Is it Worth It?

E-Value-ating Value

"Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now."-Homer

As a teacher of both language and literature, my simultaneous best friend and worst enemy is words. Yes, without words I'd have no career. And we as a species would have little else to differentiate our supposedly 'superior' means of communication from those of our fellow life forms on Earth. Still. I hate words as much as I love them. I know I'm not alone in this dilemma.

It's words like 'value' that put me off. They're super simple- easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and definitely easy to remember. The problem is in defining them. How do you sum up, surmise, describe, something so uncomplicated but also broad and unwieldy?

'Value' is both a noun and a verb. It is used synonymously with words like 'worth', 'deserving', 'quality' and 'price'. It is the root word for such terms as 'evaluate', which are central to the way we make both important and mundane decisions in everyday life. To evaluate something is therefore to observe its most obvious characteristics, assess how these do or do not meet your present needs/wants, and then place the thing on either the lower or upper part of your personal continuum of 'worthiness'. Something is only as valuable as it is useful. A fresh, crisp turkey sandwich is of no value to me: I'm allergic to turkey! My younger brother is impartial to the stuff- it's not 'precious' to him, but it's also not valueless.

What about the value we place on the people around us? HOW do you even e-value-ate a human being? It's rather unkind to speak about a person in terms of their 'use' to you. At least, not out loud. The truth is, even unconsciously, it is not above our nature to assign 'value' to other people based on how 'useful' or, indeed, 'useless' they are to us. I remember being a young academic, working my first ever job as a junior lecturer at the local state-owned university. I made it my first priority of the day to arrive early to the lecture theater for my first-ever lecture. You don't want to be late for something as amazing as that, especially if you're just starting your career. I got there fifteen minutes early and stood at the podium, re-checking my slides for the last time and waiting for the tech and media guys to come in and give me any info I might need (you never know what could happen: screen freeze, blackout...earthquake!). Two minutes in, I heard giggling. I ignored it until it became full-blown laughter. I turned to my left to see three young men having a good laugh...at me! "Shh, gofo ia i lalo! Aoooo!" (Oh, just sit down!) one of them quipped. I was twenty years old, probably the same age as one or two of them, and they could not tell I was a lecturer. The utter, abhorrent disrespect! The sheer audacity...But also, the sheer truth this revealed about how young people talk to one another. These students placed little to no value on my self-esteem, ego, reputation or any other thing that might have been utterly demolished had I actually been 'just another overconfident girl.' I knew their cause: they were tired of seeing their female peers goofing around, mimicking lecturers and generally just seeking attention (haven't we all been eighteen and very silly before?). But even this approach, I thought, was very unkind.

How did I deal with being devalued on my first day of work, by the very people I was there to work for? I let them laugh. Until the clock struck 12, the lecture hour, and my colleague came in to give out the lecture attendance register sheets. The students greeted him enthusiastically- he was a more senior academic, and had a great rapport with everyone. "Mr, what's the lecture on today?" one of the kids who had laughed at me called over. "You may ask Ms. Koria, " my colleague smiled, gesturing towards me. "She's delivering today's lecture, and also co-coordinating this course with me!" I have never seen so many jaws drop in my life.

That sounds like a great victory moment in a Hollywood blockbuster, right? Well, it was NOT. If anything, it was a very sad but timely reminder of how quickly we as humans add and subtract value to and from each other on a daily basis. My value shot up in those moments because I appeared useful. I had knowledge to pass on. I had experience to share.

What's the way forward for a situation like this? For a revelation like this? Is there a way forward?

I'll always believe there is!

A year after that unfortunate first lecture, two of the three young men landed in my literature tutorial. I saw this as a perfect opportunity to finally make my point- but kindly, and in a way that would help all of us. Together, we studied the beautiful Kate Chopin short story, Desiree's Baby. It tells of segregation-era couple Desiree and Armand, whose union produces a coloured child, much to the shock of both their very white families. Armand blames Desiree, who he knows to have been adopted by her childless parents. Despite her very pale complexion - "whiter than you, Armand"- her obscure origins make her an easy scapegoat. Desiree tries desperately to save her marriage- she writes home to beg her parents to come and see Armand, and 'confirm' that she is, indeed, white and of European ancestry. Her mother writes an interesting, wonderfully wise response: "Desiree, come home. Come home to your mother who loves you. Come and bring your child." It is only after chasing both Desiree and the child out of their home that Armand makes a shocking discovery: his beloved mother, who had supposedly died in childbirth, was actually absent from his life because she was a coloured woman, and did not want her light-skinned child to deal with the shame of being 'labeled' by such a cruel society.

So, I asked my class, "what do we learn from this?"

Immediately, one of the young men from the lecture raised his hand. "Miss, I think the story is telling us that we should be kind to everyone, no matter whether they're green or blue or pink or old or young or short or annoying...you know what I mean? Because they're people. And people do matter. And sorry for what we said last year, Miss. You're very cool- you didn't chase us out."

"Of course not," I told him. "Because I valued you guys. Still do."