Through my work as a specialist technician and associate lecturer, I’ve become moe aware of how race, faith, and gender intersect with classroom dynamics, often invisibly. I don’t practice a religion myself, so at the first I didn’t think much about faith related to my teaching. But from the Blog 2 resources, especially Ramadan (2022) and Rekis (2023) opened up a deeper understanding of how identity shapes who is heard, believed and accommodated in academic environment.
In Ramadan’s study, Muslim women academics shared how they avoid social events that involved alcohol. On paper, this sounds more like a personal choice, but reading further, I realised this’ Choice’ often came with a professional cost: for instance, lost networking, exclusion from information sharing, and subtle sidelining. It reminds me how social norms, like afterwork drinking or casual meetups can feel optional, but actually function s gatekeeper to full participation. One participant in the study noted that while she was technically included, she still felt unable to fully belong in academic culture. This struck me as a form of exclusion hidden in plain sight that I can relate.
Rekis(2023) offers a powerful framework for understanding this through the lens of epistemic injustice. Testimonial injustice occurs when someone is seen as less credible based on identity. This resonated with me personally. As an Asian Women in a predominantly white UK institution, I’ve often been mistaken for a student, in a surface level, it might seem minor, just a mix-up. But over time, I started to realise this reflects an assumption about credibility, assumption of age based on the look. Because I share an ethnic background with a large portion of students, some people see me through that student-lens first, before seeing my professional role. If I were a white woman of the same age, I wonder: would those assumptions still happen? These moments reflect broader assumptions about who “looks like” a lecturer, and who doesn’t.
Hermeneutical Injustice, as Rekis explains, is even harder to notice. It’s when someone lacks cultural tools or shared language to explain their experience, and therefore can’t be fully understood. Muslim women who wear the hijab are often seen through western stereotypes: either oppressed or hyper-religious. Their own explanation of veiling is as an act of devotion, agency or spiritual expression. As cited in Rekis (2023, p. 787), Alia Al-Saji observes that “the veiled woman is at once hypervisible as oppressed and invisible as subject.”, this lead to Muslim women is made hypervisible as a symbol, but her own subjectivity, her voice, meaning, and beliefs are remain unseen. That’s what makes this injustice so persistent.
In my own teaching, I’ve worked with Muslim students who missed session during Ramadan. When I noticed their absence, I made sure to email them, share leaning resources, and assure them that their participation was still fully recognised. As educators, we can’t always remove barriers, but what we can do is to make sure students know the barriers aren’t their fault, weather it’s their religion, race, believes or cultural background.
Jawad (2022) makes a similar point about Muslim Women in sports. She notes, :’ There is nothing in Quran or Hadith that explicitly precludes men’s or women’s participation in physical activities.’ Yet sport often excludes women of faith though assumptions about body visibility, clothing and mixed sex environment. This made me question why our definition of sport is so narrow? Why must inclusion come with compromise? Hy don’t dominant system adapt to difference, instead of demanding the reverse?
In the Trinity University (2016) Video, Professor Simran Jeet Singh mentioned when he went to an airport, people were looking at him with fear and funny looks, awkward,It wasn’t just an awkward moment, it shaped who gets to feel safe, who gets to speak, who is seen as a threat, and who ends up staying silent. But he didn’t stay silent. He started a conversation, and even showed a photo of his daughter, helping others to see him as just a normal person. That small action challenged the stereotypes placed on him. I think this is the kind of environment we should be working towards in higher education , one that doesn’t avoid difference, but makes space to break down assumptions through real, human connection.
Moving forward, I want to continue questioning what feels “normal” in our academic culture. From the language we use to how we deliver sessions or shape feedback, everything carries hidden norms. I will explore how to create more flexible, identity aware systems in both my 1-2-1 work and Digital Communication teaching.
Reference:
Jawad, H. (2022) Islam, Women and Sport: The Case of Visible Muslim Women. Religion and Global Society Blog, LSE. Available at: https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/religionglobalsociety/2022/09/islam-women-and-sport-the-case-of-visible-muslim-women/ (Accessed: 23 May 2025).
Ramadan, S. (2022) ‘When faith intersects with gender: The challenges and successes in the experiences of Muslim women academics’, Gender and Education, 34(7), pp. 853–870.
Rekis, J. (2023) ‘Religious Identity and Epistemic Injustice: An Intersectional Account’, Hypatia, 38, pp. 779–800.
Trinity University (2016) Challenging Race, Religion, and Stereotypes in the Classroom. [Video] Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CAOKTo_DOk (Accessed: 23 May 2025).
Hi Rebekah,
I really enjoyed how you unpack your personal experiences of intersectionality. The diagram you included was especially effective — it made the complexity of these overlapping identities very tangible.
Your connection to Christine Sun Kim’s quote was incredibly moving. The idea that inclusion is not just about being seen but being expected is such a powerful shift in thinking, and you articulated it beautifully.
As a point of feedback, I wonder if you could explore further how systems — like education or healthcare — can unintentionally reinforce ableism, especially in relation to neurodivergent or mentally disabled students. You hint at this well with the UAL data and your point about the need for support within the classroom. It might be interesting to connect that more explicitly to the idea of structural change or institutional responsibility.
