It once saw faces, remembered names, and sailed with minds.
Today, the blackboard itself has turned into a mute screen—displaying slides without meaning, hiding behind distracted eyes and busy hands tapping on other devices.
It no longer notices a student’s smile, nor a flicker of understanding.
All it sees are bent backs, vacant faces, and fingers typing more than they raise to ask.
The teacher is there—speaking to students who take notes… without hearing a word.
As one teacher joked, “We celebrate the teacher in October—and exclude him for the rest of the year!”
Indeed, his voice has faded into the background—like soft music in a noisy café: present, but unheard.
Years ago, classrooms echoed with the noise of questions, debates, and the movement of eyes between the teacher and the board.
Today, classrooms feel like silent chambers: a screen presenting, a teacher explaining, and students waiting for “the summary in the group chat.”
It’s not a crisis of tools—it’s a crisis of presence.
Education has become a broadcast, not a human encounter.
The teacher a slide operator, not a guide of minds.
In one educational forum, a teacher with 30 years of experience said:
“I no longer see questions in my students’ eyes… only the expectation of answers.”
The board today displays information but no longer discovers ideas.
The warmth of genuine connection—the glance, the tone, the intuition that senses confusion without a word—has vanished.
A 2023 Journal of Educational Psychology study revealed that 64% of teachers in digital schools feel “professional alienation,” losing their sense of impact in class.
This alienation isn’t about technology alone—it’s about the loss of warmth.
In Finland, several schools suspended digital boards temporarily and returned to direct, face-to-face teaching.
The result? Academic performance improved by 18%, and student engagement rose by 35% in just three months.
If you wish to honor the teacher, return to him the board that sees, the voice that’s heard, and the role that’s respected.
True appreciation isn’t a framed certificate—it’s a system that listens, believes, and restores dignity.
Perhaps it’s time to rearrange the classroom—not the chairs, but the relationship between faces and hearts.
Reviving the spirit of the classroom requires no budget—only awareness.
Awareness that education is not about completing the syllabus, but about building a human being.
The board is not a tool—it is a mirror of what we believe in.
So, shall we bring it back to life—or keep it as another silent screen?
Maybe the time has come to restore its sight—not with new tech, but through the teacher’s eyes and the school’s heart.
Because respect for teachers does not come from a seasonal hashtag,
but from restoring their mission—honoring their silence when they reflect, their words when they ignite understanding, and their stance when they open a door inside a student’s mind.
If the board has gone dark…
perhaps it’s we who must learn to shine again.
