This is such an interesting topic and one which I have reflected on my whole life in Australia. I’m also from a Muslim culture, and my father basically gave away most of his money to the extended family because of what I now understand to be survivor guilt. We grew up with a VERY basic upbringing, which he thought was adequate (and probably was) but made me believe we were poor. When I recently worked out the dollar equivalent of his salary now, I realised he had earned a very high amount- as a geologist during a mining boom…duh!!! I was completely shocked. The positive side of this is that it gave me a strong sense of class consciousness and a sensitivity to the nuance of privilege. Wealthy people still make me uncomfortable. The downside is that it made me resentful of him and gave me a lifelong anxiety about money. Not a great gift to your kids. I’m now in the position of earning a pretty good income (through a mixture of university degrees, hard work and fear) and my teenage son (who has inherited my class consciousness) often asks if we’re rich now. I say that no, we’re comfortable. For the first time in my life at 54 I feel somewhat free of a burden (although mindful that things can come crashing down at any time because I was born in the global south 😂) - of both the fear of not having money, and the need to pass as someone who has. I feel free to say what I think and dress how I want to dress- to signal that I’m not bourgeois! I tell my son I’m like the aunt who has won lotto- and happy to share the joy around. But I’m always mindful of making sure my son feels secure before everything else because that freedom from fear is a gift that everyone deserves.
After mulling over this topic, here's my little essay in reply. thank you Yassmin for your insights on this topic. I was in Great Britain in the 80's before that decades financial crash. In the 80's every grad from an oxbridge uni suddenly got jobs in the 'City' or for the BBC regardless of their degrees. A friend studied Botany & ended up in the City. For a great take on that era I recommend reading the play "Serious Money" by Caryl Churchill. A scathing satire on class & Thatcher's financial structure. To Caryl Churchill's chagrin/confusion: a play that skewered this era became a huge hit & was transferred to the West End, where the people it satirised flocked to see it.
Now here's my story: I was 16yrs old when I realised my parents were "well off". We were in a dress shop - Katie's, lol. There were two dresses we couldn't decide on, it was only the 3rd & the last time mum shopped for a dress for me. (That's another story. ) To my amazement, we bought both.
Mum was "a product of the depression". Middle class & well educated thanks to a selective school system she was determined that nothing went to waste. Dad family was less affected, his father maintaining work & home as a Doctor. Mums dad lost work as a surveyor & went door to door selling fish.
I grew up on the north shore, went to a private school but nothing indicated wealth to me as a young person. I have no idea where our clothes came from & if you look at photos of kids in the early 1960's whose parents were of Mums era - we all look shabby in hand me downs.
Most of the furniture in the house was inherited from dads grandparents/parents. Mum bought 1 frock a decade.
We didn't have "stuff".
To ask people about the value of stuff was rude. We had 20 cents pocket money. Perhaps you can see why I didn't know any better, until that moment in Katie's.
Mum managed Dads $$ very well. They put 5 children through private schools. We didn't own flash cars. Our holiday house was & still is a shack way up the north coast of NSW where we ran feral with kids whose parents were professional fishermen. Although mum was in our minds "a tight arse" when it came to money, our house was always open to her children's friends, stray unmarried mothers kicked out of homes, and a collection of people who became part of our lives that were cared for by mum, for reasons we only discovered later.
Lets jump to my 20's when I was given a crash course in class privilege. I'm in Melbourne studying drama, a fresh faced lesbian feminist in training. The academic feminists at congerences & rallies quoted Marxism etc, but I learnt more from the behaviour of my friends. Walking to a function at Melbourne's Govt house with a friend/ womens refuge co worker - she suddenly exoressed deep fear that she was "allowed" to be there even though we had an invitation in her hands. I realised that i had no discomfort. I was never taught that a place was out of bounds. As a queer fat women I'm often placed "out of bounds" by society but this was different.
If you are still reading, and you can find it, I recommend a book called "A Plain Brown Rapper" by Rita Mae Brown, written by a working class lesbian at a time when the feminists were predominantly middle class. That book changed my life. She wrote about the privilege of education & space. She wrote about rich people playing with "downward mobility" knowing that, like the Oxford graduates you mentioned, that they would be fine after uni.
I eventually fufilled my dream to become a contract/freelance theater director because I could afford to. Even on a crap wage at the state theatre company of Qld my parents could buffer me. Before my father died, I thanked them for being essentially an arts patron of me.
