“I was told to ‘go back to my country p*** scum’ outside Hive.”
As she stands in the kitchen drying a plate, my friend shares this racist encounter with surprising calmness. The stark contrast between her tone and the gravity of her experience underscores the pervasive prejudice that lingers in both university life and wider society.
Should the University of Edinburgh’s Equality, Diversity, and Inclusivity (EDI) report evaluate us now, we would appear as indistinguishable data points: two British, fourth-year students, subsumed under the category of “BAME” (Black, Asian, and Minority Ethnic). Yet, in that moment, I am acutely aware that our lived experiences as ethnic minority students differ significantly.
The Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities has criticised the term “BAME” for being too blunt of an instrument to capture the complex realities of ethnic diversity. This critique echoes in the stories of ethnic minority students I’ve spoken to—ranging from discomfort at pub socials, where cultural values clash with university norms, to being mocked for their accents or exoticized for their appearance. Such narratives underscore the intricate and often fraught interactions between racial identities and university life.
Yet, the university of Edinburgh continues to employ the term “BAME” in reports, adhering to practices of the Higher Education Statistics Agency (HESA). The UK’s public sector information website, GOV.UK, emphasises that such broad labels “mask disparities between different ethnic groups and create misleading interpretations of data.” A glaring example is the 2024 EDI report, which evaluates the attainment gap for first-class and upper second-class degrees using only two ethnic categories—“BAME” and “White.”
While the report distinguishes between UK and non-UK domiciled “BAME” students, it continues to mask the disparities between ethnicities within the broader “BAME” label. For instance, HESA 2022/2023 data reveals that 66.7% of UK-domiciled white students achieved a 1st or 2:1 at Scottish universities, compared to 56.1% for Asian students and 34% for black students. By treating ethnic minority students as a monolithic group, the University may struggle to address the unique academic and social barriers causing such disparities within and between ethnic groups.
Beyond data, the reductive nature of this grouping can be seen in the interactions between the students and the University of Edinburgh’s ongoing efforts to decolonise its curriculum.
“My lecturers are really open-minded when it comes to me or my peers expressing opinions backed by cultural beliefs” says Anoop, a second-year biology student. Several humanities students echoed this positive sentiment, pointing to post-colonial and feminist modules that integrate alternative perspectives.
However, others encounter more challenging dynamics. One student felt uneasy about an assignment proposing a colonial plan, while another experienced discomfort when class discussions on international security veered into racial stereotyping. Such varied accounts illustrate how assumptions of a hegemonic minority perspective can flatten the complexity of academic experiences, making it harder to gauge the University’s success in its commitment to “rework the current pedagogy”.
Seminar dynamics reveal a broader issue with the term “BAME”: its tendency to frame ethnic minority experiences solely as oppositional to white ones.
“Sometimes people feel like you’re the only person who has the right to speak on the perspective of the global south.” Thulsa, an international student of Maldivian heritage, reflects on the unspoken pressure to serve as the “representative voice” even when the conversation is not related to her South Asian background. This expectation places a dual burden on minority students, who are often tasked with navigating their education while simultaneously defending or explaining their ethnic identity.
Such reductive framing can also stifle meaningful dialogue. Thulsa observes that non-minority students often remain silent, wary of overstepping. She emphasises the crucial difference between “speaking over someone and elevating minority voices,” and advocates for open, nuanced conversations to challenge generalisations.
The debate over the future of the term “BAME” continues, with some students arguing that retiring the label could promote a more inclusive university environment. “When you’re trying to understand, facilitate or accommodate for [such different] experiences, you can’t just do it with one word.” Another acknowledged the term’s convenience for data collection but criticised it as the bare minimum for fostering real inclusivity.
Yet, as my friend asks: “how much of this is on the university, and how much is on society as a whole?” She is uncertain whether a change in institutional terminology would have realistically altered her experience outside Hive that night. Another student questions whether any label can ever truly capture the breadth of individual experiences.
Regardless of where one stands on this debate, these stories underscore the importance of language. It shapes how we identify ourselves, how others perceive us, and how institutions, like the University of Edinburgh, develop inclusion policies. The University has acknowledged that more work is needed to address the attainment gap, including a commitment to “review and update our use of terminology and definitions.” The Press Office also pointed to initiatives like the Race Equality and Anti-Racist (REAR) Action Plan and membership in the Race Equality Charter. As these efforts unfold, it may be time to move beyond labels that limit, and embrace language that better reflects the rich diversity within our student body.
“McEwan Hall, University of Edinburgh – Welcome Week 2017” by Stinglehammer is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.