Critical thinking is dangerous (apparently)
Breakfast talk with a stranger
I’ve spent most of this past year in the Midwest and South, reintegrating into my old stomping grounds after 22 years in the Bay Area.
It’s given me a front-row seat to perspectives that are wildly different from my own. And I love it! That was one of the things I was most excited about—real conversations about real differences with real people, in real time.
But, as you can imagine, not all of them have been productive.
One morning, deep in the Ozarks, I lined up for breakfast at one of the few cafes in town—the kind where the biscuits are made from scratch, the coffee is strong, and the locals know everyone’s business.
As usual, the place was packed. A woman beside me in line turned and said, “Want to share a table? Might get us seated faster.”
I hesitated and did a quick, silent cost-benefit analysis of whether I wanted to spend the next 30 minutes locked in conversation with a stranger. She seemed friendly. It was a kind offer.
I said yes.
Lisa was from Texas, but she’d recently bought a home there—and was renovating it so she could Airbnb it for now, then eventually retire. Single mom. Daughter in college. I could relate.
We ordered coffee and breakfast—two eggs over medium, hashbrowns, and a side of biscuits and sausage gravy for me (an indulgence), an omelet and toast for her.
Our conversation unfolded the way these things do—easy, polite, drifting between real estate and the town’s charming quirks.
Lisa mentioned her boyfriend. A retired professional skateboarder with a circle of pot-smokers who were never allowed in the house because, as she put it, “That was the deal.”
I learned Lisa had spent years in various jobs, doing what she could to carve out a good life for herself and her daughter. I could relate.
Lisa’s daughter was on a volleyball scholarship in Oklahoma, studying forensics. She was proud. I could relate.
And then, we reached the conversational cliff.
She sighed, shaking her head at her coffee. “The education system is going in the wrong direction.”
I paused. That could mean a lot of things. “How so?”
Lisa pursed her lips, then looked up at me—the way someone does when they’re about to drop the punchline to a bad joke.
“They’re making her take—” she groaned, dragging it out like it physically pained her, “Critical Thinking.”
She let the words hang in the air like a criminal charge.
I blinked, waiting for the second half of the sentence—the part where she explained why this was a problem.
Nothing came.
My blank stare prompted Lisa to lean in, lowering her voice. “Can you believe that?”
I could actually. But also, I couldn’t—because I wasn’t sure what part I was supposed to be upset about.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, genuinely confused. Wasn’t critical thinking… a good thing?
Lisa sighed, now looking at me like she’d just realized she was dealing with a moron who didn’t get it.
She explained: the professor had assigned her daughter an essay on why we should defund the police.
“Okay,” I said slowly. Subject matter aside, I still wasn’t seeing the part that made the requisite course an actual problem.
Lisa’s family had a long line of law enforcement officers. Her daughter, outraged at the mere idea of engaging with the topic, refused to write the essay and took the F instead.
Huh, I thought. That was a choice.
I sipped my coffee. “But isn’t the whole point of critical thinking to… construct an argument, irrespective of personal belief? Wouldn’t it actually strengthen her stance to deeply understand the other side’s reasoning?”
Lisa’s face hardened. “No. That professor didn’t want her to understand the other side. He wanted to indoctrinate her.”
And there it was.
Never mind that Oklahoma is about as far from a liberal hotbed as you can get. It’s been ranked the second most conservative state in the country, right behind West Virginia.
Never mind that true critical thinking requires engaging with perspectives outside your own.
Lisa wasn’t here for any of that. Her mind was set. Sealed shut. No further learning required.
Thinking was the enemy.
And I was guilty—guilty of thinking, of turning this moment over in my head long after it ended. Not because of Lisa herself, but because of what she represents.
We’re living in a time when people aren’t just uninterested in opposing viewpoints. They see the very act of engaging with a different perspective as an existential threat.
It’s not enough to disagree anymore. The mere suggestion of examining an argument from the other side is met with rage, defiance, and, apparently, academic sabotage.
How are we supposed to make progress as a society if people refuse to challenge their own assumptions, engage with opposing perspectives, or expand their understanding beyond their own beliefs?
How do we move forward when critical thinking itself is framed as the enemy?
We—and I mean everyone on the political spectrum—have to step out of our echo chambers.
And I don’t just say that. I live it.
I’ve sat in conversations with family members with one goal: to learn. I stomach Fox News. I listen to the All-In podcast. I read social media posts from people who are fundamentally opposed to my beliefs.
Why?
Because understanding why someone believes what they believe is the first step toward anything real.
So let's get real: If you’re never questioning your own beliefs, you’re not thinking critically—you’re just marinating in confirmation bias.
And if you’re not expanding your mind by listening to the other side, you’re shrinking it. You’re letting it calcify. Ideological rigor mortis is setting in.
So here’s my challenge—to you, to myself, to anyone who actually gives a damn about this country:
Get uncomfortable. Like, really uncomfortable.
Consume things that piss you off—and then ask yourself WHY.
Have hard, inconvenient conversations.
Seek out perspectives that shake your worldview.
Because if we’re only willing to engage with ideas that fit neatly into our existing framework, we’re not thinking at all.
