It’s the first week of the semester at a typical college: twenty students, mostly freshmen, file into an English 101 Writing Composition class. Many have an AirPod in one ear, their attention split between the classroom and whatever their Spotify AI DJ thinks they want to hear. Some are scrolling through AI-selected ads for fast fashion, and at least one student’s phone erupts with a burst of TikTok audio before they hurriedly silence it. There’s no apology, no laughter—just a quiet, almost resigned acceptance of tech’s omnipresence. Welcome to the contemporary college classroom, where artificial intelligence is as much a part of the environment as the whiteboard or the syllabus.
According to The Conversation, this scene is all too familiar to educators across the country. The article, published December 12, 2025, features the perspective of a college professor who works at the intersection of humanities and AI. The professor is candid about the risks AI poses—not just to the value of a college education, but to the very fabric of human interaction. "AI not only threatens to devalue college, but it also risks stripping humanity from our lives altogether," the professor writes. Yet, they remain optimistic that the classroom can be a site of rehumanization, a place where students can develop the interpersonal skills they’ll need in an AI-augmented workforce.
This isn’t just about nostalgia for the days before smartphones. The stakes are higher now, as young adults prepare to enter a world where AI is embedded in nearly every aspect of work and life. As the professor puts it, "Young adults sit in college classes fully aware that an AI-infused workplace is just on the other side of graduation. But they – and everyone else – have little idea how best to prepare for it." The tension is palpable: Generation Z, often characterized by their screen time and the so-called "Gen Z stare," faces skepticism about their social skills. But the professor, a millennial themselves, is quick to point out that these challenges aren’t unique to one generation. "I too don’t know what to do with my hands at dinner parties and have to make a conscious effort to maintain eye contact," they admit. "Simply put: I teach what I wish I would have been taught."
So what does a rehumanized classroom look like? For this professor, it starts with a shift in mentality. Rather than viewing the classroom as a transactional space—an intermediary between the assignment creator (the professor) and the assignment doer (the student)—they advocate for a collaborative approach. "It’s us together in the battle against the midterm or final exam," the professor explains. This means breaking down the "us versus them" mentality that can so easily creep into academic life.
Central to this approach is the idea of constant, intentional social interaction. Forget the old standard of simply knowing each student’s name. The professor encourages students to engage with each other as peers and future colleagues. At the start of class, students are asked to share with a neighbor what was the most challenging question on the homework, what they did over the weekend, or even what they wished they had done. These seemingly small conversations often spark friendships and foster a sense of camaraderie. For example, Alex might lament that he wants to finish his English paper tonight but has to study for his tough biology test, only to discover that James is in the same lecture and shares his frustrations about the fast-talking Professor Smith. In these moments, the classroom becomes a microcosm of the professional world students will soon enter—a place where collaboration and mutual support are as important as individual achievement.
But it’s not just about chatting with classmates. The professor places a premium on public speaking and the ability to articulate ideas in front of a group. In their writing-intensive classes, students still turn in term papers and receive grades—sometimes with a little help from AI tools like ChatGPT. But the real focus is on understanding the material well enough to present it to others. Each student spends a week giving a short five- to ten-minute presentation on topics ranging from the environmental impact of fast fashion to the ethics of factory farming. "For those brief moments of positive peer pressure as the students stand at the front of the class, it doesn’t matter that ChatGPT helped with the commas, did the googling or even wrote the entire conclusion because ‘I was just getting too tired,’" the professor notes. "What matters is the students’ ability to look a group of 20 peers in the eye and bring the private work of thinking, writing and sometimes even chatbot-prompting into the public sphere."
This approach acknowledges that AI is here to stay—and that students will inevitably use it. The key question is what they do after the AI has done its part. Do they question the AI’s output? Do they revise it, decide it’s not quite right, and try again? That’s the work that matters, the professor argues. "To me, it’s the difference between turning something in and actually turning something over — in your mind, in your hands, to the people around you. That’s what makes it real. What makes it theirs. What makes it college."
By the twelfth week of the semester, the results of this approach are clear. Students are engaged in animated small-group discussions on topics like "the value of adapting AI-augmented practices into your daily life." When the professor tries to bring the class back together, no one wants to stop talking. It’s a small but significant victory—a sign that the classroom has become a space where students are learning to be human again, even as they prepare for a future shaped by artificial intelligence.
This trend isn’t limited to higher education. According to reporting from Dayton Daily News, similar shifts are underway in K-12 schools, particularly in the Dayton area. For the 2025-26 school year, experts are highlighting two major forces reshaping education: pandemic-related learning gaps and the growing debate over AI usage in classrooms. The pandemic left many students with significant gaps in their learning, and now educators are grappling with how to address those challenges while also navigating the opportunities and risks presented by AI technologies.
The intersection of these two forces—pandemic recovery and technological transformation—has created a period of rapid change for both students and teachers. As Dayton Daily News notes, "Dayton-area schools are experiencing major shifts this year." The integration of AI into educational settings is not without controversy, with ongoing debates about how much technology is too much, and how to ensure that students develop the human skills they’ll need in a world where machines can do so much of the work.
For many educators, the answer lies in finding a balance. AI can be a powerful tool for learning, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of social interaction, critical thinking, and the kind of personal growth that happens when students engage with each other and their teachers. The classroom, whether in college or K-12, remains a vital space for cultivating these skills—a place where students can learn not just what to think, but how to think, and perhaps most importantly, how to connect with others.
As the semester draws to a close, the professor reflects on the progress made: students who once sat in silence now can’t stop talking, debating, and sharing ideas. It’s a reminder that even in an age dominated by artificial intelligence, the most essential lessons are still deeply, stubbornly human.
