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Abstract

With the increasing diversification of higher education, the volume of targeted hostility that students are subjected to on the basis of their identities or perceived ‘differences’ has increased. Typically overlooked within conventional studies of hate crime, incidents of targeted victimisation within higher education are likely to mirror, if not exceed levels exhibited within broader society. Nonetheless, with an absence of robust research evidence exploring this phenomenon, institutions’ responses are often varied, ineffective, or absent. Through a mixed-methods approach involving a survey of 565 student respondents and 39 follow-up interviews undertaken at a UK-based university, this article discusses the nature, impact, and support needs of victims of targeted hostility within higher education. The article unpacks the commonalities and distinctions between victimisation encountered within a campus environment as compared with wider society. Drawing from this study’s research evidence, we argue that while the nature of victimisation within universities holds significant parallels to equivalent encounters within wider society, there are specific challenges within higher education, which can amplify the risk, fear, and impacts of targeted hostility. These challenges require responses within higher education, which acknowledge and prioritise evidence-based, victim-led interventions for prevention, reporting, and support.

Keywords

Hate crime targeted hostility higher education students university

Introduction

Recent decades have seen significant and sustained growth in student numbers at universities, with student bodies becoming increasingly diverse (HM Government, 2020). Engagement schemes such as widening participation, scholarships, and student loans have enabled a much broader cross-section of society to access higher education. As such, the representation of minoritised and historically disadvantaged groups continues to grow within all levels of university study. For example, Office for Students (OfS, 2022) data show that the numbers of undergraduate entrants in England and Wales describing themselves as Disabled (17.8%), religiously or spiritually active (53.8%), Asian (14%), Black (9.4%), and of mixed ethnicity (5.1%) are at their highest ever levels. Nonetheless, despite higher education having become a more diverse space, the needs and experiences of minoritised and historically disadvantaged groups within higher education remain under-explored. This is particularly evident within the context of targeted hostility directed towards members of these groups on the basis of their identity or perceived ‘difference’.

Just as it is within wider society, being subjected to targeted hostility is a very real risk for members of minoritised communities within higher education institutions. There are numerous factors, which underpin incidents of targeted hostility within both cyberspace and the physical world. Indeed, studies of online and interpersonal hate crime have illustrated that attacks against the ‘other’ feed off economic instability, political scaremongering, and media stereotyping to the point where violence can become a mechanism used to legitimise and reinforce power dynamics between dominant and subordinate groups and to create cultures of fear among those who are visibly or audibly ‘different’ (see, inter alia, Chakraborti and Garland, 2012; Perry, 2001; Williams, 2021). However, the ways in which hate incidents play out within higher education are commonly overlooked. In this context, the diversification of the student body within higher education has increased the opportunity for targeted hostility within a unique space that was historically not constructed with diversity in mind (Dyke and Tester, 2014). With perceptions of power, ‘otherness’, and perceived vulnerability all key factors within hate-based and identity-targeted offending, the increased numbers of new and different groups entering a once heterogeneous space can result in a backlash and amplification of prejudice (Perry, 2011).

Research into unacceptable behaviour in higher education has typically focused on sexual violence or a particular set of identity characteristics (see Humphreys and Towl, 2020; Universities UK (UUK), 2016, 2020). This article draws from a growing body of hate crime scholarship, which examines these behaviours through the lens of ‘difference’ and perceived vulnerability to understand the context of targeting in this space and as targeted hostility to include non-criminal incidents and give primacy to victims’ interpretations (Burch, 2021; Chakraborti and Garland, 2012; Colliver, 2021; Hardy and Chakraborti, 2019). Using this broader framework to acknowledge both the diverse range of victims affected by harassment in higher education and the diverse range of unacceptable behaviours which they are subjected to, this article highlights that experiences of victimisation are increasingly commonplace for university students. At the same time, institutional responses are often non-existent or at best, hesitant, for reasons including a legacy of denial about the salience of such issues in higher education; a fear of reputational damage which would deter future students and affect relationships with external stakeholders; and the continued ‘invisibility’ of hate in higher education settings. As a result, a comprehensive understanding of the nature, scale, and impact of this victimisation remains elusive, and cycles of prejudice continue. This article seeks to address an important gap through its analysis of incidents as experienced by students targeted on the basis of a diverse range of identity characteristics and other markers of ‘difference’. In doing so, it illustrates ways in which higher education institutions can dismantle cultures of denial, fear, and indifference, and move towards a more nuanced position, which is shaped by their students’ lived realities and expectations.

Context

Studies of hate crime have illustrated that there is no singular way in which experiences of targeted hostility are enacted or experienced. For example, victims commonly note that hate incidents take the form of ‘everyday’, ostensibly mundane acts of targeted hostility such as avoidance, persistent staring, verbal abuse and insensitive comments; incidents which may not be criminal acts in themselves and which, in isolation, can sound relatively insignificant to those unaffected, but when taken in the context of repeated, systemic, cumulative harassment can have profound impacts upon victims and their families (Hardy and Chakraborti, 2019).

