Academic science was not designed for marginalized people. people of color (especially Black And Native scientists), people of marginalized gender (including womennon-binary and transgender people), queer scientists, People with Disabilitiesand those from a socio-economically disadvantaged background have historically been excluded from research by those with power and privilege. This applies especially to scientists who occupy the intersection of two or more of these identities, such as myself. I am queer and non binary astrophysicist, a victim of harassment at work and abuse, and, like so many before me, I am making the heartbreaking decision to leave academia.
Underrepresented people who pursue careers in science largely occupy the lower rungs of academia and often face a hostile obstacle course microaggressions, prejudice, harassment and more. It is usually up to us, the marginalized scientists, to defend ourselves against these obstacles. But it shouldn’t.
The responsibility for creating an environment where all scientists, regardless of physical ability, LGBTQ status or skin color, can thrive must come from above, from the people who hold the real power: the tenured professors and seniors. These seasoned scientists, who have benefited the most from the current power structure in science, are those responsible for creating equitable research environments and fostering a culture of acceptance.
Department heads, in particular, must create the policies that will remove additional barriers and enable their most junior and vulnerable members to succeed. They must be willing to listen and learn from our lived experiences. By taking responsibility for fixing the system, science leaders will not only make science a more welcoming and inclusive place for everyone; they will allow marginalized researchers to focus on their work.
For black scientists – who make up 3.9% of all physicists—working in STEM often means dealing with a constant barrage of microaggressions. In addition to consuming mental energy, the decision to confront or report racist behavior in the workplace places an additional burden on the person affected.
For scientists with disabilities, who make up approximately 8% of doctorate holders in science and engineering, a major obstacle to a career in science is not the disability itself, but the lack of accommodation and the stigma that surrounds them. Although universities are required to provide minimum accommodations for people with disabilities, such as extended test times, teachers and peers often treat them as burdens to themselves, or as an undeserved benefit to the disabled person. Learning to handle and deal with this hostility is extra work on top of their daily schedule.
For lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) scientists, whose percentages among the scientific population are still poorly studied today, the responsibility for addressing homophobia and transphobia generally falls on their shoulders rather than to those of the institution. Transgender scientists are particularly vulnerable to abuse such as gender errorharassment surrounding bathroom useAnd social exclusion. It is often up to the transgender person to attempt to correct these wrongs for themselves and others in the future through self-advocacy.
The costs of self-advocacy can be extreme. People forced to use their time and energy — typically undergraduate and graduate students — to fix bad policies or report harmful behavior have less to spend on things like studying, working, and maintaining a lifestyle. healthy. On a personal level, this extra work has meant losing sleep, getting sick more often, and moving away from peers who don’t have to defend themselves.
Professionally, it may seem to outsiders that a marginalized scientist is simply not trying as hard as their privileged peers, or that they are “not cut out for science”. When whispers like these circulate, as they often do whenever a woman wins a scholarship or a black person receives an award, they are not only harmful to the person in question, but to all marginalized people. who are forced to hear the reproaches of their privileged peers. Being seen as both unworthy and a threat is a losing game that ultimately leads marginalized students and researchers to feel compelled to do more and be more. Self-advocacy then becomes a vicious circle: fighting for better results, losing credibility, fighting new stigma.
Here’s an all-too-common scenario: A marginalized graduate student is harassed by his supervisor. They report this person to the director of the department. It’s their word against the teacher’s. Their peers side with the bully (“you’re probably not working hard enough”, “you should be grateful they took you on as a student”). A supervisor might retaliate, a letter of recommendation writer might diminish their work for speaking up, the department might even find a practical reason to expel them. The consequences of self-representation can derail or even destroy a scientific future.
These decisions represent a risk for any marginalized scientist: science was not built for us, and to push for equity is to risk our careers.
But it doesn’t have to be like that. We scientists can build a better future for all of our members, but we all have to be okay with progress. Ask any marginalized person who has been driven out: it is not enough to have one or a few supporters when the environment is hostile. We have to change the environment itself.
This means, above all, listening to the marginalized voices of your ministry. Listen to what they have to say. Compensate them for it. So take action. Make your classrooms more accessible. Review old policies. Hire caring people and fire harassers. Self-representation is a burden. But it doesn’t have to.
This is an opinion and analytical article, and the opinions expressed by the author or authors are not necessarily those of American scientist.