If you’re interested in expanding this reflection, the work of Rosemarie Garland-Thomson and Alison Kafer might be really insightful. Garland-Thomson’s writing on staring and normate culture could deepen your exploration of visibility and how disabled people are often either hyper-visible or rendered invisible in institutional settings. Her concept of the “normate” invites us to question who our environments are truly built for. Kafer’s Feminist, Queer, Crip also resonates with your thinking around inclusive education. She challenges us to move beyond accommodation and instead imagine futures where disability is anticipated, valued, and woven into collective life. Both offer powerful frameworks for rethinking how inclusion can be actively embedded, not just offered.
Loved reading your post and happy to continue the conversation when we meet in class.
Best,
Monika
Hi Monika,
Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment! I really appreciate how you picked up on the Christine Sun Kim quote. I think to some extent, it reframes inclusion as something proactive, rather than performative.
Your feedback about exploring structural ableism, especially around neurodivergence and mental health really resonated. I think I’ve been circling around those ideas in my own 1-to-1 work, like noticing how some students struggle to ask for help, but I haven’t always had the language to name it as systemic ableism. I’d love to read more about Garland-Thomson’s. It feels like exactly the kind of framing that could help make those invisible barriers more legible. (thank you for the recommendation!).
Thanks again for engaging so generously with my post.
I think I left this comment (above your reply) on the wrong blog post. Sorry about the mess! I am going to copy and paste in the appropriate one, which is the Blog post 1 on Disability.
Hi Rebekah – below are my thoughts,
The point on Muslim women academics avoiding alcohol also resonates with my own experience. We have several Muslim students and often events run at the university (e.g. guest lecture talks and hackathon events) will always end with a selection of beers. You can see that this does exclude these students, who might migrate away to the corners of the office, not wanting to have to engage with the others who are drinking. I wonder if you have seen this at any points with your students also? Might allow you to make a connection to teaching at this paragraph.
The second paragraph also resonates with my own experience somewhat. Naturally, not as an Asian Women; however, there have been times where my young age (26) has made me be mistaken for a student. I had one time when I was talking to a professor and they told me that, in future, I could look forward to running my own lectures one day, despite already being a full-time lecturer.
You write: “I think this is the kind of environment we should be working towards in higher education, one that doesn’t avoid difference, but makes space to break down assumptions through real, human connection.” I agree! And the more I have been reflecting on the inclusive practice course, the more I think one of the central points is to embrace a plurality of perspectives, and to focus on making people feel comfortable with being themselves. I’d be curious to know what you think the main challenges are here?
Thanks for the insightful blog post!
All the best,
Corey
Hi Corey,
thank you so much for your comment!
I haven’t personally seen this happen with students yet, but I have witnessed something similar with colleagues. At a work event, when the drinks came out, I noticed they stepped back, still present, still polite, but not quite part of the gathering anymore. It really stuck with me how these things, though seemingly casual or optional, can end up reinforcing who feels centred and who doesn’t.
your story about the professor, that’s such a clear and frustrating example of how age, like other identity markers, gets mapped onto assumptions about authority and belonging. I totally relate to what you’re saying, these little moments accumulate and it feels like we’re constantly trying to prove legitimacy 🙁
I think the hardest part is that so many of these dynamics are deeply rooted not just in institutions, but in generational beliefs and social habits. Sometimes it does make me feel a bit hopeless, like we’re up against history itself. But maybe that’s where the hope lives too, we are creating tiny openings where students can imagine something different.
Thanks again for your insight and humour, I really enjoyed reading your comments! 🙂
Hi Rebekah,
As always a joy to read your reflection. What stood out to me most was your personal reflection: “As educators, we can’t always remove barriers, but what we can do is to make sure students know the barriers aren’t their fault, whether it’s their religion, race, beliefs or cultural background.”
That really resonated with me. It captures the heart of what inclusive education should strive for—not pretending that inequality doesn’t exist, but acknowledging it and doing what we can to support students within those realities.
Your comments reminded me that inclusion isn’t only about big policy changes (though those matter), but also about everyday actions—like following up with a student, listening with care, or simply making space for different ways of being and knowing.
Hi Rebekah
once again thank you for allowing me to share your blogs. It is so valuable. Your reflection on faith and Muslim customs being potential points for exclusion are thoughtfully posed and it is evident that despite not following a faith yourself you are empathetic to other’s beliefs. I turned against religion while still in my teens as I witnessed the worse aspects of how it is used to divide and rule. In latter years I have come to appreciate the underpinning philosophy of different faiths and different interpretations of the same faiths and love to discuss religious views with people. However I would never bring the subject up with my students unless they chose to talk about it in the context of their practice, academic studies. My son’s father is Muslim and for the first time this year, at 17, he decided to observe Ramadan. At a parents evening just before the end of Ramadan his A level teachers reported that he seemed tired and withdrawn in class. I realized then that he hadn’t told any of them that he was fasting. When I asked why, he said that the subject had never came up. Hence the need for more space in education for sharing experiences of faith.
Hi Frances
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and respond so openly. Especially about your son’s experience, he said “the subject never came up” , and how much that speaks to a kind of invisible barrier that can exist when educational spaces don’t actively make room for faith-based experiences. I’ve been thinking about this through the lens of what some scholars call passive exclusion, where institutions don’t explicitly discriminate, but they also don’t create the conditions for inclusion.
I also found that the Ramadan (2022) article really helped me understand how even seemingly neutral spaces (like universities) can quietly alienate those with visible or declared faiths unless they’re actively reimagined.
As someone who doesn’t follow a faith myself, I still feel a strong sense of responsibility to notice these gaps and design for them in my own practice, where my intervention will be taking place.
Thank you again for sharing such a personal and important example. I really appreciate it.