Equally damaging impacts can arise from targeted hostility encountered away from physical spaces. The anonymity of the Internet, its temporal and geographical reach, the ease through which hateful content can be transmitted through text and images, and the lack of effective social media regulation are all contributory factors towards a cycle of victimisation, which is difficult to break in an age when online communication is entrenched, everyday and often necessary (Kilvington, 2020; Williams, 2021). The same is true of more explicit expressions of hate where incidents are known to cause (and reinforce) physical injury, community-level impacts and psychological harms including fear, anxiety, trauma, and a lack of belonging (Walters et al., 2020). To recognise levels of harm appropriately therefore, violence must be framed in a way which acknowledges the full continuum of hostile experiences which form the basis of victims’ lived realities. Through this lens, this article considers both subtler and overt expressions of hostility as forms of violence which generate harms.

While there is considerable variance in statutory guidance between countries (Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR), 2019), research shows that incidents of targeted hostility are commonly directly towards individuals or communities on the basis of their Disability, race, religion, sexual orientation, and transgender identity. This forms the basis of current hate crime policy within England and Wales, with the police and wider criminal justice system required to record and investigate expressions of hostility and prejudice directed towards those five monitored strands of hate crime (Crown Prosecution Service, 2023). However, other groups can also be subjected to such incidents on the basis of wider factors including their age, homelessness, sex worker status, and membership of an alternative subculture, to name some examples (Hardy and Chakraborti, 2019; Walters and Krasodomski-Jones, 2018). This is acknowledged by the College of Policing (2020) whose operational hate crime guidance allows police forces to extend their hate crime frameworks beyond the five monitored strands by recording wider forms of targeted hostility. Crucially, victims can be subjected to targeted hostility on the basis of one or many of these identities simultaneously and often as part of a repetitive cycle (Hardy and Chakraborti, 2019).

Home Office (2022) data reveal that 155,841 hate crimes were recorded by the police in England and Wales between March 2021 and 2022, which is a 26% increase on the preceding year and the highest spike since 2017. When comparing this figure with other Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) member states, there are clear disparities between countries, likely relating to identification, reporting practices, victim confidence, and prioritisation of hate crime. For example, in 2019, the United States recorded 8,559 hate offences, Germany recorded 8,585, Italy recorded 1,119, and Norway recorded 761 (ODIHR, 2019). However, each of these figures is invariably a considerable underrepresentation of the true scale of hate crime. Despite the damaging and cumulative impacts of microaggressions, these incidents will frequently not meet a criminal threshold and so will rarely be considered or recorded within official data. Furthermore, as observed by Hardy (2019), most victims encounter ‘layers of resistance’ on structural, social, situational, and individual levels which can present as barriers to reporting. Through this lens victims encounter influences from conscious and subconscious pressures including themselves, loved ones, communities and even the state, resulting in a decision to not report.

However, there are wider factors that can contribute to an increase in actual and recorded levels of hate. Recent years have borne witness to increasingly divisive politics, economies, and rhetoric, which have, in turn, enabled hostility to flourish during trigger events such as the Brexit referendum and the associated mainstreaming of inflammatory language (Virdee and McGeever, 2017), the rise of populist movements with ‘anti-woke’ agendas (Rose-Redwood and Rose-Redwood, 2017) and the Covid-19 pandemic (Gies et al., 2023; Tessler et al., 2020). Events such as these have generated significant spikes in levels of hate crime borne from the increased targeting of minoritised groups (Chakraborti and Clarke, 2022). Nonetheless, between and within nations, there is little consensus on how victims should be supported (ODIHR, 2021). The divergence in understanding and prioritisation creates its own set of challenges, which can commonly affect how public and third-sector institutions define hate incidents, respond to victims and witnesses, and offer victims a sense of justice (Chakraborti, 2018). As a result, victims are commonly left with little tangible support or few resources, and can also be subjected to further invalidation in the process of seeking help, if they even recognise themselves to be eligible for such services in the first place. In the context of spiralling levels of hate crime, the challenges of understanding the complex nature of targeted hostility, its associated harms and the support needs of victims become increasingly problematic.

