We are often told that there is a pipeline and that it is leaking, a pipeline that needs to be fixed, made more inclusive with initiatives that support individuals from diverse communities. Could it be that the pipeline is perfectly fine, however those regulating the release valves are selectively choosing what (who) can and cannot pass through their pipes? The Black PhD Experience: Stories of Strength, Courage and Wisdom in UK Academia provides 27 illuminating insights into the PhD journeys of Black students. The narratives ask the questions: Why are talented Black students having to wait longer to be accepted into PhD programmes? Where are the institutional support systems, mentor programmes, supervisors, champions and role models to nurture and provide the guidance that our Black students need to thrive? Why is academia so hostile to Black success? Is it time for the Black community to unite to gain greater knowledge and understanding of these academic systems to better support our young people or consider developing our own support networks?

In the five years since the release of the seminal report, The broken pipeline, by Black- led organisation Leading Routes, there has been a seismic shift in efforts challenging the institutional and systemic racisms, not only in academia but beyond. The increasing number of interventions being promoted and importantly funded by UK funding bodies, universities and influential individuals in the Black community can assist in mobilising the trajectory of early career Black scholars. These efforts to encourage greater success and pathways into academia have seen the development of programmes enabling more access to different types of knowledge, and better tools to navigate the thorny landscape of the academy and its marginalising and exclusionary ways. What these 27 stories provide is an opportunity to really understand the lived experience that these Black PhD students have encountered, endured, and overcome on their journeys.

Unfortunately, as all societies are governed by the policies of their time, hostile forces opposed to anti- racism continue to shout in an attempt to silence and undermine these efforts. Furthermore, we need to recognise that the instruments of racism act on a swivel; they can realign, adapt and remodel at any given time. So we need to develop stable, flexible systems to combat these changes.

Why is this support not common? It is a damning indictment of our system that such positive stories from Black PhD students are the exception and not the rule. Why are best practices not being adopted sector wide? Introductory programmes such as Horizons, outlined in Simone's chapter, can inspire further study and should be replicated across the country. Once enrolled, the behaviour of supervisors can be the sole difference between failure for a student and success. Supervisors therefore need to be adequately trained. Rees’ chapter shows how mismanagement can have stark consequences for a trainee's mental and physical health and how the same person under the correct guidance can flourish and excel. The toxicity, which seems to be so prevalent in our sector, needs to be rooted out and replaced with the proactiveness and holistic support detailed in this part. Why is this not a feature of our system?

The following accounts present the struggles and barriers Black PhD students face in pursuing and creating novel research in spaces that are ill- equipped to support them. Each chapter is a unique story on how these barriers make Black students feel and how they navigate a system that currently disputes their rights and recognition of their identity.

Given the small number of Black scholars in UK academia, it is unsurprising that many students enter this space unfamiliar with the reality of the power structures and limited avenues for support. This lack of appropriate support and community in academic institutions can be isolating and clearly has an impact on the confidence and outcomes of many Black students. This is discussed in detail by Amira, who struggled with self- doubt during her studies. Black students in academia, like in other white- dominated systems, have reported adopting a performance, or censoring themselves to fit into the dominant culture. This coping strategy may, at times, allow them to navigate academia facing less hostility, but comes at the cost of reducing their sense of belonging and wellbeing in these spaces (Arday et al., 2021; Stoll et al., 2022).

Black students can also face a lack of academic support and investment in their areas of interest, which points to the inequitable research funding opportunities in the UK. Funding agencies and research institutions are key players in deciding which research projects are funded, which scholars are recruited, and what kind of infrastructure is available to support scholars. In Alanah's chapter, it is clear that despite Black students being highly motivated to conduct research, academic institutions can lack the expertise and networks necessary to support students’ academic interests. This is not simply an issue of a lack of scholars, or lack of awareness given that universities make intentional decisions on who and what is included in curricula. In July 2023, the University of Chichester was criticised for making redundant the first British history professor of African heritage, Professor Hakim Adi (The Voice, 2023).

