If I had to describe the current geopolitical landscape in one word, it would be turbulent. Internationally, there is widespread concern, confusion, and division, and the ripple effects of domestic unrest are felt far beyond US borders. As an American, I am living within a political landscape shaped by violence and anger, while the rest of the world watches with concern. Large protests have erupted across the United States following unjust immigration enforcement actions and fatal shootings by federal agents, while rights and protections are being stripped from citizens across the nation. A government that promises to protect has repeatedly put the lives of its citizens in danger, all the while US military operations in Iran are bringing into question the stability of the global order and the moral authority of US power.

With all of this and much more in mind, feelings of hopelessness and anger are understandably widespread, and it would be wrong of me to suggest that there is no power in the experience of deep concern, outrage, despair, and even denial. Nonetheless, I am drawn to consider how we might respond spiritually when our political atmosphere becomes unstable and morally disorienting.

Nations, like individuals, can become caught in cycles of fear, attachment, and delusion. While it is easy to fall into this cycle, we must instead acknowledge that the deepest forms of violence begin in the mind, and that we are all personally responsible for rejecting a landscape built on brutality. Buddhist wisdom offers the possibility of clear seeing without hatred, which is a kind of clarity that this very moment in history urgently requires.

While it may feel as though we are falling into total chaos at a rapid rate, it is helpful to acknowledge that this is not the first time that our societies or the world have faced such turbulence. We might look to scholars who lived through and documented troubled times in our history for guidance. For example, the writer James Baldwin (1924–87), who discussed persuasively and compellingly racism and injustice during the civil rights movement in the US, insisted that truth must be spoken clearly, even when it is deeply uncomfortable.

Baldwin argued that refusing to confront injustice carries a profound moral cost. Systems of cruelty, he observed, do not only harm those who suffer under them but also damage the moral integrity of the society that allows them to exist. Yet Baldwin also believed that telling the truth must be paired with love and a refusal to abandon our shared humanity, even while confronting painful realities. In this sense, activism and moral clarity do not translate to anger, but responsibility.

To better understand the spiritual dimensions of political turbulence, we might turn to the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, who wrote extensively about mindfulness in times of violence and conflict. His teachings outline not only the necessary awareness we must have of all suffering, but emphasize the practice of refusing to look away from harm.

Additionally, Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings on the principle of interbeing reminds us that all aspects of our lives are deeply interconnected. Thus, violence is never isolated, and when harm occurs, it reverberates through individuals, communities, and societies alike.

Thich Nhat Hanh also taught that violence manifests at multiple levels; there is the violence of action, the violence of speech, and the violence of the mind. Long before violence appears physically, it often emerges in the language we use and the perceptions we cultivate. Discourse saturated with dehumanization, humiliation, and aggression, whether online or in politics, reflects what might be called the violence of the mind.

From this perspective, the normalization of bad-faith discourse as entertainment represents not only a political crisis but also a spiritual one. Thich Nhat Hanh repeatedly reminded his students that when we harm others, all parties suffer. Compassion, therefore, does not require us to ignore wrongdoing; rather, it asks us to see clearly while refusing to reproduce the same patterns of violence in our own minds and actions.

This insight is particularly relevant in today’s political culture, as this bad-faith discourse is increasingly exemplified by those we are supposed to look to for leadership, guidance, and protection. When we turn on the news or open social media to find those in power not only speaking about but treating citizens of the world with immense contempt and disregard, it is only natural to feel anger and to want to speak about them in the same way, resulting in the broader public adapting the tactics of their oppressors.

Modern politics has begun to transform common cruelty into spectacle. Harsh rhetoric toward immigrants is paired with aggressive enforcement actions. Internationally, militarized language and escalating tensions heightened by US involvement in conflicts in the Middle East contribute to an atmosphere of instability and fear. Simultaneously, shrinking global cooperation and the gradual withdrawal from international institutions signal a weakening commitment to collective problem-solving. In combination, these developments create the sense that the world is becoming more fragmented and uncertain.

From a Buddhist perspective, this fragmentation of society reflects something deeper, which is the collective emotional forces shaping our societies. Buddhist philosophy is not naïve about the realities of political conflict. In acknowledgement of the bigger picture, it invites us to question what kind of mind produces the choices that lead to such division and dismay. When cruelty becomes normalized and domination becomes a political strategy, it often reveals a landscape shaped by fear, attachment to identity, and the desire for control.

The challenge is to recognize these forces while refusing to let them take root in our own minds, cultivating clarity, compassion, and moral courage instead. In addition to our thoughts and speech, this compassionate courage is exhibited through action and the ultimate refusal to accept injustice. Buddhism teaches that silence in the face of suffering is a form of ignorance, and to remain silent is to support the growth and development of harm.

To speak the truth and take action for the betterment of society, on the other hand, is itself a spiritual practice. The distinction here is that the battle against injustice does not require anger, but clarity. Ultimately, the Buddhist path asks for two commitments at once: compassion for all beings and fearlessness in naming harm. This means rejecting cruelty without dehumanizing others, speaking truth without hatred, and refusing to normalize mistreatment or performative violence.

Compassion without truth becomes sentimentality, while truth without compassion becomes another form of violence. As Thich Nhat Hanh emphasized, engaged mindfulness is about “being peace while acting for peace.” In practice, it looks like acting with ethical clarity, speaking mindfully, and resisting cycles of contempt and dehumanization. When we see clearly, we refuse to normalize cruelty simply because it is convenient. Instead acting with courageous compassion while rejecting passivity is the practice of engaged, ethical awareness.

As a young Western individual and Dharma practitioner, I have inherited democratic ideals and Buddhist ethics, and the political landscape in which I find myself challenges me all of the time. I am constantly drawn toward anger, but my practice reminds me to ask myself: what does mindful citizenship look like and how can I resist injustice without reproducing hatred? I have found that the most practical ways to respond include participating in community organizing, volunteering for social justice initiatives, supporting policies that protect human rights, engaging in dialogue across differences, and amplifying marginalized voices.

By translating ethical principles into mindful choices, we can all participate in civic life in ways that uphold both justice and compassion, even amid turbulence. The Buddha’s own path shows us that we do not attain enlightenment through withdrawal from the world; it is awakening within it.

Ultimately, history shows that when societies drift toward oppression, they can also move back toward justice. The starting point is always the same: the mind. If we refuse the violence of the mind and the habits of cruelty, contempt, and dehumanization, we refuse the seed from which greater harm grows. The Dharma asks us to remain clear, compassionate, and courageous, even when doing so feels difficult.

History will judge us by the kind of minds we cultivated in the face of injustice: whether we normalized cruelty, whether we resisted it, and whether we remembered our shared humanity.

Choosing mindful engagement ensures that we help to shape a world that honors both justice and the dignity of all beings. In fact, to act with love in response to hatred may be the most radical act available to us.

Related features from BDG

Connected, Yet Untethered: Rediscovering Sangha
Right Speech and the Psychology of Everyday Language
A Buddhist Look at Wanting, Having, and the Stories We’re Sold

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