Moreover, efforts to develop such an understanding are rarely applied to institutional contexts, omitting spaces such as universities from discussion, research, and legislative scrutiny. Within a sector characterised globally by the marketisation of education where students pay fees to attend and are governed by individual institutional guidance, the lines surrounding duty of care, interventions, and contextual acceptability are blurred. As such, there is little transparency in terms of how universities are individually or collectively preventing, acknowledging, intervening, or responding to harmful behaviour within their spaces. Despite systemic prejudice being deep-rooted throughout societies and sectors, following the era of #MeTooOnCampus¹ universities face the risk of opening themselves up to criticism and potential financial ramifications should they show transparency on the full range of issues within their institutions. Equally, the frequent branding of universities as liberal, politically left-leaning spaces can perpetuate and reinforce false assumptions about the immunity of such environments to the problems of targeted hostility so evident within wider society (Warf, 2015; Werfhorst, 2019).

Despite such assumptions, the reality is that these problems do very much exist within university campuses. Over recent years, research exploring issues of hate and harassment within universities has grown, drawing attention to the overt, covert, and systematic issues pervasive throughout higher education. The Equality and Human Rights Commission (2019) reported that 24% of students from minoritised communities have been subjected to racially motivated harassment at university in spaces including lecture theatres, in one-to-one discussions with tutors and in halls of residence. Further research from London Metropolitan University found that 10% of Muslim students felt unable to fully engage with their course material out of fear of being deemed radical or extremist (Akel, 2021). Similarly, studies have highlighted that cultures of misogyny are pervasive, with levels of sexual harassment rife throughout university campuses globally (UUK, 2019). However, much of this victimisation is enacted through microaggressions and subtler displays of exclusion, as opposed to overt and more readily identifiable expressions of hostility. As such, the cumulative effect of lack of representation, historic governance frameworks, offensive language and more can cause students and staff at university to feel out of place and disconnected (Rollock, 2011).

For many international students, being subjected to victimisation on the basis of their race, nationality or ethnicity can have serious and lasting affects upon their identity, self-perception, and desire to continue working or studying internationally (Wadsworth et al., 2008; Yan and Pei, 2018). Furthermore, outcomes such as a significant awarding gap and disparities in attrition rates between White students and their Black peers are prominent. The Office for Students reported that 56% of Black students were awarded a first class or 2:1 degree in 2016/17 and were most likely to exit their institution without completing their degree, compared with 80% of White students achieving a first class or 2:1 degree (UK Government, 2019). Targeted hostility has repercussions for students’ experiences during and after their time at university, and yet while research on these issues has grown to some extent, there remain many areas that continue to lack a compelling evidence base. The forms that targeted hostility takes, who the victims are, the contexts in which they are subjected to harassment, and their expectations in relation to institutional support all remain unanswered questions that are currently addressed through piecemeal knowledge and anecdotal accounts. Crucially, without a nuanced understanding of how targeted hostility within its fullest sense is enacted towards university students, effective preventative techniques and safeguarding measures cannot be implemented. The present study seeks to develop this understanding and the article now turns to a discussion of its methods.

Methods

This article draws from empirical research that was commissioned by the Executive Board of a mid-sized pre-92 British University and was endorsed by the University’s Ethical Approval Committee to examine experiences of targeted hostility within the student body in the context of their university lives. To ensure that this work was accessible, victim-centred, and trauma-informed, this study utilised a conceptual framework which transcended the conventional scope of ‘hate crime’, whose meaning is often interpreted in a literal sense as being limited to exploring only particular identities and incidents of a criminal threshold. Instead, this study’s focus and associated communications referred to ‘targeted hostility’ directed towards any feature of the student’s identity, ‘difference’, or perceived vulnerability which, as discussed above, is an approach widely embraced within the contemporary hate crime literature. This approach gave primacy to the student’s interpretations, enabling them to recognise the full spectrum of their experiences regarding their victimisation. As such, the study offers nuanced and authentic insights into lived experiences, expectations, and challenges arising within higher education environments.

The study adopted a mixed-methods approach consisting of an initial survey (n = 565) followed by qualitative, semi-structured interviews (n = 39). Scoping emails to participate in this research were distributed through academic colleges, schools, and departments, in addition to student societies, equality action groups, and committees. All forms of communication supporting this study used clear language which emphasised that participation was voluntary and open to all students to ascertain their views and experiences surrounding belonging and harassment in higher education. Through its 26 questions, the survey allowed for data to be collected on rates and forms of victimisation, in addition to context, impacts, and reporting trends of targeted hostility occurring at university. This survey was instrumental in facilitating further access to student voices through an opt-in process for follow-up interviews. These interviews supplemented the survey data with in-depth qualitative discussions through which students unpacked their experiences, their interpretations and their priorities.

Of the total sample (n = 565), 227 (41%) disclosed that they had been victims of hostility while they were registered as a university student, directed towards aspects of their identity or perceived ‘difference’. All of the incidents referred to within this research occurred within the context of the victim’s university lives, being perpetrated in spaces including university accommodation, campus, lecture halls, student social events, and online platforms used for studying or engaging with their fellow students. They referred to being targeted on the basis of one or more of 15 distinct identity characteristics: age, dress and appearance, gender, learning disability, physical disability, mental ill-health, accent, race, religion, sexual orientation, subcultural status, transgender status, political views, student status, and socio-economic status. Although the characteristics identified paint a realistically representative picture of the forms of victimisation uncovered within this research, it is probable that this is an under-representation of the true scale and nature of targeted hostility, with other strands of victimisation potentially not identified or disclosed.

