Original Research

Navigating the neoliberal university: A collaborative autoethnography of emerging scholars

Nokulunga Shabalala, Curwyn Mapaling

Received: 30 Apr. 2024; Accepted: 27 Aug. 2024; Published: 07 Nov. 2024

Copyright: © 2024. The Author(s). Licensee: AOSIS.
This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License, which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited.

Abstract

In the dynamic landscape of the neoliberal university, conversations between emerging scholars serve as vital spaces for critical reflection and transformative action. This collaborative autoethnographic study engaged with the complexities of navigating academia as two black clinical psychologists within a South African university. Drawing on decoloniality, we interrogated the pervasive ‘carrying on’ culture and its impact on early-career academics. Our lived experiences underscored the intersections of identity, power and resistance, as we grappled with the commodification of higher education and the pressures to ascend the ranks hastily. Through a reflexive thematic analysis of our recorded discussions, we uncovered mechanisms for disrupting normative structures and redefining the purpose of scholarly pursuits. Central to our inquiry was the notion of refusal as a generative force, challenging the status quo and advocating for a more conducive, supportive environment where teaching and learning activities are genuine expressions of growth. We envisioned a university that fosters meaningful intellectual engagement and societal transformation, calling for collective dialogue and action to reimagine the neoliberal higher education landscape.

Contribution: Our study contributes to the ongoing conversation on decolonising academia, offering insights into the struggles and aspirations of emerging scholars in the Global South, and advocating for a transformative praxis that nurtures authentic intellectual pursuits and collective well-being within academia.

Keywords: audit culture; commodification of higher education; decoloniality; refusal; transformation; emerging scholars; black psychologists.

Introduction

In an era where the pursuit of knowledge is increasingly shaped by the relentless pace and commodification of the neoliberal university. The voices of emerging scholars offer a necessary understanding of the complex interplay of identity, power and resistance within higher education (HE). Ratele (2018:66) argues that the problem of HE is one of ‘racist hetero-patriarchal hyper-capitalist traditions’. Before being enraged by Ratele’s assertion, we need to recall that universities were not left untouched by the dehumanising agenda of colonialism and apartheid. The remnants of this past within the university (coloniality) are in deep need of radical reinvention (Ratele 2018). Ratele (2018) further warns against transformation by assimilation, which merely means integrating people based on particular markers such as race, gender and ability. He warns that not only is it culturally injurious for those who try navigating historically white institutions, but it also leaves the institutional cultures (borne of segregationist and capitalist thought) within previously disadvantaged universities unchecked (Ratele 2018). This, Ratele (2018) argues, leaves the HE cultural value system significantly unchanged. Therefore, it is then not surprising that how curricula are designed, teaching practices and research (which is often recycled) serve to (re)produce racist, hetero-patriarchal and capitalist traditions. Ratele (2018) further reveals that the problem we seem to encounter in HE is that we (consciously or unconsciously) privilege these traditions. The neoliberal turn in HE also worsens this problem.

Mbembe (2017:3) describes neoliberalism as ‘a phase in the history of humanity dominated by the industries of the Silicon Valley and digital technology’. In relation to academia, Parker (2014:261) talks about the institutional changes in HE as part of the neoliberal agenda. This agenda, enforced by university management, has a competitive ethos and embodies the masculine ideal of constant availability (Parker 2014; Shabalala 2022). The subjectivity of academics is constituted by endless self-monitoring, negotiating time, planning and responsibility (Gill 2010). In the context of a neoliberal university, the intersection of identity and professional experience profoundly shapes the journey of emerging scholars. As black clinical psychologists navigating this space, we grapple with the intricacies of race, legitimacy and belonging within the institutional culture. We encounter both support and resistance in our pursuit of scholarship and social justice.

