The Impact of Smartphones on Child Rearing
In nearly every Moroccan household, there exists a scene that has become so commonplace that we scarcely notice it anymore: a small child, not older than three or four years, holds a smartphone in their tiny hands, effortlessly swiping their fingers across the screen without any formal instruction. It appears that this child has learned to navigate technology in the same natural way we, as adults, learn to walk or talk. This observation prompts a critical question that resonates across families from Casablanca to Oujda, and Marrakech to Nador: who is truly raising our children today? Is it the parents, the grandparents as was traditionally the case, or has this responsibility shifted to a small screen that never tires or asks for anything in return?
The Smartphone as a Child's Companion
Many Moroccan mothers quietly admit, often with a hint of embarrassment, that smartphones have become the quick fix for a crying child in the marketplace or when they need a brief moment of peace to finish cooking or handle a work call. The smartphone is viewed as the ideal companion by a weary father after a long day at work, and by a mother juggling both household and professional responsibilities. However, the issue does not lie with the device itself, as it is merely a tool devoid of intention. The real problem arises from the fact that we, as parents, have inadvertently delegated a crucial role—one that we never intended to assign—to the smartphone: the role of child-rearing. A child spending hours glued to ever-changing short videos learns a specific rhythm of thinking, a certain way of coping with boredom, and even a model of relationships and behaviors, all without the guidance or correction from a parent, teacher, or mentor.
Our generation, the current parents, experienced boredom. We knew what it was like to play outside, to wait an entire week just to see a single episode of a cartoon on Thursday. Although this boredom seemed bothersome at the time, it cultivated patience, imagination, and the ability to create play from nothing. In contrast, our children today are unfamiliar with such emptiness. The moment they feel bored, a hand reaches for the smartphone, and that boredom evaporates in seconds. While this may seem convenient in the moment, it ultimately deprives the child of a fundamental opportunity: the chance to learn how to be alone with themselves and how to confront emptiness without fleeing from it.
One protective aspect of Moroccan society that has historically aided in child-rearing is the extended family network. The grandmother who tells stories, the uncle who jokes, and the neighbors who watch over with care—the genuine social fabric shared in this context participated in raising children without any formal acknowledgment. Today, with the disintegration of this network in large cities and everyone absorbed in their smartphones, children often find themselves truly alone, even when surrounded by family.
So what can we do? The answer does not lie in completely banning smartphones, as this approach is neither realistic nor effective in our current era. Instead, we should focus on restoring balance. We can establish screen time limits just as we set times for meals and sleep. We must sit down with our children and occasionally watch alongside them, not just to monitor their activities but to understand what they are consuming and why they enjoy it. We should allow boredom to reclaim its place, permitting children to experience it without rushing to distract them with a device. Moreover, we, as adults, must recognize that our own eyes are often glued to screens more than we realize, and children learn by imitation long before they learn through verbal instruction.
Ultimately, the question is not merely who is raising our children; it is whether we still have the authority to make that decision, or if we have relinquished it to an algorithm that knows nothing of our children and cares even less for their futures. As reported by hespress.com.
