Blog posts

December 8, 2020

Honestly, women

Honestly, have you ever travelled to the wrong side of the social class tracks margins?

Do you even know, beyond academic literature, these margins exist?

Would you live in these margins?

Would you work in these margins?

Do you want to know the rich mosaic of knowledges and wisdom created in these margins? Knowledges that never find their way out of the margins?

Do you want to experience how underclass women’s lives are lived and experienced in the shadows and margins of landscapes?

Do you want to see past the stereotypes and caricatures you think live and work in these classed-margins?

Honestly, women, masses of us have been living and working in the margins across generations.

We don’t get to live or work at the margins

Honestly, women

Maybe we don’t want to be in your margins

or live or work at your margins


Happily ever after, now

I used to live in the shadows and margins of the education landscape

cloaked in pain and shame

Fear of being outed and ousted

And then I was





Today, as I compose my life, I jump out and scream and shout

Then I happily go back to the shadows and margins

Happily ever after, now

i have the right to claim me

by Elaine J Laberge, Oct 1, 2020

“I am” includes all that has made me so. It is more than a statement of immediate fact: it is already biographical. (John Berger)1

i am my mother. i am my great aunty. i am the generations of women before me. i am shaped by an unknown lineage of women whose lives were erased and discounted before they were born. i am embodied in my mother’s hands:

A student says, “Aren’t you ashamed of your hands? They look so old!” The only sound her shocked, indrawn breath. The visible signs of her pain and shame is the stiffening of her shoulders, the tightening of her jaw, the infusion of a red slash across her cheekbones, just under her sunken, saddened eyes, and the heat that envelopes her ears surrounded by a close-crop haircut. She clenches her hands into fists so no one can see inside. She didn’t know her hands were weathered and old before their time until she entered onto the higher education landscape.

My red worn hands are symbolic of a life shaped by the violence of colonial classism and enforced generational poverty. How often I despised my mother’s hands. They were beaten red and calloused. They felt like sandpaper. They looked like dried jerky; I have my mother’s hands:

I scru​​b my skin raw, but I can’t wash away the stain of poverty. It’s deeply embedded in my self-identity. The shame was bearable until university—a place I believed was never meant for people like her. Now, I live in fear of being outed and ousted.

This is part of my story. As a child, I struggled silently against the relentless burn of hunger and uncertainty. I scavenged on my rural childhood landscape to silence the sting of emptiness. I wished school might offer me a place for sanctuary and escape; however, solace was elusive. I sensed there was no space for me in education: I was Other. I was labelled as deficit and not worthy of an education. I was storied as unable and unfit to learn before entering grade one. On many landscapes, I was that girl from that family destined to become another one of those girls. I learned early on not to trust educational spaces. I learned how to work and survive but never thrive. I silently accepted damaging assessments and (mis)recognitions. Today, the transient life i am living in university continues to be shaped by my experiences of growing up in poverty and relentless class-based discrimination. The challenges I face in this place are daunting—and, often lived silently in the shadows and margins. Yet….

am an underclass woman who dares—dares to be as popular as a mosquito bite—and, dares to be the elephant in the room. I dare to cross over the wrong side of the social class tracks to access a university education with a culture not meant for people like me. I dare to challenge the eurocentric dogma that poverty-class students’ lived experiences are inconsequential and merely anecdotes. I dare to suggest that the dismissal of ancestral and kinship knowledge of students from a poverty-class heritage is violence. I dare to make the echoes of intergenerational poverty and poverty discrimination reverberate. I dare a lot for those who came before me, those couldn’t come before me, those who were pushed out, those I walk alongside and those who might come after me. I dare to centre social class in intersectional decolonizing work. I dare to make visible how Canadian universities perpetuate class elitism and generational poverty. I dare to push the privileged pillars of Canadian universities. I dare to imagine otherwise for the underclass Other. I dare a lot. i am not a dare devil; am afraid, a lot.

