Yasser Afghen grabs his iPhone from his pants pocket at 3.12pm on a lovely spring afternoon in St Albans, expecting to utilize the three minutes before his son emerges from his year 1 primary class to scan through his emails. As he raises the phone to his face, Matthew Tavender, the head teacher at Cunningham Hill School, approaches him across the playground. Afghen apologizes, puts his phone away, and spends the remainder of his waiting time listening to the birdsong in the trees behind the schoolyard.
Cunningham Hill Primary School, a one-story 1960s facility with 14 classrooms backing onto a playing field, is unlikely to be a hub for a revolution. However, a year ago, Tavender and the school’s executive head, Justine Elbourne-Cload, began coordinating with the heads of other primary schools in the city, and then sent a joint letter to parents and carers throughout St Albans, stating that the highly addictive nature of smartphones was having a long-term effect on children’s minds. The devices deprived youngsters of their childhood. The letter requested that parents refrain from giving their children smartphones until they reach the age of 14.
Matt Adams, the founder and editor of the St Albans Times, was among the fathers who received the letter and wrote an article on the effort. The story was picked up nationally (“St Albans wants to be the first smartphone-free city for under-14s,” reported the Times), and then globally. People in Singapore, Australia, and South Africa were all aware of an ambitious endeavor by parents and teachers in a small suburban city 23 miles from central London to limit the influence of global digital giants.
A year later, it is evident that St Albans is still far from becoming a smartphone-free city for children under the age of 14. Nonetheless, something little and potentially substantial has changed.
When Tavender conducted a survey of his year 6 students (aged 10-11) in December 2023, 45 out of 60 had cellphones, or 75%. A year later, this figure has decreased to only seven – 12%. Heads of other schools in the city have reported a similar sharp decline. He intends for this trend to continue. In fact, he wants that the smartphone resistance movement will follow his primary kids into secondary school, so that the sight of a youngster carrying a smartphone in St Albans will elicit a shock response, similar to the sight of a child smoking.
When Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness was published last year, Tavender was immediately intrigued. Haidt, an American social psychologist, observes that depression and anxiety among adolescents in the United States increased by more than 50% between 2010 and 2019, with a 131% increase in the suicide rate among girls aged 10-14; he contends that the “new phone-based childhood that took shape roughly 12 years ago is making young people sick and impeding their progress to flourishing in adulthood.”
Tavender was already concerned about the quickly changing nature of the difficulties he and his colleagues faced. The most discouraging part, he recalls, was dealing with law enforcement. It would have been inconceivable fifteen years ago, when he first started teaching at the school, for a teacher to have to speak with police and families about the sharing of a nude image.
Out of respect for the youngsters concerned, he remains vague about the episode that created the most stress for the school, but reveals that a photo was shot as a joke and swiftly shared with a significant number of people. The school spent hours calling up dozens of parents. “It wasn’t sexual, just boys mucking around.” There was no malice involved. But it was freely distributed throughout St Albans. Once sent, it travels everywhere. We had to say, ‘Please check your child’s phone and erase that photograph,'” he recalls. “It was awful for the families.”
During informal interactions with primary school principals throughout the city, he discovered that his colleagues were facing similar issues. “Everyone has had an encounter involving the police or other agency. “Teachers at infant schools are dealing with children watching inappropriate content as young as five and six,” he claims.
He also had a broader sense that behaviours were shifting, including among the school’s younger students. He has noted an increase in body image problems, as well as a greater interest in calorie-counting applications among students. Teachers reported higher levels of school avoidance. “A few years ago we didn’t see this at all; now, it’s not huge numbers but we have seven or eight children who really struggle to be in school.” He believes this is a result of both Covid and children’s increasingly screen-based childhoods.
He was also concerned about his diminishing concentration. “It’s the TikTok brain.” To allow youngsters to cope, SAT preparation study sessions have had to be divided into smaller parts, he explains. Haidt also discusses fragmented attention spans, warning of the opportunity cost of responding to streams of content from friends and strangers online, posting material in a never-ending quest for likes; children, he claims, become less adept at reading facial cues and more reliant on the simplicity of emotions expressed through emojis. He says that social media anger cycles swiftly put children on the defensive, while online lives make them more vulnerable to public shame.
