Why Do They Walk Around In Blankets?

We often think of poverty and injustice in the world as natural, as though they are inevitable parts of life, not caused by human relationships. When we accept that the world we live in is the pinnacle of human civilization, we forget that it's human beings who are responsible for poverty. It's a paradox: on one hand, there is secularization and the rise of individual freedom and autonomy; on the other, there is a growing gap between the rich and poor, and the rise of conservative movements, fundamentalism, and populism. In such a world, few people are willing to question the injustice and exploitation around us. It is only those of us who reject the idea that global capitalism leads to universal human progress that can question the way wealth is distributed.

In liberal and neoliberal ideologies, the unfair distribution of wealth is often justified. Some of these ideas draw on social Darwinism, framing history as a competition between individuals and societies. This view suggests that exploitation, poverty, and underdevelopment are natural outcomes and therefore acceptable. From this perspective, the world simply is the way it is, and there's no moral basis to challenge these unequal relationships.

Philosophically, the injustice and inequality between societies are sometimes justified using Nietzsche's philosophy of the will to power. The idea is that the powerful will inevitably triumph over the weak. One key theme in Nietzsche's work is the distinction between "master morality" and "slave morality." Master morality creates its own values, standing beyond good and evil, while slave morality values kindness, humility, and sympathy. Nietzsche believed slave morality is life-denying, as it focuses on the belief in a reward after death. Based on this, it is argued that the rich and successful embody master morality. Just like the social Darwinism argument, the Nietzschean philosophy is used to legitimize the exploitation and inequality we see in the world today.

An ideological justification for the unequal distribution of wealth is also found in the "end of history" argument. Figures like political economist Francis Fukuyama claim that we are living in the most advanced stage of human civilization. According to Fukuyama, even though wars, injustice, and exploitation still exist, humanity is making moral and material progress. But is that really true? Should we be optimistic about the changes happening in the world? Are societies truly becoming more democratic, and are we genuinely committed to the values of liberty?

These questions came to mind after my daughter Amara saw a BBC news report about the Ethiopian famine, which led to the Live Aid concert in 1985. Some might argue that a responsible parent shouldn't show a seven-year-old a graphic video like that. Perhaps that's true. But I showed it to Amara to help her understand the contrast between the privileged life she enjoys in Switzerland and the suffering in other parts of the world. At the time, Amara had started complaining about every meal her mother prepared.

In my work at the social welfare office, I follow the motto, "a stitch in time saves nine." I don't regret showing Amara that news report. For about a month after, we discussed the famine daily, sometimes longer. Here's my simple take: You can challenge your kids pedagogically, but you need to be there with them and provide the necessary follow-up. Expect questions at all hours, often the same ones over and over. Of course, my wife Mint, who studied psychology and comes from a culture that values harmony and strict respect for elders, wasn't entirely on board with my progressive approach to education. Coming from a society where pleasure and enjoyment are deeply woven into daily life, she wishes to shield Amara from all pain. But I believe that not all pain is harmful—growing pain can be a vital part of life. Learning, as Marxist-psychologist Klaus Holzkamp pointed out, comes through facing limitations and challenges—not from passive consumption of media

For instance, when I was teaching Amara how to swim, I wanted her to try the deep pool, where she couldn't touch the bottom. She refused, claiming the water was "way too cold." I knew that wasn't the real issue, but I didn't say anything. One Saturday, we arrived early, and to my surprise, the shallow pool was closed. We had the choice to leave or try the deep pool. Amara chose to swim in the deep pool and overcame her fear. That's exactly what Holzkamp meant by learning through limiting the possibilities of avoidance. For Amara, it became a real and transformative moment of learning

You and your partner may never fully agree on the best way to approach parenting, and that's okay. Accepting this is key. You each come from different backgrounds—different upbringings, and perhaps even different cultures or religions. In relationships where there's a reluctance to argue, it's often more productive to navigate these differences than to insist on being right. This flexibility is better than rigidly adhering to a single pedagogical model. Good intentions alone don't always lead to good outcomes.

