By Arie Kizel
Presentation at the online conference of the Mexican Association for
Philosophy for Children (13/6/2026)
The Existential Plea
We are experiencing today a deeply challenging chapter in human
history.
We live in complex times, fractured by social tensions, rising hate
speech, armed conflicts, and profound ideological divisions that seem to widen
by the day.
In such a landscape, the question what can Philosophy for/with Children and
Youth (P4wC) contribute to the construction of peace, isn't just an academic
one; it is an existential plea.
As educators and philosophers, we often fall into the trap of believing
that "constructing peace" requires us to solve the world's most complicated
political puzzles before we can even begin to talk.
Drawing from my work and research in the intense realities of the
Israeli-Palestinian context, I want to challenge this assumption.
I want to argue that P4wC contributes to peace not by resolving
conflicts, but by doing something far more revolutionary: it shifts our
classrooms from a monological discourse of historical blame to a dialogical
encounter of shared human pain.
The Traditional Classroom as a Space of Exclusion
To understand what philosophy can contribute, we must first look
at how traditional education systems often do the exact opposite. Mainstream
educational frameworks frequently act as political tools, utilizing highly
structured meta-narratives to normalize students into predefined social
projects rather than encouraging critical thought.
In my analysis of history curricula, I have tracked what I call a "subservient
history"—where general history (in Israel) is made secondary to a dominating national
narrative.
Within sovereign nation states borders, the curriculum reflects the meta-narrative, leaving virtually no room for the other groups narrative. When students enter these traditional classrooms, artificial homogeneity is enforced. Marginalized students are asked to leave their unique cultural baggage and their community narratives outside the door, creating a system of symbolic violence. To survive, minority students mute their inner voices and ask inauthentic questions so as not to betray their "Otherness."
When conflicting groups meet under this weight, they use their
narratives as monological shields. They become trapped in what I call in my
research and writing a "pedagogy of fear"—a hierarchical way of
thinking dedicated entirely to victory, submission, and viewing the other side
as an enemy.
How does P4wC break this cycle of fear?
It does so by introducing a "Pedagogy of
Searching." This model enhances profound communication by ensuring that
minorities are allowed to articulate their narratives within the exact same
non-hierarchical framework as the mainstream.
When we tramsmit a classroom into a philosophical community of
inquiry, P4wC counters structural epistemic injustices through four fundamental
pillars:
- The Establishment of an Egalitarian Community: The rules of our philosophical game dictate that our goal is to "give room" to ideas, memories, and heritages, rather than dominate. By prioritizing a philosophical exploration over a rigid debate on historical data, personal identities can exist side-by-side without hierarchy.
- Radical Non-Judgmentalism: In polarized settings, groups will recount versions of history that the other side views as outrageous. As facilitators, our role is not to act as historical judges. Non-judgmentalism moves us away from finger-pointing and reroutes us toward mutual empathy.
- The Principle of Non-Resolution: This is the most critical element. Unlike standard problem-solving initiatives, the pedagogy of searching asserts that young people do not need political solutions in order to listen or develop deep empathy. Jumping straight to political concessions instantly inflames hostility. By declaring at the outset that we are not here to solve the political conflict, we reduce tension and free participants to focus entirely on the human being sitting across from them.
- Enabling Identity Frameworks: In my last two books I present ant developed the "enabling Identity" model. This model provides a liberating space where multiple narratives can coexist. It honors Martin Buber’s concept of the "Thou" and Emmanuel Lévinas’ concept of the "Other," embracing the ethical premise that a face-to-face encounter demands infinite responsibility for the well-being of the other person.
This brings us to the emotional heart of how philosophy builds peace: the
creation of communities of shared pain.
One of the gravest barriers to dialogue in conflict zones is competitive
victimization—the dead-end questions of "Who suffered more?"
or "Who hurt whom worse?". The P4wC model addresses pain from
a completely different axis, treating it as a shared, universal human emotion without
the comparative dimension.
Through P4wC, we provide the psychological safety needed to bypass the
nationalism that commands students to "know your enemy and be careful of
him."
When students sit in a circle and listen to the grief, anxiety, and
historical trauma of the other side—without trying to argue, correct, or defeat,
something extraordinary happens.
Pain is no longer a weapon used to justify hostility; it becomes a
mirror reflecting our shared humanity. We stop seeing an enemy and start seeing
a person. We develop caring thinking—an emotional and cognitive investment in
the preservation of the Other's dignity.
In Conclusion,
The model of shared pain shows us that the boundary of dialogue is not a
wall; it is a bridge. We do not need a broad political consensus to build a
community. Our differences do not prevent us from looking into each other's
eyes and sharing our humanity. Education is always a political act. We can
continue to let our schools reproduce state-sponsored divisions, or we can use
the tools of philosophical inquiry to loosen the fetters of blind patriotism
and fear. By teaching our youth to "hurt together," to explore
without judging, and to listen without demanding an immediate solution, we
equip them with critical and caring thinking skills that double as practical
tools for democratic life. The simple act of meeting, sitting in a circle, and
taking responsibility for the person across from us is our ultimate source of
hope. It proves that even in the darkest, most fragmented times, a peaceful,
shared future is a possibility we can actively build together.
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