I want to thank Mathis Bitton and Jack Sadler for their well-researched and thought-provoking investigation into the effects of the proliferation of educational technology over the last few decades. I was especially fascinated by the public-school system’s relationship with ed tech, the history of the complex (and apparently political) explosion of ed-tech companies, and the data surrounding educational outcomes, specifically regarding middle-school classrooms.

As a teacher at a private Jewish high school in New York City with a low student-to-teacher ratio and a far healthier approach to technology than what Bitton and Sadler describe, much—but far from all—of what they say resonated with me. But perhaps of more interest than my own experience are the reactions of the fifteen high-school students with whom I shared the article. I was surprised, in discussing it with them, to find how many points of agreement there were among us regarding some of the authors’ arguments. When it comes to screen usage and recreational social media, I’ve found that teenagers tend to take very different positions from the adults they know, often in ways that go against the data. Regarding ed tech, however, they felt much more like me—and like the authors of the article.

While both I and my students thought the authors somewhat overstated the challenge with their dystopian portrait of depersonalizing high-tech education, we also realized that our own experiences might be exceptional. Our school banned laptops from the classroom years ago. And none of us felt that we had experienced the “downright destruction of teaching as a vocation,” that “technology has fundamentally warped the role of the teacher, and the quality and purpose of education,” that the digital classroom has created an “entire generation incapable of writing without a keyboard, adding without a calculator,” and so forth, or that “teachers have been ‘re-classed as consultants.’” (In my opinion, other factors besides technology are at play in diminishing the supply of capable teachers.)

That being said, we agreed with the basic premise that screen-mediated learning has serious drawbacks. This was a lesson widely learned during the coronavirus pandemic, which, paradoxically, accelerated the pace of the ed-tech revolution. The experience clearly and unequivocally revealed to parents and teachers what we had suspected from the early stages of remote learning: it stinks. It revealed this to students as well. My pupils nostalgically remember the days of going to school (that is, sitting in front of their computer screens) in their pajamas, but also unanimously acknowledge that remote learning was ineffective, boring, and devoid of everything that makes the classroom compelling—that it purged all passion from learning. Every student was doing something else during class, and usually had three other screens open. That’s just what these screen-obsessed sixteen-year-olds admitted. Imagine what they didn’t want to tell me.

Not having to get up early to catch a bus, not to mention scrolling through TikTok and playing video games during class, might sound like fun, but nobody wanted to go back. “Thank God that’s over,” was the students’ universal sentiment. It’s not just that the pandemic set children back in terms of learning outcomes; the experience of school itself became less appealing.

The students acknowledged other points as well. Sheepishly but unequivocally, they agreed with the neuroscientist Jared Horvath (cited by Bitton and Sadler) that a laptop in the classroom is a “large and unnecessary obstacle” to their own learning. Likewise, they nodded along to the authors’ argument that taking notes on a screen degrades both their handwriting and their relationship with the content. They intuitively understood what extensive research has now demonstrated: that typing content does not allow it to enter the brain in the same way as writing it out. One student also pointed out that when taking notes on the computer, she is fast enough to get down everything the teacher says; in taking notes by hand, she is forced to filter the information and decide what is most important.

The clear takeaway, then, is to get laptops out of classrooms and shun remote learning. But what about other uses of screens? How can administrators and principals be convinced to adopt these policies? What about the complex commercial bureaucratic interests that have brought screens into the classroom? And finally, as I mentioned to my students during our discussion, what about the broader civilizational and cultural issues at stake?

First, administrators and principals should try to figure out exactly how computers are being used. There are, broadly speaking, two approaches. One is to teach via the screen, as exemplified by the notion of the “flipped classroom” that recently had its moment of popularity. Traditionally, instruction happened in class, and afterward students would go home and complete assignments about the material, or in preparation for the next day’s lesson. The flipped classroom, based on the claim that lectures are ineffective, has students learn material through online lessons and recorded lectures (like Khan Academy), and use the classroom to discuss and to complete assignments while the teacher can help them. The experience of the pandemic alone should make us wary of this teaching style, let alone all the other evidence mustered by Bitton and Sadler.

