Tag Archives: AI

Lianne Dominguez

Staying Human in the Age of Infinite Minds

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Satya Nadella, Chairman and CEO of Microsoft, used a phrase recently that stayed with me longer than I expected.

He spoke about a future where our work is not simply to manage systems or organisations, but to learn how to manage infinite minds. Minds extended by AI. Minds with access, speed, and reach far beyond what we had at the same age.

Hearing this, I took it as a quiet challenge to us as adults—especially those of us in schools.

Working in international education, I see this every day. Our students are already navigating multiple languages, identities, value systems, and expectations. They cross borders physically and cognitively, often before they’ve fully figured out who they are.

AI doesn’t introduce complexity into their lives—it amplifies what was already there.

And that amplification has made me pause, not to ask what more we should teach, but what more we need to be.

I keep coming back to the idea that infinite minds don’t actually need tighter management. They need steadiness. They need adults who are grounded enough not to rush to control, correct, or compete with the technology. Adults who can sit comfortably in uncertainty, who don’t confuse authority with having all the answers, and who trust that learning can be shared rather than supervised.

Trust feels foundational here—not just trust in students, but trust in ourselves to let go of being the central source of knowledge.

Curiosity feels just as important. Not the kind we design into lessons, but the kind we live out loud. The willingness to wonder with students rather than ahead of them. To ask better questions instead of faster ones. In a world where answers are instant, curiosity becomes an act of care. It slows things down. It reminds students that thinking is not about efficiency, but meaning.

I’ve also been reflecting on critical thinking—not as a skill students demonstrate, but as a stance we model. With AI, the challenge is no longer access to information, but discernment.

What do we trust? What do we question? When do we pause?

Students learn this less from rubrics and more from watching how we respond when we’re unsure, when we disagree respectfully, when we choose not to rush to conclusions.

There’s a subtle wellbeing dimension here too—because constant acceleration, even intellectual, can be exhausting.

And then there’s creativity. AI can generate endlessly, but it cannot decide what matters. That decision still sits with humans. In schools, creativity now feels less about performance and more about agency—about giving students space to shape ideas that reflect who they are, what they care about, and the communities they belong to.

What I’m noticing is that this moment isn’t asking educators to become more impressive or more technologically fluent. It’s asking us to become more human.

To shift quietly from managing learning to stewarding it. From directing students to walking alongside them. From certainty to discernment. That feels especially true in international schools, where students are already learning how to navigate complexity, difference, and change.

Right now, I don’t have a conclusion to this wondering —just a question I’m learning to live with.

If our students’ minds are becoming infinite, perhaps the work is not to contain them, but to strengthen the inner parts of ourselves that help us hold them well.

And maybe that work begins not with new tools or frameworks, but with how we show up—calm, curious, and willing to wonder alongside them.

Lianne Dominguez

How can AI make teachers more human in the classroom?

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Everywhere I go lately, there’s a whisper in the background of education: Will AI replace teachers?

I hear it in staff rooms, at conferences, and even in conversations with parents. It’s a question that holds both fear and fascination. But each time, I find myself coming back to a different angle. Because maybe the real question isn’t about replacement at all. Maybe it’s about rebalancing.

What if AI could actually make teachers more human in the classroom?

Why did we choose to become educators?

Most of us didn’t step into teaching because we dreamed of filling out spreadsheets or marking papers at midnight. We entered education because we believe in people—because we know that learning is built on relationships.

It’s in the quiet moment when a student finally feels safe enough to speak. It’s in the spark in their eyes when something “clicks.” It’s in the laughter, the stories, and the trust we build day after day.

Those are the things that stay with students years after they’ve forgotten the details of a math formula or a history date. Those are the things no algorithm can replicate.

And yet, too often, teachers are buried under the noise of the job: the marking pile that never shrinks, the lesson prep that eats up weekends, the data entry that stretches long into the night. All of that steals away the time and energy we want to pour into the human side of teaching.

Where does AI fit ?

Some see AI as a threat, others as the future. The truth may be less about either/or and more about how we align its strengths with what matters most in education.

AI is powerful—it can draft lesson scaffolds, generate feedback at scale, analyze patterns in student data that we might otherwise miss, and even bridge language barriers in multicultural classrooms. In the right hands, it can open possibilities that were once unimaginable.

But here’s the key: AI is at its best not when it replaces teachers, but when it amplifies them. It can clear the clutter so that the teacher’s most important work—relationships, presence, empathy—comes through louder than ever.

What shifts do we need to make?

This is the real shift we need to embrace in education: moving from the fear of replacement to the power of rebalancing.

When we stop asking “Will AI replace us?” and start asking “How can AI give us back time to be fully human?” we change the whole conversation.

If schools integrate AI thoughtfully, we could reclaim something we’ve been losing for years in education: meaningful time. Not just time shaved off our workload, but time that lets us pause, notice, and connect. Time to lean into the conversations that help students feel seen. Time to mentor, to listen, to bring the holistic dimensions of growth—cultural, academic, physical, emotional, social—back to the center of what we do.

Four ways to start that shift

  1. Automate the routine: Use AI for what it does best: the repetitive and the time-consuming. Scheduling, drafting rubrics, generating baseline lesson resources. It’s not about perfection—it’s about removing the drain.
  2. Protect the relational: Make an intentional choice to invest the time saved into relationships. That might mean slowing down for a conversation, designing deeper discussions, or checking in with a student who’s been quiet.
  3. Reframe professional growth: When training staff on AI, pair every technical skill with a human one. For example: show how AI can generate a draft lesson, then ask, “How will you use the time saved to spark deeper inquiry or connect with students more personally?”; Add reflection prompts in evaluations like: “How did AI reduce your workload this term, and how did you reinvest that time into relationships or student growth?”; Leaders can model this shift by sharing how they themselves use AI for admin, then spend the reclaimed time in coaching or mentoring. These subtle moves remind teachers—and systems—that AI is not the goal. The human connection is.
  4. Lead with clarity: Schools should be explicit about where AI belongs and where it doesn’t. Clarity reassures staff, parents, and students that the goal isn’t replacement, but balance.

