Should we stop talking about empathy?: Virtual reality, refugee children and the ethics of technology-mediated moral education

ABSTRACT

Given much-discussed innovations in Virtual Reality as the ‘ultimate empathy machine’, we offer three provocations regarding the use of Virtual Reality to cultivate empathy: is empathy possible? Is empathy enough? Who controls how empathy is produced, and who is left out? As a case study, we examine the VR films that the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees has produced about the refugee crisis. Using this as an entry point to discuss the implications for technology-mediated moral education, our analysis aims to provide insights for educators and scholars interested in the use of VR to teach about marginalised communities facing structural injustice. In conclusion, we offer a set of practical considerations to foster reflection on the ethical and effective use of technology in moral education. We advocate for a nuanced approach that emphasises empathy as a catalyst for meaningful change, transforming passive empathy into active solidarity.

KEYWORDS:

• Virtual reality
• empathy
• ethics of technology
• moral education
• refugee

Introduction

Will the future of moral education involve students putting on virtual headsets, ready to almost literally walk in another’s shoes? One of the most well-known innovations in Virtual Reality is a United Nations film called Clouds over Sidra, which depicts a twelve-year-old girl’s life inside a refugee camp. The director of Clouds over Sidra made a now-famous claim that Virtual Reality (VR) is ‘the ultimate empathy machine’ (Milk, 2015). This claim, along with the empathy-building capacities of VR more generally, has been fiercely debated. Views have ranged from interest in VR’s ethical potential (Rose, 2016; Sou, 2018) to scepticism about whether VR can really nurture meaningful empathy or do more than performatively depict suffering (Gruenewald & Witteborn, 2022; Irom, 2018; Nakamura, 2020). Given that ‘empathy’ has lain at the discursive heart of these latter critiques, we use the phrase ‘Should we stop talking about empathy?’ as a playful provocation. We ask three questions to help expand the debate: Is empathy possible? Is empathy enough? And who controls the production of empathy?

To contextualise the role of VR in moral education: in recent years, scholars of moral education have discussed how adapting to rapidly changing technology will be one of the unique ethical challenges of the 21st century (Dennis & Harrison, 2021; Kotsonis, 2022; Polizzi & Harrison, 2022). In particular, Harrison (2023) explores the implications of VR for moral education, praising its capacity for ‘expansive, immersive, embodied and autonomous learning opportunities’ (p. 6). His work considers that ‘this area is worthy of exploration as there are some features and affordances of VR that enhance learning that would not otherwise be possible in the classroom’ (p. 7). We agree that reflecting on the unique potential of VR in moral education is crucial, especially given the rising interest in, and practical applications of, VR to build empathy for marginalised communities and encourage prosocial traits and behaviours (Dyer et al., 2018, Ingram et al., 2019; Schutte & Stilinović, 2017). We choose to ground our reflection in a concrete example of this empathy-building use of VR: the VR films that the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) has designed and disseminated about the refugee crisis.

We choose this example to animate our theoretical arguments for two reasons. Firstly, moral education has long discussed the need to teach ethical attitudes and values in relation to refugees (Bacia & Ittel, 2017; Day, 2002; Henderson & Fitzgerald, 2014). Educating young people about the refugee crisis has been identified as more timely than ever, given that global interconnectedness and geopolitical shifts underscore the urgency of fostering empathy, solidarity, and informed decision-making among the younger generation (Bevington et al., 2020). Secondly, we choose to analyse UNHCR’s efforts because UNHCR has been notably proactive in using VR technology to heighten empathy towards refugees’ realities. Given the UN’s global reputation as a leader in humanitarian aid and international development, it wields discursive influence over how marginalised communities are represented, and UN-produced resources are often used in lessons about global citizenship and humanitarian crises (Rosalia, 2019). UNHCR’s use of VR to build empathy for the refugee crisis thus gives us a relevant springboard to explore the implications of technologically-mediated moral education.

In the following pages, we unpack this article’s conceptual grounding in empathy and provide contextual background about the nature of VR technology, the refugee crisis, and UNHCR’s VR innovations. We then present a critical analysis structured around three questions:

• Is empathy possible?

• Is empathy enough?

• Who controls how empathy is produced?

These questions aim to produce nuanced analysis for educators and scholars interested in using VR to teach about marginalised communities impacted by injustice and structural disadvantage. We close with a list of core considerations for effectively and ethically engaging with technological innovation in moral education.

We turn now to our key conceptual terms.

