In front of me, the U.S.-Canada Olympic hockey game plays on full screen. To my left, tabs cycle between course registration and Rate My Professors, cross-comparing classes and charting the next semester. To my right, a heated iMessage exchange chimes with a new paragraph every minute. The setting? My introductory economics lecture, at 1:30 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. The professor, engaging and passionate, urges us to examine a proposed model of growth displayed on the board. Silence greets her invitation for discussion. As I look around, not a single peer has lifted their gaze from laptop screens. Forget the common courtesy of eye contact. Some have entirely tuned out their senses, like the student two rows ahead who has been streaming a Netflix show with AirPods in for the entire semester. The scene is antithetical to the ideal of a college course at a rigorous university like Vanderbilt — an experience that should be marked by learning, engagement and discovery.  

Laptops, once thought to be a breakthrough innovation in classroom education, now create more issues than they solve. In a 2017 article, professor Susan Dynarski of the University of Michigan describes the complete technology ban in her classroom. Grounding her novel stance in research, the article provides evidence that electronic devices impair notetaking, distract students and reduce learning. Since then, there has been much debate and an uneven consensus among professors about the proper use of technology and the appropriate restrictions. 

Even as 26 states move to implement cellphone bans in middle and high schools as of early 2026, no university has implemented a comprehensive classroom cellphone ban except under experimental or class-specific conditions. A laptop ban is almost unimaginable. Critics argue that grown adults who choose to enroll in a college education have the autonomy to decide for themselves how to take notes. Others highlight the countless online tools that can enhance learning beyond lectures. Online quizzes, attendance sheets and improved textbook materials are readily available online. In many cases, laptop use can promote accessibility, resources and connectivity. 

However, the research is conclusive that unchecked laptop use reduces learning in several ways. The effects must be mitigated to improve the quality of college education. First and foremost, laptops are an incredible distraction. It’s as if the classroom can be converted into a mall, movie theater, networking event, library and more, as students capitalize on wireless internet access to shop, browse and stream class time away. The term is ‘cyberslacking.’ Immediately, the classroom devolves from in-person conversation to individual device worlds. Even highly disciplined West Point cadets, whose quality of post-graduate job placement depends on class rank and GPA, performed worse when they were allowed to access computers. Furthermore, lower cognitive ability is correlated with greater impatience, indicating that weaker students may be more susceptible to the instant gratification of computer distractions. The very students who need to be actively participating, taking quality notes and asking questions may be the most likely to tune out a discussion. Regardless of which students are disengaging, the result is the same: an unfocused and disengaged classroom environment. Such ubiquitous use must be countered by thoughtful engagement on the parts of both professor and student.  

In addition to distractibility, constant multitasking imperils the encoding process required for learning and knowledge retention. When you open your computer, you probably don’t remain on one tab for long. The results for recall are pernicious. Your limited cognitive resources are divided among competing tasks, such as learning about a geological phenomenon and texting on WhatsApp, and performance on both tasks is diminished. A 2010 study suggested that students spend around 42% of class time multitasking. Today, when personal laptop use is nearly ubiquitous, this percentage is much higher — as much as 66-90% of students use their devices during class and frequently multitask on them in technology-permitted courses. It’s no wonder that the cognitive resources required for notetaking and class participation are drained by the ever-changing array of online distractions available in front of students’ faces. 

Task-switching on screens also distracts peers. The literature confirms that multitasking during lectures not only hinders individual performance on an exam, but also the overall performance of those seated within view of a multitasker’s screen. In my climate studies course, I opted to take handwritten notes and attempted to engage thoughtfully. However, the constant barrage of images and content in my line of sight made it difficult to focus. The decision to use a laptop in class may be an individual one, but its implications for learning are shared by peers who didn’t make that choice.  

Perhaps the most compelling reason to implement a laptop ban is that the alternative is significantly better for learning. Handwritten notes force students to synthesize, summarize and reproduce notes on paper, rather than typing their professor’s words verbatim. The process draws on encoding, the attention-intensive process of consolidating new information into memory, and the kinesthetic sense of writing to improve recall. Students often self-report that computer use during lectures is helpful, but empirical results demonstrate the opposite. Those using laptops scored lower in the course and reported feeling less satisfied with their education than their peers. The taxing process of listening, encoding and handwriting key concepts yields long-term benefits for recall and performance. Although college students today are likely to protest, we must learn to embrace longhand notes for improved learning outcomes. 

An important caveat to note is the inclusion of students with learning differences. The purpose of academic accommodations is to provide students with equal footing to demonstrate their learning, increasing educational equity. Accommodations related to notetaking allow some students to take electronic notes while disabling internet service or to receive peers’ notes. Vanderbilt adheres to a similar policy, with open applications and adviser support as students navigate the academic accommodations process. Some note that if a student with a learning difference takes electronic notes in an otherwise paper-and-pen course, this could be an unfair loss of privacy as it exposes their disability. That concern deserves to be taken seriously. Any device-restriction policy should be designed with student access in mind, so students who need technology are not forced to disclose disabilities to peers. As Dynarski proposes, we must weigh these concerns against significant learning losses shared by the entire class. There are several trade-offs to consider, and professors should weigh flexibility, privacy and accessibility when formulating classroom technology policies that benefit all students. 

When I told my friends about my op-ed topic, they laughed. One helpfully pointed out that I frequently use my computer in the class we share, which has no technology limitations. My reply? Case in point. I am aware of and passionate about the benefits of handwritten notetaking over computer use, the perils of online distractions and more, yet sometimes I still opt to use my laptop in class. To know is not enough; we must do. As research continues to advance, the evidence for device restrictions should inform Vanderbilt’s institutional and classroom policies, reflecting our understanding of the perils of technology use during instructional time while also providing equal opportunity for students to thrive. Computers promote disengagement; if we want to restore the ideals of a college education, limiting laptop use in classrooms is the first step.