My childhood was by no means perfect, but it was a safe and nurturing environment full to the brim with love and community. I have vivid memories of swinging on swivel chairs at the office of the Claudia Jones Organisation in Stoke Newington, where my mum dedicated time as a volunteer, and I later attended Saturday school. My understanding of my culture was nurtured by both the natural flow of life among family and friends, and the intentional efforts of my mum, who lovingly and purposefully guided me in finding a connection to our roots and traditions. Together, we took African dance classes, and she joined me in exploring and embracing my Dominican heritage through Kwéyòl (French Creole) lessons. I learned early on to value wisdom and knowing created and taught by people like me. These cherished experiences, among others, still resonate with me deeply, even decades later. As a new mother, I navigate these aspects of parenthood extremely aware of how meaningful spaces shaped my identity and sense of self. I have witnessed first- hand the transformative power of community.

Aspirations for me to go to university came from my mum. Neither of us imagined me not only attending but also forging a career in higher education. Reflecting on my early career, I often describe my attitude as ‘ignorance on fire’, without which I probably would have left higher education long ago. I was unaware of the magnitude of the Russell Group and its influence, lacked a clear understanding of postgraduate research, and remained oblivious to the entrenched notions of deficit that plagued my work in access and widening participation. What I believe grounded me during that time were the values instilled in me by my mum. Despite my naturally introverted and reserved nature, my deep pride in my Blackness and a genuine passion for my work gave me confidence. Over time, however, narratives across the sector surrounding raising aspirations for Black students and the depiction of the Black community being hard to reach began to bother me. This perception was in direct conflict with my upbringing and my personal experience of my community, and it made me uncomfortable.

In the last four parts, we have seen the varied stories of Black scholars prior to and upon entering the academy. The chapters in this part are reflective accounts from researchers who have embarked on the PhD journey and arrived at the other end. Each contributor explores their trials, tribulations and celebrations of completing a PhD, and what the future holds for Black scholars beyond the PhD.

The stories of the Black PhD scholars are much larger than individual successes and challenges – they are shaped by the families and communities that came before them. Though Black scholars come from many different backgrounds, all share ancestral journeys impacted by a painful combination of slavery, colonialism and state violence. In spite, and indeed as a result, of this, Black heritage also involves resistance to these oppressions. Within Black British communities, there is a rich history, and ongoing resistance to oppression through creation of community- led education projects. Starting from the 1960s, members of the African- Caribbean community set up their own independent after- school programmes to support the learning of Black students, but also to centre Black culture, history and politics in their education. This movement, known as the Black Supplementary School programme, was a response to the inadequacies of the UK state education system in supporting Black students (Coard, 1971; Andrews, 2011). Julia's chapter explores how her family history is related to her PhD journey. The strength of her grandparents to settle in the UK and persist in a country that was explicitly hostile to them has manifested in new ways: Julia's access to spaces and knowledge that were previously inaccessible to her ancestors. More recent initiatives have also aimed to make knowledge and learning more accessible outside the traditional gatekeepers of education (Free Black University, Free Books Campaign).

As April- Louise explores in her chapter, the power exerted and gained through the PhD journey can be used to further support our communities and challenge systems that create these inequalities in the first place. However, while individual and group persistence can lead to some positive change, there are obvious limitations on being able to truly build equity in systems that are structurally anti- Black.

I did not always want to do a PhD; it was certainly not on my radar as a secondary school student. Apart from two White male teachers, I did not know anyone else with a PhD, let alone anyone who looked like me who had done one. (It took ten years after leaving school to meet a Black woman with a PhD.) My initial plan was to be a medic. It was during my interview for medical school that I first experienced blatant prejudice in what was deemed a professional environment. After waiting for my interview and watching a consultant paediatrician introduce himself to other applicants as just that, when my name was called, I got up and this same paediatrician shook my hand and introduced himself as ‘a child doctor’. I was mortified that he thought that I did not know what a paediatrician was. My mum was internally raging at the back of the waiting room and, afterwards, this resulted in a huge discussion between her and me about how to approach situations where this would inevitably happen again. Other decisions would lead me down another path and into research rather than medicine, but that experience, 13 years ago, is still clear as day in my memory.

My journey towards a PhD started six years before I managed to actually start on my programme. In 2012, I took a year out of my undergraduate degree to work for a pharmaceutical company. Being one of two Black people in the department was not too hard as, by this point, I was used to navigating spaces where the majority of people did not look like me. I had been in the minority ever since I started school.