In between theatre jobs that took me across the eastern side of Australia, to big citues& small country towns, I cleaned houses, worked in factories, blah blah but I always had a choice. A but of a choice. That is class privilege. The freedom of choice.
In contrast: my partner also studied theatre but aimed for administration. She was a project officer at The Australia Council on a much bigger wage. Don't get me started about wage disparity in the arts between administrators & artists. Her parents were working class. It would have been impossible for Jo to consider freelance performance options. She had to get a secure job
Freedom of choice.
Yassmin, the financial risks you have taken must have terrified your parents. Probably still does.
Your thoughts were well timed as I've been thinking about money a lot lately because when mum died - I inherited a bit more than I expected. Most went in super, but a little bit went go on a buying spree of subscriptions, donations, subsidies for artists etc in honour of my mum whom discovered when I was older gave to many organisations.
I worry about the older generation who donated $$ dying out & not passing on the ethos of giving to the next generation or the next. I worry about the fact that the majority if people who give their time freely by volunteering are mainly over 60. I worry that the christian ethic of giving is disappearing as we become increasingly secular.
I worry about $ because unlike my mother I am BAD at budgeting. I am 67 next year & I will never be able to afford to go into aged care because, unlike my mother, my reasonable super balance is still less than the deposit my mum paid for her dementia unit.
I was able to take risks because of my education & mums wealth management, but I always knew that one day, there would be no back up. That's where I am right now & why I've spent a week thinking about your words.
Regardless of my lack of funds I'm still a white middle class woman who can negotiate where others can't. I don't know if that will protect me, & I will still fight for the rights of others who can't negotiate as easily, I will still support artists & organisations when I can. I will not fall prey to the fear of scarcity.
Because it is scarcity that isolates us.
I should have just written that sentence eh. 😅
If anyone is still reading: buy a copy of "Thick" by Tressie McMillan Cottom.
But how much of your wealth will you share? Will you give away half of it? Three quarters of it? My money allows me to do independent research and then write about it, which I love. Don't I deserve to do this, after years of working? And then save some to give to my kids?
This is such an interesting topic and one which I have reflected on my whole life in Australia. I’m also from a Muslim culture, and my father basically gave away most of his money to the extended family because of what I now understand to be survivor guilt. We grew up with a VERY basic upbringing, which he thought was adequate (and probably was) but made me believe we were poor. When I recently worked out the dollar equivalent of his salary now, I realised he had earned a very high amount- as a geologist during a mining boom…duh!!! I was completely shocked. The positive side of this is that it gave me a strong sense of class consciousness and a sensitivity to the nuance of privilege. Wealthy people still make me uncomfortable. The downside is that it made me resentful of him and gave me a lifelong anxiety about money. Not a great gift to your kids. I’m now in the position of earning a pretty good income (through a mixture of university degrees, hard work and fear) and my teenage son (who has inherited my class consciousness) often asks if we’re rich now. I say that no, we’re comfortable. For the first time in my life at 54 I feel somewhat free of a burden (although mindful that things can come crashing down at any time because I was born in the global south 😂) - of both the fear of not having money, and the need to pass as someone who has. I feel free to say what I think and dress how I want to dress- to signal that I’m not bourgeois! I tell my son I’m like the aunt who has won lotto- and happy to share the joy around. But I’m always mindful of making sure my son feels secure before everything else because that freedom from fear is a gift that everyone deserves.
Apologies for the spelling errors. I write like I talk - fast.
After mulling over this topic, here's my little essay in reply. thank you Yassmin for your insights on this topic. I was in Great Britain in the 80's before that decades financial crash. In the 80's every grad from an oxbridge uni suddenly got jobs in the 'City' or for the BBC regardless of their degrees. A friend studied Botany & ended up in the City. For a great take on that era I recommend reading the play "Serious Money" by Caryl Churchill. A scathing satire on class & Thatcher's financial structure. To Caryl Churchill's chagrin/confusion: a play that skewered this era became a huge hit & was transferred to the West End, where the people it satirised flocked to see it.
Now here's my story: I was 16yrs old when I realised my parents were "well off". We were in a dress shop - Katie's, lol. There were two dresses we couldn't decide on, it was only the 3rd & the last time mum shopped for a dress for me. (That's another story. ) To my amazement, we bought both.