This article does not follow the rigorous conventions of a traditional qualitative inquiry. Therefore, it may read like a political statement in some instances, and in some ways, we follow research conventions. This is because we are writing from personal experience, and the personal is political (Massumi 1995). While we draw on collaborative autoethnography (CAE) and have chosen to analyse our recorded discussion, the article is mainly reflective. In this article, our data are completely (to borrow from Gill 2010:231) ‘unscientific’, but we hope to illustrate some crucial insights about working within a neoliberal space as emerging scholars. Our intention here is to engage openly regarding the experience as emerging scholars, and not to do so in a silo. We believe that collaboration – albeit translating in fewer units (one sole-authored publication equals one unit) for us, which has consequences for promotion – is the starting point. During our individual journeys through academia, we have experienced feelings of exhaustion, anxiety, shame, sleeplessness and non-belonging. These affective shifts often remain unspoken but are seemingly understood by all (Gill 2010). This is our way of speaking out and challenging the ‘all newbies get exploited, so carry on’ status quo, while actively supporting and learning from each other.

We have spent much time in academia, initially pursuing our careers as psychologists, and currently pursuing an academic career. Therefore, we recognise that we are ‘part of the history [we] seek to rework, situated within it in complicated ways’ (Ball 2013:88). Our own knowledge and practice as clinical trainers and psychologists continues to be historically implicated. Engaging with the concept of decoloniality within HE provides a framework for critically examining these historical implications and working toward transformative change (Govender & Naidoo 2023). We further recognise that while there has been growing emphasis on reflexivity in qualitative research, far less critical attention has been given to the understanding of academics’ experiences of working in the contemporary university (Gill 2010).

Decoloniality in higher education

Universities are in trouble, and it’s not just money we’re talking about. They are living through something of a crisis of confidence, even of trust and faith. (O’Hara 2024:para.1)

Recent movements, like Fallism (#RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall), Why is my curriculum White and others have called for the decolonisation of institutional cultures (epistemicide, western ideologies dominating curricula and colonial pedagogic practices) that render particular actors within HE excluded and their identities misrecognised (eds. Mqolomba & Pillay 2022). In this article, we use decoloniality to centre our reflections, and as a strategy to question the status quo. Decoloniality encompasses ways of thinking, and necessarily follows from and responds to coloniality (eds. Mignolo & Walsh 2018). Mignolo and Walsh (eds. 2018) describe decoloniality as:

[Deriving] from and [responding] to coloniality and the ongoing colonial process and condition. It is a form of struggle and survival, an epistemic and existence-based response and practice – most especially by colonised and racialised subjects – against the colonial matrix of power in all its dimensions for the possibilities of an otherwise. (p. 17)

Dylan McGarry (Kulundu-Bolus, McGarry & Lotz-Sisitka 2020:115), in his discussion about ‘decolonising the charade’, calls our attention to Orr (2004), who writes about the charade of modern education. Orr (2004) focuses on the purpose of education, what it claims to do and what the outcomes are, exploring the myth that the purpose of HE is to give students upward mobility and success. Given the high unemployment rates in South Africa, we know the necessity of challenging this myth (Bradbury 2023). Orr (2004) highlights how the prerequisite to producing research outputs can undermine the scholarly enterprise and, equally, deprive students of the quality of trainers and teachers they deserve. In terms of dominant traditions and institutional cultures, Parker (2014:251) quotes Sohn-Rethel’s (1978) idea of the ‘necessary false consciousness’ to describe the charade and the resultant culture of ‘carrying-on’. He unpacks this concept to highlight defences people employ within academia, where they tend to carry on (i.e. inhabit positions and enforce the intensification of surveillance) as though things are the way they ought to be (Parker 2014). He further theorises that this position is necessary but also frames what we can do and how we speak and think about our work (Parker 2014). To further unpack what we mean by the culture of carrying-on, we turn to an excerpt from Rosalind Gill’s (2010:235) chapter where she puts forward what a colleague once said to her about complaining to their mentor about their workload: ‘Welcome to modern academia. We’re all working these crazy hours. I’m sorry to be blunt, but you know what you have to do, if it’s too hot, get out the kitchen’. The kitchen is seemingly hot for everyone, or at the very least, everyone knows that the kitchen is hot. However, instead of pulling together to reduce the heat, it is intensified by competition and a lack of humanness (Gill 2010). These silencing responses, ‘we’re all working these crazy hours’ and ‘if it’s too hot, get out of the kitchen’, create an environment where nothing is questioned, leaving a sense in those who wish to complain that they ought not to and must carry on.

