Performative Empathy: The Art of Faking That You Care

Performative Empathy: The Art of Faking That You Care

Let me be perfectly clear: most people don’t care. And I mean really don’t care. But they sure do act like they do—when it benefits them. This is what I call performative empathy. It’s the warm, fuzzy blanket of fake feelings people wrap themselves in to gain approval, power, or attention. It’s not about compassion. It’s about control. And this isn’t new—it’s just louder now.

You’ve seen it. We all have. A CEO who makes $70 million a year telling you they “stand in solidarity” with underpaid workers while laying off half the company. A career politician wiping a single tear for the cameras, then jumping in their limo to go have dinner with lobbyists. Protesters smashing windows and throwing bricks in the name of peace and justice. Give me a break.

Let’s go back a few years. Remember the WTO protests? The World Trade Organization. Seattle, 1999. A bunch of people came out of the woodwork—many of them couldn’t define globalization if you spotted them every vowel—and they suddenly became experts in international economics. But what did they bring to the table? Not facts. Not reform proposals. They brought bricks. Spray paint. Fire. Destruction.

These were the violent cousins of performative empathy—what I call violent empathy-based actors. They said they cared about poor workers in foreign countries. They screamed about unfair trade. But instead of building anything, they tore things down. They hijacked a conversation about economic policy and turned it into a riot. Who suffered? The police officers, store owners, workers just trying to get to their jobs. But hey, at least they “cared,” right?

Al Gore - Mr. Greenjeans - Global Warming, Cooling, Change

Performative empathy isn’t limited to protestors. Let’s take a walk through Unionville. I’ve worked with a lot of union members—smart, hardworking people who care about doing a good job and providing for their families. But their leadership? That’s a different story. Look at the Teamsters. And for the record, I worked in the 1970s at a Teamster union shop for a few years, while at university.  Now, let's do some digging. You’ll find union bosses living like royalty, while the rank and file are scraping by. That’s the dirty little secret: union bosses perform empathy. They claim to be the voice of the worker while cashing checks that would make a Fortune 500 CEO blush.

Take the AFL-CIO. A legacy organization. Big name. Big slogans. Bigger expense accounts. These leaders cry crocodile tears about worker exploitation while flying first-class to “solidarity conferences” in five-star resorts. I’ve seen the budget breakdowns. I’ve seen the golf outings masked as strategy meetings. Meanwhile, dues-paying members are still waiting on decent retirement benefits. That’s not empathy. That’s theft, with a sad face and a well-rehearsed speech.

And speaking of CEOs—let me talk to you about corporate leadership in publicly traded companies. These are not founders. These are not visionaries. These are employees. Let me repeat that: employees. Yet somehow, these salaried workers-turned-demigods rake in tens of millions—and in some cases, hundreds of millions—while giving speeches about equity and inclusion. They’ll tell you, with perfectly scripted humility, how much they “care about our team” right before laying off a thousand workers to make earnings look prettier for the next quarterly report.

The Financial Planner? Ask him or her who paid for their last lavish continuing education junket. Go ahead, ask.

These four-flushing turdballs want to be seen as caring. Not being caring—just looking like it. And that’s the scam. That’s performative empathy in a nutshell.

Bill Clinton may have set the gold standard when he uttered those infamous words: “I feel your pain.” No, Bill, you felt the polling data. You felt the political winds. You felt the opportunity to manipulate people’s emotions with a Southern drawl and a lip bite. It was Oscar-worthy. But it wasn’t real.

Nancy Pelosi is another master of the art. She’ll stand behind a podium and talk about fighting for the little guy while making stock trades that outperform every hedge fund on Wall Street. You don’t need a magic 8-ball when you’ve got insider information. She represents the “common man” like I represent the moon landing. But she plays the part—scarf, handshake, photo op—and the corrupt lamestream media applauds. Because that’s what empathy looks like on TV.

This is the age of optics over outcomes. We’re told to join the “right” causes, wear the “right” pins, post the “right” hashtags. If you don’t, you’re not empathetic. If you do—but only on camera—you’re a hero. That’s how upside-down things have gotten.

Pins: You need a girls scout shoulder scarf to hold all the pins to prove you care. Think in terms of participation pins the military awards rather than limiting recognition to real combat awards. Ouch, that hurt, but it's true and a real veteran knows it.

Let’s be honest—true empathy is quiet. It doesn’t come with a press release. Real empathy doesn’t smash a Starbucks window to make a point. It doesn’t fire 20,000 workers while crying on CNBC. It doesn’t hold a press conference in front of a food bank while sipping on a $12 smoothie.

Here’s the truth: we live in a society that rewards pretending to care more than it rewards actually caring. You want proof? Look at who gets airtime. It’s the loudest, most dramatic actors on the stage of fake feelings. Meanwhile, the people actually making a difference—teachers, nurses, volunteers, small business owners—they’re invisible.

Performative empathy is currency in today’s culture. You spend it to buy approval, protect power, and silence critics. It’s not about compassion. It’s about control. It’s a calculated move. A branding decision. A strategy meeting bullet point.