In the classroom, teachers are also discovering that “We receive a lot more ‘nos’. If a youngster loses an online game, they can stop playing and start over. If they don’t like what they’re seeing on YouTube, they switch to something else. They’re used to receiving immediate, favorable response, and if they don’t, they can simply swipe and go on. “We’re seeing children who are less resilient to tasks they don’t want to do,” he says. At one conference I attended, he informed the parents that leaders in Silicon Valley do not allow their children to use social media. “They know something we don’t know,” he claims.
Last February, he heard a radio interview with a primary head teacher in Dorset discussing a campaign to encourage parents to give their children “brick” phones; he called him for advice and was put in touch with the newly launched Smartphone Free Childhood movement, an initiative founded by Suffolk parents that advocates for a ban on social media for children under 16 and a ban on smartphones for children under 14.
Then, in May, at the beginning of the summer term, Tavender and his colleague Elbourne-Cload held a parents’ meeting. “It was the most well-attended meeting we’ve ever had,” he admits. “About 80 people showed up; we normally get 40 to 50. We scheduled it at the end of a discussion about reading, which is the most important aspect of basic school, and just eight people showed up.” The teacher who was leading the reading session was disturbed to find swarms of parents outside the door, all staring at their phones, waiting for the phone-use meeting.
According to Tavender, one father interrupted the presentation to accuse the teachers of being anti-tech, but there was a general sense of optimism that the parents could do something to channel their latent fear into good action. In the lack of government assistance or action by technology companies, they felt unexpectedly empowered. A few days following the conference, the St Albans primary schools consortium sent out a letter.
The schools were already smartphone-free, according to the letter, but the goal was to “change the ‘normal’ age that children are given smartphones”. “By ‘smartphones’, we refer to phones that are able to access the internet, as opposed to mobile phones that can only text and make phone calls.” Parents should “resist pressure” from their children while also working jointly to “reset expectations and remove social peer pressure.”
The letter concluded with an emotional plea: “Our children’s futures are extremely important to you and to us. In a world where rapidly changing technology is having an impact on our children’s brain development, it is up to us to advocate for them and their future. If not us, who? Yours sincerely, St Albans Primary Headteachers.”
A month later, in June, I attended a second after-school meeting for parents who couldn’t make the first. Tavender, dressed in a grey V-neck jumper (an adult version of school uniform), grey trousers, and graying beard, is hardly an obvious revolutionary figure. He expresses his enthusiasm for watching golf. His delivery manner is a little monotonous, as if he’s reminding the room for the 15th time what he considers acceptable behavior in the lunch line. So, while his presentation isn’t particularly exciting, the parents are completely captivated.
“When you’re ready for your child to stop being a child, give them a smartphone,” he instructs, guiding them through a series of slides given by Smartphone Free Childhood. “WhatsApp is the crux of all evil, in my mind.” Particularly concerning were recent modifications to the app’s settings, which allowed users to create larger groups. He had spotted students participating in a “first to 1,000 challenge,” which entailed attempting to form large group discussions. Photographs get shared with ever-widening circles of people; no one truly knows who else is in the group.
“We’ve had concerns with youngsters as young as ten being requested for inappropriate images. We’ve seen cases when someone adds an older cousin, who then adds another friend, who then begins uploading pornography and violent acts,” he says. “We can’t handle it as parents. But we can’t say we can’t do something about it; we can.”
Outside the windows of the large assembly hall, the low sound of cooing wood pigeons can be heard. The lonely residential streets smell of lavender and roses, with a subtle hint of wood smoke; ivy grows up the telephone pylons. Despite the semi-rural serenity, there is no escape from the stresses of modern parenthood.
“When we were at school, at least when we went home the bullies couldn’t get us there; now you can’t get away from it,” Tavender tells me. “I’m not trying to go back to the halcyon days of proper bullying where we got beaten up and given wedgies,” he says, eliciting a few snorts of amusement. “The girls are the ones that are struggling the most. Phones appear to be significantly more detrimental for girls.”
