Class Act: America… We Need To Talk

Our fractured society must address the elephant wearing a collar of many colours in the room, argues Alex Vickery-Howe.

In a recent conversation with two talented postgraduate students, we discussed the way human beings can often hold two or more contradictory ideas in their head at once. When those ideas are completely irreconcilable, we call it ‘cognitive dissonance’ and it makes us look more than a little mad.

At the same time, as we chatted, we came to agree that holding multiple ideas in mind is by no means a negative trait if you’re able to weigh those ideas up critically.

In the world constructed by Musk and Zuckerberg, we have been polarised into competing camps where you’re either ‘with us’ or ‘against us’. I firmly believe this is poisoning political and sociocultural discourse, dumbing education down into something unrecognisable, and killing friendships.

We should all be able to hold conflicting ideas without being ‘caught’ in sleazy soundbites, boxed into constant identity markers, or being forever tied to something we said ten or more years ago. Human brains are changeable. We learn and we develop, and the more we do, the more complex our interactions become.

Only very, very young children should be splitting human experience into ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Everyone else should have grown out of that. It’s disturbing to see global leaders, community representatives and so-called ‘lecturers’ fall into extreme one-sided quackery and smugly dispersing it as unsourced, unfounded, unopposed ‘wisdom’. Any human being who appears absolutely certain on any complex issue is likely to be deeply stupid, hopelessly indoctrinated, or – the most likely – actively manipulating emotional topics to assert their personal power.

‘I don’t know’ or ‘I have conflicting thoughts’ are perfectly rational and intelligent responses when posed with a complex question. You don’t have to be manipulated into surety. You don’t have to commit to an easy answer. You certainly don’t have to submit to absolutism.

I struggle with several competing drives. This article covers but one split in my mind.

Donald Trump frightens and disgusts me. I’m sure nobody is surprised by that, given my rants on the subject. Nigel Farage is up there too. Pauline Hanson and Malcolm Roberts, and Peter Dutton are my bugbears closer to home. I guess Mal should get a free pass for the entertainment value.

When I was younger, I wrote letters to MPs denouncing their false pretences for the Iraq War – those weapons of mass destruction never existed, Johnny – and met with Alexander Downer to express my views about the vilification of refugees, and protested against the mass breeding and sale of puppies and kittens in pet shops, and cheered at rallies opposing live export (we finally won that one!) and all manner of others things that probably paint me as a red-dyed leftie. I drink soy milk too. There’s a free kick.

Oh, and I write for New Matilda. That probably says something.

At the same time, I’m an unapologetic meritocrat, which makes me sympathetic to capitalism, much to the horror of my teachers.

I’m also a Gen Xer, and this (accurately) characterises me as independent, competitive, driven, resilient, and – if friends from high school and university are to be believed – ‘fierce’ and ‘withering’. I don’t list these attributes as a humble brag… on the contrary, they explain why interpersonal relationships are up there with team sports and haberdashery on my list of things I reliably fail at.

They also explain why I naturally empathise with my aunt’s feral cat… although, to be fair, I did present Millie as a gift after she was born on the roof of the restaurant next door, some years ago. We have history.

There’s a sharp contradiction I recognise in myself: the bleeding-heart liberal and animal defender, who, nevertheless, lacks patience with the emotionally vulnerable, has no hesitation in asserting hierarchy so long as it’s based on excellence and hard work, and prioritises objective facts over subjective feelings.

To my undergraduates, most of whom belong to Gen Z, some of the qualities I value are cold, uncaring, and blinkered to the point of abhorrence. I was told by an ex-student that I’m ‘not really left-wing.’ Maybe true. Maybe not. I take things on an issue-by-issue basis.

Another contradiction: I roll my eyes at people who talk about themselves, and here I am, over 700 words in, solipsistically dissecting my own personality.

The point is that we’re all mixed bags.

