Abstract
Drawing on data from thirty in-depth qualitative interviews, this article uses the idea of âintersectional complexityâ (Collins and Bilge 2016) and Mirzaâs (2013) concept of âembodied intersectionalityâ, to examine how identity and belonging are negotiated in their secondary and post-secondary educational journeys of British women from Bangladeshi, Indian and Pakistani (BIP) heritages. It identifies how the participants experience their world through a system of policing âgoodâ conduct through the vigilant gaze of the âbaradariâ (community) and structured through the concept of izzat (often understood as honour). It demonstrates how womenâs rights are mediated through their bodies, and how opportunities were impacted by social divisions such as social class, gender and race. The findings suggest that the many of the women are utilising their experiences of the education system to improve opportunities and outcomes for other female family members, but this is hampered by structural educational inequalities. An argument is made that it is problematic when schools homogenise and reinforce the boundaries drawn by izzat.
1 Introduction
Various research has explored the impact of marginalisation on ethnic minority communities in the UK. This includes experience of schooling/education and labelling of individuals within society (Brah and Minhas 1985; Hamilton and Riordan 2016); the impact of racism on attainment (Singh 2011); and heritage combined with class (Gillborn and Mirza 2000; Rollock, Gillborn, et al. 2014). However, there is less attention paid to the voices and lived experiences of British women from Bangladeshi, Indian and Pakistani (BIP) heritages. These women are frequently stereotyped or âOtheredâ, in Hallâs (1997) conception, as being âquietâ, âwell behavedâ and âdocileâ (Brah and Minhas 1985; Hussein 2023; Watson 2000) or positioned through imagery and rhetoric that fixates on subservience and victimisation (Watson 2000). Drawing on interviews with women from these three heritages, this article brings together their narratives in which they reflect upon the ways that their bodies are policed and regulated, specifically within their educational experiences. As is argued in this paper, an intersectional approach (Collins and Bilge 2016; Mirza 2013) is helpful in understanding specificity and complexity in marginalised peopleâs lives.
When examining experiences in relation to education, Archer (2008, 90) notes that minority ethnic pupils are often âproblematisedâ within UK educational policy, arguing that âminority ethnic pupils and their families have been positioned together and associated with notions of educational âfailureââ¯â. These constructions of âfailureâ are complex, intersecting with gender, class and migration histories. The âsomatic normâ, to borrow Puwarâs (2004) term, the body that is âat homeâ in UK education, is that of the white middle class boy (Archer 2008). Archerâs (2008, 91) work illuminates the ways that pupils from Black Caribbean and Muslim backgrounds âare demonised as âbad/failingâ pupilsâ, as well as how âother minority ethnic pupils (but particularly those from Chinese backgrounds) are Othered and pathologised as achieving, but âachieving in the wrong wayââ¯â. The education system is thus ingrained with white privilege (Bhopal 2020), and this intersects in pernicious ways with gender. As Archer (2008, 93) identifies within UK educational spheres, âhigh achievement is dominantly seen as ânaturalâ (and âeffortlessâ) among boys but as achieved via âploddingâ hard work for girlsâ. Gender and white privilege operate in tandem, as McIntosh (1986, 378) frames it, as âan invisible package of unearned assetsâ, elevating invisible privileges that white people, and men, remain largely unaware of. Meanwhile, BIP women are often stereotyped and represented through a gendered lens which is saturated in socially, culturally and religiously loaded value systems (Ahmad 2001) which in turn are rooted in a colonial mindset (Watson 2000). This reductionist lens racialises and marginalises women (Mirza 2006) who are already operating at the fringe having been denied an audible voice (Hamilton 2022). This positioning is racist (Yuval-Davis 1994) as it suggests that outside of their cultural confines, there is a better, more âliberalâ and esteemed culture that one should embrace and assimilate to, and where enlightenment can be assured (Haw 1998).
Following Collins and Bilge (2016) this article argues that BIP heritage womenâs lives need to be understood in the context of intersectional complexity, where various influences, factors and power dynamics impact on their lives. Indeed, as Collins and Bilge (2016, 29) argue, âintersectionality itself is a way of understanding and analysing the complexity in the worldâ and this recognises that lives are co-constructed in complex ways, and subject to numerous influences. Furthermore, the generation of agency is complex, occurring both through enabling situations, as well as situations of constraint. Knowledge generation can be a powerful way for BIP heritage women in the study to challenge the expectations and stereotypes that they encounter. Indeed, the social discourse about British BIP heritage women is multifarious and often played out through their bodies and their rights (Hamilton 2022). An example is the wearing of the hijab and the intricacies surrounding this. Some scholars argue that it is about the repression of Muslim women (Revell 2012), others state it is an external identifier of religious affiliation (Donnell 2009) and some suggest that many Muslim women actively choose to wear it as an external indicator of cultural belonging (Zaytoun and Ezekiel 2016). Further complexities arise from the gendered instigation of wearing this covering. Within this research, the women who wore a hijab did so at the behest of either a father or husband. This is tricky to raise because to do so can be implied to be culturally prejudiced or even Islamophobic (Najib and Hopkins 2019). Ismail (2020, 57) argues that BIP heritage womenâs bodies are âkeepers of collective honourâ. This collective honour is policed by the baradari (which in Urdu could be defined as community or brotherhood) who operate a system of cultural boundaries. Such surveillance can comprise of extended family, kinship networks and whole communities (Page and Yip 2012) and is not a strictly defined but this is experienced as a loose connection of networks, and is a shorthand way for those from BIP heritages to explain how they are interconnected with others of similar heritage, irrespective of where they live. They become active participants in each otherâs moral lives (Hamilton 2022), enacting forms of regulation.
