On a platform where we read daily about CEOs, managers, consultants, and corporate successes, today I’d like to dedicate this space to people whose work is mentioned far less often. They don’t have to give a presentation to prove what they know, yet without their work our ordinary day would grind to a halt.
“Study so you won’t have to do that kind of work.”
Many of us grew up hearing that line. Most often, parents said it out of concern, wanting their child to have an easier life and more opportunities. But alongside that concern came another message: there are occupations to aspire to and others to avoid.
Then we grow up and find ourselves depending precisely on the work of the very people we’ve been taught to look down on.
When the power goes out, a well-written report doesn’t help us. When a pipe bursts, we don’t ask for a presentation. When a machine breaks down or a system fails, we need someone who understands the problem and knows how to solve it. At that moment, their title means nothing to us. All that matters is how much they know.
But that understanding often lasts only as long as the fault.
It strikes me how readily we acknowledge the value of knowledge that comes with a title, yet how often we overlook the knowledge proven through work. A person who has been conscientiously doing their job for years becomes almost invisible until something stops working. Then we expect them to be available immediately, to make no mistakes, and for their work to cost as little as possible.
I don’t think craftsmanship and a college education should be pitted against each other. A good technician must constantly learn, an engineer must understand real-world conditions, and a manager must be familiar with the work of the people from whom they expect results. Academic education and practical experience do not negate one another.
Yet no occupation gives us the right to regard someone else’s honest work as less valuable.
The problem begins long before a person’s first job. It begins when we point to a working person and present their occupation as a warning. We meant to encourage the child to study, but perhaps we taught them to see manual labor as a sign of failure.
That’s why, right here, amid all our posts about professional success, I’d like us to ask ourselves more often how much of what works in our lives is thanks to people whose names we’ll never read in any post about success.
We may wish for our children to have an education, freedom of choice, and a life with more opportunities.
But if, while telling them what they should become, we also teach them whom they shouldn’t respect, we haven’t just passed on advice about education.
We have also passed on our own prejudices.
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