Why are we banning phones in our school?

In the early 1960s, when my parents were in high school, they were given free packs of cigarettes on trays in the cafeteria. For tobacco companies, this made sense: where better to find new customers than in schools where students had not yet acquired brand loyalty as children? It’s hard to fathom in 2024.

I believe future generations will look back with the same disbelief at our acceptance of phones in schools. The research is clear: The dramatic rise in anxiety, depression, and suicide among teens correlates closely with the widespread adoption of smartphones over the past 15 years. While the cause and effect is a matter of debate, as a school principal for 14 years, I know what I’ve seen: unrestricted phone use in schools is harming our kids. It’s making them less connected, less attentive, less resilient, and less happy. As social psychologist Jonathan Haidt wrote for this magazine, smartphone-based lives “alter or disrupt multiple developmental processes.” It’s time to get phones out of schools.

Read: Throw phones out of schools now

At the entrance to our high school is an amphitheater we call the Forum. This space serves as a living room, dining room, library, and community square. During school day celebrations, I often stand on top of the Forum and observe our students in their natural habitat. A group of sophomores play hacky sack in one corner, while a lone senior leans against the wall and reads Moby-Dickwith highlighter in hand. Students share pizza. The duo prepares for an upcoming chemistry test. It’s a hive of activity — one of our school’s visitors described the atmosphere as “intellectual crackling.”

That was a decade ago. I still do my rounds, and yes, a lot of the above activity still happens on the Forum, but it’s drowned out by students staring at their phones. Students sit next to each other. They might even interact with each other. But increasingly, their attention is focused on their screens. The sight of phones taking over the Forum is like seeing a bark beetle infestation in a forest. At first, only one or two trees show signs of damage. And then, before you know it, the forest is a less healthy, less vibrant place than it once was.

I’ve seen students who struggle to make friends but haven’t learned how to do so because they might retreat into the short-term safety of their phones rather than tolerate the discomfort that often precedes finding a way to talk. I’ve seen the spontaneity that makes school fun disappear as students become less sensitive to what’s going on around them. I’ve seen our community weaken because of the ubiquity of phones.

Good conversations are hard—they’re messy and complex, demanding attention and listening. Phones are training our students to shift their gaze from the person they’re talking to to glance at a new text message or Snapchat. They’re privileging simplistic dichotomies that can garner “likes” over nuanced understandings that require the patience to return to the subject again and again, suspending judgment. They’re undermining the very skills we want to teach: the capacity to engage deeply, to hold complexity, to build meaningful community.

I am no Luddite—I believe in the power of technology to enrich our lives. And yet, I believe that those responsible for children’s well-being can no longer ignore the reality that phones in schools do more harm than good—distracting students, isolating them, and creating unhealthy echo chambers that undermine critical thinking.

To be clear, adults are not setting a good example. In my high school graduation speech a few years ago, I encouraged our students to put down their phones. Their parents applauded. And then, without a moment’s hesitation, the students shouted, “Put down yours!” We, too, are often glued to our devices, distracted during meals, at sporting events, and standing in line. Adults would do well to set their own limits on phone use.

Read: Schools That Ban Smartphones

Some argue that phones prepare students for the pressures of our digital world—one they’ll have to navigate anyway. Even if that’s true—and I’m not sure it is—it’s an unintended side effect that comes at the cost of building community. Others argue that in an era of school shootings, it’s important for parents to be able to reach their children at any time. When we practice lockdown drills, as we do in most schools, our safety team instructs students to be quiet—to mute themselves and put their phones away. School shootings are becoming increasingly common and terrifying. At the same time, far more young people die by suicide each year than in school shootings.

While I understand the parental need for immediate and constant communication with their child, protecting their mental health is far more urgent than watching them. (In fact, developmentally appropriate freedom from parental supervision is essential for healthy adolescence—but that’s a topic for another day.) And giving them a break from technology so they can connect more deeply with themselves and others is one key way to protect their mental health.

In a world where information is readily available and artificial intelligence is advancing at a dizzying pace, schools must focus on teaching attention, dealing with ambiguity, encouraging independent thought, and cultivating community. These essential tasks are made more difficult by phones, which fragment attention and undermine our ability to truly connect.

Our school already prohibits phones for kindergarten through eighth grade, and starting this fall, we will no longer allow phones in high school. I expect some of our students (and even some parents) will protest this change vigorously. Yet I believe most will embrace it, finding their school experience to take on new depth and vitality.

For a long time, children around the world have been the guinea pigs in a dangerous experiment. The results are in. We need to take phones out of schools. Let’s reclaim our school spaces and ensure that our students learn not only from their devices, but from each other and the world around them. So much of the magic of childhood happens in the community. We can’t deprive our children of this gift.