Why choosing not to look away is the most human responsibility we have…….

I am not a religious person. I don’t believe in organized religion (but that’s a whole other conversation). What I do believe in is something bigger than myself, call it God, Spirit, the Universe, whatever feels right to you.

I want to make that clear upfront because what I’m about to borrow might sound at odds with my next statement. It’s a line from the Bible, Genesis 4:9. God asks Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” And Cain replies, “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?”

I won’t pretend the Bible shaped my belief system. It did not. But that line stayed with me because my answer is not tentative. It is an unequivocal yes. I am my brother’s keeper. And when I say brother, I mean family. I mean neighbour. I mean humanity, the animal kingdom, and the planet we call home. The question then becomes not whether my responsibility exists, but whether I’m willing to acknowledge it.

Let me put it another way. Did you grow up in a household with chores? Did you clean the kitchen, wash the dishes, take out the garbage? Do you still do those things now? If so, why? Is it because you live there?

We are not guests on this planet. This is our home. And living in a home carries responsibility, not ownership, not control, but care. Care for the people who share it, the systems that sustain it, and the lives that depend on it. That may sound like a broad assumption of responsibility. I see it as a simple one.  

If we live here, we have a role to play.

That question, “am I my brother’s keeper”, isn’t philosophical to me. It’s practical. It shows up in who has access and who does not. In who eats and who goes hungry. In who gets an education, healthcare, safety, opportunity,  and who is left hoping someone notices.

Social impact, at its core, is about refusing to look away from the gaps. For me, once those gaps are seen, it becomes impossible to pretend they do not exist, especially when I know I can be part of the solution.

 Can I fix everything? Of course not. But I can do, what I can do. And I know that will help someone, somewhere.

As a former Executive Director of a 501(c)(3), I can tell you this with certainty. Every contribution matters. If all you can give is a dollar, that dollar counts. It adds up. And in many cases, it multiplies. There are many generous individuals and organizations that offer donor matching, turning one dollar into two, and sometimes far more. That kind of exponential growth can create real, measurable impact.

 I also understand why people sometimes turn away. We live in a constant stream of crisis. Headlines blur together. The need feels endless, and the emotional weight can become exhausting. Compassion fatigue is real. It is not indifference. It is overwhelm.

But fatigue does not erase responsibility. It simply reminds us that impact does not require fixing everything. It only requires doing something.

 Social impact is not only about giving money. It can also be about giving time.

 Have you ever volunteered to walk a dog at the SPCA? Worked a table at a concert so children could be sponsored? Helped an animal sanctuary raise funds so animals could be saved rather than euthanized? 

When I oversaw a government program that required high school students to complete forty hours of volunteer service before graduation, my focus was simple. Help them find opportunities that were meaningful enough to become lifelong habits, not just boxes.

I am not here to preach. If anything, this is just passion leaking through. I want to share why this matters to me, and how small, intentional actions can quietly change lives.

So where did my need to help come from?

I wasn’t raised in a family that looked after one another. I did not grow up with close siblings. I became independent very early and was largely on my own by the age of fifteen. I left home at seventeen. Even then, I felt compelled to help others, sometimes people who were in the same circumstances I was.

 A friend once told people that I literally gave away my last quarter. They said it as though it was extraordinary. To me, it was not. Someone needed it in that moment, and I did not. I have always believed that money comes back when it is needed most. So far, it has, but not always gracefully.

I once slipped on a wet restaurant floor and looked down to see my leg facing the wrong direction. The warning sign appeared only after I was already on the ground. Two supervisors from the Transit Authority were sitting nearby. They came to my aid and told me that if I needed to pursue legal action, they would be witnesses. They kept their word.

The universe delivers, sometimes in unexpected ways

I founded my company, ‘The Good Radio Network’, with the tagline- Radio That Does a World of Good, long before corporate responsibility offices or B corporations were part of the conversation. I believed then, as I do now, that a company could be built with social impact at its core and still make money.

Support did not always mean writing a cheque. Sometimes it meant an in-kind contribution. Sometimes it was a phone call to someone who knew someone. Sometimes it became a social media campaign for a nonprofit with no marketing budget. However it showed up, the goal was the same. Do what I could.

