What a Muslim folk trickster can teach us about the danger of holding a single worldview

White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller told CNN in January 2026 that “we live in a world … that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power” – what he called the “iron laws of the world.”

This “might-makes-right” mindset, which seems to permeate the Trump administration, sees the world through a singular prism and leaves little room for understanding others or their perspectives. Although President Donald Trump later said that he did “believe” in international “niceties,” his administration has focused on the exercise of raw power – as seen in its military operations against Venezuela and Iran – while cutting programs that seek to foster understanding.

In September 2025, for example, the Department of Education terminated US$86 million in Title VI funding for foreign language and area studies programs at universities across the country, calling them “inconsistent with administration priorities.”

Consider also the drastic cuts to international exchange programs and the administration withdrawing the country from 66 global cooperation organizations, including UNESCO, the International Federation of Arts Councils and Culture Agencies, and many others.

The implied logic appears simple and seductive: If power is all that matters, why study other people’s languages and cultures? After all, as long as you have a large enough military and the tough-talking bravado to match it, you don’t need to listen to, well, anyone else. Especially to people who appear different in some way and might challenge your cherished worldviews.

As a cultural historian, I’d like to introduce you to Nasreddin Hoja, a leading jocular figure in folk tales across West Asia.

Hoja’s stories contain important lessons about power and knowledge. Specifically, Hoja’s ability to question assumptions and challenge entrenched hierarchies with the simplest retort demonstrates how dangerous it is to be locked into a single worldview – the inevitable result of not caring about “other” cultures and languages.

Hoja’s timeless jokes have a lot to teach us about the current state of world affairs.

The folk hero who cannot be pinned down

The earliest Hoja tales likely originated in central Anatolia – in what is now Turkey – around the 13th century and then traveled rapidly in the region. He merged with the “Juha” tales popular in Arabic-speaking lands, became Molla Nasreddin in Iran, and took the honorific “Afandi,” or sir, in much of Central Asia.

“Hoja” means teacher or religious guide in Turkish, and, in many stories, he acts as an unconventional type of teacher, challenging perceived wisdom and symbols of authority – including his own – with a witty phrase.

For example, one day a villager asks Hoja to read a letter. He takes a look and says, “I cannot read this – it’s in Persian. Take it to someone else.” The villager gets mad. “What kind of hoja are you then? Look at the turban on your head, and you can’t even read Persian?” Hoja calmly takes off his turban and places it on the villager’s head. “If the trick is in the turban, go ahead, read it yourself.”

In another famous tale, Hoja arrives at a feast wearing old and ragged clothes and is treated rudely. He returns the next day in a fur coat and is showered with food and hospitality. In response, he dips his coat into the soup, mumbling, “Eat, my fur coat, eat.” Aghast, the hosts ask him what he is doing. Hoja shrugs and points out that the coat was the only thing that had changed about him, so the feast must be in its honor.

Hoja has a subversive relationship to military and political authority as well. Many Hoja stories show the folk figure interacting with the Central Asian Emperor Timur, who ruled a vast empire stretching from Afghanistan to Asia Minor at the end of the 13th century.

In story after story, Hoja manages to mock and trick Timur and evade punishment through his wit. In one of the earliest recorded interactions between the two, they go into the bathhouse together. Timur asks Hoja to estimate how much he, the mighty emperor, would be worth if on sale as a slave. Hoja names a ridiculously low price, equivalent to around 15 cents. When Timur objects that the towel wrapped around him would be worth that much, Hoja shrugs and says, “Exactly. That’s what I set the price for.” The joke implies that Timur, stripped of all the trappings of power and authority, is essentially worthless.

Such tales clearly advise against judging people on material criteria, or assuming value based on markers of religion, class and political authority. They are among the countless stories that cast Hoja on the side of the weak.

Another side to Hoja

Yet this wise fool and trickster cannot be pinned down so easily. As folklorist İlhan Başgöz has written, while a stereotypical folk hero, such as Robin Hood, defends the interests of at least one social group, Hoja “defies and challenges all interests, including his own.”

Consider another famous story featuring Timur. This time, the emperor sends a prized war elephant to Hoja’s village. The animal begins wrecking the fields and terrorizing the people. The townspeople beg Hoja to lead them as they travel to petition Timur to remove the elephant. Yet, they all abandon Hoja in fear of the emperor before they reach the palace.

Timur receives Hoja in an extremely sour and defensive mood. Still reeling from his supposed allies’ betrayal, Hoja doesn’t feel like advocating for them. Instead, he tells Timur how much the villagers admire the emperor’s precious elephant. However, Hoja says, they all fear that the beast is sad and lonely. Would Timur please send a female companion for the first? Pleased, Timur promises him another elephant and Hoja returns to tell the “wonderful” news to the shocked villagers who abandoned him.

This story conveys that Hoja can be willing to exact social retribution at a great price. The joke is on the cowardly villagers, and on Hoja himself, all of whom now have to live in a village terrorized by two war elephants instead of one.

In sum, Hoja is not always “good” or even “wise.” He is, however, always thought-provoking.

Curiosity and humility

Why learn about Hoja at all, and why now?

When well-meaning people defend the value of learning about other cultures and languages, they often reach for a familiar argument: Studying the world is really just a way of recognizing our shared humanity. Beneath our differences, we are all basically the same, and realizing that can prevent conflicts.

But genuine curiosity about other cultures is not the mere confirmation of sameness. It is something harder and more useful: an awareness of what we do not know, and a willingness to sit with ambiguity as we learn.

In one of my favorite jokes, someone asks Hoja why people always walk in different directions. Why won’t they simply all go the same way? His answer is immediate: “If all went in the same direction, the world would topple.” Here, Hoja echoes a powerful line from the Quran, about the importance of not just tolerating but also learning from difference: We “made you into peoples and tribes so that you may get to know one another,” 49:13.

History is full of powerful actors who believed the world’s complexity could be overcome by will and might. Hoja has been subverting confident authorities for at least seven centuries, while refusing to be pinned down, even as a hero. If his tales can be said to have an overall lesson, it is against the comfort of easy answers.

Declaring hard power as all that matters, as Miller has done, doesn’t just mean ignoring others’ humanity – it also means ignoring our own human capacity for curiosity and intellectual humility.

Perin Gürel does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.