{"id":1103,"date":"2026-02-13T18:39:33","date_gmt":"2026-02-13T18:39:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blog.equalityanddiversity.co.uk\/?p=1103"},"modified":"2026-02-13T18:39:34","modified_gmt":"2026-02-13T18:39:34","slug":"when-lived-experience-never-leaves-the-room","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.equalityanddiversity.co.uk\/index.php\/2026\/02\/13\/when-lived-experience-never-leaves-the-room\/","title":{"rendered":"When Lived Experience Never Leaves the Room"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Reflections of a School Governor, Then and Now<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosie grew up going to school in Stretford<\/strong>, alongside her older sister Sophie. In her primary school, there were only two Black children<\/strong>. They were sisters. And they were noticed constantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not for their brilliance.
Not for their potential.
But for their difference.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the earliest years of schooling, Rosie and Sophie were bullied, racially abused, and harassed<\/strong>. This was not an isolated incident or a single unkind comment. It was years<\/em> of sustained harm that followed them through primary school and into secondary education.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time Rosie reached the transition to secondary school, she had already learned something no child should have to learn so early: that spaces can be unsafe when you are the only one<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosie passed the 11-plus. She could have gone to grammar school.
But she chose not to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She knew that at Stretford Grammar in the 60s she would likely be the only Black child<\/strong>.
She knew what that meant.
And she was afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So instead, she chose a more diverse secondary school still imperfect, still challenging, but less isolating. That decision was not about academic ability. It was about survival<\/strong>.
<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Absence That Speaks Loudest<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Throughout Rosie\u2019s entire journey, through school, college, and university, there was a constant, deafening absence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She never saw a Black teacher<\/strong>.
Never saw a Black senior leader<\/strong>.
Never saw someone who looked like her at the front of the classroom, behind the lectern, or making decisions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That absence did not end with education.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across her professional career, Rosie was always the only Black member of staff<\/strong> in the room. Even as she progressed into management and senior leadership roles<\/strong>, working across regions including Leicester, Preston<\/strong>, Bolton<\/strong>, Liverpool<\/strong>, and Manchester<\/strong>, the pattern remained unchanged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Different buildings.
Different job titles.
Same experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In voluntary roles boards, panels, committees Rosie again found herself the only ethnically diverse person at the table<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then there is governance. Eighteen Years at the Table Still Alone<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosie has been a school governor and Chair for 18 years<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eighteen years of dedication.
Eighteen years of accountability.
Eighteen years of advocating for children and communities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And still:
<\/strong>She remains the only ethnically diverse person<\/strong> on the governing board.
The only one on the Teams call.
The only one on the Zoom screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is not because the schools she serves are not diverse. They are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The children are diverse.
The families are diverse.
The communities are diverse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the decision-making tables are not<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is what people mean when they talk about structural inequality<\/strong>. Not loud. Not always intentional. But persistent. Reproduced. Normalised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And exhausting.<\/strong>
<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A Poem for the Rooms That Never Changed<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was one of two,<\/strong>
my sister and me,
marked out before we knew
what that marking would cost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The names changed,
the buildings changed,
the towns changed,
but the feeling stayed the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I learned early
how to read a room
how to count who wasn\u2019t there
before counting who was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I passed the test,
but not the safety check.
So I chose survival
over prestige.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Years later I sit at tables
polished with policy,
framed by vision statements,
and still
I am the only one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The children look nothing like the board.
The board does not look like the community.
And everyone calls it coincidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But coincidence doesn\u2019t last
for decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Change does not come
from hoping the room fills itself.
Change comes
when absence is named,
when power is shared,
when representation is understood
not as charity
but as justice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am still here.
But I should not still be alone.
<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What Must Be Learned \u2014 And Why Change Has to Come<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosie\u2019s story is not unique. That is the problem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Key learning points for schools, trusts, and governing bodies:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n