Whilst BIP heritage women are not a homogeneous group, they share cultural identity because of their diasporic history and commonalities in how they navigate life within the omnipresent gaze of the baradari. As Ahmad (2001, 137) observes these âcultural, religious and personal identities ⦠operate in complex and sometimes contradictory waysâ. We further demonstrate how this community policing is voiced by the participants as âbeing goodâ or keeping the family honour intact. All thirty women acknowledged the notion of âbeing goodâ and how that impacted on and shaped their lives. Some of the participants used the term izzat to encapsulate âbeing goodâ. There was an intrinsic understanding that they as women had to know their limits and to understand that their behaviour was not just about them. Any reputational tarnish could not only make them unmarriageable, it would also impact on their family including any sisters. Being good was about ensuring that the baradari, which includes wider family, did not have cause to talk or point fingers; it was about being mindful of how their âgoodâ behaviour could protect their family.
The classroom is an important space where embodied behaviour is policed. Robinson and Jones Diaz (2006) note that teaching materials, teaching styles and the labels applied to children are often based on ethnicity. Mirza (2006) further suggests that educators filter children through a âeurocentricâ (Said 1978) driven process which assigns intelligence based on cultural markers and academic progression that can only occur by blending in or assimilating to the dominant white narrative. In other words, western discourse deems anything not European as being inferior. This negative stereotyping of children leads to a cycle of âtruismâ whereby poor expectations lead to poor outcomes (Macleod, Sharp, et al. 2015). This thus impacts on the self-belief of BIP heritage children, particularly for girls regarding what they are capable of. It also has a profound long reaching impact on their educational attainment. And is completely counter to the narrative that education is a mechanism for the development of agency (Biesta and Tedder 2006).
Intersectional complexity (Collins and Bilge 2016) helps inform how women navigated their lives and choices. Participants navigated different spaces, such as their family life; their communities; and educational domains. This navigation was influenced by intersecting social divisions, such as gender, socioeconomic status, caste, class, religion and race. And various factors influenced and informed each other so that there was an intricate interwoven intersecting tapestry of impact on the lives of the women, involving the navigation of space in relation to navigating various social divisions like gender. Such factors include agency or the âcapacity to act independently and influence their circumstancesâ (Eichsteller and Davis, 2022, 11). This was always seen within the sphere of their conduct in public reflecting on their family and their standing and much value was placed on outcomes for them by those who had a degree of influence such as parents, wider families, the baradari, educational professionals, and the participants themselves. Agency was impacted by what kinds of access participants were able to generate, with this precipitating feelings of inclusion and exclusion and even being denied entry into some spaces. But participants were able to productively use knowledge to implement strategies to benefit themselves. Therefore, to understand the complex social positioning of the participants, it is important to examine their experiences of their families and immediate communities, alongside the educational environment.
Overall, we will argue that izzat is a powerful mechanism that impacts the behaviour and choices of participants. This article will next move to conceptualise izzat, followed by detailing the projectâs methodology. Following this, we will analyse participantsâ experience to highlight how parental attitudes, access to, and knowledge of, education was always impacted by the baradari and izzat was utilised both negatively and positively. We offer positive applications of izzat where some have used izzat productively as a form of agency. We show the intricate relationship between izzat and religion. Finally, we explore how educational settings can sometimes reproduce the regulations of izzat, impacting oneâs belonging within educational spaces, as well as educational outcomes.1
2 Conceptualising Izzat
Izzat is an Urdu word that refers to respect and reputation (Virdi 2013) by some South Asian communities whilst others use the terms âlojjaâ, and âsharamâ to epitomise âgood conductâ, and âmodestyâ (Siddiqi 2005, 291). Izzat has also been presented as âhonourâ (Wilson 1978). Toor (2009, 242) advises that notions of âhonourâ and âshameâ are firmly ensconced within BIP societies âas mechanisms of social controlâ, and âto govern morality and to ensure the continuance of cultural and social conformityâ through familial pressure (Mansoor 2015). Virdi (2013, 111) suggests âhonour and shame are culturally constructed, defined and demonstrated in all societies to varying degreesâ, often creating a âmoral fabricâ that âaccompan[ies] migrants as cultural and legal baggageâ in order to regulate behaviour. Moreover, through the migratory process, the inequalities of caste, gender and class are strengthened and so magnifying the impact of caste and class on womenâs experience of izzat (Bastia 2013). Izzat therefore has various meanings. Key to its definition is that it operates as a form of regulation, and for the womenâs lives discussed in this article, it is routed through the omnipresent gaze of the baradari. It can both influence and inform on many fronts including sexuality, moralistic values, and social interactions (Gunasinghe, Hatch, et al. 2018). Hamilton (2022, 87) argues that izzat allows for women to âbecome the personification of male moral codesâ and for boundaries to be drawn up to indicate the essence of what it means to be a âgoodâ woman and impacts the development and enhancement of agency in complex and nuanced ways.