During my industrial placement year at the pharmaceutical company, I was encouraged to apply for PhD programmes, and I actually started to picture myself pursuing graduate school. On returning to university for my final year, after conversations with my lecturers and supervisors, I set about applying for PhDs. They were confident in my ability to gain a PhD position because of my level of experience and enthusiasm for research.

For me and many others the art of poetry and storytelling is a vessel we are both connected to and lean on deeply. In reading the unapologetic stories and works of Toni Morrison, Audre Lorde, bell hooks and Dr Maya Angelou, their individual and collective offerings to the world have shaped so many of us. I am also from a nation of poets, so perhaps something ancestral lies in my relationship with storytelling. The truth is, I know no other way to share parts of my journey, parts of me, other than through stories and poems.

In this chapter, split into two parts, I will share pockets of my journey as a Black Muslim woman in higher education, beginning each section with a short original poem. Think of the poems as blinds that grant you access into the windows of my world. My deepest hope is that, in reading this essay, you are able to truly hear me and, in doing so, also have space to be heard. And that you are able to truly see me between my words, and in some way also feel seen.

Before you proceed, I kindly ask that you indulge me a little for one moment and take a deep breath. A real, full breath before you continue reading.

Thank you.

Masks

The ‘performance’ of who I was pretending to be in academic spaces did not come about overnight, nor did my awareness of it – rather as W.E.B. Du Bois (1987 [1903]) positioned it, my double- consciousness, the ‘always looking at oneself through the eyes of others’ was ever- present.

My PhD examined Black British and Black Caribbean women's experiences of National Health Service (NHS) work- based education and its impact on their professional identities. I had two White female supervisors; they were very supportive of my intention to break from the conventions of what a PhD thesis should look like when using performative autoethnography to present the women as characters in fictional settings. A non-conventional approach was important for me as it meant that my ‘academic’ work would be accessible to both academics and non- academics, as well as contribute to the discourses on systemic inequities. Since completion in 2017, a scene of the autoethnography has been screened at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre; another scene has been produced as a podcast, which has been used on radio and in presentations nationally for International Women's Day 2020.

I would like to share with prospective students lessons on making academic work accessible to non- academic research participants and our wider communities.

I was born in Birmingham in the UK in the 1960s. My father, who had left school aged 11 following the death of his father in the 1940s, has a brilliant mind and guided me into education as a profession. After my O- levels, I pursued a further education teacher's certificate course, followed by a range of subject specialist stand- alone higher education modules. I studied part time for over a decade completing my Bachelor of Arts (BA) Honours and Master of Arts (MA). One professor who marked my MA dissertation ended her assessment with the following: ‘Must publish. Consider pursuing a PhD.’

I did not know what a PhD was. Following exploration, I was amused that she would make such a suggestion. That was certainly not part of my plan. I felt that the personal and institutional barriers to me undertaking a PhD would be: (1) finances and support; (2) my dislike of PhD theses as dense volumes of work inaccessible to non- academics.

My first supervisory team was made up of two academics, both seemingly ‘expert’ in assisted death. However, my thesis was not just about assisted death – assisted death was merely the Trojan horse. In fact, my PhD could have used any other of the top ten bioethical issues; however, it was the core of my thesis that most interested me. I had opted to utilise the work of Michel Foucault to look at assisted death in a new way. To break what I perceived to be a rhetorical circularity that had resulted in superficial gestures of progress rather than significant shifts in thinking. I did not think that what I was doing, importing the work of Foucault. was actually that radical. For anyone who is interested in power or the intersection of political theory and the body, Foucault seems an obvious choice. Unless, of course, you have never actually studied him.

My first year looking back was pretty traumatic – the intellectual violence that I was subjected to had a serious and profound effect on me. I was tasked, in the first six months of my PhD, with having to justify the value of Michel Foucault to someone who had never read him; and to apologise for Michel Foucault to someone who regarded him as an obscurantist and who had never, it came to be understood, had a tangential understanding of his oeuvre. The feedback I got on my work was harsh, overly critical, unsupportive and demoralising. When I compared my work to my colleagues, no one could actually see any difference in the quality – it was just as good or just as poor as everyone else's and yet, for some reason, I felt singled out. It did not matter how many times I rewrote my papers or pivoted, it was never enough. By the end of my first year, I had a word bank of almost 100,000 – which was about 90,000 more words than my colleagues in the first year had written. It felt like no one wanted to see me thrive. My two supervisors had made their minds up about me and about my PhD. Eventually, however, I got a third supervisor who came on board who had a much broader understanding of my theoretical framework.

