Concrete and Clay

'I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".'


Shelley, "Ozymandias", 1818.


What will survive us after we're gone? Not many of us ever have the chance to erect great monuments that are indications of what we've achieved with the 50 or so years that we spend working and, as Shelley eloquently puts it, the illusion of a timeless monument is, ultimately, an illusion.


Even those monuments that are, by their nature, imposing and hard-to-miss have a fleeting span as we reclaim space and locations for newer, more contemporary buildings and architecture. I. M. Pei's Sundrome, a leader in Airport Architecture for its time, is soon to be demolished. Unthinkable 20 years ago but, today, a necessity to deal with the functional requirements of a modern airport. Where a monument is erected to perform a function, the designers must capture the essence of the function or, as we discover new aspects, it is doomed.


Over the years, I have chosen careers that have no monuments and produce no artefacts that last more than a decade. In systems administration, I worked with software systems and hardware configurations that changed so much that, over a 6-month span, we had a new boat of Theseus. After I left, in a year or so, my legacy was gone. In winemaking, I produced bottles of wine that were consumed in weeks or months after we released them. Perhaps 1% of the long-lived wines are still around, but they don't have my name on them (nor should they) and although they bear my handiwork, they, too, will be gone soon.


Perhaps I should say that I had chosen careers that have no monuments, because I now have the privilege of seeing the people that I have assisted in becoming people go out into the world and make their impact. If any of the people that I have discussed ethics with has an ethical dilemma, thinks about anything that I ever mentioned, and makes a better decision - this is my monument. 


However, that is a very selfish and personal view, because it excludes the parents and all of the educators who worked with each and every student up until this point. I deal with the percentage who make it to Uni, of the percentage who make it through final year high school, of the percentage who stay in school, of the percentage who get to school. I have the easy bit. If I can't get at least one person thinking, then I'm not doing much of a job.


My impact on the world is far, far greater than it used to be, but it is only because of all of the other people who have worked hard to bring the students this far. Parents, kindergarten teachers, primary teachers, high school teachers, coaches, mentors, influential peers - your monument is each and every person who does something good because of a pathway that has led them through your hands and into the world.


Thank you to everyone who is helping me to be able to put smart, thoughtful and kind people out into the world. Our successes belong to all of us - education is a noble profession and it breaks my heart to see it downgraded and underfunded for short-term political and financial gain. We will, of course, keep teaching and the products of our labour will keep making the world a better place. 


Concrete collapses, buildings are bulldozed, data gets destroyed.


Ideas inspire and education enlightens.


Who needs a statue?