“I always hear about this or that colleague who was able to get a position as an assistant professor immediately after their PhD or first postdoc, but these people were usually local Belgian or Dutch colleagues. What about women like me?“
by Merve Kayikci
picture by @dre0316 on Unsplash
In “Opinion”, women share their views and experiences with uniqueness on different matters. If you want to write an Op-ed, get in touch at migrantwomenpress@gmail.com
The idea for this piece came during a joint online writing session I organise regularly with a fellow anthropologist in the UK. “Why don’t you write about how effing difficult it is to be a woman of colour (WOC) in western academia?” she asked. Indeed, I had endured so many difficulties in the academic job market, and many of these difficulties reflected the experiences of WOC in general. We had certainly discussed this matter to length, finding solitude and solidarity in each other’s experiences. But she meant something beyond the job market, something to do with a very specific way WOC are bullied and exploited by the institutions in which they work.
When I meet with fellow female colleagues working in academia, it is not uncommon for the discussion to evolve into anecdotes of how badly our line of work has treated us: limited job options, unstable funding depending on short term projects, the demand to be mobile with no regards to personal life, toxic work environment… the list could just go on and on. Yet, the suffering of WOC surpasses that of any other group in academia.
I too, came from a non-European country more than a decade ago knowing no other language than English and my native Turkish to pursuit an academic career in Europe. In the first years, I was blissfully naive. I thought I would complete my master’s then my PhD and would find a job as an anthropologist. My conception of an always-vertical climbing academic career could not even be explained as optimism. “This was the trajectory that awaited me had I stayed in Turkey, and so why should it not be in Europe?”
According to the Higher Education Policy Institute’s report published last year, about 67% of PhD students want to stay in academia after completing their doctoral research. However, only 40% continue working for an academic institution. The numbers are even lower according to other monitoring bodies such as the Center for R&D Monitoring Research Group at Belgium’s Ghent University. They found that only 30% of doctoral students continued with an academic career, and only 10% managed to get a permanent job.
Putting the uninspiring numbers aside, as a qualitative scientist I am more concerned with who constitutes the 30-40 per cent who can push forward with their academic careers. I always hear about this or that colleague who was able to get a position as an assistant professor immediately after their PhD or first postdoc, but these people were usually local Belgian or Dutch colleagues. What about women like me?
Well, according to Forbes less than 20% of all full-time female faculty are women in American universities and you can imagine how low the percentage of WOC is within these numbers. I don’t know the exact number in European academia, and before I drown you in numbers, I can at least say WOC are a vulnerable minority in academia. Not only are their job prospects bleak, but their right to be in academia is always under scrutiny and questioning.
As I said, I don’t have exact numbers but as an anthropologist, I always believe in the weight of a personal story. One person’s detailed experiences and narratives outweigh numbers that can often be deceiving and lure us into false assumptions. Indeed, the application forms of the jobs that I have applied for in recent years have stressed the departments’ commitment to diversity and especially hiring women. Some universities even have a quota for the minimum number of female professors they should have. But what does this say of the daily experiences of these women?
Many WOC colleagues have talked about being bullied by the administration, exploited by PhD supervisors, belittled by colleagues and students, and made to feel inadequate every single day of their careers. They have been put in the position to prove one day after the other that their worth of being in such a privileged position, unlike most of their male colleagues. After all, what is a little sacrifice from your mental health, when you have been lucky enough to be hired by a prestigious institution?
They have been put in the position to prove one day after the other that their worth of being in such a privileged position, unlike most of their male colleagues. After all, what is a little sacrifice from your mental health, when you have been lucky enough to be hired by a prestigious institution?
“I would receive e-mails at 3 am from my supervisor and if I didn’t reply to them in a couple of hours she would call me,” said an over-worked and fatigued colleague while we were both PhD students. The same colleague suffered from a massive mental breakdown and was unable to even search for a job after her doctorate, let alone continue working.
What was even more worrying at the time was that she had nowhere to go to make her voice heard. The doctoral trajectory is a precarious and delicate one, in that you work closely with your supervisor, the key person you consult. S/he not only evaluates the quality of your work but also gives you the green pass so you may submit it. A toxic relationship with a supervisor reflects on the quality of your work but also on the whole doctoral experience and desire for continuing with research.
My colleague had no one to who she could confide about her troubles. In no-one, I mean anyone who could make a difference or offer tangible help. She went to the ombudsman, the head of research, and even the rectorate but all she heard was, “yes we are aware of Dr X’s problems with her doctoral students, we have noted your complaint,”. But years of complaint from various students made no difference, as Dr X was still in her high-ranking position, continued getting grants and hiring students. My colleague, however, was emotionally and physically unable to leave her house for months because of the toll all the bullying and exploitation took on her.
Why is her experience very specific to WOC? Because it was only Dr X’s non-local students who were complaining of unreasonable work expectations and bullying. None of her European white students ever experienced negativity while working with her. In a very twisted sense, they were protected because their complaints would have a much bigger impact on Dr X’s career. Whereas how much difference could a complaint from a student coming from the Middle East or North Africa make?
I have stories of WOC friends working in the best universities about bullying and racism becoming an everyday experience. “You’re expected to just accept it the way it is,” said another colleague. This colleague worked for a leading UK university and the bullying she was subjected to force her out of the faculty. She was lucky enough to secure a five-year grant and run away with it. “I can’t even attend a webinar organized by that university,” she told me one evening over coffee. “I attended a webinar and could feel my eyes burning from the tears that were accumulating. I just told the organizers I had to go.”
But what about the hundreds of women of color who fall through the cracks of academic institutions? What about the women who are incredible researchers and teachers but are simply not heard, not cared about?
Because the other party was also a woman. She thought by complaining about the harassment of another female colleague, her already very elitist and sexist institution would jump on the chance to ignite sexist tropes and their very-well masked sexism.
The only way to face these questions and remain a good human as much as a good academic is to actively show solidarity, and thankfully there are as many stories of solidarity as there are of bullying. This, I will turn to in my next piece.