Most powerful is his willingness to discuss his own troubles. “I am addicted to my phone. I certainly am. He acknowledges that he and his wife, a teacher, now regret giving their daughter a phone when she started secondary school. He recalls an evening a few months ago when he was watching golf on television while also playing with his phone; his wife was next to him, watching a film on her iPad and texting friends; and his daughter was drawing on a Chromebook while messaging on her phone. He tells them this to reassure their parents that he does not judge them. “There were three of us using six devices.” We did not speak for two hours. We must demonstrate better behavior for our children.”
By the end of the conference, several parents had committed to become ambassadors, working to get other parents to sign the Smartphone Free Childhood agreement, which states that they will not purchase a smartphone for their child until they reach 14. Campaigners want to restrict access to social media platforms such as Snapchat, Instagram, and TikTok until the age of 16. There are already age verification methods in place, but the restrictions are not strictly enforced: most platforms require a minimum age of 13, but six out of every ten youngsters aged eight to twelve who use them create their own profiles. According to a recent Children’s Commissioner report, 69% of children aged eight to 15 spend up to three hours per day on internet-enabled devices, with 23% spending more than four hours.
Will Ashton, who operates a digital marketing agency in London and has a son in fourth grade and another in second grade, has taken on much of the campaigning. He is well aware that the success of the movement depends on the rapid reach made possible by Instagram and WhatsApp, the apps the parents most mistrust. “One of the ironies of this is that I’ve never spent more time on my phone,” he says. He believes that parents should wait until their children are 16 years old before giving them cellphones, stating that smartphone use should be considered an adult activity, similar to drinking, smoking, or driving.
His children are allowed to use iPads with carefully selected parental controls. “I have yet to hear a cogent counter-argument. This is not anti-technology. It’s about giving youngsters access to age-appropriate stuff.
Adams, the local newspaper editor who transformed the original letter into a national sensation, was already concerned about the usage of smartphones among children. He had noticed how footage of a recent machete stabbing outside a local college, displaying crowds of identifiable youngsters, had gone viral. A few weeks later, at his daughter’s school, there had been a suicide attempt; teachers tried to handle the situation with caution, but by the end of the school day, children had communicated the details with each other over WhatsApp. “I didn’t want to be having conversations about these things with a 12-year-old,” says the boy.
He is proud of the great attention his original piece has brought to the campaign (and slightly upset that his magazine was never mentioned). And he understands why a wealthy city like St Albans is taking the lead on this subject. “It’s a bubble. It voted strongly against Brexit. It boasts a highly educated, erudite, and informed people.”
In 2024, St Albans was named the second-best place to live in England. A separate poll last year picked Woodbridge, Suffolk, as the happiest location to live in Britain. The two communities are currently headquarters for the smartphone-free childhood movement. Daisy Greenwell and her husband, Joe Ryrie, from Woodbridge, launched their campaign in February 2024, following an emotional Instagram post in which Greenwell urged other parents to avoid giving their children phones.
The initiative provides a leader board that shows which counties and schools are the most successful at collecting parental pledges. So far, the largest take-up has occurred in London and the home counties; Cunningham Hill School, where more than half of parents have signed the pledge, is one of the most engaged schools in the UK. (Although Tavender claims that his school is not particularly wealthy, the so-called pupil premium, which provides targeted assistance for disadvantaged pupils, is only allocated to 20% of the roll.)
Matt Adams is the founder and editor of the St Albans Times.
“It’s not surprising that middle-class parents are the ones who’ve got more time to think deeply about this stuff; it’s probably nearer the top of their worries list than it might be for a lot of parents,” according to Ryrie. Campaigners understand that for families that cannot afford separate wifi connection or to purchase laptops or other alternative screens for their children’s homework, a smartphone ban may appear to be an unnecessary luxury. However, Ryrie claims that evidence indicates that underprivileged children are more vulnerable to unregulated internet access; Haidt writes that a child’s average screen time and social media use increases in single-parent and low-income families. Without additional regulation, there is a possibility of a “digital divide between kids who are exposed to the online world without guardrails and parents who have more time to monitor their children’s use,” Ryrie warns.
