Got home last night to see the phrase “white working class man” trending on twitter. I immediately wondered what kind of well-intentioned fuckery was this? The image of the working class as this pink faced, George crossed, trackie hooded furnace of pent-up everything. I didn’t get the memo that working class women and working class people of colour were living it up at the PC banquet that the red-tops want me shitting bricks about. Maybe being a white working class man is like winning the lottery and losing the ticket? I didn’t really think about class until I went to University and lived in towns and cities where others could estimate your bank balance with a withering glance. Another time, while being driven through the old East Germany, my companion pointed out the council housing as “socialist housing”. That little difference blew my mind. The way the apparatus of British socialism was rephrased as “council” abbreviated to “social” and not in a complimentary way. My whiteness and maleness was always something different, never heralded by moments in which I was made aware of my powerlessness, but more in the rare, fleeting moments where I am sudden faced with the powerlessness of others.

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