By Fardous Bahbouh, Researcher & Consultant on Labour Rights, Public Policy, and the Political Economy of the Translation Industry

As I approach the completion of my research on inequality and the almost non-existent labour rights in outsourced public service interpreting, I have reached a difficult but important realisation: researching systemic problems can be lonely, emotionally taxing, and politically complex. Max Weber’s description of “the slow boring of hard boards” resonates deeply with this experience—progress is painstaking, incremental, and often met with resistance.

Part of what makes this work so challenging is that it rarely threatens only one actor. Reviewing my research blog, which I kept to document the process for public knowledge throughout my study, I can see how often I have had to confront corporate interests benefiting from outsourced public services, academic institutions invested in maintaining conventional narratives, and even individual scholars whose frameworks may unintentionally obscure structural inequality.

Perhaps most unexpectedly, I have also had to critically examine organisations that are ostensibly established to represent translators and interpreters, such as the Chartered Institute of Linguists (CIOL), the Institute of Translation and Interpreting (ITI), and the National Register of Public Service Interpreters (NRPSI). It often felt surreal—and at times absurd—to be the one insisting that:

Translators and interpreters must not be seen merely as necessary for maintaining a compliant, adoptable workforce for the translation industry. They are human beings entitled to dignity, fair pay, and decent working conditions. Any institutional statements or policies that claim to represent their lives must keep this front and centre.

Shouldn’t they already know that?

For example, the ITI often frames the issue in terms of retention: if translators and interpreters’ pay does not improve, those skilled knowledge workers might quit. While this is a partially legitimate concern, it obscures the fact that translators and interpreters have labour and human rights, including freedom from want and fear, and the right to enjoy the fruits of their labour—regardless of whether they stay in the translation industry or seek better-paying, more secure work that guarantees a decent life for themselves and their families.

Another example is my disagreement with the ITI and other professional linguist organisations over their collaboration with the Association of Translation Companies (ATC). This highlighted the tension between professional representation and structural complicity with corporate interests, even if unintentional. Well-meaning institutions, when intertwined with corporate or political interests, can reproduce the very inequalities we are trying to expose. They do this by attributing problems to external factors, such as a complex procurement landscape, while obscuring the ethical responsibility of corporations and repeating the excuse that “remuneration issues are better tackled elsewhere.” Framing matters—it shapes how we understand the world and how we go about changing it. I often felt that my extensive knowledge of the subject dictated an ethical duty to speak out and to warn the institutions of the serious risks of adopting the constructed commercial narrative without adequate critical engagement.

Acting on this ethical responsibility, however, is not without cost. Engaging with these dynamics can feel uncomfortable, frustrating, and isolating. It carries multiple risks: the work is emotionally exhausting, and there is the constant danger that your perspective is dismissed as the angry, “unhinged” view of a single individual. How can one person be right when multiple stakeholders seem to agree? Yet the challenge is precisely that: these stakeholders may lack insight into the lived realities of insecure labour and the political difficulties of achieving meaningful change.

Beyond the emotional strain, there are tangible professional consequences. Critiquing established organisations or corporate practices can strain professional relationships, limit opportunities for collaboration, and expose one to reputational challenges—even when the critique is well-founded and evidence-based. Stakeholders may question your expertise, marginalise your contributions, or frame your findings as ‘unrealistic,’ which can affect career progression and engagement within the field.

Despite the exhaustion and the risks, this work has been profoundly rewarding. It has taught me that challenging systemic inequality requires more than intellectual clarity and political economy expertise—it demands emotional maturity, resilience, and the ability to confront uncomfortable truths without becoming cynical. Navigating the slow, painstaking process of questioning entrenched systems is part of the journey; it is a sign that the work is significant and necessary.

Reflecting on these experiences, I realise that discomfort, resistance, and even conflict are inherent to research that seeks to illuminate structural injustice. They are not failures—they are markers of impact.