It's not just Edinburgh – Glasgow has its fair share of uni toffs too

Class was never something I thought much about growing up – everyone around me walked along the same path, and there was little to suggest that my position in the world was in any way compromised.

But a realisation set in over time: it doesn’t matter how you define yourself; the class system has already run the race before the starting gun.

Gaining agency over your identity as part of the working class is a battle, and one waged while navigating historic, well-entrenched forces. It informs your role in everything, from education to the workplace, to friendships and relationships. Around every corner, there is an attempt to define and classify, to tell you who and what you are. It hangs over everything, an eternal looming shadow.

Read more:

​Perhaps it's time to rethink our ideas about 'highbrow' art

University was not the biggest hurdle to overcome, but it was where this difference was made most explicit.

The faint sound of laughing while attempting to articulate a point in seminars. Students excited to start a conversation, only for faces to drop and lose interest as soon as they hear the accent. Pure shock (and voyeuristic awe) at learning that some have to strike a balance between working as well as studying. Exclusion from participating in creative projects outside of the course despite what skill, talent, and ideas are on offer. An endless number of small things, not significant on their own, but that add up to a complete picture.

The instinctual reaction is to see all this as a flaw within yourself, that there is something inherently wrong with your presence. It takes a while to understand that your personality and character is not what’s under the microscope.

And it is not like these students comprehended and understood the subject better or had reason to feel superior. In fact, many seemed to approach their arts and humanities degrees as a stopgap on the way to more serious (read: stable and lucrative) commitments. There is an overall sense of unseriousness and a lack of respect for the subject itself. Many mandatory course film screenings saw these students looking at social media on their phones the whole time, lacking even an attempt to engage with the material put in front of them, the glow of the latest iPhone hovering inside everyone’s peripherals.

The Andrew Stewart cinema in Glasgow University's Gilmorehill Centre (Image: Glasgow University Film Society) But how could such types comprehend and understand an art form that breathes then mirrors into celluloid the nuance, struggle, conflict, and resolutions of life itself? Of course a genuine comprehension would elude them when they operate from such a limited, immovable perspective. It is not a mindset that generates open, critical thought – something prerequisite for considering and exploring art honestly and authentically.

As an arts writer, I see a commonality when (or if) these privileged students enter the arts world. Often their work satisfies some sort of aesthetic or conceptual ideal, but scratch under the surface and nothing is truly being said. This is a generalisation of course – after all, much of art history lived under a privilege that facilitated the work – but it seems predicated on a recent culture where mediocrity can be excused through the correct decorum, demeanour, and resources.

Working-class artists don’t receive such benefit and grace. Many struggle for time and space, both literally and mentally. And for most, the risk outweighs the potential reward, and the safety net is non-existent. To achieve as a working-class artist requires a hefty amount of overperforming and exceeding expectations.

Read more:

The two options for musicians: Struggle to survive or ask your parents

The arts scene in Scotland and the wider UK runs in the majority of the privately educated, and that is not only an extension of the paths working-class artists used to walk not existing anymore, but also through the way higher education is now shaped. One of the main advantages of university is its networking aspect, but how can the working class gain these opportunities when they are wilfully closed off? And how can they benefit when education remains one of the few ways working-class Scots can still enter that world?

This is not a judgment on a whole class of people. I’ve met many privileged students and artists who were able to reject convention, gain new perspectives, understand the perspectives of others, and create works of great depth and soul. But at the very least, with that caveat, the working class should expect the same grace back for themselves.