The participants involved in this study constitute a diverse representation of university students.² Of those who provided information about their identity characteristics, 30% (n = 153) of participants identified as male, 64% (n = 328) as female, and 3% (n = 4) as non-binary; 2% (n = 12) identified as transgender. The highest proportion of participants (69%; n = 355) were aged 18–24 years and were engaged in undergraduate study (66%; n = 338), although all levels of study were represented. Sixty-three per cent (n = 328) of participants were White, 6% (n = 30) were Black, 21% (n = 106) were Asian and 4% (n = 18) had a mixed background. Sixty-seven per cent (n = 341) identified as heterosexual, 16% (n = 80) identified as bisexual, 5% (n = 23) identified as gay and 5% (n = 23) identified as lesbian. Thirteen per cent (n = 64) of participants identified as Disabled and 29% (n = 150) actively practised a religion.

This research was conducted during the initial wave of the Covid-19 pandemic which raised numerous challenges, including access issues and wellbeing considerations. As participant recruitment was undertaken when the national government guidance was to work and study remotely where possible, all promotional activities associated with this research took place through digital platforms. This increased the risk of reduced student participation – and in particular an under-representation of marginalised voices – which would have had significant repercussions for the robustness of the findings and subsequent victim-led recommendations. In response, communication channels (such as recruitment through specialist support services, student forums and equality action groups) were established to promote participation opportunities to diverse student voices and to those most likely to have a lack of access to online and digital provisions. The data collection methods were designed to be accessible with multiple methods of participation offered, including both written and verbal interview options.

Within any study of this nature, the rights and wellbeing of all involved must be duly considered. This was even more important within the uniquely stressful and isolating context of the Covid-19 pandemic which reinforced the need to prioritise participant wellbeing at every stage of the research process. All email correspondence made the subject matter of the research project transparent without being overly descriptive and potentially triggering. The voluntary, opt-in nature of participation was promoted and reiterated at every engagement opportunity. Connections were established with disclosure, reporting and support services that would be readily and freely accessible to all students, thereby enabling the research team to signpost to such services with confidence and to make necessary referrals on behalf of students at their request or in cases of safeguarding emergencies. Provision access information was shared with all participants through multiple platforms, and advertised within all communications. Steps such as these proved significant in gaining the trust of the student community, protecting participant wellbeing and securing engagement across the full breadth of the student body.

Findings

By analysing the project’s survey and interview data through descriptive statistics and reflexive thematic analysis, the findings below address the nature of hate, the harms of hate and the responses to hate within a higher education context. This article is the first of its kind to explore such themes in relation to the widest selection of victims of targeted hostility based within a university setting.

The nature of hate

At a global level, identity characteristics such as race, religion, sexual orientation, and Disability have been the basis of disproportionate levels of targeted hostility, and, as such, have been explicitly protected under various hate crime and equalities laws. Within this research, those with the same established identity characteristics were subjected to a high volume of hostility as expressed through subtle and explicit forms of violence, including microaggressions, verbal abuse, sexual assault and physical attacks. This research found that 27% (n = 55) of student victims were targeted on the basis of their race and 14% (n = 29) on the basis of their sexual orientation. This was followed by being targeted because of a religious identity (10%; n = 20), a learning Disability (7%; n = 14), a physical Disability (4%; n = 9), and transgender status (3%; n = 6). These figures are particularly alarming given the relatively low numbers of overall participants who actively followed a religion (n = 150), who disclosed a Disability (n = 64), or who identified as transgender (n = 12).

I’m bisexual . . . They would just pick up on that and make comments about it . . . They’d make comments like ‘go kill yourself’. (Jasmine, targeted on the basis of her sexual orientation and mental health.³)

However, this research also gathered important data from beyond the more established strands of targeted victimisation, highlighting the diverse range of factors which are relevant to the process of victim selection. Research participants referred to a total of 15 identity characteristics or markers of ‘difference’ when describing the motivating factors which underpinned their experiences of targeted hostility, including subcultural status (4%; n = 8), accent (10%; n = 21), student status (12%; n = 24), age (18%; n = 38) and dress and appearance (38%; n = 79). These incidents were wide ranging and usually repeated by multiple perpetrators, taking the form of direct abuse but also message behaviours that signalled to the students that they were unwelcome.

