Meet the Leaders: In Conversation with Zey Suka-Bill for Black History Month

Professor Zey Suka-Bill is a nationally recognised leader in creative and inclusive education, with over 25 years of experience shaping teaching, research, and institutional culture across the UK higher education sector.

As Pro Vice-Chancellor for Education and Student Success at the Royal College of Art, Zey leads on advancing educational excellence, fostering interdisciplinary learning environments, and ensuring that students are supported to thrive academically, artistically and professionally.

Her leadership is rooted in equity, co-creation and student agency, with a strong focus on closing awarding gaps and improving outcomes for underrepresented groups in creative disciplines. She has contributed to sector-leading research on immersive technologies, curriculum equity and creative apprenticeship policy.

Before joining the RCA, Zey served as Dean of Screen at the London College of Communication, University of the Arts London, where she led one of the UK’s largest clusters of programmes in film, television, animation and immersive media. She also held the role of Interim Pro Vice-Chancellor at UAL, with cross-institutional responsibility for student experience, digital learning, academic registry and wellbeing.

Could you share a little about your leadership journey and how you got to where you are today?

I grew up in a West African family. My parents were first-generation immigrants to the UK. My dad came over on a scholarship in the early 1960s, and my mum followed in the 1970s. We grew up very aware of that journey and what it meant.

My parents were always vocal about why they came to the UK. They said that if they hadn’t had children, they would have stayed where they were. Their move was about creating access and opportunity for us through education. We grew up knowing that there was an expectation for us to make a mark in the world, and that they had sacrificed for us to do so. Even though they never spoke of it as a sacrifice, they always described it as a joy to give us the chances they didn’t have.

That sense of service and purpose, of being useful and contributing wherever you are, has always been part of my story. In our household it was not really an option to be ineffective or to keep your talents to yourself. You were expected to use them to help others and make a difference. So I think that is where my leadership journey began, in that family narrative of responsibility, service and impact.

I have been fortunate to build a career that connects creativity, teaching and leadership. I worked in industry as a photographer, researcher and exhibiting artist, and later returned to higher education to teach. From there I have had the privilege of holding different leadership roles in higher education, and that journey has brought me to where I am today.

I have been fortunate to build a career that connects creativity, teaching and leadership.

What have been some of your key achievements during your journey?

That sense of service has always guided me, even when I was not working in what my family might have considered an “approved” profession. I studied at Central Saint Martins and at what was then the Polytechnic of Central London. When I went into arts education, there were very few people who looked like me teaching, and even fewer in industry. I cannot recall seeing anyone from a global or working-class background in those spaces.

So, when I decided to return to education, I knew I would probably be one of only a few Black women that students would encounter in their academic journey. I was very conscious of that and understood the responsibility that came with it. I knew that I wanted to show up as a role model, not in a performative sense, but because I understood how powerful it would have been for me to have had someone to look up to when I was a student.

From the very beginning, my motivation was to make change happen in the spaces I entered. I wanted to improve equity and inclusion within the institutions where I worked. Over the years, I have led initiatives to reduce attainment gaps that are ethnically or socially constructed, where one group of students consistently performs better than another. I have worked hard to make transitions smoother for students from underrepresented backgrounds.

When I joined the University of the Arts London about eleven years ago, there was an assumption that students from certain backgrounds needed to do more to “catch up”. They were expected to attend pre-sessional programmes or extra sessions to help them develop a sense of belonging. One of the things I am proudest of is that we changed that mindset. We began to ask how the institution could meet its students, rather than expecting students to meet the institution.

My work has always been about accessibility, but I also believe access is not enough. It must be matched by real opportunity and genuine progression. It is one thing to open the door, but quite another to ensure that people feel they belong once they are inside.

A large part of my work has also focused on what the sector refers to as decolonisation. For me, it is about having brave, courageous conversations about the ways in which we teach and ensuring that those approaches are inclusive for everyone. It is not about loss or removal from the curriculum, but about enrichment and context. It is about asking how everyone can see themselves reflected in what we teach and in the knowledge we share.

That has been the thread running through much of my work – building belonging, widening access, and reimagining how higher education can truly serve every student.

