Compassion, Emotional Literacy, and the Soul of the Caribbean

When Dr Michael Abrahams writes of the decline of empathy, we ought not to treat his intervention as social commentary alone, but as diagnosis — and warning — for societies that are quietly unravelling from within. His essay, published in the Gleaner, on January 13, 2026, speaks to a global phenomenon, yet it lands with particular force in Jamaica and the wider Caribbean, where social fragmentation increasingly masquerades as normalcy.

Empathy, as Dr Abrahams reminds us, is the capacity to understand and vicariously experience another’s feelings and perspectives. It is not weakness. It is the cognitive–emotional skill that allows human beings to cooperate, to restrain power, to govern fairly, and to live together without permanent fracture. The troubling evidence he cites — of declining empathy over recent decades, especially among younger cohorts — should unsettle us deeply.

What is at stake is not manners, nor sentiment, but civilisation.

Across Jamaica, one senses the symptoms daily: an edge in public discourse; a cruelty in online commentary; impatience with vulnerability; contempt for the slow, the poor, the uncertain. We see it in traffic, in classrooms, in politics, and increasingly in how we speak of one another. Dr Abrahams’ column thoughtfully deepens a vital conversation that has been unfolding for some time and now demands national attention.

Yet diagnosis, however eloquent, is not enough. If empathy is declining, the urgent question becomes: where, how, and by whom is it to be rebuilt?

For more than two years, I have argued that the answer lies, structurally and unapologetically, in our education systems — through mCEL: mandatory Compassion and Emotional Learning. Not as a slogan. Not as an extracurricular indulgence. But as a core, assessed, system-wide educational commitment.

We already mandate literacy, numeracy, examinations, and attendance. We already accept that certain competencies are too important to leave to chance. Compassion and emotional literacy belong in that same category. When they are left optional, they become privileges of elite schools and stable homes. When they are mandated, they become public goods.

Emotional learning equips students to recognise fear, anger, grief, envy, and shame — in themselves and in others — before those emotions metastasise into violence, withdrawal, or domination. Compassion, properly taught, is not indulgence; it is disciplined attention to the humanity of another, especially when power, speed, or profit would invite disregard.

Societies that neglect these capacities may still produce clever graduates, but they increasingly produce brittle citizens: articulate yet abrasive; competent yet callous; skilled in argument but impoverished in listening. Dr Abrahams is right to note that social media and technological saturation have accelerated this erosion. But technology did not cause the absence of emotional education; it merely exposed it.

Other societies have acted. Finland integrated social and emotional learning across its education system decades ago, not as therapy but as pedagogy. Bhutan embedded compassion and emotional balance into its national development philosophy, recognising that economic growth without emotional coherence is unsustainable. These are not utopias; they are policy choices.

The Caribbean, by contrast, remains examination-obsessed yet emotionally under-tooled.

This is where the conversation must widen beyond Jamaica — and where a regional institution has both opportunity and responsibility. The Caribbean Examinations Council (CXC) has long shaped what Caribbean societies value, measure, and reward. What is examined becomes what is taught; what is taught becomes what is valued.

It is time — indeed past time — for CXC to convene a serious regional process on integrating assessed Compassion and Emotional Learning into Caribbean schooling. This need not dilute academic rigour. On the contrary, it would complete it.

Imagine a Caribbean graduate who can analyse complex texts, solve quantitative problems, and demonstrate emotional literacy, ethical reasoning, conflict navigation, and restorative judgement. Imagine regional syllabi that require students to grapple not only with historical facts, but with moral consequence; not only with scientific method, but with social responsibility; not only with economic models, but with human cost.

Such integration would send a powerful signal across CARICOM: that the region is no longer content to export cleverness without conscience, or leadership without listening.

The benefits would ripple outward. Schools would become less punitive and more restorative. Teachers would be trained not only as content experts but as emotional guides. Employers would inherit young adults better equipped for teamwork and humane leadership. Politics itself might soften at the edges, as citizens become less easily inflamed and more capable of principled disagreement.

None of this is naïve. It is demanding. Emotional learning requires trained educators, careful assessment, and sustained commitment. Compassion cannot be performative; it must be practised, reflected upon, and sometimes painfully examined. But the alternative — continuing to educate as though emotional formation were optional — is proving far more costly.

Dr Abrahams has held up a mirror. mCEL offers a scaffold.

The Caribbean now faces a choice. We can continue to lament the decline of empathy while reproducing systems that ignore it. Or we can decide, collectively and courageously, that emotional literacy and compassion are not private virtues but public infrastructure — as essential to regional resilience as roads, ports, and power. For as ancient wisdom quietly reminds us, without vision a people perish — and empathy, patiently taught, is among the clearest forms of vision a society can possess.

by Dennis A. Minott, PhD.