Using Your Voice in Challenging Spaces

I come from a country where it often feels good to be myself. As a woman. As someone working in education. As a leader. I can use my voice as I choose. I can make my own decisions. I can speak up. I can disagree. I can be visible, even when it costs. It is easy to forget the privilege of living in a society where this is simply taken for granted. In Doha, it wasn’t easy to forget.

Before I travelled, I had several conversations with our board, colleagues from different parts of the world, and my family. Should I go, or should I stay away. Why was I uncertain in the first place?

The first reason is the most important one. I am the mother of a transgender daughter. And I struggle deeply with accepting that, in 2026, some countries still treat this as something that can be prohibited. As if it were a choice. As if identity could be legislated away. This upsets me profoundly, because it is not politics to me. It is my child, and it is every child and young person who deserves to feel safe in who they are, wherever they live or travel.

So I had to ask myself an uncomfortable question. How can I travel to a country where I experience that fundamental rights do not apply equally to everyone, without at the same time contributing to legitimising it? Without “sportswashing” or polishing a system I strongly disagree with?

The second reason relates to me as a woman. I have a hard time accepting that women should have fewer rights than men, as if we are worth less. I notice how quickly my body reacts when I encounter structures that clearly mark difference, even when they are presented as “this is how we do it here.” I feel resistance. Sadness. Anger. A kind of quiet protest that sits in my spine.

But the third reason relates to me as a leader. I lead a foundation that works to improve education systems. How can I, with that mandate and conviction, choose to opt out of an arena where the world meets precisely to discuss quality, inclusion, and equal dignity in education? If I truly believe in equal worth, can I only participate when it feels comfortable? When the context resembles my own?

In the end, my answer was this. It takes courage to engage in dialogues that challenge you, and to stand for the belief that everyone has the right to be themselves, regardless of gender identity, religion, or race. It takes courage not to stay silent, but to speak clearly about what must be true for us to live well together. And if I was going to go, I had to go with a clear intention. Not pretending everything is unproblematic, but showing up fully, with the unease as well.

That is why I chose to frame my sessions in Doha around belonging, voice, and inclusion. Around equal treatment. Around what happens to people when systems and cultures open doors, and what happens when they close them.

And I have had many very important conversations as a result. People working in education from all over the world listened, challenged, shared experiences, and put their perspectives on the table with an honesty I am deeply grateful for. Some came from contexts where they fight for rights on a far steeper slope than I do at home. Others came from places where value conflicts are handled in completely different ways. What many shared was a desire to understand more, and a strong commitment to children’s and young people’s dignity, safety, and opportunities. And a sense that the education sector carries a responsibility to bring hope to future generations.

At the same time, I want to be honest that I also felt limitations. I experienced it as constraining to have to use separate entrances for women in some places. I found it difficult to cover up in ways that made me feel more controlled than comfortable. It is a strange feeling to be a professional on a global stage, yet still sense that the conditions for how you are seen and met are different from what you are used to.

But this is where the trip becomes important to write about. Because at the same time, I experienced something else as well. I experienced it as very safe to move around, with very low crime. We saw handbags and mobile phones left untouched. I met many kind people who expressed gratitude that we came, that we shared, that we were curious in return. I met people from a country that stands firmly in its convictions yet often seemed genuinely interested in learning from others. That surprised me in a positive way, even though I disagree with much of the underlying value framework.

This is exactly where prejudice and limitations became a real theme for me. Some of my assumptions were challenged. Not because everything suddenly became fine. Not because the unease disappeared. But because people are more complex than headlines, and because dialogue in practice is often harder, and more human, than dialogue in theory.

I am therefore leaving Qatar as a richer person, glad that I made the decision to go. I am coming home with more nuance, more knowledge, and more relationships that I believe can matter over time. I am also endlessly grateful and proud to be the mother of my transgender daughter in a country like Norway.

Marlen Faanessen

CEO

IMTEC Foundation