At its best, AI won’t make classrooms less human—it will make them more human. But that depends on how we choose to use it. The real challenge for us, as educators and leaders, is to decide: Will we let AI crowd our work with more efficiency, or will we use it as an opening to reclaim what matters most—our presence, our empathy, our relationships?

Because in the end, the most powerful learning still happens in the space between people. So I leave you with this: where in your teaching or leadership could AI return the gift of time—for you to be more present, more human?

Matthew Piercy

The Intersection of Nepotism, AI, and Human Intelligence: No Shortcuts

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Face it, we live in a world of volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity (VUCA). Even here in Hawaii, a place where much of the world thinks of as paradise. There is an increasing necessity to not only look at the facts but to apply our HI. No, not HI as in the abbreviated form of Hawaii. Rather, HI as in Human Intelligence.  To think for oneself. Not to kid oneself either. Legislation in Hawaii passed in 2010 a requirement that single-family dwellings being built must have solar water heaters. Four years later, all single-use plastic carryout bags were prohibited. As we come upon the tenth anniversary of this ban, we still need to focus and see the forest through the trees. Much remains to be done in Hawaii if we are to truly become more sustainable. The photo above, taken from my home, is but one example. Seeing the whole picture is necessary. A beautiful coastline, open space, and yet the neon green arrow points to where diesel oil burns for energy. A shortcut of sorts. 

Education in the AI Era: Shortcuts and Consequences

Recently a colleague encouraged me to install Brisk and Origins as Chrome extensions to detect the misuse of AI and plagiarism. To catch out students who opt for shortcuts. Ultimately though, my energies are more into teaching how to use AI as a thought partner of sorts as from personal experience I’ve garnered an understanding of how AI has the potential to create deeper learning. Surprisingly, however, I have found that many students are reluctant to utilize AI. Though initially drawn to it, students have shared how if used ethically, AI often creates more work. More work? Or, more learning?  

An invitation for more “work” is not one usually accepted. Increasingly this appears to be true. As students juggle academics, athletics, the fine arts, and all else whirling in their busy lives I sometimes marvel at the choices being made. For example, many students today have a much more “unique” approach to reading than a few generations ago. Maybe you remember the time, PI (pre-internet), when just had the book and maybe a copy of Spark Notes you purchased in a physical book. Today with the ubiquity of resources, instead of delving into the depths of a book, more traditionally or straightforwardly, students resort to a cunning shortcut. But there are no shortcuts. Watching videos, reading websites, and doing everything BUT reading the book, is a search to reach comprehension without the hassle of exhaustive reading. Ionically this makes the process a whole lot more laborious than just sitting back and reading the book!

Similar to the clever game of intellectual maneuvering to “read” a book, these past months as students apply to universities, I have wondered to what degree students are being used by AI. Opting for the long and winding road, interested in mastering the art of shortcuts, is an inaccurate portrayal being demonstrated to admissions departments? A colleague of mine advises, “Reality will surely strike.” Universities are likely to feel the brunt of who students “really” are and what students can do themselves. AI might be a tool that helps a student jump through the hoop, but once admitted might they be ill-prepared? If so, what might this mean to the future workforce? 

The Shortcut Myth

The current conversations of AI and ethics remind me of the nepotism I confronted early in my international teaching career.  “But Matthew, Martin is a ​​Dueñas (surname),” chided the director of the school. I was unfamiliar with the power of a last name and had never experienced such favoritism.  “Matthew, the Dueñas never fail.” All I knew was that Martin had done nothing all year. He knew, his family knew, and the director knew. Yet, ultimately I would be asked to change his grade. I stood my ground and let the director know that it would have to be her to do such a thing, not me.

There is a Chinese saying that goes “Wealth does not last beyond three generations.” This can be likened to a similar belief depicted in the American expression, “Shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations”. Later in my international teaching career I would have a chance to see this adage playing out and would once again confront nepotism. This time, however, in a different region of the world. The fading of generational wealth was evident as I was introduced to hard-working and determined grandparents who were the builders and first generation of wealth. Students’ parents often were the maintainers and were able to preserve the wealth. Yet, various students, the third generation, were either being pushed through their education or accustomed to taking shortcuts. Unaware that there are no shortcuts. Ultimately, they would be inheriting companies and positions of power in which they were ill-equipped to perform. In effect, they were on the path to becoming the squanders of the families’ wealth. 

Nepotism, seemingly in the DNA of many cultures and industries, shares a kinship with the advent of AI as a shortcut. They both illustrate a preference for the familiar over the uncharted. Nepotism prioritizes kinship over meritocracy, while AI prioritizes convenience over authenticity and understanding. I continue to be a proponent of AI, recognizing that it is here to stay. It can and should be used as a tool. Also, one of the elephants in the room is the “shortcut myth.” AI may be just as students report, “more work.” However, when leveraged with honesty, as a tool, an addition, not a replacement to our Human Intelligence, results may generate greater opportunities, broader perspectives, and deeper understanding. In contrast to the constraints of nepotism, possibilities loom.

Meanwhile, it may help if we remember, there are no shortcuts.

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