I was hosting a game for prospective Georgetown students, all of whom ranged from grades 10 to 12. Divided into groups, they were tasked with listing as many countries as they could on a world map within five minutes. Approaching the penultimate minute, I noticed one group had identified 30 countries, their selections scattered across the Americas, Europe, Africa, and parts of Asia. Then they stalled. They had reached an impasse, or so they claimed.
Upon closer inspection, I was confounded by the emptiness of one particular region—untouched, unnoticed, unseen. In an attempt to push them toward it, I said, “You guys are missing a lot of countries in Southeast Asia!” Their confusion was immediate. One student pointed to the unlabeled Greenland and asked, “Is it here?” I barely managed to say no.
This moment, as laughable as it was alarming, speaks to a larger issue: the region’s invisibility in mainstream academic discourse. With the growing number of students from this part of the world at Georgetown University in Qatar (GU-Q) over the past year, this gap in representation is increasingly difficult to ignore. More are bringing their identities, histories, and perspectives to the university, but without institutional efforts to match this demographic shift, the imbalance remains stark. When was the last time GU-Q offered a class dedicated to the region—if it ever did? When was the last time a professor of Southeast Asian descent was employed at GU-Q—if there ever was one? Beyond the cultural clubs formed by students, occasional CURA Beyond the Headlines events, or the sporadic posters in Red Square detailing crises in Myanmar or the Philippines, the presence of this part of the world is evident—but not conspicuous enough. In the grander scheme of the university’s curriculum and faculty, it remains a blind spot.
What does this say about our campus? As an institution renowned for its world-class education and specialization in foreign service, it is ironic—borderline negligent—that such a crucial part of the world remains academically invisible. One of the glossy pamphlets from the Office of Admissions proudly advertises GU-Q’s “70+ nationalities across five continents.” Although not incorrect, this selling point begs the question: Does the curriculum actually reflect this diversity? Are we academically equipped to uphold this globalized image beyond mere representation?
This region isn’t just missing from the classroom; it is relegated to the periphery of campus consciousness. We see its people in the staff running our university—service providers, finance officers, HR personnel. But when will I, as a student, sit in a class that dissects the Rohingya crisis in Myanmar, China’s aggression in the West Philippine Sea, Vietnam’s Mekong Delta drowning under rising sea levels, or the economic vulnerabilities of ASEAN as a whole? When can I deeply analyze these global, political, and socioeconomic issues beyond a passing mention in a GOVT or IPOL course?
Before studying abroad in my junior year, my engagement with these topics came only from personal interest, self-directed research, and the quiet duty of knowing my own world. In D.C., I was fortunate enough to take a graduate-level course, “ASEAN: Progress, Problems, Promise,” taught by Prof. Pamela Sodhy, who has since retired. But as a GU-Q student, I shouldn’t have to travel thousands of miles just to take a class that resonates with my identity. Why is it that the only recent institutional effort toward engaging with this part of the world—the Zones of Conflict, Zones of Peace trip to Indonesia—feels more like an advertisement for the new Georgetown Asia Pacific campus than a genuine attempt at inclusion?
And while Prof. Sodhy’s class was not the only course focused on the region at Georgetown, its absence highlights how few dedicated spaces exist for its academic study. If the main campus—significantly larger and better resourced than GU-Q—struggles to maintain consistent offerings, what does that say about the likelihood of such courses being established in Qatar? This is not an issue of student interest but of institutional will. There must be an active effort from the administration to seek out and recruit faculty specializing in this field. Without this commitment, it will continue to exist as an incidental inclusion in our educational framework.
This is not just an academic oversight; it is an institutional failure. In a university that prides itself on global competency, why does an entire region remain a sideline? More importantly, what does it say about the priorities of an institution that claims to prepare its students for international leadership, yet renders a crucial part of the world pedagogically airbrushed?
This is also not just about representation—it is about responsibility. It is about acknowledging the gaps in our education and demanding better. Because in a school that claims to shape the next generation of global thinkers, it should not take a student’s personal initiative to learn about one of the world’s most dynamic and complex regions. The Jesuit value of “Community in Diversity” is more than just an aspirational phrase; it calls for meaningful engagement with the cultures and histories that shape our world.
At what point will GU-Q start paying as much attention to pad thai and nasi goreng as it does to croissants and Chipotle? When will our syllabi finally recognize the region that gave the world Jollibee, satay, and pho—along with some of the most pressing geopolitical and economic issues of our time? If we can spend entire semesters dissecting European treaties and American foreign policy, surely there’s room to talk about ASEAN without it being a footnote in some other class. Because let’s be real—if this region were a restaurant item, it’d be that one dish on the menu nobody orders, not because it’s bad, but because the restaurant forgot to print it in bold.
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