What was it that made you want to study in Bristol? Take a moment to think back to your 17-year-old self. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed, trying to decide which 5 universities to apply to on the UCAS website. Until something about Bristol intrigues you. Of course, Bristol may have not been your first choice university, but even if it wasn’t, something must have drawn you here, right? It’s fair to say that Bristol is a city brimming with culture and diversity. From the grandeur of Wills Memorial Building to the political poignance of street art in Stokes Croft, there is clearly a wide range of cultural expressions. But do these cultures run congruently, or are they conflicting?
I think we can all recognise the specific subculture of youngsters that Bristol University seems to attract. From my perspective, campus is brimming with fresh faced and ambitious students, desperately trying to fit in to the status quo of Bristolian culture. We all want the same thing! There is an overwhelming pressure to present oneself in a way that aligns with the culture of the city — a culture that is becoming increasingly difficult to define. From the clothes we chose to wear, to the nightclubs we go to, to the societies we chose to join (or rather, the societies we frantically join in Freshers’ Week and forget about for the rest of the year), these things become the foundation of our very identity.
But what defines culture? Is my own perception of culture as a white female in a Russell Group university an accurate representation of the culture of the city as a whole? Or perhaps my privilege is blinding me from experiencing the city’s culture beyond the lecture theatre?
Let’s start by unpacking the diversity at the University of Bristol, before comparing this with a wider view of Bristolian culture. In an article published by The Independent, The Sutton Trust and Institute for Fiscal Studies found that most Russell Group universities admit very few students who were eligible for free school meals. Albeit these findings are based on the most selective UK universities (think Oxford or Cambridge) — but, coming from a lower income background in comparison to some of my university friends, it was definitely a culture shock adjusting to life at a university that is notorious for attracting students from a higher socio-economic background.
Finding out that many of my peers have second homes in Cornwall, can afford to wear all the latest designer clothing, and regularly enjoy multiple family holidays a year was a rather daunting discovery to say the least. Of course, not all students fit into these hegemonic stereotypes; I am merely using this as an example to draw attention to the disparity of social classes at university. Whilst my university experience thus far has been one of great opportunities and self-discovery, there have definitely been moments of alienation. Despite how grateful I am for this experience, there have definitely been times where I have felt I cannot relate to my fellow students. My own alignment of university culture has been a difficult journey to navigate, given the transition from my own working-class upbringing into a more middle-class environment.
Before university, my understanding of culture was constrained to the boundaries of my home city: Cardiff. I did not grow up in a particularly affluent area, and rates of progression to higher education have always been low there. It is my own position within society that has prompted me to consider the cultural differences I have encountered between the University of Bristol and the city as a whole. When I think of Bristol, I think of scenic walks through the Downs, getting coffee in quaint cafes in Clifton Village, and (begrudgingly) the struggle of walking up Park Street in the morning for a 9am lecture… But what about the suburbs of the city that are often overlooked? Places such as St. Pauls, Easton, and Old Market are rich with music, art, and other forms of creative expression. So why are these areas so frequently forgotten about?
The simple answer is because they are deprived. Crime rates are high and household income is low. But why must this undermine the value of the art and culture that is produced there? In fact, much of the street art in the aforementioned suburbs focuses on community values, equality and recognition. Often times, these pieces are produced by people from ethnic minorities and they demonstrate social and political issues in a way that is impactful and emotive. Indeed, the most memorable pieces of culture that I have seen have been in these lower income areas, yet they are not talked about in the way that some of Bristol’s more famous artists, e.g., Banksy, are.
The closure of Turbo Island is an relevant example of cultural conflict throughout the city, as it was seen as an epicentre for people to enjoy underground music and let loose. The concept of something that brings together a community of silenced voices being destroyed by larger more powerful corporations doesn’t sit right with me. Of course, it is fair to say that Turbo Island was rife with crime, from substance use to anti-social behaviour. But surely a reformation of Turbo Island to be a safer space for all would have made more sense than to simply destroy it?
The question of cultural congruence or conflict is highly nuanced, one that doesn’t have a correct or incorrect answer. Culture is ever-changing and evolving, and having the opportunity to explore and empathise with other sides of this debate is a huge privilege. However, it would benefit the cohesion of the cities culture to break down the barrier between the middle class cultures, and the working class cultures of the city. Whilst we can all acknowledge that cultural difference is something to be celebrated, these differences should not form a power struggle between the rich and the poor.