We began to ask how the institution could meet its students, rather than expecting students to meet the institution.

Where do you see the biggest tensions around power and equity today, and how can people in positions of influence work to address them?

I often think back to my doctoral research. It revealed that across the education sector there was a real appetite for things to change and for equity to be taken seriously. Yet the systems themselves did not make it easy. There is still a concentration of power that prioritises reputation and preservation, which can make dismantling inequitable structures incredibly difficult.

For me, genuine inclusion requires a redistribution of power. I celebrate initiatives such as Black History Month, but they cannot be symbolic. At their core, they must shift how power operates. That redistribution should shape student outcomes, career progression, curriculum design and recognition across institutions. Otherwise, it risks becoming a symbolic exercise that leaves existing hierarchies untouched.

The deepest tension, I think, lies in the space between change and comfort. Change is uncomfortable. Many of us have inherited systems that protect and serve some people more than others, and the question becomes whether we are willing to confront the discomfort that comes with losing privilege, certainty or influence.

When we talk about equity, we are talking about power, and that means asking difficult questions: What might I lose? What will change about my standing or recognition in this institution? Those are emotional questions as much as structural ones. We need to hold and confront those anxieties honestly if we are serious about building systems that are fair and inclusive.

For me, genuine inclusion requires a redistribution of power. I celebrate initiatives such as Black History Month, but they cannot be symbolic. At their core, they must shift how power operates.

How can universities and other institutions move from symbolic gestures to genuine, sustained inclusion and belonging?

Real inclusion cannot be performative. It has to be embedded in culture, policy and accountability. It requires structural change and a willingness to face the emotional labour that comes with that change. When institutions focus on the symbolic, it can create comfort without transformation.

To move beyond that, leaders need to look critically at how decisions are made, who has a seat at the table and what redistribution of power truly looks like. The work of equity should be as much about systems as it is about relationships, values and the courage to sit with discomfort until something real shifts.

When institutions focus on the symbolic, it can create comfort without transformation.

How do you sustain your sense of resilience and balance amid the demands of leadership, and what practices help you stay grounded?

That is such an important question. The double bind of representation is beginning to be spoken about more openly, and it is something I deeply relate to. Visibility can be empowering, but it can also be exhausting. You become, whether you like it or not, a symbol of progress, while still navigating systems that were never designed for you. There is an expectation to lead, to fix, to explain, to embody diversity – all at once.

For me, what has made the difference is the people around me. I have been fortunate to work with colleagues who genuinely believe that change should not rely on individuals alone. They practise collective accountability and share the responsibility for equity work. Throughout my career, I have had advocates who have spoken my name in rooms I was not in, not only as a “diverse” voice but as a contributor to the core mission of education and student success.

Having those allies –  people who see you fully, who listen, who give you credit, who make space for you to try and fail – has been transformative. It has reminded me that the work of inclusion is not mine alone to carry. Real progress happens when responsibility is shared, and when those with power use it to open doors for others.

Real progress happens when responsibility is shared, and when those with power use it to open doors for others.

What advice would you give to emerging Black leaders, particularly those in academia, who are aspiring to lead at the highest levels?

The first thing I would say is to be yourself. Early in my career, I had people tell me that I would need to change how I spoke or how I behaved if I wanted to progress. I have never seen myself as a traditional leader. Yes, I hold a senior position, but I often say, “I am not that kind of Pro Vice-Chancellor, and I am not that kind of Professor.” I am very much myself.

So my first piece of advice is to know that you belong. Your presence and your values have a place wherever you are. Be your whole self, but also protect yourself. Institutions have different capacities to change, and not every environment is equally safe for authenticity. Sometimes, being fully yourself can lead to harm rather than good, and it is important to be discerning about that.

Ultimately, I would encourage emerging leaders to come into their spaces with confidence and conviction. Leadership can carry a heavy weight of expectation, but it also offers an opportunity to redefine what leadership looks like. Stay rooted in your values, build a community of support and remember that authenticity is not a liability. It is your greatest strength.

You just have to find the right place for it to flourish. That may take time, and perhaps a few changes along the way, but you will get there.

Your presence and your values have a place wherever you are.