I’m at The Three Sisters, it’s the final Saturday of freshers and it’s busy. I find myself near the bar next to a tall guy in the rugby team tweed. We say hello and he asks me straight up which house in Pollock I’m living in. I give a half laugh and tell him I’m in a self-catered accommodation. He visibly recoils a bit, and says “oh, so you’re living in poverty.”
The unexpectedness of it throws me completely; in a week of nothing but nice, if slightly repetitive conversations and introductions, this is inexplicable. Before I can work out if it was a joke or not, he’s gone, the moment passes, and the night goes on. It remains on my mind for the next few days. I’m not, coincidentally, living in any sort of poverty, I have a lovely flat and my financial situation at uni, although by no means infinite, is fortunately comfortable.
Two years ago my mum started a part-time cleaning job, which she called my ‘pot noodle fund’ which I’m lucky enough to be living off. When I think of the hundreds of hours she spent working, and I picture that boy’s face, I feel real anger. A throwaway comment or a piss-take maybe, but for many people, university in a city like Edinburgh is a huge financial burden, anxiety and pressure. Before this, the difference between catered and self-catered to me had been an assured social environment or freedom of meal timings and a better location.
Now it felt like there was something entirely different at play. I knew of course some of the stereotypes of Pollock, but nobody I’d met had actually lived up to them until that moment, and the reality of it filled me with a sense of inferiority – something rationally I knew was ridiculous, but that was still pertinent, nonetheless.
My experience is miniscule really, but social snobbery at Russell Group universities is a manifest and too often unbridled phenomena. At Edinburgh, it’s not that uncommon to be mocked for having a Scottish accent, let alone which public school you attended. It’s scary that in a city in Scotland, and at university which isn’t school that these comments – ‘jokes’ or otherwise – are still so recurrent.
A few days later I walk up Calton Hill at sunset, the backdrop of the city skyline is breathtaking. Ahead I can see Old College with its magnificent dome, across one way the sunset reaches to Arthur’s seat and then if I turn, the great expanse of sea. In between, if I squint, I can just about make out the red and beige walls of my accommodation. It certainly isn’t the prettiest building visible (one might even go so far as to call it the ugliest!) but in that moment I know that this city is for all of us, and I feel a sense of peace, and belonging too.
“View of Edinburgh from Calton Hill, Scotland, United Kingdom – cityscape photography” by Giuseppe Milo (www.pixael.com) is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
Related
Finding a sense of belonging at Edinburgh University
I’m at The Three Sisters, it’s the final Saturday of freshers and it’s busy. I find myself near the bar next to a tall guy in the rugby team tweed. We say hello and he asks me straight up which house in Pollock I’m living in. I give a half laugh and tell him I’m in a self-catered accommodation. He visibly recoils a bit, and says “oh, so you’re living in poverty.”
The unexpectedness of it throws me completely; in a week of nothing but nice, if slightly repetitive conversations and introductions, this is inexplicable. Before I can work out if it was a joke or not, he’s gone, the moment passes, and the night goes on. It remains on my mind for the next few days. I’m not, coincidentally, living in any sort of poverty, I have a lovely flat and my financial situation at uni, although by no means infinite, is fortunately comfortable.
Two years ago my mum started a part-time cleaning job, which she called my ‘pot noodle fund’ which I’m lucky enough to be living off. When I think of the hundreds of hours she spent working, and I picture that boy’s face, I feel real anger. A throwaway comment or a piss-take maybe, but for many people, university in a city like Edinburgh is a huge financial burden, anxiety and pressure. Before this, the difference between catered and self-catered to me had been an assured social environment or freedom of meal timings and a better location.
Now it felt like there was something entirely different at play. I knew of course some of the stereotypes of Pollock, but nobody I’d met had actually lived up to them until that moment, and the reality of it filled me with a sense of inferiority – something rationally I knew was ridiculous, but that was still pertinent, nonetheless.
My experience is miniscule really, but social snobbery at Russell Group universities is a manifest and too often unbridled phenomena. At Edinburgh, it’s not that uncommon to be mocked for having a Scottish accent, let alone which public school you attended. It’s scary that in a city in Scotland, and at university which isn’t school that these comments – ‘jokes’ or otherwise – are still so recurrent.
A few days later I walk up Calton Hill at sunset, the backdrop of the city skyline is breathtaking. Ahead I can see Old College with its magnificent dome, across one way the sunset reaches to Arthur’s seat and then if I turn, the great expanse of sea. In between, if I squint, I can just about make out the red and beige walls of my accommodation. It certainly isn’t the prettiest building visible (one might even go so far as to call it the ugliest!) but in that moment I know that this city is for all of us, and I feel a sense of peace, and belonging too.
“View of Edinburgh from Calton Hill, Scotland, United Kingdom – cityscape photography” by Giuseppe Milo (www.pixael.com) is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
Share this:
Like this:
Related