Why the Best Teachers Can't Be Replaced by AI: A Balcony View from Manila

In the spring of 1990, I was a mopey sixteen-year-old recovering from unrequited love. Seeking solace, I found myself on the art room balcony of my favorite teacher, Dave French, at Faith Academy in the Philippines. If Landon Donavan and John Lennon had a child, he’d look like Mr. French — small round glasses and everything.

The balcony is perched high above Manila, offering a sweeping view of the sprawling metropolis. An old manual potter’s wheel—the kind where you kick a heavy steel flywheel—lived there. Mr. French encouraged my old-world optimism when I asked to try it.

For months, I struggled to get the sand-clay-to-water ratio right, to center my material, and to throw anything taller than a mug with walls thinner than a prison’s. My guitar-playing fingernails got in the way, so I chewed them off. I don’t recall succeeding in pottery, but my broken heart got better in the trying.

Mr. French, an extraordinary visual artist and musician, filled the art room with music from a tired silver boombox and was always open for a chat. More than his artistic vibe, his willingness to listen and talk captivated us. He respected us, and we sensed he saw something special in each of us.

This experience captures the essence of education — the connection between our humanness, our ability to learn and grow, and our expression in the world. It’s an analog connection: a heartbroken boy making mediocre pottery, conversing with an art teacher, and learning what it means to be a person.

As technology intertwines more with our lives, we must remember its impact on this connection. While AI and computers offer new possibilities, they can’t replicate the fundamental relationship where knowledge and personal understanding are passed from one person to another. The human conversation in teaching still matters and always will.