Why so many Republicans are rejecting Trump’s AI vision for education

Six months ago, first lady Melania Trump walked into a White House education summit next to a faceless robot powered by artificial intelligence, which she said could one day give children personalized instruction.

“Imagine a humanoid educator named ‘Plato,’” she said. “Access to the classical studies is now instantaneous…humanity’s entire corpus of information is available in the comfort of your home.”

Weeks earlier, her guest at the State of the Union had been a 10-year-old from Alpha School, a fast-growing private school network where children learn reading and math from AI software for two hours a day, and spend the rest of their time on workshops and projects overseen by adults the school calls “guides” rather than teachers.

The Trump administration had chosen AI as the future of American schooling, and wanted everyone to know it. But they picked a bad year to ask Americans to trust the technology with their kids.

Earlier this month, top leaders at Anthropic, OpenAI, and Google DeepMind publicly urged for an AI development slowdown, warning that companies racing to build ever more powerful systems could lose control of them, threatening not only large swaths of infrastructure but even humanity itself. Trump responded by calling the panic a “hoax” and said the US would not “hinder or stifle” the industry, because “whoever wins AI wins.” This “let them cook” mantra has met nearly every AI fear this year, from job loss to data center construction.

Yet the public is not convinced, and parents perhaps least of all. Efforts to bring AI into classrooms have run into organized opposition, and much of it is coming from inside Trump’s own coalition, setting up a fight between the administration’s pro-tech allies and conservatives who think screens have already done enough damage to kids.

In the nation’s two largest school districts, New York City has recently pulled student-facing generative AI from classrooms through eighth grade and Los Angeles blocked it on all student devices. But it’s not just Democratic-run cities that are pushing back. Earlier this year Utah barred students from using generative AI on assignments without a teacher’s say-so, and required schools to notify parents when it’s used in class. Oklahoma followed suit with a law, passed without a single “no” vote, that requires districts to tell parents which AI tools they use and what data they collect, and lets families opt out. Florida went further last week, when its Board of Education adopted rules for parents to opt their children in before they use AI at school, guaranteeing non-AI alternatives, and banning “companion” chatbots outright.

Even at the Heritage Foundation, a conservative think tank with close ties to Trump, leaders are warning about the risks of AI in the classroom. In a March report, Heritage officials cautioned that AI tools built with addictive design features can harm children’s attention, mental health, and learning, and said schools should set limits rather than assume the technology will regulate itself. In July, the Manhattan Institute, another conservative think tank, recommended New York State bar students from using AI until third grade and keep it out of tests at every grade.

All the while, the Trump administration continues to push in the opposite direction, casting the wider AI race as one the US cannot afford to lose to China. Last year, Trump signed an executive order creating a White House task force to bring AI into K-12 classrooms, train teachers to use it, and build an “AI-ready workforce” to keep America as the global leader.

Polling data released in August found voters across the political spectrum concerned about AI in classrooms, with 85 percent worried about students using it to finish assignments without learning anything. Republicans were, if anything, slightly more eager than Democrats for government guardrails, 80 percent to 76 percent. Put differently, Republican voters appear closer to the Heritage Foundation than to the White House, which points to a coming clash inside the GOP over parental rights, innovation, and whether schools that take public money should have to prove their tactics work.

Up to this point much of the AI backlash has focused on regulating the tech in public schools, while some of its most ambitious boosters have concentrated on building private schools and developing new tools. A state can cap screen time in its elementary classrooms and let another family down the road pay thousands of dollars for Alpha, and everyone can call it a win for parent choice.

That peace may start to fray though as more public money comes on the table. Texas recently expanded vouchers to Alpha network schools and the company has also sought to open publicly funded charter schools. Other states are likely to confront these issues as well, meaning the AI education fight on the right may soon be unavoidable — and would land before an electorate whose patience for the tech, in schools and increasingly everywhere else, has been running thin all year.

The Trump administration’s AI bet

The AI-in-schools executive order came just three months into Trump’s second term, and called for AI education to begin as early as kindergarten. Within five months, Education Secretary Linda McMahon was touring Alpha School’s Austin campus, describing it as “the most exciting thing” she’d seen in education in a long time.

