If there is one thing that unites all social and economic classes, it’s that we all love to talk about how hard we’ve worked. The 17-year-old who’s trying to get into college, the Silicon Valley wunderkind, your parents’ friend who just got a pool—you might hear from any of these people “I’ve worked so hard for everything I have” or “I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears (into this college application/useless app/aboveground pool).” The newest Supreme Court judge, of course, “worked his tail off” to get into an Ivy League college, all the way from the lowly position of “student at a school specifically designed to get kids into Ivy League colleges.” For many people, their long history of “hard work” is a point of pride that they hold very dear, especially when they are in a position of privilege and feel defensive about it. I don’t necessarily judge these people. I’m sure they do feel that they’ve worked very hard, and it might even be true.
But here’s the thing: I have literally no idea what the term “hard work” is supposed to mean.
There are certain people who I think we can all agree have worked hard. Coal miners? Sure. EMTs? Yup. Furniture movers? Definitely. Any job that requires intense physical labor is on the list of “for sure, you worked hard,” as is anything that involves great emotional and psychological resilience, such as social work. But after that it gets tricky. How about someone who founded a trading company or a real estate agency in the 1980s, riding the wave of the business-friendly Reagan years? They’ve worked for decades, undoubtedly with some late nights or unusual hours. But is that the same as getting black lung? What about someone who just worked a fairly normal 40 hour week, from age 18 to 65? Is that “hard work?” What about someone whose job is creative and enjoyable? Is that also “hard work?” How do we measure this, exactly? Can it be done by number of hours? Intensity of work? Sacrifices made? Cubits of human suffering?
Even in high school, I was always totally clueless as to who was “working hard” and who wasn’t. Part of the problem is that I myself do not work to an orthodox timetable. I have never been one of those enviable people who can set aside neat little one- or two-hour blocks each day for a project, slowly but surely putting everything together right on schedule. I only have two modes: lazy piece of crap, or obsessively focused on my work, the latter phase usually coming at entirely unhelpful times such as 3 a.m., or in the middle of a mediocre date. As a result, I have no clue how many hours I actually work, since my work patterns are so erratic. When I was in high school, the kids who dutifully went to the library to study for one (1) hour every day and go home were “hard workers” to me, but for all I know, the handful of manic work periods I typically had in a school year might have encompassed just as many, or even more “units” of work than them. (...)
So, all the jobs it’s possible to have—unless maybe you’re an heiress with a jewelry line—require huge amounts of the best years of your life, and they all involve some aspects that can be classified as “hard work.” (To clarify, I’m not saying that a vlogger has it anywhere near as tough as a factory worker—just that both could make reasonable justifications for saying that they work hard). Why, then, are people so insistent on using “I’ve worked hard” as a statement that they are somehow special? Why is it so often used as a shield from criticism, whether it’s by millionaires who argue against tax hikes, or divorced dads making videos in their cars explaining why they yell at strangers for looking Mexican?
I think the issue is that when people say they’ve “worked hard,” they’re implicitly suggesting superiority. I’m deserving of reward, not like those people who are lazy (“those” people being immigrants, poor people, liberal arts majors, whoever it is you seek to contrast yourself against). In a society where competition for the top spots (or even the doing-comfortably-okay spots) has become increasingly ruthless, simply having a job is not enough to prove you should be treated with respect, be compensated well, and enjoy a good retirement. You have to prove you are exceptional, and if you talk a big game about how hard you work, you can justify either your current position (if you’re privileged) or why you, personally, deserve a better position (if you’re not). This focus on defining yourself by the nebulous idea of how “hard” you’ve worked is a distraction from the more important issue, which is whether the situation you’re in is just.
But here’s the thing: I have literally no idea what the term “hard work” is supposed to mean.
There are certain people who I think we can all agree have worked hard. Coal miners? Sure. EMTs? Yup. Furniture movers? Definitely. Any job that requires intense physical labor is on the list of “for sure, you worked hard,” as is anything that involves great emotional and psychological resilience, such as social work. But after that it gets tricky. How about someone who founded a trading company or a real estate agency in the 1980s, riding the wave of the business-friendly Reagan years? They’ve worked for decades, undoubtedly with some late nights or unusual hours. But is that the same as getting black lung? What about someone who just worked a fairly normal 40 hour week, from age 18 to 65? Is that “hard work?” What about someone whose job is creative and enjoyable? Is that also “hard work?” How do we measure this, exactly? Can it be done by number of hours? Intensity of work? Sacrifices made? Cubits of human suffering?Even in high school, I was always totally clueless as to who was “working hard” and who wasn’t. Part of the problem is that I myself do not work to an orthodox timetable. I have never been one of those enviable people who can set aside neat little one- or two-hour blocks each day for a project, slowly but surely putting everything together right on schedule. I only have two modes: lazy piece of crap, or obsessively focused on my work, the latter phase usually coming at entirely unhelpful times such as 3 a.m., or in the middle of a mediocre date. As a result, I have no clue how many hours I actually work, since my work patterns are so erratic. When I was in high school, the kids who dutifully went to the library to study for one (1) hour every day and go home were “hard workers” to me, but for all I know, the handful of manic work periods I typically had in a school year might have encompassed just as many, or even more “units” of work than them. (...)
So, all the jobs it’s possible to have—unless maybe you’re an heiress with a jewelry line—require huge amounts of the best years of your life, and they all involve some aspects that can be classified as “hard work.” (To clarify, I’m not saying that a vlogger has it anywhere near as tough as a factory worker—just that both could make reasonable justifications for saying that they work hard). Why, then, are people so insistent on using “I’ve worked hard” as a statement that they are somehow special? Why is it so often used as a shield from criticism, whether it’s by millionaires who argue against tax hikes, or divorced dads making videos in their cars explaining why they yell at strangers for looking Mexican?
I think the issue is that when people say they’ve “worked hard,” they’re implicitly suggesting superiority. I’m deserving of reward, not like those people who are lazy (“those” people being immigrants, poor people, liberal arts majors, whoever it is you seek to contrast yourself against). In a society where competition for the top spots (or even the doing-comfortably-okay spots) has become increasingly ruthless, simply having a job is not enough to prove you should be treated with respect, be compensated well, and enjoy a good retirement. You have to prove you are exceptional, and if you talk a big game about how hard you work, you can justify either your current position (if you’re privileged) or why you, personally, deserve a better position (if you’re not). This focus on defining yourself by the nebulous idea of how “hard” you’ve worked is a distraction from the more important issue, which is whether the situation you’re in is just.
by Aisling McCrea, Current Affairs | Read more:
Image: uncredited
