I had seen people who had lost everything and everyone they

The words of Chelsea Clinton echo with quiet sorrow and steadfast compassion: “I had seen people who had lost everything and everyone they loved to war, famine, and natural disasters.” In this lament, we hear not only the grief of those who suffer, but the witness of one who has stood among them and carried their story forward. It is the cry of humanity stripped bare, of lives overturned by forces beyond their control, and of the courage required to endure when all is lost.

In this utterance, Clinton does not speak as a distant observer of statistics, but as one who has walked among the ruins, looked into the eyes of the broken, and felt the weight of their despair. To lose possessions is grievous, but to lose everyone you love—that is devastation beyond words. War, with its fire and cruelty, rips families apart. Famine, silent and merciless, steals life day by day. Natural disasters, sudden as thunder, sweep away homes and histories alike. Together they form a trinity of suffering that has haunted humanity from the beginning of time.

History bears countless testimonies to this sorrow. In the siege of Leningrad during the Second World War, millions were trapped within the city, their lives consumed by hunger, bombs, and bitter cold. Entire families perished, leaving survivors with only emptiness where once there had been love. The survivors spoke not of glory, but of endurance, of holding on to humanity in the face of inhuman suffering. Just as Clinton bore witness in her time, so too the chronicles of history preserve these stories, lest we forget that behind every catastrophe are human faces, human tears, human graves.

Yet the ancient wisdom is that out of the ashes, resilience is born. The people who have endured the loss of everything still rise, though scarred, and rebuild. Think of the people of Hiroshima, who, after the firestorm of the atomic bomb, rebuilt their shattered city into a place of peace and remembrance. Or the survivors of the Irish Potato Famine, who, scattered across the world, carried with them both sorrow and a fierce determination to begin anew. Though they lost all, they forged fresh paths, testifying that despair need not be the final word.

From Clinton’s words emerges not only lament, but a call: do not turn away from those who suffer, for their burden is heavy, and to share it is the highest duty of humanity. To see them is to acknowledge their worth, to honor their pain, and to kindle hope where hope seems extinguished. If war, famine, and disaster strip them of everything, then let compassion, solidarity, and justice restore to them at least the dignity of being remembered and cared for.

For us who listen, the lesson is simple yet profound: live not in blindness to the suffering of others. When the news brings reports of devastation, do not let your heart grow hard. Offer aid when you can—through service, through giving, through advocacy. Extend kindness in smaller ways too, for compassion is not only for great calamities; it is also for the quiet losses of those around us. To stand with the broken is to bring light into the world’s darkest places.

Therefore, let us carry forward the wisdom of this witness: when you encounter those who have lost all, do not pity them from afar but walk beside them. Let your words comfort, let your actions heal, and let your presence remind them they are not alone. For though war, famine, and natural disasters may strip away homes and families, the enduring strength of humanity lies in the bonds of love we build anew. And in this, even the most broken soul may find the courage to rise again.