In an earlier post [on RIPS Law Librarian], Stephanie Grace argued against AI bans and warned that they can harm students. I see the value in that view. But other perspectives have merit, and many issues surrounding technology in the classroom don’t have an obvious answer. I am sympathetic to the University of Chicago Law School’s new AI policy. Unlike many readers, I suspect, my sympathy extends to its decision to restrict the use of personal devices in many 1L doctrinal courses.
I’ve thought a lot about this because I’ve struggled to figure out how technology fits into my classes. I know students often use their devices for things unrelated to class, especially during lectures. This doesn’t just distract the student using the device; it also distracts others nearby and sends the message that the class isn’t important. It’s hard to monitor device use while teaching, and I don’t think the solution is for me to try to be more entertaining. While AI isn’t the main reason for this problem, it does play a part. For example, last semester I stopped giving in-class ungraded TopHat quizzes because I suspected students were using chatbots to answer, since the correct response rate was unusually high.
When planning courses, we should consider where technology is most useful, rather than assuming that more access is always better.
This policy aims to achieve some important goals.
Much of the criticism I’ve seen downplays the stakes of what the policy is trying to accomplish. The policy rests on a claim about attention, noting that “[r]eliance on devices to take notes or assist with answering questions tends to inhibit reflection and reasoning,” and that “active, in-person engagement is conducive to learning.”
This raises a basic question about the purpose of in-person classes. Why do we come together in a classroom? If a doctrinal course were only about sharing information, it could be offered as a global MOOC or a regular online course. The real value of meeting in person isn’t for students to act as transcriptionists, typing everything out of fear it might be on the exam, which often happens when they are not busy using those same laptops as a source of distraction.
There are several ways to keep records of what happens in class.
People often say students need laptops to take notes, but there are many ways to keep track of class materials, and most don’t require a sea of faces hidden behind screens. The Chicago policy explicitly allows a professor to designate a student “scribe” to take notes for the class. Schools can also record classes and share the recordings, which often come with searchable transcripts. At my school, it’s up to the instructor to decide if non-accommodated students get recordings, and I always share them with everyone. I also share my own notes, both in print and on a course LibGuide. I started doing this after seeing a doctrinal colleague hand out notes at the end of a session and realizing there was no reason not to. What do we really want to assess: transcription skills or the ability to remember and use what was covered in class? If it’s the latter, having a reliable record only helps.
When you consider all these options, the situation looks different. Students can have their own handwritten notes, a scribe’s notes, a recording with a transcript, and the professor’s notes. With all this information, or even just some of it, is it really necessary for everyone to type their own notes? If not, we should ask what is lost in this approach. Using a bit less technology might not materially limit access to class documentation, but it could help everyone feel more present and focused together.
Concerns about handwriting might be exaggerated.
Another worry is that students can’t take notes by hand. I’m not so sure. I have been experimenting with paper-based, in-class assignments. At first, I brought lots of extra pens on the theory that some students would arrive unequipped for such an exotic exercise. There was no need. They generally had pens, and everyone managed just fine. I also think this concern may not last. It seems like paper-based assessments are becoming more common in high school and college as those schools deal with similar pressures from AI.
Having a single policy for all 1L courses makes sense.
I think it’s helpful to have one policy for all 1L doctrinal courses, rather than having each professor set their own rules. One reason is the familiar problem of student evaluations. An instructor who restricts devices absorbs the complaints by herself, which discourages experimentation. Another reason is fairness to students, who would otherwise have to follow different rules in each class and might feel it’s unfair if different sections have different policies.
So, what does this mean for my own courses?
None of this is directly relevant to my courses. Legal research classes aren’t the same as Socratic doctrinal courses. A blanket no-laptop rule would run counter to the purpose of my classes, which focus on hands-on activities and easy access to feedback. Still, it’s worth asking if there are activities where laptops and phones should be put away. Much of the legal research literature encourages researchers to “unplug” and think independently of database searching. There is a strong case for building those moments of deliberate disconnection in our teaching. This is especially important now that the NextGen bar will test “legal research” without using databases.
What about lectures? Do students really need their laptops open during lecture, given all the ways they can access course materials? Does the lecture even need to happen in class, or would a flipped-class model work better?
So, let’s talk about the laptop ban. It’s being introduced as a trial, and I don’t think every school needs to adopt it. Still, I believe it deserves respect as a thoughtful approach to learning design. At the center of this design process is the question: What is the purpose of coming together in a classroom?
Editor’s Note – This article is republished with permission of the author with first publication on RIPS Law Librarian.
