Moroccan Families Confronting the Smartphone Dilemma
In nearly every Moroccan household, there exists a scene that has become so commonplace that we often overlook it: a small child, perhaps three or four years old, effortlessly navigating a smartphone with tiny fingers, swiping across the screen with an ease that requires no instruction. It is a skill that the child has absorbed much like older generations learned to walk or talk. This leads to a pressing question for families, from Casablanca to Oujda and from Marrakech to Nador, simple in its appearance yet profound in its implications: who is raising our children today? Is it the parents, the grandparents as it once was, or has the responsibility shifted to a small screen that tirelessly occupies their attention?
The Smartphone as a Child's Companion
Many Moroccan mothers admit, sometimes in hushed tones and with palpable embarrassment, that smartphones have become their quick fix when a child cries in public or when they need a brief moment of peace to complete a meal or a business call. The smartphone does not tire, refuse, or demand reciprocity; it has become the ideal companion for a weary parent after a long day at work and for a mother balancing household and professional responsibilities. However, the issue is not with the device itself—it is merely a tool devoid of intention. The real problem lies in the fact that we, as parents, have inadvertently assigned it a role we never intended: that of a caregiver. A child who spends hours consuming ever-changing short videos is, in essence, learning a certain rhythm of thought, a way of coping with boredom, and even a model for relationships and behavior, all without the guidance or correction of a parent, teacher, or mentor.
Unlike our generation, who experienced the concept of boredom, our children today are unfamiliar with it. Whenever they feel a sense of monotony, their hands instinctively reach for their devices, eliminating boredom in mere seconds. While this might seem convenient at the moment, it deprives the child of a crucial opportunity: the chance to learn how to be alone with themselves and to confront emptiness without escaping it.
In Morocco, the extended family system used to provide a protective network—grandmothers telling stories, uncles joking around, and neighbors observing with care. This genuine social fabric participated in child-rearing without formal acknowledgment. Nowadays, as this network dissolves in large urban centers and as everyone becomes engrossed in their smartphones, children often find themselves feeling isolated, even when surrounded by their families.
The solution is not to completely ban smartphones, as this is neither realistic nor effective in the current age. Instead, the answer lies in restoring balance. We must establish screen time limits just as we set meal and sleep schedules. It is crucial to sit with our children sometimes while watching alongside them—not merely to monitor their activity but to understand their content consumption and what captivates their interest. We should allow boredom to reclaim its place, enabling children to experience it without rushing to rescue them with a device. Moreover, we adults must acknowledge that our own eyes are often glued to screens more than we realize, and that children learn through imitation long before they grasp verbal communication. Ultimately, the question is not just who is raising our children, but whether we are still the ones making those decisions, or have we surrendered that choice to an algorithm that knows little about our children and cares even less about their future?
As reported by hespress.com.
