An End to Rejection

Taking the harsh edge off the machinations of the meritocracy.

'Tis the season to be rejected. All over America and the world, 17-and 18-year-olds have received thin envelopes informing them they weren't quite good enough for Harvard. Here, meanwhile, 19-year-olds have been told they weren't quite good enough for that unpaid internship in Congress or that menial job at Newsweek. Twenty-year-olds have been told they weren't quite good enough for that thesis grant or prestigious fellowship. And 21-year-olds by the dozen have been told they weren't quite good enough for Yale Law or johns Hopkins Med., for that job at McKinsey or Goldman, Sachs.

OF course, few of these institutions are bold enough to declare us not "good enough." Instead, they fill out mailboxes and answering machines with roundabout rejections: "Competition was especially tight" some tell us (wait, didn't you use that line last year?) or "We encourage you to reapply next year" (Thanks, but no thanks, sir or madam).

Some recipient tack these letters to a "wall of shame" and go forth boldly. Others promptly get on the phone to put themselves on a waiting list or pull whatever strings it's not too late to pull. The majority of us, however, react the way any normal person would to the news that we're not wanted: we tear the letters into shreds or bury them deep in our desk drawers, and hang out heads for at least the remainder of the day. No matter if there is a official explanation-- "I'm only a sophomore and they asked for seniors"--or an easy rationalization-- "I didn't want the job anyway; who wants to stay in Boston for the summer?"--rejection still hurts.

The collate admissions process my get most of the attention in terms of rejections, but fellowships, grant applications, grad school admissions and recruiting are just as bad for the psuche, if not worse. Here we are, having put in four more years of hard work and dedication and monetary investment, only to find that every door has its own lock which our expensive and highly-prized set of Keys won't necessarily open.

It this simply life in a meritocracy? Not exactly. The fact is, we really were "good enough" for most of the jobs, internships, and graduate schools to which applied. All too often, the selection of one over another comes down to intangibles, or slight differences in GPA, LSAT or connections.

There must be a better system, one that minimizes rejection and involves less competition and more goodwill. Here's one idea, at least for internships, fellowships and other non-essential positions. Application procedures for these spots could be conducted as follows: From the start, a clear minimum standard for all White House, say, you might need a certain high GPA, two strong letters of recommendation and a top-notch essay. The letters and essay would be subjectively read and considered as usual. But rather than being ranked and evaluated individually, one against the next, all applicants would be divided in two groups; those who do not meet the standard for interns and those who do.

At this point a letter would be sent to those in the "no" group. Instead of sugarcoating the rejection with self-righteous comments about the selectivity of the internship program, institutions would need only state the facts: "Thank you for applying. Unfortunately you did not meet the qualification level for a White House internship this year. This is how you can work to become qualified in time for next year's application process." Forthright and honest, such a letter also takes the "We just didn't like you" element out of the picture.

A random lottery would then be conducted among the second, qualified pool of candidates. Those selected could rejoice in their good fortune. Those who did not win could blame Lady Luck, or not blame anyone or anything at all--having been defeated only by chance, they could walk away from the application process with chins up and pride intact.

Some may ask, what of merit? Where would society be if McKinsey were to select only among the best consultants, not the very best? And why would anyone bother to work hard anymore? These objections overstate the case. Merit would still be valued; you would need certain qualifications to be considered for a position at all. And once you got the opportunity in question, merit and hard work would still determine your rate of promotion.

But more importantly so what if society is not operating at maximum efficiency if people are happier? Do not neglect the significant benefits or treating people with more respect. Further all rose poor souls who walked away from an interest or opportunity because they felt personally spurned might come back for second try, perhaps finding their true niche and making an otherwise unfulfilled contribution to the social good.

A more potent objection is that picking people at random hinders our ability to account for diversity. But this is untrue. The initial standard for qualification could be set so as to guarantee a diverse poll of admits to the lottery. True, you might by chance end up with a homogeneous group selected in a given round, but over time disparities would even out. Or, if need be, the lottery could be circumvented to allow for extraordinary circumstances.

Finally, others may object that the lottery system cannot give applicants the individual consideration they deserve. These are the folks who either win everything, or think rejection steels the will and would rather be evaluated as persons than as numbers, even if it means a more painful rejection. I admit it. If you don't think intense competition and frequent evaluation and rejection are detrimental to the individual and social good, my plan probably won't appeal to you.

Don't expect to see this plan adopted anywhere anytime soon. Too many people stake their meaning as persons on the right to admit or reject twentysomethings. But I can promise you this. If I ever have the good fortune of finding myself with the title "Internship Coordinator," it will be lottery time indeed.

Geoffrey C. Upton '99 is a social studies concentrator in Leverett House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.