e Beaver investigates: How LSE students cheat their way to internships

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Despite actively pursuing a career in investment banking, Jordan admitted that “there is very little genuine interest almost anyone has (…) in working 15-hour days, formatting and reformatting PowerPoint slides, working underneath o en quite aggressive nancial managers and senior sta , and working in front of a screen most of the time.”

But the sacri ce is worth it, because to many, “it’s about power, it’s about status, it’s about prestige.”

Jordan described an “inherently toxic (…) dog-eat-dog culture” at LSE, where “egos are a big, big thing.” When I asked him to elaborate, Jordan revealed that many LSE students cheat their way through the application process. “ ere are a lot of loopholes, Machiavellian mechanisms, and steps one can take in order to put themselves forward in a way that other people cannot,” Jordan said.

“ ere was a lot of misplay happening, that was for sure.”

For example, during remote interviews, questions are randomly generated so that students cannot premeditate their answers. However, according to Jordan, LSE students “had created almost a service whereby they were able to exploit the backend code of the HireVue websites [an online interview platform used by companies in the recruiting process] … and students paid for and had access to those questions in advance.” Indeed, another student pointed me to a “career accelerator” company run by former LSE students that o ers packages with a database of interview questions, though the company is not transparent about where these questions are sourced from. is same company charges students anywhere from £39 per month to over ten thousand pounds for personalised packages.

Jordan also revealed that there were “large cohorts of people … making networks with certain people [recruiters and higherup people that grant access through referrals] that allowed them to reach nal stages of application processes without having to even apply in the rst place.”

I reached out to countless other students pursuing careers in nance in order to investigate how widespread the alleged “misplay” was. Many did not want to be interviewed. Some questioned whether they would truly be kept anonymous; some wanted to speak o -therecord; some refused to reveal anything speci c in written correspondence in case it could be traced back to them.

Eventually, a number of students agreed to go on-therecord anonymously. Almost all of the students who spoke to me corroborated Jordan’s account of students cheating their way through application processes. e most widespread practice of “cheating” in the application process seems to be collaborating on aptitude tests. It has become so normalised that many tell me I can nd students doing aptitude tests together in public LSE spaces, such as the library or the nance common room in the Marshall Building.

Many also revealed the more intricate ways in which students have gotten ahead.

Some students have “applied to multiple divisions where you’re not able to,” Naomi*, a thirdyear Management student, said. She alleged that they do this “by putting down fake names.” Others “get someone else to do their test for them [or] hire agencies to do it: CVs, cover letters, tests. ey pay a good fortune to just get an interview,” according to Donnie*, a secondyear Economics student.

Brad*, a second-year Finance student, spoke about an event he helped host, which featured an associate from a bulge-bracket rm [one of the world’s largest multinational investment banks]. ere were over 90 applications for a handful of spots, and a student tried bribing the committee for a spot by o ering to trade contacts for a referral. ese cheating allegations are emblematic of the intense culture at LSE — a culture where one’s identity and self-worth are tied to career achievements and accolades, fostering behaviour that goes to extreme lengths.

While investment banking naturally attracts highachievers and type-A personalities, LSE culture is distinctly unique. Chester*, a third-year Economics student, observed a “huge di erence in culture.” Regarding this point, he referred to his friends at UCL, who are members of an investment club: “ ey help within their club, but outside of it, you’ll be a social outcast … if you bring [spring weeks] up in conversation … at LSE, it’s a casual conversation.”

Chester elaborated by describing his experience as a campus ambassador for one of the bulge-bracket rms. In his role, he learned that campus ambassadors at other universities have to create awareness and branding for the rm, advertising that “opportunities exist” and explaining “what a spring week is.” However, Chester claims that if he tried explaining what a spring week was to an LSE nance student, “they would be like ‘I already know that, like, what the f— are you doing here?’” is observation has been reiterated in many of my interviews; Nicky*, a second year Economic History student, said that “at other universities, if you know about a spring week, you are already ahead of the curve.” e unparalleled xation on careers at LSE means that students who were previously unfamiliar with the application process feel the need to catch up with their peers, further feeding into the culture. is was the case for Naomi who, a er only learning about spring weeks in her rst week at LSE, “did basically take three or four weeks o of uni in rst-year and spent all that time focusing on applications.” Donnie remarked that “a good majority of people don’t like the pressure but are in the game. ey go with the ow, and the ow here is: keep applying, keep trying to get these career opportunities, cross-compare with those who get better o ers.”

Moreover, the career-driven focus has resulted in investment banking o ers contributing to LSE students’ identity and status. Naomi ended up receiving an o er at Goldman Sachs and described how she was “sitting in the library and someone came up to [her] and said, ‘Oh, you’re [Naomi], you’re the Goldman girl.”