The following account you are about to read is a fictionalisation. Inspired by the accounts of this text, Cyrus Rose represents an imagined future that centres the Black British higher education experience within a broader African diasporic educational framework, and sees higher education take on a new form. This is a snapshot of what a future Black academic's journey to success could look like.

Cyrus Rose – for my Bibi

Yesterday, I had the opportunity of a lifetime.

I find myself writing this in a hotel room overlooking a setting sun on the coast of the Dar es Salaam.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat in a beautiful room filled with faces, flanked by some of the most brilliant minds of African and Caribbean descent. Invited by a good friend and colleague, I came to sit on a panel to discuss: What does the future of collaborative African- Caribbean research look like in an era of artificial intelligence?

Like myself, all the other panellists are experienced academics and communicators across multiple fields from epidemiology, water science, education and theoretical physics. I, Cyrus Rose, am a marine biologist who has been studying the impact of Islamic East African indigenous ecological practices in reclaiming sea life on the Tanzanian coast.

As a young boy, I used to go back to Tanzania with my family to visit my grandparents. It was my favourite time, especially when my grandmother took me and my sister fishing just off the coast. I loved to hear her speak about all the fish she would catch and fry for dinner, to help her pull in the net and watch the way the fish danced in the boat. It's one of my most treasured memories – by the time I was doing my A- levels the waters of Dar had suffered and my grandmother could no longer fish. The more I think about it, the clearer it is to me that those memories made me the marine conservationist I am today.

I chose to study biology at my university in the north east of England because they had great teachers and were a sister university to an institution in Dar es Salaam. This provided me with opportunities to study in my country of origin.

Applying for PhD programmes can be a daunting, difficult process. Having a support network – whether it is your current lab or friends doing PhDs – during the process is extremely helpful. I remember my first PhD application rejection; it hurt, but once I shared the news with my supervisor, he was very supportive and encouraged me to apply for other programmes. He advised me about the PhD application process and some of the realities of academia. As an undergraduate student at the time, I found my discussions with him highly valuable.

During this same time, at an Islamic Society ‘meet and greet’ social, I randomly met a fellow Somali who had just started a MRes- PhD programme at the same institution. We got along well, and he provided a more day- to- day description of what it is like to be a PhD student, and how applying for PhD programmes can be difficult if the support network is not present. Needless to say, he would inspire me and strengthen my resolve to pursue a PhD.

Through him I met an amazing group of other Somali PhD students and professionals, which has had a massive impact on my outlook towards the future of our community in the UK. As he told me stories about how other people landed offers for PhD programmes, it became apparent that who you know plays a big role, and that supervisors may have leftover funding or alternative funding to put together a PhD, which may not necessarily get traditionally advertised.

This made me aware of the importance of networks within academia, and that having good working relationships go a long way. My perspective on the PhD application process at the time was more rigid; I was more fixated on the formal application process, where the parties do not ‘know’ one another. Luckily, I had already developed a good working relationship with my supervisor and genuinely enjoyed the research and working with them.

I would see the power of networking during my master's year, where I ran into a supervisor collaborating with the previous group. We had a good chat and, by the end of our first meeting, he brought up the possibility of doing a PhD in his lab. It seemed too good to be true.

My journey through education did not originally focus on the traditional sciences in school. It was the support of others, as well as the opportunities and experiences that changed this for me and led me to the field I am now in. At A- level I studied Media, Performing Arts and Psychology. My undergraduate was in Psychology and I failed a final- year module called ‘Brain Imaging’. On paper, I am not the typical student to go on to do a PhD. My post- graduation plans were changed as a lecturer was impressed and convinced me to stay to do a master's in Cognitive Neuroscience. This provided me with the tools to apply for a PhD, where I was offered two studentships. Having someone see the bigger picture and believe in you is so powerful for self- belief and ambition. Taking these opportunities and working through these educational spaces, you witness the lack of representation as a whole. Being privileged in that position can weigh heavily on an individual for a range of reasons, and preparing to deal with those can be tough.

