The Ethos of Empathy: A Reflection of Visiting Writer Daniel Donaghy

Sunshine Li ‘26

“I want you to do this–and I know it sounds silly, but really, try this tonight: look at yourself in the mirror and say, ‘I love you.’” Visiting writer Daniel Donaghy’s December 13th presentation for the McKinley Friday Nights at Westminster program exuded the ethos of empathy by connecting with both the audience and the subjects of his writing, a trait that echoes throughout the shared rhetoric and themes of his work.

Donaghy’s ability to weave empathy into his presentation allowed him to connect with the audience on a deeper level, leading myself and I’m sure many others to ponder about his words days after. He didn’t just read a few of his poems, shamelessly plug a new book, and skedaddle; Donaghy served us anecdotes of self love analogous to his suggestion to say “I love you” in the mirror. By asking the audience to imagine a crow perched on their shoulder and a wise, grandmotherly figure nestled in their hearts, he painted two juxtaposing metaphors that spoke to me. The crow, an embodiment of self-doubt or lingering pain, serves as a reminder of our burdens, while the inner “grandmother” is a symbol of nurturing self-kindness. These images are not just poetic flourishes, however; they are tools, gently nudging us toward a more compassionate view of ourselves. Suggesting that the audience tell their reflections “I love you” wasn’t a halfhearted cliche–it was a call to bravery, a radical invitation to embrace vulnerability and offer love to the person we often neglect the most: ourselves.

Comparable to how he coaxed the audience’s self awareness during the presentation, Donaghy’s poetry observes the lives and struggles of others with unflinching empathy and subtle detail, from the topics he writes about to the rhetoric that he writes with. Unlike some renowned poets, such as Emily Dickinson, whose work reflects introspective, often abstract concepts, Donaghy’s muses lie in people around him and their lived experiences. For example, in “Old Man Shooting Free Throws,” he quite literally puts himself in his subject’s shoes, using observations to create vivid visual imagery. Closing my eyes, I can picture a scene where “the ball settles / into the cradle his right fingertips make, / his bent wrist even with his glasses.” Furthermore, Donaghy weaves a beautiful description of a construction worker’s daily routine in “What Cement Is Made of” when he writes, “In shower stalls, concrete mix washes off / like limestone loosened by hard summer rain / under a single, shared fluorescent bulb.” The similes of “concrete mix” and “limestone loosened by hard summer rain” emit visual and auditory images, while the “single, shared fluorescent bulb” is a potent symbol of both hardship and togetherness, exhibiting Donaghy’s ability to not just comprehend, but fully immerse himself in a situation vastly different from his own. Whether the elderly man shooting free throws is a friend or if Donaghy has worked as a blue-collar worker, we don’t know–but through his profound empathy and command of poetic devices, he makes the reader feel as if we understand his subjects just as intimately as he does. 

Donaghy’s ethos extends to his community and beyond, as he sheds light on obscure social issues that transcend time and culture, culminating in the reading of an excerpt from his poem about the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921. Fueled by racism and hatred, a false accusation that Black teenager Dick Rowland had assaulted a white woman sparked a white mob to destroy homes, businesses, and churches in the “Black Wall Street” of Greenwood in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The tragic event resulted in 300 Black residents killed and thousands left homeless. Although now recognized as one of the worst incidents of racial violence in U.S. history, this event was covered up for decades. Hence, Donaghy’s voice carried a stoic tone of respect, trembling with a hint of indignation as he told us about the injustice that Dick Rowland and the people of Greenwood experienced. Though far removed from his own experience, Donaghy’s passion about the massacre threads their stories into his broader tapestry of social justice and human dignity. To extend compassion so fully to a community and moment in history outside one’s own is rare, and it speaks to Donaghy’s commitment to honoring the stories that matter, even when they are not his own.

Daniel Donaghy’s reading and his work stand as a testament to the transformative power of empathy. Through intimate metaphors and powerful imagery, Donaghy doesn’t just invite us to see the world through his eyes; he urges us to open our own, and, in doing so, to carry forward the light of kindness in a world that so often forgets its importance.