Empathy

Teaching empathy has long been a popular ideal within the discourses and practices of moral education (Verducci, 2000). Yet, as a concept, the very richness of empathy defies quick definition. It has been observed that ‘empathy’ can be a fuzzy term and is easily confused with sympathy, compassion, and other moral and affective dimensions of lived experience (Cuff et al., 2016; Dohrenwend, 2018). Within moral education scholarship, one well-known conceptual history of empathy points out this confusion partially arises because different scholars describe different elements of empathy—for example, one article may understand empathy to be a mode of feeling, while another might see it as a process of knowing (Verducci, 2000). These assumptions about how empathy is understood may be left unclear; in turn, this ‘jangled account’ produces ‘confusion that can endanger arguments over cultivating empathy in schools’ (Verducci, 2000, p. 64). In other words, fragmented understandings of empathy or a lack of clarity in conceptualisation can hinder arguments in moral education around the pedagogical implications of empathy.

To avoid this pitfall, this article draws on multiple disciplinary perspectives to conceptualise ‘empathy’ holistically as a complex and multifaceted construct, involving affective, cognitive, and societal dimensions.

Affectively, empathy has been commonly understood to rest on the ability to emotionally connect with and genuinely experience another person’s feelings, responding appropriately to their situation (Batchelder et al., 2017). The philosopher Martin Buber has envisaged empathy as ‘gliding with one’s own feeling’ through the situation of another (1965, p. 97). This does not mean projecting one’s own state of being, but being willing to understand and traverse the other’s emotional landscape without distortion or imposition. Cognitively, the intellectual aspects of empathy include ‘perspective-taking’—that is, comprehending another individual’s situation and state of mind (Demetriou, 2018). It is this emphasis on understanding that can be said to distinguish empathy from sympathy and compassion. While they are all interrelated, research on their differences suggests sympathy and compassion involve concern or caring for another’s plight without necessarily understanding or ‘feeling with’ them, while empathy has a more immersive sense of shared experience and genuine comprehension of another’s situation, almost experiencing the other’s feelings and thoughts as one’s own (Kurian, 2019; Peters & Calvo, 2014; Singer & Klimecki, 2014).

Both the cognitive and affective dimensions of empathy can involve a creative leap into the unknown or little-understood. As arts educator Maxine Greene puts it,

Imagination is what, above all, makes empathy possible. It is what enables us to cross empty spaces between ourselves and those we teachers have called ‘other’ over the years. If those others are willing to give us clues, we can look in some manner through strangers’ eyes and hear through their ears’ (Greene, 1995, p. 32).

To turn from the meaning to the origins of empathy: it is shaped by diverse biological and sociocultural factors. On a biological level, nerve cells called mirror neurons were discovered by Rizzolatti and Craighero (2004) to facilitate empathy by ‘firing’ (activating) both when an individual performs an action and when they observe others performing it. This finding proved a breakthrough in empathy research. Subverting simplistic narratives about our species being inevitably self-centred and violent (which have been used to justify injustice), the presence of mirror neurons shows human beings to be ‘wired for empathy’ and capable of taking on others’ pain as our own (De Waal, 2010). However, biology does not define the experience of empathy. Cultural norms matter as societies vary in their value of empathy as a virtue (Lanzoni, 2018). On the one hand, empathy has been valorised within moral education literature as a pathway to ethically engage with difference and counter forces of dehumanisation and prejudice (Kurian, 2023b). Care ethicist Nel Noddings noted that, ‘There is considerable evidence that a mature empathy—one that can reach into and feel with others, even those whose physical and moral conditions are very different from our own—may be our best protection against complete demoralisation’ (Noddings, 1997, p. 135). On the other hand, socio-political forces of prejudice can inhibit empathetic responses—that is, prevent the process of empathy from taking place at all (Archer et al., 2023; Bloom, 2017)—a factor relevant to our exploration of VR in relation to refugee children.

Thus, to account for such nuances and contradictions, we holistically conceptualise empathy to be a complex prosocial trait comprising both cognitive and affective components—that is, both thinking about and feeling for other people—situated within, and shaped by, specific sociocultural, historical, political, and economic contexts. Our focus is the multiple dimensions of empathy opened up (or closed down) by VR technology.

Virtual reality

To explain the nature of VR: VR deploys computer-generated immersive environments to transcend the physical boundaries of the user’s world. At its core, VR is designed to be immersive by providing an all-encompassing sensory experience for users.

To explain the interplay of technologies upon which VR operates: the technical journey into VR begins with specialised hardware, most notably the head-mounted display (HMD). The HMD, worn like goggles, houses high-resolution screens for each eye, presenting stereoscopic visuals that deliver a 3D effect. These screens refresh rapidly to ensure smooth, real-time rendering of the virtual environment. To enable user interaction and motion tracking, VR systems incorporate various sensors. These sensors can range from simple accelerometers and gyroscopes to more advanced technologies like inside-out tracking, which employs cameras on the HMD to monitor the user’s movements in physical space.

