The essay below appeared on the First-Generation Philosophers platform today. I enjoyed it so much that I reprinted it here.

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A WORKING-CLASS PHILOSOPHER IS SOMETHING TO BE

by

Stephen Mumford

Where I grew up, philosophy was not a career option. The area was mainly for farming and coal mining. Becoming an academic made me very aware of my working-class background. It was conspicuously working-class. My father was a factory print worker. My mother had an evening job to make ends meet, on a production line making car parts. I grew up in a house with no books and taught myself to read from comic books because I loved the stories. Only later, when leaving the area, did I realise that I had a strong Yorkshire accent—one seldom associated with doing philosophy. This is especially significant in the UK since accent is often taken as the most immediate marker of social class. More on this later.

My background undoubtedly played a role in me dropping out of Warwick University after only a week. I felt like I’d landed on another planet. Besides, my parents didn’t approve of education. My father told me that it made people more stupid. My mother’s literacy skills were limited. Regardless, after three subsequent years getting increasingly bored in a ‘proper’ job, I wanted to study again. I purposefully chose an institution that would be easier for a working-class student. Huddersfield was then one of the few polytechnics (basically, a former technical college) where you could do philosophy, so that’s where I went. I had a great time.

Looking back over a long career, I realise just how hard it is as a marginalised person to advocate for yourself and I wish I’d had the confidence to do so earlier. But class is a tricky one. There are many other marginalised groups that I think rightly deserve our attention. Class is the marginalisation that dares not speak its name. In the UK, it is not legally a ‘protected characteristic’ under the 2010 Equalities Act, for instance, so employers can overlook any institutional classism that occurs. Of course, matters such as gender and race should be the priority. The work of Kimberlé Crenshaw gave me a better understanding of my struggle, however, and the courage to say that classism is one of many intersecting discriminations that impact on people’s lived experience.

When you face discrimination and marginalisation, it makes you start to question yourself and your own ability, which I still do. Rarely will you be gifted opportunities, whereas I saw others benefit from them. So I started to wonder whether they were just better than me: were they getting opportunities because they deserved them, while I didn’t?

For one example, I now feel confident enough to say, and am close enough to retirement that it can do me no harm, that it should be considered a scandal that I have never been invited on to the editorial board of a major journal. I’ve done enough refereeing for them. For another example, I now feel confident enough to say that it should be considered a scandal that I have never been invited to speak at the Joint Session of the Aristotelian Society and Mind Association, the main annual philosophy conference of Britain. Is it because I am simply not good enough and don’t yet deserve either of these accolades? Marginalisation makes you think that. But then I remember that I have written 14 books (6 with Oxford University Press), that I am the 36th most cited metaphysician on Google Scholar, that I have had my papers published in some of the top journals in the world. I do deserve those invitations that never came.

Is it because I am just weird and socially awkward? Marginalisation makes you think that. Yet, I do have many networks and friends outside the UK, where either class is less significant, or my accent is not associated with my class. I have for a time thought that one reason the English are so suspicious of foreigners is that they cannot place them within the class structure because their accent gives no clues. The English like to know what they are facing: whether they are talking with someone working class, middle class, or upper class. My compatriots can identify my working class background easily.

Is it because I have simply not worked hard enough to network with the right people? Maybe I have a chip on my shoulder about my class and, if I tried harder, I would get the recognition I’d like. Marginalisation makes you think that. But then I remember that I did for a long time try to work my way into the establishment and was rebuffed. I’ve not told this story before but when the Joint Session was at Nottingham in 1999, my department asked me to be the local organiser. It was the most horrible job I’ve done in my career but I was consoled by colleagues reminding me that the local organiser would often be rewarded with an invitation to speak at the conference the next year. On day two, an Aristotelian Society representative came out of their Board Meeting with a hand-written list. ‘Stephen,’ he said, ‘this is confidential but I’ve just come out of the meeting where we’ve decided the shortlist for next year’s speakers.’ As he talked, I couldn’t resist glancing down at his list of names, expectantly looking for my own. ‘And I just wanted to ask you’, he continued, ‘… can you photocopy the list?’ That was it. A working-class philosopher is good for photocopying duties; less good for a research talk in metaphysics.

I am an outsider. I realise that and have accepted it. And I won’t waste my time anymore trying to ingratiate myself in front of those who uphold power and privilege. Nonetheless, I don’t want other working-class philosophers to read this as an article of despair. I have been lucky enough to meet some wonderful people who were entirely capable of seeing past class and engaging with my ideas. There are plenty of them out there. Find your people: those who know that philosophy is more important than privilege. Listen to their advice. Share your experiences. Most of all, be prepared to advocate for yourself, as I am now doing, belatedly.

Am I just bitter because I’ve not been given the acknowledgment, fame and status I crave? Marginalisation makes you think that.

Stephen Mumford is Professor of Metaphysics at Durham University.