My teaching tenure of almost three decades, mostly teaching seniors about civics, has overlapped with the rise of trends now engulfing our educational system: I have watched my students embrace smartphones, social media, online learning and now artificial intelligence, writes Jeremy S. Adams, author of “Hollowed Out: A Warning About America’s Next Generation,” and a Founding Member of SCREENWISE SCHOOLS, in an essay in The 74.
But recently I have noticed something I never expected.
Many of my more thoughtful and honest students are becoming critics of the very technologies that shaped them. They are tired of the slop. Tired of content created by code. They say they are repelled by the prospect of an AI friend or romantic partner.
They prefer a lively class discussion to an online activity. They resent teachers who use AI to grade their papers. And they admit their use of technology is a hurdle to becoming the educated Americans they know they should become.
They speak almost like addicts.
They don’t want to be on their phones eight or nine hours a day. They don’t want to use AI to complete their assignments and short-circuit their ability to learn and grow. They know their attention span is stunted.
But in so many circumstances, they simply can’t resist. These observations may sound anecdotal. Let me assure you, they are not.
The generation that grew up on iPhones, spending much of every waking hour online, now seems to be awakening to the perils of a digital world neither they nor their parents fully understood.
These young people are increasingly lending their voices to a growing chorus of educators, parents and policymakers who have begun to realize a painful truth: There is no quick technological fix for the crises consuming the modern American classroom.
Chronic absenteeism, collapsing literacy and numeracy, emotional distress and a generation-long erosion in students’ ability to concentrate all demand a fundamental reassessment of the role screens now play in the educational lives of our children.
A generation ago, young Americans had access to a diverse chorus of influential adult voices that tethered them to the mighty responsibilities and possibilities of adult life. Children lived with two parents, numerous siblings and often spent considerable time with grandparents. Life exposed young minds to a faith tradition with pastors and priests on Sundays, sports activities with coaches after school and maybe Boy Scout or Girl Scout leaders as well.
Many of these voices are silent today.
This is why — especially in this era — the humanity of teachers and the personal vitality of our classrooms are essential. The voices of instruction our children hear should be the voices of teachers who know and care about their students — not Alexa, not Siri, not some anonymous digital interface designed to maximize engagement rather than human flourishing.
Eye contact. Conversation. Personal relationships. No code or product required.
The kids know this. The kids want this.
Shame on us if we fail to give it to them.
The 74