An essential component of the VR experience is spatial audio. To create a sense of presence, VR systems employ advanced sound processing techniques, allowing users to perceive sounds coming from different directions in the virtual environment, just as they would in the real world. The lifelike simulation within VR environments demands substantial computational power. High-performance processors and graphics cards are leveraged to render intricate 3D scenes and maintain a consistently high frame rate, crucial for preventing motion sickness and ensuring a smooth experience.

It is through orchestrating displays, motion tracking, spatial audio, and powerful processing capabilities that VR becomes ‘immersive’. At its core, VR is designed to engulf users in simulated worlds, inviting them to interact with their surroundings as if they were there in person. It is thus distinctive in its attempt to overcome the limitations of distance and perception.

Virtual reality and empathy

Advancements in VR has been observed to represent not just technical progress in hardware, but the evolution of the cultural meaning of the technology: that is, VR ‘has been presented as a technology of affective connection, compassionate technology meant to teach ethical decision-making and moral education about the world’ (Nakamura, 2020, p. 48). The word ‘empathy’ has specifically been invoked in marketing rhetoric by both private and nonprofit actors; for example, leading VR producer Chris Milk has famously called VR the ‘ultimate empathy machine’ as ‘through this machine we become more compassionate, we become more empathetic, and we become more connected. And ultimately, we become more human’ (Milk, 2015). Similar discourse, explicitly framing VR as an ‘empathy’-conduit, has been consistently observed from various VR stakeholders, from prominent technology companies such as Facebook to nonprofit groups using VR to promote awareness of social causes (Nakamura, 2020; Rose, 2016). This aligns with broader trends in cutting-edge technologies being framed as simulating, or sparking, empathy to augment their appeal for users and promise engaging machine-human interactions (Kurian, 2023).

Part of the reason for this empathy-centred discourse is the fresh promise of immersion that VR offers. Traditional efforts to build empathy through digital media are typically confined to words and images on screens; however, VR has sought to transcend physical boundaries to create more authentic experiences. In turn, various fields have begun to utilise VR as a tool for building empathy. In healthcare, VR has been harnessed to train medical professionals to empathise with patients and hone their caregiving skills (Dyer et al., 2018) and understand the racism faced by ethnic minority colleagues (Roswell et al., 2020). In education, VR has been used in wide-ranging ways, from art museums and marine life games to sites of historical turning points, to allow students to witness and understand collective struggle (Kavanagh et al., 2017).

Before analysing the possibilities and pitfalls of VR as an empathy-building tool in moral education, we will now explore its broader context in relation to the refugee crisis and the politics of refugee representation.

Refugee representation and virtual reality

UNHCR has estimated that 108.4 million people, including refugees, internally displaced people, and asylum seekers, were forcibly displaced from their homes at the end of 2022 (UNHCR, 2023). This was a 4% increase from 2019, more than a 100% increase from 2010, and the highest total ever recorded (UNHCR, 2021). UNHCR (2021) notes that “Based on this trajectory, the question is no longer if forced displacement will exceed 100 million people – but rather when” (p. 9).

Since the 1980s, individuals engaged in journalistic, photographic, and humanitarian pursuits have employed visual depictions of displaced persons within various contexts to convey a sense of tragedy and the unvarnished ‘reality’ of human affliction (Fehrenbach & Rodogno, 2015). These depictions often employ profoundly emotive imagery that captures refugees during their most personal and susceptible moments, intending to inspire action and a sense of shared humanity (Sigona, 2014). Refugee children have been frequently featured to evoke perceptions of vulnerability and innocence and heighten the emotive power of these depictions (Lewis et al., 2014).

Discussions critically examining the portrayal of human vulnerability, particularly among refugees, have predominantly revolved around analyses of the visual and textual representations constructed across television, cinema, social media, news outlets, as well as fundraising and advocacy initiatives by non-governmental organisations (NGOs) (Kisiara, 2015; Lewis et al., 2014; Slade, 2019). Critiques have been raised about how optical portrayals of refugees frequently hinge on decontextualised, apolitical, and oversimplified accounts of why individuals abandon their countries of origin and potential resolutions (Johnson, 2011; Scott, 2014). These representations, particularly when they involve children, trigger overarching emotional narratives centred around guilt and outrage or empathy and gratitude (Hattori, 2003). However, without offering a nuanced understanding of the root causes of displacement and the complex geopolitical, economic, and social factors driving it, they fall short of eliciting meaningful solidarity and a sustained commitment to contribute to addressing these factors. Additionally, these representations can sometimes foster a sense of charity instead of partnership, equitable relationships, and shared responsibility. In doing so, they cement problematic power hierarchies and dynamics (reminiscent of the colonial legacy) between those offering assistance and those in need (Yanacopulos & Smith, 2007). Further, by failing to acknowledge the agency of refugees, visual representations of them incidentally perpetuate stereotypes that undermine their individuality (Blomfield & Lenette, 2018; Slade, 2019).

