Portugal’s School Phone Ban and the Question of AI in Schools
In a quiet but decisive move, Portugal has drawn a digital line in the sand: mobile phones will be banned in schools up to the 6th grade. What began as a pilot program, underpinned by data showing dramatic drops in bullying and classroom disruption, has crystallised into national policy. Now, from the coastlines of Cascais to the rural valleys of Trás-os-Montes, children under twelve will learn, play, and socialise without the buzz of notifications or the glow of a screen in their pockets.
The logic is simple, and in many ways irrefutable: removing smartphones from primary education environments significantly reduces antisocial behaviour. A government-commissioned study found a 59% fall in bullying and a 57% drop in class disruption in schools that enforced a full ban. These numbers are not marginal gains—they are seismic shifts in the daily rhythms of school life.
The Case for Silence
St. Julian’s School, Lisbon’s venerable British institution, has long been ahead of the curve. It instituted its ban a decade ago, reportedly with great success. “The key is fewer distractions and more conversation,” says Deputy Head Caroline Cullen. “It encourages children to engage with each other.”
And therein lies the philosophical crux of the issue: what kind of social beings are we raising? Face-to-face interaction, many educators argue, is not a luxury but a cognitive necessity—especially in the formative years before adolescence. Experts like Paula Cardoso of the National Teachers Association warn that screen time, particularly in the early stages of development, can erode social fluency and delay emotional maturity.
The implications go beyond discipline. At São Pedro secondary school near Porto, teachers report that students now walk the halls rather than scroll through them. “It’s very sad to walk down the corridors and see children glued to their phones,” says administrator Susana Gama. “They should be talking, interacting.”
This echoes findings across Europe. France, Finland, and Norway have all implemented restrictions to similar ends. But Portugal’s law is broader, extending to both public and private institutions. And while it currently targets only primary education, its moral message is unambiguous: in the early years, childhood must be protected from the omnipresence of the digital.
A Generation with (Generative) AI in Its Pocket
However, the conversation cannot end with phones. We are living in the era of generative AI, where tools like ChatGPT and others are reshaping the educational landscape. In contrast to the binary on/off logic of a phone ban, the question of AI in schools is far more nuanced.
AI tools can be tutors, translators, co-authors, and even therapists. They can scaffold learning in ways that were unimaginable a decade ago. But they can also be crutches, tempting young learners into intellectual passivity. In primary schools—where the foundations of inquiry, attention, and self-regulation are being laid—such tools risk replacing formative struggle with instant gratification.
To be clear, generative AI is not the enemy. When introduced thoughtfully, it can enrich project-based learning and personalise education. But for children under twelve, whose executive functioning is still under construction, the cognitive costs of early AI exposure may outweigh the benefits. The danger is not that AI will replace human teachers, but that it will shortcut the very developmental processes education is meant to foster.
What Is Lost?
Despite the compelling data, critics warn against a technophobic overcorrection. Some educators fear the ban sends a message that digital literacy is inherently dangerous, rather than a skill to be cultivated. In a world where digital fluency is crucial, should schools not also be the laboratories for ethical and responsible tech use?
Others point to equity: for students in underserved communities, school may be the only reliable place to access the internet. And while the Portuguese law makes exceptions for educational use, its enforcement will inevitably vary, raising questions about consistency and fairness.
There is also a generational blind spot. Adults enforcing these bans often fail to appreciate the extent to which digital life has become social life. Cutting off phones may reduce bullying in its traditional form, but it doesn’t necessarily address the culture of exclusion or peer pressure, now displaced to online spaces after school hours.
A Lesson for All of Us
Still, the ban forces a reckoning. As societies, we must ask whether our embrace of connectivity has come at the cost of attention, empathy, and interpersonal resilience. The Portuguese model suggests that, at least in the early years, the answer is yes.
What emerges from this policy is not nostalgia, but intentionality. Childhood, especially before the storm of adolescence, must be curated with care. Silence, boredom, spontaneous conversation—these are not bugs in the educational system. They are features of human development.
The question is not whether technology belongs in schools, but when and how. Portugal’s phone ban doesn’t close that conversation; it dignifies it. And for that, it deserves our full attention.