I went into a seminar and they [fellow students] asked if I was a plumber . . . I’m more than what they assume I am. (John, targeted on the basis of his age and socio-economic status)

Importantly, this study found that students were targeted not only on the basis of these individual identity characteristics, but also where multiple aspects of ‘difference’ – or intersectional identities (see Crenshaw, 1989) – gave rise to especially extreme and disproportionate levels of hostility. Within this research and mirrored in the wider hate crime literature (see, inter alia, Hardy and Chakraborti, 2019; Perry, 2001; Williams and Tregidga, 2014), the reality of being Black and gay, or having both a physical Disability and a Muslim identity (to name just some examples) served to increase incidents of interpersonal violence, microaggressions and exclusion.

As a Black individual coupled with my gender identity, oh 100 per cent. When those intersections meet you’re just gonna face a bunch of different problems that other people aren’t gonna have. (Nat, targeted on the basis of their race, gender identity and sexuality)

Despite the wide-ranging and extreme incidents that students had been exposed to – and despite these incidents taking place within contexts where institutions hold a duty of care for protecting physical and emotional wellbeing – this study revealed that trends in reporting (or more pertinently, under-reporting) within higher education are markedly similar to those within a wider context. Of those who had been subjected to targeted hostility, only 28% (n = 55) of students had formally reported an incident. This finding aligns with similar studies outside higher education, which have typically found that fewer than one in four victims report hate crime to the police or to other organisations who could potentially have offered support, such as a local authority or a victim support organisation (Chakraborti et al., 2014). Many of the reasons for not reporting align with justifications seen within broader victimology research. The normalisation of hate featured strongly within the narratives of victims within this study, with students claiming that their experiences happened too frequently to report, were too ‘low level’ or that they were unaware of their victim status to even consider the option of reporting.

I think the thing is for me, being a Black individual – this is gonna sound terrible – but verbal abuse is just something you’re used to. (Nat, targeted on the basis of their race, gender identity and sexuality)

International students who had shared their experiences of victimisation within this study also cited specific barriers to reporting, including feeling that it was not their place or that they did not have the right to report. This group of participants, whose places of origin included a diverse range of countries including Italy, Singapore, China and Brazil, shared a range of hostile encounters with the research team. This included examples of being verbally harassed; spat at; denied housing on the basis of their international status from private landlords; excluded from social situations in various ways, such as being deliberately ostracised by domestic students conversing in complex slang; and being manipulated into sexual situations by fellow students.

I just feel like a perpetual outsider, foreigner, because it feels like no matter how long I’ve been here for, it often feels like it’s not my place to say anything at all. Like is it my place to say anything when it’s not my country? (Mai, targeted on the basis of her race and gender)

Being unaware of how to report was also described as a barrier which can be particularly acute within student communities. Despite committing to spending several years in a particular place when registering as a campus-based student at a university, a new town or city is often still a place in which they have a temporary resident status, and consequently fewer connections to local agencies and services. Significantly, as legal proceedings for harassment cases are known to extend over many months, if not years, many students move away – either intermittently throughout the semesters or permanently following completion of their course – leaving the area and the police force responsible for overseeing their case.

The harms of hate

It is contended that hate crimes ‘hurt more’ than other offences due to the intensely personal nature of targeting, which sends a message to both the primary victim and their wider community (Iganski, 2001). Previous studies have documented the variety of emotional impacts that arise from targeted hostility, including distress, anxiety, depression and feelings of disconnect (Akel, 2021; Chakraborti et al., 2014). Within this research, these same harms were recounted on a disturbingly frequent basis. Seventy-four per cent (n = 150) of those who had been subjected to hostility referred to feelings of upset, 70% (n = 141) became anxious, 35% (n = 70) felt depressed, 15% (n = 31) were suicidal and 14% (n = 28) had become physically ill as a direct result of being victimised.

One of my friends had to talk me down from some quite bad self-harm. (Charlie, targeted on the basis of their transgender status and mental health)

However, and as a point of distinction from similar research on experiences of targeted hostility within wider society, this study found that the impacts of hate incidents within higher education were further intensified due to the unusually intimate relationship between victims, perpetrators and their shared space. Despite a close-knit university experience having many positive implications, the sharing of acquaintances and physical space caused many victims to withdraw socially, with this isolation having a further impact upon mental health. Trapped in a cycle of fear of repeated victimisation, 54% (n = 109) of the victims within this research felt distrustful and many discussed resultant difficulty in connecting with peers and academic staff.

My course isn’t that big and everyone knows each other. I didn’t want to be that girl who reported those boys that everyone then finds out about if they got into trouble, so I just didn’t feel I could say anything. (Lizzie, targeted on the basis of her gender)

In addition to internal and often invisible impacts, many victims referred to concealing identity traits going forward. For example, 6% (n = 11) hid their religion, 8% (n = 16) hid their sexual orientation and 8% (n = 12) hid their Disability. Further lifestyle changes adopted by research participants included increased vigilance, with 45% (n = 89) avoiding certain places and/or routes and 26% (n = 51) avoiding going outside at night.