When Jamie Oliver campaigned for healthier school dinners a decade ago, some parents fed their children burgers and chips through the school railings, but this time around, there has been little protest. No parent wants to hear that they shouldn’t hurry to spend hundreds of pounds on an item that could lead to years of arguments about screen time; even among parents who haven’t read or heard of Haidt, there’s a growing understanding of the perils of smartphones. “I don’t think there are many less controversial topics in Britain today,” Ryrie tells me.
A few weeks after St Albans’ primary school heads announced their smartphone-free goal, headteachers from 18 of the 20 secondary schools in Southwark, south London, said they were working together to discourage parents from buying smartphones for their children before year 10 (aged 14 or 15). According to Jessica West, headteacher of Ark Walworth Academy, teachers are being pushed to take action due to a lack of effective laws. “Many requests for stronger measures have been made to big tech companies but action is woefully slow and that leaves our children at risk,” she told the crowd.
Eton announced in July 2024 that it would provide its first-year boarders (aged 13) with primitive brick phones capable of merely sending and receiving texts. In February 2025, 103 elementary schools in Barnet, north London, announced that cellphones would no longer be permitted on the grounds, while 23 secondary schools in the borough stated that they were dedicated to completely eliminating smartphones from the school day. The Smartphone Free Childhood message had quickly traveled beyond St Albans and Woodbridge.
Six months after the Southwark effort was revealed, Mike Baxter, principal of City of London Academy, stated that students had been issued required phone pouches. Any student spotted with a smartphone out of its pouch and turned on will have it confiscated for one week. “We’re confiscating about 15 a week,” according to him. The school conducts random bag searches. “You have to rigorously implement it.” Next year, the school will restrict all seventh-grade students from owning smartphones; any student who brings one to school will have it removed for a month. This policy will continue to be implemented year after year, eventually reaching years 8 and 9.
Some students have objected, but the consequences are harsh. “If a youngster refuses to turn in their phone, they are directed to our reintegration room. If they return the next day with a different phone, we remark, “You’re back in the reintegration room.”
A few parents have expressed outrage, refusing to send their children to school for the entire week after the phone was confiscated; on a couple of occasions, parents have entered the school and taken school property – a school iPad, a radio – which they have held as ransom, demanding that the school return their child’s phone. “In both situations, we’ve just called the police,” he said. “You have to relentlessly follow it through.”
Few teachers advocate in favor of phones. In a letter to the Guardian last month, one teacher described the movement to ban phones in schools as “disappointing,” arguing that staff should help students learn how to use digital devices so that they can “think critically and navigate online spaces filled with disinformation supercharged by artificial intelligence.” However, his is a minority voice. “Everyone accepts there’s a major problem,” Baxter adds.
Some of Tavender’s older students express sadness that the school’s campaigning fervor has resulted in their not receiving a smartphone anytime soon. Julia Laurence, who buys advertising space for publishers, has informed her 10-year-old daughter that she will not be receiving a phone until she is 14. “She believes that once you start walking home from school alone, you get a phone. But all the parents in her class have agreed that none of them will receive a phone. “It’s made things so much easier for us,” she says. Her daughter told anyone who would listen that it was a really unjust situation. Her mother shrugs. “I’ve been worried about this since she was born. “I believe we are the ones bringing about change.”
Julianne Laurence.
George Dill, 10, and his brother Thomas, 8, have also been told by their parents, Graham and Rachel, both school teachers, that they would not be having smartphones until they are at least 14, preferably 16. When I meet them in their home, they are standing on the sofa in the sitting room, brandishing golf clubs and playing a dangerous indoor putting game with their father. When I ask if they want a smartphone, they immediately look to their parents. “Sort of,” George says.
“What would you say, if I said I was going to buy you one tomorrow?” inquires his father.
“I would think you might actually be lying,” George says.
