The Selective Empathy Paradox: Perspective on Modern Inclusion

Inclusivity and empathy for marginalized groups are major—and crucial—topics in our society today. Yet, I’ve noticed a tendency for these discussions to snowball into a cycle where we increasingly create identities that emphasize our differences from others, even when those differences are minor. In many ways, it seems like we’ve developed a cultural habit of seeing ourselves as "lesser than" or victims of some form of oppression. This isn’t limited to traditionally marginalized groups; even white cisgender males may perceive themselves as under attack, for instance, when they feel their religion is challenged by a small number of atheists in the country. I call this phenomenon the Great American Persecution Complex.

More to the point though, I think about this push for equality, inclusion, and treating everyone with empathy and compassion. In being allies and validating each other and offering strength. We shouldn't judge people or react to what they are, but rather to who they are and everything that comes with it. Then I think, well, what about me? You know, I think about it and I find it intellectually curious when it comes to...me.

Consider that I am diagnosed with ASPD with pronounced psychopathy traits. I'm a high-functioning psychopath. I have very high cognitive empathy, but zero emotional.

Imagine if you will that a woman, a white male Christian, a trans person, a black person, or anyone for that matter, approaches someone on the street and says, "Hey, I'm a woman!" - Or whatever they are. And they'll get some reaction. I would think that trans people would, depending on the luck of the draw, get the worst reaction or be praised for being brave.

Now imagine that I go up to a random person and say, "Hey, I'm a diagnosed psychopath!" What kind of reaction do you think I'll get?

Do you know that when my kind goes into a therapist's office or to see a psychologist about something, they'll often instantly fear us or have a dread cold in their spine when they find out what we are? Not because we are bad but because of the stigma against us.

If a trans person were to ask whether they should come out online or on social media, they’d likely receive support, guidance to proceed with caution, or in the worst case, advice to only tell those closest to them. But if I were to ask the same about revealing that I’m a high-functioning psychopath, I’m told, flat-out, never to disclose it on social media, LinkedIn, or anywhere public-facing. Because doing so, under any circumstances, would destroy my life.

To be clear, I'm not minimizing the real issues in our society and the pain and suffering they inflict on those that are objectively most vulnerable. I'm more interested in the hypocricy in selective empathy and inclusion.

Consider that most of you who passionately push for inclusion, acceptance, and fairness would be just as willing to throw the first stone if you knew me and found out what I was born as—something beyond my control, like anyone else’s identity.

To highlight this better, in the United States, marginalized groups like Black people, trans individuals, and others face oppression, but the degree and form of this oppression can be contextual—dependent on where they live, their specific community, or even the individuals they encounter. For example, a Black person in an urban area might experience different treatment from the police than someone in a rural town, or a trans person might face acceptance in some circles while facing hostility in others. This contextual nature of oppression means that, while the harm is real and significant, there are at least opportunities for some semblance of support and advocacy through established movements, organizations, and legal protections. These groups, despite their struggles, are not completely isolated in their fight. There is a collective effort and a growing understanding to combat the barriers they face.

Contrast this with my experience as a high-functioning psychopath—there is no escape from the stigma that I carry. It’s not a matter of location or community—the moment someone finds out about my condition, I am automatically viewed with suspicion and fear, and that never changes. If I were to disclose that I’m a psychopath in a professional or social setting, I wouldn't receive support, understanding, or advocacy. Instead, I’d face exclusion, distrust, and potentially even discrimination in ways that are far more extreme than what most marginalized groups encounter. No matter where I go, the same social stigma would follow me. There are no movements or groups rallying to challenge the prejudices against people with psychopathy. No matter how much I strive to be ethical, compassionate, and genuine, the pervasive fear of psychopathy means my sincerity is always in question. It’s a deeply isolating reality—one where even the most well-intentioned person with a psychopathic diagnosis is left to advocate for themselves, without any collective support to help shift these ingrained fears and assumptions.

The challenges I face as a high-functioning psychopath extend far beyond social interactions and into nearly every aspect of daily life. In court, if my diagnosis were known, I would be treated with suspicion, and the fear of manipulation could easily skew any legal outcome, even in a minor incident like a traffic violation. Police officers, regardless of their background, would likely see me as a threat the moment they became aware of my condition, treating me with unnecessary caution or even escalating a routine interaction based on their perception of danger. Neighbors might watch me like a hawk, feeling uncomfortable with my presence, potentially even going as far as installing cameras or gossiping about my behavior, all while failing to recognize that I am no more likely to harm them than anyone else. In hospitals or with paramedics, there's the very real possibility that medical professionals, upon learning of my diagnosis, could treat me differently—maybe even question their duty to provide full care if they feel morally conflicted. Insurance companies could deny or limit my coverage, assuming I am a higher-risk individual, even if I am in good health. In business and with potential clients, I'd very likely lose all my clients if they knew what I am. The pervasive nature of these biases is relentless, with no safe haven from the scrutiny and doubt that follow me wherever I go.

I get others go through these type of issues, but as I said, that is completely contextual. No matter the race or gender of the person I'm dealing with - they are almost virtually guaranteed to take significant issue. So no, I am not in a closet. I am in a deep dungeon that I've built with locks on every door and dragons guarding the entrance - because this is the only way I can keep myself protected from a society that - even when passionately focused on inclusivity - would rather destroy my life than trust me. Ideally, I'd just tell people, look I'm a high-functioning psychopath but you aren't in danger with me. I have high cognitive empathy and agree with all the moral philosophy I've studied and truly want to be a good person. And that is what I strive for every day - analyzing my actions probably significantly more than most people do. But in doing that - all of that stigma would lash out at me. Some people would accept that for the most part - I think, but they wouldn't get rid of that nagging..thought. And they will struggle to understand if I'm being genuine when we interact or am I manipulating them?

I foresee that it is inevitable that I'll get pushback about me equating or minimizing. Let me be clear: A trans person or a black person or any marginalized group can be oppressed institutionally, and in certain social circles. The difference with me it is in ALL circles, ALL institutions - even should I talk to a psychologist. And it isn't just not trusting me - it is that people fear me in a way that makes it seem like I am the essence of unknowable evil and this is an important distinction.

Now, I don't care about all of this personally. That is - I'm not on a emotional crusade here. But I do find it fascinating and curious from a more intellectual perspective. This tells me that people with emotional empathy believe in things passionately, but no matter how passionate, it is still very selective. I don't have that problem.

Before you say that there is some difference because psychopaths are dangerous or manipulative or some other stigmatization that you've been spoon fed, consider that almost all research on us has been done on criminals and not high-functioning psychopaths that are successful socially, in relationships, in careers, and in life. Many of us that can be ethical, considerate of others - even without emotional empathy, and have healthy families. And last, consider that cognitive empathy, in many regards, can be, at times, significantly better than emotional empathy when it comes to morals and ethics.

In closing here, if you ask me if I support minorities, various genders, and so forth, I would say that in the lens of equality - yes. Absolutely. It makes sense that anyone who isn't treated like everyone else due to something they have no control over - is morally problematic. So, I guess the real question then is this: Did I write in an attempt to motivate people to think critically about their selective inclusive views or did I simply write it to manipulate you?