The Deadly Chemical That’s Everywhere: A Teacher’s Trick Exposes the Dark Side of Misinformation

A Palm Beach County high school teacher has a strange way of opening the school year. He warns his students about a deadly chemical called dihydrogen monoxide. He tells them it can cause asphyxiation, dangerously dilute the blood, and is abundant in the environment. He notes that it has been linked to corrosion, industrial applications, and thousands of deaths every year. His students are alarmed. Many are ready to ban it, regulate it, or at least avoid it at all costs. Then, in a moment that has become a classroom ritual, he reveals the punchline: dihydrogen monoxide is water. The groans, laughter, and accusations of trickery fill the room. But Eric Jourgensen, who teaches journalism, broadcast journalism, and yearbook at Palm Beach Central High School, says the lesson is far more serious than a joke. It is a lesson in news literacy, critical thinking, and the way misinformation manipulates audiences. Jourgensen will bring that lesson to the National News Literacy Conference in Salt Lake City this October, where educators from around the country will explore how to help young people navigate a digital world filled with half-truths, outrage bait, and information bubbles. The dihydrogen monoxide demonstration, he explains, is not just a gimmick. It is a carefully designed exercise that shows students how easy it is to be fooled by claims that are technically true but deliberately incomplete.

The stakes could not be higher. Today’s teenagers are growing up in an attention economy, where social media platforms and influencers compete for every click, like, share, and second of screen time. In that competition, the most outrageous posts tend to rise to the top, regardless of how accurate they are. Algorithms reward engagement, and engagement is often driven by emotion. Fear, anger, and shock are more powerful than nuance, context, and careful reasoning. As a result, students are constantly exposed to content that is designed to exploit their instincts rather than inform their judgment. They scroll through a blur of breaking news alerts, viral videos, sponsored posts, memes, opinion pieces, and outright hoaxes, often without pausing to ask where the content came from or why it was created. Teachers like Jourgensen say this environment is exactly why news literacy instruction must be explicit and deliberate. It is not enough to tell students to “check the facts” or “use reliable sources.” They need to understand how information works, how it can be weaponized, and how their own emotions and biases can be used against them. Jourgensen’s classroom exercise is designed to make that point unforgettable. By playing the role of a trusted authority figure and presenting a long list of alarming claims, he mimics the techniques used by bad actors online. The scientific-sounding name, the serious tone, the overwhelming flood of details, and the apparent credibility of the messenger all combine to make the false conclusion feel true.

The lesson unfolds in stages, and each stage is intentional. Jourgensen begins by modeling the same tactics that are used in viral misinformation. He describes dihydrogen monoxide in clinical terms, citing its role in corrosion, its use in industrial processes, and its connection to countless deaths. Every claim he makes is based on something that is technically true. Water can kill people. It can cause asphyxiation through drowning. It can dangerously dilute the blood if consumed in extreme quantities. It is used in industrial applications. It can corrode metal over time. The problem, he later explains, was not that the facts were false. The problem was that the facts were incomplete. The danger of misinformation is often not that it is entirely fabricated, but that it is cherry-picked, stripped of context, wrapped in loaded language, and delivered by someone the audience trusts. Once the presentation is over, Jourgensen asks his students to vote on whether the chemical should be restricted. Many are quick to say yes. Some are skeptical. Others wait to see where the room is going before making a decision. That hesitation, he says, is also significant. Misinformation does not only exploit ignorance. It exploits emotion, trust, peer pressure, and the human tendency to react quickly rather than reflect. The vote is a powerful demonstration of how easily a group can be swayed by the way information is framed. Then comes the reveal. Jourgensen writes H2O on the board. There is a moment of silence. Then the room erupts. The lesson is over, but the learning is just beginning.

After the surprise wears off, Jourgensen guides his students through a deeper investigation. They go back to the claims he made and examine the techniques he used. They talk about why the presentation felt official and researched, and why the scientific-sounding name was so convincing. They also practice a critical skill known as lateral reading. Instead of trusting what a source says about itself, they learn to open new tabs and see what other sources say about that source. This simple but powerful habit can reveal hidden biases, conflicts of interest, and credibility problems that are invisible from the inside of a website or a social media post. Students also learn to identify different types of information and their purposes. That might sound basic, but the data shows just how difficult it is for young people. A 2024 survey by the News Literacy Project found that only 18 percent of teens correctly answered all three questions asking them to distinguish among information types such as news, advertising, opinion, and entertainment. Without that foundational ability, it is almost impossible to decide how much to trust something. If you cannot tell whether a piece of content is trying to inform you, sell you something, change your mind, or make you laugh, then you are vulnerable to manipulation. The dihydrogen monoxide exercise forces students to confront that vulnerability. It makes abstract concepts like bias, agenda, and context feel concrete. It also helps them understand that trust is not an all-or-nothing proposition. Just because someone is popular, charismatic, or confident does not mean they are telling the whole truth. And just because a claim contains true facts does not mean the overall message is reliable.

The lesson ends with a practical tool called “Stop Before You Share.” Students are asked to create corrective messages that they could post in response to misinformation. The idea is simple: slow down long enough to ask who made the content, what evidence supports it, what might be missing, and whether it deserves your trust before you help it spread further. Jourgensen emphasizes that the goal is not to make students cynical. It is to make them healthier skeptics. Cynicism assumes everything is false and everyone is lying. Healthy skepticism asks questions, demands evidence, and remains open to being convinced by good information. The distinction is crucial, especially in an era when many young people have already become disenchanted with the media. Being immersed in information all day does not mean students automatically know how to sort through it. In fact, the constant flood of content can make them more susceptible to manipulation, because they are used to reacting quickly and moving on. Without explicit news literacy instruction, Jourgensen argues, students are left vulnerable to half-truths delivered by people and platforms that are very good at capturing their attention. That is why he believes the lesson must be taught, not just hoped for. It is also why he is eager to share his approach with educators at the National News Literacy Conference. The conference will bring together teachers, librarians, journalists, and researchers who are working to build a more informed public. Jourgensen’s presentation will use the dihydrogen monoxide trick as a starting point for a broader conversation about how to teach critical thinking in an age of digital distraction.

Ultimately, the water trick is more than a memorable opening-day stunt. It is a mirror held up to the way information flows through modern society. The same techniques that made students ready to ban water are used every day by political operatives, marketing teams, conspiracy theorists, and foreign influence campaigns. The scientific-sounding language, the urgent tone, the selective use of facts, and the trusted messenger are all familiar tools of persuasion. By making students experience their own susceptibility, Jourgensen gives them a lesson they are unlikely to forget. They may not remember every rule of source evaluation, but they will remember the day they were tricked by a chemical that turned out to be water. And when they encounter a shocking claim online, that memory might give them the pause they need. The question “What do they want me to believe?” can become “Why are they telling me this?” and “What are they leaving out?” Those are the questions that separate an informed citizen from a manipulated one. Jourgensen knows that he cannot protect his students from every bad idea or misleading post. But he can give them the tools to ask better questions, and he can show them that being smart is not the same as being immune. The fight against misinformation is not a one-time lesson. It is a habit of mind. And if more students learn it, the next time someone warns them about a deadly chemical in the environment, they might just ask to see the chemical formula before they reach for the panic button. That would be a victory for news literacy, for education, and for democracy itself.