So, left-wing or not, kind or not, fair or not, I have my views: Donald Trump frightens and disgusts me. I watch the hero worshipping from his supporters, the twisting of democratic norms, the defecating on American values (the Capitol building became the literal embodiment of that metaphor on January 6), the porn star scandal, the fake university scandal, the racism, the hate rallies, the demonisation of rivals, the denial of both a killer pandemic and catastrophic climate change, and the utter absence of facts to justify Trump’s ascension to power…

And I rage.

I rage. Over coffee. Over Whiskey. Over Malibu and sugar-free Pasito.

I rage on podcasts. I rage in print. Sometimes bi-weekly.

Morons would call this ‘Trump derangement syndrome’ but I’ve long contended that the only derangement syndrome associated with Trump is the syndrome that leads adult humans to believe in the dangers of windmills, electric vehicles, and Sweden. That’s probably the same syndrome than confuses the word ‘origins’ with the word ‘oranges’, and Nikki Haley with Nancy Pelosi. It’s certainly the same syndrome that leads adult humans to believe ‘Trump is the one playing Putin’. Friends have said that. I have laughed at them. I’m not sure the laughter has reached my eyes.

But here’s the contradiction, folks: As much as I rage, as much as I deride Trump’s base, another part of me feels – very strongly – that we’re looking at this in a very ‘privileged’ way.

This is what I want to unpack. Bear with me, please… I’ve had some hardcore South American coffee.

 

I. CLASS PREJUDICE UNDER TRUMPISM

I’m not the greatest fan of the term ‘privileged’. Like a lot of cultural memes, it started from a grounded and intelligent conversation around systemic oppression, persecution, cruelty and inequality, then morphed into some kind of video game where points are scored against political opponents based on who has led the hardest life. That sounds glib, and probably is, but once these complex ideas lose their original moorings in true socioeconomic hardship and become a sport for the middle class, I believe cynicism is a healthy antidote to grandstanding.

Class is the issue at hand.

I’ve written about the bubbles we live in, when it comes to class, and how these bubbles blind us to what I would say is the most appropriate application of the term ‘privileged’: the gap between those of us who can eat comfortably under a solid roof and those who struggle to cover rent and bills, pay for medications, pay for transport, cover regular meals for themselves or feed their children and dependents.

Trump’s supporters, in the main, are not privileged.

Of course, there are wealthy Republican donors. There are über-rich parasites like recently-disbarred Rudy Giuliani and others, but the people who sweltered to the point of paralysis at Trump’s rallies, the people who gave their meagre savings to Trump University and learned nothing… the people still cheering the tearing up of their own healthcare safety net, the demolition of their own education system, the death of the flora and fauna they take for granted, the end of their right to speak freely in their own state, the forcing of young women to carry a dangerous or incestuous pregnancy to term, and the utter annihilation of their own aspirational hopes and dreams by a leader who looks down on them and chortles are not privileged.

They are each a conman’s mark.

Violence should never be the answer to a political discussion. Strong people fight with ideas, not weapons. When I reflect on the rally that ended in the death of an innocent and no doubt loyal bystander, 50-year-old Corey Comperatore, I feel a deep sickness for what has happened to America. Not a sadness, but a sickness. Comperatore’s loyalty to a man who laughed at him and his community cost him his life. He died shielding his family.

According to Robin Givhan’s excellent article in The Washington Post, the average household income of Butler, Pennsylvania is $39,000. That’s about $57,000 Australian dollars… in other words, skating our national poverty line. It’s a close-knit community of approximately 13,000 people, the majority of whom are white, anxious, isolated from wider America, and ripe for exploitation by Trump and his immigration lies. The Don’s performance is designed to flame hatred wherever his carnival travels.

Trump was mid-lie, in fact, when disenfranchised local Thomas Matthew Crooks opened fire on the ex-president. We have yet to understand why a registered Republican would attack the man who was ostensibly his leader, although Crooks donated to the Democrats as well, so who knows? I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that it’s not very complicated. You give alienated young people easy access to firearms and horrible things happen. You don’t need to speculate about ‘false flags’, ‘ANTIFA’, or the lizard people. You just have to look at communities that have been forgotten by the left and deceived by the right.