i am (mis)recognized by acronyms, shorthand, air quotes, monikers, slurs, binaries and gendered slams: low SES, first gen, SES “disadvantaged,” white trash, dangerous Other, moral outcast, deserving–undeserving poor, and welfare queen. Plus, the breadth of subject-descriptors am subjected to: revolting, disgusting, illegitimate, wasteful, pointless, and useless. Simultaneously, i am supposed to: 1) Erase my not quite white identity2 and my poverty-class heritage, 2) Hide the shameful secret of coming from poverty in the pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ closet, 3) Assimilate into the middle-class higher education culture. Identity erasure, in order to pretend to be the right kind of colonial citizen, worthy of anything including an education, manifests in a multitude of ways that decimates individuals, families and communities across generations.

i am knocking on the door—every door

i am not one-dimensional, a singular story or a classed cliché. This is not the end of my story or the story. Colonial class-based narratives, myths, fairy tales and dogmas must be interrupted—turned inside out and upside down. Every day, I rail (some would say like a mosquito in your ear), “How much longer shall we go on cloaked in the faux security of the myth of the classless society? Unchecked structural inequality and inequity is killing us!” For the most part, I am swatted away; I keep coming back like a pest. You might ask, “Why bother?” Well, classism is one of the central pillars this nation was colonized upon, yet, social class continues to be ignored. So, the individual is blamed and pathologized while ignoring the structural reasons for historic and ongoing poverty discrimination. The result? A swath is cut through the population who thus, remain disenfranchised, neglected, excluded and erased—and, unable to contribute to creating a healthy decolonized society. Further, even though education is crucial to mitigate (generational) poverty, the underclass continue to be excluded and punished in overt, hidden, and insidious ways. Inclusion too often equates to assimilation! Moreover, class-void equity, diversity, inclusion (EDI) and decolonization strategies create social characteristic silos (e.g., gender and race versus sexual orientation and ablebodiedness), thus, homogenizing folks and dividing categories of people. How, without a critical understanding of the intersections of oppression and identity—including social class—can we possibly tackle systemic poverty, racism, sexism and ableism? This is why, before, during and after my MA, I have been knocking on the door—every door—using story, poetry, playwriting, creative non-fiction and in the trenches talks to make visible why we all need to care about poverty and the reverberations of colonial classism. But it’s not enough to reach one person at a time. This knowledge mobilization approach creates ripples, however, an interactive, engaging and accessible broader approach is needed for my doctoral research and knowledge mobilization—digital storytelling.

i am part of creating new stories to live by

i am a collaborator, community-builder, connector, advocate and occasionally a fearless social justice warrior. Concretely put, my research and knowledge mobilization…. Well, it’s got to mean something beyond me. And, just as importantly, there are so many folks waiting to hear stories that help to unpack social class, understand inequality and inequity through a class-based lens and experience how things must be and can be different. Stories of systemic poverty violence must not continue to be ignored, silenced and overshadowed. Canada’s colonial social class hierarchy kills lives, families, communities and hopes and dreams. Yet, in order to create new stories to live by, first, we have to tell and hear the stories of past and present. Digital storytelling holds profound potential to be healing, empowering, evocative and fundamental to combat systemic discrimination and injustice.

i am not a success story or a poster child for anything. I suppose the only adjectives that describe me are tenacious and innovative. i am part of a burgeoning grassroots underclass sisterhood of solidarity movement in Canada. Through storytelling, we’re audacious. We’re learning to reframe how we’re storied by the centre—by Power. We’re kicking the mis and brackets out of (mis)recognition. We’re (re)discovering and (re)claiming the amazingness of ancestral and kinship knowledge and heritage. But it’s hard. Coming out of the social underclass closet is dangerous and the violence is swift. Unpacking the colonial class-based narratives planted in us is painful. Not all women from a poverty-class heritage have the capacity to tackle any or all of this. I do. I mean, I do, with community and this includes learning alongside fellow students and mentors. My contribution is not to speak for others, appropriate or co-opt stories that are not mine or mine to tell or colonial white-wash, exploit or sensationalize lived experiences. What I will bring to the Digital Storytelling Research Project is simply a critical and relational way of understanding and approaching identity, belonging and hope for an equitable and just society. i am also a whole lot of radical imagination.