BIP women are often taught a code of conduct which dictates her embodied behaviour, and to follow the will or leadership of âpita, pati, putraâ (father, husband, sons) from an early age (Haq 2013, 173). A womenâs personal desires are often sacrificed to prioritise family izzat (Takhar 2005). As Gill (2008, 247) notes âfamily honour must be preserved at all costs: family interests take precedence over individual interestsâ, and a woman can âsingularly jeopardize the standing and fortunesâ (Bhardwaj 2001, 56) of her immediate and extended family (Takhar 2005). Women who digress or are perceived to have digressed can be punished by male family members (Bhanbhro 2020). By controlling the âpurityâ of the women in his family by âregulation of ⦠independence and freedom of movementâ (Dyer 2015, 10) men retain izzat within the baradari. Bhardwaj (2001, 56) states that women are âsilence[d] if they seek support or challenge such oppressionsâ as that brings âfurther shame and dishonour to the family and communityâ. Furthermore, the baradari is the âcommunity gazeâ which in turn polices and reinforces this polarised value system, one which, as Bhardwaj (2001, 56) notes, has the âpower to include and ostracizeâ. Women are thus âsymbolic border guardsâ, serving as âembodiments of the collectivity, while at the same time being its cultural reproducersâ (Yuval-Davis 1997, 23). Non-compliance to normative gendered norms can in certain instances lead to violent repercussions (Shahani 2013). While izzat is typically associated with ethnic minority communities, âsociologically, the concept of honour affects all societies, classes and religionsâ (Idriss 2011, 4). In this study, the repercussions of izzat were not specific to any one religion but were demonstrated across the narratives of all thirty women participants in this research.
3 Methodology
The data collection was conducted by Hamilton. After ethical clearance by the University of Portsmouth, over the course of eighteen months, thirty British BIP (ten Bangladeshi, ten Indian, ten Pakistani) heritage women from the south of England were recruited through snowballing via a few key contacts. Through these contacts, Hamilton was put in touch with others who were keen to talk to her. Whilst snowball sampling does not allow for a representative sample, it allows for rich participant accounts to be generated. The age range of the women was nineteen to eighty-five, and all had experienced some compulsory schooling (at least one academic year) within the U.K. This meant that they were in the U.K. from at least the age of fifteen, however, the majority were born in the U.K. (nineteen second generation, and one third generation) or arrived before their tenth birthday (ten first generation). Nineteen were Muslim, six Sikh, three Christian, and two Hindu. There were three unpaid home-based carers, eight undergraduates, four postgraduates, two self-employed, and thirteen employed professionals. The findings arise from the womenâs experiences of the educational system including compulsory schooling in England.
A list of topics was shared, and after giving informed consent, participants steered in-depth discussions with Hamilton that were digitally recorded. Adopting a woman-centred approach (Hanmer and Statham 1999), the women recounted stories and experiences without any pressure to expand points unless they indicated they were happy to do so (Bungay, Johnson, et al. 2009). This allowed for their differences and unique perspectives to become clearer and give their voices greater clarity. It should be noted that research does not take place within a vacuum (White 2009), and the researcher needs to consider their own positioning (Ackerley and True 2010). As a Sikh, Indian heritage woman, Hamilton believed she had insider status (Ganga and Scott 2006), however, the complexities around insider/ outsider positioning (Milligan 2016) soon became apparent. It was not a fixed status, and she experienced a flexible identity (moving to and from between âinâ and âoutâ) dependent on which aspects of her identity were being addressed. The only fixed insider position was when âour peopleâ came up as a topic and white people were positioned as outsiders.
At the point of transcribing, all data was anonymised and pseudonyms employed. Thematic analysis was used to identify, interpret and make sense of patterns of reoccurring words and phrases within the data (Braun and Clarke 2006). Equally, the usage of an intersectional lens allowed for a consideration of the role that inequity in âpower, status, privilege and optionsâ (Hanmer and Statham 1999, 138) plays in womenâs agency. Olive (2011, 19) notes that intersectionality is âa systematic way of examining and deconstruct[ing] the interrelations among gender, sex, race, class, ethnicity and sexualityâ. Khambhaita (2014, 1023) notes that intersectionality is a successful mechanism to consider and also scrutinise âmultiple positioningâ. Therefore, this approach enabled the contradictions, complexities, and nuances of how they negotiated the systems and barriers to be elicited.
