Opinion: There’s No Excuse for This Kind of Evil—We Must Speak for the Voiceless

There are stories so horrifying, so soul-wrenching, that writing them feels like bleeding on the page. This is one of those stories.

In Queens last week, a man was seen dragging a motionless dog down a quiet residential street. Then—without pause, without care—he lit the dog on fire and walked away, leaving behind a lifeless body and a community frozen in disbelief.

I wish this story weren’t real. I wish I didn’t have to write it. But I do. Because that dog didn’t have a voice. And we do.

As someone who believes deeply in the quiet power of kindness and the goodness that still exists in this world, stories like this shake me to my core. I believe in civility. I believe in compassion. I believe that most people are good—and that we all have a responsibility to protect the innocent, especially those who cannot protect themselves.

Dogs are more than pets. They are healers, companions, and loyal shadows who follow us from room to room as if we hung the moon. My own dogs—Finn, Gus, and Chester—are not just animals. They are family. They’ve comforted me in dark moments and danced alongside me in joyful ones. They ask for so little and give so much. And they trust us without question.

So when something like this happens—when an innocent, trusting animal is not just neglected, but tortured—it’s not just heartbreaking. It’s evil. And it should stir something deep in every one of us.

We live in a world where cruelty can feel overwhelming at times. Where people turn away because it hurts too much to look. But if we don’t look, if we don’t speak, if we don’t feel—then we become complicit in that silence.

This isn’t just about one dog. It’s about what we choose to accept. About whether we allow this kind of viciousness to go unnoticed, or whether we draw a line and say: not here, not now, not ever.

Acts like this remind us how critical it is to lead with kindness. To teach empathy. To care not only for the people around us, but for the animals who depend on our protection. They can’t speak. They can’t tell us they’re hurting. They rely entirely on the hope that we’ll be good. That we’ll be gentle. That we’ll choose love over harm.

There’s a saying I’ve always believed: “You can judge the heart of a person by how they treat animals.” If that’s true—and I believe it is—then this act reveals a heart that has lost its way.

But ours haven’t.

We must hold space for outrage, yes—but also for action. Let this be a reminder to support animal shelters. To report abuse when we see it. To adopt, foster, volunteer. To teach our children that animals feel pain, too—and that our job is to be their protectors, not their tormentors.

And if you’re lucky enough to have a dog—or a cat or any pet—go hug them a little tighter tonight. Look into their eyes and know that to them, you are their world.

Let this nameless dog’s final moments not be in vain. Let them be a call to our better angels. A reminder of how far we still have to go. And a challenge to each of us: to live with more kindness, more tenderness, and more courage to stand up for the voiceless.

Because the measure of our humanity isn’t found in how we treat the powerful. It’s found in how we care for the powerless.