The Grassroots Researchers: Doing Research from the Margins

 

The world of academia has changed dramatically over the years. What was once a space for curiosity and exploration has turned into a competitive marketplace. Ivy League universities, private institutions, and even public universities now compete for rankings, funding, and prestige. In this race, research is often judged not by its impact or purpose, but by where it’s published or who funds it.

The rise of commercialized publishing has made things even tougher. Many journals now charge high fees to publish or even access research. The so-called “impact factor” has become the ultimate badge of worth. But what does that mean for those who don’t have institutional backing or the funds to play this game?

Amidst all this noise, there’s another group quietly doing the work — the grassroots researchers. These are independent scholars, community-based researchers, activists, and thinkers who are doing research from the margins. They may not have shiny university logos behind them or large grants to fund their projects. Some work with borrowed laptops, others with data collected by hand in their communities. But what they all share is a deep commitment to uncovering truths that matter.

Their research often focuses on the everyday — the things elite academia tends to overlook. They study local environmental changes, disappearing indigenous practices, informal economies, women’s unpaid labor, or the social impact of migration. Their work might not make it to the pages of a high-impact journal, but it speaks directly to people’s lived realities.

And yet, when recognition is handed out, it’s almost always the names from the “big” universities that shine. The grassroots researchers remain invisible, even though their insights are often the ones most urgently needed.

It’s time we reimagine what “valuable research” means. Knowledge shouldn’t be locked behind paywalls or limited to those with big budgets and institutional clout. The spirit of inquiry belongs to everyone — and so should the platforms to share it.

The researchers working from the margins remind us what academia is truly about: curiosity, care, and a desire to make the world a little better through understanding. They may not have the spotlight, but they carry the flame of knowledge in its purest form.

Why I Chose Feminism

Why I Chose Feminism 

 

I was born into a family where no one—not even today—fully understands what feminism means. The word was never spoken in our home. It didn’t appear in conversations, and no one ever questioned the roles we were all expected to play. I didn’t inherit feminism. I found it on my own.

It began when I encountered violence—sudden, disorienting, and deeply personal. I didn’t have the language to name it at first. I didn’t have the tools to understand what was happening around me, let alone resist it. But I knew something was wrong—terribly wrong. And so I turned to books. I started reading, listening, watching, and learning. I began to piece together the puzzle of a world that had never really made room for women like me to ask questions, let alone demand answers.

As I listened to experts speak on violence, power, and gender, I started seeing the pattern—not just in my life, but everywhere. I realized that this wasn’t just about individual pain. It was a system. A structure. A mechanism of control. The more I learned, the more clearly I could see how deeply patriarchy is woven into the fabric of our societies. For centuries, men have held power—over land, wealth, laws, and even over women’s bodies—while women, who do the invisible and essential labour of keeping life going, are denied basic agency and recognition.

I saw how toxic masculinity feeds on domination and silence. How it distorts love into control, power into entitlement. I understood, with painful clarity, how male ego—unchecked and unchallenged—can go as far as to torture, to kill, simply to maintain its illusion of superiority.

That’s when I chose feminism.

Not as a slogan or a trend—but as a lifeline. As a political and moral awakening. Feminism gave me the language I never had. It gave me a way to name what was happening, to understand the violence, to locate myself in a larger history of resistance led by women across time and place.

We live in a world still deeply shaped by patriarchy—a system that has upheld male dominance for thousands of years while silencing, excluding, and devaluing women. Feminism, to me, is a commitment to justice. It is about confronting and dismantling those deep-rooted inequalities and inherited lies that harm not only women, but everyone.

Patriarchy decides who gets to speak, who gets heard, and who holds power. It is present in everyday discrimination, in the glorification of aggression, and in the silence forced upon survivors. Too often, men have used their positions of privilege to lie, abuse, abandon, and escape responsibility. They have built systems to protect their power and waged wars to defend it—wars both literal and psychological.

Meanwhile, women—often invisible in history—have held the world together. They have raised generations, tended to wounds, and built peace in the quiet spaces of life. They have resisted in both subtle and radical ways, often without acknowledgment, often without rest.

Feminism is about honouring those women. It is about naming the truths society tries to hide. It is about demanding recognition, equity, and dignity. It is about imagining a world where no one is punished for their gender, where power is not used to destroy, but to heal.

I chose feminism because I believe in that world—a world more honest, more compassionate, and more just. And I choose it again, every day.