Class is relevant here.

Also relevant is Trump’s new running mate. While Tim Scott would have been the stronger choice for the Republicans, J.D. Vance is a clever one. Sure, Vance is a never Trumper who has compared Trump to Hitler, but Lindsey Graham once called Trump a ‘race-baiting, Xenophobic religious bigot’ and Trump repeatedly called Ted Cruz’s wife ‘ugly’… so memories are short in the GOP.

I have to say, compared to the disloyalty and cowardice the Democrats have shown to President Joe Biden, it’s strangely touching to see a united party… even a really, really, really terrifying united party where all the major players are holding their noses.

As the new face of that party, J.D Vance is a brave man. Let’s not forget that Trump’s last running mate was very nearly murdered by a feral, seditious mob. As far as job offers go, Vance’s appointment is up there with volunteering for military service under Darth Vader’s ‘exciting and bold’ leadership.

The Republicans know what they’re doing here. Class comes sharply into play with Vance on the ticket. Before this announcement, the junior United States senator was best known as the author of Hillbilly Elegy. The 2016 autobiographical novel, adapted into film in 2020, reflects on Vance’s upbringing in Middletown, Ohio, where the median household income is currently $42,290 ($62,000 AUD). Vance grew up surrounded by poverty, alcoholism, and a sense of social decay:

What many don’t understand is how truly desperate these places are, and we’re not talking about small enclaves or a few towns – we’re talking about multiple states where a significant chunk of the white working class struggles to get by. Heroin addiction is rampant. In my medium-sized Ohio county last year, deaths from drug addiction outnumbered deaths from natural causes. The average kid will live in multiple homes over the course of her life, experience a constant cycle of growing close to a “stepdad” only to see him walk out on the family, know multiple drug users personally, maybe live in a foster home for a bit (or at least in the home of an unofficial foster like an aunt or grandparent), watch friends and family get arrested, and on and on. And on top of that is the economic struggle, from the factories shuttering their doors to the Main Streets with nothing but cash-for-gold stores and pawn shops.

In his famous interview with Rod Dreher, Vance is quick to point out that politicians fail to address these challenges, but that ‘Donald Trump at least tries.’ That’s plainly preposterous – Trump is a grifter who mocks the people he professes to help – but Vance, the author, wasn’t blind to that reality:

My biggest fear with Trump is that, because of the failures of the Republican and Democratic elites, the bar for the white working class is too low. They’re willing to listen to Trump about rapist immigrants and banning all Muslims because other parts of his message are clearly legitimate. A lot of people think Trump is just the first to appeal to the racism and xenophobia that were already there, but I think he’s making the problem worse.

I hope Vance, the Vice-Presidential nominee, can keep his earlier words in mind.

I’m always wary of the notion that only people who’ve experienced something firsthand have ‘the right’ to write about it. That’s a relatively recent leftist perspective. We wouldn’t have Frankenstein or Jurassic Park – to name but two books on my shelf – if we’d always insisted on that rule.

I’m also wary of the suggestion that just because someone was there, in the thick of it, that their perspective is automatically more clearheaded. The opposite can be equally true. In Vance’s case, I do think his life experiences have given him some lingering biases and prejudices, particularly towards welfare recipients and others who’ve been raised in poverty but reacted differently. One subjective experience can never be universal; that’s what statistics are for.

And yet….

Contempt by the middle class towards whites of the working class is real. Vance describes this tribal intolerance as one of the last prejudices people feel entitled to express, and I would agree. I’ve certainly sat through some uncomfortable conversations where ‘hillbillies’, ‘rednecks’ and Trump’s base have been solidly stereotyped and attacked in very plush sitting rooms. I do it too, of course, in my heavy-handed attempts to wake these people up to the grift. I just used the alliteration ‘plainly preposterous’ in a sentence, so I see can myself in Vance’s description of ‘condescending elites’, even if my own background is a little more layered than that.

