The Moroccan Family's Struggle with Technology
In nearly every Moroccan household, there exists a scene so commonplace that it often goes unnoticed: a young child, barely three or four years old, effortlessly navigating a smartphone with their tiny fingers, swiping across the screen without any formal instruction. This child, devoid of any explicit teaching, has picked up the skill instinctively, much like how adults learn to walk or talk. This phenomenon raises a pressing question that resonates from Casablanca to Oujda, and from Marrakech to Nador: Who is raising our children today? Is it the parents, the grandparents as it used to be, or has this crucial role shifted to a small screen that demands neither rest nor gratitude?
The Phone as a Child's Companion
Many Moroccan mothers, sometimes with a hint of embarrassment, openly admit that the smartphone has become their quick fix when their child cries in public or when they need a brief respite to finish cooking or handle a work call. The phone does not tire, it does not refuse, and it does not ask for anything in return; for a weary father after a long day or a mother juggling home and work responsibilities, it appears to be the ideal companion. However, the core issue lies not with the device itself—after all, it is merely a tool devoid of intent—but rather with the fact that, as parents, we have inadvertently assigned it a role that we did not intend: the role of upbringing. A child who spends hours engrossed in fast-paced videos learns a particular rhythm of thinking, an approach to handling boredom, and even a model for relationships and behavior, all without the guidance or correction from a parent or teacher.
Today’s children are part of a generation that does not know what it feels like to be bored. Unlike their parents, who experienced the discomfort of waiting a week for a single episode of a cartoon, today’s youth reach for their phones at the first sign of tedium, eliminating boredom in mere seconds. While this may seem like a convenient solution in the moment, it ultimately deprives children of an essential opportunity: the chance to learn how to be alone with their thoughts and confront emptiness without escaping into distraction.
In Morocco, one of the protective factors we once had, and which still partially exists in some areas, is the extended family. The grandmother sharing stories, the uncle joking around, and the neighbors watching with care were all part of a social network that contributed to raising children without any formal acknowledgment. However, with the disintegration of this network in major cities and the universal distraction of personal devices, children often find themselves truly alone, even when surrounded by family.
So, what can we do? The solution does not lie in a complete ban on smartphones, as this is unrealistic and ineffective in our current era. Instead, we need to strive for a balance—a designated screen time, just as we allocate time for meals and sleep. We should sit with our children and occasionally watch alongside them, not solely to monitor their activities, but to understand what they consume and why it appeals to them. We must also re-establish the value of boredom, allowing children to experience it without rushing to rescue them with a phone. Lastly, we adults must recognize that our own eyes are glued to screens more than we realize, and children learn through imitation long before they grasp language.
In conclusion, the question at hand is not merely about who is raising our children, but whether we are still the ones making that decision, or if we have relinquished it to an algorithm that neither knows our children nor cares about their future.
As reported by hespress.com.
