Scout Durrant Dalmasses delves into the uneven playing field of university seminar rooms, where gender, class and educational background shape who feels confident enough to speak and whose voices end up being heard the most.
Contributing in seminars can be scary. Your opinion (and how eloquently you can articulate it) is on display for the whole class, for judgement and rebuttal from your peers. A lot of students simply choose to sit silently and let others take the lead. But which social identities seem to feel immune to this unspoken pressure? And who ends up getting a louder voice in the classroom?
In general, men tend to be more relaxed about and open to sharing their ideas, and have less fear of criticism. This makes them more likely to take the floor in any given group situation. Women feel pressure when making a statement out loud, and won’t risk it if they think their point isn’t strong enough or leaves room to be misinterpreted. Even where men are a minority, like in female-dominated humanities classes, male bravado persists. And women in STEM fields are outnumbered and overpowered by their male colleagues.
This male confidence to take up space and have one’s voice heard is even more extreme in private schools. In the bubble of a small, wealthy school community, these boys are protected from external criticism and are rewarded for whatever they might contribute. Anything is up for debate, with little worry of pushback or consequences for their words. Accounting for roughly 30% of the University of Bristol’s student intake, private schools champion and encourage students to proclaim their own opinions. While in state schools the easiest route is to blend in as much as possible, privately educated students are taught to stand out. Debate clubs, poetry recitals, regular class presentations – all of which men engage with more naturally – foster a natural comfort with commanding the attention of the room. Seminar participation is just one outcome, but the long-term benefits are obvious. Career-forward skills beyond uni such as giving presentations or interviewing well are introduced early. Private schools tap into an element of future success that state schools neglect. This is particularly reflected in private school boys’ long term success: private school boys go on to earn about 35% more than state school boys in adulthood, while private school girls only out-earn their state school peers by 21%. Educational background combined with men’s predisposed confidence immediately sets private school boys apart as stronger speakers.
Women, by contrast, are conditioned to take up less space across all environments; the amount of space available to them varies. In private schools, smaller class sizes allow for more space, and student contributions can be heard and shared more easily. However, in a state school class of 30, your voice is more of a disruption than a welcome addition. Most state school students – apart from those eagerly auditioning for lead roles in school productions or volunteering to give speeches at their end of year assemblies – are not keen to be in the spotlight. Social hierarchies reward uniformity over ‘excellence’, and fitting in is the main priority. You are generally safer saying nothing than risking making a point that doesn’t land well, or delivering it unconvincingly. For girls in particular, the social pressure far outweighs the potential academic benefits, and they obey this silent rule without question. Most would rather keep their head down than risk being seen as a Hermione Granger.
Additionally, private school boys seem to love the sound of their own voice because, well, they sound nice. Private schools foster the actual tools to speak clearly and convincingly, which generates the quiet approval of their classmates and professors. Polished diction, eloquent and concise wording, even accents that convey their well-off upbringing – these traits all reassure the speaker that they are making their point successfully. For men in particular, deeper voices make them sound more authoritative, to both men and women. By contrast, women are undermined by their own perfectionism when speaking. Men use more concise, less detailed language, while women rush to cover every caveat and clarify every uncertainty. Women are more likely to use language weakening qualifiers, such as ‘I think’ ‘maybe’ ‘slightly’ (or more commonly with uni students, ‘I feel like…’), unknowingly watering down their point.
For stronger speakers, hearing gratifying responses from professors and their own smooth delivery creates a positive feedback loop, so these speakers contribute once, then again, and again. The pattern of who holds the floor in seminars is thus established almost from the start of the uni year.
People less accustomed to public speaking, on the other hand, may eventually push themselves to contribute, only to find the process mildly embarrassing and not worth repeating. Often women and state school alumni, these students might struggle to phrase their point concisely, and end up rambling or tripping over their words. Those with foreign or less common accents may contribute less, out of fear of not speaking ‘clearly’ or not being understood. This can reduce international students’ likelihood to contribute, and even Irish, Welsh and Scottish students. Women speak in softer pitches and thus can be taken less seriously, which can again intersect with class and other marginalised identities such as nationality and even race.
Overall, the funnelling of certain groups of people into centre stage while others stay on the sidelines makes the seminar room an uneven playing field, independent of students’ actual aptitude. Those who speak more develop the soft-skills side of education as well as academic, and even receive better references from their tutors. We are left with the question – how can we redistribute the balance and reduce intimidation for women and non-accustomed speakers?
Artwork by Scout Durrant Dalmasses
