By Toyin Falola

Occasionally, what a person achieves eclipses who they are. They may be allowed into an institution because of scholarship, research, intellectual contribution, or intellectual promise. But that credential can come to matter more than they do. Their appointment becomes a symbol of advancement.  Their success becomes a testament to diversification.  Their failure, if it ever occurs, can become something bigger than individual disappointment. It can become justification as to why people like them shouldn’t have been there to fail in the first place. This is just one of many tough questions raised during a panel discussion about Jason Arday. When Jason Arday was appointed Professor of Sociology at the University of Cambridge in 2023, he was thrust into the spotlight as the youngest black professor at Cambridge, and his research involves race, inequality, higher education and mental health. His ascent was symbolic of more than just individual achievement. It took place during hundreds of years of racial exclusion in UK academia and alongside universities’ modern attempts to brand themselves as inclusive.

But visibility also has a price often left out of conversations about diversity. The more visible a person’s presence becomes at an institution, the more unusual that presence is thought to be, the easier it is for that person to become symbolic of that institution. Jason Arday was no longer just Jason Arday the scholar, researcher, and teacher. His presence on that faculty was used as proof that Cambridge was changing. It can also be used as proof, by those against such changes, that Cambridge has reduced its standards or changed them. This is what I called the “representational burden”.  Representational burden occurs when a scholar becomes more than just themselves in the eyes of an institution. Their success is now symbolic of a whole group of people. And if they fail, they also fail as that representative body. The burden starts when we value or deplore a scholar not only for their own actions and successes, but for what their presence means about the wider institution. Do universities praise that scholar’s success as a successful scholar or as proof of diversity? Do critics judge that scholar as an individual or as a “representational body”?

Which brings me to the issue of academic scrutiny. Scrutiny is not the problem.  Universities require it.  Scholarly activity requires criticism, evidence, and even questioning of claims. If a scholar comes from a historically oppressed minority, he or she cannot rightfully claim protection from legitimate criticism just because they claim marginalization. However, just because there are legitimate standards does not mean they are always applied with equal vigor, nor that they don’t harbor biases. The tough part, then, is not deciding if academic integrity should be protected. It’s deciding if it is protected fairly, without double standards, and by means that can differentiate an allegation from fact.

That mattered particularly in relation to discussion about Arday’s academic record and the subsequent investigation of his background. Professor Lester split the discussion about Arday’s academic conduct from the later scrutiny of his personal history. He confirmed errors had been made in Arday’s academic attributions but said claims relating to Arday’s PhD thesis had already been investigated by the awarding body. According to Prof. Lester’s account, that investigation identified citation errors but considered them excusable. Prof. Lester also argued that some of the extraordinary claims associated with Arday’s life story had subsequently acquired evidence, while others remained difficult to substantiate. His larger point was that questions surrounding a person’s biography should not automatically be transformed into evidence about the integrity of that person’s academic publications.

This distinction is more than a technical one. It invites us to consider what happens when the biography of a public figure becomes part of the process through which that person’s intellectual credibility is judged. A scholar may have an imperfect biography. The individual might distort the event in his mind, exaggerate the situation, misconstrue the occurrence, make statements that will not be easy to verify later, or recount his life story in accordance with the memoir format. In itself, none of this invalidates the individual’s scholarship. Academic claims and autobiographical claims belong to different categories and require different forms of evaluation. Once those categories are collapsed, however, suspicion begins to accumulate. A question about citation can become a question about biography; a question about biography can become a question about character; and a question about character can then be used to cast doubt upon professional achievement. Individual allegations begin to reinforce one another even when they do not possess the same evidentiary basis.

The media becomes particularly important at this point because public scrutiny does not remain within the university. According to Prof. Lester’s account during the discussion, after Nathan Cofnas published a blog accusing Arday of plagiarism, 274 British press articles appeared within 22 days. Prof. Lester further stated that 23 of these were connected in some way to the Free-Speech Union network associated with Toby Young, that 19 appeared after Arday’s resignation, and that 21 were published in The Spectator. He argued that the initial plagiarism allegations had not been proven and that the scrutiny subsequently expanded into Arday’s character and life story. These figures and interpretations are Prof. Lester’s account of the media campaign and should therefore be understood as part of his argument about the controversy.

