On the 60th anniversary of Jackie Robinson's first Major League game, one is awestruck by his indefatigable spirit and proud of Branch Rickey for saying no to institutionalized discrimination.

But then one asks, how could there have been a color bar to begin with, and how could it have lasted so long? How could the monstrous treatment of African-Americans that preceded it have happened? How could it have, in many ways, survived beyond that hallowed date?

Even as so much progress has occurred — and, indeed, much progress has occurred — how can we ever be complacent in thoughts of American exceptionalism, of God being on our side, and all that?

Until recently, the American experiment has been in many ways an extraordinary one.

But sometimes we are criminally deficient in one critical regard: empathy.

When we mark the anniversaries of civil-rights heroes, feminist heroes, and everyone else who dared to help us become more like the country we promised to be some hundreds of years ago, we need to do a gut-check and ask ourselves do we really care enough about people who aren't just like us. Because on this day we're reminded that sometimes we're pretty damned short on that count.