4 Belonging and Identity under the Watchful Gaze
Sociologists highlight that identity is fluid and socially constructed; identities are mediated in various contexts, and this challenges interpretations which emphasise a core or fixed self (Lawler 2008). As Page and Shipley (2020) articulate, there are at least four ways of interpreting identity in relation to religion. Here we prioritise the performative aspect of identity, utilising Mahmood (2005). Mahmoodâs (2005) contention is that secular European feminists have treated religion as a wholly negative aspect to womenâs identities, as one that curtails agency. Mahmood (2005) understands this as a gross simplification. She emphasises agency within religiously motivated contexts as a form of performing piety, so that agentic ends can be interpreted even in situations where agency appears constrained. In this way, understanding how participants navigated identity needs to be a careful examination to understand the complex role that religion plays.
In line with Mahmood (2005), the ways that participants understood their identities was complex and shifted. How they chose to self-identify or represent themselves was based on how they felt they had been externally labelled, linking with Mirzaâs concept of embodied intersectionality. For example, the women within this research used interchangeably labels such as âAsian cultureâ and âAsianâ, âBangladeshiâ, âIndianâ, âPakistaniâ, âEnglishâ, or âBritishâ. Additionally, some of the women voiced that they identified themselves based on the label they felt they have been given. For example, Prem said: âIâm British Asian, as they (the wider establishment) like to term meâ, but actually self-identifying as: âBritish. Full stopâ. For Prem, the attitude of those in power did not impact on her sense of identity; she was secure in the knowledge that she was British. This security did not extend to all the women. Roseen worried that her hijab would prevent people from seeing her, she called it âa fearâ because she dressed âlike Iâm Bengaliâ. Firoja was positioned by both the baradari and ânon-Asian peopleâ. She says:
My appearance is seen to be quite unusual, you know Iâve got short hair, Iâve got tattoos, I have a piercingâyou know those sorts of things kind of confuse Asian people, but also it confuses non-Asian people you know, they donât get it.
By using the word âunusualâ Firoja is also viewing herself through both lenses. These participants articulate Mirzaâs (2013) concept of âembodied intersectionalityâ, where oneâs embodiment is read through a dominant cultural lens, or gaze. These participants simultaneously were interpreting their own identities in relation to the dominant constructions imposed on them by others, this being heavily determined by broader stereotypes. Ultimately, the intersections between culture, structure and agency cannot be ignored (Brah 1996). They are always in motion, and identity is constructed and mediated through these processes.
As these accounts suggest, negotiating belonging is highly complex. Belonging, and being allowed to belong, is permeated by so many factors external to the individual such as family, teachers, society, the media and the state, indicating intersectional complexity (Collins and Bilge 2016). Labels utilised to categorise people are often forged from a colonial inheritance that sought to divide people, along the premise of those who belong and those who do not (Wade 2014). Tomlinson (2014, 104) highlights that the discussion of whether it is possible to be British and something else has had âcultural and political resistance by the white majorityâ especially within education. For decades, whilst the rhetoric might have changed from âintegrateâ, to âassimilateâ, to âmulticulturalismâ, as Yuval-Davis (2011, 2) suggests those that do not âbelongâ are frequently classified along âethnic, cultural, and religiousâ lines as well as âbetween societies and statesâ.
A number of the women talked about how their behaviour was monitored and this impacted on the development of their autonomy. Taani framed this as being about social standing and the reputation of her family: âMy dad is quite known in the community so we know we have to behave in a certain wayâ. Premâs account demonstrates most clearly the difference in power dynamics and how sometimes the women policed themselves. She said:
I wasnât a bad girl, I didnât do anything bad. I canât do anything stupid in [home town] because Iâve got older brothers, theyâre going to go mental, itâs not going to look good on them, itâs not going to look good on my parents.
Such community surveillance in the context of the baradari enacted certain responsibilities. For example, Palki said âI always knew what my responsibilities were from a young ageâ; or reputation as in the case of Randeep who noted âthereâs Asians everywhere and everyone knows each other and it wouldnât be very good for the family reputation â¦.â. It was even presented as trust as in Zahraâs case where she said: âI donât really care about the izzat thing, ⦠I know at the back of my mind that really Iâm a good child and I donât do anything bad ⦠and theyâve got nothing to worry aboutâ. The continual surveillance was palpable, and the consequences of the baradariâs policing of reputation and behaviours was felt significantly by young women embarking on higher education. Whilst for many young students, university offers the promise of new-found freedoms, for BIP women there remained an almost omnipresent assumption of the baradari defining and regulating correct boundaries of âgoodâ or âtrustedâ behaviours. Jeevan talked about how her mother said to her just before she went to university: âI want you to be a good girl and just remember that your familyâs reputation is at stake ⦠People will judge us by the way you behave. Our baradari are everywhereâ.
