Editor’s note: This essay is an entry in Fordham’s 2026 Wonkathon, which asked contributors to answer this question: “What rules should govern the uses of digital technology in schools—and who should set them?” Learn more.
More than a decade ago, when I served as CEO of Chicago Public Schools, we were already grappling with how technology could transform teaching and learning. I believed then, as I do now, that technology’s greatest potential lies not in the devices themselves, but in what they make possible for educators and students. Our focus was on technology-enabled learning, with pedagogy leading and technology playing a supporting role. Yet looking at the conversation unfolding in schools today, I worry we’ve lost sight of that distinction.
For years, schools operated under the assumption that tool fluency meant more progress. More devices, more software, more digital assignments. Now, the pendulum is swinging in the opposite direction. States are restricting cellphones, districts are reconsidering one-to-one devices, and parents are questioning how much of the school day their children should spend looking at screens. Much of this skepticism is warranted. But just as schools once embraced technology without sufficient evidence of its instructional value, we risk restricting it without distinguishing between technologies that support learning and those that undermine it.
Having worked on both sides of this challenge, first as a district leader and now alongside educators and researchers, I’ve come to believe that neither unrestricted adoption nor blanket prohibition constitutes a comprehensive technology strategy. The question shouldn’t be how much technology belongs in schools. It should be what we want students to learn, what we expect technology to do to support learning, how we know whether it’s working, and who is responsible for making those decisions.
Consider two students spending 30 minutes on a Chromebook. One is passively watching videos. The other is working through a challenging mathematics problem with a tool that identifies misconceptions, asks probing questions, and helps develop conceptual understanding. Both have spent 30 minutes on a screen. But their learning experiences are fundamentally different. A policy that treats them as equivalent misses the entire point.
Schools should distinguish between passive consumption and technology that supports active learning, critical thinking, and collaboration. They should also recognize that sometimes the most effective instructional tool is a pencil, a book, or simply a conversation. As a former district leader, I understand the appeal of a clear, enforceable rule. But a blanket screen-time limit is easier to write than a policy that meaningfully improves instruction. Particularly in early elementary grades, schools should prioritize hands-on learning, foundational literacy, and interpersonal interaction, using digital tools only when they serve a clear instructional purpose. Technology should never be the default simply because it is available.
The challenge is that schools have never had a particularly reliable way to distinguish effective technology from products that simply claim to be effective. Districts engage with thousands of educational technology products, each promising to improve learning. Yet purchasing decisions too often depend on persuasive demonstrations or the promise of innovation rather than independent evidence. We need to change the incentives.
Before purchasing or renewing a digital tool, districts should be required to answer five questions. What instructional problem are we trying to solve? What credible evidence and/or design suggest this tool will improve learning? Does it protect student data and meet diverse learning needs? What instructional time and educator effort will it require? And what measurable results would justify continuing to use it?
The EdTech Quality Collaborative has established a useful foundation through five quality indicators focused on safety, evidence, inclusion, usability, and interoperability. Independent verification can help districts make better decisions without requiring every school system to become its own research institution. But purchasing is only the beginning. Districts should partner with the provider around implementation, regularly examine student outcomes, educator feedback, usage, and costs, discontinuing tools that fail to demonstrate value.
I’ve seen what this looks like in practice. In Texas, Digital Promise worked with districts to design and evaluate AI-supported instructional pilots. In Aldine ISD, six middle schools piloting a literacy tool improved more on state assessments than the district’s nine other middle schools. The lesson wasn’t that every district should purchase the same technology. It was that intentional implementation, grounded in a clear instructional goal, matters enormously. If we expect evidence of learning from students, we should expect evidence of effectiveness from the technologies we put in front of them.
A sound approach also requires clarity about who makes which decisions. States should establish minimum standards for privacy, accessibility, transparency, and evidence-based procurement, while investing in shared evaluation resources and professional learning. Districts should determine which tools meet those standards, establish age-appropriate guidelines, and regularly evaluate whether their investments improve learning. School leaders should oversee implementation and create opportunities for educators and families to provide feedback. Teachers, meanwhile, must retain professional judgment over how approved technologies support instruction.
During my years leading school systems, one lesson became clear. Policy can establish the conditions for effective teaching, but it cannot substitute for the expertise of the educator standing in front of our students. That discretion must include flexibility for students with disabilities, multilingual learners, and those relying on assistive technologies. Rules intended to reduce unnecessary screen time should never become barriers to accessing instruction.
We must also consider equity. Students whose families can afford private tutors, enrichment programs, or emerging technologies will continue developing digital skills outside school. For students without those opportunities, school may be the only place to learn to engage with technology critically and responsibly. Restricting access without meaningful alternatives risks widening existing gaps.
None of these rules will succeed without investing in educators. We cannot continue purchasing sophisticated technologies while treating teacher preparation as an afterthought. Effective integration requires sustained professional learning and the ability to recognize when technology helps students think more deeply rather than simply produce answers faster.
Most importantly, as an industry, we should also acknowledge where we’ve fallen short before. We did not do enough to prepare young people to navigate social media. We allowed technologies to become embedded in their lives without ensuring they had the critical thinking skills and guidance to use them responsibly. We cannot repeat that mistake with the next generation of digital tools. The rules governing classroom technology should be neither a permission slip for endless experimentation nor a prohibition against innovation. Every tool must serve a defined learning purpose, meet clear standards, and demonstrate that it deserves the time, money, and attention it consumes.
For too long, we’ve measured educational progress by the technology schools acquire. It’s time to measure it by what students actually learn.
