The oasis dilemma
Chapter 1
Radically Normal, part 1 of 7 · Series overview · Dieses Kapitel auf Deutsch
Dear reader,
Imagine you are the only person living in a desert oasis. A few years ago, after your parents died, your brother and sister moved away. It was too dangerous, they said. How much deeper could the well be dug before the water ran out? And then there were the wild animals…
But you refused to leave.
You have spent your whole life here, just as your mother did before you. And you achieved what your siblings thought was impossible: you built yourself a small but wonderful home. A cozy bed with a mattress stuffed with twigs and lamb’s wool. You have made sure you will survive here even if the next drought comes, or an epidemic. Water, pickled vegetables, salted meat — the cellar beneath your house is well stocked.
Surviving here in the middle of the desert means hard work every single day. Today was no different. You spent hours working in the beds under the blazing sun, but it seems to be paying off. This year the lentils, rice, and dates are thriving. The young lambs are growing well too. Protecting them is not always easy — only this morning you drove off a group of lionesses with a warning shot. Thankfully, your old hunting rifle is still reliable.
When the day’s work is done, you sit down on your veranda. You look up at the sky, slowly turning red. At last, a moment to breathe.
But then, suddenly, you hear a baby crying. Then footsteps. You look toward the edge of the palm grove. Out of the shadows between the trees, a group of people begins to emerge. What is going on? Apart from the courier who brings and collects mail every two weeks, no one has passed through here in years. And so many people all at once… You have learned to be cautious. You cast a quick, instinctive glance over your shoulder. As always, the rifle is leaning within easy reach against the outside wall of the house.
The group moves slowly toward your veranda. They are still perhaps forty or fifty meters away. You count… two men and two women, along with an elderly pair using walking sticks, frail and unsteady. There seem to be two children as well. And… yes, your ears did not deceive you. One of the women is carrying a baby in a sling. She rocks it gently, but the child keeps crying.
You are certain: you have never seen these people before in your life. As they come closer — perhaps twenty paces away now — you can see how worn they look. Tattered clothes. Only one of the women is wearing shoes at all. And how gaunt they are… They must have been walking through the desert for a long time. But a journey like that is practically suicide. Why would they do such a thing? And with children and old people as well…
As these thoughts are still running through your mind, the man in front addresses you. He speaks in broken phrases and is hard to understand, gesturing broadly with his hands as he talks.
“Please help. Very thirsty. Children need drink now. Mother can’t stand anymore.”
You look at the old woman. A muscular man — perhaps her son — is supporting her. From what the first man manages to explain, you are looking at two neighboring families. They fled a village that was burned and looted by bandits two days ago. Because they had to leave in the middle of the night, they had almost no food or water with them. A little girl and her grandmother did not survive the journey, he says.
As the man speaks, you notice his eyes drifting across the green garden you have built for yourself. And you are not entirely sure, but did his gaze rest for a moment on the rifle behind you?
You ask him to wait with the others outside the veranda while you go fetch some water. As you turn away, you wonder whether you are being careless. You go inside, into the kitchen, fill nine clay cups with cold water from your jug, place them on a tray, and carry it outside.
The people’s eyes light up when they see you coming with the tray. The children reach for the cups first, and the adults motion for them to take a second one. When you look at the man, he gives you a tired smile and shrugs.
It quickly becomes clear that these few cups of water will not be enough. Of course the adults need to drink too. And eat. But… what then? If their story is true, they cannot return to their village. The next oasis is a three-day journey away. Even if you gave them rations to take with them, that would almost certainly be a death sentence for the weakest among them.
And then one thing becomes completely clear to you: if these nine people stay with you, they will not be staying for just a few days. Not even for a few weeks. It will be many months before the baby is past the most vulnerable stage. And in that time, the elderly will not grow younger or stronger. Is it even realistic to think they could ever leave?
But if they stay, what are they supposed to live on? Yes, you laid in reserves. But you never planned for anyone but yourself to live here permanently. And even if the adults help grow vegetables and raise sheep — this little oasis, with its stubborn well, cannot support more than it already does. With your experience, you know that.
The fact is this: if ten people are to live here for the foreseeable future instead of one, then everything that exists here will have to be divided accordingly. That means all your possessions will be shared among them. You would probably still have enough to live on — if nothing goes wrong.
Yes, but what if something does go wrong…
Suddenly, fear rises in you. This cannot be happening. This is not what you built this life for. This was not the plan. You do not deserve this. And then comes anger. Why do these nine people have to turn up in your oasis of all places? What have they ever done for you?
And even if you do share everything you own with them: how sure can you be that you can trust them? That they will not turn on you and get rid of you? After all, they know one another. To them, you are just a stranger.
Carrying the empty tray, you walk back across the veranda and into the house. Glancing over your shoulder, you see two of the children stroking a curious lamb that has wandered over to them. And as you step through the doorway, your eyes fall once more on the rifle leaning against the wall. And on the heavy wooden bolt on your door.
You take a deep breath.
And you know you have to make a decision.
In this short blog series, I want to explore the extreme differences between those who have and those who have not — and the question of what responsibility all of us bear for that. Because in small ways, we make decisions like this every day. Every time we buy something, vote, invest, make demands, or remain silent, we are making decisions about how resources are distributed — and, indirectly, about whether other people have access to food, education, healthcare, and safety.
Two things matter to me here. First: the oasis parable doesn’t model the world economy; it models the moment of decision, when someone is standing at your door. And second: when I talk about the oasis, I don’t mean some abstract billionaires with yachts and private bunkers. I mean myself as well.
Things I take for granted — food in the fridge, medical treatment when I need it, and access to an excellent education — are out of reach for most people in the world. And if we all decided that we should share, then I would have to do that too. And if you are reading these words on a comfortable sofa or at an office desk, then the same is probably true of you.
This is not about assigning guilt — to you or to me. Quite the opposite. Only once we admit this can we stop treating justice as something that concerns other people. Then it becomes a conscious decision we can make anew every day.
And if someone reads this and says, “I’m just selfish, and I’d rather back Musk and Bezos to protect my own share” — fine. But then at least they are telling the truth. And then we can speak honestly with one another.
It is not “politics” that bears the responsibility. Not “the economy.” It is me. It is you. Every day.
The growing public debate shows that more and more people want change. Researchers such as Thomas Piketty and Ingrid Robeyns have reached a broad audience with their analyses. People like Gary Stevenson are gaining increasing attention online — with simple messages and the aim of building a politically effective movement.
And politically, too, this debate is no longer without consequences: in some countries, calls for stronger redistribution are already finding expression in concrete political proposals.
I want to explore with you what happens when we follow the idea of justice all the way through — asking not only what would be desirable, but whether it would actually be workable. This vision may sound radical today. But my hope is that, in a few decades, it will simply sound normal.
But that requires us to move beyond the endless small-scale thinking in our public debate. Because that sort of debate can only continue as long as we refuse to take a clear stance — even if it is only toward ourselves.
I would love to hear your thoughts — here in the comments or in reply to this piece. In the next post, I will look at the destructive effects that extreme poverty and extreme wealth have on people and on society.