4.1 Access, Attitude, Knowledge and the Creating of Agency
Educational journeys were a significant part of participantsâ biographies and it is important to map, firstly, parentsâ attitudes to education, followed by how participants experienced educational spaces. Parental attitudes towards, and knowledge of, education differed depending on social class, generational knowledge, country of origin and their own levels of literacy. The intersectional dynamics of power and access to education were therefore palpable, with working class participants having fewer resources to work with. Participants whose parents were first generation, working class and Pakistani or Bangladeshi heritage, reflected that their educational journeys had been limited by their parents. This was presented in a range of ways including not allowing girls to participate in extra curricula activities or further/ higher education. Radwa said, âMy parents didnât value education, they didnât realise how important it was ⦠my dad came here with very little educationâ. This was also evidenced by Aadhya: â[Back then] they didnât care whether you had an education or not. Because in our culture, especially when we were younger when we were growing up, itâs almost like it didnât matter if the daughters had an educationâ. This also highlights the gendered and classed intersections, for it was girlsâ education that was specifically curtailed in these instances. For some of the women, parents who had a lack of knowledge of the system meant deferring all matters related to education to the school. This manifested in various ways, including not knowing how to support their childâs educational journey, as in Jeevanâs case: âMy parents struggled to help me through school, when I used to come home, they couldnât really help me because they didnât really understand themselvesâ.
The findings highlighted that primary education was often undertaken at a local co-educational school with girls and boys learning together, but secondary education was often gendered, with the choice of single-sex schools sometimes being prioritised by parents, over and above the preference for religious schools. This finding echoed that of Shah and Iqbal (2011) who argued that the purity of daughters, and the izzat of the family, was protected through attending single-sex schools. Regarding university, there was a clear ethnicity divide between the women when it came to university choices. Whilst the Bengali and Pakistani heritage women attended local universities, the Indian heritage women were enabled to move away from home. For the Bengali heritage and Pakistani heritage women who did attend university, there was a parental reluctance to allow their daughters to move away from home. Bhopal (2016) highlights that more students from ethnic minority backgrounds âchoseâ to attend a university in their locality rather than an âeliteâ one; an exception to this is those who live in London. Nargis utilised her knowledge of the education system to create agency for her daughters to make the best university choices, despite pressure from the baradari through verbal comments she received to reconsider her choice: âPeople said why are you letting your girls go away to university; ⦠They are good girls; I have instructed them in our cultureâ.
Nargis was not the only participant to use first-hand experience of the education system to improve outcomes. Raheenaâs older sister had undergone a traumatic divorce and as a result was experiencing ostracisation from the community through lack of interaction and acceptance. For Raheena that reinforced the need to build agency not just for herself but also for her younger sister, through education:
Things were really tough, ⦠and that made me focus in my studies even more because I didnât want that for myself and I most certainly didnât want that for [younger sister] either. So, it was very much heads down in the books, study as much possible and kind of get myself, get ourselves, out of this hole surrounded by all these communities ⦠curtain twitching neighbours.
Noor also used her âinsiderâ lived knowledge of the education system to make sure that her children had better experiences than she did of the education system. She moved to another area to access a âbetterâ school and engaged private tutors to support learning. Noor used her knowledge to employ middle class tactics to access education (Bhopal 2011).
Indeed, social class had a significant impact on the extent to which opportunities were constrained. For example, Palki said, âI didnât even know what a Russell Group university ⦠was ⦠[it was] terminology that was never used where I was fromâ. This was also true for Jaanki who said:
My mum and dad, they didnât have much knowledge about Russell Group universities, and nor did I ⦠I donât think it was their fault though because they werenât educated about it. And the schoolâs sixth form, the careers advisors, should have told them about it.
Lack of knowledge here prevented the gaining of social and cultural capital which can be said to be the attitudes, behaviours, knowledge or skills of those who have the dominant positions in society (Stopforth and Gayle 2022). Subject choices made a difference to how much, if any, izzat was gained. Jaanki talks about how her parents were happy that she was doing further study, but the extended family were not because she was not doing âhigh statusâ A levels:
They didnât see things like child development as good because they thought those sort of subjects are about wiping bums ⦠and government and politics they said unless youâre going to become Prime Minister then thereâs no point ⦠and um they said but at least you didnât choose art because then we would have been devastated.
The knowledge utilised for this thinking is based upon what is going to pay most dividends in terms of how community members, including the baradari, will view outcomes, thereby invoking community surveillance.
