When Marc Prensky, an American writer, introduced the term "digital natives" in a 2001 article, he proposed a clear distinction between those born into the digital age and those who had to learn and adapt to digital technologies. Since then, the terminology has expanded: we now hear of digital immigrants, nomads and tribes — each reflecting different relationships with our rapidly evolving technological world.
At first glance, today’s young generations seem to fit the mold. Instagram stories flash across the screen, demanding attention; TikTok videos compress complex ideas into seconds, often offering little lasting value. Online or mobile gaming isn't just a pastime but a habitat. Travel and self-care trends are curated online, liked and shared. Homework? One Google/Naver search, a YouTube tutorial, a prompt to ChatGPT — and it’s done. Yet beneath this surface-level fluency lies a paradox: mastery of digital tools does not equate to mastery of thought or an authentic sense of learning. After all, being skilled in media use or shopping platforms does not necessarily make one discerning, reflective, or resilient.
That said, generational labels like "digital natives" or "Generation Z" can help identify broad social patterns. They can guide schools and educators in designing relevant curricula. For example, it's often claimed that digital natives are liberated from rote memorization and traditional knowledge-based schooling. However, memorization is widely regarded as essential by learning scientists. It enables students to retrieve, combine and build upon knowledge. If we abandon memory because "AI can remember for you," we risk losing literacy. The result could be a classroom divided — not only by ability, but by access to AI tools and the ability to think critically about their use, potentially widening educational inequalities.
In “The Anxious Generation,” Jonathan Haidt warns that smartphones and social media are rewiring children’s brains. Constant screen exposure increases the risk of dependency, as their brains demand ever more dopamine-triggering content. The consequences? Shortened attention spans, diminished tolerance for complex stories and weakened empathy. Children immersed in short-form media may struggle to process long texts or to interpret emotional subtleties in relationships. These concerns have prompted governments across the globe to restrict or ban smartphone use among children. But meaningful reform demands more than bans — it requires strong civic literacy, critical thinking and the ability to separate fact from disinformation.
So it’s quite troubling to hear that resistance to smartphone bans in classrooms is framed as a matter of student rights. Allowing unrestricted smartphone use during instruction is akin to handing out soda and YouTube to pacify a public tantrum. Public education must stand for more than appeasement.
On the other hand, generational narratives can be misleading. As Rebecca Eynon of the University of Oxford explains, technology use exists on a spectrum shaped by education, gender and socioeconomic context — not by catchy metaphors. Nature once published a piece titled "Homo zappiens," only to conclude that the so-called tech-savvy generation may not differ significantly from those before them.
Also, politicians and marketers often capitalize on generational branding. Millennials prefer this, Gen Z buys that and Gen Alpha wants something else. These sweeping claims obscure more serious divides — particularly within age groups — related to education, income and opportunity. Sociologist Jin-Wook Shin of Chung-Ang University argues that viewing inequality solely through an age-based lens distracts from the deepening class-based divisions within each generation. These dynamics reflect recurring patterns of human society.
Good educators already know this. They refuse to reduce students to simplistic categories. Instead of assuming that every child is a digital native, we should resist untested assumptions. Not all teens thrive through gamified learning or digital platforms. Educators must engage students as individuals. What young people need most are not brainwave-monitoring headsets or VR goggles, but real human connection: authentic stories, lasting friendships, play and a sense of belonging.
Ultimately, embracing the uniqueness of each student is essential. Imagine youth as a forest — almost uniform from a distance, but filled with quiet variation: moss growing in shade, early-turning maples and slender saplings reaching for the sky. Algorithms trained on averages may predict, "green today, perhaps green — or not — tomorrow," but human educators perceive the nuance. They notice the outliers, the overlooked, the quietly flourishing. That ability to truly see and nurture others lies at the heart of teaching.
This attentive seeing — this honoring of complexity — is the true work of education. It ensures that no learner, regardless of digital fluency, is overlooked. In an era increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence, let us recommit to fostering community, honoring diversity and upholding dignity. I believe overinvesting in AI while underinvesting in teachers, students and all members of the school community undermines the core of education. We must invest not just in tools, but in people.
Lim Woong
Lim Woong is a professor at the Graduate School of Education at Yonsei University in Seoul. The views expressed here are the writer’s own. — Ed.
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