Publications
Featured Writings
Research, analysis, and narrative work exploring questions of justice, identity, and social change through academic rigor and community wisdom.
I grew up between Pakistan and the United Arab Emirates, moving through cities, classrooms, and people. In each place, I was a reflection of the other – something inherently ‘different’, never one of them. In Pakistan, I was “the girl from abroad.” In Dubai, I was “the Pakistani student.” I learned early on that you never exist in a vacuum. Your identity is a reflection of the society you live in, mirroring your experiences, interactions and aspirations. Despite learning this about humans from a young age, I was shocked to realise that this same systemic bias exists in AI and algorithms.
My earliest memory of this realisation is when I turned to AI for a project, asking for a representation of “South Asian Woman”. The result was laughable at best, and concerning at worst. I could not recognise the image, like a stranger staring at me through a mirror. It felt like a slight against my sense of self, and identity. If an algorithm that posits to replace human intelligence cannot recognise human identities, is letting AI seep into our very fabric of society a smart idea?
Growing up with one foot in Pakistan and one in UAE, I felt the intensity of being misrepresented and ignored. My identity was always lost in translation: too Pakistani, too foreign, too much. However, my issue with AI bias was more than personal. The implication of AI algorithmic bias extends far beyond individuals. A single flaw or misrepresentation can shape millions of decisions, from corporate to law and healthcare. The stakes are far higher than a mislabeled photo.
This is what led to my AI Literacy Initiative. I wanted to spread awareness over the potential disastrous implications of AI bias, something I felt was largely overlooked. Over the course of a year, I led workshops for more than 700 students and faculty members, sharing and designing information that is easily digestible. I used examples from my own life, with the story of how I felt the system overlooked my identity, slipping through the gaps of the algorithm.
My work aimed to not only spread this information, but also to rectify this issue to the maximum extent I could. For this, I worked with teachers and other faculty members on designing AI Ethical-Use guidelines to be implemented for a more equitable experience with Artificial Intelligence. This was eventually adopted school wide by multiple departments.
During this project, I learned how deeply inhuman AI actually is. It fails to regard my context, identity and culture – everything that makes me a human. I aimed with this to push for a more equitable Artificial Intelligence, since it is something that has seeped into every sphere of our lives, either willingly or unwillingly.
Displacement as an expat loses its meaning. Or rather, it alters its meaning. Being an expat makes you a master of avoidance, of curating a different version of yourself over and over again. It’s also something that makes others expect too much of you. To adapt to the new you immediately, to abandon the old you instantly. It makes you lose sense of yourself, who you pretend to be and who you really are.
I moved between Pakistan and the UAE throughout my childhood, with a different school, different people and a different place every few years. In the UAE, this displacement is something I witnessed in increasing amounts. The students were from all over the world, uprooted and displaced from everything they knew. After leaving everything behind, dropped in a new place in the middle of the semester, they too were expected to adapt instantly.
I saw myself in all those expat students expected to move on with hesitation. Their exhaustion in trying to understand the cultural, societal and social nuances of a new place. The pressure to fit in, and the need to present yourself in the best light possible, so others can like what they see.
This is why I created the Cultural Fatigue Mapping Project. I wanted to map the emotional trajectory of expat students. Where they feel out of place, where they feel at home and how they navigate the external and internal pressures of socialising. More than 100 students participated anonymously, giving data on cultural and racial misidentification, and instances of feeling welcomed. The results showed most students felt out of place in a classroom setting, feeling misunderstood or ignored. While other times, they felt the most comfortable in informal social settings.
This is also what led to me starting an initiative, BridgeLab. A system which aimed to offer academic, social and cultural support to new mid-year transfer students in my Dubai school. It helped students decode stereotypes, expectations and cultural norms that they might need to navigate explicit and implicit school rules.
My experience of being an Expat helped me understand the challenges and gaps with the expat communities in schools, and led me to successfully address these challenges. My goal was to help these students feel supported and less isolated, as well as helping them slowly transition into the culture of a new place.
Growing up, I always thought bullying was how it was shown on American television. It was supposed to be violent, physical – recognisable. It was something that could never happen to me, it was just something to see on school posters. However, when you move around as much as I do, there is a distinct lack of a place to call home. A home lost in a jumble of faces and places. As much as I found good in every place, there were times where I felt the lack of solid friendships, especially in my adolescence – a time where your personality is a precarious balance between the outside as much as the inside.
Moving came with a perpetual baggage of existing subtext in any new place I went to. Everyone has history, a story that they were a part of for all of each other’s life. While I arrived as an outsider, like entering a long running show in the fifth season. For my adolescent brain, this difference was huge. There was no big showdown that I label as outright bullying. It was subtle, a silent monster always ensuring I don’t get too close to anyone. It was in the subtle exclusion from my classmates, the silent side-eyes and whispers behind my back. “Where did she come from?”, a question that lingered in their gaze.
Being excluded at such a young age recalibrates your entire existence. It erases your identity and makes you question what it is about your personality that drives people away. It made me internalise silence to compensate for existing in their space. However, it is in this silence that I found a new way of being, of always observing first and responding second. I began seeing everyone for who they really are, and seeing the little things that make them behave the way they do. This ‘bullying’ made me move away from the preconceived notions that I too held about others, and made me realise how everyone has a story that needs to be heard and understood to truly see another.