In response, critical scholarly engagements interested in the politics of refugees’ representation call for incorporating counter-narratives that offer a comprehensive portrayal of refugees’ individual historical, gender, political, and cultural circumstances (Kisiara 2015; Lenette et al., 2015; Nunn, 2010; Wright, 2002). They also promote consistent and meaningful dialogues with individuals who have undergone such experiences to effectively present their narratives and viewpoints (Blomfield & Lenette, 2018; Hughes et al., 2019). As a result, there have been efforts to utilise storytelling directed by individuals with personal experiences of being a refugee to ensure that the goals of artists, researchers, or institutions do not overshadow or dominate the co-creation process (Lenette et al., 2019). Recently, it has been argued that VR productions have the potential to contribute to addressing key critiques of public representations of refugees. For example, Sou (2018) discussed the potential of VR to involve people in a critical reflection on the complexities of refugee experiences and politics. She contends that the ‘procedural rhetoric’ employed in such productions not only has the potential to sway emotions but can also be done through a social justice lens. Therefore, VR productions can challenge decontextualised, affective narratives that typically prevail in alternative media outlets such as charitable appeals, social media, cinema, photography, and journalism. They can create positive depictions, valorise refugees’ voices, move away from over-fixating on ‘suffering’, and expose the often obscured political, social, economic, and historical factors that shape refugees’ experiences (Sou, 2018).

For UNHCR, VR has emerged as a tool to enhance empathy and raise awareness about the challenges faced by refugees across the globe. Through innovative and immersive VR experiences, UNHCR has aimed to foster greater understanding amongst donors, school children and wider audiences around the structural and interpersonal barriers refugees face. The most well-known example is a virtual reality film called “Clouds over Sidra”. The protagonist, Sidra, is a 12-year-old Syrian girl living in a refugee camp in Jordan. The film allows viewers to experience the camp’s conditions, putting them in the shoes of a child refugee and offering an intimate glimpse into her life. It was ‘Clouds over Sidra’ that gave VR its famous moniker of being ‘the ultimate empathy machine’: in a 2015 TED presentation of Clouds over Sidra, its producer, Chris Milk, claimed that VR is ‘the ultimate empathy machine’ since ‘visceral emotional reactions’ are generated to the point where the viewer ‘feels present with the people’ (Milk, 2015). He elaborated on the empathetic connection VR fostered with Sidra: ‘When you’re sitting there in her room, watching her, you’re not watching it through a television screen, you’re not watching it through a window, you’re sitting there with her. When you look down, you’re sitting on the same ground that she’s sitting on. And because of that, you feel her humanity in a deeper way. You empathise with her in a deeper way’ (Milk, 2015).

Additionally, Nokia and The Humanitarian Cooperative collaborated with UNHCR to create a 10-minute virtual reality film on the Syrian refugee crisis. The film is titled Life in the Time of Refuge. Captured using Nokia OZO, a purpose-built VR camera, the film delves into the life of Omar, a 9-year-old Syrian refugee who resettled in Finland. In addition, our review of social media posts by UNHCR reveals that VR has become common in its public engagement strategies. This includes placing VR goggles at booths and stands and inviting a range of audiences, from high school students to older members of the public, to put on the goggles and ‘experience life through the eyes of a refugee’, typically a child refugee (see UNHCR Central Europe, 2022; UNHCR Nordic and Baltic Countries, 2023, for examples).

‘Empathy’ has thus been a critical focus for UNHCR’s use of VR, especially in relation to refugees’ realities and highlighting poignant testimonies from refugee children. In the next section, we explore the extent to which this technologically-mediated approach to cultivating empathy could be effective and ethical in moral education and catalyse meaningful change for marginalised communities.

VR and empathy: Three considerations

We structure our analysis around three questions to reflect on the effective and ethical use of VR in moral education. While our arguments are tailored to the refugee crisis, we see these considerations as relevant to technology-mediated moral education about marginalised populations more broadly. The reason each question is framed around empathy is because, as previously explained, empathy has been widely-documented as a key goal and discursive focus of VR (Milk, 2015; Nakamura, 2020; Rose, 2016) and the field of moral education has recognised the need to thoughtfully engage with a technology globally deemed the ‘empathy machine’ (Dennis & Harrison, 2021; Harrison, 2023).

Each question is framed briefly for the sake of clarity and conciseness. However, each is tailored to a specific dimension of VR, rather than generically applicable to empathy-building education as a whole. That is: the first question, ‘Is empathy possible?’ focuses on the value of VR as an experiential, embodied and immersive trigger for empathy, but simultaneously examines the danger of ephemeral affect in an era of fast-paced, fragmented digital engagement. The second question, ‘Is empathy enough?’ critically analyses how the brevity of film-based VR storytelling risks emotional voyeurism rather than long-term engagement. The third question, ‘Who controls the “production” of empathy and who is left out?’ situates VR within the logics of contemporary humanitarianism and unpacks the paradoxes therein.

