Let’s talk about discrimination.
No, not that kind. Put the pitchfork down. We all agree — racial discrimination, gender discrimination, religious discrimination, socioeconomic discrimination — it’s ugly, it’s wrong, it’s the worst of us wearing a sport coat and calling itself policy. Full stop. Not the subject of today’s sermon.
Today’s subject is subtler. Today’s villain wears a smile so wide you could park a Buick in it.
Today we’re talking about the Indiscriminate Discriminator — the person who has decided, apparently after a very long meditation retreat, that everyone is equally wonderful, equally talented, equally deserving of a gold star and a firm handshake and the words “You’re doing great, buddy.”
Even when you’re not doing great, buddy.
Here’s what nobody tells you in the workshop on unconscious bias: there’s another kind of discrimination that also ruins lives, tanks companies, and produces an entire generation of adults who cannot take feedback without calling their therapist.
It’s the failure to discriminate at all.
The word “discriminate” comes from the Latin discriminare — to distinguish, to separate, to tell the difference between things. And here’s the dirty secret that got buried under thirty years of very necessary conversations about prejudice: discrimination, properly applied, is a survival skill.
The chef who can’t discriminate between fresh fish and fish that’s been sitting in the sun since Tuesday is not open-minded. He’s a public health hazard.
The investor who can’t discriminate between a business model and a fever dream is not inclusive. He’s broke.
The executive coach — and yeah, I’m looking in the mirror here — who tells every founder their idea is great because they don’t want to crush anyone’s dreams? That coach isn’t kind. That coach is dangerous. He’s the guy who cheers you on as you drive confidently off a cliff while shouting “YOU’VE GOT THIS.”
The Indiscriminate Discriminator shows up everywhere.
He’s the manager who gives the same performance review to the person who saved the company and the person who spent the quarter perfecting his fantasy football lineup. “Everyone brings something to the table,” he says, while Dave from accounting brings nothing to the table except his lunch, which he eats loudly.
She’s the mentor who responds to every pitch with “I love your passion!” Passion. The universal consolation prize. The participation trophy of feedback. I love your passion means I have nothing useful to say and also I need to leave by four.
He’s the parent — and I say this with love and also with the receipts — who told every kid on every team that they all played great when little Tyler clearly did not play great, Tyler appeared to be guarding the wrong goal for the entire second half, and we should probably talk about that.
The road to mediocrity is paved with unchallenged enthusiasms.
Now. Here’s where it gets uncomfortable.
The Indiscriminate Discriminator isn’t stupid. He’s not even lazy, usually. He’s scared.
He’s scared of the conversation. He’s scared of the look on your face when he says “this needs work.” He’s scared of being the bad guy, of being the one who crushed the dream, of being the villain in your origin story where you tell people how one dismissive comment almost stopped you.
So instead he becomes the hero of a story where nothing ever gets better.
There’s a reason surgeons don’t say “you know what, all tumors matter.” There’s a reason judges don’t give every submitted manuscript the Pulitzer. There’s a reason — and I cannot stress this enough — we have editors.
The willingness to say “this is better than that” — to actually look, actually assess, actually render a judgment based on evidence rather than the desire to be liked — that’s not cruelty. That’s the whole job.
Here’s my framework, since I’m a guy who has frameworks:
Bad discrimination judges you on what you are — your race, your gender, your zip code, your accent, who you pray to or sleep with or vote for. It’s a shortcut that bypasses your actual work, your actual character, your actual contribution. It’s lazy and it’s evil and we fight it every day.
Good discrimination judges you on what you do — your ideas, your execution, your results, your growth. It says: this pitch is not ready, here’s why, here’s what ready looks like. It says: this strategy has three fatal assumptions baked in. It says: you are capable of more than this, and I think enough of you to tell you so.
The Indiscriminate Discriminator thinks he’s avoiding the first kind. He’s actually just abandoning the second kind and calling it virtue.
I’ve spent years in startup land watching brilliant founders circle the drain because everyone around them was too emotionally evolved to tell them the truth. I’ve watched companies die politely. I’ve watched products launch into markets that didn’t exist because the feedback loop was full of nothing but affirmations and vibes.
And I’ve watched the moment — I’ve lived the moment — when someone finally says the true thing, the hard thing, the specific and useful and discriminating thing — and watched the person on the other side of the table take a breath and say, “Okay. Yeah. I knew that. What do we do?”
That’s the moment.
That’s where growth lives.
So yes. Discriminate.
Discriminate between the idea that has legs and the idea that belongs in a drawer. Between the employee who’s coasting and the one who’s carrying the whole floor. Between the feedback that helps and the feedback that’s just noise wearing a smile.
Discriminate with fairness. Discriminate with evidence. Discriminate with compassion if you can manage it, which is easier when you remember that treating someone like they can handle the truth is itself a form of respect.
Just don’t be so afraid of one kind of discrimination that you accidentally invent another.
The world has enough people slapping everyone’s back.
What it needs are more people willing to look you in the eye.