Friends and family members from outside my bubble have introduced me to alternate perspectives that echo Vance’s words: ‘I don’t mind being too poor to pay my medical bills,’ they argue, ‘so long as nobody else gets a free ride!’

It’s this sense of someone else taking advantage, of handouts to the slack or the underserving, that fuels the sort of resentment Trump and others feed on. Statistically, it doesn’t equate to any factual circumstance. Despite the endless political rhetoric around ‘queue jumpers’, ‘dole bludgers’… or, to borrow an Americanism, ‘welfare queens’… or, to borrow a Trumpism or two, ‘animals’ and ‘killers’… the reality is that working class people are not being ‘replaced’ by refugees. They are not being ‘screwed over’ by the long-term unemployed.

They are being manipulated by the guy with the suntan and the fabulous hair.

The question I’ve struggled with for years is this: How do we help them see the scam without coming across as the enemy?

A while back, when I used to interact directly with these people online, I met a friendly Republican guy who called me a ‘good liberal’ and explained his story to me. He loved Trump because he wanted America’s borders protected. When I probed his reasons why, he eventually admitted that he was held at gunpoint in his place of work by an illegal immigrant. He wished he’d had a gun to defend himself then. He has carried one ever since.

I tried to explain that blaming all ‘foreigners’ (his word) for one bad experience is as absurd as blaming all white guys for popped collars, frosted tips, and Justin Timberlake. I also tried to explain that drawing a weapon in the midst of a holdup was, statistically, very likely to get him killed. If we were still in contact now, I’d explain that it is the Democrats under President Biden who actually want to address the border issues in America, and the Republicans under Trump who are shutting down bipartisan cooperation and thriving from the perceived chaos.

But… let’s be real….

I’ve never been held at gunpoint. I have no concept of how terrifying that would be. I’m the guy who curled up and embraced death when I was trapped in an elevator for under 20 minutes. Who am I to tell someone how to react to a genuine trauma?

My logical brain can unpack his flawed reasoning, but it would be cold – even for a Gen Xer – to deny him his PTSD and all the feelings that flow on from that.

Likewise, the middle class, and therefore truly privileged, secular soy boy can’t really understand what it’s like to grow up in rural America. I can’t understand what it’s like being raised under austere religious dogma, in a state of prolonged poverty, resentful of ‘coastal elites’ and ‘Hollywood’, and late-night talk show hosts, and everyone else they see beamed into their lounges and their laptops, every night, denigrating their existence to canned laughter and applause.

I can scarcely imagine the anger one feels at being routinely mocked and belittled, while others, in faraway states, enjoy the free life US culture has promised for all. Would a conman be appealing in that scenario? Probably.

That conman has now taken a bullet, and many believe he did it for them. The class bubble in the US won’t break until there’s an alternative to Donald J. Trump.

People deserve the opportunity to vote for someone who actually cares.

 

II. CLASS PREJUDICE IN OUR OWN BACKYARD

Looking at life as a Gen Xer in Australia, I have no idea what economic neglect feels like. None. I mean, I lived as a poor actor in Sydney for a while, drinking too much and sleeping in strange places, but that was dumb choice, not hardship.

When I myself was a student, we had subsidised housing. Now, my students are paying six hundred a week if they’re incredibly lucky. They are crammed into unsafe buildings, with dodgy landlords, or lining University coffers by forking out for overpriced dormitories. For those on good terms with their families, they are resigned to living with their parents… forever.

Generational wealth doesn’t address this problem. Dad recently pointed out that when he and Mum pass away, ‘the young will inherit big!’, and I replied by reminding him that I’m already in my 40s, I don’t actually want them to die… and Nanna is 96 in a few weeks and planning a party, so the genes are too strong to make this hereditary system viable.

And, as I’ve said before, the ‘Bank of Mum and Dad’ only works for harmonious and relatively affluent family units. If you are estranged from your parents, and/or your parents are from a low-income bracket, the Australian Government has yet to offer you a solution.