As a professional artist, I also used my work to fund social impact initiatives. I partnered with Mercy Ships, creating a direct channel so my donations funded specific medical procedures. Their catalogue outlines the exact cost of each service. The doctors and specialists donate their time and cover their own travel.

 Cleft palate surgery costs about $250. To me, that is not just a medical procedure. It is a life-altering intervention. Without it, children can struggle to eat, leading to malnutrition and even death. Many are ostracized or pushed out of their communities. For girls, families often fear they will never marry, condemning them to a future of isolation.

Vesicovaginal fistula surgery costs roughly $500. This condition often results from prolonged, obstructed childbirth when no Caesarean section is available. The baby dies before delivery, and the pressure causes a tear between the bladder and rectum, leaving the woman incontinent. It is painful, humiliating, and devastating. It is also highly treatable.

This is what social impact looks like to me. Not grand gestures. Not saviours. Just people choosing not to look away, and doing what they can with what they can.

I believe we need to show our children what caring for others looks like in action. Some families volunteer together in soup kitchens. I adopted a donkey for each of my grandchildren through The Donkey Sanctuary. I took them to meet their donkeys, explained why these animals needed our protection, and why adoption helps give them a better life. This past Christmas, I attended a holiday concert that served as a fundraiser for one of the musicians and her partners, who founded Lady Bird Animal Sanctuary several years ago. The sanctuary rescues cats, dogs, and other animals at risk of euthanasia. Their long-term goal is to secure land and create a permanent home for every animal. Until then, they foster as many as they can.

At the concert, I purchased an adorable ladybug plush toy for each of my grandchildren. It was a simple way to donate, but also an intentional way to introduce them to the ideas of compassion, generosity, and giving with purpose.

Later, I wrote a short story about the ladybugs and the animals. I sat all the grandchildren down and read it to them, then answered their questions. What followed was not something I taught them. It was something they already knew. Children have an innate capacity for compassion. Some of them cried. They wanted to save them all, and in that moment, I was reminded that caring is not something we need to teach children. It is something they already possess. What we risk losing over time is not compassion itself, but the willingness to act on it.

I have watched my own children volunteer their time and offer money to help people in need. It is heartwarming to see that lesson passed on. They do, however, keep telling me to stop giving money away. I suspect this is because they are worried one of them might have to take me in someday. Fair concern.

The phrase “There but for the grace of God go I” captures how I think about social impact. I, like many others, was fortunate to be born into a more comfortable life. Why me? Was it luck, design, karma, or something else entirely? I do not have the answer to that . What I do know is that I have access to opportunity, and that gives me a responsibility to help those who do not.

Last year, I sponsored a girls soccer team in Uganda. The players were in grade school, and their teacher created the team as a way to keep girls in school. Many leave by eighth grade due to menstruation, pregnancy, work obligations, or family pressure.

The team had one soccer ball. Through the organization I worked with, we provided uniforms, additional balls, practice gear, and goal posts. But when I watched them play, I realized we had overlooked something essential. They were playing barefoot. 

It was November, so I immediately launched a Christmas fundraising campaign to buy running shoes. No one donated. I was only asking for $10.00 USD. To say the least, I was surprised and disappointed, yet I understood that each of us has our own agenda and causes we like to donate to. Realizing I did what I could, I thought that was the end of it, but the thought of these girls playing barefoot on rough, patchy ground filled with sharp stones wouldn't leave me alone. So I found a supplier and asked their teacher to purchase shoes for each girl as soon as I sent him the money. I was genuinely happy to do it, but I had hoped others could experience that feeling too. Because giving, even in small ways, has a way of changing the giver as much as the recipient, and that brings me back to where this piece began, the question of whether we are our brother’s keeper. 

I believe we are. Not in a legal sense, not out of obligation, but in a human one. We share this home, this moment, this life with others, people, animals, and the earth itself. To see need and do nothing is a choice. To see need and act, even in small ways, is what keeps us connected, what reminds us why we are here, and what makes a life worth living.

As a Life Coach, I have spoken to countless individuals who reach midlife and ask, “What’s Next?” They have reached the pinnacle of their success. They have a nice home, cars, boats, etc. They are ready for their next adventure, and almost invariably, they come to realize that what they want to do is give back.

In the end, being my brother’s keeper is not a burden. It is the best part of being human.