Class and Advancement

A Great British Illusion

“I know my class. And I wouldn’t want to go above it.” He explained, yet added (the largely disproven): “at least in this country it’s possible to move above your class and advance yourself.”

My Dad was born in the East End of London, he left school at 15 and spent the rest of his working life holding various factory jobs. I’ve always called him Daddy — clumsily transplanted from Guyanese culture, where parents are Mummy and Daddy for life. It could never be Mummy and Dad, so Daddy it has always been. Given the Guyanese had earlier adopted it from the English colonists you could say it has gone full circle. Yet he neither belongs to Guyanese culture nor to the ‘upper class’ elite it indicates today when used above the age of 12. But if it has ever made my ‘working class’ father feel awkward, thankfully he has never let on.

“But do you not see that class is a construct?” I pressed quite arrogantly. I’m not sure if my probing was for his sake or to pardon me the guilt of disowning the shackles. Because, in honesty, it would be an unkind awakening at 70+ to suspect you had been had, kept in place all along. To conceive that your firmly held views on economy and patriotism aligned with the narrative of an elite who only ever had their own interests at heart. Consolidating their position foremost, under the guise of benefits that…