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Jazmaine Simbulan

Kindness: A Missing Piece on Campus

Is it really that hard to be kind?  Kindness has always bamboozled me in multiple ways. Some seem inherently tender, with not a trace of cruelty in their system. Others, on the contrary, project themselves with seemingly malevolent intentions. But regardless of where you fit on this spectrum of behavior, I believe everyone has the capacity to be a bit nicer to someone around them.

I, myself, admit that I have my own moments of weakness—times where impatience or frustration cloud my interactions. We all do. The irony of it all is that kindness feels sweeter when given with no expectations in mind. It doesn’t need acknowledgment, validation, reward, or reciprocation. One kind act, no matter how small, can go a long way. Smiling at someone you meet in the university corridors may brighten their day. Perhaps cheering someone up with a simple compliment could transform their mood entirely. Yet, as much as kindness sounds simple, there’s a persistent undercurrent of microaggressions that disrupt the sense of unity of our campus. 

Often subtle, microaggressions—be it a dismissive remark about someone’s accent, a stereotype about their culture, or an assumption based on their background, create divides where there should be bridges. Our tight-knit campus which prides itself on being home to students from more than 60 nations seems to have been infiltrated by this challenge. Hearing stories from students coupled with my personal experience of microaggressions, I wonder how we can, as a campus, enable such an environment, an environment that allows interactions that chip away at the sense of belonging of each student. Is this campus inclusive? Or just merely tolerant?

What fuels these microaggressions? Sometimes it’s unawareness, but often it stems from biases—those quiet, (maybe) unintentional judgments we make about others based on incomplete or prejudiced assumptions. These microaggressions may be rooted in a place of ignorance. In many cases, we might not realize how harmful our words can be. But it’s high time we take accountability for our words and actions. At a multicultural university like ours, it’s so easy to misinterpret or reduce someone’s identity to a label. Why are we perpetuating an environment that reduces each other? Shouldn’t our diversity be a strength? Shouldn’t we strive to see past these presumed labels and connect as individuals, each with our own stories and dreams? Are we seen or are we simply allowed to exist?


 Overt hostility might not be present, but do students feel like they truly belong? I personally feel the sense of being seen as different but not celebrated, like my presence is just tolerated. Tolerance, while better than exclusion—still leaves us at a distance. It doesn’t embrace diversity fully. It merely accepts it. Do we genuinely embrace one another or are we just coexisting? Reflect. Are you attending cultural clubs because you’re genuinely interested or are you there for the food? Are you engaging in diversity events because you want to learn and grow, or is it just a way to check off a box? True inclusivity goes beyond participation—it’s about how connected, valued, and empowered you feel in that space. If you’re showing up only because it’s expected, or if your identity feels like it’s being showcased without being fully embraced, then perhaps the campus environment isn't as inclusive as it should be. So, the question becomes: Does the campus create opportunities for genuine connection, or does it simply allow everyone to coexist without true interaction?


Achieving this reality won’t be an easy feat. We, as a whole campus, must make a conscious effort to limit our biases and expand our perceptions of one another. This doesn’t mean ignoring differences; rather, it means embracing them with curiosity and respect. It’s about asking questions instead of making assumptions, listening instead of judging, and seeking understanding instead of confrontation. Be open to learning, be curious, and be kinder. Think about your comments before you say it. Educate yourself  on the realities beyond your bubble. Comments like “everything is so cheap in your country” are not compliments. Questioning someone’s beliefs and dismissing their perspective without truly listening can leave them feeling like their identity is merely being tolerated, rather than respected. Referring to someone only in relation to a stereotype, such as mentioning a household worker when talking about an entire nationality, can be deeply reductive. Casual remarks about someone’s background or culture, even unintentional ones, can hurt. As Amy Carmichael said, “Let nothing be said about anyone unless it passes through the three sieves: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”


As members of a growing diverse campus community, we’re in a unique position to foster kindness and empathy on a larger scale. Georgetown prides itself on honing and producing future world leaders and academics who aim to address the world’s pressing challenges, but what happens if those leaders lack empathy? Without compassion, the world is bound to perpetuate cycles of division, inequality, and harm, fostering a dangerous world where problems are exacerbated rather than resolved. Breaking this cycle begins with small acts: inviting someone from a different culture to join you for lunch at the Atrium, learning a few words from their language, or simply showing genuine interest in their experiences without prior judgment. Over time, these small leaps can create ripples, transforming the atmosphere of the campus to a more welcoming, genuine inclusion. It ensures that once we step out from the bubble of GU-Q, we’re approaching the world with humanity and integrity.


Kindness is not an abstract ideal. It’s a practice, a mindset, and a choice we make every day. If each one of us chooses to confront our biases and treat one another with dignity and understanding, we’ll find that kindness has the power to make our campus a welcoming place for everyone. We can transform this campus into a place where everyone feels valued—not just tolerated. So, I’ll ask again: Is it really that hard to be kind? Or, rather, is it harder not to be?

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