Yet the larger media question remains significant beyond the accuracy of any individual figure. When an allegation is being reiterated frequently to become the primary narrative associated with an individual, what does happen? Repetition has its own peculiar effect. When an allegation starts off as a claim that needs to be backed up with evidence, frequent iteration of that allegation in newspapers, on websites, on social media, and in analysis could transform it into a familiar piece of information; familiarity could then easily take the place of proof. It is more likely for the audience to recall the allegation rather than the qualification made in it. That does not mean that the act of scrutiny by the media is itself an illegitimate act. The media plays a crucial role in raising questions regarding powerful organizations. Yet, the frequency of scrutiny does become relevant when an identifiable individual is being scrutinized.

This raises another question that emerged from the discussion: who has the authority to judge an academic? A university has procedures for investigating misconduct. External examiners possess disciplinary expertise. Academic colleagues understand the conventions of their fields. Journalists may investigate matters of legitimate public interest, while the wider public has an interest in institutions that receive public legitimacy and resources. But these forms of authority are not interchangeable. A newspaper allegation is not a university finding. A social-media campaign is not a disciplinary investigation. Public suspicion is not the same thing as academic judgment. Once these distinctions disappear, the authority to judge becomes dispersed among actors who do not necessarily possess the same evidence, expertise, or responsibility.

Prof. Shose Kessi pushed this question further by drawing attention to the way institutional processes operate. She did not argue against investigation. Instead, she emphasized the need to examine the process through which investigations are conducted: who sits on committees, what criteria are used, how complaints are handled and how conclusions are reached. A procedure can appear neutral while containing less visible practices that produce different outcomes for different groups. When multiple complaints repeatedly concern a particular demographic, the institution, she argued, has a responsibility to examine its own practices rather than treating every case as an isolated problem.

This changes the question from whether rules exist to how rules operate. Institutions can possess formally neutral procedures while applying those procedures unevenly. The existence of a rule does not by itself establish equality. What matters is how the rule is interpreted, who is subjected to it, who is protected by it, and whose circumstances are considered relevant when judgment is made. This is particularly important in academic institutions because universities do not simply judge scholarship. They also judge people. They determine who is appointed, promoted, funded, supported and recognized as authoritative. The procedures through which these decisions are made therefore become part of the production of academic legitimacy itself.

The distinction between critique and attack becomes important for the same reason. Sabelo McInziba argued that there is a difference between engaging critically with a scholar’s work and turning criticism into personal attack and slander. He suggested that the engagement with Arday had moved beyond ordinary scholarly criticism and involved deeper, organized interests. Yet his argument also returned to the importance of process. Different groups may contribute to testing allegations, but their participation must be grounded in the integrity of the process. The integrity of the process is as important as the outcome. The issue, therefore, is not whether criticism should be permitted. An academy without criticism would cease to be one. The issue is whether criticism remains connected to evidence and proportionality. Academic integrity cannot be defended by abandoning the procedures through which integrity is established. If the process becomes detached from evidence, consistency, and fairness, then academic integrity itself becomes vulnerable. What begins as an effort to protect standards can become an exercise in institutional power. The distinction between critique and attack is consequently not merely semantic. It is a distinction between challenging knowledge and discrediting a person.

There is another difficulty that becomes visible when a Black scholar achieves an extraordinary position. As the story grows more extraordinary, the easier it will be for the institution and society to turn that individual into an inspirational icon. The life of Arday had already been constructed in the discourse of human potential: an individual who has faced many difficulties in his early life, yet has managed to reach one of the most prestigious positions within British academia. There is something powerful about such a story. But there is also a danger in making the inspirational narrative the primary meaning of the person. Once a scholar becomes a symbol of possibility, the individual may be denied the ordinary human permission to be imperfect.

This is when the idea of Black excellence raises its complications. Excellent achievement is important, but the requirement of outstanding work hides an unpleasant truth. If Black academics have to prove their exceptional talent in order to be accepted in an institution, then the glorification of such exceptionalism might actually reinforce the obstacles they had to overcome. An exceptional individual becomes proof of how well the system works, while the structures that have made this success exceptional stay unnoticed. One succeeded, and the institution used that success to claim that it was open. The question of how many equally capable people were never given the opportunity to succeed remains unanswered.