Elaine J Laberge is a Phd Candidate/ABD in the Faculty of Education at the Univerity of Victoria. She is a Vanier Scholar (2018-2021) and will be completing her doctorate in August 2021. Her research is at

Contact Elaine



Thank you to Tara Brabazon, Flinders University, Adelaide, Australia, who came up with the mascara title, “i have the right to claim me” on the spot

1.               Steedman, C. K. (1987). Landscape for a Good Woman. Rutgers University Press.

2.               Wray, M. (2006). Not Quite White: White Trash and the Boundaries of Whiteness. Duke University Press.

No landscape for a good underclass woman

by Elaine Jean Laberge

Presented at the First International Working Class Academics Conference

July 2020

LINK to watch the session:

Formatted PDF of the poem  

i scrub
i scrub
my skin raw
but i can’t wash away the stain of poverty


i scrub my skin with my red-worn hands
Ruthlessly with
academic journals

i scrub my skin
with theorists
Sociological colonial patriarchal
theories tangle
into a mish-mash of
barbed wire

my confidence
my creativity
Is destroyed
like metal scratching pads on slick shiny teflon
looks like the teflon frying pans
dumped (off)
at the corporate faux-charitable Value Village
don’t pay my tuition — my rent
don’t contribute to my retirement
don’t give me hope — even for a break

i scald my soul
the analytical
the theoretical
the generalizable
the unchangeable
But i can’t wash away the stain of poverty

i came out of the social underclass closet
on the Canadian higher education landscape
my skin
my body
my entire being
as a one-dimensional woman (Power, 2009)

Stigma (Goffman, 1963, 1959; Tyler, 2018)
Other Othered Othering

Caste in a box
Outsider within (Bourdieu & Champagne, 1999)
Outsider without
we’re the “wretched of the earth” (Fanon, 2004)

we’re many subjects
revolting (Tyler, 2013)
disgusting (Lawler, 2005)
illegitimate (Haylett, 2001)
wasteful useless pointless

A disposable population
Moral outcasts
The underclass
Marx’s hated lumpenproletariat

The unwashed
The lower classes that smell (Orwell, 1963)
The hated, despised, ridiculed white trash
The deserving—undeserving
battled out in the centre
while we live in the shadows and margins

You degrade me
call me (and my ancestors) white trash (Wray, 2013, 2006)
and then y’all hold white trash-themed parties

welfare queens
where’re the Welfare Kings?

We’re stigma machines (Tyler, 2017)
“Branded with infamy” (Adair, 2008, 2001)

Leaves me with bruises
a bloodied bloody mess
of bruise-stained hurts

my knees are shot to shit
from trying to cross the wrong side of the social class tracks
“Stay in your lane!”
you say

Slivers that crowbars
can’t dislodge
from trying
to climb the broken class ladder
“Back down to the bottom rung from whence you came!”
you say

You offer up
your stick and barbed-wire encrusted carrot
bury me alive and dead
with sufforacating student loans
generously topped up with your interest compounded daily

“Squandering our riches,”
you say
“You squander our richness,”
we don’t say

How many students are homeless?
no one knows
not yet considered an epidemic
might be another academic-career-booster
Canadian taxpayer-funded academic research topic

How many students go hungry?
no one knows
just another epidemic maybe?
just another oh-this-has-potential
Canadian taxpayer-funded academic research topic

How many students are from poverty?
no one knows no one cares to know
we’re not supposed to be here are we here?
poverty’s not considered an epidemic
never gonna be another
Canadian taxpayer-funded academic research topic

Poverty intergenerational poverty
it’s deeply embedded in my self-identity
part of my embodied being (Laberge, 2017; Adair, 2001)

The shame was bearable until university
a place I believed was never
meant for people like me
i lived in fear
of being
on being outed and ousted

and then i was outed of the social underclass closet

and then i was ousted
pushed out
as a doctoral student
as a Vanier scholar
from my beloved discipline sociology
from my belief in Otherwise (Laberge, 2017; Elbow, 2008)
from within

of imagining Otherwise (Green, 1995)
because i imagined Otherwise

because i dared to critique
The abusers
The users
The faux-teachers
The faux-social justice advocates
The faux-equity, diversity, inclusion leaders
The ignorers deniers
of social class
inequality inequity