Alpha is hardly the first education company to promise a shiny new school model, but it has quickly become an influential player in the growing national debate around AI in schools. Its story so far reflects many of the big questions around AI in the classroom, including how to determine if the tech is helping or hurting kids, who is profiting, and what role governments should play in facilitating its adoption.

Alpha had been a small operation for most of its existence. MacKenzie Price, a Stanford graduate, co-founded it in 2014 after her second-grade daughter complained that school was boring. The tech billionaire Joe Liemandt became Price’s partner and the school’s principal financial backer. As recently as 2024 it served about 300 students across three campuses.

Growth exploded in summer 2025, when Alpha took over campuses from a shuttered Montessori chain and announced plans for 10 new schools. This August it announced plans for 27 more.

Behind the school’s growth is its claim that students enrolled can cover a full day’s worth of academics in just two hours with AI, learning twice as fast as they would at a traditional school. Alpha can “enable the increase in human intelligence,” Price declared on a panel in Washington, DC, earlier this month, because “our academics can be delivered so much more efficiently and effectively.”

Alpha says results from MAP tests, a widely used measure of academic growth, show its students learning 2.6 times faster on average than similar students at other schools. But no outside researcher has audited or independently verified those results.

That may soon change. MIT’s Blueprint Labs, the group behind some of the most rigorous charter school research in the country, told Vox it is designing pilot studies to measure the effects of the school’s programs on achievement and engagement, using experimental designs. Alpha is paying for the research; the lab says its own researchers will set the questions and methods. Harvard’s Human Flourishing Program is separately planning to study students’ life skills and well-being via a longitudinal study during the next academic year, Christina Hinton, who is involved with the research, told me. For now, Alpha’s academic claims remain its own.

Meanwhile, scrutiny of Alpha has grown. A Wired investigation last year described the school’s surveillance system as capable of recording students’ screens, keystrokes, and mouse activity and potentially tracking their eye movements. A 404 Media report published this winter claimed Alpha’s own internal documents said its AI-generated lessons sometimes did “more harm than good.” Alpha has disputed both reports, saying they relied on cherry-picked examples and accounts from fired employees, and provided me with an open letter it says every current family at the Brownsville campus signed, stating that the school Wired described doesn’t resemble theirs.

But education officials are still wary. This month, ProPublica and the Texas Tribune reported that at least nine states, Texas among them, had turned down Alpha’s bids to open publicly funded charter schools, with officials repeatedly pointing out that the model had only been tested on affluent students. (Tuition varies based on location, ranging from $10,000 a year at its Brownsville campus to $75,000 at its most expensive California schools.) Where Alpha had worked with lower-income students, ProPublica and the Texas Tribune found, it either hadn’t released enough data to back its claims of student growth or state test scores fell well short of what its leaders had predicted.

After the Texas State Board of Education rejected Alpha’s charter bid in the summer of 2025, Alpha didn’t reapply. While policy advocacy was “frustratingly slow,” Price wrote, Alpha’s goal was “for students everywhere at every income level to be able to use this model of learning.” They turned instead to Texas’s new voucher program, which lets families spend public money at private schools. Unlike a charter, a private school in the program doesn’t have to give state tests or show anyone how its students perform. The comptroller, which runs the Texas Education Freedom Accounts (TEFA), approved most of Alpha’s Texas schools, which, counting virtual programs and specialty academies, now number more than 30.

None of the concerns that Texas’s State Board of Education had raised about Alpha’s test scores, missing data, or AI applied. “That wasn’t relevant,” Travis Pillow, a spokesperson for the TEFA voucher program, told ProPublica. “Our role is to make sure that a school meets the requirements in the law.”

The five most expensive Alpha schools in Texas opted to leave the voucher program earlier this month, but many Alpha network schools are still participating, including Texas Sports Academy, Montessorium, NextGen Academy, Nova Academy, and Waypoint Academy. TEFA confirmed to me that students are attending Alpha affiliates via vouchers this year.

