When I set off for University, I wasn’t surprised to find there weren’t many women on my course: there were only three Cambridge colleges that admitted women back then (i.e. no coeducational colleges at all), so of course I would be in a tiny minority. That recognition that I was the only woman in the room – for instance in an undergraduate practical class – was only to be expected. However, at the WISE Conference I attended this week, it was dismal to hear that for some women that still seemed to be their experience at work. Unlike many of the talks I have given on the subject of women in STEM, the audience here were largely engineers in industry, but their experiences seem disappointingly similar.
One panel discussion opened up this topic: how do you cope with that sense of difference in the room? The answers seemed to align with my own strategy of using it as a superpower (albeit that’s not a phrase I’ve ever personally used), by stressing that people will remember you over the bunch of identikit men, so you should use that difference to your advantage. I’ve written previously about how I’ve given up worrying about my dress causing me to stick out, but, instead, likewise use it to my advantage. Typically, this has led me – consciously or otherwise – to choose something red, although not on this occasion, when I was in a much more sober hue.
But using difference as a superpower still costs personal energy, and sometimes the cost is too great. Watching others in your organisation flourish while your own career stagnates for reasons that look suspiciously like bias, can be painful. Being expected to do the legwork, yet not get the credit or benefit from the resulting positive outcomes can lead to any worker wondering why they are sticking around. On the first panel discussion it was clear all three women (Lucy Davies, Lily Davies-Dobbs and Mamta Singhal) had thought about leaving a position because, basically, they’d had enough. Possibly if you had a panel of three men discussing their lot in life you might get the same result, but possibly not for the same reasons: of being passed over, ignored and not treated seriously.
To me, at my stage in life (viz: retired), it is depressing to realise that things may have moved on, but not nearly far enough. There are so many ways that women can feel excluded and overlooked for reasons that don’t seem legitimate. I was once given the advice, by an extremely supportive colleague, to get voice-coaching lessons to drop my voice. It may have worked for Maggie Thatcher – or at least she thought it would – but I deplore an attitude that suggests nonsense spoken in a low, gravelly voice is worth more than sense uttered in a typical female voice. Of course, I’m assuming I do talk sense when I make that rebuttal, but the fact remains the timbre of one’s voice should have nothing to do with whether or not one is listened to. I’m sure those who speak with a regional or foreign accent may feel a similar sense of disadvantage (see the reports of how class amongst undergraduate students rears its ugly head due to the ‘wrong’ sort of accent, in this case creating an apparently toxic atmosphere at the University of Durham).
But, to feel that one has to leave an organisation because its culture is toxic is such a waste, but may be necessary for one’s wellbeing. When I found Cambridge becoming toxic to me, I thought hard about leaving. My friends encouraged me to seek pastures new because it was getting painful and sapping my energy. But – and I remember writing a letter to this effect to one of these friends very clearly – I felt if I left, I would be letting the next generations of women down. Here I was, a professor and an FRS, what message would I be giving the early career women by quitting? So I stayed, in due course in 2010 (although in an almost accidental way) I became the University’s Gender Equality Champion and so was able to have some influence on the culture. In my case I’m certainly glad I stuck it out, but everyone has to make their own decisions.
One key message I personally took away from the WISE event, was not to be apologetic (although I’m ‘sorry’ to say, I can’t remember which of the three panellists I mention above offered this particular piece of advice). How often I – and I’m sure many of my readers – have started a conversation or an email with an apology. I’m sorry to disturb you, I’m sorry if I’ve misunderstood you, I’m sorry this email is a slow response….there are so many variants of the apology. Sheryl Sandberg may have started ‘ban bossy’, but I think a movement to stop unnecessary apologies would also be helpful for women in STEM. The need to reject bossy from the (male) lexicon of our world, of course, must remain a goal too.
It was heartening to see so many women come together to share experiences, both good and bad, and to reinforce their determination to continue to fight the good fight in the world of women in STEM.
