I often return in memory to my secondary school days, when the fear of failure and the dread of coming behind others academically quietly shaped our ambitions, choices, and even our identities. Passing was never enough. One had to be ranked: number 1, 2, 3, or at the very least among the top ten. The emotional rush of being declared “the best” was intoxicating, a validation so powerful that it lingered long after the report cards were forgotten. It fed self-esteem, self-belief, confidence, ego, pride, and a fierce determination to defend one’s status. Yet, bundled with that pride came pressure, anxiety, and an unspoken struggle to outdo peers at all costs, a struggle we would later describe, sometimes too casually, as unhealthy competition.
On the other side of the ledger, even the perception of failure or being ranked last carried its own heavy burden. Stigma, embarrassment, discouragement, loss of confidence, envy, and a bruised sense of worth followed many students home. What made this particularly cruel was that such failure was rarely absolute; it was relative, constructed through comparison, and often deeply subjective. Still, parents and guardians focused almost exclusively on position, not understanding, growth, or effort. A child’s worth, it seemed, could be reduced to a number, and extraordinary pressure was applied to secure or improve that number, as though it alone could predict destiny.
With the benefit of hindsight, the demerits of that approach become clearer. Some of the students who constantly rotated the first three positions gradually stopped seeing one another as classmates and began to perceive themselves as rivals, even enemies. Simple interactions were poisoned by ego, rivalry, and suspicion. Emotional immaturity made it difficult to manage being labeled “the best” or “better than others,” and so cliques emerged, complete with followers and cheerleaders who interpreted every action through the lens of competition, pride, and contempt. What is striking is how long these childhood rivalries endured. Many carried them into adulthood, measuring success obsessively, watching former classmates closely, secretly hoping destiny would either confirm or contradict those early rankings. Those once labeled “inferior” sometimes found quiet vindication when life refused to obey neat academic arithmetic, while some of the early stars felt an unspoken embarrassment when reality proved more complex than school rankings ever suggested.
It is this awareness that partly explains the shift among educationists toward evaluation systems that emphasize individual performance, growth, improvement, and intrinsic motivation rather than fear-driven, extrinsic pressure. Scholars such as Carol Dweck remind us that when learning is framed around growth rather than fixed labels, students are more likely to persist, adapt, and recover from setbacks. Albert Bandura’s work on self-efficacy also shows that belief in one’s capacity to improve is often more powerful than raw comparison with others.
As my first daughter entered college and her first-term result is released, this shift became personal. The report awakened old memories and stirred reflections on how much has changed between the system that shaped me and the one now shaping her. I found myself wondering whether intrinsic motivation, passion for learning, and the drive for self-improvement can truly flourish without clear challenges or benchmarks to meet and, sometimes, to beat.
It is true that ranking children as “best” or “worst” ignores a fundamental reality: academic scores rarely capture the full measure of human competence. Many gifts do not announce themselves in classrooms, and history is filled with individuals who shone far brighter outside school walls than within them. Everyone carries a unique potential which, if properly nurtured, can make them outstanding in ways grades never predict. Yet, motivation, especially among children, does not arise in a vacuum. Inspiration to work harder, to improve, to stretch beyond comfort zones often springs from the perception of competition, when that competition is reasonably framed and emotionally supported.
The desire to overcome obstacles, to excel, and even to be the best is not inherently destructive. These impulses can be noble, driving self-discovery, discipline, effective time management, and a deeper engagement with learning. They teach students to wrestle with difficulty, to confront fear of failure, and to take satisfaction in progress earned through effort.
Still, it would be dishonest to deny that competition can leave emotional scars when success and failure are poorly managed. Ego, pride, resentment, and long-standing contempt can form on both sides of the divide. But in our attempt to correct these excesses, we must be careful not to replace realism with idealism. Real life is competitive. Success and failure exist, often painfully so, and ranking, in one form or another, is unavoidable.
Everyday experience teaches that excellence is rarely judged in isolation. It is measured in relation to others. Knowledge and wisdom should indeed be the primary motivation for learning, not the hunger to be labeled a winner or the fear of being branded a loser. In an ideal classroom, every student who scores above a defined standard could be celebrated as excellent. Yet even in such a system, comparison does not disappear. Scarcity ensures that relative judgment remains part of human affairs.
To be realistic, then, is to accept life as it is. It does not reward brilliance alone, but brilliance situated among others. Preparing children, therefore, should not mean shielding them from comparison, but equipping them with emotional intelligence, resilience, and maturity to cope with it.
Consider the UTME. A student who scores 240 has performed exceptionally well, but that excellence only gains meaning in relation to others. Admission is not guaranteed by brilliance alone; it depends on available spaces, cut-off marks, and competition. If a university has room for one hundred students and far more exceed the benchmark, some will inevitably be excluded. In that context, failure is not a judgment on intelligence but a consequence of limitation and comparison.
This pattern repeats itself everywhere. In education, employment, business, leadership, and even global opportunities, spaces are always fewer than applicants. Being good is often not good enough unless one stands out within a crowd. In the workplace, the ability to lead, to innovate, and to outperform peers determines advancement. Success and failure cannot be erased simply because they cause discomfort. The problem is not competition itself, but the absence of emotional tools to handle its outcomes.
The rivalry between Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi offers a vivid illustration. Their contest has captivated the world for years, fueling endless debate, loyalty, and even hostility among fans. Yet it has not ended ranking, comparison, or judgment. Instead, it has shown how excellence thrives in competitive tension, while also revealing how poorly managed rivalry can breed bitterness. What matters is not eliminating comparison, but learning how to coexist with it without losing balance or perspective.
I am reminded too of Nigerian Idol musical contest, which I follow closely. Each year, immensely talented young people are eliminated, not because they lack ability, but because others are judged slightly better. Paradoxically, this rejection often becomes a powerful motivator. Many return stronger, more refined, and more determined. If being “good enough” were sufficient, growth would stagnate. It is the challenge of comparison that often sharpens talent.
What children truly need, then, is not insulation from competition, but early training in how to manage success and disappointment, pride and embarrassment, victory and loss. They must learn that effort does not always yield immediate reward, that failure is not final, and that persistence is a strength.
Competition, by itself, is not the enemy. Research in developmental psychology consistently shows that moderate, well-structured competition can build motivation, resilience, and a clear understanding of the relationship between effort and outcome. It becomes harmful only when children are publicly labeled, shamed, or reduced to rankings that define their worth.
In the end, education should not aim to manufacture winners and losers, but to nurture learners who are confident, adaptable, and prepared for a world that will inevitably compare, select, and judge. Shielding children from this reality does them no favors. Teaching them how to face it with strength, perspective, and dignity just might.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
