Education didn’t become more complex overnight, but technology made it feel that way.
That shift is something Deveren Fogle has watched closely from inside classrooms, coaching sessions, and school systems, trying to keep up. As an educator turned executive function specialist and founder of Uluru, Deveren has spent years helping students navigate a learning environment flooded with platforms, dashboards, and digital tools, many of which promise progress but quietly create confusion.
Fogle doesn’t argue against technology in education. He understands its value. Today’s students have access to more information, content, and practice opportunities than any generation before them. Lessons can be revisited, skills reinforced, and learning extended beyond the classroom. For students who need flexibility or alternative ways to engage, technology can be genuinely helpful.
The problem begins when access is mistaken for understanding.
Through his work, Deveren saw students juggling assignments delivered through multiple platforms, each with different expectations and workflows. On paper, it looked like support. In reality, students were drowning in decisions they were never taught how to make. What to do first. How long something should take. How to know if they were on track. Technology multiplied demands without strengthening the thinking needed to manage them.
One of Deveren Fogle’s clearest lines is this: technology should never think for students. Tools that plan, organize, prioritize, or generate work on a student’s behalf may reduce effort in the short term, but they also remove the very moments where learning happens. When friction disappears entirely, students lose opportunities to build judgment, persistence, and independence.
This is not a theoretical concern. Deveren has worked with students who appeared productive on the surface but struggled the moment structure was removed. The technology worked, until it didn’t. Without internal skills to fall back on, students became dependent on systems that couldn’t adapt to new challenges.
For him, the issue is not innovation. Its intention. He believes educational technology should be built by people who have worked directly with students and understand how learning actually unfolds. Removing struggle entirely doesn’t help students grow. The right kind of support helps them engage with struggle without shutting down.
That thinking shaped the design of Uluru. Instead of replacing cognitive work, the platform supports it. Uluru helps students plan tasks, estimate time, and monitor progress while they are working. It guides attention without taking control. The goal is not speed or completion, it’s awareness. Over time, students learn how to approach work independently, even without the tool.
He also sees technology as a bridge for human support, not a replacement. Students spend most of their day outside of school, yet learning expectations don’t stop at dismissal. When technology helps connect students and families by offering timely insight into effort and process, support becomes clearer and less reactive. Parents can reinforce strategies instead of policing outcomes.
At its best, technology helps students stay oriented. It can surface patterns, prompt reflection, and support communication. At its worst, it hides gaps and creates the illusion of progress. The difference lies in whether the tool strengthens thinking or quietly bypasses it.
Deveren Fogle’s perspective stands out because it resists extremes. He is not calling for less technology, nor is he impressed by more of it. He is calling for better use. Tools should expand opportunity without replacing the mental work that builds confidence and resilience.
The takeaway from his work is simple but demanding. Technology can support learning, but it cannot replace it. When schools and families remember that boundary, students don’t just keep up, they learn how to move forward on their own.
