaker Schoof government speaks of humanitarian responsibility with the calm of a doctor explaining that the anaesthetic didn’t quite work. They carry scissors in one hand — trimming development aid, streamlining returns — while offering sympathetic nods with the other.

Ukraine, naturally, remains the honoured exception.
Our generosity there is heartfelt and strategic, moral and geopolitical, noble and necessary.

Meanwhile, for the world’s poorest, the purse strings tighten.
Not from malice — simply from prioritisation.

And are we not all, in the end, victims of limited budgets?

A Europe That Believes in Universal Values — Selectively

The European Union continues to champion universalism, though increasingly with the slight hesitation of someone recommending a dish they no longer enjoy themselves.

We speak beautifully of dignity, equality, and humanity.
We simply practise them with a refined selectiveness.

We are not unkind.
We are merely discerning.

Our gates remain open —
just selectively, strategically, and with aesthetic restraint.

A Gentle Conclusion for a Not-So-Gentle Reality

Dutch generosity has not vanished; it has matured into something subtler:

• warm when convenient
• cool when costly
• principled when painless
• flexible when uncomfortable

This is not cruelty.
It is simply the quiet craftsmanship of a modern nation polishing its conscience.

In the end, we remain a compassionate country —
as long as compassion aligns with comfort.

Honey on the tongue,
a faint bitterness beneath,
and the unmistakable taste of selective empathy.

William J J Houtzager, Aka WJJH, December 2025

📌Blog Excerpt

The Netherlands once spoke proudly of universal humanitarian principles. Today, our morality has softened into something more selective. Ukrainian refugees receive open arms, while others encounter softened bureaucratic barriers with hard consequences. Development aid is trimmed, compassion outsourced to “the region,” and empathy now follows the contours of comfort. This essay explores the quiet contradictions and polite hypocrisies shaping our refugee policy — in a tone as sweet as honey, with a subtle bitterness underneath.