In a school in São Paulo, a student now slips her mobile phone into her backpack at the start of the day, a small ritual repeated in thousands of classrooms across Brazil. This act, mundane as it seems, marks a profound shift. A national survey of over 8,000 school managers, released by the Ministry of Education, found that 92% of schools have implemented a law restricting non-pedagogical use of phones. Before the legislation, 13% of institutions permitted unrestricted use; now, none do. The backpack has become the default safe, with 62% of schools storing devices there, while others use reception desks or collective lockers.

Viewed from Brasília, the impact is striking. According to the same survey, 86% of managers reported a reduction in student anxiety, 55% noted fewer physical conflicts, and 88% observed a decline in cyberbullying. “The school environment and group coexistence are an activator of learning,” said Kátia Schweickardt, the secretary of basic education. Yet the transition is not seamless: 39% of schools struggle with infrastructure for storage, and 31% find continuous monitoring during breaks difficult. Officials acknowledge the law succeeded because it crystallised a pre-existing societal alarm over the “nocivo” use of phones, as one put it—a rare case of a policy that, in the words of an education leader, “is alive, because it is already being internalised.”

Across the Southern Cone, Argentina is drawing different lessons from its own data. The Aprender 2025 tests, published by the Ministry of Human Capital, show that more than 70% of students reached the expected level in reading, with five in ten achieving satisfactory or advanced marks in mathematics. Officials in Buenos Aires point to the Escuelas Alfa programme, a targeted literacy plan for schools facing the greatest pedagogical challenges. In the most vulnerable social sectors, the performance gap between these schools and others narrowed by 17.6 points—a figure the government frames as evidence that evidence-based, jointly agreed policies can deliver concrete learning gains.

In Europe, a parallel reckoning is unfolding around inclusion. A study by the German Institute for Human Rights, based on interviews with over 7,400 parents of children with disabilities, reveals a quiet crisis of belonging. Only 40% of parents felt their child was as welcome at a mainstream school as non-disabled peers; nearly 69% said they would have chosen a regular school if conditions had been right. Instead, many ended up in special schools, a choice researchers in Frankfurt describe as a “compensatory last resort” rather than a genuine preference. Teachers lack adequate training, and parents are left to organise transport and assistance themselves, effectively privatising participation. Germany ratified the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities in 2009, yet a parallel system of special schools persists.

In South Asia, a different trajectory is emerging. In Bangladesh, the “Shikhbo Shobai” project, run by the international NGO Sightsavers and evaluated by researchers from BRAC University and the University of Cambridge, boosted school participation among children with disabilities by 15% and reduced bullying by 8%. The programme combined home visits, physiotherapy, assistive devices, and teacher training across 122 schools. Girls showed particularly strong gains, with exam participation and home study time rising significantly. A separate BRAC initiative increased household incomes of ultra-poor disabled families by 20%. Analysts in Dhaka note that the key was simultaneous support for the child, the family, and the school—a holistic push against deep-seated exclusion. In a Dhaka classroom, a girl who once stayed home now raises her hand, a quiet echo of the backpack in São Paulo and the unanswered wish of a parent in Berlin.