What role does language play in our self-definition and definition of others?
While I did promise a blog post on imposter syndrome (and it’s in the works), over the past few months, I've found myself ruminating on the topic of language and labels in the context of leadership and visibility (read my previous post about visibility here). This has surfaced more frequently as I consider my own place among #TeamHB6.
Leader. Asian Woman Leader. Black Female Leader. Queer Leader With A Disability. How do you describe the leaders you see in the world? How do you describe yourself as a leader? Are there descriptors that feel more appropriate? Less appropriate? There is no consensus, nor will there ever be, on the most 'correct' labels to use across the board. Of greater value, I think, is to understand the diverse ways in which language matters to different communities and individuals, allowing for authentic self-definition.
Whenever I see an article or social media post highlighting someone becoming “The First Black Female Leader”, “Only the Second Woman to Lead”, or similar titles, what inevitably follows is a mix of reactions.
Some criticise the need to specify gender, race, or any other aspect of cultural identity, arguing that these modifiers undermine the achievements of the person. For example, Team HB6 could be known simply as a group of 'leaders' rather than 'female leaders'. Others will argue that these modifiers are important and serve to remind us that it is often a monumental challenge for marginalised peoples to rise to prominent leadership positions. Specifying certain aspects of identity can therefore provide much-needed representation, validation, and inspiration for marginalised communities.
Image description: A 3-panel comic strip depicting a rockhopper penguin standing on a rocky, snow-patched shoreline as a small flock of birds flies past in the distant sky. The penguin ponders their self-description. Panel 1: Penguin raises a wing to their chin and says, "Leader?" Panel 2: Penguin raises the other wing to their chest and says, "Penguin Leader??" Panel 3: Penguin plants both wings on their hips and says, "Rockhopper Penguin Leader???"
Excluding those who speak with malicious intent or bigoted beliefs, what I often see is not a ‘right answer vs. wrong answer’ situation, but rather a divergence in how we honour our ideals. It’s perhaps more of an ‘idealism vs. realism’ conflict. Many of us share values of equity, diversity, and inclusion. The question is: How do we transform these values into meaningful strides toward a fairer society?
For some, it means projecting their ideals onto the immediate world around them. “How can we move toward an equitable society if we keep defining people by their cultural identity? If we want to be treated equitably, we should forego the unnecessary labels and allow people to be defined by their actions, skills, and talents.” Here, the intent is to view and treat others as though we are on a level playing field in the hope that this will normalise fairness. While I’m sure many of us would love to see the day when a person’s race or gender is genuinely irrelevant, adopting an overly idealistic attitude may run you into the realm of colour-blindness and the myth of meritocracy, not to mention a possible confusion between the concepts of equity and equality. “I don’t see colour”, “Nobody cares about your gender, only your talent”, and “If you just work hard enough, you will succeed” are naïve and simplistic attitudes that fail to recognise and validate the very real oppression and obstacles faced by marginalised communities. As an important side note, this is not exclusive to members of privileged majority groups—internalised oppression can cause members of marginalised groups to also trivialise struggles within their own communities.
On another face of the die, there are those who wish to remind the world of our current state of inequity. “Being a member of a marginalised group is a core part of my lived experiences and cannot be separated from my accomplishments. It is a source of pride that I came this far in spite of the challenges I face because of my identity.” This attitude leans toward a more realistic lens, recognising where we are and how far we’ve yet to go toward equity. However, this may also be manipulated by others in a negative way, such as through performative allyship and the tokenisation of relatively successful individuals, e.g., “See, we’ve got an Asian person on our board—we’re inclusive!” Too often, these tokenised (typically racialised) individuals are also shouldered with the heavy burden of being social equity advisors and educators for their institution by virtue of their identity.
So what’s my personal take? Do I use modifiers? My (predictable) answer is: Sometimes. As you can see above, there are times when you might be tempted to say, “You are being ignorant of my reality and denying my struggles,” and other times you might want to say, “I’m a leader, period. Please stop focusing on my race/gender/etc. and let me just talk about my leadership!” More than picking one side over the other, I encourage adaptability and discernment to stay both grounded and optimistic. When would it be valuable and meaningful for me to disclose my identity? When would it not? What are the grey areas where there’s no clear answer?
In biographical blurbs, I typically describe myself as a 'Ph.D. Candidate' or a 'scientist and engineer', not a 'womxn Ph.D. Candidate' or a 'queer engineer' or a 'South Asian scientist with disabilities'.
I’ve definitely been to more than a few scientific conferences where I became fed up with how much my White colleagues would rather talk about my ethnicity than my research. However, there are other times when it feels natural to disclose and discuss cultural identity, particularly when there is an opportunity to be a source of representation and support for others. On the receiving end, it gives me a sense of pride and encouragement when I come across news highlighting 'South Asian Female' leaders and pioneers.
Image description: A 4-panel comic depicting Nia at a scientific conference. Panel 1: Among a crowd of scientists, Nia is standing in front of poster that says, "Nia's Super Awesome Research". The poster beside this says, "More Cool Science", where another person is presenting their research. A stranger approaches Nia and says, "Hey!" Panel 2: The stranger points at Nia and says, "You're Indian!" Panel 3: There is a pause and the colours fade to black, grey, and white to highlight the shock of the moment. Panel 4: A close-up shot of Nia's face, brow darkened, with the words, "They're onto me..." hanging above their head.
When I write about my journey with Homeward Bound, I usually use the term 'womxn' rather than 'women'. This is not because one is inherently better than the other—it's one of those grey areas—but because I ultimately felt that others may benefit from my use of the explicitly intersectional term 'womxn'. Rather than assuming that everyone who identifies as a woman will automatically feel included and welcomed in Homeward Bound, I want to acknowledge that there are many who may feel uncertain, fearful, or apprehensive. As a non-binary woman of colour, I’ve personally felt anxious about participating in many advertised spaces for women because I could never be sure that they would accept my experience of womanhood.
Reflecting back on my own application to join Team HB6, I imagine I would have felt relief and empowerment to hear someone explicitly saying, “I see you. I accept you. You are valid and welcome here.”
Sometimes that sentiment can even be conveyed with a one-letter change, which is why I opted for the term 'womxn'. With this decision, I lean toward realism, recognising that queer and trans folx are experiencing disproportionate levels of harm and may justifiably be distrusting of many spaces. That being said, I don’t think it’s wrong or invalid to use 'woman/women' and neither does using 'womxn' guarantee that you are being genuinely inclusive. Word selection is only one of many choices we must consider in our broader mission to foster inclusivity and psychologically safe spaces.
Language is dynamic and ever evolving; the way we use it is subject to diverse interpretation across individuals, geography, and time. My takeaway from these reflections is to find ways to be more intentional, flexible, and understanding while committing to ongoing learning. How do our experiences and beliefs shape our relationship with language? How might this differ for the next person? Modifiers that seem trivial to you could have great meaning for somebody else. On the other hand, modifiers forced on a person may only serve to disempower them. When we give and receive words, what is their intention and impact? How can we ensure our intention and impact are aligned?
Let me know: Have you ever engaged in a debate about modifiers or language in general, either with yourself or with someone else? What thoughts came up for you? Is there a disconnect between how you’re perceived and how you’d like to be perceived?
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There are many ways we can dive deeper into language and all its layers, including a frank examination of our own life's narrative. Here's a podcast episode that might give you some inspiration!
The Homecoming Podcast with Dr. Thema, Episode 45: Reclaiming Your Story
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Next time: Unless I get sidetracked again, I'll be aiming for that imposter syndrome post! Feel free to contact me with any other topics you're interested in. Thanks for reading!
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