Darsh Mirchandani
Thirty pupils, unburdened by human instruction, sit in monastic silence, each married to a glowing screen, their thoughts harmonized with the almighty Paper.
It is a melancholy object to those who stroll through the halls of our schools, or glance despairingly at the mounting figures in the district budget, to behold the classrooms crowded with live, breathing, talking teachers, creatures of flesh and union contract, insisting on their salaries, their planning periods, their “mental health” days and other extravagances. These instructors, instead of silently grading assignments at scale, are often seen speaking to students in full sentences, drawing on whiteboards, or worst of all, engaging in unsanctioned and unproductive encouragement.
I think it is agreed by all parties that this staggering number of teachers, unquantifiable, for no two educational agencies can agree on the same metric, is a grievous burden upon the modern school system, the taxpayer and the child who dares ask a question not covered in the state curriculum. Therefore, whoever could devise a method to entirely eliminate this inefficiency, replacing it with a faster, cheaper and more sterile alternative, would rightly deserve a statue erected beside the cafeteria vending machine, as a preserver of both student productivity and district profit margins.
But my intention is not merely to provide for the education of the elite few whose parents can afford private tutoring bots with platinum subscriptions; it is of much broader scope and shall extend to all youth, gifted, average and otherwise, who suffer daily the inefficiency of human interaction.
As to my own part, having spent many sleepless afternoons scrolling through LinkedIn posts and fretting over standardized test scores, I have at last arrived at a scheme so ingenious, so unburdened by nuance, so devoid of soul, that I am confident it will win the universal applause of administrators, ed-tech investors and that fellow in the corner office with the MBA and zero classroom experience.
I do therefore humbly offer it to public consideration: that henceforth all teachers be humanely dismissed, preferably before tenure, and that in their place the entire nation be instructed solely through the Paper education app.
This app, as I am told by the most reliable advertisements, is available 24/7, never demands a pension and can simultaneously serve the needs of up to six million students without the inconvenience of restroom breaks, existential crises or sarcastic remarks in the faculty lounge.
The advantages of this system are, I confess, too many to number, but I shall attempt to enumerate a few for the edification of the skeptical.
Firstly, it would immediately solve the problem of teacher shortages, by ensuring there are no teachers left to be short of.
Secondly, it would eliminate the great inequality between passionate, experienced educators and those who are merely keeping their resumes warm. For the Paper app, in its blessed impartiality, treats all learners with the same prompt: “How can I help you today?”
Thirdly, students will at last be free from the unpredictable nature of human educators, their mood swings and infuriating tendency to go “off-topic” in the name of critical thinking. With Paper, every lesson is on-topic. Permanently.
Fourthly, it shall greatly reduce school expenditures on chalk, whiteboard markers, motivational posters and other unnecessary tools of engagement. Paper, needing neither classroom nor windows, may be deployed in broom closets, basements, or any other underused district square footage.
Fifthly, students will be assessed with perfect fairness, never again suffering under the tyranny of partial credit, teacher bias, or compassionate grading. For Paper does not know pity. Paper knows the rubric.
Now, it may be objected by some sentimentalists that teachers offer irreplaceable benefits: mentorship, empathy, spontaneous humor and the capacity to notice when a child is quietly falling apart. But I must ask, can these qualities be monetized? Can compassion be downloaded? If not, we must dismiss it, as we do all things that cannot be easily charted on a dashboard.
I have likewise heard it muttered that many students, particularly those of the lower sort, are already disengaged from learning and that placing them alone with a screen shall only hasten their academic demise. To this I answer: perhaps, but think of the savings.
It may also be whispered that teachers contribute to the intellectual development of our democracy, foster civic values and preserve the cultural memory of our people. To this I say: we have YouTube now.
In time, entire school buildings may be repurposed, converted into data centers, podcast recording studios, or silent meditation pods for overworked district superintendents.
I have too long digressed and must return to my central proposal: let every school in this district and perhaps elongated island without delay, substitute its entire instructional staff with the Paper app and a single IT technician to ensure the Wi-Fi does not collapse under the weight of our collective ambition.
In so doing, we shall achieve the highest ideal of modern education: total efficiency, maximum scalability and zero awkward eye contact.
Let no man talk to me of other expedients, of reducing class sizes, raising teacher pay, valuing the arts or funding counselors, till he hath first calculated the profit margin of replacing his child’s educator with an outsourced labor.
As for myself, I declare with the utmost sincerity, I have no stake in this proposal; I am neither employed by Paper, nor by any competing ed-tech conglomerate (though I have applied for an unpaid internship with Pearson). I propose this solely for the benefit of the publick, and for the eternal outsourcing of the teaching profession.