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A state in the Midwest edged out Texas as the 'friendliest'—sparking a fierce debate

People note the difference between being "friendly" and being "kind."

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Two friendly neighbors wave hello.

Americans are often proud of their home states for a variety of reasons. Maybe they have the best chili, whale-watching, or music scenes. Sometimes it's for more substantial reasons, like a strong statewide healthcare system or robust environmental laws. But when it comes to downright friendliness, nearly everyone thinks they're doing it right.

As a Texan living in Los Angeles, it's baffled me that people don't routinely say hello—at least not in my part of town. Even when it's just me and one other person in an elevator, they will often do anything but make eye contact. Back in Dallas, I'd have left that elevator ride with an Instagram follow and an invite to Thanksgiving. (Okay, slight exaggeration.)

As we rolled into 2025, the World Population Review (which, according to its website, reviews "solid data" and polling, "beyond population statistics to cover economics, geography, and social trends") had a big finding about the "friendliest" state.

WCCO CBS reported, "The study found that Minnesota is the friendliest state." This edged out Texas and other notoriously friendly-seeming states in that region (depending on who you ask). They continued, "So the top five is: Minnesota, Tennessee, South Carolina, Texas, and oh yes – Wyoming." They further add, "Apparently, Wyoming is so friendly that you can leave your keys in the car with the engine running and no one will touch your car."

- A report on which state is the friendliest. www.youtube.com, WCCO

The anchors then have a conversation about it, one of them sharing, "Part of why I'm still here is I'm having a great 'people experience.'" The other anchor chimes in, "I knew about the reputation coming in. I had a roommate from Minnesota, and he was like, 'You could just leave your house unlocked in your neighborhood and no one would bother you.' Everyone was just really friendly and kind." (He notes that people are a tad grumpy after a Vikings loss, though.)

There was some pushback on the "Minnesota nice" reputation, with one anchor claiming people can be passive-aggressive. At the same time, the others hadn't quite experienced that, a few in the comments shared in the sentiment.

But of course, not everyone agrees with the ranking. Over on Reddit, a recent post asks, "What's the friendliest state and why?" This got 1.6 thousand comments, and, as one might imagine, they're quite varied. One person jokes, "I predict 50 different answers, lol."

What became extremely apparent early in the comments was the attempt to find a nuanced definition of what it means to be "friendly" in the first place. There was quite a distinction between what was considered "friendly" and what was considered "kind."

One person writes, "I think New England has kind people, but they aren’t particularly 'friendly.' Folks won’t stop for idle chit-chat and small talk, but if they see you’re in actual need of assistance, they’ll move mountains to help a stranger."

maine, new england, friendliness, lighthouse, U.S. A lighthouse overlooks the ocean in Maine. Giphy

Another agrees, "I can see that. Friendly can mean different things to different people. I can't speak for most of the other states in NE, but as a Mainer, we do generally keep to ourselves, but that's more about being reserved as opposed to being standoffish, though it can look like that. We're more than happy to talk to folks and have a good time. The easiest way to start a conversation as a tourist is to ask a local what restaurant they'd recommend. You'll have a great conversation, and probably some great food too!"

A Jersey person enters the chat to say sometimes what is considered "friendly" feels like too much to them. "I’m from NJ, so I’m used to some abrasive but friendly strangers, if that makes sense. Like, I’ll hold the door for you, but call you a shmuck while I do. I travel to NC often, and the people there are generally just nice for no reason. Lots of baby name-calling – 'honey,' 'sweetheart' – even if they don’t know you. Also, courtesy is kind of just a given there. Part of me is creeped out by the overt kindness because I'm used to most people just minding their business, not being 'too much.'"

friendliness, southern charm, kindness, hello, U.S. A woman tips her hat and says hello. Giphy GIF by StickerGiant

In an Upworthy article from last year, staff writer Annie Reneau discussed the "nice vs. kind" debate, couched in an East Coast-West Coast rivalry. She quotes an X commenter, who writes, "Niceness is saying 'I'm so sorry you're cold,' while kindness may be 'Ugh, you've said that five times, here's a sweater!' Kindness is addressing the need, regardless of tone."

Many on the Reddit thread also note that friendliness and kindness can be subjective, depending on one's ethnicity, gender, etc. It's certainly not a one-size-fits-all experience. And at the end of the day, the first commenter was correct. Nearly every state was represented with excellent reasons for why its state was lovely.

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Kids raise money for inclusive playground equipment for their classmates with disabilities

Recess is one of the most coveted times of day for elementary school students.

Photo by Paula Berto on Unsplash

Kids raise money for inclusive playground equipment.

Recess is one of the most coveted times of day for elementary school students. It's a time when they get to run, climb and talk as loud as they like to get all of their sillies out before heading back into the classroom. But several students at Glen Lake Elementary School in Hopkins, Minnesota, noticed not everyone was getting a chance to play.

The school has multiple students that have physical disabilities that keep them from being able to play on the available playground equipment. Because the equipment isn't wheelchair accessible, the children who use wheels to get around have to sit on the sidelines and watch their classmates play.

This reality didn't sit right for the other students at Glen Lake. They asked their teacher, Betsy Julien, how they could make it so the other kids got a chance to play alongside them during recess. When they learned that new, more accessible equipment would cost $300,000, the kids didn't let it deter them. They committed to raising the funds however they could, and got to work with the help of their teacher.

The kids started collecting spare change, holding bake sales and even cold calling businesses in an effort to raise the money for the adaptive playground equipment. For months, the students worked to raise the money and they recently reached their goal with the help of the community. Rhys Riley, a student from Julien's class, told CBS News through tears, "I was just really happy that we made it."

