On taking up space

“If only I were a woman,” lamented a close male friend of mine — someone whose engineering talent and dedication to supporting others I deeply admire — “then I'd have access to an extra 60k of scholarships.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this sentiment, and it unfortunately won’t be the last. Given enough time and with enough honesty, most of my male peers have expressed some version of this belief. Yet, what’s most striking is that this perspective persists even at Duke — a university whose ratio of female students in engineering is more than twice the global industry average. Despite the visible presence of women in classrooms and labs, the misconception that diversity programs offer an unfair advantage remains firmly rooted. 

At my home university, the University of New South Wales (UNSW), where non-cis-male students make up only roughly 22% of the engineering cohort, the gender imbalance is more obvious. This contrast lays bare the systemic reasons behind underrepresentation — factors that go far beyond individual choice. From childhood, gender determines the path that children are steered down. For example, often unintentionally, elementary school teachers will hold biases that reinforce the belief that boys have greater natural ability in mathematics and other math-intensive disciplines. Parents, too, play a role: It may be stereotypical, but nearly all of my female friends have memories of ballet class at age 6, while most of my male peers grew up playing video games and with computers, but not necessarily vice versa.

Over time, these seemingly small influences compound, creating a gap that grows wider with age. Compared to boys, girls have fewer opportunities to participate in informal STEM activities, such as competitions, camps and science museum visits. Boys also receive more parental explanations during shared scientific activities, which enhances their STEM self-efficacy. This reduced technical encouragement leads to many girls internalizing the belief that they are less capable. Research shows that women consistently underestimate their abilities, even when their performance matches or exceeds that of their male counterparts.

I know this from experience. In high school, after traveling all the way from Australia to compete at the FIRST Robotics World Championships, I stood in Houston Airport in tears — sobbing for three hours, convinced that I wasn’t good enough to pursue engineering. This was ridiculous, considering why I was at the airport in the first place. But I was so firmly convinced of my incompetence that I had applied to university earlier that year to a degree I wasn’t particularly passionate about. It took my robotics mentors staging an intervention — sitting me down and refuting every single one of my objections, refusing to let me believe I wasn’t capable — to shake that doubt. Their fierce belief in my ability became a turning point. Without their unwavering encouragement, I might have chosen a non-technical path, not because I lacked skill or passion for STEM, but because imposter syndrome had convinced me I wasn’t smart enough. 

And I’m not alone. My female peers and I often have conversations where we question whether we’re good enough for the classes that we take. Yet, we push through those moments of doubt — not because we inherently believe we belong, but because we refuse to bow to the pressure of a society that still questions our place in STEM. Our persistence is an act of defiance — a refusal to let centuries of exclusion define our futures. We persist because we know that every step we take forward, regardless of whether we stumbled getting there, makes it easier for the next generation to see themselves where we now stand.

This is precisely why diversity programs are necessary. They are not about offering unearned advantages — they are about correcting a playing field skewed by centuries of bias. The current efforts to dismantle diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) initiatives reflect the same harmful thinking that fuels the misconceptions my peers express, insisting that if only they were of another race or gender, they would gain more opportunities or support. It’s the same flawed logic that blames foreigners for stealing a job, rather than recognizing that the true culprit is a capitalist system designed to exploit the cheapest labor available — which often happens to be that of an immigrant. Diversity programs aim to dismantle these structures, creating a more just and inclusive society.

We need to shift our mindset. It is imperative that we do the extra work to understand the structures of power that we don’t personally experience the brunt of. Dangerous thoughts don’t start as fully formed ideologies—they begin small. They start with the belief that your privilege is a disadvantage and that the only way to succeed is to deny others a step up. They take root in college classrooms, where they become internalized if left unchallenged. By recognizing and calling out this insidious mindset, we take a crucial step toward dismantling the barriers that hold us all back. True progress comes not from competition against one another, but from building a world where everyone has the support and opportunity to reach their full potential.