Whenever I meet students about to start university, I wish I could just write them a guide on how to deal with some of the microaggressions they’re going to face. Chances are, if they come from any minority position whatsoever, they’ll find that universities can, at times, feel like all the worst bits of school.
Saying that, if you spent your school or college years rolling your eyes every time football boys in your form room shouted “nice tits!” at you, you’ll know how to speak up. And if someone is acting like an offensive bigot, now you can really do something about it.
For many students, going to university is a battle. Financially, it’s harder than it’s ever been, thanks to high fees and less and less government support. But if you come from an immigrant community, it can be twice as hard.
Some of your battles aren’t obvious ones. You might struggle, as a daughter, to persuade your parents to let you live out of home, or in mixed halls of residence. You might have to argue your case for rejecting medicine and law and choosing to study a creative subject (my mum still has big dreams of me winning my first case as a lawyer). For many, before they’ve even joined the enrolment queue, they’ve fought for their place in the line.
And after all that, university can be disappointing. Londoners attending university out of the capital often find that for the first time, they’re the only black or brown face in the room.
Some of the UK’s most prestigious universities have had real problems tackling racism, sexism and homophobia, and the evidence says there’s still a long way to go. Who can forget Oxford union’s “colonial comeback” cocktails accompanied by posters of slaves in chains back in June? Then there was the Warwick student union rep who unhooked a girl’s bra in his election campaign video, and the swastikas drawn on LGBTQ flags at UCL earlier this year.
But this sort of behaviour is being challenged. Last year, the London School of Economics rugby club was disbanded after publishing homophobic and sexist leaflets that called women “trollops” and “slags”. We also saw Oxford and Cambridge roll out a landmark programme of compulsory sexual consent workshops for undergraduates.
The fact that these institutions are not only responding to criticism, but publicly admitting that there is a systemic problem within their university culture, is a step in the right direction.
One example of a university that is making efforts to represent its student body is the School of Oriental and African studies (Soas), which has over 200 societies including the Afghan, South Asian film, and Agender, societies.
Mohamed-Zain Dada, co-president of activities and events at Soas’s student union, sees first-hand how students benefit from being represented. He says: “The feedback we get is that there is a massive lack of representation – from the lack of black lecturers to the lack of BAME (black and minority ethnic) thinkers, writers and academics on courses.”
Dada is part of a campaign called “Decolonising Soas” launching next year, which he says, will “critically examine curriculums that are unrepresentative and Eurocentric. Societies that function as a space for cultural, intellectual and social expression for minorities are essential.”
So just how important is it for marginalised groups to create safe spaces for themselves? Bahar Mustafa, the welfare and diversity officer at Goldsmiths, University of London, was recently publicly criticised for raising this issue. She maintains that universities could be doing more.
“Students who are structurally marginalised, by race or class for example, can find a community on campus with other students who have similar experiences and can provide peer-to-peer support.”
Mustafa adds: “The dominant understanding of discriminatory practices, such as sexism and racism, relies on a textbook, dictionary definition. But who decides the definitions? Who dictates law? Were black women, disabled queers, brown refugees, or trans women consulted in the process? If the answer is no, then we need to scrutinise these definitions.”
If you’re lucky, and go somewhere like Goldsmiths or Soas where people are sensitive to such issues, that’s great. But what if you go somewhere where you find there are only a handful of other people of colour on your course? My advice is to get online.
University feminist communities on Facebook can provide a good opportunity for arranging meet-ups and UCL’s Why is My Curriculum White? campaign has an excellent Facebook group that students from all universities can join. Following student union reps on Twitter is a useful way to hear about events (without having to turn up to the union on your own asking where the nearest cluster of people like you are meeting).
Universities need to try hard to provide enviroments in which all students can feel safe, heard and visible, whatever their backgrounds.
For many students, taking political action is part of their university experience, and enables them to create positive friendships. Challenging racist and sexist behaviour – with the support of union reps, or using platforms such as the student paper, forums, blogs and Twitter – is a key part of that. And making yourself an approachable ear to other new students experiencing the same things is true solidarity.
So where does this leave the young people who are busily collecting badges at freshers fairs around the country? To Dada, it’s simple: “University should be the space to challenge racism and sexism. If a space does not exist, create it.”
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