One of the students who would get to use the new playground equipment told CBS, "First time I set foot on this playground, I'm probably going to start crying from seeing the effort all the school has made."

Now that the goal has been reached, these kiddos aren't stopping. They're focusing on raising enough money to get adaptive playground equipment for other schools in the district so no kid has to sit out during recess. The empathy and determination of these kids is absolutely inspiring.

Watch the interview below, but be prepared—you're going to need tissues.

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Trump is tweeting about himself and not the Minnesota mosque bombing. That matters.

An improvised explosive device detonated at a Bloomington, Minnesota, mosque on the morning of Aug. 5.

The attack is the latest in a series of anti-Muslim incidents that have rocked the state — 14 in 2016 alone, according to the Star-Tribune.

Thankfully, no one was hurt.

Minnesota Gov. Mark Dayton called the bombing an "act of terror."

Minnesota Council of Churches CEO Rev. Curtiss DeYoung called it an "attack on all faith communities."

Steve Hunegs, executive director of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Minnesota and the Dakotas, released a statement affirming his organization's "solidarity with the local Muslim community."

President Trump, meanwhile ... has yet to say anything at all.

Instead, the president spent Monday morning tweeting about his accomplishments in office, news coverage he doesn't like, and Sen. Richard Blumenthal's misrepresentation of his Vietnam war service.

Much of Twitter was outraged at the president's silence.

The president isn't always slow to condemn terror — and that's the problem.

Trump issued statements immediately following two terror attacks — carried out by Muslim assailants — that rocked London earlier this year. The day of last year's mass shooting at Orlando's Pulse nightclub, Trump took credit for predicting the carnage, noting that he  "[appreciated] the congrats" for being "right" about "radical Islamic  terror."

Photo by Gerardo Mora/Getty Images.

Meanwhile, the president waited over a week to condemn the alleged hate-crime killing of an Indian immigrant engineer in Kansas, and even longer to denounce a series of attacks on Jewish cemeteries earlier this year.

When Muslims perpetrate terror attacks, Trump's response is frequently deafening and swift. When Muslims, immigrants, and members of other vulnerable groups are victims, his response is very often silence.

Not speaking out when an attack doesn't comport with a pre-scripted hero-villain narrative doesn't just make a mockery of the truth — it carries with it an implication that some Americans are more equal than others.

His silence leaves the door open to further bias-driven incidents, and it functions, knowingly or not, as a wink toward those who might carry them out. A report from the Council on American-Islamic Relations found that anti-Muslim bias crimes jumped 57% in 2016, a period roughly coinciding with the last presidential election.

President Trump's unwillingness to speak out makes America less safe — and less great.

Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.

In a large, messy, diverse society such as ours, an attack on one isn't just an attack on all — it's an attack on the very principles our country was founded on.

It's a miracle that no one was injured in the Bloomington blast. Next time, we might not be so lucky.

The president needs to get the message before too much damage is done — both to the American people and the American idea.

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After the Philando Castile verdict, his classmates raised thousands in scholarship money.

High school classmates of Philando Castile were gutted last week when the police officer who killed him on the side of a suburban Minnesota street was found not guilty.

Protesters gathered in November outside the St. Paul school where Philando Castile worked. Stephen Maturen/Getty Images.

In the week since, several of them have turned their outrage into action, raising over $5,000 for a scholarship in Castile's name.

"We really didn’t ask for it. People just didn’t know what to do with their grief and all of that," says Abby Heuckendorf, who went to school with Castile from fourth grade on and is a member of Central Honors Philando, the group that established the fund.

Heuckendorf and a half-dozen others who grew up with Castile established the scholarship fund shortly after his death in 2016 at the suggestion of Central High School's principal.

The small team settled on the scholarship as a fitting tribute to the memory of their classmate who continued to work in the school district where they grew up as a much-beloved kitchen employee — known to students as "Phil" — for 14 years.

The money raised in the days following the verdict adds to the over $45,000 that Central Honors Philando has raised in Castile's name since the shooting.

"It still feels like losing somebody in your larger family circle," Heukendorf says.

The first scholarship grant was awarded to Marques Watson-Taylor, a 2017 Central graduate who the group selected based on an application that the committee felt accorded with Castile's background and values.

Philando Castile's mother Valerie, left, and sister Allysza with scholarship recipient Marques Watson-Taylor. Photo by Central Honors Philando/Facebook.

The committee has raised over $45,000 since

The group was planning to kick off a fundraising campaign — culminating in an outdoor community event in August — for next year's award when the verdict came down.

"It was like, 'Oh, we’re back to square one,'" says Adrian Perryman, a member of the fundraising group whose older brother was a classmate of Castile's at Central High School in St. Paul.

"This is a way for people to help out in a sort of different way, to grieve as well as give back."
— Adrian Perryman

After a brief statement on Facebook condemning the verdict, donations to Central Honors Philando began pouring in organically — enough within one week to finance next year's scholarship.

The group still plans to hold the fundraising event in August, which will include food, art projects, and performances in memory of Castile's life.

Attendees at last year's fundraising event listen to a musical performance. Photo by Central Honors Philando/Facebook.

In addition to those events, the group will honor individuals who work behind the scenes to support local schools, inspired by Castile's dedication to the district's students.

All proceeds from the event will support the scholarship, with the goal of helping more Central High students take the next step in their education.

"Not everybody wants to protest," Perryman explains. "Not everybody is able to do certain things. Not everybody can camp out at their elected official's office all week and whatnot, so this is a way for people to help out in a sort of different way, to grieve as well as give back."

Devastated but not defeated by his case's resolution, Castile's neighbors may yet get justice by establishing a small semblance of it for the next generation.

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