In other words, this business of education – where workloads are unimaginable, and academics are expected to be teachers, community-conscious, pioneers in teaching and learning, researchers and look after themselves in their spare time (O’Hara 2024; Shabalala 2022) – is what McGarry (Kulundu-Bolus et al. 2020) refers to as the charade in urgent need of decoloniality. This charade encompasses the unsustainable and exploitative practices that have been normalised within the neoliberal university, perpetuating a culture of ‘carrying on’ at the expense of genuine transformation and inclusivity. Furthering McGarry’s (Kulundu et al. 2020) argument, decolonising the charade encompasses the refusal to participate in the perpetual ‘carrying on’ culture and parts of the neoliberal university that serve to reinforce privilege and exclusion. It involves unlearning enculturated ways of being that feed coloniality. This means that we, ourselves, ought to undergo transformation within the same space that we wish to realise transformation (Ball 2013).

This realisation that our own knowledge and practice as academics are situated in history, and continue to be implicated in perpetuating colonial structures and inequities, is a critical starting point for decoloniality (Walsh 2018). It compels us to confront the uncomfortable truth that we are part of the very system we seek to transform, and that genuine change requires a deep, reflexive examination of our own positionality and complicity (Patel & Da Costa 2022). Decolonising the charade, then, is not merely about critiquing the neoliberal university from a distance, but is rather about actively refusing to participate in its exclusionary and exploitative practices (Chela 2023). It demands that we cultivate alternative modes of scholarship and pedagogy that centre the experiences and knowledges of marginalised communities (Fernández, Sonn, Carolissen & Stevens 2021). This is no easy task, as it requires that we navigate the tensions and contradictions of working within institutions that are fundamentally shaped by colonial and neoliberal logics (Butler-Rees 2021). Yet, as scholars committed to social justice and transformation, we must find ways to create spaces of resistance and possibility within academia, even as we push for more radical, systemic change (Brunila, Ikävalko, Honkasilta & Isopahkala-Bouret 2020). In line with Foucault’s (Ball 2013) emphasis on power dynamics and knowledge production, we adopted CAE as our method, allowing us to critically reflect on and challenge the pervasive norms within the neoliberal university.

Research methods and design

A Foucauldian argument for self-writing

Foucault viewed writing as the art of observing, analysing and interpreting the self and experiences of the self as a form of resisting current modes of subjectification (Simons 1994). He believed writing to be a transformative process of becoming and the recognition of self as a domain of knowledge production (Ball 2013). Writing, on that account, is a process in which authors constantly question themselves about the parameters that shape who they are (Simons 1994). For Foucault (1988:156 as cited in Simons 1994):

Whenever I have tried to carry out a piece of theoretical work, it has been on the basis of my own experience, always in relation to processes I saw taking place around me. It is because I thought I could recognise in the things I saw, in the institutions with which I dealt, in my relations with others, cracks, silent shocks, malfunctionings … that I undertook a particular piece of work, a few fragments of an autobiography. (p. 8)

Autobiography is thus understood as a narrative of experience that happens to a historical subject, enabling authors to carve out their subjectivity through writing (Simons 1994). The use of self-writing in this study is justified as it allows us to engage with our own experiences and positionalities, providing a lens through which to analyse the socio-cultural contexts we navigate. This approach aligns with the principles of autoethnography, where personal narratives become a tool for understanding broader social phenomena (Ellis, Adams & Bochner 2011). Furthermore, Foucault’s concept of the hupomnemata underscores the transformative potential of self-writing as a practice of self-care and identity construction (Swonger 2006).

