When shots rang out at Apalachee High School, fear spread like wildfire through the classrooms. Students, unsure if they would make it out alive, instinctively reached for their phones. Some sent hurried texts to their parents, hoping for a final moment of connection. “I love you… I’m sorry I’m not the best daughter,” one young girl texted her mother.
As tragic school shootings continue to shake communities across the U.S., cellphones have become a lifeline for many students. But such reliance comes into direct conflict with efforts by schools and lawmakers from Arkansas to California to ban or severely restrict cellphone use during class, justified by growing concerns about mental health, screen addiction.
“The fact of the matter is parents and families cannot rely on schools to effectively communicate with us in times of emergency,” Keri Rodrigues, president of the National Parents Union, an education advocacy group, told the Associated Press.
Nationwide, about 77% of schools claim to restrict non-academic use of cellphones, according to the National Center for Education Statistics. But many argue that restrictions often go unenforced, or students simply find ways to bypass them. Governors on both sides of the political aisle have championed cellphone bans in schools, with Republican Governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders of Arkansas proposing funding for special phone pouches, and California’s Democratic Governor Gavin Newsom pushing for statewide restrictions, arguing that phones in classrooms are the equivalent of bringing in a TV, disrupting students’ focus.
Nonetheless, the shooting at Apalachee highlights the essential role cellphones can play in connecting families during times of terror. For students like Julie Sandoval, having access to a phone meant she could send a final message to her mother. “I love you. I love you so much,” she texted. Nearby, another student was frantically telling their mother, “They’re shooting up the school!”
Not everyone believes unrestricted phone access is the best answer. Advocates of phone-free schools, like Kim Whitman, co-founder of the Phone-Free Schools Movement, warn that allowing students to use phones during a lockdown can increase danger. “If my child was on the phone with me and missed crucial guidance from the teacher because they were distracted… that’s a worse scenario,” Whitman points out.
Balancing safety with the need for communication has led some schools to adopt policies that thread the needle between both concerns. At Grand Island Senior High in Nebraska, administrators rolled out a new policy in January requiring students to keep phones silenced and out of sight during school hours. Principal Jeff Gilbertson acknowledged parents’ fears about emergencies, but emphasized the importance of lockdown training and the risks posed by noisy phones during a crisis. “We coach our kids to keep phones silenced,” he says, cautioning that a phone ring could give away a student’s location.
The debate over cellphones in schools has been complicated by previous tragedies. During the Uvalde, Texas, shooting in 2022, a student made desperate 911 calls, while in Parkland, Florida, students sent chilling videos to their parents during the 2018 massacre. For many, these incidents prove that phones are more than just distractions—they’re lifelines.
Brandi Scire, a mother in Broward County, Florida, knows this reality all too well. Her children were attending schools near Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School during the 2018 shooting. The lockdowns and uncertainty convinced her to buy her daughter a phone the following year. Despite strict local regulations requiring phones to be stored away during school, Scire has made it clear to her daughter to keep hers on, just in case.
“It’s not about texting her during the day,” Scire explains. “It’s a safety measure. I cannot let that go.”
