B.a. Pass -2012- -

— A recovering over-generalizer, c. 2012

If you graduated in 2012—or any year, really—you know exactly what I am talking about. In the hierarchy of academic validation, the “B.A. (Pass)” sat in a strange purgatory. It wasn’t the prestigious Honours degree (the one with the thesis, the late nights in the library, and the job offer already in hand). It was the generalist’s badge. The jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none stamp on your forehead.

And these days, I wear that like a badge of honor. b.a. pass -2012-

Why? Because the B.A. Pass is a degree in

It says

But here is what I have learned, now a decade removed from that May afternoon in the cap and gown:

“So… what was your focus?” they’d ask. “Life,” you wanted to say. “I focused on surviving Econ 101, learning that I hate early mornings, and figuring out how to write a 10-page paper on post-colonial theory in three hours.” For the first few years after 2012, I hid that degree. I lied on resumes, stretching the “Pass” into something that sounded more like “Interdisciplinary General Studies.” — A recovering over-generalizer, c

When you don’t have a “specialty” to fall back on, you learn to build bridges. You learn sales. You learn writing. You learn how to listen in a meeting and synthesize three different arguments. You learn that “soft skills” are actually the hardest skills to teach. So, to my fellow graduates of 2012—and to anyone holding a “Pass” degree right now:

That piece of paper isn't proof of a narrow expertise. It’s proof that you showed up, that you endured four years of general requirements, that you finished what you started even when nobody was cheering for the “general” track. (Pass)” sat in a strange purgatory

Why? Because society told me that the Honours kids were the ones who changed the world. The Pass kids? We were the backups. The general admission. The substitute teachers of the professional world.

It is the sound of the