4.2 Positive Applications of Izzat
Most of the participants, and their families, saw education, in a suitable field, as a positive, as demonstrating success (often through the completion of a degree) and could therefore be used to build âcapitalâ amongst the baradari. This highlights the changing nature of izzat, whereby historically education was often positioned in more negative terms. Several participants referred to the âgraduation wallâ found in most south Asian homes: an external indicator of how âeducatedâ a family is. This is a positive aspect of izzat, because having multiple photos on that wall meant a growth in your family status in the eyes of the baradari and so will also impact positively on marriage prospects, particularly if the education is within suitably desirable professions which as Randeep notes were âdoctor/lawyer/accountant ⦠if you werenât one of those, you werenât good enoughâ. Structurally, for those participants from poorer backgrounds, their working-class identities are intersecting with other factors such as racism, religion and gender as evidenced by Jaanki, who voiced how access to education enabled agency through knowledge and ultimately provided economic security:
Education is the most important thing, you know like the thing they say, knowledge is power. I donât mean like English, maths, Science as separates, I donât mean like knowing Pythagoras â¦, but like a way of getting a better job. Itâs a way to get out of poverty.
This highlights the direct relationship between knowledge (cultural capital) accrued through education and the acquisition of economic capital reflects wider literature on capitals and economies (for example, Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992) and educational economies for women from ethnic minority backgrounds in particular (Bhopal 2011). The tendency for the women to note how such economic opportunities were however constrained or framed within social boundaries dictated by izzat and policed by the baradari demonstrates how socially constructed power relations were a constant constraint for BIP women, and emphasises the complex intersectional dynamics in operation (Collins and Bilge 2016). For many others parental attitudes towards education was more subtly used as a mechanism to accrue more izzat and kudos in the eyes of the baradari. For example, Meghâs father said to her, âIâm letting you go to university; you better do wellâbecause then I can tell people.â Samira also pointed out the positive impact of education on the izzat of the family: âParents ⦠look âgoodâ in front of family and friendsâ. One of the most interesting aspects of educational success was the ability for it to provide a better future by attracting a spouse with higher earning potential or by making the woman more âappealingâ by effectively becoming an element of a âdowryâ which is a gift often given at the point of marriage (Tomalin 2009). As Tarsem says: âHaving an Education [a degree] means that you can pick who you want to marry within an arranged marriageâ. Whilst having a degree was seen as good, there was also a mindfulness about becoming âtooâ educated in case you struggled to find a spouse who was more educated than you. Hafsa talked about her friend who was a medical registrar who found it âhard to find a partner because she is so educatedâ. She goes on to say that by being less educated than his wife, a man is âkind of crushedâ. Essentially meaning that his izzat, or worth in the eyes of the baradari, is at risk as his wife is more educated than him, âyou donât want to be so much educated that ⦠you [struggle] ⦠to get someone at that levelâ. This indicates the differential gendered expectations of men and women, and the inference that men should educationally outperform their (future) wives.
4.3 Izzat and Religion
Out of the thirty women interviewed, twenty-five voiced the importance of religion within their lives in constructing their identity. Younger participants expressed a desire to examine and understand their religious heritage. For Palki this meant that she felt able to question her father:
Iâve studied Islam extensively ⦠I did a GCSE in it, I got an A* in it ⦠I understood it ⦠My dad would go and play the lottery and then say you shouldnât gamble ⦠Iâd challenge him and say well playing the lottery is gambling, so how can you be a good Muslim if you do that? And then heâll just say your mumâs raised you wrong ⦠he didnât like to be challenged by us girls.
Through this Palki has confronted the implicit gendered expectations of izzat, and her knowledge of religion gave her a form of authority to be able to challenge these parameters and gendered norms of izzat. However, her father can blame her mother for not having enforced those expectations upon their daughters, thus reinforcing patriarchal deference to his authority. This demonstrates the complex relationship between izzat and religion, and highlights Mahmoodâs (2005) contention regarding complex identity navigation in relation to agency. Religious aptitude is used by Palki to challenge her father, but her father in turn resists this, insisting upon an unquestioned loyalty to his paternal authority. Mahmood emphasises the role that patriarchal norms can play in generating both agency and constraint; Palkiâs use of religious knowledge was only partially successful in this case, as her knowledge was deemed subordinate to the actions of her father, given the power paternal authority invoked.
Many BIP heritage elders migrated to the UK from working-class rural settings, where limited literacy skills meant religion was narrated by male village elders through oral traditions meshed within cultural doctrines. In contrast subsequent generations have more education and readily accessed information which in turn allows for the exploration and understanding of the cornerstones of âtheirâ religion than their parents (Hamilton 2022).
Izzat intersected with religion in various ways. For example, five of the women (two Muslim, two Sikh, one Hindu) had married white (Christian) men. For the two Muslim women, the only way to retain izzat amongst the baradari, was for the partners to convert to Islam. Palki stressed that it was not for religious reasons but for her widowed mum to retain izzat within the baradari: âIf someone asks then my mum can say ⦠Palki is married, she married to a guy that converted, so thereâs no embarrassment to my mumâ. The impact of izzat on the non-Muslim women was more nuanced. These women talked of not being acknowledged in the street or being ostracised from religious events where baradari members would be in attendance. For Tej this manifested as a lack of interest in her new-born baby within her wider family and community, with the most hurtful event being an absence of:
The baby functions and stuff for my daughter because she wasnât all Indian ⦠my parents, and brother never came with the stuff they are supposed to bring. I didnât say anything. It was my own fault ⦠choice to marry a white guy.