Is empathy possible?

What we find promising about VR is its ability to move the viewer beyond being a passive spectator of a static image. It has been theorised that the psychological basis for VR’s empathy-enhancing capabilities centres around a combination of ‘presence’, ‘engagement’ and ‘embodiment’. That is, presence entails a sense of involvement and realness of the experience (Diemer et al., 2015); embodiment includes the perceptual experience of the ‘other’ as signified by the digital avatar on screen (Ahn et al., 2013); and ‘engagement’ entails feeling connected and invested (Wiebe et al., 2014). Taken together, the combination of presence, embodiment and engagement leads to users immersing themselves in the virtual environment, identifying with digital avatars and feeling as if they truly inhabit that virtual realm. Boundaries between the self and the digital world blur, leading users to experience empathy on both a cognitive and an affective level. The neurological foundation of this empathy has been traced to mirror neurons, which, as discussed earlier, are a network of brain cells that fire both when individuals perform an action and when they observe others doing the same. As users explore virtual environments and witness the triumphs and trials of virtual characters, fMRI scans¹ have shown that their mirror neurons activate, forging a neural link between their own emotions and those of the avatars or experiences they encounter (Modrono et al., 2013).

In turn, evidence has emerged about VR leading to changes in empathy (Barbot & Kaufman, 2020; Roswell et al., 2020; Van Loon et al., 2018). One study found that participants who engaged with immersive VR from the perspective of animals experienced a stronger sense of embodiment with the environment and a deeper connection between themselves and nature (Ahn et al., 2016). This effect was more pronounced compared to the same experience presented in a two-dimensional video format. Similarly, another study exposing participants to virtual reality simulations of colour blindness found that these participants reported heightened concern and empathy towards individuals with colour blindness (Ahn et al., 2013). The sensory experience of virtual reality elicited a stronger emotional response, fostering a greater understanding and empathy for people with visual impairments. At the school level, Ingram et al.’s (2019) anti-bullying intervention used VR to produce positive shifts in 11–13 year olds’ understanding of what it feels like to be bullied and their willingness to actively intervene to stop it. Crucially, VR allowed for more immersive and imaginative ways to teach empathy than traditional textbook mediums. Students experienced three scenarios. The first allowed them to roleplay the perspectives of victims and bystanders in bullying situations, fostering reflective thinking. The second scenario presents adults’ ineffective responses to bullying, prompting students to analyse educational messaging on bullying and its impact. Lastly, a futuristic scenario enabled students to envision a bullying-free world, providing actionable strategies to intervene to help inspire them to effect change in their current school environment. Ingram et al. (2019) not only found measurable changes in students’ levels of empathy, but also a rise in willingness to intervene to stop bullying that was directly mediated by the increase in empathy.

We find such evidence promising. By enabling users to ‘experience’ injustice firsthand, VR seems able to move users from passive observation to experiencing active emotional engagement. Its potential to bridge the chasm between the virtual and the visceral may overcome one of the greatest challenges of representing suffering: the danger of relegating it to a distant, abstract concept.

However, we note the risk of ephemeral affect in an era of fast-paced, fragmented digital engagement, what Pettman (2016) calls the ‘digitalization of distraction’ (p. ix). It has been well-documented that the human attention span is decreasing in a digital age wherein ever-shorter video clips circulate on the Internet (Aboujaoude, 2010). Mechanisms such as ‘infinite scrolling’ on social media platforms encourage a culture of constant distraction, promoting a tendency to skim through content without delving into its depth or nuance (Williams, 2018). Within this ‘attention economy’ (Williams, 2018) of rapid and fragmented information consumption, our capacity to engage deeply and contemplate at length is dwindling. In this context, VR’s charm—the promise of imaginative simulation—is also its weakness: an artificially controlled environment where users can jettison their discomfort by simply removing a headset. In the context of UNHCR’s refugee education, the temptation to move on to the next VR ‘experience’ might devalue refugee children’s stories as transient emotional commodities, erasing the nuanced tapestry of real lives and diluting the urgency for substantive action. It is in the face of such risks that we become keen to encourage deep, thoughtful, empathetic engagement rather than only a momentary affective experience. When using VR as a pedagogical tool in moral education, it may be advisable to stress to students that empathy is not confined to fleeting affect, but includes cognitive aspects (for example, perspective-taking, which can involve deep and holistic analysis of the causes and manifestations of refugee children’s suffering) (Demetriou, 2018).

