The Tribune

THERE’S an obsession with qualifications.

From the moment we enter the classroom, we’re introduced to a system that attempts to measure what we know and, unfortunately, sometimes ends up determining what we believe we’re worth. We sit examinations. We receive grades. We’re ranked. Somewhere between 0 and 100, a judgment is made about whether the time we spent in the classroom bore fruit.

Get the higher marks, and you are called intelligent, brilliant, gifted, or promising. Fall toward the bottom and different words begin to appear: slow, weak, incapable, sometimes even dumb or ignorant.

Then come the rewards.

Students with the best grades receive accolades, honour-roll recognition, scholarships, recommendations, and access to the best opportunities. Their parents boast about them. Teachers hold them up as examples. Employers look favourably upon them.

Meanwhile, the child who cannot remember enough of what was taught, or cannot reproduce it in the prescribed manner on examination day, can begin believing that they’re somehow less important.

I have always had a problem with that.

Not with education. Not with learning. Not with excellence.

With measurement.

I never failed an examination because I never took one. I refused to be measured.

Before somebody interprets that statement as advice for young people to throw away their textbooks, let me be absolutely clear: I’m not suggesting that anyone follow my path. Education opens doors. Qualifications are necessary for many professions. If you want to be a doctor, engineer, lawyer, accountant or enter any number of specialised professions, there are standards you must meet and examinations you must pass.

My decision was mine.

I refused to let an examination system determine what I could become. I didn't want a number on a piece of paper to become the final authority on my intelligence, my usefulness, or my potential.

Life became my classroom.

And believe me, that classroom gives examinations too.

I travelled through hills and valleys. I made mistakes. I experienced disappointments. I learned lessons the hard way. Sometimes I learned what to do. Just as importantly, I learned what not to do. Eventually, I began using those experiences to help others.

The irony doesn't escape me. The person without the paper behind his name has travelled to seven countries, giving speeches to people of higher learning. I have stood before audiences containing people with academic accomplishments I do not possess and shared lessons drawn not from a textbook, but from life.

That experience taught me something important: There’s more than one way to know. And there’s certainly more than one way to be intelligent.

That’s why I become concerned when qualifications stop being evidence of academic achievement and become badges of human superiority. Some people hold on to their qualifications and title for dear life. Their certificates are not simply evidence that they studied and passed examinations. The qualifications become their identity. Worse, they begin treating them as evidence that they belong to a superior category of human beings.

You know the type.

They enter a workplace and announce their qualifications before anyone asks. Every disagreement eventually comes back to their degree or qualification, with no ability or performance record. They speak differently to the executive than they do to the janitor. They dismiss the opinions of people without a university education. They cannot imagine that somebody with fewer academic qualifications might know something they don’t.

They look down on the less fortunate. Some practically hold their noses in the presence of people they consider beneath them.

That’s not education. That’s arrogance wearing a graduation gown.

A certificate can tell me that you completed a programme of study. It cannot tell me that you are wise. A degree can indicate that you satisfied certain academic requirements. It cannot tell me that you possess good judgment.

A master's degree does not certify humility. A doctorate does not guarantee common sense. And no university on earth can award a qualification that makes one human being inherently more valuable than another.

The workplace suffers terribly when we forget this. A superiority complex destroys collaboration because collaboration requires respect. If I enter a room already convinced that my qualifications make me the smartest person in it, why would I listen to you?

Why would I value the receptionist's observation? Why would I listen to the clerk who has worked in the department for 25 years? Why would I ask the maintenance worker what he has noticed? Why would I accept correction from somebody whose educational qualifications I consider inferior to mine?

I wouldn't. And that’s how organisations become stupid while employing plenty of intelligent people. Everybody knows something, but nobody is allowed to contribute because somebody important believes knowledge only counts when it arrives with letters behind a name.

We see another contradiction all the time: people without formal qualifications training people who have them.

Think about that.

A new employee arrives with a degree and is shown the job by somebody who may never have attended university. The supposedly "unqualified" employee explains the procedures, introduces the systems, identifies the people who must be contacted, demonstrates how problems are solved, and warns the newcomer about mistakes to avoid.

The qualified person has academic knowledge. The other person has institutional knowledge. Which one is valuable?

Both. That’s the point. One should never have to destroy the other.

Experience without learning can become stagnant, but education without experience can become arrogant. The strongest organisations bring the two together.

