Image Credit: Countering Islamophobia on Campus Report

Islamophobia, as a phenomenon and a concept, has been subject to much discussion, debate and academic scrutiny. Whilst research findings and theoretical arguments are at the forefront of this burgeoning body of knowledge, the challenges and tensions experienced by Muslims who research such issues have received lesser attention. Of course, researchers of all disciplines and subjects experience normative research dilemmas, but for those whose research is personally and politically meaningful, the risks and costs may be more acute and damaging, especially when exposing difficult and uncomfortable insights. This has been the case with research we recently completed around Muslim staff and students’ experiences of Islamophobia in higher education (HE).

For the Muslim Friendly Universities initiative, we produced a report entitled Countering Islamophobia on Campus (Alam and Chaudry, 2025). Based on the perceptions and experiences of Muslim staff and students at the University of Bradford, the report highlighted the multifarious ways in which Islamophobia operates in the Academy. The participants we interviewed explored various issues and themes including microaggressions, the (lack of) accommodation of religious practices as well as institutional responses to geo-political flashpoints. More generally, the participants illustrated the need for stronger and more effective equality, diversity and inclusion (EDI) policies as well as underlining the importance of greater transparency and accountability in HR and complaint handling processes. It is necessary to note, however, that many of the experiences we encountered are simply extant across the HE sector (Ahmed, 2021; Akel, 2021; Alam, Forthcoming; Bhopal, 2022). Indeed, a central issue emerging from this report was that religious and ethnically diverse campuses are not necessarily insulated nor immune from experiencing Islamophobia from within merely because they have a large Muslim demographic.

Returning to risk, our sample explored how they learned to recognise and navigate the potential for risk to materialise even in ordinary work. For clarity, ‘risk’ in this particular context refers to, for instance, undermining career prospects or being singled out and subjected to unfavourable treatment. For the research participants, significant time and energy is expended rehearsing potentially risky outcomes and then developing strategies to minimise risk. As researchers we similarly ruminated over the risks that were elicited by virtue of conducting the research itself.

Against this backdrop, however, the Academy continues to consider itself as a beacon for ‘criticality’ and ‘free speech’. Universities are often alert to adopting potent       banner terms such as ‘decolonisation’, ‘diversity’ as well as ‘anti-racism’ presented and packaged with institutional branding, strategies and narratives. Reflecting upon our contributions of undertaking work pertaining to ‘anti-racism’ and ‘inclusion’ (Alam and Chaudry, 2025), we noticed contradictions between rhetoric and reality which in turn filtered into our experience of undertaking this work that would ordinarily be considered innocuous and, indeed, expected academic activity. As Sara Ahmed notes, “describing the problem of racism can mean being treated as if you have created the problem, as if the very talk about divisions is what is divisive” (2012: 153). In this framing, the problem does not lie with the racism per se but rather with those who expose it. It was not exactly with surprise that we experienced this, but it did call for us to produce strategies that could minimise risk. For example, on more than one occasion and through various informal channels, we received feedback that our work was deemed ‘confrontational’, ‘aggressive’ and ‘unhelpful’. At this stage, we felt at risk, compromised and responded by ‘sanitising’ our language and attempting to make our findings and arguments more ‘palatable’. The focus, therefore, was not on the nature of our findings and how they might be addressed, but rather on the existence of the findings themselves and our responsibility in producing them. Additionally, the ‘tone’ in which we had presented our data and analysis was subject to being ‘policed’, and also required us to ‘brace’ ourselves from potential allegations of creating alarm which, in turn, could expose ourselves to further forms of risk. As argued elsewhere (Alam, 2016; Alam and Chaudry, 2025), research that connects with the identities and experiences of those who undertake the research (for example ‘insider’ research) may be more likely to have political orientations. And this is especially true when the research revolves around notions of minoritisation, marginality or discrimination. At the same time, and despite the conversations around the pros and cons of ‘subjectively’ rooted research, there is more than sufficient evidence, spanning centuries, that points to the presence, experience and pernicious nature of racism, racialisation and Islamophobia.

Although the research we conducted drew on insights from a sample of Muslims (academic/professional staff and students) in one university, we also accounted for the experiences of a wider network of academics working across other universities in the UK and elsewhere. This line of informally derived data was indirectly relevant and used as a mode of triangulation; what our sample encountered and experienced was not remarkable to us because some of these experiences are evident across the sector, and indeed, resonate with our own experiences as Muslims in academia. It is worth also noting that the research is linked with our own biographies and politics. To ignore this would be not only foolish, but actively disingenuous. Whilst not explicitly or wholly an example of ‘insider’ research, from inception to dissemination, the research was informed, developed and substantiated through our own subjectivities, experiences and a wider awareness an appreciation of the racialised realities that create impact upon people of colour in general.

As alluded to earlier, regardless of our identities and levels of social and cultural capital, risk is an arguably routine fact of life. However, there are differences in how much, or how heavy, the burden of risk becomes according to ethnicity and faith background. Even in ordinary and wider settings, Muslims are exposed to risk in ways that non-Muslims are not. Some of this is essentially about what people look and sound like; if they appear not to form part of the collective ‘us’, then they are more likely to be considered a member of the outgroup, ‘them’. Sadly, but again not surprisingly, the racialised ‘us’ and ‘them’ binary remains potent and deployable in all sorts of contexts including immigration, criminality as well as more banal and ordinary framings of social life.

When we hear of economic or educational underachievement for some minority ethnic groups, the surfacing of deficits modelling emerges quite easily. In the enlightened world of academia, there are significant disproportionalities faced by minority ethnic academics, especially those of working class heritage. Such colleagues may carry heavier workloads, take longer to be promoted, be more likely to endure disciplinary proceedings and, just as importantly, be less successful than their white counterparts when applying for employment in the first place. Whilst these issues are not essentially about risk per se, they do indicate that racism is firstly apparent even in the hallowed halls of academia, and thus, risk is an extant and concomitant reality.

In order to address these issues, it is incumbent on universities to no longer simply espouse rhetoric which is anchored firmly in the domain of aspiration. To be effective, pronouncements relating to equality even in generally must be shored up through accountability, transparency and finding the political will and economic resource to create genuine change.