Doctors, teachers and junior bankers of the world, unite!

Mint

2 days ago

The best place to consider class consciousness in Britain today is beneath the canvas of a £283-per-night ($381) yurt at Hay Festival, a literary jamboree in Wales. Revolutionary fervour is building among those who 'glamp", as if someone had given Colonel Qaddafi a subscription to the London Review of Books.
Here in Hay-on-Wye, the men behind Led By Donkeys, an unapologetically middle-class campaign group that emerged via anti-Brexit gimmicks, can pack out an arena. Alastair Campbell, a once-disgraced spinner turned centrist-lodestar, speaks to sell-out crowds, imploring an audience in expensive walking shoes to channel their anger into a force for change. The middle classes are mad as hell and they are not going to take it any more.
Class consciousness is a simple concept. Before an oppressed class can throw off their shackles, they must know how hard they have it. Karl Marx had workers in mind when he devised it. Increasingly those who are most aggrieved in British society are not those at the bottom but those stuck in the middle. Overtaxed by the state, underpaid by their employers and overlooked by politicians, middle-class consciousness is growing.
It started with Brexit. For many in the middle class—the relatively well-off, well-educated band of voters who make up about a third of the country—this was a radicalising moment. Comfortable lives were rudely interrupted by politics. Marches against Britain's departure from the eu represented the 'id of the liberal middle classes", argues Morgan Jones in 'No Second Chances", a forthcoming book about the campaign to undo Brexit.
What began with 'the longest Waitrose queue in history", as one joker unkindly but not unfairly dubbed the first Brexit march, did not end there. That life is tough in the middle is a feeling that goes beyond people who pay £16 to watch the lads from Led By Donkeys. Traditionally right-wing professions in Britain—such as those in the law and finance—are increasingly unhappy with their lot. The HENRYs (high-earners, not rich yet) are already revolting. Those on six-figure salaries, a small but growing part of the economy given hefty inflation and healthy wage growth, discuss ways of avoiding the grotesque cliff-edges and disincentives that kick in the second someone's salary trips over £100,000. If no one looks out for a class, it looks after itself.
Britain's middle class is less disparate than it seems. The banker and the bookseller have much in common. Even those in normal jobs now face high marginal-tax rates. Strangely, the Conservatives bequeathed an overly progressive tax system to Labour. Direct taxes on median earners have never been lower; those who earn even slightly above are hammered. What ails a junior banker today will haunt a teacher tomorrow. If teachers accept a proposed 4% pay rise, the salary of the median teacher will hit £51,000—shunting them into the 40% tax bracket. A tax bracket designed for the richest will soon hit a put-upon English teacher watching 'The Verb", Radio 4's poetry show, in a tent near the Welsh border.
It should be no surprise that middle-class unions are now the most militant. Resident doctors—formerly called 'junior"—were offered 5.4% by the government, but the British Medical Association has called a strike ballot. It wants almost 30%. This would be its 12th strike since 2023. Labour had tried to buy goodwill by agreeing a pay rise worth 22% in 2024. It did not work. 'Bank and build" is the mantra of the middle-class Mensheviks.
Before their stonking pay rise, doctors liked to point out that some young doctors earned less than a barista in Pret A Manger. It was a delicate point. Everyone likes doctors; no one likes snobs. Yet it is a grievance that afflicts an increasing number of middle-class workers. Graduate salaries are often squished in real terms while the minimum wage cranks ever higher. Cleaners and barmen enjoy better pay thanks to the state; middle-class jobs are left at the mercy of the market. The gap between a publisher on a jolly in the Welsh countryside and the person serving them gourmet macaroni cheese is shrinking. Some do not like this. The history of class in Britain is the history of status anxiety.
Partly, middle-class consciousness is a defensive move. When Labour looks to raise money, broad-based tax rises are ruled out. That means niche attacks on the middle classes are in. Pension pots are a tempting target. The Treasury gazes longingly at ISAs, the tax-free saving accounts that are a tremendous bung to middle-class people. Middle England feels about ISAs the same way rural America feels about guns.
Being ignored and, at times, abused by politicians is a new sensation for the middle classes. For decades, their wants and needs drove political debate. As recently as 2017, entire books were written about the exclusion of the working class from British politics, arguing that the middle classes had a monopoly on political attention. Brexit inverted this deal. Now every major party (except the Liberal Democrats, who speak for England's most prosperous corners) falls over itself to offer something to an imagined working-class voter. If Brexit taught anything, it was that voters in want of attention eventually throw a tantrum.
Aux barricades, doc
It is easy to mock the middle class. Perhaps the well-off whingeing about their tax burden, or taking to the streets because a holiday in Europe is now less convenient, is inherently ridiculous (much like spending £283 on a night in a yurt). Politicians can overlook such voters only for so long. It is hard to rule without them; they are simply too numerous to ignore. From the grumpy Remainer to the junior banker scouring Reddit for ways to cut his tax bill to the doctor on the picket line, middle-class consciousness is spreading. Few are content—least of all those in a luxury tent.
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