Tej acknowledges that by marrying out, she is no longer entitled to the ceremonies that would occur to welcome a child into the culture. This is further reinforced by community censorship through not inviting her to events. This demonstrates that these negotiations are complex and are hinged on multiple intersectional factors including how couplehood conventions are interpreted along racialised and religious grounds, invoking particular tensions (Arweck 2022).
4.4 Extending Izzat Norms into Educational Settings
Teachersâ attitudes also impacted the navigation of izzat, and there were examples of complicity in perpetuating racism by creating racial stereotypes and thus creating inequity (Gillborn 2005). An example of this is how Karjol was stereotyped through the perceived community gaze of the baradari, which her white headteacher reinforced in his disciplining of her, when she was misbehaving. He said to her: âwhat would your father say? I know you lot have strict valuesâ. This homogenising of experience is unhelpful because it not only groups individual experiences as a collective but also denotes young people born and brought up in Britain as outsiders. Furthermore, the headteacher demonstrates how izzat is used to police BIP heritage women beyond the boundaries of their communities.
As well as negotiating agency within the confines of izzat and the watchful presence of the baradari, the women often had to work at finding a space within the educational settings they were in. Randeep talked about how she was placed within a predominantly white school by her brother [act in loco parentis] that was a significant distance from her home. Alongside the feeling that she did not belong, Randeep also articulated being rendered invisible by her teachers: âI never felt comfortable in that school, up until when I left ⦠They [the teachers] didnât notice, they werenât bothered ⦠they didnât have a clue what we were, whether we were feeling uncomfortableâ. Sadia encountered the opposite issue of being hypervisible in a predominantly white secondary school was problematic as a sole hijabi girl and made her feel different:
Secondary was hard ⦠I made new friends but none of them wore a headscarf. So, I was the only person wearing a headscarf, and everyone in the year group used to be like, how come you wear it and your friends donât wear it ⦠One of my friends kind of got into an argument with me and was like, look you wear a scarf. People are making comments about us. Maybe you should take it off ⦠and I felt really upset. I was like, listen this is my religion, Iâm not going to stop because of you.
Thus, wearing a hijab had a twofold impact on Sadiaâs wellbeing. Not only was she seen as different by the wider school community, she was also ostracised by others who shared her heritage but who did not want to draw attention to themselves. The broader cultural connotations of the hijab rendered Sadia as hypervisible, while Randeep was invisibilised. Both Randeep and Sadia were racialised but Randeepâs invisibilisation can be linked to broader discourses associating her with perceived docility and passiveness regarding how her gender and ethnicity were conceived. Meanwhile, Sadiaâs visible articulation of religious identity through the hijab meant that ethnicity and religion were combined to produce different effects. It is important to note that a similar logic underpins both experiences, even though the outcomes differ, for both are premised on stereotyped assumptions about how certain bodies are interpreted in broader cultural discourses, whether that be through the idea of the âdangerous Muslimâ (Hussein 2023) or the âdocileâ racially minoritised woman (Hussein 2023). This again exemplifies Mirzaâs (2013) concept of embodied intersectionality, where participants were governed in different ways in different contexts, with the commonality being that these womenâs experiences were linked to how bodies are read by others; religious identity could entail very different impacts for participants. Radwa felt that her secondary school was inherently racist. She said:
I was in the bottom set for all my groups. I feel itâs racism in that system. Cos most of the girls in the lower sets were Asians, so they couldnât do well you know, only a few were at the top set.
Radwa felt a ceiling had been placed on her abilities. According to Hallan and Parsons (2013) higher ability groups often get better qualified staff. Cognitive Abilities Tests and Standard Assessment Tests are used routinely to determine pupilsâ abilities, and for placement into sets and streams. Whilst tests are supposedly a tool for personalised learning and are meant to be used to allow regular movement between sets, research suggests the reality is that there is little movement once particular groupings have been established (Hallam and Parsons 2013). children who come into the educational system without English or learning readiness, this is particularly detrimental.