A few years ago, I discovered Mister Rogers. Amara watched him often; it became her most valuable media input. Just recently, while we were driving and listening to the song "Lessons in Love," I jokingly asked Amara if she thought love could be learned. She replied that she needed to watch Mister Rogers again to learn more about love. Fred Rogers taught children the importance of kindness while earning their trust by telling them the truth about the world. The night before Bobby Kennedy's funeral, one of Rogers' puppets appeared on television and asked, "What does assassination mean?" If there's one thing I learned from Fred Rogers, it's that you can discuss almost anything with a child if you approach them calmly and kindly. Even more important, though, is finding the right way to teach and connect with them.

While watching an old BBC News report on the devastating East African drought of 1984—which left millions facing famine and claimed over a million Ethiopian lives—Amara turned to me with a child's unfiltered honesty and asked why the people in Africa had no food, why they walked around in blankets, and why they were so poor.

The report had likely surfaced by chance as we were watching the Live Aid concert, a broadcast meant to bring hope, yet in that moment, it became something more—a confrontation with history, suffering, and questions too big for easy answers.

In these simple yet powerful questions—why the people in Africa had no food, why they walked around in blankets, and why they were so poor—Amara was, perhaps unknowingly, challenging the very foundation of the neoliberal global system, which assumes that the free market leads to progress and freedom.

With the unfiltered clarity of a child, she saw what so many choose to ignore: the stark divide between the promise of prosperity and the brutal reality faced by millions. Why are these questions so significant?

When Amara observed that people in Africa lacked basic resources to survive, she didn't see poverty and inequality as a natural state for humans. Instead, she understood that a vast gap exists in the global system, resulting from the uneven distribution of wealth. To her, basic access to essentials for survival isn't something that can be taken away from others. She's shocked that people in the world live without the fundamental necessities needed to sustain life. This helped her understand the difference between the way things are and the way they should be.

When Amara saw Africans living in poverty, wrapped in blankets, she realized that there are people in the world who are dehumanized and treated as inferior. These individuals are excluded from the so-called realms of civilization, living in conditions shaped by relationships of superiority and inferiority. While watching the documentary, Amara found herself engaging in an intercultural and reflective exercise that revealed the darker side of Western modernity. She began to see the limits of Western ideas of progress and rationality. Behind all the glamour and promises of unlimited advancement, she discovered the often-overlooked darker side of human progress, modernity, and civilization.

By asking, "Why are they like this?" Amara saw that the world we live in isn't benefiting everyone equally. She grasped the paradox we face when we encounter "the other." Hans-Georg Gadamer, a key philosopher in twentieth-century hermeneutics, would describe this as a hermeneutic exercise—an exercise that reveals the limitations of one's own perspective. Hermeneutics is the theory of interpretation, where understanding is based on justifiable reasoning. It's a way of studying our world as if it were a text, interpreting history and language to better understand our place in it. In these moments of insight, we realize that our way of being in the world isn't the only one. Through the documentary, Amara began to see that things aren't always as they appear.

In the questions she raised, Amara is tackling the issue of emancipation. As Karl Marx argued, emancipation is a universal human goal that remains unfulfilled because of exploitation in society. Marx believed the rich exploit the poor by denying them the freedom to engage in meaningful, creative work, which obstructs true human freedom and autonomy. From her unique perspective, Amara saw that many people still suffer under oppression and marginalization. Through her questions, Amara is trying to understand what it will take for all of us to live in a free and equal world. She has come to realize that we shouldn't take the world we live in for granted and that it's important to reflect on the assumptions that underpin it.

Since Amara isn't just focused on her own interests but also cares about the well-being of others, she doesn't accept the idea that the world will always have a divide between the rich and the poor. In her mind, no human being is inherently inferior to another—everyone is equal. Because of this, learning that some people are deprived of basic human needs came as a shocking realization to her. Watching the BBC documentary, she saw the contradictions in the world: a world that promises universal freedom, but for some, leads only to deeper forms of enslavement.

Amara's words also show that universal emancipation is a Utopian ideal, a vision that reflects humanity's desire to create a better world. As the "Philosopher of Hope," Ernst Bloch, argued, humans often imagine a Utopian reality to prove that it's possible to build a better future. With her ability to imagine a better world, Amara is shocked by the extreme exploitation she sees. When she asks, 'Why are these people like this?' she envisions a world where everyone is equal. We should dare to dream of a better future and work toward making it a reality.

The injustice Amara has witnessed and her questioning of the world's wealth distribution echo ideas in Marxist philosophy. The difference is, Amara didn't find her awareness through the class she belongs to. As someone who sees exploitation and inequality firsthand, Amara understands that the conditions people face in Africa aren't natural or inherent. Marx teaches us that revolutionary consciousness arises when we realize that exploitation isn't a product of nature—it's a man-made system.

