Teachers remember certain school years for certain reasons. Perhaps a massive event rocked the world in ways that sent reverberations into our classrooms. Or maybe the change was more local, like a sudden shift in school funding that necessitated unexpected cutbacks. I, for one, will always remember my 2023–24 school year being split into two distinct phases: pre-May 1, when my students were in possession of cell phones in class versus post-May 1, when the same students were not.
Many teachers have been troubled by students’ cell phone use in classrooms. This unease and frustration may be tough to discuss openly, especially if our professional circles are proudly “technology-forward.” We might be worried colleagues will think we are Luddites resisting progress or that they will respond to our concerns by arguing some version of, “If only your classes were more interesting, or if you were more student-centered, your kids wouldn’t feel the need to scroll TikTok.” We might also be afraid of broaching the subject with students’ parents, who often have paid good money for these devices and have come to expect unbroken, instantaneous contact with their children.
So many of us just soldier on quietly and alone, doing the best we can with individualized classroom policies. For years, I was proud of my own gentle, communication-centered approach to managing student phones. Day one, I would tell students:
If I see you using your phone inappropriately, I’m going to discreetly ask you to put it away. I’m not going to make a big deal of it and embarrass you, I’m just going to wave my hand. If I see your phone again, I’ll put my hand out. Give it to me. I’ll put it on my desk, and you can take it back after class.
Then crucially, I added:
It’s super hard for some of us to keep our phones away when we need to work. I’m never going to take it personally. The only thing I’m gonna take personally is if you cuss me out or try to blow up the moment and embarrass me.
The point was clear. And until a few years ago, it worked. Occasionally I would take a phone, and the kid would be pretty respectful about it. Then we’d move on about our business of teaching and learning. It felt like a kind, measured, and human way to handle the issue.
So many parent-advisor or parent-teacher conferences ended with adults telling students that they needed to manage their phones better in class.
But in the past few years, and especially post-pandemic, the same routine and procedures started to become less effective. I would ask a student to put their phone away, and they would. But unlike previous years, I’d soon see that same phone back in the student’s hands within a matter of seconds. As I walked over to discreetly take it, I would then notice that four more students were pulling their own phones out. The procedure would start again, and again, multiple phones at various stops on the road to my desk. A procedure that used to take minimal time and energy began to use up a significant portion of my classroom management capital.
I continued to not take it personally. I was more concerned about the practical impact on students’ work and their grades. Students would get multiple days to complete big writing projects in class. But the same work periods that, a few years ago, were enough to get most of a project done, were now not. And it wasn’t just my class. So many parent-advisor or parent-teacher conferences throughout my school ended with adults telling students that they needed to manage their phones better in class.
A colleague and I decided, despite the aforementioned fears, to discuss this issue candidly with each other. Our conversations kept coming back to one idea: it was no longer enough to ask kids to appropriately split their attention between their learning and various social media algorithms. To truly focus during class, students needed to be separated from their phones and constant notifications.
We knew if we were going to do this, the entire grade-level team would have to join us, so none of us would be the one “mean teacher.” Luckily, it turned out that every 9th grade teacher was eager to try the policy. So, we emailed families to explain that starting May 1, we’d ask students to check their phones for any important messages at the beginning of class, put their phones in a central location, such as the teacher’s desk, and pick them up at the end of class. If students needed phones as learning tools, fine, they could go get them—with permission.
We expected at least a little pushback from parents. We got none. We did, however, get a lot of responses that essentially said, “Finally!”
They knew that when a problem arose with their work—when things got hard—it was easier to infinitely scroll than it was to productively struggle.
On May 1, anticipating my students’ pushback, my general message was that someone must be an adult. If they were hitting themselves with a stick, I would take the stick away. This message resonated with kids in ways that I honestly had not expected. A lot of them, while grumpy, also knew that it was getting too hard to focus during class with notifications vibrating constantly in their pocket. They knew that when a problem arose with their work—when things got hard—it was easier to infinitely scroll than it was to productively struggle. Despite a couple of hiccups on the second day (a few students brought second phones, and I teased them for having “burners”), the procedure went smoothly.
And you know what? It was great! Students’ production during work periods went back to what I was seeing from 2006–2016. I was also able to hold on to much more of my classroom management capital, as almost none of our interactions were about managing (and taking) students’ phones. And then there were the ancillary benefits, the best of which involved repairing the connective tissue between students. During free moments in class, students who a week ago would disappear into their phones now started playing cards, drawing on the board, and cracking each other up with stories and jokes. More than a few of them openly admitted that the policy had been a success.
I will always remember 2023–24 as the year that an honest conversation between colleagues about a difficult problem led to a practical solution that, frankly, has me more excited about 2024–25 than I have been about a school year in a long time.
