A Teacher’s Water Trick Reveals the Hidden Danger of Half-Truths in the Digital Age
A high school journalism teacher in Palm Beach County has found a deceptively simple way to expose how easily young people can be manipulated online, and his lesson begins with a substance every student has encountered: water. Eric Jourgensen, who teaches journalism, broadcast journalism, and yearbook at Palm Beach Central High School, regularly warns his students about a deadly chemical called dihydrogen monoxide. It can cause asphyxiation, he tells them. It can dangerously dilute your blood. It is abundant in the environment, and you are exposed to it daily. Every year, his students listen intently, many growing alarmed as he lists the chemical’s dangers, its links to corrosion, industrial applications, and thousands of deaths each year. Then he delivers the biggest shock of all: dihydrogen monoxide is water. The reaction is almost always the same—a moment of stunned silence, followed by groans, laughter, and accusations that he tricked them. He did. But every claim he made was technically true. Water can kill people. Water is used in industry. Water causes corrosion. The problem was not that the facts were false; the problem was that the facts were incomplete. That distinction, Jourgensen argues, lies at the heart of modern misinformation, and it is exactly why news literacy must be taught explicitly rather than left to chance. “Without explicit news-literacy instruction, we leave them vulnerable to half-truths delivered by people and platforms that are very good at getting their attention,” he said.
Jourgensen’s classroom exercise is more than a clever stunt. It is a deliberate teaching strategy designed to demonstrate how the attention economy works and why misinformation flourishes in it. Today’s teens are growing up in an environment where social media platforms and influencers compete fiercely for their eyeballs, clicks, and likes. In that crowded marketplace, the most outrageous and emotionally charged posts tend to rise to the top, regardless of whether they are true. Misinformation thrives not because people are stupid, but because it exploits fundamental human tendencies: trust in familiar messengers, emotional reactions to alarming claims, peer pressure, and the urge to react quickly rather than reflect carefully. Jourgensen deliberately models the same tactics used by bad actors online. He presents the water warning with a scientific-sounding name, technically true claims, and a serious, official tone. It feels researched. It feels authoritative. Many students fall for it, and the fact that he is their teacher—a trusted figure, much like the creators and influencers they follow online—only strengthens the effect. “Misinformation works on more than ignorance,” Jourgensen noted. “It exploits emotion, trust, peer pressure, and quick reactions.” The lesson highlights a crucial reality: a claim does not have to be fabricated to mislead. Facts can be cherry-picked, stripped of context, wrapped in loaded language, and delivered by someone we trust, and the result can be just as dangerous as an outright lie.
The heart of the lesson comes after the reveal, when Jourgensen asks his students to investigate exactly how they were fooled. He teaches them to practice lateral reading, a technique in which a person opens a new tab and investigates a source by seeing what other sources say about it, rather than trusting what the source says about itself. This simple habit can break the spell of a convincing website, a polished influencer, or a viral post. Students also practice identifying different types of information and understanding their purposes. That sounds basic, but national data suggests it is a skill many young people simply do not have. According to a 2024 survey by the News Literacy Project, 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 ability, it is nearly impossible to decide how much to trust something, because you cannot tell whether it is trying to inform you, sell you something, change your mind, or make you laugh. Jourgensen’s students investigate the claims he made about dihydrogen monoxide, break down the rhetorical techniques he used, and discuss why the warning felt so convincing in the moment. They come to understand that their vulnerability was not a sign of ignorance, but a natural response to a well-constructed appeal. The lesson is designed to build resilience, not shame, and it does so by turning a moment of embarrassment into a memorable learning experience.
The final stage of the lesson asks students to create a “Stop Before You Share” corrective message, a tool designed to interrupt the automatic impulse to pass along alarming or outrageous content. The idea is simple: slow down long enough to ask who made the information, what evidence supports it, what might be missing, and whether it deserves your trust before helping it travel further. In an era when sharing is just a click away, this pause can make all the difference. Jourgensen emphasizes that the goal is healthy skepticism, not cynicism. He wants students to become harder to fool without becoming impossible to inform. That distinction is essential. Skepticism questions the reliability of information and seeks evidence; cynicism dismisses everything and retreats into distrust. Good news literacy requires the former, not the latter. Jourgensen is quick to point out that being immersed in information all day does not mean students innately know how to sort through it. The internet is not a classroom, and exposure to endless content does not teach critical thinking. On the contrary, it can make people more susceptible to manipulation because the volume of information makes it harder to stop and question individual claims. News literacy must be explicitly taught, practiced, and reinforced, just like any other skill. And as Jourgensen’s water trick demonstrates, the lessons can be both engaging and memorable.
The stakes of this work extend far beyond one classroom. Misinformation has been linked to public health crises, political polarization, and even violence. Young people, who spend a significant portion of their lives online, are especially vulnerable to the tactics of bad actors. The 2024 News Literacy Project survey found that many teens struggle to identify basic categories of information, making them easy targets for disguised advertising, fake news, and emotionally manipulative content. If they cannot tell whether a message is meant to inform, persuade, or entertain, they are likely to be swayed by whichever message grabs their attention first. That is exactly what Jourgensen’s dihydrogen monoxide exercise demonstrates: a well-crafted piece of misinformation can feel official, serious, and trustworthy, even when it is technically true but hopelessly incomplete. The lesson teaches students that facts matter, but facts without context can still fool you. It also teaches them to consider the source, the evidence, and the purpose behind any message. Those habits of mind are not just useful; they are essential for participating in a democratic society where public opinion is shaped by the information people consume and share. Without explicit instruction, students are left to navigate this landscape alone, vulnerable to half-truths delivered by people and platforms that have mastered the art of grabbing attention.
Jourgensen will take this lesson from his Palm Beach County classroom to the National News Literacy Conference in Salt Lake City this October, where he will present his approach to educators from around the country. His presentation will emphasize that news literacy is not a partisan issue, not a luxury for advanced students, and not a topic that can be squeezed into a single school-wide assembly. It is a fundamental skill that must be woven into everyday teaching across subjects. His students usually remember the day he tricked them with water, and he hopes they remember the more important part too. They learn that questioning information does not mean rejecting it, and that being smart does not make a person immune to manipulation. They learn that the people and platforms competing for their attention are not always truthful, and that the burden of verification falls on them. Most importantly, they learn that they have the power to slow down, ask questions, and choose what to share. In a world full of spin, outrage bait, and information bubbles, that power is more precious than ever. The water trick is just the hook; the real lesson is about the discipline of checking before believing, and the courage to admit that even trusted messengers can mislead. It is a lesson that will serve Jourgensen’s students long after they leave high school, and one that schools across the nation would be wise to adopt.
