QUALIFIED, BUT FOR WHAT?

The young man sitting in my office was definitely amused, and not even attempting to mask, that in me, he had found a new source of entertainment. Why was I so shocked by his story, he wanted to know. He reclined more in his chair, his light brown eyes impudent, as he awaited a response to his question. I was not at all certain; I had one to give him. He had arrived 20 minutes late for a job interview with no explanation other than he had stopped to talk to a friend after alighting from his taxi. He really had not thought that would be a problem. Was it? Better late than never, no? What could I tell him, this youth, who, copies of his BA in hand, thought himself “qualified” for a place in a newspaper company, entitled to a proof reader’s job, late or not? Explaining to him the reasons why it was better to be on time for an interview than to lime at City Gate, would require taking this 25-year-old back to his infancy, in an effort to fill the conspicuous gaps in his home education. One of these was a lesson in punctuality.

Adults in his early life had passed this young buck so much; he now had nowhere to go. However, was it my duty to assume the responsibility they had abdicated when they taught him that higher education was the sole goal worth pursuing? Should the spoilt buck stop here with me?
I wondered what could have led him to conclude that despite his tardiness, he had a chance at a position on staff.  And while no one could devalue the importance of possessing degrees, what could have made his parents forget to teach him about the value of things that were not written on fancy paper. I finally stopped musing and responded that his late arrival was certainly a problem, for he was not the only interviewee. The youth sitting before me shrugged and with this movement of his shoulders, I understood that I was more ill at ease with our conversation than he. That I was more worried about his present and his future than he ever would be. This young man did not really want a job. He felt, however, his “qualifications” entitled him to a pay cheque from Newsday. If we were being “unreasonable,” someone else would spoil him as his parents had ruined him.

He reached for his bag of “qualifications” and exited my office in the same indifferent manner he had entered the room. I wondered what he would tell his family, his peers. Would he say he had been a victim, unfairly treated?  Probably. Would this experience teach him to be on time for his next interview? Probably not. I also wondered if he would have behaved in the same manner in a foreign country. Would he not have been punctual for the interview? We were off better citizens of other nations than we were of our own. It was quite possible that no one laboured harder abroad than we did. But in our own land, we were more interested in titles and salaries, in demanding, instead of contributing. The one difference between this young man and many of us was that he had made no attempt to camouflage his true disposition, with smiles or lies, as many — both young and old — around him did.

His coming had also meant that after this interview, I would never again be able to convince myself that ours was not a society on the decline.
Discipline, tolerance and production were for the birds and the nerds. They were certainly, Trini cardinal sins. I really should have not been so surprised at this young man’s attitude, though. My office door had, of late abandoned its hinged swing for a revolving motion, as in vain, I interviewed men and women, from all social classes, in a quest for people of substance, not just of “papers” and straw. Ones, who knew that you did not have to be an upstart, to move up, that having an opinion was different from being opinionated and that possessing a degree did not mean you were “qualified.” Perhaps as many as nine out of ten of the persons who had come through that door were unemployable, for a myriad of reasons.
The tardy young man was the worst of the nine, or rather; a compact of them all, for I could tell that contained within his young body and mind, were all the attributes that no prospective employer desired. Not only would Newsday have to teach him particular journalistic skills, but we would also have to train him to be disciplined, on time, polite, you name it. Few companies were prepared or equipped for such a laborious task. We would be better off with someone less “qualified,” but of more “quality.”

It was indeed unfortunate that this young man — and many in our country — believed these two words meant the same thing. It was truly sad that many citizens of TT were convinced that a little bit of glitter meant they were made of gold. Because when you scratched the surface of their mettle, all you found was rust and decay. The greatest tragedy of all though, was that the rot was now setting in at such a young age.

Suzanne Mills is the Editor of Newsday.

Columnist’s note: I have not written of politicians this week, but have not forgotten nevertheless, that Parliament will reconvene tomorrow morning in the Red House, which is not for Manning.