I still replay the line my younger sister said during our call yesterday: “Why do you question everything? You don’t have to think deep about everything or try to find depth in everything. Some things are just surface level.”
I’ve heard this before, statements like, “It’s not that deep,” or “Not everything has a backstory.” This cultural habit of dismissing complexity is exhausting. While I concede that some things shouldn’t be overthought, I believe there’s a dangerous line we must never cross: trading careful, proper reasoning for the blind acceptance of change.
The hard effects of this blind acceptance are already visible. We have forgotten our cultural values, treating them as the necessary cost of progress and modernization. Slowly, we are losing our true sense of identity and our connection to community. We have labelled the wisdom of those who came before us as mere “old school”, sidelining the silent yet salient morals they handed down to us. Unfortunately, the youngest among us pay the price.
When we stop questioning, we hand over our thinking to systems and actors that benefit from our simplicity. In essence, we lose intellectual sovereignty. It may seem that staying on the surface or avoiding depth is an easy way to keep the peace or dodge uncomfortable conversations. It feels simpler, less tiring. But that simplicity is often an illusion. History is littered with decisions that would have been different had we looked past the obvious. I, too, have succumbed to the comfort of surface-level reasoning. It led me to make choices that honestly still haunt me. Change is constant; an integral part of life itself, but pretending every change is good simply because it’s new leaves us exposed and vulnerable. Why do we praise anything that looks modern or innovative, hardly stopping to consider what pieces of ourselves might disappear in the process?
Take politics, for instance. When we fail to look past the headlines or draw conclusions from captions, complex governance is reduced to a shouting match. Every issue becomes “us versus them” or “good versus evil.” Nuance is lost. This intellectual laziness is a gift to poor leaders, who thrive in the noise while misappropriating funds, eroding infrastructure, and avoiding accountability. Governmental incompetence, which affects all of us, grows possible because we accept surface-level reassurances: “we have everything under control.”
The impact of this problem is also staring us down in our social lives. You only need to open your phone to see the clearest, most heartbreaking proof: social media. It encourages us to trade genuine human connection for curated façades and validation. Like the saying goes in pidgin: who you wan impress? Well, we now thrive on competing for false impressions. We no longer value people by their true character, their quiet acts of community, or the depth of their knowledge. Instead, we measure them by the number of followers they have and the likes they can rack up in five minutes. We are perpetually comparing our real life, our own ‘backstage’ to everyone else’s ‘highlight reel’. What is the result? A generation perpetually trapped in performative living, bitterly dissatisfied, anxious, and dependent on the approval of strangers who are also performing.
To resist this culture of simplification, we must actively and consciously reclaim the right to think deeply. First, we must reject the idea that some things have no backstory. In our spheres of influence; as writers, artists, and critical citizens, our duty is to contribute our own quota in confronting this issue. Every person, problem, and cultural shift deserves careful attention. Approach life as a complex text with many chapters, not as a headline to skim. We must restore the value of history, memory, and context, bearing in mind that surface-level image is almost never the most interesting part of any story.
Next, we must slow down how we consume information. Minimize the constant scroll for quiet reading and reflection. Treat difficult subjects as something to be read twice, discussed thoughtfully, and understood deeply. This restores the critical thinking and communal wisdom that once strengthened our societies.
My sister’s question, “Why do you question everything?”, was meant as a critique of my restlessness. Well, I choose to see it differently. Questioning is not a flaw. It is a civic and moral duty. In fact, it is the only way to resist forces that want us passive, shallow, and compliant.
The weight of the surface is unbearable, but only by seeking depth, by uncovering complicated and vital truths, can we reclaim our worth, strengthen our communities, challenge the status quo and reconnect with ourselves. It is crucial to add that this demanding of depth isn’t personal self-help alone; it is precisely what aids in shifting power dynamics in the public square. When we stop accepting the surface, governments feel the change and are automatically compelled to react. In other words, when citizens question the foundational narratives and the shallow agreements we’ve long maintained, systemic correction takes place. History closer to home offers a clear reminder of this. Consider the traditional Igbo philosophy of egalitarianism. The proverb Igbo enwe eze (the Igbos have no king) was a core part of their system. It was not a rejection of leadership, but a rejection of absolute, unquestioned power. Decisions were not handed down from a throne but debated in the village square, where every man could speak his mind and very verdict had to survive the scrutiny of the collective. This governance by depth required patience and the courage to challenge authority face-to-face. Also look at the struggle against South African apartheid. The victory wasn’t achieved through civil disobedience alone; it took decades of deep constitutional thinking and the moral clarity of leaders like Nelson Mandela and the African National Congress (ANC). They refused shallow compromises. Instead, they questioned the very legal and moral foundation of a government built on racism—and that depth of questioning helped dismantle an entire political structure.
I didn’t have an answer for my sister yesterday. In a way, I envy her; there is a seductive safety in the shallows, in letting things be exactly what they appear to be. She likely sleeps better than I do. But as I look at the world around me—fractured, vibrant, and teeming with hidden histories—I know I cannot choose that ease. The surface is bearable, yes, but only because it is hollow. I would rather carry the weight of the truth than float in the comfort of an illusion. So, I will keep questioning. It is a heavy way to live, but it is the only way I know how to be free
Elohor Ogaga-Edafe
Elohor Ogaga-Edafe is a Nigerian writer and social critic. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of Elowell Max, a digital publication dedicated to amplifying African women's voices. She developed an early interest in literature, debate, and cultural commentary. Her work explores themes of identity, gender, and contemporary African society. She is a member of the Forbes Black Excellence Community.