Collaborative autoethnography

Collaborative autoethnography, a multivocal qualitative inquiry with three simultaneous elements, namely, collaboration, autobiography and ethnography (Chang, Ngunjiri & Hernandez 2012; Lapadat 2017), informed our approach. Chang et al. (2012:107) argue that grouping these elements is somewhat contradictory, and perhaps confusing, as, ‘how can a study of the self be done collaboratively?’. Put simply, the process involves two or more researchers (collaborative) who pool autobiographical data (auto) about a socio-cultural context in which they are situated (ethnography) for analysis and interpretation. Adams, Jones and Ellis (2016:669) argue that the storytelling feature of autoethnographic accounts allows us to deeply engage in another’s experience and ‘move and live into the world with others’ in ways that co-construct a future. Bochner (2016:53) describes autoethnography as ‘an expression of the desire to turn social science inquiry into a non-alienating practice’. Using a collaborative approach to autoethnography works to reduce our felt alienation, allowing us to tell our stories as emerging scholars and share our experiences. Autoethnography is about making meaning from memory and experience, and ‘truth’ in autoethnography is never stable because memory work is active and dynamic (Bochner 2016). Collaborative autoethnography focuses on collective agency, facilitating a bridging to a praxis of social justice (Lapadat 2017:597).

The process required balancing our individual positionalities with the collective narrative we aimed to construct. This collaboration provided insights into our socio-cultural contexts and how our experiences intersect and diverge. It also allowed us to discuss thoughts and feelings about our progress and experiences as emerging academics, which we might not have otherwise explored. When we first met, Curwyn Mapaling (C.M.) was unemployed, while Nokulunga Shabalala (N.S.) was already a lecturer. Upon being reminded of how N.S. met C.M. and realising that his career had seemingly progressed beyond hers – in terms of units produced and being ready for the next promotion. N.S. expressed feelings of jealousy and rage. For N.S. it felt like she had spent much time trying to progress and move towards promotion, and this was a challenging process; therefore, the rage resulted from imagining this being a seamless process for C.M. Conversely, C.M. expressed the idealisation of N.S., as she is a Fulbright scholar, having attained the height of academic scholarship in his eyes. C.M. later asked N.S. why she would want to work together, to which N.S. responded that it was important to acknowledge and challenge these knee-jerk reactions as opposed to not collaborating. The shared nature of our autoethnographic exploration facilitated mutual support during the often emotionally taxing process of excavating and articulating personal narratives (Adams, Ellis & Jones 2016). This fostered a sense of academic camaraderie and reciprocal validation of our experiences. Nevertheless, the collaborative approach necessitated ongoing negotiation and critical reflexivity (Lapadat 2017) to ensure equitable representation of our voices and perspectives. As highlighted by Trifan et al. (2024), using online communication technologies in CAE fosters inclusivity and effective communication, which were crucial in navigating the complexities of our discussions.

We had three 1-h conversations on Microsoft Teams, guided by pre-prepared guidelines. The discussion was recorded and transcribed verbatim for analysis. We each had an opportunity to narrate our entry into academia and where we are now as emerging scholars. We spoke of the dominant processes of academia, namely, promotion, audit culture and surveillance, affective shifts within our journey and the pervasive ‘carrying on’ culture of academia. Once data were transcribed, we used reflexive thematic analysis to code and develop themes.

Reflexive thematic analysis

Reflexive thematic analysis (reflexive TA) was used. Joy, Braun and Clarke (2023) describe this form of thematic analysis as an accessible method for exploring and interpreting a dataset and then engaging in storytelling about the emerging patterns of meaning. This approach emphasises the importance of the researcher’s subjectivity as an analytic tool, whereby researchers are reflexive in their engagement with theory, data and interpretation. Reflexive TA comprises six phases, as described by Joy et al. (2023), which we followed in analysing our collaborative autoethnographic data (Figure 1).

