The unheard struggles of international PhD students researching sensitive topics
PhD researchers Gabi Almeida Costa and Jillian Rodgers discuss the challenges they've faced researching sensitive topics as international students in the UK.
Imagine you are working alone on a big project covering a sensitive topic, on a really tight schedule, away from your family and friends, in a country where you are still struggling to adapt.
You have to manage the sensitive nature of your topic, your funding, your deadlines, your methods and your stakeholders and, on top of that, secure adequate housing, feed yourself, care for yourself, try to be social and active, and try to navigate the social rules of that foreign country. And the cherry on top is that you are constantly thinking about how you are going to secure your stay in said country, since the rules keep changing and you are scared and burnt out.
This is the everyday life of many international/migrant researchers in the UK. This is our life. We are PhD students at ARU's Centre of Excellence for Equity in the Uniformed Public Services (CEEUPS); Gabi is from Brazil and Jillian is from the United States. We both deal with really challenging research topics and we are both neurodivergent, trying to survive this madness that we have put ourselves into.
Restrictions on rest
Very often, when we speak of our challenges with our research topics and immigration constraints, we hear from our colleagues we should seek support or take some time off to take care of ourselves, which has proven almost impossible. We've struggled to find specific support for researchers of sensitive topics (something the Researcher Wellbeing Network (RWN) is working to address) and, if we decide to take some time off, our extremely tight three-year doctorate schedule will be damaged and we will need to work extensively hard to compensate for the time lost, which will lead to an endless cycle of burnout.
The Home Office currently allows international students to have 60 days off from doctoral supervision and 35 days of annual leave. That means if, for some reason, we fall ill and need to be away for longer, we will have to apply for intermission, which may affect our ability to stay in the country due to funding and visa restrictions. We do not have the right to be ill, to take time off, to rest and recover.
Highs and lows
Without adequate support networks, we are lost. Some of us are very new to the country and do not have enough friends to rely on if we for some reason need a place to stay or some other form of support. Moving to a new country by yourself is a lonely experience. Both of us found it difficult to balance the need to give ourselves time to adjust to a new life with the need to keep up with the demands of the PhD programme.
Despite the loneliness and mental exhaustion, we have no regrets with our choice to make the UK our new home. Whilst living here, we’ve formed great friendships, professional networks, met partners, and participated in community groups and activities that we truly enjoy.
Jillian’s experience
As I reflect on my move here a year and a half ago, I realise I could not have done it without the support of my supervisors, fellow PhD students, and other colleagues at the Veterans & Families Institute for Military Social Research (VFI) and CEEUPS. The most challenging part of the move was trying to assimilate into new systems and institutions that I was unfamiliar with, and that had not been set up with migrants and immigrants in mind.
Due to visa limitations, I arrived in the UK a week after the programme start date. I was immediately thrust into the PhD process with a research proposal due five weeks after my arrival. At the same time I was formulating an entirely new research design and project, I was trying to settle into a country where I’ve never been and didn’t know anyone.
My most pressing needs were: set up a UK bank account, get a UK phone number, and find a permanent place to stay. It might seem relatively simple, but there were many roadblocks – I couldn’t get a UK bank account and phone number without a permanent address, and I couldn’t get a permanent address without a UK bank account and phone number. I also needed a UK credit score and UK-based references, both of which I did not have. I felt as though I had no other option than to find a way to sneak around these rules, whilst at the same time I knew that doing so could put my visa in jeopardy.
Submitting my research proposal without having secured stable housing was a surreal experience. I wasn’t entirely surprised that I had to revise and resubmit it. On top of trying to settle into a completely new life, I was also navigating a new academic institution with its own vocabularies, expectations, and processes, all of which seemed second nature to many but were literally foreign to me.
The two-chance pass/fail PhD assessment process is particularly stressful for international/migrant researchers. Because our visa is tied to our academic success, we face fears of deportation at each milestone. Having our livelihoods hinge on the approval of academic and governmental institutions is a precarious place to be. The uncertainty of it all makes it difficult to plan for the future, both personally and professionally.
Gabi’s experience
I came to the UK in October 2020, in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, to do my Master’s degree at the University of Bristol. As anyone can imagine, it was not easy to move across the world during such a crazy time. After I finished my Master’s, I applied for a Graduate Visa and, despite having experience and a degree from a renowned British university, I could not find employment in my field. I ended up working as a recruiter and was eventually made redundant, being forced to move in with my then-new boyfriend as I had no family in the country and had no means to pay rent.
In February 2024, my Graduate Visa expired and, not having found employment that could provide me with a Skilled Worker Visa, I was forced to go back to Brazil. This caused me immense psychological trauma which developed into physical illness, but somehow I found the strength to find my way back to the country I chose to call home: the UK. I used my dreadful experience to write a PhD proposal which fortunately gave me a place at ARU, but I knew the agony was not over.
I study migration, which has an obvious impact on myself. Hearing some really rough stories of migrants’ experiences in this country has affected me, especially considering my background. On top of that, after years of struggling, I was diagnosed as autistic in May 2026, which happened at the same time I was doing my fieldwork. The result was, of course, burnout.
When I communicated this to my supervisors, they were extremely helpful and did all they could to support me. However, at first they did not know that I was not allowed to be a part-time student, as the University has never informed them on the specifics of the Student Visa. Only after I explained to them could they realise that I did not have the same rights as home students.
In the end, thanks to my supervisors’ support and perseverance, I was really fortunate to be allowed a three-month extension on my funding and my programme, but I am aware that not everyone has that option. Still, although I am deeply grateful for that, I am constantly nervous about my next steps, as I need to secure a visa in order to have more chances of employment.
Unlike my British peers, I need to worry about saving large amounts of money for my next visa (instead of saving for a house, which would be more ideal when you are 30…) and planning every single step of my life, considering I have no immediate family in the country except for my partner.
So, how do we fix it?
We are aware that the current political climate is unfavourable to migrants, especially in the UK. We are also aware that ARU cannot change external policy or go against Home Office guidelines on how to deal with our issues.
However, we also know that these issues are not new and we are not the only ones suffering with such inequities. International students and staff all over the country are struggling with these same problems on top of their other struggles, such as cost of living, health issues, etc. As we are not allowed to vote, and many of us avoid attending protests because we fear being unfairly treated, our voice is not heard.
We are under constant surveillance even on the internet, knowing that certain types of visas require that you inform the Home Office of your social media profiles. In the university environment, although we form an expressive number, we're given a great deal of practical advice but would welcome more opportunities to share our difficulties and anxieties.
We know the change needs to be structural and much wider than the University itself. But we also know that we can start from the bottom, by raising awareness of what we go through, by informing supervisors and teachers of what international students go through and creating dialogue with all the university staff about the situation of international employees.
We believe in knowledge as an important tool for change, just like the lack of wider awareness has been used to allow injustices to happen to all of us. People cannot care about what they do not know, they cannot be allies if they do not have any idea that we need allyship. We believe that, just like our supervisors have supported us since they have learnt about our situation, others can support us too.
We look forward to widening this discussion within the University and beyond. And hopefully one day, no-one will have to go through the same struggles we have gone through.
Gabi Almeida Costa and Jillian Rodgers, postgraduate researchers, Centre of Excellence for Equity in the Uniformed Public Services (CEEUPS)