I’m a mixed-race, working class woman who passes as white, middle class. That sentence makes me feel deeply uncomfortable and even typing these words makes me feel like I’m taking up space that should be for somebody else; somebody like me who doesn’t "pass". But this is my truth and I want to honour it. Part of that truth is that I have benefitted from the privilege that comes from within a system that disproportionately advantages white, non-working class people - especially as an adult. Another part of this truth is that being able to "pass" as an adult required some hardships and resilience along the way. Not in a way that speaks to having "achieved" something but in a way that has cost me my authenticity and my truth in order to be deemed a success in the eyes of the system I live in. 

Growing up in my rural North-Walian home town, I was obviously not the same ethnicity as my peers and this was repeatedly pointed out to me. When I say obviously, I mean obvious within the context that I was in. Now I live in London - nobody bats an eyelid and it’s always assumed that I am white. In contrast, as a child, my class rarely came into question - and if it did I was not made aware of it. It wasn’t until I somehow ended up (against the odds) at a Russell Group uni on the Theatre Studies degree that my class and subsequent deemed lower status was made painfully obvious to me with frequent questions like "what school did you go to?" and nasty remarks about having been to a comprehensive school (which for the majority of my life had just been "school"). 

I opted in to being classified as "white" in all of the forms I’d filled out up until my early twenties. It just seemed easier and also felt like the truth considering the cultural context I grew up in. I then came to learn that I am actually half-Bangladeshi rather than half-Indian but since I have had little-to-no contact with my dad due to what was explained to me as a conflict against his Islamic beliefs, this "half" of my identity has had little impact on my experience beyond my dark hair, facial features and ease of tanning in the sun. That being said, it’s easy for me to not hold much weight from the discrimination I faced due to these features growing up because they were always presented to me as a joke with little depth which I internalised and participated in. 

I was mortified and ashamed to later learn in greater detail about the impacts of racism and the experiences of those who continually don’t pass as white and I cannot relate to their pain. I now continue to work on being an ally and also want to hold some space for my own complicated relationship with race since I have come to learn how it impacts my understanding of race; I feel uncomfortable saying I’m mixed race because on some level I feel like I haven’t earned it. It’s made me realise that I’ve internalised this idea that a person’s race is proportionate to their experience and that in order to be a person of colour - you must have been discriminated against. Yes - I’d faced some playground name-calling as a child and was pushed to give more information when I replied with “here” to questions about where I’m from, but that all completely stopped once I left for university. When somebody says "a mixed-race working class woman", I don’t think of myself and that’s a problem because that’s what I am. My rejection of that speaks volumes: I have my own idea of what a mixed-race working class woman is which is rooted in sweeping generalisations and stereotypes that have been reinforced to me repeatedly. Recognising this has helped me understand the importance of hearing the individual experience of race as the priority in personal relationships whilst also being aware of the wider systems of oppression at play. It feels uncomfortable that self-referencing was needed for me to have this realisation but I’ll take that as part of the journey and a step towards being more compassionate, understanding and a better ally. 

Since university I have increasingly found myself in middle-class spaces and I feel some degree of discomfort most days. It’s not that the people I’m with are making me feel that way. Nor that I can even say that these people are middle class. For somebody who passes, it’s a silent secret that I wish I could let go but I can’t help but feel I want to scream from the rooftops "I’m working class!"… or was (?) …. I’m not so sure how class mobility works or what qualifies as having entered a new class. The question is, why does this bother me so much and why do I feel so out of place? I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than I’m already aware of (including the differences between growing up in an isolated rural town and a big city) but a key thing for me is a feeling of a lack of socio-cultural capital. I have the income - not the savings or the familial financial support - but I have the money that month to month allows me to do "middle class things". What I don’t have is the references they have… I haven’t read the same books, seen the same shows or studied the same poets. I don’t have the same ease of vocabulary (and my jaw is knackered after a day of speaking like them - something which I’m working on stopping but it’s harder than I thought) nor do I know many people in high-ish places. I grew up watching mainstream TV like X Factor, Eastenders and Corrie. We didn’t read or talk about politics or current affairs in a way that many of my peers did and continue to. It’s this socio-cultural capital that makes me feel so different from my peers and it’s the realisation that I’m passing as a "Champagne socialist" that makes me want to shout about my roots so much. 

I respect the "Champagne socialist" - defined as being somebody with liberal views but lives a lavish lifestyle - better to use that voice to spread the wealth and lift others up right? The bit that does make me uncomfortable is that these people can often be pretty loud and take up space - fighting for the right things but getting in the way of working class people actually being heard. I might be a “Champagne socialist” now…. I definitely don’t often drink Champagne but love a Prosecco and definitely fall into the left side of politics. In this case, I’m talking about the people who went to private school, had the financial support to take a gap year and will inherit enough to make them not worried about the future. I don’t think it’s their fault and I don’t blame them or like them any less. Their more prestigious education, connections and access to money gives them more capacity to be loud activists that people will listen to - but there’s definitely a tension there that makes me uncomfortable.

So that’s it really… an insight into how I feel about my identity as a mixed-race working-class woman who passes as white middle-class whilst immersing myself in liberal activist spaces.

I’m not too sure what the takeaway is here or if there’s a conclusion but … I think the key thing is something about working to feel comfortable and confident as my authentic self and at the least - I feel like I needed to get this off my chest.

Maybe now I’ve released my debut the rest will flow much easier...