FIGURE 1: The six phases of reflexive thematic analysis.

The intersection of identity and professional experience in academia

Before recording our conversation, we (the two authors) clarified race to understand how we positioned ourselves for the research. ‘I wonder if we can start with the “Brown” thing’, one of us suggested. It is important to note that one of the authors is a black woman and the other a black man. However, his appearance spoke something different to her before this conversation. She noticed that he presented as what would be categorised as a ‘Coloured’ (a racial category of mixed race in South Africa) (Posel 2001) male in South Africa and, by his own admission, often reports as ‘Coloured’. In the South African context, ‘colouredness’ carries assumptions about perceived privilege, subjectivity and personhood that differ from black subjectivity (Pirtle 2022). Although this complex exchange extends beyond the scope of this article, it was a foundational negotiation for aspects of our conversation. This initial discussion on identity highlights the intricate dynamics of race and privilege that underpin our collaborative work. We acknowledge that these themes are crucial and warrant a more thorough examination, which we plan to undertake in a future publication.

As a collaborative report, we use ‘we’ and ‘our’ throughout the article to reflect our shared experiences and perspectives. Furthermore, throughout this article, we, as the authors, use our voices to share our experiences and perspectives. The initials ‘N.S.’ are used to indicate when the author who is a black woman is speaking, while ‘C.M.’ is used when the author who is a black man is speaking. This approach allows us to maintain our individual identities and positionalities while engaging in CAE.

In our planning phase, we prepared a document to map what this article would be about. I (N.S.) initially identified us as ‘Brown’ psychologists – in retrospect, it was a bizarre moment. Unsurprisingly, this sat uncomfortably for me in terms of my racial identity and my unwillingness to use ‘Brown’. I wrote a comment on our shared document (that we used to write collaboratively), saying the following:

‘So, I wonder about the brown thing, identity wise, what is your positionality? I wrote Brown there to capture the fact that our experiences may also be compounded by racialised moments. But I am also not too sure I am comfortable calling myself Brown – it sounds weird, like I’m trying to make myself and my politics of race more polite for someone. So, how do we navigate this?’ (N.S.)

In reflecting on this bizarre moment of writing ‘Brown’ as a descriptor for us, I wondered what that was about. One reason is that the work of discussing black subjectivity in academia is tiring, and can be alienating. The other reason may be an attempt to establish closer affinity, where we can create a home for ourselves in a space that often seems open, but is not home for black academics (Kiguwa 2019; Shabalala 2022). This reflection further encompassed gendered ideas regarding our individual successes. For me, reflection centred on the assumption that he may have had particular privileges as a ‘Coloured’ man, and that time works in his favour; as I reflected, ‘I have had to be productive, not reproductive’. I highlight this here, as it fuels the competition and comparison we experience at the outset – and perhaps perpetually.

Race may seem superimposed for those who find less resonance with our stories. Mbembe (2017:17) reminds us that it was not that long ago that our social worlds were organised on the ‘dualism that sought justification in the old myth of racial superiority’. He further cautions that we would be amiss to think we have completely transcended that – regardless of location, blackness and Africa continue to be objects of discourse and knowledge (Mbembe 2017). Building on Mbembe’s (2017) views on the historical and structural factors shaping the experiences of black academics, Kiguwa (2019) highlights the fact that black academics in post-Apartheid South Africa often have to contend with moments of racialisation and naming these moments. She argues that the mundane nature of institutional cultures reinforces particular hegemonic practices and traditions within academia, shaping how different racial bodies navigate the academic space. It was therefore necessary to state our positionality up front as we reflexively engaged with the research.

Salient themes

Three key themes emerged from our reflexive TA based on the autoethnographic discussions that formed the foundation of our data. These themes are: (1) the commodification of HE, (2) refusal as a generative force: challenging the status quo in academia and (3) envisioning a transformed university.

