A.I. in Education - We have no idea what we're doing

Last week, the International Society for Technology in Education (ISTE) conference was held in Denver, Colorado. For those in the ed-tech world, ISTE is the Kentucky Derby of conferences. If you're looking for classroom technology, you'll find it here – from tech giants like Microsoft to niche players like Quizizz.

This year's hot topic? You guessed it – Artificial Intelligence, or as some jokingly call it, Skynet... Keynote speakers like Sinead Bovell discussed AI's impact on the workforce and education, while self-proclaimed "#changeagent" teachers signed books about AI in the classroom. Nearly every ed-tech company now boasts AI features, promising to generate rubrics, presentations, tests, and even parent emails at the click of a button.

By a large margin, the most alarming development is software that can generate a rubric, upload it to AI, and then grade students' work. What's more concerning? The application or the unbridled excitement of teachers discovering this "superpower."

Admittedly, conferences like ISTE, regardless of industry, often serve up more fluff than substance. Most teachers in North America have never heard of ISTE and have little interest in AI. Why? Because many schools are still struggling with outdated technology. It's possible that AI might follow the path of the Internet – a fantastic tool that hasn't fundamentally changed day-to-day classroom activities.

This disconnect is what frustrates me most about education today. Scroll through the social media bios of ISTE attendees, and you'll find an endless parade of self-promotion. "Change makers," "AI experts," "inclusive leaders" – the list of trendy tags goes on. While these posters represent a small percentage of attendees, many are presenters or organizational representatives. They're the ones steering the conference and, by extension, shaping the narrative around education technology.

So, why should we care?

The danger lies in the growing gap between these self-promoting "Instagram educators" and the daily realities of schools across North America. Teaching, at its core, is the most artistic of blue-collar jobs. It requires intuition, a sense of "mana," as surfers might say. Each student arrives shaped intensely by their last 24 hours, and it takes a skilled educator to motivate and teach them effectively. Yet, teachers must also navigate government-mandated curricula and assessments, regardless of classroom dynamics.

AI proponents aim to streamline this process. "Look how easy it is to design a worksheet!" they boast. "Now you can spend more time with your students!" It sounds enticing, especially for educators seeking efficiency. But as readers of this website know, we must always ask ourselves: What is the true purpose of education?

The sobering reality is that 21st-century education resembles the art world more than the process-driven industrial model that AI experts insist on improving. Like art, education varies wildly across geographic and demographic lines. Some teach through a post-modern lens, others take a classical approach, and many develop their own unique style. Schools and districts approach learning differently too. From a bird's-eye view, it looks like we're throwing spaghetti at the wall and burning through funds in the process.

Research on effective teaching methods is limited and often biased (remember the multiple learning styles fiasco?). Education schools lack science-backed methodologies and face criticism for being overly political. We send new teachers into the world with a "good luck" and then wonder why they lean on activism.

This brings us to the crux of the issue: With so many inconsistencies in education, how can anyone claim to be an expert in AI's classroom applications? The self-aggrandizing educators who promote their expertise have been given too much leeway, and we're following marketing strategies rather than wisdom. We're witnessing the loss of generational teaching experience in real-time, leaving the industry without a post-mortem on their insights. They're old dinosaurs who can't survive in the new world, we say. 

We assume technology will fix our current problems, a notion that even forward-thinking Carl Sagan warned against: "We've arranged a society based on science and technology, in which nobody understands anything about science and technology."
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Perhaps we should heed Sagan's warning and remember that when it comes to technology in education, we have no idea what we're doing. It might be more effective to turn away from self-promotion, put the hard hat back on and focus on creating critical-thinking, life-long learners. It's not sexy, but it works.