The sun has set on Orlando, Florida, the theme-park capital of the world. Inside one of those parks, Walt Disney World’s EPCOT, thousands of visitors make their way toward a manmade lagoon surrounded by pavilions representing cultures and histories from around the world. Of the many times that I have visited Disney World with my family, some of my favourite moments have come at this point in our trip, while we prepare for EPCOT’s fireworks display to begin. My daughter is generally sitting in her mobility chair as the rest of the family debriefs about the day’s activities, our legs tired from all the time we’ve spent on our feet. The temperature has usually cooled off a bit, and the collective nature of the experience is palpable. Around us, families and groups of friends are huddled together, anticipating the start of the show.
As lights begin to flash around the water, an opening narration sets the tone for what’s to come:
Everyone on this Earth is part of the great Symphony of Us. Each of us a unique instrument playing harmony to one another. And even though we are all playing different parts, it’s our unified heartbeat that connects us, reminding us that we are more alike than we are different. A rhapsody of rhythms that unites us and connects us through commonalities of the heart.
It’s high-minded, sentimental stuff for a theme park with rides featuring a talking snowman and a rat who becomes a chef. But at a time of rising scepticism about multiculturalism and universal values, it’s also a message that has come to resonate with me.
Like many families, we have formed meaningful memories at Disney World because of the entertainment-rich environment the Disney company has created. Its theme parks are enjoyable, in part, because they appeal to each member of my family. But our Disney memories are also meaningful because Disney World reflects my values: this is a place that is ostensibly committed to the idea that we are all, in some sense, citizens of the world bound together by a common humanity. It’s a simple ideal. But it’s one I believe in deeply and strive to embody, however imperfectly, in my life.
Of course, as a philosopher, I’m also keenly aware that all the experiences that have led to these moments at Disney World have been sold to me by a massive global corporation that strives to maximise its profits. Whether the Walt Disney Company genuinely believes in the cosmopolitan values it promotes is largely beside the point. What matters is whether portraying those values is a good business strategy. Disney is also a corporation that has received more than its share of criticism throughout its history. It has been criticised for its labour practices, for the cultural themes in its films, for the stands it takes (or does not take) on controversial public issues and, sometimes, simply for being a massive global corporation that strives to maximise its profits. This tension regularly leaves me puzzled. Is the value of my experience at Disney World undermined by the fact that it is, at the end of the day, a production of the Walt Disney Company? Can I trust a profit-hungry corporation to teach my children universal values? And does Disney’s message need to be sincere for it to really matter?
These sorts of questions are certainly not unique to Disney theme parks. In his book The Affluent Society (1958), the economist John Kenneth Galbraith coined the term ‘the dependence effect’ to characterise the process by which a business creates the desires that it seeks to satisfy. For example, you might not have wanted to buy a new sweater, but seeing a commercial on television makes you dissatisfied with your current wardrobe such that you hop online and order a new one. It likely never occurred to you to try iced tea with vodka until you saw the beverage advertised in a magazine, but now you find yourself on the way to the corner store to buy a six-pack. And Disney obviously wants to manufacture the desire to visit its theme parks because it will make money from everyone who wants to satisfy their newfound urge to ride Frozen Ever After and take pictures of their kids with Mickey and Minnie. For Galbraith, the dependence effect is problematic because it gives too much control over our lives to people who simply want to make money.
While contemporary critics of Disney might echo these concerns, the problem becomes more acute when the corporation in question has behaved poorly in other ways. The Walt Disney Company has long been the target of labour activists who criticise how Disney treats its employees. In 2024, unionised workers at Disneyland authorised a strike in contract negotiations where they argued that 73 per cent of their employees didn’t make enough money to cover basic living expenses, despite often working 12- to 14-hour days. That strike was ultimately averted, but it stands in a long line of labour controversies dating back to an animators’ strike in 1941, through protests about working conditions in the factories that produce Disney products, and most recently a series of layoffs across the company earlier this year.
There is a sense of something shared, however briefly and however manufactured, that I don’t find in many other places
Disney also has a decidedly mixed record on cultural issues. Writing in The Guardian in 2021, the journalist Steve Rose noted that:
Disney’s history of racist caricatures and ethnic stereotyping has been well documented and routinely criticised: the crows in Dumbo that drew on racist minstrel caricatures of African Americans; the Islamophobic tropes in Aladdin; the mockery of Native Americans in Peter Pan… the list goes on.
And its portrayals of women haven’t fared much better. As the media scholar Janet Wasko writes in her book Understanding Disney (2001):
Disney heroines are always beautiful, shapely, and often sexually attractive, while female villains are typically ugly and either extremely thin (Cruella) or grossly fat (Ursula), thus perpetuating norms of physical beauty prevalent in mainstream American culture.