Nowadays I cannot go outside . . . Before I’d been through [Covid-19] I would take a little walk around the park but now if I walk I must invite my friends or my classmates to walk with me. (Mingmei, targeted on the basis of her race)

In the context of higher education, participants discussed a variety of ways in which their victimisation had impacted upon their ability to engage with university life. 27% (n = 54) of victims cited a decline in attendance, in addition to 24% (n = 47) describing having withdrawn from social activities, hobbies or extra-curricular activities in an attempt to feel safer. Eighteen per cent (n = 36) of victims had stopped attending classes and/or meetings at university. Contributory factors to this decrease in attendance included a conscious choice to avoid campus, a fear of leaving their home and feelings of mental ill-health.

[My lecturer] would pause the lecture recording and say ‘Oh I’d get in trouble for saying this’ and then make some sexist joke weekly . . . I stopped going after a while. (Millie, targeted on the basis of her gender)

My attendance dropped from 80 per cent to 20 per cent, if that. I just couldn’t get out of bed for three, four weeks. (Jasmine, targeted on the basis of her sexual orientation and mental health)

A consequence of reduced attendance at teaching events was a decrease in attainment and academic performance. Almost a third of victims (29%; n = 58) suffered a negative impact upon their attainment or performance as a result of being victimised. Some participants noted that their capacity to focus on their university work had diminished following being subjected to targeted hostility. Others explained that some students would not engage in group work with them due to their identity, which in turn had adverse implications for their grades and learning experience. While these impacts are damaging in the short-term, the longer-term knock on effects of being victimised were life changing, with 12% (n = 24) of victims having explored leaving their degree course, and as many as 24% (n = 49) discussing wanting to leave university entirely.

In the second year I got marked down [for group work] . . . It impacts your learning when the other students won’t engage with you. (John, targeted on the basis of his age and socio-economic status)

Despite the disturbingly high prevalence of in-person encounters, incidents of online and digitally-enabled victimisation were also disclosed by research participants. Although the harms of online hate incidents have been identified long before the Covid-19 pandemic (Williams and Burnap, 2015), it became apparent through the course of the present study that the enforced move within universities to online platforms of communication and education during the pandemic had made it easier to target victims and disseminate hate.

In the whole course group chat they anonymised their names and spammed messages about how there’s only two genders and anyone that says otherwise is mentally ill. (Sam, targeted on the basis of their gender, sexual orientation and transgender status)

With most university students being young adults, higher education institutions are sites that host an increased usage of technologies and apps such as social media sites. In this study, participants noted how these channels were used to target them and to broadcast their victimisation to others. In a university setting, such targeting is uniquely damaging as it is likely that many of those who view the harassment via social media can identify the victim, thereby amplifying feelings of embarrassment and the desire to socially disengage.

It felt like they were all really in on it and they’d [send] people the [Snapchat] video like ‘haha look what we did’. (Rachel, targeted on the basis of her socio-economic status)

Importantly, feelings of anxiousness about future encounters with perpetrators remained consistent whether the incident occurred in-person or online. However, in some cases, victims disclosed heightened anxiety following online victimisation as it had generated feelings of ever-present danger and threat.

After the online incident I felt very, very anxious going to uni in case I saw the person. (Charlie, targeted on the basis of their transgender status and mental health)

The responses to hate

With targeted hostility remaining an undisclosed reality for many students at university, and the resultant harms commonly impacting upon their wellbeing and future decision making, gaining student-led, evidence-based insights into support needs is a crucial step in ending the cycle of victimisation. As noted previously, and in a similar vein to trends within wider society (Hardy and Chakraborti, 2019), only a small proportion of known victims disclose or report their victimisation at university. However, at 23% (n = 44), an even smaller proportion had accessed formal support. As a first step in addressing the support needs of students who have been subjected to targeted hostility, victims must first be equipped with the knowledge of whom to talk to, as underpinned by clear and accessible channels.

I know about sexual harassment but not about the other types, like where to go if that happens. (Charlie, targeted on the basis of their transgender status and mental health)

In addition to confusion over how to access support provisions, participants noted that a key barrier to engagement with existing support structures was the concern of not being able to receive wellbeing care without their initial disclosure or report being escalated without their consent. A priority for many in the early stages following their victimisation was to feel secure in the knowledge that they could simply speak with someone without any consequences.

