Every so often, education is promised transformation. Not reform, not improvement — but revolution.
I’m just about young enough to remember the mid-2000s, when Web 2.0 arrived with all the promise it carried: blogs, wikis, social media, content creation. “The read-write web,” we were told, would flatten hierarchies, knock down classroom walls, and finally move teaching from sage-on-the-stage to guide-on-the-side. A much-needed shift, or so the narrative went.
Now, two decades later, it’s AI. And once again, we hear the familiar chords: disruption, democratisation, personalisation, and, of course, an end to teaching as we know it.
But if Web 2.0 taught us anything, it’s this:
1. The Rhetoric of Revolution
Web 2.0 came wrapped in glitter. Blogs were going to democratise expression. YouTube would become the new lecture hall. Teachers would curate, not instruct. Learning would be networked, borderless, student-led, and bottom-up.
Now, AI inherits that same breathlessness. We’re told it won’t just support teaching, it will replace it. Assessment will become obsolete. Planning will be automated. Differentiation — solved. Transformation, finally delivered.
But as with Web 2.0, this change is imagined in the abstract — often without reference to pedagogy, systems, or classroom context. The tools sound impressive indeed. But the tools are not the teaching.
And transformation that begins with technology — rather than learning — rarely leads where we want it to.
2. Tools Without Practice
Web 2.0 tools entered classrooms quickly, but mostly without alignment to curriculum, assessment, or teacher development. Students blogged — but rarely read each other’s work. Tools were often used because they were new, not because they supported a clear learning intention.
With AI, the pattern risks repeating. Essay-marking bots and auto-generated quizzes might impress, but do they fit within a coherent model of learning? Are they improving understanding, or simply producing faster outputs?
When technology precedes purpose, intent is left wandering.
3. Anxiety About Redundancy
Web 2.0 introduced discomfort: if students could find their own answers, publish their own views, and build their own networks — what, then, was the teacher for? The pernicious notion that “if you can Google it, you don’t need to learn it” began to take hold around that time.
AI sharpens that discomfort. If a chatbot can differentiate, explain, and even scaffold feedback, does that render the teacher obsolete?
The answer is no. But the question lingers — and, like so much about AI, it holds up a mirror. It reflects a deeper insecurity: that teachers are valued more for their outputs than for their insight, their judgement, or their presence.
But as with Web 2.0, AI makes the human layer more essential, not less. It is the teacher’s judgement, their encouragement, their ability to model thinking, build connection, and show care that give technology meaning — and keep learning tethered to our human experience.
This cannot be automated.
4. Uneven Adoption and Cultural Lag
Many schools responded to Web 2.0 with caution — some blocking platforms like YouTube entirely, others discouraging blogging or social media in classrooms. In contrast, a handful embraced it with enthusiasm — though often (not always!) in superficial ways, with limited impact on pedagogy or outcomes.
AI is following the same curve: embraced by some, restricted by others, and misunderstood by most, quite possibly myself included.
The result is often a patchwork of mistrust, inconsistency, and cultural lag — not because educators are resistant, but because the infrastructure for thoughtful, purposeful adoption has rarely kept pace with the speed of innovation.
Technological readiness is one thing. Cultural readiness is another. And the latter takes longer — because it requires dialogue, clarity, and leadership.
Real progress requires not just new tools, but new systems that make innovation stick. Otherwise, we risk accelerating without having our hands on the steering wheel.
5. Return to Pedagogy
Eventually, Web 2.0 found its place. Not as a revolution, but as a supplement. When used well, it helped with collaboration, creativity, and publishing.
AI will likely follow the same arc. Technology always works best when it supports the processes involved in teaching and learning, not when it runs counter to them.
Already, its most promising applications are not disruptive, but supportive: faster feedback, reduced admin, personalised scaffolds, improved accessibility, and extended learning beyond the classroom.
In other words, AI works best when it augments the teacher — not when it tries to replace them.
And I suspect that, when the hype fades, these are the uses that will remain.
6. A Wicked Problem, Not a Tame One

To borrow Keith Grint’s language, the arrival of AI in education is not a tame problem with a known solution. Nor is it a critical problem that can be fixed by command.
It’s a wicked problem — one that requires shared learning, adaptive leadership, and ongoing judgement.
AI is not a problem to be solved. It’s a reality to be led through. And that requires leaders who can ask the right questions — not just chase the newest answers.
A Word of Caution — and Hope
This is not a call to dismiss AI. Far from it. The potential is both real and incredible.
But we’ve been here before. We’ve seen what happens when technology races ahead of understanding, when tools are adopted before their purpose is defined, and when transformation is promised — rather than built.
Education doesn’t need another revolution. It needs wise evolution.
So let’s move forward — but let’s do so with clarity, with humility, and with respect for the craft.
If AI is to change education for the better, it won’t be because it replaced teachers. It will be because it respected them.
“Wicked problems are not solvable by leaders who seek to command and control. They require leadership that encourages collective learning and adaptive solutions.”
— Keith Grint
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