The commodification of higher education

There are no more workers as such. There are only labouring nomads. (Mbembe 2017:3)

In navigating the environment of the neoliberal university, we have observed the profound impact of HEs commodification (Naidoo & Jamieson 2005; Wilkinson & Wilkinson 2023) on our academic work and personal experiences. This commodification refers to the transformation of HE into a market-driven entity, where principles of productivity, competitiveness and economic value increasingly dictate scholarly activities and priorities (Hoxby & Stange 2019). An example of this is evident in how sole-authored publications are more incentivised, as illustrated by the Department of Higher Education and Training’s (DHET) subsidy system, placing higher value on individual work (Tomaselli 2018). Our critique of this trend reflects the deep-seated challenges and anxieties we face as scholars positioned at the outset of our academic careers, and deeply concerns us. We have experienced the intensity of constant auditing firsthand, a process that meticulously scrutinises every aspect of our academic presence and output. N.S. vividly describes this pressure, stating, ‘our time is constantly audited, whether it’s someone physically checking, if there’s bums on seats’, highlighting the relentless monitoring and surveillance (Parker 2014; Skene, Raffoul & Chittle 2020) that symbolises the productivity-driven culture of HE.

The audit culture’s (Shore & Wright 1999) reach extends beyond checking attendance (Gourlay 2022). The constant surveillance engenders a war on academics that neither we nor our colleagues enlisted for, nor have adequate armoury to fight, seeding a constant sense of urgency and anxiety within us. In our conversation, N.S. captures this sentiment, sharing her personal experience that, while there was evidence of having achieved some remarkable things, she had to do more: ‘Do more this year, you know, and it’s this audit culture that makes you wake up with this anxiety feeling like a pit in your stomach’. These relentless pressures for continuous improvement threaten to eclipse the inherent joy and richness of our academic discovery and learning, turning what should be a journey of intellectual curiosity into a race against performance metrics, such as the pressure to become a National Research Fund (NRF)-rated scholar (Wright & Murray 2002), or to publish in high-impact journals (Rawat & Meena 2014). The drive for prestigious accolades, such as international academic awards, high-impact research publications and significant grant funding, coupled with the prioritisation of quantity and quality in publications, strains our mental well-being and challenges the essence of our scholarly pursuits (Buller 2014) and personhood. Canham (2022) reinforces this perspective, noting:

To forsake colonial standards and university rankings is to heed Grace Khunou’s advice that black standards are always in doubt and that we carry our value with us. Deep inside. To know your value beyond your employer. (para. 6)

This assertion underscores the need to redefine success in academia, valuing inherent worth over imposed benchmarks. Our reflections prompt us to reconsider the foundational mission of universities as champions of the public good – a mission now seemingly at odds with neoliberal mandates (Parker 2014, 2020; Vally 2007).

The concept of universities as a ‘public good’ represents a fundamental shift from viewing HE primarily as an individual economic investment to recognising its broader societal benefits (Bozalek & Leibowitz 2012; Matsiliza 2022). In this context, ‘public good’ refers to the idea that universities should serve the collective interests of society rather than narrow economic or individual interests. This means prioritising knowledge creation, critical thinking and societal advancement over market-driven metrics and commercial imperatives. This reframing or reimagination of universities (for public good) directly challenges neoliberal ideologies by rejecting the commodification of education and the reduction of universities to mere economic entities (Matsiliza 2022; Ratele 2018). It also addresses colonial legacies by promoting diverse knowledge systems, inclusive pedagogies and research agendas that serve a broader range of communities, rather than perpetuating dominant Western paradigms (Bozalek & Leibowitz 2012).

The journey through the commodified landscape of academia has laid bare the complex challenges that strike at the very heart of our academic identity and purpose. As HE morphs into a market-oriented, performance-driven sector (Kraemer-Holland & Díaz 2024), it profoundly reshapes our valuation, conduct and experience of scholarly work. Our shared narratives, infused with apprehension and critical reflection, serve as a call for a deep-seated reassessment of the principles and practices that currently steer academia. In grappling with the forces of commodification, we are committed to nurturing an academic environment that is more authentic, reflective and attuned to societal needs, thereby rekindling the foundational ethos of HE as a public good (Bozalek & Leibowitz 2012; Matsiliza 2022).