“People just know you for your career achievements,” she said. “Status does come alongside it.” is high-pressure culture also has an impact on students’ mental health. Nicky said that the application process for investment banking is “very taxing in terms of preparation, but also just mentally, because when you don’t get it, it’s brutal.” is sentiment was echoed by Kimmie*, a secondyear Economics and Economic History student, who said that “it de nitely a ects self-esteem and self worth, especially when you can receive such a high volume of rejections.” ere are also clear institutional pressures at LSE, which contribute to pressure and stress students feel. “LSE breeds investment bankers,” Kimmie said. “All those LSE career emails, and workshops, and networking events. I feel like the university does … impose that onto you. It’s unavoidable.”

Ambition is not categorically bad, and neither is a career in investment banking. Many interviewees viewed investment banking as a valuable stepping stone to other opportunities, equipping them with training, a network, and experience. However, it becomes problematic when a school — and consequently, culture — presents career achievements as the “be-all, end-all,” pushing students to extreme lengths.

“ e message has always been ‘If you feel pressured, come talk to us’”, Donnie explained. “ at makes people who didn’t, for example, get a spring week feel like they are some sort of failure … the message should be more about the career side is just one piece of the pie … to showcase that there is a human aspect.” However, the di culty is that LSE is also catering to the demands of students who want to be made aware of opportunities and appreciate career support.

While the degree of institutional change required is debatable, ultimately, people make culture. LSE nance culture, just like any other aspect of university, is what you make of it and the people you surround yourself with. As Brad rightly points out, “there’s a whole world out there that we haven’t even explored … it’s important to have that perspective and be con dent in yourself … and know that not getting something like a spring week does not de ne your self-worth.” Stepping outside of the nance bubble might be di cult at LSE, but it is not impossible.

*Names in this article have been changed to preserve anonymity.

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What is ‘Black LSE’?

Amirah Deji-Abiola Contributor

I wrote “What is Black LSE?” to understand the Black LSE experience. is article features six interviewees, including queer, alumni, sta , student, and African Caribbean Society experiences. Each interview begins with a quote which summarises the subject’s key message. Our conversations touched upon themes of Black excellence, identity, and community.

Tobe Amamize

20 years old, Nigerian, 2nd-year Law student

Emmanuel Valery

28 years old, Haitian-Jamaicas, MSc Information Systems and Digital Innovation student

MICHAEL BYARUGABA

22 years old, Ugandan, MA Gender and Sexuality student

“Innovation and determination”

Manny grew up in Brooklyn, New York, and is the current president of the LGBT+ society at LSE. He is the centre of a Venn diagram that intersects black, queer, and rst-generation immigrant experiences in an American context. Living within this intersection gives him a level of self-awareness and compassion that makes him the perfect person to bring together people with unique queer experiences.

“LSE should not be proud that my only bad experience was based on my socio-economic background.”

Tobe was born in Lagos, Nigeria but moved to Scotland at the age of 4 where she has lived up till now.

During her gap year, the murder of George Floyd occurred which sparked international outrage about the treatment of black people within our society. All of this prompted her to re ect upon her own experiences and how she could make sustainable change for the BLM movement in Scotland. She started a petition to make Black history part of compulsory education in schools across Scotland which gained over 4,000 signatures. is also prompted her to be recognised as one of the top 10 black future leaders of 2022.

Tobe admits to coming to LSE and “not knowing what (she) was doing” as well as feeling a “pressure to have yourself gured out” as LSE can be quite a cutthroat and intense environment. Still, she always felt “upli ed by her black peers” despite feeling a lack of socio-economic diversity among the black students in her course and throughout the university. e feeling of a class and race divide is a unique pressure that she believed underpinned her black LSE experience. She recounted only meeting “one or two other black working class students” during her time at LSE.

Despite the negative start, I believe the true value of her experience stems from nding self-worth in a time of adversity.

At the end of our conversation, Tobe made two inspirational remarks for the next generation of Black, working class women at LSE. She hopes that BAME students no longer feel the need to live up to a stereotype of success which is derived corporate accomplishments, but that we feel value from personal successes.

Finally, she hopes that there would be more socio-economic diversity at the LSE.

A recurring theme throughout our conversation was community. Manny discusses noticing a strong gay community within his department when he rst came to LSE which was di erent from other predominantly white institutions he had been a part of. Coming to London can be a daunting experience but he found a lot of comfort within the LGBT+ community at LSE. is prompted me to ask about one of the key complaints I have heard from other members of the LGBT+ society at LSE, which is that being a person of colour makes them feel alienated. is was not unfamiliar to our president who recounted a similar feeling upon coming out and encountering queer spaces in Washington D.C. but he exclaimed that he does not “like to see people on the outside.” is feeling of community is what Manny believes characterises his black, queer experience at LSE.

