The underclass is the segment of the population that occupies the lowest possible position in a class hierarchy, below the core body of the working class. The general idea that a class system includes a population under the working class has a long tradition in the social sciences (e.g., lumpenproletariat). However, the specific term "underclass" was popularized during the last half of the 20th century, first by social scientists of American poverty and then by American journalists. The underclass concept has been a point of controversy among social scientists. Definitions and explanations of the underclass, as well as proposed solutions for managing or fixing the "underclass problem," have been highly debated. The appropriateness of using the underclass term has also been questioned, with some social scientists claiming that the concept has been transformed into a codeword for intellectuals to demonize impoverished Blacks and Latinos in the urban US.
Gunnar Myrdal is generally credited as the first proponent of the term "underclass." Writing in the early 1960s on economic inequality in the US, Myrdal's underclass refers to a "class of unemployed, unemployables, and underemployed who are more and more hopelessly set apart from the nation at large and do not share in its life, its ambitions and its achievements." However, this general conception of a class or category of people below the core of the working class has a long tradition in the social sciences, such as through the work of Henry Mayhew, whose London Labour and the London Poor sought to describe the hitherto invisible world of casual workers, prostitutes, and street-people.
The air was thick with scented smoke; the talk was much to small.
The words would fall and crawl in corners, wind up eaten by the cat,
but still they spat and groped each other's fat.
Danced with rubber arms and granite feet. The planet creeped.
The ceiling flaked and floated in the beer.
We stayed clear. We stayed here, under glass.
And you I know you're trying though you haven't got a clue.
See them laughing in the showers. Twist and grab a shouting Jew...
Did they ride you through the corridors, make you climb the wall?
Did you fall? Did she cry? Did you look for other fools to fry?
To fortify your island under glass.
I know how and where you work; it's written around your collar,
sweat and dirt and sloping shoulders. You keep tripping on your hands,
yellow hands, tired hands, pushing pens and pushing sixty,
waiting for the man to push you off your shelf.
Send you rollercoasting frozen to your hole under glass.
And you may be tough and loud; you throw your weight around.
But you're jelly when the lights go out - you're hearing every sound.
The wailing chambers, whispering walls, the bitching neighbours'
spirits call, accuse you with their fire eyes that freeze.
You fry, you slip their nails inside you.
You try and try to hide out under glass.