In the dog days of August 2024, a new wave of restriction is washing over the Salem-Keizer School District, and it's taking aim at the lifeline of every teenager: the cellphone. At Sprague High School, the administration has put its foot down with a firm, no-nonsense policy. Phones and earbuds, once staples of classroom life, are officially off the table during class hours. Principal Chad Barkes, in a summer message to the families, made it clear—this is not just a suggestion; it’s the new order of things.
But this isn’t just Sprague going rogue. The district’s leadership has been inching toward this for years, ever since they laid down the law in the summer of 2022. Back then, they banned phones during class across all middle and high schools, a move born from the chaos that followed students’ return to in-person classes after the pandemic. Suddenly, kids who were used to unrestricted screen time in the virtual classroom found themselves shackled by new, tighter rules. The message was clear: focus, engage, and leave the distractions behind.
“We really want students to be engaged,” said Larry Ramirez, the district’s high school director, though you can almost hear the collective groan of thousands of students as he spoke.
Under the 2022 policy, students were allowed to have their phones during passing periods, lunch, and before and after school. But once the bell rang, those devices had to stay hidden. If parents needed to reach their kids in an emergency, they had to go through the school office—a throwback to the days when cellphones weren’t glued to every teenager’s hand.
But now, the district is toying with a new idea—something more ironclad, more absolute. They’re reaching out to vendors, exploring technologies or products that could make phones effectively disappear during the school day, without the hassle of collecting them at the door. One option on the table: lockable phone pouches, a solution already spreading like wildfire in schools across the country.
District spokesman Aaron Harada was careful with his words, saying they were merely exploring possibilities, not setting anything in stone. “To see what is out there, what is possible and potential costs,” he said, hinting at a future where phones might be rendered useless by the wave of a hand or the click of a lock.
The move toward a district-wide policy wasn’t just administrative overreach. It was in response to cries for help from educators who were at their wits' end. Before the pandemic, teachers could set their own rules in the classroom, but post-pandemic, those rules were no longer enough. According to Tyler Scialo-Lakeberg, the president of the Salem-Keizer Education Association and a former teacher at North Salem High School, the problem had spiraled out of control. In her own classroom, kids weren’t just sneaking peeks at their screens—they were blatantly watching YouTube videos, sound on, for the world to hear.
“It needs to be kind of a cold turkey in our schools because they’re disrupting,” she said, summing up the growing frustration among educators.
Across the country, the battle over cellphones in schools has been heating up, with states passing laws to crack down on their use in classrooms. Even Oregon’s own Governor, Tina Kotek, threw her support behind a statewide policy earlier this year, and a bipartisan group of legislators is cooking up a bill for the 2025 session. The reasons go beyond just distraction—cyberbullying, mental health concerns, and students filming fights have all been cited as ticking time bombs in the school day.
But even within the Salem-Keizer School District, enforcement has been hit or miss. It’s a policy, sure, but one that’s often been left up to the discretion of individual schools, resulting in a patchwork of rules and expectations. Ramirez acknowledged this, emphasizing the need to keep reiterating the message until it sticks.
West Salem High School, for instance, has taken the hardline approach. Last year, they began enforcing a strict no-phone policy. Principal Carlos Ruiz noted that before the ban, the lack of consistency between classrooms created a constant power struggle. Students would play the system, persuading one teacher to allow phones because another teacher did. Now, they’ve put a stop to it—no phones, no negotiations. Even bathroom breaks are regulated, with students having to trade their phone for a pass to prevent sneaky texting sessions in the stalls.
Ruiz pointed out that the rule isn’t absolute. Teachers can still allow phones for educational purposes, and students with disabilities who need their devices are accommodated. The need for phones has diminished anyway, thanks to the district’s pandemic-era investment in Chromebooks for every student.
Back at Sprague, Principal Barkes is getting ready to enforce the policy that had previously been more of a suggestion than a mandate. He said the decision was driven by feedback from teachers, a student advisory committee, and other high schools in the district.
Sofia Castellanos, the student adviser to the Salem-Keizer School Board, understands the rationale behind the strict ban but isn’t entirely on board. As a senior at South Salem High School and a participant in the demanding International Baccalaureate program, she appreciates having the freedom to use her phone for research or to listen to music while working. For her, it’s about focus and productivity, not just following rules.
“It’s just easier to focus when you can have more control of your environment,” she said, her voice echoing the sentiments of many students who see phones not just as distractions, but as tools to navigate the chaos of the classroom.
In the end, this tug-of-war between control and freedom, between order and chaos, is just another chapter in the ongoing saga of education in the digital age. And for the students of Salem-Keizer, the next school year promises to be one of adjustment, resistance, and, perhaps, reluctant acceptance.
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