Michael did his BA in Anthropology and Law at LSE during which he was the 2020 LSESU African and Caribbean Society (ACS) president.

When I ask him about his time on the ACS committee, he reiterated how proud he is of his fellow committee members. He started his presidency the summer after George Floyd’s death. His committee decided to launch a 3-day IG live where they discussed all of the aspects and key themes circulating the Black Lives Matter movement at the time, raising £500. e resilience showcased by his team is something that he believes underpins the black community, especially at LSE.

Feelings of racialised isolation are not alien to Michael. He recounts being one of two or three black people in his classes at LSE, even at the postgraduate level. Even though this can be quite intimidating at the beginning of your academic experience, he said he was not fazed and recounts that he came to LSE “determined to make (his academic experience) black.” Representing such a diverse and intercultural group of people in a classroom discussion can be overwhelming. He rejects this and sees the racialisation of experiences and understanding the world through an ethnic lens as a passion project.

Michael’s ‘black LSE experience’ has been an empowering opportunity to break away from a European paradigm in academia.

Kemi Akinboyewa

27 years old, Nigerian, Investment Banker, LSE alumna since 2016

Shontae Romain

40 years old, Jamaican, Alumna since 2003 and Sta at LSE ese feelings of isolation became motivation which carried her throughout her career in fundraising. Volunteering within EmbRace, the sta network for people of colour, and sitting on the Ross CASE EDI Working group, a network for Russell group universities seeking to reduce inequality within higher education fundraising and engagement; she is pushing the institution, the sector, and indeed herself to be bolder in helping students and sta from diverse backgrounds.

Aer her graduation, Shontae moved onto a membership role at Gingerbread (previously known as One Parent Families), then moved into fundraising at London Business School then back to LSE. Shontae described her years studying at LSE as characterised by o en being the “only black person in (her) classes”, feeling “isolated”, like an “imposter”, and “not considered” by the university.

DR MAAME MENSA-BONSU Ghanian, Post-Doctoral Fellow, Law Teacher at LSE

Upon trying to describe her experience at LSE, Kemi acknowledged that the university can create a bubble of overwhelming pressure and certain expectations that you can be judged on if not reached. However, she constantly reiterates how “lucky” she was that she had a positive experience at LSE and proclaims that the environment “pushed (her) to work hard.” roughout her career, there have been di erent hurdles to her path to success that are more covert than what we may imagine. ough her success may be more typical of LSE alumni, she’s still very humble and heavily appreciative of others who have had more di cult journeys to the path of success. is motivation exceeds the frontiers of the LSE campus and expands to a lot of elite British universities like Imperial, Oxford, and UCL. ough LSE is doing a lot more for its black students, Shontae still encourages them to “be bold”. So, to answer what is Shontae’s black LSE experience? I think it is progress, motivation, and a desire to aid the progress of others.

In my conversations with people, some were eager to discuss the ways in which race or any social category de ned their LSE experience and others were not. Kemi’s experience goes beyond her race and instead is characterised by her diligence and adaptability which manifested itself in university and the working world.

Within our discussions of her experience in the corporate world versus university, she wishes that she would have tried other things and challenged herself to look beyond the expected parameters of a nance student at LSE. is humble self-awareness goes to show that there is unappreciated value in time.

Maame was raised in Ghana and self-identies as an “African Constitutional eorist.” I asked if she ever felt boxed-in by her speciality in African legal research. She proclaimed in response, “I cra that box! e label to me is an acceptance that legal theory is context-speci c and that what African societies might need is not what others might need and that’s okay. It’s a di erent, not an illegitimate strain of theory.” is brings me back to the idea of black excellence and the reasonings behind the creation of this ‘movement’. To Maame, black excellence is “a story greater than when people facing fewer odds do it.” Yet it must be carefully projected so as not to become inhibiting to young black people who consider themselves regular people. ere’s no single “Black LSE experience”, despite the shared experiences described in this series. Having a uniform conception of ‘Black LSE’ erases the diversity and individuality found within LSE’s community. I hope that this article has stretched your understanding and appreciation of LSE’s Black population and that the themes discussed are relatable to people within and beyond this demographic.

Stressing the importance for us to create our own labels and live within that experience, her con dence and expertise give me a new idea of navigating my blackness in a higher-education setting.

On her experience as a black woman, Maame recounts, “[P]eople don’t assume your authority is valid when they rst encounter you.” She says that there is a pressure to validate and rea rm that you deserve your access to spaces of authority. She notes, however, that in the instances she has felt some resistance from students, it has not lasted long. Once she has a rmed that she is rightfully in that space, her authority is accepted and, importantly, respected.

My conversation with Maame showed me that there does not have to be shame within these labels. ey can be a source of pride and identity which should be celebrated in times like Black History Month and beyond.