During my late teen years, when I somehow got exposed to feminist ideas and critical perspectives on religion as a mechanism for social control, expressing my ideologies -- even with an extremely neutral tone -- felt like a heroic battle that required bravery. Unintentionally, courage became my inevitable mode of expression. It was fun and quite validating to voice my opinion against aspects of society that came off as baffling and bizarre to me, not particularly worried about people seeing me as an “unconventional” person.
It wasn't until my second year of university that I started referring to my unique ideas as “left-leaning ideologies,” my anti-patriarchal ideas as “feminist ideas,” and, eventually, as "intersectional feminist ideas." The academic training not only exposed me to refined vocabulary to articulate my expressions but also provided a safe environment that never obstructed this eloquence.
In short, my university felt like an autonomous abode to me. Be it conducting a virtual ethnography on non-believer Bangladeshi youth or queer rights supporters, I never had to actively ponder on the safety aspect associated with conducting and talking about studies like those. As it ideally should be, the critical feedback I received on my “brave” assignments were along the lines of research methods and academic writing.
However, beyond the realm of my undergraduate institution, it wasn’t the same. Sadly enough, my attempts to expand my academic horizon beyond my undergraduate institution exposed me to comments that have nothing to do with my academic training or research skills -- rather it’s the topic.
On one occasion, I had the opportunity to present my undergraduate ethnography at a national conference organized by a renowned public university in Bangladesh. My ethnography focused on queer-friendly content visibility in the youth-dominated virtual corners of Dhaka, employing a Bordieuean analysis to explore factors contributing to this atypical bravery within heteropatriarchal Bangladesh.
During the presentation, the first comment from a panel member suggested that my paper was unethical due to the alleged disclosure of people's identities in an unsafe context. However, this was not accurate, as all names had been replaced with pseudonyms. Subsequent comments vaguely criticizing aspects of my paper made it clear that the panelist hadn’t read my paper. Maintaining confidence and trusting the guidance of my academic mentors, I didn't take the criticisms personally until a revealing moment in the feedback session.
The second panelist repeatedly asked about my motivation for pursuing the topic, despite my initial acknowledgement in the paper. In his third attempt, he insinuated, "so, you have nothing personally invested in this, or are you hiding something?" Surprisingly, the persistent questioning, in which it was clear that the panelist was forcing me to make a grand confession regarding what he perceived to be my sexuality, was not deemed unethical by the first panelist.
In a room full of young scholars from various universities and a panel of two senior professors from one institution, I felt unsafe. Not to mention, there already was an invisible yet rigid hierarchy, reminding me of the student-versus-teacher dynamic in the worst possible way. In such a context, bravery would have proven to be genuinely imprudent. Outside the boundary of my university, which is currently my workplace, I’m nothing more than a fresh graduate with a degree in social science and a lot of need for moral and ethical guidance on both an academic and, ironically enough, personal level.
One of my highschool classmates, with whom I’ve never had a significant interaction during those two years, posted on his Facebook a screenshot of my undergraduate thesis. He then proceeded to spam his own comment section, making claims that I was never good at studies, using extremely abusive language. Additionally, he made baseless assumptions, stating that it's common sense I support LGBTQ -- for which I deserve such castigation -- along with some homophobic slurs. There were more than a couple of strangers who engaged in the comment section with him. Obviously, it falls under cyber-crime. The situation, however, didn’t allow me to “feel” harassed.
Factors affecting academic freedom do not always necessarily stem from the internal academic context. After all, academia’s existence is very much within the broader boundaries of society, which is complex in and of itself with various socio-political nuances. Growing sensitivity regarding minority communities within a given context is a much-needed research skill with all its ethical endorsements because it will translate to a researcher’s understanding of how much data they should present in public.
The frustration, however, stems from a similar origin. It’s the socio-political nuances and position of a researcher that pushes one to make a choice between two binary options: A safe topic versus an unsafe one. In a relatively better scenario, if not ideal, things would have been different. For the better, of course.
Academic freedom extends beyond a scholar's liberty to express ideas without the risk of official interference or professional disadvantage. Being able to present my topic during a class presentation or a controversial paper at a given conference with no immediate harmful reaction does not guarantee safety on a personal level. A safe space, no matter how secure, is only safe within a certain boundary.
Hence, as a general rule of thumb, I remain extra careful when discussing my research interests. A lot of brainwork goes into choosing safe words and phrases to refer to areas of research interests. Even discussing my plans for higher studies requires adhering to certain safety measures, which can be frustrating at times.
The older I get, the more fearful I become at the idea of being brave because I know for a fact that my actions won’t be viewed as a child’s mistake anymore. The inevitable experiences I encountered while navigating Bangladeshi academia in various ways led to an awkward mixture of despondence and fear surrounding the concept of academic freedom, which I can’t help but talk about.
As a fresh anthropology graduate, fully employed and imbued with dreams to shine in academia, and with a constant urge to expand the meaning of my academic horizon, this is my attempt to analyze my stories. In fact, this made me feel quite vibrantly that there are factors which are not allowing me to acquire the freedom I thought would be easily available because, oh well, it’s academia.
Mashaekh Hassan is a teaching assistant at the School of General Education, Brac University.