Is empathy enough?

Even though empathy seems a worthwhile goal of VR, we caution that the discourse around VR in relation to refugee children seems in danger of stagnating at the level of empathy alone. For example, a study exposing participants to Clouds over Sidra documents significant rises in empathetic perspective-taking and empathic concern for the refugee-child protagonist (Schutte & Stilinović, 2017); while this is a valuable finding, it remains uncertain whether this rise in empathy has resulted, or will result, in any actual action on behalf of refugee children. That is, compared to the control group with no exposure to VR, participants who watched Clouds over Sidra were significantly more likely to affirm statements such as ‘I imagined myself to be in Sidra’s situation’ and ‘I felt touched by Sidra’s situation.’ However, it is unclear whether this kind of empathy crystallised into concrete action to help promote structural change for refugee children. The broader trend we observe is that much of the literature on VR for social change appears to stop at the point of discussing or documenting empathy alone. We do not dispute that this is an important focus; indeed, building up a robust body of empirical evidence on VR and empathy will be crucial to using this technology effectively.

However, we argue that in the interests of refugee children, any discussion of empathy needs to take into account whether VR is promoting action for change. Otherwise, focusing on empathy alone may make VR films devolve into a distraction or diversion. Already, promoting ‘Caring-at-a-Distance’ has been problematised as a form of fruitless ‘everyday symbolic politics’ (Hawkins, 2018) that risks losing perspective in the virtual reality environment, wherein individuals’ self-absorbed contemplation of their own experiences serves as the basis for their ethical judgments (Nash, 2018). A virtual ‘feel-good’ effect might leave students complacent, content with having ‘walked a mile’ in the shoes of the displaced, but without stepping beyond their comfort zones to drive tangible change. This kind of empathy may amount to emotional voyeurism. That is, the harrowing journey of a child-refugee, reduced to a brief storyline, could perpetuate a sense of detachment rather than connection. Boler’s (1997) theory of passive empathy points out that empathy becomes passive when it does not involve any introspection about working for change. Given that VR is increasingly construed as a ‘technology of affective connection’ (Nakamura, 2020, p. 2), we argue that empathy must be a catalyst for action, not a surrogate for it.

In this sense, we commend the handful of studies we found in our review that did include discussion of action-based outcomes. For example, as previously mentioned, Ingram et al. (2019) utilised VR in an educational program where students experienced bullying scenarios. Post-VR exposure, empathy rose significantly compared to the control group. However, the study also reported that VR promoted students’ willingness to actually intervene to stop bullying as active bystanders. Similarly, we urge future research on VR to go beyond measuring levels of empathy and study outcomes for action. This is a view of moral education that links it inextricably to tangible outcomes for justice; as Hajir (2023) puts it, ‘concrete action and solidarity movements that amplify the political aspirations of oppressed social groups’ (p. 8).

That said, it seems crucial to ask: if these UNHCR VR productions about refugees are intended to be ethical practices, can UNHCR VR designers transform their work to go beyond producing affective engagements and aim for ideological transformations? Can UNHCR, at all, distance itself from ‘a mirror structure of solidarity’, where the interaction between the Western observer and the susceptible other is diminished to a self-centered introspection, and instead, reclaim ‘the theatricality of the public realm’ where the encounter takes place as an ethical and political event (Chouliaraki, 2013, p. 4)?

To unpack these issues, it is necessary to explore the tensions and dilemmas encountered by an organisation like UNHCR when designing VR projects about refugees. We thus turn to our third question: Who controls the design and dissemination of technologies for empathy?

Who controls the ‘production’ of empathy and who is left out?

This section examines how UNHCR VR productions exemplify two paradoxes in the logic of contemporary humanitarianism.

Firstly, a more systematic exploration of the relationship between UNHCR VR productions and ‘the institutional logic of contemporary humanitarianism’ helps us understand the limited and ambivalent potential of these productions to offer solidarity alternatives. UNHCR has so far utilised VR productions primarily in their pleas for funding and donations. This, in a way, reflects the neoliberal changes in humanitarian communication wherein personal emotions and financial contributions are emphasised as means of intervention (Rose, 2016). To clarify, we are not disputing the value of fundraising. Financial support helps address immediate short-term needs which we have advocated against overlooking in our previous work (Cremin et al., 2021; Hajir, 2023; Hajir et al., 2021). However, action is also needed to contribute to tackling the geopolitical causes that drive conflict and cause suffering in the first place.

In this respect, VR’s potential to foster criticality about refugees’ socio-political context seems unrealised. By being primarily preoccupied with seeking funding and donations without having a real impact on the political outcomes that drive conflict and injustice, VR productions about refugees become a form of modern benevolence and ‘an indication of political failure’ (Richey, 2018, p. 638). Two paradoxes arise when trying to address this failure. First, if UNHCR VR productions reformulate themselves to work towards ‘ideological transformations’, this may undermine the organisation’s capacity to collect funds and transfer resources to refugees (see Yanacopulos & Baillie Smith, 2007).

