This is blog is written by Anjana Khatwa. Anjana is an Earth scientist, presenter and learning specialist helping audiences of all ages and backgrounds engage with fascinating stories about rocks, fossils and landforms. Connect with Anjana on Twitter and Instagram on @jurassicg1rl or check out her YouTube channel.
Can a rock change the course of your life? Well, if you listen to my story, that’s precisely what happened to me.
Since I was about 8 years old, I knew that I wanted to be a scientist; an astronaut working for NASA to be exact. But as far as I could see, there were not very many Asian-looking people on rockets and space shuttles going up into space. Still, this did not put me off; it made me want that to achieve that dream even more. But when I was about 12 years old my entire ambition to explore the solar system was literally rocked. I was on holiday with my family in Kenya (we are East African Asians) and we had stopped at the Shetani lava field on our way to Mombasa from Nairobi. As I walked over the sharp, craggy rocks in my soft soled plimsolls, the horrific thought struck me that that if this was once a heaving mass of molten rock, my feet and legs would have melted into it. From that moment on, I knew that this was what I wanted to do- to study these extraordinary stories that shaped our landscapes and told a story of the origins of our Earth.
Anjana at 12 years old on a visit to the Shetani Lava Field in Kenya with her family
But how can you attempt to move into a space where you cannot see yourself represented, let alone convince others that you belong there?
My journey to becoming an Earth Scientist was fraught with obstacles that would cause me to break from my family and culture, and would result in me becoming more and more isolated as a brown person in a white dominated space. In the beginning, my family couldn’t understand the relevance of why I wanted to study the geosciences. In 1993 when I began my degree in Earth Science, there were no role models in natural history that I could call on to help my family understand my passion for this subject. Simply put, it was a puzzling and bewildering choice that had no future or financial security. Speaking to other BIPOC (Black,Indigenous and People of Colour) who work in the geosciences I know I am not the only one to be faced with questions from family members about my professional choices.
But this cultural isolation is only half of the burden that many BIPOC carry on their shoulders as they venture courageously into spaces that do not truly reflect who they are. When I moved to Dorset to build an education programme for the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site in 2004, I did not appreciate the impact that my presence as a woman of colour would have on people and communities around me. Many were welcoming and made me feel at ease. Others I met tried to conceal a mixture of surprise or in some cases suspicion to see me in a space where I did not seem to belong. In the most extreme cases, I experienced physical and verbal abuse that reduced me to a speck of existence based on the colour of my skin. I was not only carrying the burden and sacrifice of being a minority in my professional career to champion the geosciences, but I was also socially and culturally isolated in a rural county that was predominantly white. I have heard others working in academia or other nature conservation organisations tell of similar and even worse reactions.
Over the course of 15 years I used my scientific expertise to develop learning content to inspire non-specialist audiences about the incredible geological stories of the Jurassic Coast. I used my cultural heritage to help audiences understand the value and context of the rocks showcased along this extraordinary coastline. The only outlet for my intense feelings of isolation as a BIPOC in a white, rural space was through arts projects specifically dedicated to showcasing my voice and experiences. I worked with Louisa Adjoa Parker, a Black poet and writer based in Dorset, on a variety of projects that captured my feelings and experiences of being a brown person in a white landscape. I was also a member of a Black Workers Group where I was able gain support and advice from other BIPOC which reduced my sense of isolation.
But even after all this time, my brown face and diverse voice was always an anomaly in the room; there simply was no-one else like me in the space that I occupied. In fact, this would later be identified in the DEFRA Protected Landscapes Review as a critical factor in the failure of mainly white organisations managing protected landscapes to attract BAME communities to their natural spaces. When only 2 out of 110 board level appointments (0.8% nationally) are BAME people, how can organisations lacking in diverse and inclusive leadership understand the needs and aspirations of a whole sector of society who are disengaged with nature? Translating that to an academic or industry sphere, how can (mostly white) senior leadership teams understand the needs and challenges of BIPOC if they do not make time to listen, learn and act upon what they hear? Even now as I write, I am watching a Youtube video of a young Black man describing his feelings of fear in the presence of white supremacists whilst he was conducting fieldwork in the US. BIPOC should not be fearful of their lives or careers whilst furthering our understanding of this science.
So, what can be done? Over the years, I have watched the growth of STEM programmes with interest, and have seen how they have helped more young women into science, maths and technology. I have often wondered when that revolution might happen for BIPOC and the sector I work in. When will I and others like me, stop feeling like the odd one out? When will we feel like we work in a safe space, where our experiences of racism are accepted by the white majority with empathy and understanding rather than defensiveness and hostility?
As we witness the international revolution that is Black Lives Matter and the powerful discourse surrounding Black experiences across all aspects of our society, it is time for all of us to stop and listen to those voices. To understand and empathise with the pain, the trauma and the injustice that Black people have experienced for generations and to recognise how this has manifested itself in systemic racism, disparity of achievement and representation. Now the time has come for this revolution. I call on you to arm yourselves with knowledge. Educate yourselves and through gaining awareness of your own privilege; be an activist for others by creating meaningful change in our sector.
So, coming back to whether a rock can change the course of a life, ultimately for me it did. I embarked on a career that has rewarded me in ways that I never expected. But the greater change lies in the people who are passionate about the rocks paving a new way forward for greater equity in our science. I am willing to fight to make that happen and I hope you are too.