Unfortunately, our systems do not always do that. This is especially dangerous in the public service, where qualifications, seniority, titles, and promotion structures can sometimes obscure the most basic question: can the person actually do the job?

We have created situations where people can move from position to position, sometimes even ministry to ministry, accumulating titles and influence. At the same time, those working around them quietly question their ability to perform the basic functions expected of their office. An undersecretary who has been shuffled around asking a clerical worker how to do the simplest exercises.

And yet another promotion may come.

God forbid.

This is bigger than any one person. It’s a systems problem. If advancement depends too heavily on certificates and too little on demonstrated competence, the system will eventually promote paper over performance.

That has consequences.

Imagine being the employee who knows the operation from top to bottom, but is constantly made to feel inferior because you don't have the appropriate certificate. Imagine repeatedly training people who enter above you, watching them receive greater status and compensation, and then watching them turn around and treat you as though you know nothing.

How long before you stop offering ideas?

How long before you stop going beyond what is required?

How long before you say, "they don't value what I know, so let them figure it out"?

That’s how superiority destroys productivity.

People need encouragement. They need to believe upward mobility is possible. They need to know that contribution matters. When an organisation communicates that only certain people possess ideas worth hearing, it gradually silences everybody else. Eventually, the institution loses access to some of the knowledge already sitting inside it.

We must also confront an uncomfortable reality. The more we make certificates the gateway to money, promotion, prestige, and power, the more valuable the piece of paper becomes. And whenever a piece of paper becomes extremely valuable, there will be people tempted to obtain it dishonestly.

Far too many got their qualification “on sale.” They literally “purchase their certificates.”

We have heard stories and allegations over the years about questionable and fraudulent qualifications being used to secure positions or advancement. Every employer, particularly government, should have robust systems for verifying qualifications. Perpetrators must be dealt with, just like an armed robber.

But verification solves only half the problem. Suppose the certificate is genuine. Then what?

Can the person perform? That’s the examination that should never end.

If you have a master's degree in management but cannot manage people, something is wrong. If you possess impressive academic credentials, but cannot perform basic functions associated with your office, the certificates cannot be allowed to conceal the deficiency.

Qualifications should get your foot through certain doors. Performance should determine what happens after you enter.

I’m not arguing for rejecting qualifications. That would be foolish. I’m arguing for putting them in their proper place.

Celebrate academic achievement. Honour the student who worked until two in the morning. Applaud the person who completed a degree while raising children and working full-time. Respect the scientist who devoted years to mastering a discipline. Recognise the doctor, engineer, teacher and scholar.

By the same token, do not discount the plumber, carpenter, electrician, mechanic, landscaper, maid, bartender, waitress, housekeeper.

While celebrating the former, don’t humiliate those people whose journeys were different.

Don’t assume the person without the degree has nothing to teach you.

Don’t confuse opportunity with superiority.

And never make the mistake of believing that because someone has no letters behind his name, there’s nothing inside his head.

My own life won't let me believe that. The best way I can explain this is with a motorcar.

A car contains some magnificent pieces of engineering. Consider the engine, transmission, radiator and battery. These are substantial components. Remove the engine, and nobody needs to be told that the car is going nowhere.

Naturally, we focus on the big parts. But somewhere in that same vehicle is a tiny fuse. It doesn’t look impressive beside an engine. Nobody opens the bonnet to show his friends the fuse. Nobody boasts about the horsepower of his fuse. It’s small, inexpensive and easily overlooked.

Yet let the right fuse blow.

The engine can be in perfect condition. The transmission can be flawless. The radiator can be filled. The battery can be fully charged. And the car may still sit in the garage. That little, unimpressive part can stop the show.

Organisations work the same way. The permanent secretary matters. So does the messenger. The chief executive matters. So does the receptionist. The person with the doctorate has a purpose. So does the person who never entered a university. The manager matters. So does the cleaner who ensures that everyone enters a healthy workplace the following morning.

Different responsibilities? Certainly.

Different salaries? Understandably.

Different levels of authority? Necessarily.

Different human worth? Absolutely not.

We’ll build better workplaces when we finally understand that distinction.

The purpose of education should be to enlarge the mind, not the ego.

The purpose of qualifications should be to demonstrate learning, not to establish a caste system.

And the purpose of leadership should be to discover the contribution people can make, not to remind them of where they supposedly belong.

So, hang your degrees on the wall. Be proud of them. You earned them. Just remember the little fuse.

Because no matter how impressive the engine is, sometimes the smallest and most unassuming part determines whether the whole thing moves.