In the documentary, Amara comes to understand the structural exploitation that leads to the denial of human essence, something Marx refers to as alienation. She sees that the Africans, wandering in search of food, aren't just deprived of the means to survive—they are stripped of their basic humanity. Amara recognizes that they are treated as objects, not as subjects. These are people neglected by the global system, whose ability to shape their own lives through their work has been taken away, leaving them unable to find meaning in their existence.

Amara's awareness of these injustices reflects a revolutionary consciousness, which can help combat the fetishism of commodities that Marx describes. This is the process by which human-made realities become distorted, appearing as though relationships exist among mere objects. In Marxism, this is called reification—the tendency to treat abstract concepts as if they were concrete realities. Marx argued that in capitalist societies, we mistakenly view things created by humans as natural, not man-made. Because of the role culture plays in capitalism, many people come to see poverty as natural, rather than as a result of exploitation. The kind of questioning that Amara engaged in is what can help us challenge these systems and work toward ending exploitation. It's not just the working class—anyone can develop the awareness needed to imagine a new world free from conflict and inequality.

Amara's questioning of capitalism shows that, without needing to follow Marx's idea of a class revolution, all humans have the ability to end the injustices in the world. As Amara realized, the key is to identify and reject actions that degrade our shared humanity. She doesn't see people as mere objects or commodities. In her view, every human being deserves an equal place in the world. When she encounters individuals who lack the recognition of their full humanity, it becomes a moment of enlightenment for her. Many people can't question these exploitative relationships because they've been educated by a capitalist system that convinces them that capitalism will eventually create a society where everyone can thrive.

What Amara saw in the documentary made her realize that there is no true justice in the world. Since Ancient Greece, philosophers like Plato have argued that justice is the foundation of a good society and moral excellence. As many philosophers have pointed out, true philosophizing begins when we stop accepting conventional beliefs and ideas about truth. What Amara saw in the BBC documentary about the famine sparked a deep sense of wonder, leading her to question the origins of poverty. Most people aren't willing to ask why there's so much inequality in a world where wealth exists in abundance.

Amara is questioning the reality and legitimacy of the world she sees. She's able to do this because her thinking isn't limited by what Michel Foucault called a Foucauldian discourse of normality and abnormality. Foucault used the term "discourse" to describe a social system that shapes and produces knowledge and meaning. He argued that our very understanding of who we are is shaped by a discourse that defines what is normal and what is abnormal. In such a world, the only way to act is by resisting the discursive order. By questioning the dehumanization of Africans, Amara is challenging the dominant narrative. She refuses to accept the reality it imposes and is determined to uncover the roots of inequality. This resistance is a step toward imagining a new way of being—one that rejects the injustices of the current system.

In a world where art has often become an ideological tool used by the culture industry, Amara's reflections from the documentary show that art can still play a role in revealing the reality we live in and suggesting possibilities for a better future. From the famine documentary, Amara was able to witness the harsh, dehumanizing conditions Africans face. The images she saw led her to ask questions like: Why don't Africans have the basic means to support their lives? Why do they wander as lifeless figures, still searching for their place in the world? And most fundamentally: Why is the world this way?

The most important philosophical question Amara indirectly asked was: Why is it that things are as they are? In her innocence, she challenges a world order that many of us have come to accept, revealing the uncomfortable truth that the world doesn't have to be this way. Along the way, we've lost that same innocence, traded for what we call growth and progress. Her questions are not bound by cynicism or defeat; they are charged with the quiet determination of a mind still open to possibilities.

Amara's reflections remind us that progress is not inevitable, nor is exploitation an unavoidable part of history. She isn't imagining a utopia or naïvely seeking perfection. Instead, she confronts the cracks and contradictions in the system, daring to envision a world where human dignity is not stratified by wealth or geography. Through her eyes, we are forced to reconsider our own acceptance of injustice and to recognize the power of asking "Why?"

This unyielding curiosity, untainted by societal norms, is a call to action. It invites us to reject complacency, to question what we've been taught, and to dare to dream of a more equitable world—not as an ideal, but as a necessity. In Amara's simple, profound inquiry lies the seed of hope: the belief that change begins with the courage to see things differently.

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