Namibia’s growing obsession with status, recognition and the art of “othering”
There was a time when being called “Mr” or “Mrs” was enough.
Then came the proliferation of titles. Doctor. Professor. Engineer. Honourable. Councillor. Ambassador. Chief. Executive Director. Chairperson.
And, increasingly, VIP, although even VIP appears to have become insufficient. We now have VVIPs.
One wonders: what exactly are we trying to prove?
Are we creating a society in which people are forgetting their names and only remembering their titles?
The recent debate in Parliament over whether people who receive honorary doctorates should be permitted to use the title “Dr” has therefore opened a much bigger conversation than the distinction between an earned doctorate and an honorary one.
It forces us to ask an uncomfortable question about ourselves as a society:
Have Namibians become obsessed with titles because we have become obsessed with status?
The parliamentary debate is not without merit. An earned doctorate represents advanced academic study and research.
Namibia’s qualifications framework places doctoral qualifications at the highest level of the National Qualifications Framework and describes them as research or practice degrees involving advanced scholarship and, generally, an original contribution to knowledge.
An honorary doctorate is different. It is an honour bestowed upon an individual for contribution or achievement; it does not mean that the recipient completed a doctoral programme.
That distinction matters.
Indeed, a recent argument published in the Namibian media questioned the increasingly common practice of honorary doctorate recipients presenting themselves as “Dr”, arguing that it can confuse the public about academic qualifications.
The issue is therefore legitimate.
But perhaps we should not stop at “Dr”.
Because Namibia’s title obsession goes much deeper.
When VIP is no longer enough
Walk into almost any official function and listen carefully.
The introductions sometimes take longer than the speeches.
“Honourable Minister…”
“Honourable Deputy Minister…”
“His Worship…”
“Her Worship…”
“Your Excellency…”
“Distinguished Professor…”
“Doctor…”
“Engineer…”
“Ambassador…”
And then there are the VIP arrangements.
A VIP entrance.
A VIP parking area.
A VIP lounge.
A VVIP lounge.
Sometimes one wonders whether the most important person at an event is the person speaking or the person who has been given the most impressive lanyard.
This may sound amusing, but it reflects something serious.
Titles create hierarchy.
And hierarchy itself is not necessarily bad. Society needs ways of recognising responsibility, expertise, achievement and public office.
The problem begins when the title becomes more important than the person, the qualification more important than the contribution and the status symbol more important than the service attached to it.
We should be asking not only what are you called?
We should also be asking:
What have you done?
The professorisation of Namibia
There is another phenomenon worth examining: the increasing attraction of the title “Professor”.
Professor is an academic rank, not simply a synonym for an intelligent or accomplished person.
Yet increasingly, the title appears in contexts far removed from conventional university academia.
There is nothing wrong with an individual being proud of an earned professorial appointment. But when society begins to treat the title as an essential badge of importance, something changes.
The same applies to the growing debate over professional titles.
Engineers, for example, have increasingly argued for formal recognition of the title “Engineer” before their names.
There is a legitimate professional argument here: engineering is a regulated profession requiring specialised education, professional competence and responsibility.
But even legitimate professional recognition can become distorted when titles become primarily about social status.
The danger is that we begin creating a hierarchy of human worth based on what appears before someone’s name.
The society of “us” and “them”
This is where the conversation becomes much more uncomfortable.
Namibia is becoming increasingly conscious of class.
We see it in where people live.
Where their children go to school.
What they drive.
Where they socialise.
What clothes they wear.
Where they travel.
And, increasingly, what title appears before their name.
The title becomes a social passport.
“Doctor” sounds different from “Mr”.
“Professor” sounds different from “teacher”.
“Honourable” sounds different from “citizen”.
“Engineer” sounds different from “technician”.
And “VVIP” certainly sounds different from “ordinary guest”.
The danger is what sociologists call othering: constructing social categories in which some people are seen as belonging to the important group while others are implicitly relegated to the less important group.
We begin to create a society of “people like us” and “the others”.