Jacked-up capitalism
Rabid neoliberalism
Servitude neofeudism
150+ years of colonialism
Relentless burgenoning —isms
—in Canadian university institutions
shhh there’s no classism no social stratification

Maya Angelou (1978)
yes, i still rise
but, i will move along

and you Canadian universities
you need to hear this
I’m no learned lemming
I’ve always been a moth to an injustice flame
I’ve never walked quietly
I’ll make a fuss
but I won’t go over the cliff without causing a ruckus
but I’m leaving


Canadian universities
Your education promised a way out of poverty
Your venerated piece of paper
lauded as the great equalizer


You broke your promise (Adair, 2001)
You continue to break your promise

“Your” taxpayer-funded Canadian university
It’s no “landscape for a good [underclass] woman” (Steedman, 1987)

Works Cited
Indigenous territorial map:
Adair, V. (2001a). Branded with Infamy: Inscriptions of Poverty and Class in the United States. Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 27(2), 451–471.
Adair, V. (2001b). Poverty and the (Broken) Promise of Higher Education. Harvard Educational Review, 71(2), 217–239.
Angelou, M. (1978). Still I rise. Retrieved from Poetry Foundation website: https://www.poetryfoundation. Bourdieu, P., & Champagne, P. (1999). Outcasts on the Inside. In P. Parkhurst Ferguson, S. Emanuel, J. Johnson, & S. T. Waryn (Trans.), The Weight of the World: Social Suffering in Contemporary Society (pp. 421–426). Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Elbow, P. (2008). The Believing Game—Methodological Believing. English Department Faculty Publication Series, 5, 1–11. Retrieved from
Fanon, F. (2004). The wretched of the earth (R. Philcox, Trans.). New York: Grove Press.
Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life (First). New York: Anchor Books.
Goffman, E. (1963). Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. New York: Simon & Schuster.
Greene, M. (1995). Releasing the Imagination: Essays on Education, the Arts, and Social Change. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Haylett, C. (2001). Illegitimate subjects?: Abject whites, neoliberal modernism, and middle-class multiculturalism. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 19(3), 351–370.
Laberge, E. (2017). The reverberations of childhood poverty: Composing lives in higher education (Unpublished thesis (MA)). University of Alberta, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
Lawler, S. (2005). Disgusted subjects: The making of middle-class identities. The Sociological Review, 53(3), 429–446.
Orwell, G. (1963). The Lower Classes Smell. In L. A. Coser (Ed.), Sociology through Literature: An Introductory Reader (pp. 145–149). Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall.
Power, N. (2009). One dimensional woman. Washington: Zero Books.
Steedman, C. K. (1987). Landscape for a Good Woman. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.
Swanson, J. (2004). Poor-Bashing: The Politics of Exclusion. Toronto: Between the Lines.
Tyler, I. (2013). Revolting subjects: Social abjection and resistance in neoliberal Britain. New York: Zed Books.
Tyler, I. (2018). Resituating Goffman: From stigma power to black power. The Sociological Review, 66(4), 744–765.
Tyler, I. (2017). From Revolting Subjects to Stigma Machines [Academic]. Retrieved November 3, 2017, from The Stigma Doctrine website:
Wray, M. (2013, June 21). White Trash: The Social Origins of a Stigmatype. The Society Pages: Social Science That Matters.
Wray, M. (2006). Not Quite White: White Trash and the Boundaries of Whiteness. Duke University Press.


Elaine J Laberge

July 23, 2020

I’m     silenced    banging my head    ouch!


Punishing me    myself            before you do

To hurry up and tell

My learning

My awakening

My inquiry through writing

The expectation of the academic violence is forgotten

The academic violence is forgotten

My soul is just a whiteboard

Not even a just get over it

No time for wonder    exploration in the stacks

solo learning

Seems like         “get out”

I’ve never had a voice like this

Now thistles being thrust down my throat

Rasping—hear the methodology story

takes            time                    sorry

You can fail me

No one looks like me

I’m an academic orphan