The following example of the Syrian struggle could help explain this first paradox: Syrian conflict is not only the result of political and economic dynamics within Syria. As Philips (2016) expressed, the conflict’s outbreak and longevity can only be understood by examining the interaction of domestic and global factors instead of seeing this as a local civil war that eventually included foreign powers. As the conflict continued, the ‘international effort to destroy Syria’ (Abboud, 2018, p. 3) was not difficult to see. By holding radically different self-serving visions for the future of Syria, many imperial and sub-imperial powers, with oppositional politics, exacerbated the violence against the Syrian people (Horesh, 2021). Additionally, imperialism plays a key role in shaping the political economy of the Arabic region more broadly, partially with the shift to neoliberal policies that followed the defeat of the Arabs in the 1967 and 1973 wars (Hanieh, 2013). If UNHCR VR productions try to engage in unpacking this underlying structural and geo-political complexity, they might risk losing potential financial contributions—particularly from Western donors who may refuse to acknowledge the role played by their countries and instead embrace different perspectives and political analyses.

In confronting this paradox, one might contend that due to the often contentious nature of the root causes of complex events and the potential hindrance of financial contributions, it is justifiable for an organisation like UNHCR to avoid delving into these issues. However, it is precisely at this juncture that a reevaluation of the over-emphasis on the concept of ‘empathy’ in VR productions about refugees becomes imperative. From a decolonial theoretical standpoint, embraced in the authors’ work, organisations committed to effecting meaningful, sustainable change must recognise the perils of moral relativist stances² implicit in their silence about the structural root causes of refugees’ displacement (see Hajir, 2020; Hajir et al., 2021). VR productions genuinely seeking to transform the conditions of refugees should not shy away from undertaking risks that might be perceived as conflicting with ‘their apparent [immediate] self-interest’ (Rothenberg & Scully, 2002, cited in Hajir & Kester, 2020, p. 525). Opting for silence in a global context characterised by social struggles against inherently violent and oppressive structures (capitalism, patriarchy, and colonialism), UNHCR could be accused of whitewashing oppressive systems, potentially contributing to prolonging the suffering of refugees, precisely as it attempts to address their short-term needs. Therefore, we argue that to transcend ‘passive empathy’, VR productions about refugees must foreground ‘active solidarity’.

‘Active solidarity’ is distinct from ‘passive empathy’ in that it entails moving beyond a ‘falsely constructed dichotomy between the immediate, individual needs of local populations in times of crisis and adversity and the systemic and structural changes that are required to ensure sustainable wellbeing’ (Hajir et al., 2021, p. 4). These two levels of work are complementary, not mutually exclusive. Research on VR underscores its potential to evoke emotions through a social justice lens (Sou, 2018). In other words, integrating various levels of engagement and analysis to lay the groundwork for responding to the complex nature of the refugee crisis is a matter of choice. UNHCR is actively opting not to engage at multiple levels, and delving into the ‘why’ leads us to the second paradox.

UNHCR, through their VR productions, is, like all other international organisations (IOs) and international NGOs (INGOs) in the aid and development sector, competing for survival, and their survival is predicated on the refugee crisis. This paradox at the heart of modern humanitarianism raises many questions:

• Can UNHCR VR productions reconcile the competing demands of politics, ethics and the market?

• Will the transformative potential of VR production always be curtailed by and subject to the priorities of sustainable funding that help guarantee the very survival of UNHCR?

• Will the conditions of possibilities engendered by the organisation’s VR productions always be equivocal, hinting at solidarity while simultaneously undermining it³?

Overall, drawing on the work of Cheah (2006), Yanacopulos and Baillie Smith (2007) and Chouliaraki (2013), we highlight the inherent ‘strategic contradictions and dilemmas’ that UNHCR encounters when designing VR about refugees. These productions respond to UNHCR practice and needs, while most critiques of VR and representations of refugees are rooted in social and political theory. Contradictions and dilemmas between these two domains do not seem to have been adequately addressed. Also, important questions and implications for moral educators interested in the potential of VR have not been grappled with. One such important question is:

If VR productions through their ‘procedural representations’ (Sou, 2018, p. 514) have the potential to garner meaningful solidarity, but those produced by an NGO like UNHCR, embedded in a donor-based system, cannot be emancipatory, what implications are there for moral education interested in the potential of VR? How can moral education avoid the limitations and obfuscations imposed on organisations like UNHCR?