This is particularly troubling in a country whose Constitution begins with an affirmation of human dignity and equality.
Our democratic project was not supposed to produce a permanent hierarchy of citizens.
Yet our behaviour can sometimes suggest otherwise.
Titles should describe responsibility, not manufacture superiority
There is nothing inherently wrong with titles.
If someone has earned a PhD, call them Doctor.
If someone is a professor, recognise the achievement.
If someone is an engineer registered to practise, there is value in identifying the profession.
If someone is a minister or parliamentarian, the formal title recognises the office they occupy.
But titles should describe something real.
And, perhaps more importantly, they should not become substitutes for substance.
A person does not become wiser because the letters “Dr” appear before their name.
A politician does not become more competent because they are called “Honourable”.
A businessperson does not become more successful because they are introduced as “VVIP”.
A professor does not automatically have all the answers.
And someone without a title is not automatically less intelligent, less capable or less worthy of respect.
The mechanic who keeps a taxi fleet running may have no academic title.
The nurse who works a night shift may not be a professor.
The teacher in a rural school may not be a doctor.
The farmer producing food may never attend a university graduation.
The cleaner who keeps a hospital hygienic may have no letters after their name.
Yet society depends on all of them.
The danger of credentialism
There is a broader phenomenon here: credentialism— the tendency to use formal qualifications as proxies for competence, intelligence and social worth.
Qualifications matter.
Education matters enormously.
Professional standards matter.
But qualifications are tools, not human hierarchies.
A doctorate tells us that someone has achieved a particular level of academic qualification. It does not tell us whether they are kind, ethical, competent in every field, wise or capable of leadership.
Likewise, the absence of a doctorate tells us none of those things.
This is particularly important in Namibia, where economic inequality remains a defining feature of society.
If we build a culture in which titles and credentials become increasingly important markers of social status, we risk reinforcing inequality.
Those who have access to prestigious universities, professional networks and international opportunities acquire more status.
Those who do not can increasingly feel that they are outsiders in their own society.
That is the essence of othering.
Recognition should not become exclusion
There is also an irony here.
We are a relatively small country.
We need each other.
Namibia’s development requires doctors and engineers, yes. But it also requires artisans, entrepreneurs, farmers, teachers, nurses, journalists, artists, mechanics, builders, researchers, entrepreneurs, domestic workers and countless others.
The person with a doctorate and the person without a matric certificate both have something Namibia needs: human dignity and the capacity to contribute.
Perhaps our obsession with titles is partly a symptom of insecurity.
In societies where status is scarce, people compete intensely for symbols of status.
The title becomes a form of social currency.
And the more unequal society becomes, the more valuable those symbols can appear.
That is why the debate over “Dr” should not descend into a petty argument about who deserves to be called what.
It should become a conversation about the kind of society we want to build.
Let achievement speak
There is nothing wrong with ambition.
Namibians should pursue PhDs.
They should become professors.
They should become engineers.
They should become doctors, lawyers, scientists and captains of industry.
We should celebrate excellence.
But perhaps we need to rediscover an older and healthier principle:
Let achievement speak for itself.
The person who needs to repeatedly remind everyone of their title may have missed the point of the achievement.
A genuinely accomplished person should not need to diminish someone else to establish their own importance.
And perhaps the most dangerous title of all is not “Doctor” or “Professor”.
It is “important person”, especially when society begins treating everybody else as less important.
Namibia must be careful not to build an elite society in which status is increasingly displayed, guarded and inherited while ordinary citizens are expected to know their place.
We should aspire to a society where expertise is respected without becoming arrogance; achievement is celebrated without becoming elitism; leadership is recognised without becoming privilege; and qualifications open doors without closing them in the faces of others.
The parliamentary debate over honorary doctorates may eventually produce rules about who can call themselves “Dr”.
But the larger question cannot be legislated away.
It is a question of culture.
What does your title mean to you?
And, more importantly:
Who are you without it?
That may be the question Namibia really needs to answer.