Homeowners’ investments and tax perks are sacred to Dutton and others, but young people’s superannuation is forfeit, and their wellbeing remains largely irrelevant to policy. Like their friends in the US, young working class Australians are caught between one party that has forgotten to care and one party that pays PR-approved lip service.

The Coalition is privileged to the point of blindness – I still remember Alexander Downer flicking his wrist and telling me with Mr. Monopoly charm, ‘Oh, refugees don’t get tampons on boats, so what can they expect when they get here?’– and the Labor movement talks more than it delivers. Don’t get me started on all the coal mines they’ve approved while pretending to care about climate targets.

So, who will be your ally if you’re young and poor in Australia? Maybe not Trump, but there will be a con artist who sees a market. Pauline Hanson has certainly used class warfare to guide Howard, Abbott and ScoMo further and further to the extreme right over successive decades. ‘Guide’ may the wrong word: she enabled them.

Australian actor Cate Blanchett ignited class debate recently when she referred to herself as ‘middle class’. By all accounts, she’s a warm person, a charitable donor, and a global superstar – the meritocrat in me loves that – but ‘middle class’ she is not.

I was fascinated when playwright and journalist Van Badham, who had earlier written with great nuance on this subject, argued that Blanchett was ‘right’ to characterise her position that way:

We acknowledge these codes wordlessly, intuitively, often unconsciously in our interactions but we tend to defer to or antagonise those of cultural similarity or separateness to our class experience when we do. The dollars, darlin’, do not come into it.

This kind of commentary is part of a broader trend in Australia, perhaps mirroring the US, towards erasing the brutal mechanics of class – that is, who has money and who doesn’t – in favour of a wishy-washy, fuzzy AF, and disappointingly condescending re-conception of class as being defined by other ‘codes’ or social markers.

I’m not contending that such markers exist – private vs. public school is a notable example of class obsession, particularly in my native Adelaide where it borders on the bizarre – but, respectfully, I’d argue that the dollars do lie at the heart of classism and ‘privilege’.

Class is no longer really about who wears a tie, who wears Hi Vis, who works with their hands, who wields a pen, or a wrench, or a forklift… those markers have been wobbly for a long time. It’s really about who can wake up in the morning and meet their basic needs.

A re-conception may be appealing to us – the middle class who want to be seen as ‘nice’ – but it maliciously undermines the working class who couldn’t care less about emotional point-scoring and performative platitudes, and would actually like fair wages, fair rent, and food on the table. To get there, we need to acknowledge that class and classism exist in material terms.

Others take their re-conception even further. The illusion in Australian public discourse now, which appeals to many of us, is that we’re locked in a battle between capitalist leaders and everyone else driving the hamster wheel of the labour market. That is part of the story, yet those same commentators admit to ‘a six-figure donation from the bank of Mum and Dad’, which betrays at least some level of class blindness.

I get it….

None of us likes admitting to ‘privilege’. In the Musk and Zuckerberg world of ‘likes’, ‘dislikes’, and artificial absolutism, nobody wants to give ground in the culture war. To concede to ‘privilege’ is to put ourselves in the ‘bad’ box, and then our friends won’t follow us or send little love hearts.

But we have to be honest with ourselves and each other. Class is real. We do need more than words to address it.

We need affordable healthcare and education for all. We need income support for those who lose their jobs, recognising that in a globalised economy certain industries will flounder, while others shift and change. We need houses people can live in without sacrificing meals. We need to consider a universal basic wage if the capitalist system is leaving whole generations behind.

We need to talk about class.

And then, maybe then, we won’t see large sections of our nation states giving everything to the lure of populism and cheap ideas. We won’t see race and gender weaponised. We won’t turn on the TV and see another Charlottesville, another January 6, another mob fuelled by fear and resentment, or another innocent bystander diving onto his family to protect them from gunfire.

We need to stop calling ourselves ‘empaths’ and actually try being empathetic.

We need to acknowledge the unfairness in our society and start doing something about it.

Damn, I think I’m sounding like a leftie now.