In today's society it is often assumed that you will attend university after finishing your mandatory education. Most prospective students are encouraged to choose a broad subject and not to constrain their future prospects by studying something that is too specific. And so some students do just that: they attend, get their degree and explore the working world with their qualifications. I was a little different. At the time when I undertook my undergraduate studies, I wanted to become a child psychologist and I knew that I needed to earn the ‘Dr’ title in order to do so. What I did not understand was the path to get there. This prompted me to apply for a placement year (an excellent decision that was largely pushed by the university), where I would gain experience working as an honorary clinical psychologist for the National Health Service. I did not enjoy this role and quickly realised my image of what I thought a psychologist was was incorrect. When I returned to my final year of study, I was unsure how to move forward. I knew I wanted to be abroad, and so I applied for a government teaching role in Hong Kong and was ready to station my life in Asia while occasionally travelling around in my spare time.

The journey of a doctoral degree is no mean feat. Those inclined to embark on this journey do so at the risk of discrimination amid isolation and loneliness. As you have read in the essays in this part, the void created by higher education institutions is filled by Black- led academic support groups and networks. They do this in addition to undertaking the highest academic challenge of their careers, with minimal support from the institutions themselves. If this work was to be appropriately supported and integrated into institutional practice, what would that mean for Black and other marginalised academics?

Each of the essay writers had to find their own support networks, or go out and entirely create what did not already exist; the energy exerted in this effort should not be overlooked. It is long and hard labour to develop and maintain a safe space for Black academics across different disciplines and journeys – if this effort was liberated, where else could Black academics be sharing their excellence?

Writing back while Black

The story of my PhD journey can be encapsulated in the following words of the towering author, intellectual and activist Maya Angelou: ‘Stand up straight and realise who you are, that you tower over your circumstances’ (Angelou, 2014).

I chose to write about my journey of completing my PhD in the hope that I can speak to those who are searching for suggestions on how to stay on course and endure the race to possibly become a Black academic in higher education. When I was planning to do a PhD, I had little knowledge as to how to navigate the rough terrain in accessing funding. I first researched the Economic Social Research Council funding options and soon realised that this highly competitive funding body did not accommodate women like me. After having three children I decided to teach in further education and pursue a PhD. I asked myself, could I realistically secure funding from such an elitist funding system? After weighing up the financial costs, the need to conduct my research became more imminent and I decided to self- fund my PhD. Fortunately, due to my teaching experience, I was employed as an associate lecturer while doing my PhD at the university. In retrospect, I realise how fortunate I was to complete my PhD on a full- time basis. In the current neoliberal climate, it has become exceedingly difficult and exceptionally competitive for Black students to gain PhD funding, as many undergraduates attend post- 92 universities as opposed to Russell Group universities. From my experience, a self- funded PhD requires self- discipline, tenacity and mental strength to keep going through the ebbs and flows of the PhD journey. Despite being frugal with my research budget, I was continually existing on an overdraft, but I did not let that deter me. Past studies have shown that many Black PhD students are forced to do their PhD part time and work numerous jobs as well as struggle with the burden of teaching.

Being an academic was something I wanted to be before I understood what it fully meant. I knew that I loved learning and I felt at home within educational settings. As a child, my performance in school reflected this, but there was something else that was reflected too – my love for expression. I was always the child in parents’ evening whose parents were told: ‘She performs exceptionally in her classes, but she talks too much.’ I laugh when I think about this because I now realise that, as well as an academic, I was a performing artist in the making. Social engagement for leisure was something I never sacrificed in early education, hence it is ironic that I now have a PhD place in Cognitive Neuroscience with a focus on social cognition and engagement. However, my initial inspirations did not come from a neuroscientific background; my interest in science stemmed from my love of performing arts, specifically theatre.

I stepped into secondary school with this love for theatre; however, it was there where I began to understand that the merging of science and arts was not straightforward. The curriculum prioritised ‘core subjects’ over ‘creative subjects’ and, therefore, having interdisciplinary subject interests as a high achieving student was not highly encouraged. I remember facing an immense conflict between the science and drama department's extracurricular clubs. It was then I knew that I would have to take the tailoring process of what I wanted my academic pathway to look like into my own hands because I did not want to sacrifice one field for the other.