Thomas claims his father spends too much time on his phone when he might be doing something more productive, like playing football with them. He tightens up his eyes, raises his hands to his face, and imitates a man frantically twiddling his thumbs on an imaginary phone.
“I’m not too overly impressed by my own phone use,” Graham admits; he resents how frequently his employers message him, which is often late at night or around 6 a.m.
He has refused to allow his sons use screens even on long car rides; during a recent seven-hour drive to Cornwall, they played a lengthy game in which they gained points by shooting white Teslas with guns made from their fingertips. “The most wonderful ideas in history stem from boredom. Every time your phone pings, it takes about two minutes to recover full focus.”
“There should be a time limit for different ages,” he says. “The point is that if you don’t have a phone, you don’t have square eyes.”
A year after St Albans primary school principals launched their campaign, much has changed to shift their cause to something more mainstream. The television series Adolescence drew renewed political attention to the perils of anonymous online bullying. About 99.8% of primary schools and 90% of secondary schools have now banned smartphone use during school hours. The government is preparing to adopt the 2023 Online Safety Act, which will establish restrictions for social media, search, and gaming apps and websites on July 25. Ofcom claims that this will protect young people from the most damaging content related to suicide, self-harm, eating disorders, and pornography. The parent-power paradigm of the Smartphone Free Childhood movement has spawned 32 offshoots worldwide, from Kazakhstan and Nigeria to Costa Rica.
However, a simple walk about St Albans reveals that there has not yet been a fundamental transformation. Teenagers in school uniforms queue for hot drinks in the city center after school, clumsily balancing iPhones, school backpacks, and coffee cups. Nationally, Virgin Media O2 reported a doubling in brick phone sales in October, citing parental concerns over online safety. However, the three courteous shop clerks at the St Albans Three mobile store are unaware of the drive to free St Albans’ under-14s from their smartphones. “It tends to be mostly elderly people that ask about brick phones,” one salesperson explains. They estimate that the average age of a youngster receiving a phone from their parents is still about 11, when they enter secondary school.
In a Hollywood version of the St Albans story, there would be a triumphant ending, perhaps with parents hiring a steamroller to crush their children’s technology, or with teachers facilitating a penitent visit from the founders of WhatsApp, who fly over from California to visit students and parents at Cunningham Hill and apologize in a drizzly playground. Tavender, played by Martin Freeman, would be celebrated for his David and Goliath-like success, just as Alan Bates was when the Post Office affair was broadcast. I am not sure if production firms will compete for the rights to this narrative just yet.
However, in addition to celebrating the decrease in smartphone ownership from 75% to 12% in year 6, Tavender is also pleased that the number of parents purchasing cellphones for their children has decreased in previous years. In December 2023, 30% of year 5 students owned cellphones; a year later, this figure had plummeted to 4.8%, or three children. He believes the movement will grow organically. “It will take a few years to really show the impact.” He has also witnessed fewer parents disregarding their children at pickup time in favor of their mobile devices.
However, he is frustrated that the city’s secondary schools have not agreed to take a similar coordinated strategy, despite the fact that the majority of them now have clear limitations on smartphone use. He is aware that this is a movement that has primarily gained traction in the southeast; he claims that colleagues in York and Middlesbrough are unaware of it. He regrets tech companies’ reluctance to do more to protect youngsters and is disappointed that government smartphone programs have been toned down.
But ultimately, he is pleased to have played a little role in beginning to shift perceptions. “Overall it’s been a success, but it’s a long journey,” he jokes.
Outside at the playground, the father of a nine-year-old daughter softly admits that he only recently got her a sim card to use in a used smartphone. He works in a restaurant, and both he and his wife work shifts; occasionally their daughter needs to wait alone for them to return home. He has disagreements with his teenage son regarding screen usage, but he believes it is necessary for his daughter. “I loathe the ding, ding sound of his pals’ alerts. “His TikTok use is killing me,” he admits. “However, there are reasons why she requires one. Sometimes she spends 20 minutes at home alone. “You need to be practical.”
