When I first encountered the terms faith, religion, and personal belief, I found them quite alienating. These concepts had always felt distant from my everyday experience. Growing up in a non-religious environment, surrounded by people who shared similar beliefs—or rather, a shared absence of belief—religion never became a central concern in my thinking.
However, moving to the UK and becoming part of a minoritised group, often categorised as “non-white,” I began to realise that, even if I did not seek to differentiate myself from others, others would inevitably differentiate me—based on my facial features, accent, and appearance. I became aware of how being marked as different shapes everyday interactions, and how these subtle but persistent experiences of “othering” can accumulate.
This has helped me better understand the challenges faced by Muslim women who wear the hijab. Reading Ramadan’s (2022) study on Muslim women in academia, I gained insight into how the intersection of religion, gender, and cultural identity can pose significant barriers to career progression. These women often navigate stereotypes, Islamophobia, and even lack of support from within their own communities. This resonates strongly with Kimberlé Crenshaw’s (1991) theory of intersectionality, which explains how multiple identities—such as race, gender, and faith—interact with systemic structures of power and discrimination.
To further analyse these dynamics, I find Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of capital useful. His framework offers a way to evaluate the forms of capital—economic, cultural, and social—that individuals possess and how these influence their position in the field. (1986) While many of us, including these Muslim women and I, may hold certain privileges (for example, economic or cultural capital), acknowledging this shouldn’t end the conversation. Instead, it can be a point of departure for challenging dominant structures. Bourdieu’s idea of the avant-garde—the push to disrupt established norms and create space for new values—feels particularly relevant here.
Among the readings, I found Wong et al. (2020) especially thought-provoking. They categorise student responses to racism into three discourses:
- The Naïve – Those who do not acknowledge the existence of racism and often believe that meritocracy is real and sufficient.
- The Bystander – Those who recognise racism but avoid engagement, either from discomfort or fear of involvement.
- The Victim – Those who experience racism firsthand but may normalise or internalise these encounters.
These categories helped me reflect on my own position. As a non-white and foreign person in the UK, I have encountered frequent microaggressions. Sometimes I find myself in the “Victim” category, experiencing racialised assumptions or dismissive behaviour. Yet I also identify with the “Bystander” role—too exhausted or preoccupied to address every incident. One colleague remarked during a PgCert session that constantly correcting or educating others is tiring. I couldn’t agree more.
Wong’s framework intersects meaningfully with Crenshaw’s intersectionality: individuals may shift between these categories depending on context and situation. It also prompts me to reflect on my own positionality as a Japanese person in the UK. While I fall under the BAME umbrella, I am aware of how Japanese identity is often perceived globally as a form of privilege—rooted in Japan’s imperial history and economy. Yet, in the UK, I am largely perceived as just “Asian,” and face the same stereotyping often applied to East Asians: polite, reserved, foreign. This blurring of nuance is itself a form of erasure.
As for what I can do in the classroom, I am still uncertain. But I recognise the importance of planning for intervention. Even small, intentional actions can begin to address these issues, as Simran Jeet Singh described. (Trinity University, 2016) Understanding my own position—its complexities and contradictions—is a necessary first step.
Bourdieu, P., 1986. The forms of capital. In: J.G. Richardson, ed., Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education. New York: Greenwood, pp.241–258.
Crenshaw, K., 1991. Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review, 43(6), pp.1241–1299.
Ramadan, I., 2022. When faith intersects with gender: The challenges and successes in the experiences of Muslim women academics. Gender and Education, 34(1), pp.33–48. https://doi.org/10.1080/09540253.2021.1893664
Trinity University. (2016) Challenging Race, Religion, and Stereotypes in the Classroom. YouTube video, added 6 December 2016. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CAOKTo_DOk
Wong, B., Elmorally, R., Copsey-Blake, M., Highwood, E. and Singarayer, J., 2021. Is race still relevant? Student perceptions and experiences of racism in higher education. Cambridge Journal of Education, 51(3), pp.359–375. https://doi.org/10.1080/0305764X.2020.1831441
It’s fascinating how much we can learn when confronted with diversity, about how we are treated, how we treat others, and how people treat one another. These moments often reveal unspoken norms, biases, and assumptions we may not have noticed before and the lived experience takes it to another level.
I also found Wong et al.’s categories helpful for thinking about how I respond to microaggressions, I’ve definitely recognised moments where I should have been more challenging with certain remarks to me about my heritage. That sense of exhaustion, and the expectation to constantly explain or correct, is very real.
The link you draw between Crenshaw, Bourdieu, and lived experience feels important especially in our context, where structural inequalities are still present beneath the surface of supposedly ‘inclusive’ environments. I’m still figuring out what meaningful intervention looks like in the classroom myself, but I agree that starting with honest reflection is essential.
Hi Yui,
Thanks for sharing this, it really made me think. A lot of what you wrote resonated with my own experiences, especially the bit about being marked as different even when you’re just trying to get on with things. I’ve had moments like that too. Growing up, I was called a racial slur targeting my ethnicity while walking home from school, purely because of my skin colour. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but now I see how people often project their assumptions onto you without knowing anything about who you actually are. Reading your post helped me link that to the idea of “othering” and how our identities get shaped by the way others perceive us.
I found the part about Muslim women in academia really powerful. Ramadan’s study showed just how many layers of discrimination they’re dealing with not just racism or sexism, but also assumptions about their faith, and sometimes even pressure from within their own communities. It made me reflect on how some of the barriers people face aren’t always visible, especially when you’re dealing with multiple identities at once. Intersectionality really helped me make sense of that. It shows how these identities aren’t just layered hey interact and shape people’s lives in very specific, sometimes painful ways.
You also explained Bourdieu’s ideas in a really relatable way. It’s true someone might have a good education or financial stability, but still face exclusion because of how they look, sound, or dress. Your point about using whatever privilege we do have to challenge unfair systems really stayed with me. It made me think that even if we can’t always change the system overnight, we can use our position to speak up or create space for others.
Wong et al. framework really made me reflect on how people respond to racism, including stereotyping and microaggressions differently depending on where they are emotionally, mentally, or even just how much energy they have at the time. I recognised myself most in the Bystander category, not out of indifference, but because sometimes it just feels overwhelming to speak up every single time. There are moments when I’ve wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, or I worried it might escalate things. It becomes a constant balancing act between protecting your peace and standing up for what’s right. That tension doesn’t get talked about enough, especially the emotional toll it takes when you’re expected to constantly explain things or represent your entire community. For me, this framework didn’t just label behaviours, it helped make sense of the internal conflicts I’ve felt for a long time.
What you said about Japanese identity and the way it gets flattened into “Asian” or “BAME” really got me thinking. I’ve had similar moments where I don’t feel like I fully fit the boxes I’m asked to tick. I’m a British Ugandan Asian, but when I say I’m Ugandan, people often look confused or assume I’ve made a mistake because I don’t look how they expect a Ugandan to look. Someone’s even said to me, “But you’re not Black are you really Ugandan?” Those kinds of moments make me feel like parts of my identity and cultural heritage are being erased or questioned.
Even though you said you’re not sure what action to take in the classroom, I think your reflection already shows how much thought and care you bring to the subject. That kind of awareness really matters. It’s easy to underestimate the impact of small decisions like how we respond to comments, what materials we use, or how we create space for different voices, but those choices can shape how included or valued someone feels. Sometimes we don’t need to have all the answers straight away. Just being reflective and open to learning from each other can already make a big difference.
Thanks again for sharing this. It’s one of those pieces I’ll be coming back to as I think more about my own identity and how to bring these conversations into practice.