One interesting factor to note as a Black student was that this conflict was not a racial one, as my drama and science teachers were all Black. I did not ponder this at the time. It was only upon recent reflection in conversations about early academia that I realised that my secondary school had good Black and Brown staff representation from the headteacher level down, and this diversity was seen across gender as well. Experiencing a diverse teaching staff was the norm for me but, of course, this pattern was not maintained in further or higher education.

The ‘weighted waiting’ encountered by Black students in pursuit of a PhD are thankfully not insurmountable, as demonstrated in these accounts. However, unnecessary institutional barriers leave many Black students traumatised from their higher education experiences, making the idea of continuation in the system an anathema. Despite these realities, the determination and courage of these students are to be admired, but not followed. These accounts highlight the very real need for greater institutional support for the Black undergraduate community. What institutional support structures are needed to remove the current barriers? How can institutions provide better training and transparency in their admission processes? We should not have to wait. Why are we waiting? Starting the process at a disadvantage makes the next stage more difficult to navigate as the accounts in the next part will outline.

The following set of chapters detail the powerful role that individuals and support systems within academia have played in the successful development and progression of Black PhD students. Having appropriate support while progressing through the various stages of academia is vital for the development of all scholars, as many rules and practices in these spaces are often unwritten, complex and require extensive training to traverse. Whether it be a supervisor, programme or the work of a department, positive guidance helps to ensure the success of all students. These support systems are even more critical for Black students who often navigate environments where they are in the minority. Their minoritisation can develop into a consuming feeling that wears them down, affecting their wellbeing and continuation through the academic pipeline. The correct support can therefore help counteract this isolation and marginalisation, which is all too common a feature of academic spaces in the UK.

Suitable academic support can take many forms but amounts to the same end product – the increased retention of students, who feel empowered, confident and are able to progress further. At the beginning of this part, Simone's chapter demonstrates the power of effective outreach, where an institution made a concerted effort to interface with underserved schools within London. This, in addition to the support she subsequently received from her academic mentor and her PhD supervisor after being diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, were critical for her continuation within academic research. Next, Angela gives her account of being uplifted after being worn down from a previous academic experience, and the deliberate decision she made to choose a supportive environment. This choice, often a strong consideration for many prospective Black students was vindicated by the confidence her supervisors instilled in her. In Peggy's chapter we see the assistance and support of multiple supervisors that allows for her creative research choices, which went against the status quo, to come to fruition. Her work has gone on to be screened publicly and celebrated nationally. Conversely, Rees’ account shows the importance of vital interventions by academics and a department when conflicts arise during supervision and the transformative effect that being proactive can have on a scholar's wellbeing and growth.

The collection of essays in this part speaks to the void created by the absence of established support networks existing within higher education institutions to empower and retain Black talent. This void has forced Black students and scholars to step in and create their own spaces of empowerment and encouragement. Black doctoral students, as seen in earlier essays, have already had to overcome great obstacles to reach the point of undertaking their research. Once they enter these hallowed halls they must now combat the experiences of isolation and segregation from both their academic peers and Black community – all against the backdrop of pursuing their passions.

It is hard to find a place where one has to undergo so much maltreatment for the simple pursuit of knowledge. Yet, as is expressed in most of the essays you are about to read, it is an inevitability as a Black person existing in academia.

Madina and De- Shaine's essays both speak to the experience of disillusionment at certain points in their educational journeys where they could no longer ignore the active discouragement and prejudicial treatment by senior White academics. It was this disillusionment that led them to seek out and create spaces where they could find community where there once was none.

The act of creating one's own community is a beautiful and often bittersweet circumstance. Beautiful, because there is nothing quite like being surrounded and empowered by a community of shared experiences; bittersweet, because this almost always comes at the cost of experiencing serious solitude and detachment. It has long been discoursed that individualism is not a native African ideology (Odimegwu, 2007). Take the African proverb ‘it takes a village’ as an example – widely used to impart the fact that community and togetherness are essential pillars of an effective society. This theme of community is seen in Paulette's essay, where she recounts how her mother's encouragement to maintain a connection to her culture and heritage was foundational to her starting the organisation Leading Routes.