The Tribune

By IVOINE INGRAHAM

In the quiet, early hours of a Bahamian morning, before the sun has fully reclaimed the turquoise horizon, a symphony begins. It isn't the sound of a gavel in a courtroom or the rhythmic beep of a hospital monitor. It is the soft swish of a mop, the gentle clinking of cleaning supplies, and the steady, rhythmic breath of those who prepare the world for everyone else to inhabit.

For too long, we have lived under the tyranny of a fictitious measuring stick. In the Bahamas, and indeed across the globe, we have constructed a hollow altar to the "professional." We bow before the certificates, the heavy gold-embossed frames of degrees, and the acronyms that trail behind names like vanity plates on a luxury car. We have been conditioned to believe that a person’s worth is tied to their proximity to an academic institution. At the same time, those who perform the labour that sustains our very existence are relegated to the shadows of the "least among us."

But let us be clear: Qualification is not performance, and a degree is not a soul.

The Paper Fortress of the Public Service

Nowhere is this ungodly exercise of ingratitude more visible than within the hallowed, stagnant halls of the Public Service. We see a recurring tragedy: men and women who have given forty years of unselfish contribution—the literal backbone of the country—being ceremoniously sidelined. These are the consummate professionals who have kept the gears of the nation turning through hurricanes, economic shifts, and health challenges that would have broken lesser spirits.

Yet, when the "promotion exercise" arrives, it is not the decades of institutional knowledge or the "fingers worked to the bone" that are rewarded. Instead, we watch as people are "leap-frogged" by those with "invisible qualifications" or better connections. We see Permanent Secretaries who "fix their mouths" to speak of high-level policy, conveniently forgetting that their polished image is built entirely on the labour of the veterans behind the scenes.

There is a particular kind of indignity in being told to train your own superior. Imagine the veteran clerk, a master of the system, being forced to teach a newcomer with a fresh Master’s degree how to actually do the job, only to be met with disrespect from the very person they are mentoring. This is a sickness in our society. We have traded merit for paper and character for credentials.

"God is not pleased with this, and no amount of bureaucratic explanation can wash away the stain of such systemic injustice."

The "Least Among Us": A Lie We Tell Ourselves

Society has a cruel way of categorizing human value. If a family has a son who is a doctor, they shout it from the rooftops. But if that son is a plumber or an electrician—the very people who ensure we have clean water and light—the voices drop an octave.

Worse still is the plight of the woman who dares to say she is a maid. To some, cleaning a home or a toilet is seen as a mark of failure. We look down on these women as if they lack culture or "intellect." We forget that these are the women who raised us.

I think of my own mother, the late Frevya Stubbs from Orange Creek Cat Island, she was a maid, and she was the most dignified lady I have ever known. She didn’t view her work as a burden; she viewed it as a celebration. She took great pleasure in the artistry of her labour and could not wait for the next day to begin. To her, the profession wasn't a cage; it was a bridge. She met people from faraway lands, forged lifelong friendships, and gained a perspective on humanity that a classroom could never provide. She understood a truth we have forgotten: The profession does not make the person; the person makes the profession.

The Gospel of Kate Duncombe

They are janitresses, but to call her "just" a janitress is to miss the divinity in her work. She mops the floor with a smile that could rival the morning sun. When asked why she is so happy, her response is a masterclass in human philosophy: "I enjoy doing what I do. I can create an atmosphere where people feel comfortable. Plus, I respect my job, and most of all, I respect myself while doing it."

How powerful! In those few words, Ms Duncombe shatters the superiority complex of the "highly academic." She isn't working for men's accolades; she is working from a place of self-respect and joy. She understands that she is the architect of the atmosphere.

Imagine for a moment if the "important" people—the doctors, the lawyers, the Permanent Secretaries—stopped working for a week. Life would be inconvenient. Now, imagine if the maids and the janitors took those same days off. Imagine the scent, the filth, the chaos, and the rapid spread of disease. We would quickly realise that the people we call "the least" are actually the "most essential."

A New Measuring Stick

It is time we stop pandering to the idea that a Bachelor’s or Master’s degree makes one "cultured." If you have three degrees but cannot show respect to the person cleaning your office, you are uneducated in the only way that matters.

True education is found in:

• The pride of the craftsman: The plumber who ensures the pipes are true.

• The joy of the service: The janitor who smiles because they know their work brings comfort.

• The integrity of the veteran: The public servant who works beyond the call of duty despite being overlooked.

We must stop punishing ourselves for not meeting a fictitious societal standard. If your profession lifts your spirit, you have won. If you take pride in your work, whether you are performing heart surgery or scrubbing a floor, you are equal in the eyes of the Creator.

I applaud Ms Duncombe. I applaud my mother. And I applaud every worker who has been told they are "less than" because they don't have a piece of paper to prove their worth. You are the ones who make this country. You are the ones who keep us sane, clean, and functioning.

Let us tear down the invisible measuring sticks. Let us replace the superiority complex with a simple, radical idea: The only true measure of a person is the respect they have for themselves and the love they pour into their labour.