Mum was "a product of the depression". Middle class & well educated thanks to a selective school system she was determined that nothing went to waste. Dad family was less affected, his father maintaining work & home as a Doctor. Mums dad lost work as a surveyor & went door to door selling fish.
I grew up on the north shore, went to a private school but nothing indicated wealth to me as a young person. I have no idea where our clothes came from & if you look at photos of kids in the early 1960's whose parents were of Mums era - we all look shabby in hand me downs.
Most of the furniture in the house was inherited from dads grandparents/parents. Mum bought 1 frock a decade.
We didn't have "stuff".
To ask people about the value of stuff was rude. We had 20 cents pocket money. Perhaps you can see why I didn't know any better, until that moment in Katie's.
Mum managed Dads $$ very well. They put 5 children through private schools. We didn't own flash cars. Our holiday house was & still is a shack way up the north coast of NSW where we ran feral with kids whose parents were professional fishermen. Although mum was in our minds "a tight arse" when it came to money, our house was always open to her children's friends, stray unmarried mothers kicked out of homes, and a collection of people who became part of our lives that were cared for by mum, for reasons we only discovered later.
Lets jump to my 20's when I was given a crash course in class privilege. I'm in Melbourne studying drama, a fresh faced lesbian feminist in training. The academic feminists at congerences & rallies quoted Marxism etc, but I learnt more from the behaviour of my friends. Walking to a function at Melbourne's Govt house with a friend/ womens refuge co worker - she suddenly exoressed deep fear that she was "allowed" to be there even though we had an invitation in her hands. I realised that i had no discomfort. I was never taught that a place was out of bounds. As a queer fat women I'm often placed "out of bounds" by society but this was different.
If you are still reading, and you can find it, I recommend a book called "A Plain Brown Rapper" by Rita Mae Brown, written by a working class lesbian at a time when the feminists were predominantly middle class. That book changed my life. She wrote about the privilege of education & space. She wrote about rich people playing with "downward mobility" knowing that, like the Oxford graduates you mentioned, that they would be fine after uni.
I eventually fufilled my dream to become a contract/freelance theater director because I could afford to. Even on a crap wage at the state theatre company of Qld my parents could buffer me. Before my father died, I thanked them for being essentially an arts patron of me.
In between theatre jobs that took me across the eastern side of Australia, to big citues& small country towns, I cleaned houses, worked in factories, blah blah but I always had a choice. A but of a choice. That is class privilege. The freedom of choice.
In contrast: my partner also studied theatre but aimed for administration. She was a project officer at The Australia Council on a much bigger wage. Don't get me started about wage disparity in the arts between administrators & artists. Her parents were working class. It would have been impossible for Jo to consider freelance performance options. She had to get a secure job
Freedom of choice.
Yassmin, the financial risks you have taken must have terrified your parents. Probably still does.
Your thoughts were well timed as I've been thinking about money a lot lately because when mum died - I inherited a bit more than I expected. Most went in super, but a little bit went go on a buying spree of subscriptions, donations, subsidies for artists etc in honour of my mum whom discovered when I was older gave to many organisations.
I worry about the older generation who donated $$ dying out & not passing on the ethos of giving to the next generation or the next. I worry about the fact that the majority if people who give their time freely by volunteering are mainly over 60. I worry that the christian ethic of giving is disappearing as we become increasingly secular.
I worry about $ because unlike my mother I am BAD at budgeting. I am 67 next year & I will never be able to afford to go into aged care because, unlike my mother, my reasonable super balance is still less than the deposit my mum paid for her dementia unit.
I was able to take risks because of my education & mums wealth management, but I always knew that one day, there would be no back up. That's where I am right now & why I've spent a week thinking about your words.
Regardless of my lack of funds I'm still a white middle class woman who can negotiate where others can't. I don't know if that will protect me, & I will still fight for the rights of others who can't negotiate as easily, I will still support artists & organisations when I can. I will not fall prey to the fear of scarcity.
Because it is scarcity that isolates us.
I should have just written that sentence eh. 😅
If anyone is still reading: buy a copy of "Thick" by Tressie McMillan Cottom.
But how much of your wealth will you share? Will you give away half of it? Three quarters of it? My money allows me to do independent research and then write about it, which I love. Don't I deserve to do this, after years of working? And then save some to give to my kids?
Five years! No!! Really?
I will reply about the $$ a bit later - it's actually been a huge thing for me in the past few months. Honesty for honesty.
Maybe while I'm waiting fir Centrelink to open tomorrow.