Refusal as a generative force: Challenging the status quo in academia

Refusal, in the context of academia, manifests as actively rejecting and challenging the dominant norms, practices and expectations that perpetuate neoliberal values within HE. It is a generative force that seeks to disrupt the status quo and create space for new possibilities and transformative change. As N.S. emphasises, ‘I think that’s why I have this theme of refusal. I read something the other day that spoke about refusal instead of resistance’. This shift in perspective, from merely resisting the current system to actively refusing to participate in its perpetuation, holds the potential for genuine transformation within the academic landscape. We share this sentiment, recognising that refusal is not merely an act of rebellion, but a generative force for change.

Refusal as a transformative tool is not new; scholars such as McGranahan (2016) have explored how marginalised communities enact refusal to assert agency and imagine new possibilities beyond dominant structures. In the context of academia, refusal takes on a particularly poignant meaning, as it challenges deeply entrenched norms and practices that have long upheld a culture of exploitation and trauma. This is notably reflected in the critique offered by Canham (2020), which cautions against the rapid promotion of young, especially black, academics into committees where administrative tasks consume their time, not only detracting from their acquiring research skills, but also contributing to a broader issue: ‘In this country with its legacy of black people serving white people, we just need to be careful that the stars are not all white and the caretakers black’ (Canham 2020:para. 8). By stars, Canham (2020) refers to scholars who have the time to engage in scholarly and impactful work represented on ORCID and in libraries. Canham (2020) argues energetically for young black scholars to have the time to think about how they develop in their careers, conduct scholarly work and champion the decolonial agenda to avoid the perpetual subjection of black scholars.

C.M. contributes to this sentiment, noting the consequences of frustrations felt by emerging academics: ‘Like many of our colleagues that have left academia’. Burnout and disillusionment can ultimately drive talented scholars away from academia. This scenario emphasises the need for refusal as a transformative act, urging a rejection of superficial inclusivity and advocating for a genuine restructuring that aligns with decoloniality, thereby ensuring that the diversity of voices and knowledge in academia truly reflects its global and multifaceted nature (Ratele 2018). Voicing this sentiment, N.S. evocatively asks, ‘Should it really be a rite of passage? And we’re OK with that?’. This question strikes at the heart of the issue: the normalisation of exploitation and gatekeeping within academia. This mindset not only perpetuates harm, but also stifles innovation and progress, emphasising the urgency of re-evaluating and transforming these entrenched norms.

By refusing to accept the status quo, or participate in a system that traumatises and marginalises, we open up space for new possibilities to emerge (Ratele 2018). N.S. expresses discontent with the culture of ‘carrying on’, and emotionally asks, ‘Like we’re OK that this is the status quo and it goes on and on and just traumatised, traumatised, traumatises people? I think that it’s shown me what I don’t want’. This recognition of what we do not want is a crucial first step in envisioning and creating the kind of academic environment we do want – one that is more equitable, inclusive and conducive to genuine learning and growth. The environment we imagine is one that pumps life into us, rather than constantly depleting us, as C.M. poignantly states, ‘you don’t want to be giving leftovers to the people that matter the most to you’. This highlights the importance of refusing to sheepishly participate. The alternative is that we will indeed be drained of our capacity to genuinely care for ourselves, our communities and our families in pursuit of academic success.

