I come from a family with roots in agriculture on one side and manual labor on the other. Growing up in a small village of 2,500 people, I was raised alongside two siblings (I met my half-sister later in life) primarily by my single mother, who comes from a long line of farmers, and my maternal grandparents. My grandfather, born in the same village, had roots in southern Europe, which I am still exploring.

My grandmother's family, originally Sudeten from Moravia (Czechia), was expelled from their homeland because of the Beneš decrees. They survived and eventually settled in southern Germany, where they were assigned a piece of land in our small village in Swabia. After my grandparents met, they continued to farm the land of my grandfather's family.

By the time I was born, much of my grandparents' farm was no longer in operation due to economic pressures that made small farms unsustainable. Although some land and forest remained to maintain, I wasn’t expected to take over the farm. Instead, there was a strong emphasis on my education as crucial to my future. This focus on education was likely influenced by their own history of displacement, poverty, and disrupted learning opportunities.

My mother had aspirations for higher education, but societal expectations surrounding gender prevented her from attending a Gymnasium (the German equivalent of a British grammar school or a US preparatory high school). Instead, she was sent to a Realschule—a secondary school in Germany focused on vocational training and apprenticeships—considered more suitable for women due to its emphasis on household skills (though I’m unsure if this is still the case). When my parents divorced, my mother had to work several jobs to make ends meet. My father, struggling with severe mental health issues and long-term unemployment, was unable to provide significant financial support. He passed away when I was 21.

I'm grateful for my rural upbringing, which gave me a deep understanding of life, work, and community—qualities that have profoundly shaped my philosophical thinking. However, as a first-generation academic, I’ve faced structural challenges, particularly in accessing certain knowledge and feeling at home in academic circles. These challenges have tangible consequences: lower grades, financial pressures, and ongoing psychological struggles. My roots continue to influence my personal and academic life, shaping my worldview and navigation of academia.

After finishing secondary school, I initially decided to pursue a teaching degree. This choice provided the security I needed to allow myself to study, as it typically translated to a good salary and secure job prospects. In addition, it wasn't feasible for me to attend a university far from home, as that would have required paying rent, which was unaffordable for me, at least for the first few semesters. 

Occasionally, I encounter negative sentiments about teaching degrees, with some suggesting that those who study on this track do so because they cannot excel in other academic disciplines. I think this assumption is misguided. People choose their majors for various reasons, including class-based considerations (such as choosing a major with secure job prospects), and it's simply not true that teaching degrees always have a lower admission cap. More importantly, why should we, as philosophers, be concerned with the grades a dedicated student receives in any school subject at 17? I am skeptical that a convincing argument can be made without resorting to classist stereotypes or prejudices.

At the university where I was enrolled, a significant percentage of the student body commuted up to two hours a day from rural areas. I was one of them until I was able to afford a room in a shared apartment thanks to the Bundesausbildungsförderungsgesetz (BAföG)—a German federal student aid program that provides financial support based on need—, a half-orphan's pension, and a part-time job. Scholarships were not on my radar; as a student, I believed that scholarships were only for people from highly educated families or for people who had been active in a political party for years—an image that was somewhat reinforced by the scholarship landscape. In addition to my studies, I also focused on learning to speak without a dialect, as in some regions of Germany, dialect was (and perhaps still is) a clear marker of lower-class background. 

As it turned out, I did not become a teacher. Various mentors encouraged me to apply to doctoral programs, something I wouldn't have considered on my own; my grades seemed a bit too punk, the hurdles too high, and I didn't feel I belonged.

During my PhD, many of the unwritten social and academic rules felt strange and inaccessible to me: How do you behave at a conference? How much funding can you reasonably request? What should I wear to a conference or a job interview? What's the appropriate tone for emails to my supervisors? Additionally, the lack of financial security meant I had to complete my PhD within the strict three-year period of my scholarship. While I don't think this diminished the quality of my dissertation, it certainly increased the pressure and stress. As a result, the research phase was shortened, which meant that I spent a significant portion of my postdoc still working on material from the dissertation.

The structural problems I faced during my education and Ph.D. did not vanish when I entered the postdoc phase. Some challenges have been persistent "companions": the feeling of not doing enough and feeling out of place. In Germany, the strict rules for academic careers exacerbate these issues, fostering precariousness and financial insecurity. For me—and others—these struggles are not solely linked to social background but also to aspects of identity, such as being openly trans and queer. As a trans and non-binary person in philosophy, I often find myself isolated, with few peers who share similar experiences. To my knowledge, I am currently the only trans and non-binary philosopher with a postdoc position in Germany, a situation that reflects the broader unemployment challenges faced by trans and non-binary people in the country.

While visibility for marginalized subdisciplines and philosophers has increased in Germany, structural changes remain insufficient. For instance, there are no targeted hiring practices or support programs for trans philosophers or other marginalized groups. Measures such as targeted hiring practices, diversity and equity in hiring (e.g., requiring DEI statements), specific mentorship programs, and adjustments in funding allocations could be implemented to address these structural challenges. While none of these are perfect, and some risk being cosmetic, combining them would be a step toward addressing the issues marginalized individuals face in academic philosophy.

Being invited to speak on trans philosophy, philosophy of race, and philosophy of disability is encouraging. However, if philosophers doing this work—especially those from underrepresented groups—don't secure academic positions, the discipline won't truly evolve. This isn't just about diversifying who holds these positions; it's about rethinking the questions we ask and expanding our understanding of what philosophy is and can be.

Should trans philosophy, for example, be seen merely as a niche subdiscipline or as an approach that fundamentally informs how we think about minds and bodies, challenging existing norms? Similarly, trans philosophy, philosophy of disability, and philosophy of race challenge the traditional divide between theoretical and practical philosophy, expanding the discipline's boundaries in areas like philosophy of mind, phenomenology, and epistemology.

Marginalized philosophical work often crosses traditional boundaries, combining various areas from a marginalized perspective. This approach not only highlights marginalized experiences or makes niche points but also enriches philosophy by fostering interdisciplinarity and encouraging philosophy to reflect on its place in the world and its relation to other disciplines. 

Gen Eickers is a Postdoc and Lecturer at the University of Bayreuth.