To be clear, the story should not be reduced to a simple narrative of triumph over adversity because such a reading can obscure the structures that determine whose potential is recognized, cultivated, funded, and encouraged. The remarkable individual can become the center of the story while the institutional conditions surrounding that individual disappear from view. The more useful question is therefore not simply how one person overcame barriers, but how many people with potential never received the opportunity to demonstrate what they could become.

Prof. Christine Vogt-William approached the problem through the related ideas of invisibility and hyper-surveillance. For black and minority ethnic academics, there can exist an awkward balance whereby they are not being recognized enough as intellectual subjects but are seen very much indeed when things go awry. Good news may be seen as an exception and lucky coincidence, whereas bad news becomes inflated. The result is a paradoxical form of visibility: the scholar can be visible as a representative of diversity without necessarily being fully recognized as an intellectual individual. This helps explain why the Arday controversy cannot simply be collapsed into the question of whether racism existed or whether academic misconduct should be investigated. These questions must remain conceptually distinct while still allowing us to examine the conditions under which they interact.

Prof. Vogt-William’s intervention also introduced the question of consistency. Her question revolved around how universities like Cambridge and Ghent can hire academics for whom she felt her views of race realism and scientific racism applied, whereas there is a great deal of focus on the hiring and research of Arday. She raised this question on the grounds of consistency within institutions: If academic legitimacy is argued so strongly in one case, then is it not reasonable to raise similar questions in another? Rather, it raises the larger issue of whether principles such as merit, academic integrity, and institutional standards retain the same meaning when applied to different people.

This is where the individual case begins to open into a structural question. Jason Arday’s story matters not only because of what happened to one scholar but because it forces us to examine the conditions under which certain people enter institutions of authority. Who is believed to possess intellectual potential? Who receives the resources necessary to develop that potential? Who is encouraged when they struggle? Who is scrutinized when they succeed? Who is permitted to make mistakes without those mistakes becoming evidence against an entire category of people? These questions move the discussion away from the individual and toward the institution that determines how individuals are recognized in the first place.

The academy requires standards and criticism. Accountability is also required here, although in a way that does not confuse the issue of fairness about whom the accountability applies to, what evidence is, who gets to judge, and how judgment is carried out. In the absence of such clarification, accountability turns into a form of performance, scrutiny becomes a form of punishment, and academic integrity turns into a language through which institutional power is exerted. The real question is, of course, not whether Jason Arday was perfect. He was human. The question is whether an academy committed to equality can allow its Black scholars to be human while still holding them to serious intellectual standards. An equal academy is not one in which Black scholars are protected from criticism. It is a criticism that is moderated by the same rules of evidence, balance, and proportion as criticism of anyone else. It is not an institution where Black intellectuals are celebrated because they are Black, or where their Blackness makes them even more subject to skepticism. It is an academy in which they are allowed to be scholars first.

The controversy surrounding Jason Arday therefore leaves us with a difficult proposition. And perhaps it is not only about who gets accepted in the academy, but about what happens to them after they join. Because inclusion cannot be measured in terms of how many Black scholars are occupying positions of power. One must take into account the nature of the kind of scrutiny they face, the kind of flaws they can commit, and the kind of support they receive, as well as whether they are allowed to lead their lives as individuals or as symbols. Once one asks the question in such a way, the issue becomes not only about the life story of a particular person. The issue becomes about what the academy does. How an institution recognizes intelligence and makes opportunities available to certain individuals, and how it constructs notions of merit in response to people who were previously marginalized moving to the position of power.

The Arday question therefore does not end with the controversy surrounding Jason Arday. It begins there. His story forces us to look beyond the individual and examine the institutional environment into which he entered. The reason we have to ask ourselves why some academics come loaded with representation, why some need to be exceptional in order to be seen as ordinary, and how criteria for determining academic legitimacy might themselves become problematic in light of concerns around race and power. The second question is therefore inescapable: In that the Arday affair was not just about one person’s conduct but also about the processes through which academic authority is constructed, assessed and defended, then how are those processes determined? What constitutes the appearance of neutrality in a university that produces inequalities of recognition, scrutiny and opportunity?

PS: (This is the first report on a panel on Jason Arday and Race in the Academy, September 6, 2026. For the transcript, see:  https://www.youtube.com/live/yBcCf2eOcbY?si=poIIXytvmqpU9Sqe)