I’ve been passively skimming through job calls and LinkedIn posts lately, and a persistent question keeps surfacing—people often label it as ‘imposter syndrome’—but when will it be enough? How enough is enough? How many more postdocs, publications, and projects do I need before I am simply accepted on merit, without having to justify my place repeatedly?
The longer I stay in academia, the clearer it becomes: some people advance effortlessly—backed by prestigious institutions, strong networks, and big-name advisors whose recommendations open doors. Others, like me, take the longer road—multiple postdocs, years of additional work to “build” our CVs, and constant reminders that we must work twice as hard to be considered “qualified enough.” This isn’t to discredit those who move forward faster. Many of them work incredibly hard. But hard work alone has never been the deciding factor. Privilege—race, nationality, caste, family background, access to resources—plays an undeniable role. Some are born closer to the finish line, while others have to run a marathon just to reach the starting point.
A Different Starting Line: Growing Up Without Privilege
I grew up in a village in India, with parents who weren’t educated and no roadmap to guide me through academia. Unlike some of my peers, I didn’t have the advantage of elite schooling, well-connected mentors, or exposure to academia from an early age. Back then, I didn’t even realize what privilege was. It took years to understand that things were easier for those whose parents were educated professionals, who had access to comic and science books, career guidance, and financial stability. Even in school, inequalities were evident. I saw classmates who had to fetch drinking water, cook, do household chores, or babysit siblings before coming to school. I saw firsthand that students who couldn’t afford to attend school every day, while others took tutoring, extra coaching, and science workshops for granted. I saw how caste privilege played out—if I scored higher than an “elite” class student, my answer sheet would be checked by multiple teachers. This never happened the other way around. Even though they were fake-nice to me, they doubted my merit. These experiences shaped my understanding of structural privilege. Being born white in a Western country, or into a dominant caste/class in India, gives automatic access to opportunities that others have to fight for. That doesn’t mean privileged people don’t work hard—but it means their hard work is not the only reason they got ahead, and they will never understand this.
The Academic Road: Multiple Postdocs and Proving Myself Over and Over
Multiple postdocs weren’t my plan, so to speak. When I started my Ph.D, I thought that once I earned my PhD, my credentials would speak for themselves. I was wrong. Unlike some of my peers, I couldn’t just walk into a faculty-track position right after my PhD. Instead, I had to take on multiple postdocs to strengthen my CV—to prove that I was competent again and again. This came with obvious consequences. While others moved forward, I had to keep “building” my CV before being considered. I had to keep hopping on temporary contracts for years, constantly wondering if I was “good enough” for the next position. Then there is always self-doubt—even today the system made me question whether I was truly ready, even after years of research experience.But not everything is bad, there are many positives to this. Working across different labs gave me a diverse skill set that many straight-track academics never develop- versatility and adaptability to different research styles, areas, and lab cultures. Since no one handed me opportunities, I learned how to create them for myself—including my third attempt to the Marie-Curie fellowship-that was successful after two consecutive failures. Then there is resilience, when your path is harder and took this long, quitting isn’t an option. You just keep pushing forward.
Would I have liked an easier path? Of course. But would I trade the adaptability and independence I’ve developed? Nope.
Speaking Up in Science: Why Staying Silent Is Not an Option
There’s an unspoken rule in academia—if you’re still in“proving”yourself stage, stay quiet. Don’t talk about privilege. Don’t question or even reflect on the system. Don’t engage in “political” issues. But science is not separate from politics. It never has been. Science has been used to justify colonialism, racism, and oppression. It has been shaped by who gets funding, who gets hired, and whose research is valued. All funding and policy decisions are heavily impacted by the politics of the government. Even then, the moment someone questions these structures, the response is predictable:
“This is not the place for politics.”
“Just focus on your research.”
“This is victimhood mentality”
“Why are you bringing identity/caste into this?”
“Why don’t you speak about X, but only about Y ?” (Whataboutery)
Just last week a former colleague asked me:
“Why is Professor X posting about the Israel-Hamas war on LinkedIn? Why bring politics into a professional space?”
But my question is: why shouldn’t he/she/they?
Yes, I get that some people believe LinkedIn should be strictly professional and that one must post only career-based content. But that mindset conveniently ignores the reality that science, academia, and industry are all political at the core. Remember scientists and professionals have historically advocated against oppression, fasicm and war crimes. If scientists can publish research funded by military-industrial complexes, if they can take grants from governments involved in conflicts, then why is it “too political” to acknowledge genocide, war, or systemic injustice?
The prevailing notion is that scientists should remain silent, neutral, and uninvolved in politics, or that they should only speak out once they’ve secured a stable job or position. If we wait for job security before speaking out, we will never do so—because injustice doesn’t wait for the right moment. However, this is a naive political stance that only serves to reinforce the power of those already in control.
The Illusion of Diversity: Representation vs. True Inclusion
People often talk about diversity in academia, but what does that actually mean? About a year ago, professor whom I was touring the campus, told me straight that I might be considered a “diversity hire”. At the time, I wasn’t sure how to react or process the comment. It left me feeling conflicted, as it seemed to reduce my value to just a checkbox for representation, rather than recognizing my merit or potential as an individual. While I understand that being labeled as a diversity hire can highlight the need for more representation of underrepresented groups in academia, which is an important step toward fostering inclusivity and addressing systemic inequalities, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this label carried a tokenistic view. When someone is considered a diversity hire, it can feel like their worth is based solely on their identity, rather than their skills, expertise, or contributions. That feeling is surreal. Tokenism often leads to feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt, and isolation, as I might be seen as a symbolic effort to appear inclusive rather than as a genuine contributor. It made me question whether my presence would be taken seriously and whether I’d have equal opportunities or my voice would be dismissed. While I recognize that diversity initiatives are essential, if the focus is only on meeting quotas, it feels like it misses the true purpose of inclusion—creating an environment where everyone is valued for their unique contributions, not just their background.
For some implementing diversity is just limited to being “international”. Hiring people from different nationalities doesn’t automatically create an inclusive environment. A researcher from an “underrepresented” country may still come from a privileged background within their nation, with better access to education and opportunities. True diversity is not just about having different faces from different countries in a room—it’s about ensuring that different perspectives are actively heard, respected, and integrated into decision-making. Hiring from different countries is just a minor piece of the puzzle.
Refusing to Stay Silent—Even If It Makes My Path Harder
The terrain is uneven. I don’t have the luxury of certainty. I still haven’t secured a faculty position, and honestly, there’s a chance I never will. But I refuse to stay quiet just to make people around me comfortable. Maybe this means my journey will be more challenging. Maybe this means I will be labeled as a “problematic” candidate for certain positions. I’m sure some will criticize me for being “too political” or “not scientific enough,” or dismiss me as someone who’s making excuses. But I’ll keep asking questions—questions to myself, to the world, and about the systems we operate within. I’d rather challenge the status quo, question science, and confront injustice than silence myself just to fit in. If the price of success is silencing my voice, erasing my perspective, and turning a blind eye to injustice, then I have to ask: What value is there in playing the game if it means losing everything that truly matters?
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