At first, it was about necessity.
When the pandemic hit, the shift to online education was fast, chaotic, and mostly improvised. Screens replaced classrooms, microphones replaced group discussions, and chats became the new form of raising your hand. We adapted fast—but in the rush to move everything online, something quietly fell away: the feeling of being together.
Now, a few years later, many of us are still here—learning, teaching, and facilitating through digital platforms. But this time, we’re asking deeper questions. Not just how do we teach online, but how do we connect? How do we make virtual learning spaces feel human, relational, and alive?
Because education, at its best, isn’t just about information. It’s about interaction.
We’ve seen the difference. Between a cold Zoom call and a session where people feel seen. Between watching a lecture and being part of a conversation. Between a passive classroom and an active community.
In the SWITCH project, we’re exploring how to bring those connections back—even when the walls are gone.
One key element? Presence. It might sound strange in a virtual setting, but presence isn’t just physical. It’s about attention. The feeling that the people on your screen are really there with you. That your words matter. That someone is listening.
Facilitators who create presence don’t rely only on slides. They ask open questions. They share something personal. They let silence happen. They remind us that we’re not just faces in boxes—we’re people, showing up from kitchens, bedrooms, libraries, buses.
Another foundation is empathy. Online education can be isolating. Students might be balancing jobs, family care, poor internet, or mental health struggles. Teachers might be working from crowded homes. We don’t always know the context—but we can choose to care.
That care shows up in small ways: starting with a check-in. Allowing cameras off. Understanding that participation looks different for different people. Creating space for flexibility, and trust over control.
We also need interaction that matters. Too often, online sessions fall into the trap of lectures and tasks. But learning sticks when it’s active—when people discuss, collaborate, reflect, build together. Breakout rooms, polls, collaborative boards, shared documents—these aren’t just tools. They’re bridges.
One facilitator told us, “I stopped asking students to listen. I started asking them to build the session with me.” That shift—from delivery to co-creation—is the essence of connection.
We’ve also seen the power of storytelling. Sharing personal experiences breaks down digital distance. A story can carry emotion and humour— the things that make people lean in. It reminds us that behind every login is a life.
Even simple rituals help. Playing music as people join. Ending with gratitude. Using shared whiteboards for doodles, wishes, or emojis. These aren’t distractions. They’re invitations to feel present.
Still, we know that online learning has limits. It can’t replace the spontaneous energy of a room. The side conversations. The shared meals. The body language. But it can do things physical spaces can’t. It can connect people across borders. It can offer access to those who couldn’t otherwise participate. It can be inclusive, flexible, and empowering—if it’s designed with care.
The key is to stop thinking of online spaces as temporary or second-best. They’re real spaces. And they deserve the same creativity and intention we bring to physical ones.
For that, we need to shift our mindset. From control to trust. From teaching at people to learning with them. From polished perfection to authentic connection.
Because the most powerful learning doesn’t happen through bandwidth or bandwidth—it happens through relationships. Through the feeling of being heard, respected, challenged, and supported.
Walls or no walls, that’s what education has always been about.
And it’s still possible—even through a screen.