I never wanted some massive action taken or people to get in loads of trouble, I just wanted someone to talk to about how I was feeling. (Lizzie, targeted on the basis of her gender)

When explaining how a support service could best meet their needs in practice, participants shared a range of ‘best case scenarios’. One of the most dominant themes on this topic was an affirming and validating response from the supporting party. Strongly aligning with Sabina and Ho (2014) and Spencer et al.’s (2017) research on sexual violence, many interviewees expressed emotions such as embarrassment, shame, guilt, and confusion in relation to their victim status. In response to this, interviewees expressed a desire to simply be heard and recognised, which would encourage them to not ‘diminish’ their own experiences.

[I needed] someone to explain it all to who would’ve said ‘yeah, it’s real, people are saying these things to you and it’s a big deal, it’s not something that you should diminish’. (Jade, targeted on the basis of her gender, accent and ethnicity)

Another recurring theme within interviewees’ expectations of appropriate support was the need for diverse representation among supporting parties. This provision was notably lacking within the context of the present study. Interviewees from minoritised communities expressed hesitancy in sharing their vulnerabilities with those from a distinctly different identity. Reservations stemmed from needing to justify their experience or to take on the emotional labour of educating their support worker on the historical significance of their victimisation.

As a Black, queer, non-binary person, I can’t say that my happy place is around white men . . . I don’t want the burden of educating someone on why my pain is valid. (Nat, targeted on the basis of their race, gender identity and sexuality)

Finally, while each of the above-mentioned areas are important in isolation, to fully empower and protect students it is vital that these supportive actions sit within a culture of an informed student body. In relation to both deterring students from engaging in formal processes to begin with, and ranging to others feeling disappointed after having engaged, interviewees described the importance of having expectations thoroughly communicated and managed. Furthermore, it was observed that explicit and transparent institutional policies and outcomes about all forms of unacceptable behaviour would equip students with the requisite understanding of how to make informed choices following incidents of victimisation.

I just didn’t know what to expect if I did . . . take formal action. (Millie, targeted on the basis of her gender)

[T]he University keeps sending out emails saying they have a zero-tolerance policy for things like this but what do you actually mean by that? (Mai, targeted on the basis of her race and gender)

Discussion

The above findings have offered insights into experiences of targeted hostility in higher education, with the nature and impacts of this victimisation illustrating that, in many ways, universities act as microcosms of wider society. As such, there are significant parallels between victims’ experiences at university and the lived realities for many victims in organic community settings. A markedly similar occurrence, and one that has important implications for policies, interventions, and protective measures, is the targeting of groups that hold established legacies of oppression, marginalisation, and victimisation. For example, for many years, racially motivated offences have constituted the highest proportion of all recorded categories of hate incidents in England and Wales (Home Office, 2022). Worryingly but perhaps unsurprisingly, our findings highlight that the higher education system is imbued with the prejudices and hostilities that permeate throughout society to a much larger extent than is typically acknowledged. As a result, while access and participation initiatives are continually improving levels of diversity, this in itself does not guarantee a culture of inclusion or one which prioritises student safety.

Beyond the targeting of established identities, and with 15 identity characteristics referred to within this study as forming the basis of victimisation, it is evident that incidents of hostility are enacted in broader ways than envisaged within policy and governance. A growing body of research continues to highlight the lack of recognition for a range of victims who are regular targets of violence on the basis of their ‘difference’, including members of alternative subcultures (Garland and Hodkinson, 2014), homeless people (Wachholz, 2009), sex workers (Campbell and Sanders, 2021), and those living with mental health issues and any number of invisible Disabilities (Burch, 2021). Despite empirical evidence to the contrary, policy frameworks tend to marginalise wider factors such as these as being irrelevant or at best peripheral to our understanding of hate crime victimisation. However, for those who are targeted, the process of being recognised (or not recognised) as a hate crime victim can have life-changing consequences in the context of harrowing experiences which go unnoticed, unchallenged, and unsupported. As such, by widening our lens to acknowledge the relevance of ‘difference’ and perceived vulnerability to the process of victim selection (Chakraborti and Garland, 2012), we can begin to understand the targeting of any number of identities and to make available the option of support, provision, and validation to all victims of targeted hostility, in turn, allowing for more accurate recording practices and responses to be developed.

It is widely acknowledged that hostility can be expressed in various ways, including through extreme acts of physical and sexual violence. Nonetheless, most incidents take the form of ‘everyday’ acts of violence, most notably microaggressions and verbal abuse. Each of these expressions was evident within this study, although worryingly, victims’ accounts revealed that acts of more overt, extreme violence, and escalations in behaviour occurred more frequently than would be expected. Hales and Gannon (2022) have observed similar trends to our findings, with their research into sexual violence highlighting that students commit acts of sexual violence more frequently than their non-student counterparts. As a guiding lens for theorising targeted hostility, Perry (2001) draws attention to the role of power, whereby offenders attempt to (re)assert relative positions of dominant and subordinate identities. Notions of power are as relevant to a university context as they are to wider society, in that students who hold dominant positions in some way (such as those who hold privileged or non-minoritised characteristics) can feel entitled and emboldened to marginalise other students (those from non-traditional, disadvantaged or liberation backgrounds) as a way of propping up their own perceived sense of superiority. These actions are further validated in the context of the consumerist nature of higher education, resulting in few repercussions in cases of transgression.

