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My take on school prize-givingsI have been following the constant yo-yoing of the global economic fortunes with a wry smile. It is a personal thing, and has as its genesis a lively discussion I once had with a schoolboy.
As a broadcaster and columnist, I have been offered a number of opportunities to inspire the people who one day will be taking your place.
An e-mail or call normally arrives at the start of the final term of a school year: an invitation to be the guest speaker at a school’s prize-giving.
I invariably agree, as this is both an honour as well as a fascinating exercise in studying human behaviour within a broader sociological perspective. Although each school has its own social micro climate with varying measures of hierarchy and subsequent tensions, they share an amazing degree of similarity in the scope and degree of what they produce – our future leaders.
For a parent of one or more children, particularly at the same school, this may not be immediately apparent. But when you are a guest speaker at a prize-giving, things are different: You become not only acutely aware of the charges you are addressing; but you get to shake their hands, look into their eyes, and deliver words of praise and personal encouragement. For that very brief moment, you make direct contact with the world’s future leaders.
It is both a rewarding and humbling experience, and one I embrace. It is something I have shared with my wife, herself a seasoned guest speaker at such events.
Furthermore, it has fuelled a topic of casual research for me, concerning what seems to be a fascinating pattern of personalities.
It is something I introduced to a particularly successful head boy during the function immediately after his school’s prize-giving. He had won a number of awards that day. He guessed that I attended many such events, and I jokingly rolled my eyes back and said yes.
He then asked me a fascinating question: he wanted to know if prize-givings became routine for me in any way.
I smiled, shook my head, paused thoughtfully and then explained that although every one was different, I had noticed there seemed to be essentially two types of school prize recipients: the assertive and the meek.
The former are invariably the jocks. They are the stars who dominate the gladiatorial arenas of sport. They have a firm handshake and look directly into my eye. They exude confidence, and they are itching to get out of school and conquer the world.
The latter are more bookish. They find refuge between the pages of textbooks and make their mark among numbers. They have a delicate handshake and invariably avert their eyes from my firm stare. They are a little hesitant about stepping into the boisterous outside.
Irrespective of their personalities and achievements, the message I give them is the same, and I suppose it is similar to what school-leavers hear at most prize-givings: the school has done its best to prepare you, now it is up to you to seize opportunities and to forge your own destiny.
This is an important moment – not only for them, but also for us because as we step back and allow the young Turks to take over the mantle of leadership, our future is irrevocably tied in with their capabilities and personalities; more so than we possibly realise.
We knowingly become mesmerised by the antics of the confident and physically astute. We cheer their actions on the field, follow their fortunes in the media and salute their gravitas. We draw strength from their achievements and disparage their failures. They become icons for our identity.
But we do not realise that while we are lauding them, we are actually taking our eye off the ball. While they have been clawing their way through the heaving mass of physical parrying, the former bookish boys and girls we ignored have been quietly securing positions of authority in the political and corporate networks that control our lives.
They have become politicians and administrators, bankers and accountants, wheelers and dealers; and they have started tugging at the threads that weave their way through the tapestry of our very livelihood. Their decisions, made with the stroke of a pen, determine our future; and their follies, captured by the buttons on a keyboard, can wipe out our fortunes.
It is why the continual waxing and waning of the global economy is so fascinating. It has nothing to do with forces beyond our control. It is, in fact, a performance – crafted by players whose characters were forged by a speech, a prize and a handshake.
And it is why – while most people see politicians engaging themselves in power game-playing, and they watch the jagged graphs that trail the whims of hedge fund managers – I see those bookish boys and girls from years ago, all grown up.
And I smile. For the meek indeed have inherited the earth.
Daryl Ilbury