The other, more widespread, approach involves using computers to supplement off-screen learning. For instance, during class a student with a laptop can look up a reference, or watch a movie clip that will then be discussed, or use an interactive map to understand what’s being taught. Homework assignments, as Bitton and Sadler explain at length, can be not just computerized but algorithmically tailored to the student. Here, both teachers and administrators must ask themselves some tough questions about trade-offs. Do the sorts of benefits that come with in-class computer use outweigh the myriad distractions? Or do these uses serve more as gimmicks than enhance students’ intellectual experience? Is online homework really more valuable than writing with paper and pencil? Does recording a class so as to be able to “look back on it later” just provide an excuse not to pay attention?

Administrators who have pushed, or even ordered, teachers to use these technologies should be asking these questions. Perhaps more importantly still, they need to ask both teachers and parents what they think about them. And unhappy parents should be aware of schools like my own that have successfully enforced the laptop-free classrooms.

While I have so far focused primarily on computers used by students, it’s also worth paying attention to the technologies used by teachers: primarily PowerPoint slideshows and smartboards (high-tech blackboards). I wouldn’t advocate getting rid of either, but teachers must be more careful about how they use them. When a teacher throws a digital chart in front of the students, they respond differently than when the teacher takes a marker (or, once upon a time, a piece of chalk) and draws and labels the rows and columns by hand. The latter method might be slower and messier, but it allows students to observe the process of thinking about the categories and their relationships, rather than simply looking at a finished product. The teacher can also use the opportunity to involve the students in the process. Just as writing by hand can be instructive, so can watching the teacher write by hand.

None of this is to say that PowerPoint presentations and smartboards should be banned from the classroom. Displaying images and quotations can be a useful tool, but if used thoughtlessly or excessively it can serve as a crutches or distraction for teachers. Smartboards are also expensive, and it’s not at all clear that, when resources are limited, buying these for every classroom is the best use of funds. Is the ability to use something that, most of the time, is little more than a glorified slide projector worth cutting costs elsewhere?

Another increasingly pervasive trend is the use of e-books and online reading assignments. Do students gain as much from such digital texts as printed ones? And does the mere requirement to bring a book or handout to class help develop important habits of responsibility and organization—what educational psychologists call executive functioning? Does taking notes digitally really work as effectively as underlining or making marginal notations? I don’t know if there is empirical research on these questions, but they are worth asking.

And there is yet another problem with technology that ought not be ignored: it breaks. Glitches and malfunctions are most likely in schools with limited budgets. What happens when a student’s laptop dies, a smartboard won’t turn on, a bad Internet connection prevents a teacher from accessing a PowerPoint, or an essay or exam doesn’t save? We’ve all been there. Are we overly dependent on these technologies to the extent that teachers and students are unequipped or unprepared to run an effective classroom in these situations? Does the lesson fall apart? Should exam results be nullified? Do we really want schools that can’t function due to a temporary power outage?

At the end of the day, good teachers, and thoughtful students, understand that the classroom should be a place of robust dialogue, respectful argument, and interactive, live engagement. Here I would suggest a golden rule of ed tech: classroom technology should serve to support old-fashioned learning based on human interaction, never to replace it. A teacher should be neither a “guide on the side” nor a “sage on the stage,” to use the false dichotomy favored by ed-tech evangelists. Teachers, at their best, are thoughtful and knowledgeable conductors of passionate and nuanced conversation. They don’t merely convey information or build skills, but create environments of empathy, intellectual curiosity, and grit. Teachers support students while pushing them to their limits. To do that effectively, we must understand our students’ learning profiles, personal and educational backgrounds, abilities (or inabilities) to push themselves just a bit further, and need to be understood. Can an algorithm provide that kind of “personalized learning”? Thankfully, not yet.