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You might ask, "What kind of intersection is there?" Everyday events -if we are open and observant- can lead to surprisingly valuable reflections. One such event happened to me just recently.
It was a Saturday, and I was at the supermarket for my weekly shopping. As I approached the bread aisle, I heard an elderly woman shouting loudly. At first, I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but as I walked closer, I heard her calling out as best she could: "Medewerker, Hulp!" ("Staff, Help!"). She was asking for help. Yet, the more she tried to express this need, the more isolated she seemed.
A group of teenage girls, probably around 16–18, stood nearby. Instead of approaching, they moved further away, whispering and giggling. The elderly woman was like a dancer alone on stage -trying to prove she was still in the dance. Sitting in her wheelchair, unable to rely on her legs or posture, she reached out with the only things she could still control: her hands, her face, and her voice- strained and cracking.
As no help arrived, she grew more agitated and cried out louder:
"Help! Help! This is not right!"
I walked over and asked, "How can I help you?" From what I gathered, she wanted pre-sliced bread from a higher shelf but couldn’t reach it. I picked one up and asked, "Is this the one?" She looked at it and replied, "No, that’s not what I want." Then again, she called out: "Isn’t there anyone working here?"
Worried that my Dutch might not be sufficient and not wanting to frustrate her further, I said, "Please wait a moment, I’ll find someone." When I returned with a staff member, I saw that she had already found another employee and was explaining her situation. Perhaps she hadn’t believed I would come back. The staff member seemed to listen, albeit a bit nervously.
I said:
"I see you found someone. I’m glad."
I’m not sure how much she understood me, but I hoped that simply having someone pay attention was comforting.
This incident shook me. In a crowded supermarket, an 85-year-old woman in a wheelchair is shouting for help—and not only does no one assist her, they don’t even come near. My heart sank. I couldn’t help but think: What would have happened if this had been in Turkey? I’m quite sure several people would have immediately stepped in—perhaps before the woman even needed to raise her voice.
Having written my master’s thesis on intercultural dialogue and worked in cultural management for years, my mind naturally drifted to cultural values.
One of the things I love most about Turkish culture is its sense of helpfulness. Of course, like all values, this is evolving. But in Western Europe, I’ve noticed this value fading much more rapidly. Perhaps it’s because Western societies are more individualistic, while Eastern cultures maintain a more collective social structure.
When I got home, I told my 16-year-old daughter what had happened. Her face changed as she listened. “Wait, nobody helped her?” she asked in disbelief. I asked her, “What would you have done?” She said, “I would have helped, of course.”
We’ve been living in the Netherlands for about six years. Naturally, many of my daughter’s values are evolving. But the fact that she still has that core human instinct made me genuinely happy.
I remembered my own childhood. My mother used to say:
“If you see an elderly person with a heavy bag in the neighborhood, you carry it to their door.”
As kids playing in the street, if we saw an elderly person walking back from the market, we’d compete to be the first to carry their bags -eager to go home and tell our mothers. It was a simple but powerful example of how family- taught values, especially when tied to acceptance and pride, shape lasting behaviors. That joy of helping still lives in me today.
Maybe that’s why I feel most at peace in the Netherlands when I’m at social centers for the elderly. Watching people in their 70s and 80s engage in activities like art, walking, music, or language classes brings me hope -a glimpse of human connection in an increasingly isolated world.
Let’s shift to another dimension: Artificial Intelligence
I’ve been actively involved in AI adaptation projects and have completed numerous courses in the last two years. Roles are changing fast. It’s no surprise that many of us wonder whether AI will replace us. New roles have even emerged -like the "AI Ethics Consultant" as of 2023.
But here's the real question:
If we live in a society where people hesitate to help an elderly woman reach bread, how can we expect that same society to decide what is ethically acceptable for artificial intelligence?
Technology is advancing rapidly. Individualism is on the rise. Loneliness is increasing. You may have seen recent reports distinguishing between "being alone" and "feeling lonely."
People have become so conditioned to avoid entering others' personal space -unless there is a clear benefit -that even a loud cry for help is seen as a disruption. This triggers the fight-flight-freeze response. When behavior falls outside established norms, people freeze instead of acting.
We humans are emotional beings, often acting on autopilot. So how qualified are we to "judge" artificial ethics?
Before expecting AI to behave ethically, shouldn't we ask: How strong is our shared human morality?
We live in a world where messages like "Together We Can" or "Samen Kunnen We" are beautifully designed in government or corporate communication, while elbows and egos clash in everyday interactions. Where empathy is measured in likes, and anyone who fails to follow social norms is quickly judged or excluded.
So, what values will we pass on to the algorithms? After all, those algorithms are trained on data drawn from our past behaviors.
It’s great that AI systems now emphasize the importance of "keeping humans in the loop." But as Einstein reminded us: Can we really expect a different outcome if we continue behaving in the same ways?
This is exactly why, before teaching AI to be ethical or giving it the power to make ethical decisions, we need to revisit our own foundational values -the natural moral instincts many of us learned as children.
In the age of AI, we must learn to hear our inner voice again.
Because if we forget how to reach out, to help, to truly see each other as human...Then what values will the algorithms ever reflect?
In the image I created using AI, the power lies not in the elderly woman’s cry, but in the silence of those around her. That cry of “Help" wasn’t just about the bread. It was a call against invisibility, against loneliness, against being unheard. And perhaps, a universal cry for shared morality.
We expect a lot from AI. And maybe, with the right guidance, it will help build a more ethical global future.
But none of that can happen unless we—humans—remember our factory settings.
Maybe it’s finally time: We cannot build digital ethics without redefining organic morality.
This is why I care deeply about the EU AI Act and the future of AI ethics. If you’re interested or working on this topic, I’d be happy to connect or support in any way I can.