
I was watching NoToDogMeat live from Yulin when something struck a chord. It brought back something I have been trying to put into words about empathy and the way we sometimes emotionally detach as a form of self-preservation.
It made me reflect on something I’ve been seeing across their social media platforms: why comments that come from a place of compassion can so easily be misdirected as anger, such as “Why didn’t you save them all?” Why does the focus so often fall on the number of lives not saved, rather than the reality of what it took to save any at all?
What I have come to realise is that these reactions do not come from a lack of empathy, but from an incomplete picture of it.
Empathy is a curious thing. It is not always shaped by the severity of suffering, but by how far removed we are from it. When we are watching something like Yulin unfold through a screen, we are only ever seeing fragments of a much larger and more complex reality. That distance can make it easier to consume what we see as a complete picture, when it is only a small part of what is happening on the ground.
In that gap, misunderstandings form. It becomes easier to assume what could have been done, or what should have been possible, without fully seeing the conditions, scale, or limitations that those on the ground are working. Even empathy, when shaped only by fragments, can turn into judgement.
Distance removes identity because the further we are from something, the easier it becomes to lose sight of the individual lives within it. What remains is the idea of what is happening, rather than the reality of who it is happening to.
And from that distance, it becomes easy to focus on quantity alone. On how many were saved, or how many were not. Of course, saving as many dogs as possible will always be the priority. But what is often missed is what that involves.
The travel. The sleepless nights. The emotional weight of witnessing what cannot be unseen and continuing anyway.
Most people support charities because, for them, that is the most realistic way to help. Sometimes, more than a donation feels out of reach, even when the desire to do more is there. And for others, it is not just practicality, but emotional capacity. The thought of seeing a dog chained or crammed into cages so tightly that they cannot move is something they might not feel able to carry.
That does not come from indifference. It comes from limits.
It is important to recognise that there are people out there going beyond their own limits in the name of something many of us believe in. It can help to hold onto the bigger picture before reacting in the moment. Sometimes, in spaces like this, frustration can be directed in ways that miss the reality of what is happening on the ground, often towards the very people who are still trying, still showing up, and standing on the frontline, defending a cause they care so deeply about, even when the weight of it is not always seen or understood from the outside. If you have watched Julia live from Yulin, you will have seen how much a simple positive comment acknowledging her presence and the work she and her team are doing meant in that moment, rather than reducing it to numbers or statistics.
And this is where it all comes back to distance.
Because when we are not there, we are not experiencing the full reality, only fragments of it. And fragments can never carry the full weight of what is unfolding on the ground. In those fragments, it becomes easier to misunderstand, easier to reduce, and easier to judge without meaning to.
But understanding that gap changes everything.
Because empathy is not only about what we feel. It is also about what we are willing to recognise as incomplete and still choose to hold with care.
And perhaps that is what matters most. Not how close we are to the suffering, but whether we allow ourselves to stay aware of what we are not fully seeing and still choose compassion despite that distance.

Julie Gledhill
Staff Writer














The true meaning of rescuing a dog is not simply giving an animal a home; it is choosing to stand in the fragile space between suffering and hope. All our dogs are based in China, rescued from the dog meat trade, and many arrive carrying experiences no living being should ever endure, marked by fear, uncertainty, and a deep mistrust of the world around them.





















I hope there is a special place in Hell for all people involved in this horrible practice !