Schools are not content factories

A child steps onto a stage, gives a flawlessly rehearsed line, smiles at precisely the correct moment and waits while a teacher adjusts the camera. The performance is replayed because someone blinked. Then again because the background was untidy. Finally, the perfect shot is captured. Within hours, it emerges online with joyful music, polished captions and a message celebrating experiential learning. But halfway between the first take and the last reel, an uncomfortable question arises: Was the activity created for the child to learn or for the school to be seen?

Social media has surely changed how schools communicate. Parents today want glimpses of classroom life. Photographs and films may attractively document success, highlight ingenuity and give families a glimpse into situations they would otherwise miss. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with a school showing its work. The trouble occurs when presenting the work increasingly becomes the work itself. True education is rarely flashy or photogenic. It often looks quiet and plain. It shows up as a sudden, messy question that stops a class to start a new talk. It is the simple loop of reading, thinking, trying, failing and getting better. This slow work does not make a flashy 30-second video, but a synchronised dance does. And that is where the trap begins. Most schools today face an increasingly competitive environment. Their social-media feeds now serve as quiet digital brochures. A colourful activity, an impressive celebration or a confident child speaking before a camera can communicate vibrancy far more quickly than examination results, teacher training or carefully planned classroom instruction. But what happens when visibility begins influencing educational priorities?

Teachers already hold responsibilities that extend well beyond teaching. Between lesson preparation, grading, meetings and the pressure to capture social-media-worthy classroom pictures and videos, teachers are stretched past their breaking point. A hidden concern is what children learn from this culture. When every activity and achievement requires a photo or public display, children may start viewing participation purely as a performance and success solely as a bid for applause.

Activities which were meant to spark curiosity instead turn into staged photo opportunities. Extroverted children become the visible face of the school, while introverted ones making massive academic progress remain invisible because real growth doesn’t photograph well. This creates a dangerous definition of success. Schools must ask whether the constant recording strips away the authenticity of childhood. A science experiment does not become more educational because it was uploaded. A plantation drive is not more meaningful because children posed beside saplings. Kindness does not need a hashtag to become valuable. Some of the profound educational moments simply cannot and should not be captured. The goal is not to quit social media entirely, which is impractical. Instead, schools must re-establish their core priorities, ensuring that genuine education always comes before documentation.

Schools must evaluate activities by a simple standard: is it worth doing if it isn’t posted online? Parents too can support this shift by looking past social-media metrics to demand deeper quality such as critical thinking, teacher support and true student growth. Because schools are not production houses, teachers are not content creators, and children are not marketing assets. Educational success outlives fleeting digital attention; its true value is measured by what remains when the cameras are turned off.

The writer is an educator and a councillor; Views presented are personal.