Making £1k in three months - When your career doesn't love you back

Journalism opportunities are fast dwindling. Where to go from here?

I was never supposed to be a writer. I didn’t know I wanted to be a journalist in school, college, or even university. I was barely interested in news or magazines, or seldom heard the news playing at home (unless we’re talking about the lightning-speed broadcasts of Bangladeshi news channels), or saw publications lying around the house. I came to the UK with my parents, and most of my adolescence was spent moving from house to house and watching TV shows with my sisters or taking care of my youngest siblings. By the age of 25, I’d lived in nine different houses (fun fact: in two of these houses, I was sexually assaulted – once by a male tenant also living in the overcrowded house). In the three years of my undergraduate degree, I lived in three different social homes with my family, one for each year of study. All this violin-playing to say I’m just a proud working-class gal from Tower Hamlets. I had no idea how differently people lived until I became a journalist.

Journalism is one of the most exclusive professions in the UK. Just 7% of Brits are privately educated, and yet 43% of the 100 most influential news editors and broadcasters, and 44% of newspaper columnists went to private schools. Things are getting worse as 80% of journalists now come from elite backgrounds, compared to years prior. No one chooses their class or background, of course, but people can choose how annoying they are about it. And journalists seem to have a tough time admitting just how posh and/or well-off they are.

I’ve sat in newsrooms and dinner tables at lavish events and trips, often the only brown face in there, listening to incessant conversations about people’s supposed working-class origins (or at least their parents’ adorned as their own struggles). When I lived in Bangladesh (where I was born and spent the better part of a decade), wealth was something to flaunt, not hide away. No one certainly cosplayed as poor (‘cause we already were lol). I was astonished to find the opposite happening in the UK. Maybe it’s because in the world of journalism, identity – particularly those who are oppressed in some way – earns kudos and authenticity.

When I first began studying for my journalism diploma, I was the only person on the course who had won a scholarship to be there (thank you diversity fund). At the time, I worked part-time at Waitrose. When I got the call that I’d been a successful recipient, I cried in the work toilets. Alhamdulillah. I ended up studying with someone whose dad owned a literal Premier League football team lol. Not everyone’s wealth in journalism is obvious like this; some are wealthy because they own their own homes (often thanks to the bank of mum and dad), because they have connections in the industry, because they have cultural capital ‘cause their parents exposed them to the arts, because of their whiteness, because of a confidence and tenacity that comes with having a safe, secure, and stimulated childhood.

I sometimes think my creative synapses are burnt; maybe that’s why I don’t get writing work anymore. I am constantly thinking about money and how I’m going to make rent next month that there’s little room for creativity and idleness which begets creativity. I hate how money has changed who I am and who I thought I was.

The hardest part to face in all this is that I feel like I hadn’t scratched the surface of my capability. I was lazy and jaded and quickly realized how you could get by doing the bare minimum. I didn’t challenge myself as much as I should have or put in more than what was necessary. I hope I get the chance to remedy it Inshallah.

Maybe I just didn’t see any potential in progression. I felt like a perpetual trainee who could only get so far. There definitely weren’t enough people with my class or ethnic background in leadership positions to inspire me (not that it’s their fault). And now there aren’t enough opportunities for me to prove myself.

What’s the point of all this, is it to garner sympathy or amass validation from people telling me my writing is good and important? ‘Cause neither pays my bills and it doesn’t dull the voice in my head that says I was just never good enough or opportunistic enough or smart or lucky enough to be in this industry.

Alhamdulillah still, because Allah put me on this career path, He saw something in me that I didn’t and don’t. So I’ll honor that and seek to write better things to make the world more beautiful and fair and make people feel seen. Inshallah.

I just want to add that I made about £1.3k in writing opportunities for the last few months. To be fully transparent I made money doing non-writing things including teaching and as a film extra for a Riz Ahmed film which was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done!

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What I’m reading:

• Hostile Homelands, the new alliance between India and Israel by Azad Essa (which is spitting so many facts)

• Big Fan by Sheena Patel (there’s a chapter here about why we write, particularly as diaspora, which inspired some of this piece). Read this if you’ve ever experienced unrequited love *cries*

What I am watching:

• One Tree Hill reruns ‘cause you know Nathan Scott is my babe

• The Tourist ‘cause Jamie Dornan was also bae till I heard he actually stalked women to get into the mindset of a stalker for his role in The Fall. Dur beta.

• TikToks, particularly siblingtok ‘cause the love of my love, my whole heart, my baby sis moved to Singapore. Keep her in your duaas inshallah.

• Speaking of duaas, please keep praying and showing up for Palestine.