We suggest that holding critical dialogues with students about what is left out of UNHCR productions could stimulate their critical thinking. In addition to encouraging students to question who controls the design and dissemination of technology, it is also crucial to consider who is left out. VR is far from being a democratic or universally accessible technology. While some can readily slip into virtual worlds, others remain on the margins of technological innovation. Approximately 2.9 billion people, 37% of the world’s population, have still never been able to use the Internet (ITU, 2021) and VR is still expensive enough to develop and maintain that it is out of reach for the average school or social setting. The very act of narrating refugee experiences through VR could be seen as an exercise in privilege controlled by those with access to technology and resources. Crucially, it is doubtful whether refugee communities themselves will be able to equitably access VR films about their realities. A paradox emerges: UNHCR’s VR films attest to the dangers threatening refugee wellbeing, but the communities depicted may never have the chance to hold dialogue with the viewer on ‘working to address the root causes of marginalisation that make the world feel unsafe’ (Kurian, 2022, p. 12).

In turn, by becoming spectators of suffering, will those of us consuming VR films unknowingly perpetuate a hierarchy of empathy, relegating the refugee narrative to a distant, voyeuristic encounter? In the face of such ethical dilemmas, we urge greater consultation with refugee communities themselves. If moral educators explicitly highlight issues of voice and power in classroom discussions, then this will signify to students a profound respect for marginalised communities’ autonomy, as well as encouraging students’ own agency to reflect critically on what promotes social justice (Kurian & Cremin, 2023). In turn, this kind of ‘empathetic imagination would not necessarily be easy or feel-good’ but help students ‘become sensitive to societal power imbalances and structures that perpetuate the suffering of the Other, even systems of which they might unwittingly be a part’ (Kurian, 2019, p. 133). Critical classroom dialogues can affirm that refugee children’s stories are more than just empathy-generation tools—these are profound testimonies that deserve deep ethical consideration.

Moving forward

We offer a list of prompts below for both scholars and practitioners. While not claiming to be comprehensive or definitive, we aim for these prompts to foster reflection on the ethical and effective use of technology in moral education.

• How can deep empathetic engagement, on both a cognitive and affective level, be fostered within a digital ecosystem that encourages rapid, fleeting, and disjointed information consumption?

• How can discourses of empathy encompass doing as well as feeling; that is, prioritise action for transformative change?

• How can creators of VR films for moral education balance fostering emotional engagement and providing a nuanced understanding of the political, historical, and socioeconomic factors driving the refugee crisis, enhancing both personal connection and broader awareness?

• How can moral education utilise VR as a powerful tool for oppositional politics? Instead of conforming to the established system (like UNHCR), can moral education leverage VR to create cracks within the system by exposing the geopolitical roots of injustice?

• How can VR encourage empathy-led actions that help address refugees’ short-term needs and contribute to long-term change?

• How can marginalised communities be supported to equitably access and provide their views on the technologies depicting their lived experiences?

We intend for these prompts to help support the ethical and effective integration of technology in moral education. In answer to our own playful provocation, ‘Should we stop talking about empathy?’ we conclude that empathy is still a worthwhile subject of VR discourse and application. However, it seems necessary to approach it with nuance and caution. Rather than conceptualising empathy as an ephemeral visitor, here today and gone with the next notification in a fragmented digital ecosystem, we have stressed the potential of empathy in action; empathy as meaningful solidarity. VR’s power should lie not in simulating experience but in galvanising change. Rather than treating VR as simply a stage for witnessing the plight of the marginalised, we have argued that it should be a window to the mechanisms of change, turning passive feeling into action. It also seems vital to teach students to interrogate the socio-political currents shaping the crises they see and explore the potential of oppositional politics. VR can thus serve as both tool and muse, inviting us to infuse technology with the ethics of enduring impact.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Nomisha Kurian

Nomisha Kurian is a University of Cambridge Teaching Associate and Postdoctoral Bye-Fellow at Churchill College. She specialises in child wellbeing, the ethics of technology, and education in humanitarian and development settings. She co-chairs the Cambridge Wellbeing and Inclusion in Education Special Interest Group at the Cambridge Faculty of Education, where she completed her PhD.

Basma Hajir

Basma Hajir is a Lecturer in Education at the University of Bath. She received her PhD from the University of Cambridge. Basma’s research interests lie in Education, Conflict and Peacebuilding, Higher Education, Education in Emergencies, and post-colonial and de-colonial theories.

Notes

1. fMRI stands for functional Magnetic Resource Imaging, which uses strong magnetic fields and radio waves to produce images of the brain and body and activities taking place within them.

2. Stances that see all opinions and perspectives as ‘right’ or ‘acceptable’ relative to their cultural-conceptual-moral frameworks.

3. By focusing on one level of engagement and avoiding the other—see our explanation of the difference between ‘active solidarity’ and ‘empathy’.