There is a growing body of literature which notes that self-worth and esteem can be important indicators when considering academic outcomes (Caprara, Vecchione, et al. 2011). For several participants, the idea of educational perseverance was instilled by their parents. To succeed is important because not only will the baradari be impressed with the longer-term outcomes but it also breeds determination to continue to succeed. Rather than being given the chances to practice and improve, the participants suggest that educational professionals could limit ambition, place ceilings and barriers. Janki notes: âThey try and discourage you from the higher professions, you know like Doctors, Lawyers, and Accountants because you didnât get the right grades first time round. But everyone can improveâ. A mismatch between the pupilâs self-belief and the teacherâs belief in what that pupil can achieve places limits on potential and ambition (Hallam and Parsons 2013). Prem said that the teachers âwere rubbish. They said I shouldnât [try to become a solicitor] because it was so competitive and I wonât be able to do itâ. For Sabira a positive mindset developed with parental support enabled her to succeed:
They [the staff at her college] wouldnât encourage you to be a doctor or anything like that; they thought it was out of your reach ⦠I got Fs the first time. I said to them that I was going to resit, get Cs and then get my A levels. They said âyou canât jump from an F to a Câ, but I said âI can [emphasises firmly] do anythingâ. None of them ever encouraged me to do it. Anyone else would have been discouraged.
It should be acknowledged that the professionals are themselves working in a punitive system that places ceilings and readily labels failure through constant surveillance and scrutiny in the form of inspections and assessments. Thus, for many teachers they have no option but to adopt a more ârealisticâ approach. Whilst the school may not believe in the perseverance mantra, the strength of the parental need to create status through the accumulation of izzat via their childâs academic attainment can be a positive beneficial force.
5 Conclusions
This article, through an intersectional approach, and particularly using the ideas of âintersectional complexityâ (Collins and Bilge 2016), and âembodied intersectionalityâ (Mirza 2013), has shown how women from BIP heritages reflect on their marginalisation. Social class, religion, ethnicity, and gender all intersect to produce certain disadvantages that are routed through the education system. Greater resource in one area (such as being middle class) can profoundly impact their options in life (for example, enabling access to more elite universities). The participantsâ intersectional positioning was embodied. As Mirza (2013) emphasises, embodied intersectionality underscores how bodies are read in dominant discursive constructions, and for BIP women, this means that their identities are subject to stereotype. Yet this could result in different outcomes, emphasising the complexity and differentiation through BIP womenâs experience. Wearing the hijab significantly impacted how their embodiment was read and brought in different sets of meanings.
Religion was seen as an important part of heritage and identity and for some of the Muslim women this meant wearing a hijab but as we have outlined, participants experienced the problematisation of certain religious markers, particularly the hijab, meaning some participants experienced intersectional hostility, rooted in both ethnicity and religion. All of the women within this research who wore a hijab noted that it was a male family member who had suggested that they do so. Yet some of the women stressed that wearing a covering gave them a sense of self and a greater connectivity to their religion but also a security of knowing who they were. This links with Mahmoodâs (2005) performing piety, and the opportunities that religious dimensions offer to enhance certain forms of agency; in this case, as a challenge to racism and negativity. This gave them the strength to feel protected, in the face of overt racism both within their schooling and also within the community in which they lived, even at the same time that religious identification could also fuel negativity, such that participants experienced both racism and religious hostility.
Izzat played a significant role in womenâs embodied regulation. Many of the women discussed âbeing goodâ and this referred to an implicit expected code of conduct for women to function within. Adhering to this enabled protection from âshameâ within the wider baradari for their family. The women were told that their behaviour would have a direct reflection on the reputation and social standing of their family. Girls could participate in activities, but it was always within limits and always under the watchful âprotectionâ of male family members and the extended baradari. Izzat not only impacted on the women by ensuring they were âbeing goodâ, it also resulted in choices they were allowed to make with regards to education, specifically subject choices, and institutions attended. Yet izzat is complex and can also offer opportunities for women, evidenced by the competition created within the baradari to have the best âgraduation wallâ and also by opening up the access to the language and knowledge of how the education system works. Women could also become âtooâ educated and therefore no longer seen as desirable to marry since they may âcrushâ their partnerâs status within the baradari. We have further evidenced how educational professionals can sometimes invoke izzat-based regulations within the classroom, thus curtailing aspiration. One of the key complexities of this research was to ensure that stereotyping of these women and the labels given to them (such as âdocileâ) were identified but not given further credence, whilst at the same time holding a mirror to demonstrate how they live within the complexities of izzat.
Many of these women, especially those with few educational credentials, are limited in the spaces that they are âallowedâ to occupy. Social class therefore has a significant impact on opportunities, and this intersected with gendered expectations as well as racist discourse (Hall 1997). Participants were therefore navigating a complex terrain and doing their best to accrue value in the various spaces that were significant to their lives. Education was formative here but was also the space where they could be othered because of their religious and ethnic identities.
What this article adds to an analysis of intersectional complexity and embodied intersectionality, then, is how izzat plays a significant role in how BIP women navigate their educational journeys. Izzat is highly complex and the function it performs can shift over time. But in whatever form it takes, the notion of community surveillance and embodied regulation is persistent, so that BIP heritage women end up walking a tightrope between the policing gaze of the community baradari and the expectations (or lack of expectation) of the education system.
Hamilton collected the data and crafted the article; Pilcher and Page supported the analysis and theoretical development and editing.
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