In “Verbum Ultimum: Make More Classrooms Device-Free,” the Editorial Board argues that banning laptops and phones “would be beneficial for all of our learning and mental health.” I understand the concern about distraction in class. However, for many disabled students, so-called “device-free” classrooms do not promote learning or focus. They exclude us from it. The Board claims that banning laptops and phones is “an easy, evidence-backed solution” for better learning. Easy for whom? Certainly not for disabled students who depend on technology for access and learning.
I live with both a brain injury and a spinal cord injury. My auditory processing is slower, and one of my hands is partially paralyzed. When I am required to take notes entirely by hand, I face an impossible choice: either concentrate on forming each letter legibly, or focus on processing the professor’s words quickly enough to understand them. My handwritten notes often end up incomplete, difficult to read and missing key information.
Using a laptop is not about convenience. It is a necessity that allows me to learn on equal footing with my peers. Through my computer, I can use assistive technologies such as voice-to-text software, accessible document formatting and digital note-taking tools. These same technologies have been shown to significantly improve academic outcomes for neurodivergent students. According to a 2024 article by The Shadow Project, tools like text-to-speech and digital organizers help students with ADHD, dyslexia and other learning differences stay focused, retain information and participate more fully in class discussions. These are not luxuries; they are legally protected accommodations under the Americans with Disabilities Act and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act. Professors cannot lawfully refuse them.
I’m not just calling for exceptions to a no-laptop policy. Banning tech makes disabled students feel different. When the rest of the class is told to close their laptops, students with disabilities are made to feel conspicuously different for using the very tools that make learning possible for us. What seems like a small policy choice carries heavy emotional weight. Being the only student allowed to keep a device open turns accessibility into spectacle, acting as an unspoken daily reminder that we don’t quite belong in the same way as everyone else. Over time, that kind of spotlighting erodes confidence, increases anxiety and reinforces the stigma that accommodations are a form of “special treatment” rather than equal access.
The Editorial Board also argues that a single laptop can distract students sitting behind it. If my open Google Doc of class notes is more distracting than the structural barriers that prevent equal access to education, that is not a reflection on me. It is a reflection of able-bodied discomfort with disability, disguised as concern for focus. It is exhausting to see technology portrayed as the enemy of learning, when for many of us, it is the only thing making learning possible. My “addictive device” is also my textbook reader, my notetaker, my hand and sometimes my voice. Reducing that to a symbol of academic decay is not only ignorant but cruel.
Technology can certainly be misused. But it can also be transformative. For many of us, it allows full participation in Dartmouth’s academic life. Instead of defaulting to bans, faculty should promote digital literacy, accessibility awareness and inclusive teaching practices. Technology in the classroom fosters collaboration, creativity and differentiated instruction, which benefits every student, not just those with accommodations.
Professors can and should encourage engagement and attention without penalizing students who rely on technology to learn.
When we talk about “collective action” to reclaim our attention, we must ensure that all members of that collective are included. A true academic community is built not by restricting access, but by ensuring that every student can participate fully.
If Dartmouth truly values inclusion, it must reject the idea that access is negotiable. A “device-free” classroom might feel peaceful to some, but for others, it is a locked door.
Opinion articles represent the views of their author(s), which are not necessarily those of The Dartmouth.
