Kimberly Von Randow ’28
Staff Writer
Gone are the days of Abigail Williams accusing you of dancing in the woods with the devil. In 2025, the devil isn’t in the woods, it’s in Google Docs, and his name is ChatGPT. But professors aren’t looking for broomsticks or cauldrons, they are scrutinizing your essays for suspiciously clean transitions and advanced syntax like they’re signs of demonic possession. Or, God forbid, a student uses the em dash in their writing. That buys them a one way ticket to the Dean’s office and a shattered GPA. If em dashes are such a clear sign of AI usage, does that mean that in the 19th century, Emily Dickinson was using ChatGPT to write her poems?
Professors claim they want students to grow as writers, but the academic culture around AI has twisted that goal into a lose-lose situation for pupils. An inadequate paper full of typos and run-on sentences is considered “safe” because no robot would ever dare to produce something that messy. But a paper with sharp structure or a well-placed semicolon? That’s basically a confession of sorcery. Ironically, the very skills we learned in our English classes — clarity, style, and mastery of language — have become red flags. Excellence is now evidence. But mediocrity doesn’t escape a losing fate; you may not be accused of using AI on a bad paper, but you can kiss that A in your class goodbye.
The tools used to limit this “AI epidemic” aren’t much better. AI detectors have the reliability and accuracy of a Magic 8 Ball, spitting out accusations followed by “Ask again later. Or Pay $12.99 a Month for Our Unlimited Plan!” Still, some professors treat them as absolute truth. Students who pull all-nighters to finish their essays now find themselves in Kafkaesque meetings resembling “The Trial” trying to prove their own humanity.
This is where the contradictions are most obvious. Colleges, especially ours, love to reward the “best” students with honors, scholarships, and fellowships. Professors gawk at advanced arguments and elegant prose, at least until the imaginary line is crossed and they decide it’s too polished to be believable. Outcome is often valued more than sincere effort, and it is this broken system that is the root of this AI panic on both sides.
In Salem, if you drowned, you were innocent. If you floated, you were guilty. In college, if your essay is lacking, you’re human. If it is exceptional, you’re a machine. Either way, the lesson’s the same: survival means never standing out. Which begs the question — what kind of future does academia have when the fear of technology outweighs the faith in its own students?
Copy Edited by Ella Woei ’26
Featured image courtesy of Wikipedia
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