Within the context of higher education it is vital that the dangers and risks intrinsically linked with being ‘different’ or minoritised in a university space are fully acknowledged. As highlighted within Smith and Freyd’s (2013) institutional betrayal theory, the harms that victims experience in this context are especially significant as there is the potential for increased and prolonged trauma due to the incident occurring within an institution that holds (and has failed to provide) a duty of care to protect the wellbeing of its students. As such, and in the absence of appropriate and effective responses, students throughout the higher education sector are at risk of facing the same damaging impacts that the participants within this research drew attention to.

While there are many similarities between hostility in higher education when compared with wider social contexts, there are areas in need of contextually specific attention. This is particularly evident when considering the ways in which victims are at increased risk of repeat victimisation or trauma from repeatedly encountering their perpetrator in a way that is less common outside of a university context. As a result, institutional responses, including support and interventions, require a deeper, specialised analysis. Importantly, as demonstrated within McGlynn and Westmarland’s (2019) notion of ‘kaleidoscopic justice’, victims’ interpretations of justice are refracted through an ever-evolving lens which can be continually shaped by experiences including accessing formal and informal support, the passing of time and the acquisition of new knowledge. As such, it should not be assumed that each victim’s interpretation of justice (and most importantly, their needs) will be the same, nor will it remain constant over time. However, Kelley et al.’s (2022) research demonstrates that once a victim is engaging with support services, they are more likely to consider making a formal report. From this, it can be inferred that the most important step in a victim’s recovery journey is an effective disclosure system which would facilitate the subsequent processing of trauma and enable a suite of options best suited to the individual to be navigated in an informed and supported way.

Conclusion

Based upon data from 565 university students, this article has deconstructed the nature of targeted hostility in higher education, its harms, and the resultant support needs. As identified within hate studies more widely, victim accounts reveal that commonly victimised identities such as race and religion are frequently targeted within a university context. Importantly, lesser acknowledged identities such as age and subcultural status are also targeted, while intersectional victimisation is commonplace for those harassed on the basis of multiple aspects of their identity. However, this article has also highlighted significant themes that stand apart from how hate incidents manifest in wider society. Crucially, this article proposes that within a higher education context, victims are subjected to intensified levels of targeted hostility, both in terms of volume and impact.

Hate does not occur in a vacuum but rather is intrinsically linked to the cultural, political, and economic climate of wider society. Unsurprisingly then, universities act as micro-cities, home to a set of values, views, and actions that are reflective of the communities in which they are based. As such, it is vital that we reject narratives which appear to absolve universities from hosting the perpetration of unacceptable behaviours, and instead place victims’ narratives at the heart of our collective responses to institutional cultures of prejudice. In light of the commonalities between many of the features of targeted victimisation in a higher education context and in wider society, we are equipped to mobilise pre-existing evidence-based interventions into universities. These might include: anonymous disclosure pathways; access to meaningful support; and responses to disclosures that are affirming, swift, and well-informed. Through the urgent prioritisation of such interventions, the rights and wellbeing of victims and potential future victims can be better protected, enabling more students from diverse backgrounds to access, participate, and succeed in higher education.

While there are parallels between how targeted hostility manifests in both wider society and higher education, the nature of the transient and manufactured university environment presents unique areas in need of specific consideration. We have noted that the targeting of victims is often fuelled by notions of power, opportunity and perceived vulnerability which are all likely to feature more prominently within the enclosed spaces of a university environment, and to generate harassment that feels particularly extreme and inescapable from a victim’s perspective. With this in mind, not only are violent experiences of victimisation more likely, but student victims face an increased risk of repeatedly encountering their perpetrator within a campus environment (or at least, living in fear of this risk). The dangers inherent to ‘managing’ this situation play out as real-life experiences for many groups of students every day, with their sense of trauma exacerbated, and not alleviated, by a sector saturated with inconsistent policies, complex duties of care and an absence of evidence-based interventions. Within this context, therefore, it is to be hoped that studies such as ours can be a catalyst for meaningful change on behalf of victims who deserve to be supported by a sector which actively embraces ‘difference’ and which challenges any form of hostile behaviour.

Footnotes

ORCID iD

Emily Wertans

Notes

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To deny or dismantle? Responding to victims of targeted hostility in higher education

Abstract

Keywords

Introduction

Context

Methods

Findings

The nature of hate

The harms of hate

The responses to hate

Discussion

Conclusion

Footnotes

ORCID iD

Notes

References