Anna Davlantes, a spokesperson for Alpha, told me that in lieu of vouchers for their most expensive campuses, her network is offering families financial aid.

Despite Alpha’s enthusiastic embrace in the White House, the introduction of AI in schools is increasingly challenged by forces on the right, from grassroots MAGA parents to social conservatives and technocrats.

The new AI rules in Florida, Oklahoma, and Utah, for example, grew out of a broader conservative push against screens in classrooms that predated the rise of chatbots and was turbocharged by parents’ frustrations with virtual learning during the pandemic.

Earlier this year Iowa capped elementary school screen time at an hour a day in a bill Gov. Kim Reynolds signed with Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. at her side. Tennessee passed a weakened version of a bill that would have banned devices in elementary schools outright, while similar bills in Missouri and Kansas died after school districts and teachers unions objected.

Uniting these efforts is a growing conviction that the last 15 years of education technology has failed most kids. The sponsor of Kansas’s bill used to sit on his state’s board of education and remembers thinking that ed tech held such promise. “What we found out is that not only is it not the education of the future, but it is destroying the education of the past,” he told Education Week. A growing number of lawmakers and parents have been citing The Digital Delusion, a book self-published in 2025 by neuroscientist Jared Cooney Horvath, that blames the proliferation of screens for declining student achievement. In January Sen. Ted Cruz (R-TX), who is otherwise one of the Senate’s leading opponents of AI regulation, invited Horvath to testify about the harms of AI on student learning and mental health.

The screen skeptics overlap with a more traditionalist wing of the GOP that objects to classroom technology on principle. Missouri’s original bill would have required cursive and kept 70 percent of student work on paper. The classical education movement, which holds up teachers as a moral example, has grown fast on the right. (Of the 895 identified classical schools nationwide, roughly one-third opened or converted to the model between 2020 and 2024, according to a Heritage Foundation tracker.)

The strand of conservatism that cuts closest to Alpha School comes from a third group, the school choice advocates. On paper, Alpha sounds like what the school reformers have wanted for years: It can offer an alternative to underperforming local public schools, its AI programs can theoretically compensate for inconsistent teacher quality, it provides personalized instruction, and it checks mastery on every lesson, so families can easily know whether their child is learning. Those are problems the education reform movement was launched to solve, and Alpha claims to fix them all.

The reformers, though, want proof. Mike Petrilli, who runs the conservative Thomas B. Fordham Institute think tank and has spent decades advocating for charter schools, wrote recently on his Substack that parents who want to pay for Alpha out-of-pocket should be able to, but “that doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t be skeptical, or that we shouldn’t worry about fraud, or that we should allow public funding to flow to these school.”

This split was on display in DC this month at the education conference where Price appeared. Molly Hart, who runs Utah’s public schools and calls herself a school choice supporter, argued that once a school takes taxpayer money, “the game changes,” and parents can’t make a real choice without data about how it performs. Erika Donalds, who chairs the education center at the America First Policy Institute and is one of the Trump administration’s closest allies on schools, said parents, not the government, should decide which results matter. Donalds compared the choice to picking a restaurant on Yelp.

The evidence has started to catch up with parental concern. In a randomized trial involving nearly 1,000 students at a Turkish high school, those given access to a GPT-based math tutor that readily supplied answers scored 17 percent lower on a subsequent exam taken without it. A version designed to withhold answers eliminated that penalty but produced no statistically significant learning gain. A newer working paper tracking nearly 27,000 Chinese students found that adopting AI raised homework scores by 18 percent but lowered monthly exam scores by 20 percent within six months.

Alpha School is working to add more detail to that pile, and other studies will surely follow. It’s at least possible that some aspects of AI in education prove more promising with further study. But public skepticism will remain a major barrier, either way. On an issue where parties are still sorting themselves out, the White House and its allies are swimming against a growing anti-tech tide that extends far beyond just AI or even schools. That’s unlikely to change before 2028, and whoever wants the Republican nomination will have to say which parents they’re listening to.