Close Menu
Honi Soit
    Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram
    Trending
    • UTS elects new Chancellor
    • Out of the Deep: The Story of a Shark Kid Who Dared to Question Fear
    • Prima Facie: Losing faith in a system you truly believed in
    • Jason Clare seeks replacement for ANU Chancellor Julie Bishop after $790,000 expense report
    • ‘If you silence someone or shush someone, you can get out’: SISTREN is an unabashed celebration of black and trans joy. Is Australia ready?
    • Mark Gowing waxes lyrical on aesthetics, time, language, and his new exhibition ‘This one is a song’
    • NTEU wins wage theft case against Monash University
    • Turning Kindness Into Strength in ‘A Different Kind of Power’
    • About
    • Print Edition
    • Student Journalism Conference 2025
    • Writing Comp
    • Advertise
    • Locations
    • Contact
    Facebook Instagram X (Twitter) TikTok
    Honi SoitHoni Soit
    Thursday, July 10
    • News
    • Analysis
    • Culture
    • Opinion
    • University
    • Features
    • Perspective
    • Investigation
    • Reviews
    • Comedy
    • Student Journalism Conference 2025
    Honi Soit
    Home»Perspective

    Choked by the blue collar

    By Eric GonzalesJuly 27, 2016 Perspective 3 Mins Read
    Share
    Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Email

    When a college application form asked for my parents’ occupation, I was at a crossroads. What if my admission hinged absolutely upon my answer, would it be weighted equally to my own academic and co-curricular merits? With hesitation, I awkwardly labeled my dad as “Production manager”, hoping its capitalisation could conjure illusory prestige. But what did that even mean? It was probably just a glamorous euphemism for “packing syringes into a box and pressing a few buttons”.

    Yet my hesitation, especially the way I’ve just dismissed manual labour – the bedrock of Australia’s industrial economy – perpetuates a subconscious stigma I hold towards the blue collar. It is one that I am only just bringing to the surface. Sitting down in a classroom for circa three quarters of my life has cultivated my internal hierarchy of intellectual rigour over manual labour, compounded by parental adages of a good degree guaranteeing ‘prosperity’. Indeed, the rat race privileges the white collar as the only commendable expenditure of energy.

    Only now am I starting to question society’s dichotomous associations with the white and blue collar: the first corresponding with success, and the other apparently overpopulated by the unintelligent dregs and so-called failures of society. Dad isn’t just a production manager. He graduated with a degree in architecture from the University of Santo Tomas in Manila. Both parents thrived academically in a country that wasn’t so kind to them. In the mythical “pursuit of happiness”, they migrated to a country more socially vicious towards their predicament, more skeptical of their qualifications. Mum chose to do it all over again, synchronously learning this mysterious thing called ‘English’. Dad was paralysed, and shied away from starting from square one.

    Insecurity lingers outside filling out forms, seeping into contemplations of the future. When I fell in love with someone whose parents’ illustrious corporate epithets eclipsed my parents’ humble history, it felt like some strange socioeconomic miscegenation. Imagine us seated at the same table come Christmas time, only for my dad to confess that he works at the very production line owned by my maybe-not-now father-in-law. Throughout school, I silently resented my ethnic upbringing when my parents couldn’t offer me the type of cultural literacy that is so cherished in Australia’s education system: my parents aren’t versed in Australian law, nor are they academics.

    Dad used to be an architect – I’ve seen some of his blueprints. Perfect. Precise. But I understand why he may have chosen not to build his life up from scratch. Immigrating here would’ve meant both parents giving it their all to give my family a fresh start. Alas, the line on the college admission application wasn’t long enough. But if I could tell them my whole story, I’d be proud to wear my parents’ tenacity like a badge of honour – something that isn’t adequately expressed in the two words “production manager”.

    blue collar class class consciousness college first generation insecurity parents white collar

    Keep Reading

    The Music of Memory

    Turn Away Your Mirrors and Close the Doors

    What Was Your Name?

    Do you dream with your phone?

    Authenticating My Authenticity to Inauthentic Authenticators

    Red-Haired Phantasies: The So-Called Manic Pixie Dream Girl

    Just In

    UTS elects new Chancellor

    July 8, 2025

    Out of the Deep: The Story of a Shark Kid Who Dared to Question Fear

    July 8, 2025

    Prima Facie: Losing faith in a system you truly believed in

    July 8, 2025

    Jason Clare seeks replacement for ANU Chancellor Julie Bishop after $790,000 expense report

    July 7, 2025
    Editor's Picks

    Part One: The Tale of the Corporate University

    May 28, 2025

    “Thank you Conspiracy!” says Capitalism, as it survives another day

    May 21, 2025

    A meditation on God and the impossible pursuit of answers

    May 14, 2025

    We Will Be Remembered As More Than Administrative Errors

    May 7, 2025
    Facebook Instagram X (Twitter) TikTok

    From the mines

    • News
    • Analysis
    • Higher Education
    • Culture
    • Features
    • Investigation
    • Comedy
    • Editorials
    • Letters
    • Misc

     

    • Opinion
    • Perspective
    • Profiles
    • Reviews
    • Science
    • Social
    • Sport
    • SRC Reports
    • Tech

    Admin

    • About
    • Editors
    • Send an Anonymous Tip
    • Write/Produce/Create For Us
    • Print Edition
    • Locations
    • Archive
    • Advertise in Honi Soit
    • Contact Us

    We acknowledge the traditional custodians of this land, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. The University of Sydney – where we write, publish and distribute Honi Soit – is on the sovereign land of these people. As students and journalists, we recognise our complicity in the ongoing colonisation of Indigenous land. In recognition of our privilege, we vow to not only include, but to prioritise and centre the experiences of Indigenous people, and to be reflective when we fail to be a counterpoint to the racism that plagues the mainstream media.

    © 2025 Honi Soit
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms
    • Accessibility

    Type above and press Enter to search. Press Esc to cancel.