When we step into the classroom—most likely a secondary school in my case—we’ll be teaching a generation of students who have never known a world without the internet. This is fascinating to me because I grew up straddling the pre- and post-internet divide. While I experienced a childhood without it, my teenage years were shaped by its emergence. This dual perspective gives me an appreciation for how transformative the internet has been and how it has influenced the way we interact with information.

It’s fair to assume that today’s students will already be highly digitally literate in the sense of being fluent with technology. They know how to navigate apps, create content, and find information quickly. But what they often lack are the critical thinking skills needed to analyze and evaluate the information they encounter. That’s where our teaching comes in.

One of the most important skills we can foster in our students is skepticism—not blind cynicism or contrarianism, but a healthy level of questioning. Essentially, if something seems too good (or too outrageous) to be true, it probably is. Our goal should be to create an environment where students feel empowered to challenge the information they see, dig deeper, and form opinions based on verified facts rather than flashy headlines.

This brings us to the modern problem of fake news. We live in an era where sensationalist headlines are often all people read before forming opinions. The substance of the article—the actual truth—can get overlooked entirely. Compounding this problem is the relentless pace of the news cycle. By the time someone has the chance to critically evaluate a story, it’s already been drowned out by the next headline, leaving little room for reflection or deeper understanding.

To address this, I’d propose a lesson idea called “Vet Your Net.” Students would select a news article and critically evaluate its credibility. They’d investigate the source, analyze the article’s claims, and search for corroborating evidence from reliable sources. This activity would teach students how to identify red flags, such as bias, lack of citations, or emotional manipulation.

For added engagement, the lesson could include a segment on conspiracy theories. Students could choose a popular theory and investigate its claims, evaluating whether the evidence supports or debunks the theory—or whether it’s simply “plausible.” Not only would this be a fun way to develop their critical thinking, but it would also show them how easily misinformation can spread when claims aren’t properly vetted.

Ultimately, fostering these skills is about helping students navigate a world saturated with information. By teaching them how to think critically, evaluate sources, and question what they see online, we prepare them to be thoughtful, informed citizens.

Rob

Shame is a powerful emotion and one of the most challenging aspects of the human experience. What is it that makes us feel shame? At its core, I believe shame arises when we’re caught doing something we inherently know we shouldn’t have done. It’s the deepest, most personal form of embarrassment, often tied to our sense of identity and values. With the rise of the internet, however, shame has taken on an entirely new dimension—one that amplifies its effects exponentially.

Consider the Monica Lewinsky scandal. I still remember when the story broke. As a young lad, I even joked about it, doing a Bill Clinton impression. At the time, it was the hot topic, dominating news cycles for months. But eventually, as all scandals do, it faded from public discourse. People moved on. Today, however, the internet ensures that stories, comments, and actions have an indefinite shelf life. What might have once been a passing moment of public shame can now be preserved forever in digital archives.

This permanence has serious consequences, especially for young people. Imagine a teenager saying or doing something inappropriate online. As they grow up, their brain continues to develop, their views evolve, and they gain maturity. But years later, that youthful misstep resurfaces—perhaps in a crucial moment, like a job interview. Should someone’s teenage errors define them forever? I firmly believe there should be a kind of statute of limitations on youthful mistakes. It’s unfair to hold people accountable for things they said or did before they had the life experience or cognitive development to truly understand the impact of their actions.

Then there’s the other side of the shame coin: the “keyboard warriors” or “cyber Karens.” These are the individuals who actively seek out old posts or comments to criticize and shame others. For shame to work, someone has to dole it out, right? But here’s the thing: I believe people should mind their own business. What drives someone to dig through a stranger’s digital history, searching for a reason to call them out? Is it boredom? Vindictiveness? A sense of self-righteousness? Regardless of the motive, this behavior feels like a form of cyber vigilantism.

In the court of law, the principle is clear: you are innocent until proven guilty. On the internet, however, it’s the opposite—you’re guilty until proven innocent. And even when you’re proven innocent, it rarely matters. The masses have already moved on to the next scandal, leaving behind the wreckage of your reputation. That’s the reality of online shame—it’s swift, merciless, and often careless.

So, what’s the solution? Maybe we need more grace, more understanding, and a greater willingness to let people grow. We’ve all made mistakes, but those mistakes don’t have to define us forever. Shame should not be wielded as a weapon, and the internet shouldn’t be a battlefield of endless judgment.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

Rob

Growing up without the internet until I was 16, I got my first real taste of the “information superhighway” as a teenager, back when the internet was a bit like the Wild West. Napster was all the rage, and our family computer had quite the collection of downloaded songs. My first social media experience was on Hi5, which was essentially a prototype of Facebook—similar in function but far less successful. In 2003, this was cutting-edge technology.

Reading Dr. Ribble’s nine elements of digital citizenship feels like looking at a set of rules written after the fact, especially for millennials like me who got high-speed internet early on. The elements that resonated most with me were Digital Commerce and Digital Communication. I still remember when Amazon only sold books, and I couldn’t understand why anyone would order one online instead of just going to a bookstore like Coles. By 2024, I now do most of my shopping online without a second thought.

In a classroom setting, I’d want to teach students how to identify reputable online sellers versus sketchy ones. I’ve fallen for some scams myself—two bottles of “Elk Horn Fuzz” (a dubious supplement) in my cabinet serve as a reminder that even experienced internet users can be duped. Today, reading product reviews is a skill, as it’s often possible to discern genuine feedback from fake reviews.

As for Digital Communication, I still use text abbreviations and old-school typed emojis (
), thanks to my time on ICQ and MSN Messenger. Instant messaging was transformative as a teen, especially with large group chats and that iconic MSN alert sound, which lives in my memory.

In the classroom, digital communication now involves instant messaging, image-sharing, and access to endless information at our fingertips—something I didn’t have growing up, though I understand how it all works now. My rule would be, “Don’t keep anything on your phone that you wouldn’t show your grandma.”

We could dive into this further, but this is where I am at with it!

Rob