Even this partial list of Disney’s foibles is enough to challenge the idea that it is a company deeply committed to the sort of cosmopolitan values that I’ve come to associate with its theme parks. And coupled with Galbraith’s more fundamental concerns about the dependence effect, the case for abandoning Disney World certainly can’t be dismissed out of hand.
In my mind, I try to balance these concerns with my experiences. There’s my daughter beside me on It’s a Small World, her eyes wide as she looks at all the animatronics moving to the attraction’s iconic song. There are the conversations I have with my son as we analyse a new ride or (just as likely) one we have ridden multiple times before. There are the various shows, parades and fireworks displays, all of which offer opportunities to feel part of something larger than oneself. There is a sense of something shared, however briefly and however manufactured, that I don’t find in many other places. And there is the belief that all of it is shaped by values that I wholeheartedly endorse.
But these experiences come with some trepidation. There is something undeniably risky about entrusting something of such value to a corporation whose track record is, at best, mixed.
While Disney sceptics might quickly dismiss that value as trivial, I think they are wrong to do so. My daughter is intellectually disabled, and there are not a lot of places where everyone in my family can enjoy a day on their own terms. When my kids were growing up, activities that might appeal to my daughter wouldn’t really interest my son. Some of this discrepancy was just a function of their age difference but, as they got older, their developmental trajectories also played a role. My daughter is 19 now, and the gap between what she and her brother want from a vacation has only widened. Moreover, while being a good parent may often require that adults sacrifice their own enjoyment for the benefit of their children, it is a sacrifice, nonetheless. Playing on monkey bars at the playground as a kid is a lot more fun than watching kids play on monkey bars as an adult. Finding activities that appeal to everyone in the family is a challenge, even when disability is left out of the equation.
A couple of years ago, we took a trip out west, visiting Las Vegas and some national parks on the way to southern California. Taken as a whole, it was an amazing vacation. However, the natural beauty of the Grand Canyon was somewhat lost on our daughter who is limited in her ability to hike long distances or navigate uneven terrain. The lights of Vegas were interesting enough for everyone, but full-blown family entertainment is not exactly the city’s calling card. When we finally made our first visit to Disneyland (having previously been to Disney’s parks only in Florida), everyone was able to engage. This didn’t necessarily make Disneyland the high point of our trip (for me, at least, that was the day we spent at Arches National Park) but it did highlight the fact that the universalistic design of Disney parks is central to their appeal.
What matters is not so much where our desires come from but whether the satisfaction of those desires makes our lives better
For example, there are numerous attractions throughout Disney theme parks that are thoroughly engaging for adults without being overwhelming for children. The Haunted Mansion is more bemusing than genuinely scary, and Pirates of the Caribbean gives everyone plenty of details to occupy their attention. Live shows, such as Festival of the Lion King, connect viewers to the artistry of Disney’s films in immersive and often interactive ways. If you haven’t seen any of the Star Wars or Avatar movies, you can still love every minute of the attractions they inspired. And even if someone in the family isn’t quite ready for rollercoasters like Space Mountain, there are plenty of tamer options on offer, ranging from boat rides like It’s a Small World and Jungle Cruise to the slightly more adventurous Seven Dwarfs Mine Train or Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Every minute of every day might not be equally enjoyable for everyone, but visits to Disney World consistently leave a mark on our family that we have found difficult to replicate.
So, does it matter that these experiences are offered to us by a profit-seeking corporation?
In his response to Galbraith, the Austrian economist Friedrich Hayek questions whether consumers should worry about the dependence effect. For Hayek, what matters is not so much where our desires come from but whether the satisfaction of those desires makes our lives better. He is an unlikely ally to reach for in defence of a place built on shared feeling and common humanity – Hayek spent much of his career warning against the kind of collective sentiment EPCOT is selling. And while I don’t generally align myself with Hayek’s libertarian views, I’ve come to think he’s probably right on this point. The same company that gave us decades of flattened stereotypes in its films also built a place where my son and daughter can spend a day on roughly equal terms. And in so doing, it gave us memories that largely stand apart from the commercial context in which they were created.
To be sure, the value of these experiences does not redeem Disney’s labour practices or its other missteps as a corporation. If anything, it gives Disney fans even more reason to challenge the company to live up to the ideals it portrays in its parks. Perhaps it also demonstrates that the value an experience has for people doesn’t require pure intentions on the part of those who create it. We are all something of a mixed bag, whether we are part of the crowd watching fireworks around the World Showcase Lagoon or part of the staff working in the offices of Disney’s corporate headquarters. And at a time when it can be difficult to feel connected to our fellow human beings, I think it’s OK to be thankful for whatever aspirational moments we might be able to grab, no matter how they might come to us.