And don’t think this is just politics or unions or business. It’s everywhere. Social media has become a stage for this nonsense. You can’t scroll for five minutes without seeing someone perform a meltdown, a tearful confession, or a dramatic appeal for a cause they just learned about yesterday. It’s a script. A formula. Step 1: express emotion. Step 2: mention a group or identity. Step 3: ask for likes or money. Step 4: repeat.

So what do we do about it?

Start by calling it out. Stop pretending the emperor’s new empathy is real. Ask questions. Follow the money. Look at what people do, not what they say. If someone says they’re fighting for you while living like royalty, maybe—just maybe—they’re fighting for themselves. If a person says they care but only show up when cameras are rolling, they probably don’t.

This isn’t about being cold-hearted. It’s about being clear-headed. There’s nothing wrong with caring. But when you start rewarding people for just appearing to care, you stop incentivizing action and start encouraging performance.

So, here’s my final word: stop falling for the act. It’s time to retire the standing ovation for fake feelings. Because while everyone’s busy applauding the actors, the real heroes are out there—quiet, tired, underpaid, and overlooked—actually doing the work.

And they’re too busy to fake it.

And for those like me who wish for 30 hours in a day to get done what needs to get done, and we love what we do: "Performance Empathy Actors Are Not Worth A Second Of Our Time. Not A Second."

Performative Empathy on Campus: Where Feelings Trump Facts

Now let’s talk about college campuses—those ivory towers of performative empathy where everyone’s supposed to “get along to go along,” as long as you’re towing the ideological line. And that line? It leans left. Hard left. Overwhelmingly left. From the bloated administration offices filled with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion vice provosts, to tenured faculty with pronouns in email signatures longer than their publication records—this is the spiritual home of performative empathy.

Universities used to be about open inquiry. Academic freedom. Iron sharpening iron. Now? It’s about groupthink wrapped in feelings. If you want to succeed in that environment, you better smile, nod, and parrot the script. “Systemic injustice.” “Lived experience.” “Safe space.” “Trigger warning.” If you dare to suggest biology is biology, that capitalism isn’t evil, or that personal responsibility is a good thing—you’re labeled a threat.

And if you really want to light your career on fire? Try being openly conservative.

Take Dr. Jordan Peterson as a prime example. He refused to use compelled gender pronouns in Canada. Did he scream, yell, protest? No. He calmly explained his position based on individual liberty and free speech. Boom. The academic mob came after him like a pack of wolves. Protests. Petitions. Demands for dismissal. He didn’t just buck the trend—he got bucked by the trend.

Or look at Amy Wax, law professor at the University of Pennsylvania. She had the audacity—brace yourself—to say that Western values like hard work, meritocracy, and stable family structures lead to success. You’d think she lit the Constitution on fire. Colleagues turned on her. Students demanded her removal. And she was eventually barred from teaching first-year law students. Not because she broke a rule, but because she bruised a few egos.

Another one? Mike Adams, professor at UNC Wilmington. Conservative, Christian, opinionated—and relentless in calling out campus nonsense. He won a First Amendment case against the university for denying him promotion based on his political views. He won in court—but lost in the court of public opinion. The backlash was endless. Harassment. Protests. Eventually, he took his own life. That’s the cost of standing up in a culture of phony empathy.

Then there’s Charles Murray, author of The Bell Curve. Whether you agree with him or not, the man had data, charts, and research to back his arguments. But when he dared to speak on campus, protestors shouted him down, pulled fire alarms, and in one case, physically assaulted the professor who was interviewing him. So much for tolerance.

A side note. I worked overwhelmingly with men who were Jewish in the 70s and 80s, when I was an employee rather than the employer, owners of businesses, and true entrepreneur that I am since the mid 80s.  Jewish? Overwhelming? Explain.  Easy I say. You see, when the promotional list came out for police departments in the 70s and 80s, I heard the endless joke: "Time to celebrate passover."  Think about it. Overwhelmingly the top candidates were men of a certain type who were continuously passed over to make way for the right balance.  Long, long, long before today's outrage. And what did most of them do. They worked, did the job, were injured, some died, but no strikes or violence. For me. Well, I saw the handwriting on the wall in the early 80s and made peace with it and moved on.  There's still a blue streak deep inside but the freedom of doing what I like, am good and profitable at, and can control, well for the rest of my life as it's been since the mid-80s, it's good.  Let's continue.

This is the environment we’ve created. One where left-leaning orthodoxy rules. Where the illusion of care trumps the reality of free inquiry. Where administrators give hugs and handouts to protesters, but turn their backs on anyone who dares to think differently. And arrests are not prosecuted and convictions overturned.  Think about it.

And it’s not just faculty. Students feel it, too. Want to join a club, apply for scholarships, or publish in the school paper? Better sprinkle in the right buzzwords. You’re not just expected to care—you’re expected to perform that care on cue. Bonus points if you cry on camera.

But here’s the thing: true learning isn’t safe. It’s uncomfortable. It’s built on disagreement. You can’t grow intellectually in a bubble. And when colleges stop being institutions of thought and become stages for emotional theater, everybody loses.

So yeah, I’ll say it again: performative empathy is a plague. And nowhere is it more contagious than on the modern college campus.