Education

I thought I’d made it when I got to Cambridge University. How wrong I was | Daniella Adeluwoye


I’ve always been a diligent worker. Having worked part-time throughout my A-levels in a fish and chip shop, I knew what hard work meant. When I received my offer to study at Cambridge University I was congratulated by my colleagues for finally “making it”. In the warm heat of June, a few days before my last exam, I thought this would be the last time I would smell the fish in batter mix as it hit the sizzling oil. I reflected on the idea that Cambridge meant I was finally competing on a level playing field with socially and economically privileged students.

Within my first four days at university, by which time tickets had already sold out for the winter ball, I realised this was not the case. Around me, students effortlessly parted with well over £100 for that one night out. I could only struggle to do the same, so I applied to work for half of the ball in order to enjoy the other half for free. It soon dawned on me that, for a working-class student, a Cambridge degree did not give me equal status.

Instead, my first year exposed the significant wealth inequalities between me and other students. While they are comforted by their parents’ financial cushion, I have to think about the risks I take career-wise. I had hoped to pursue a career in journalism. But in this profession, work is often freelance, inconsistent and poorly paid. My privileged counterparts will be able to explore opportunities in the form of unpaid work placements; I need a career path that provides monetary stability.

Research shows that Oxbridge graduates from more privileged backgrounds earn about £5,000 a year more than those from disadvantaged backgrounds. When I discovered this, I was shocked. I’d been told by teachers that a Cambridge degree would be the “great equaliser”. After all, I had been chosen through meritocracy, selected on the basis of my ability. It didn’t matter where I had come from, I could achieve anything.

Now, about to enter my second year and feeling closer to the jungle of graduate job-hunting, I have come to realise the power of financial patronage. These worries over money are shared by many of my working-class friends at Cambridge. One told me how she dreamt of pursuing a career in acting, but she soon realised that the financial insecurity within the industry means it won’t be an option.

I worry, too, that I do not embody the “polish” that many recruiters seek. At one of the first talks I attended at university, the speaker made several references to 17th-century French politicians and compared them with contemporary British MPs, each of which was greeted with bursts of laughter. Did I keep missing the punchline? How was I expected to know the biography of Louis XIV? This episode made me realise how strongly the room’s very sense of humour was tied to class background.

Middle-class parents instil cultural tools in their children, such as knowledge of the high arts. I began to wonder: if I was unable to understand a highbrow reference during an interview, would the recruiter think I may not “fit in”; would they be less likely to hire me? As I navigate an institution such as Cambridge, I often feel alienated as student colleagues confidently charm their way through conversations – referencing their favourite poetry by the likes of Keats, Browning and Hardy. I could not name a single one of their works.

Many working-class friends tell me they often feel isolated like this, too. I worry that, in job interviews, this lack of knowledge will unfairly be confused with my ability to do the job. At Eton they teach their students “oiling”: how to charm your way to success. Maybe that’s how Boris Johnson got into Downing Street: not by merit or hard work but because of his lessons in charm and persuasion.

During freshers’ week, I overheard a conversation between students discussing their social connections. Their family friends ranged from various CEOs to big names in the City. These connections often help to “pull strings” for privileged students once they graduate. My parents cannot provide valuable social connections.

I would urge schools and teachers to not raise expectations: to paint an Oxbridge degree as a working-class escape route. It’s an empty promise.

I was sold a dream of upward mobility but my one year has already exposed this as far from the truth. I’ve learned that our class shapes our economic, cultural and social capital, and much of our potential, from birth. This is something a Cambridge degree cannot erase.

Daniella Adeluwoye is an undergraduate at Cambridge University



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