In practice, refusal can take the form of rejecting superficial inclusivity measures (Ratele 2018) and advocating for genuine restructuring aligned with decoloniality. Zembylas (2021) argues that refusal can be a productive approach to decolonising HE by focusing on the emotional and psychological investments that educators and students have in colonial structures. This involves developing pedagogies that engage with these affective investments to challenge and ultimately transform the colonial dynamics within the university. Of course, the act of refusal is not without its challenges. Refusing dominant structures often means navigating a complex terrain of resistance and accommodation, of working within the system while simultaneously pushing against its boundaries (Ortner 1995). It requires a willingness to confront discomfort and uncertainty, to risk being labelled as ‘difficult’ or ‘not collegial’ by those invested in maintaining the status quo. In the context of this article, refusal means speaking out against the prevailing ‘me, me, me’ system and choosing collaboration over competition because, as C.M. suggests, we recognise that the people who matter most to us deserve our full presence and energy, not just the ‘leftovers’ from the demands of a toxic academic culture (Pelletier, Kottke & Sirotnik 2019).

Envisioning a transformed university

The theme of envisioning a transformed university emerges as a call to reimagine HE in a way that prioritises genuine scholarly engagement, societal impact and the well-being of the academic community (Ratele 2018). This vision challenges the commodification of academic success and advocates for an integrated approach to teaching, research and community service that is meaningful, equitable and responsive to societal needs (Guzmán-Valenzuela 2016). Otherwise, as N.S. asks, ‘Why are we here?’, highlighting the sense of being stuck and the need for change. C.M. concurs, stating, ‘I think I’m tentative to answer [the question of why are we here] because I think earlier you said that you don’t think the answer is to leave and I think I’m not so sure of that’. This uncertainty reflects the struggle to find purpose within the existing structures and the contemplation of leaving academia. ‘Maybe I need to be in a space where I’m giving less of myself, for this phase of life, and I think maybe that’s why I’m struggling to answer why I’m here right now’ (C.M.). Our reflections emphasise the disillusionment that a lot of academics and psychologists are talking about (Canham 2022; Mapaling & Naidu 2023; O’Hara 2024; Shabalala 2022). Academia itself must look inward in order to truly ascertain how it does not lose people who once saw long futures within it. It must transform into a space that encourages participation parity (Lovell 2007) of its scholars and students, providing an environment that nurtures intellectual curiosity, fosters personal growth and allows academics to thrive without being consumed by the system’s demands (Levin & Aliyeva 2015). The central vision is collective action towards the imagination of a transformed university (Ratele 2018). N.S. emphasises the importance of addressing the emotional toll of academia and the need for academics to confront these challenges collectively:

‘We must address these instances of rage and jealousy and despondency and disappointment within the academic space, much like how we’ve been taught and trained to confront it in our personal lives for the purposes of being psychologists.’ (N.S.)

Failing to address the emotional toll of navigating the neoliberal university can have severe consequences. We risk perpetuating a cycle of trauma and dysfunction that undermines the very purpose of HE. Unresolved emotional turmoil can lead to decreased productivity, strained relationships, burnout, attrition and the maintenance of toxic norms (Parker 2014). Ultimately, the cumulative weight of unaddressed trauma will erode the foundations of academia, compromising its core mission (Gill 2010). Therefore, it is imperative that we heed the call to prioritise introspection, emotional processing and mutual support, just as we have been trained to do in our personal lives (Canham 2017; Wetherell 2012). By creating a culture of reflexivity, we can disrupt the cycle of harm and build a more sustainable, equitable and fulfilling environment for all.

By coming together and engaging in dialogue, the academic community can advocate for systemic changes, support each other’s well-being and work towards a more nurturing and fulfilling academic environment (Gómez, Puigvert & Flecha 2011). Thus, creating supportive academic environments emerges as a crucial aspect of envisioning a transformed university. However, N.S. elucidates the reality of the current status quo prohibiting this transformation:

‘The supportive structures are there, but I need to find time that works for when they offer that thing, that doesn’t clash with class … So there is support … just in your own time, you know.’ (N.S.)

Thus, it is imperative that institutions provide support, ensuring that it is accessible and compatible with the realities of academic life (Belcher et al. 2019). By fostering mentorship, collaboration and an authentically supportive culture, institutions can create spaces that enable early-career academics to thrive intellectually and professionally.

This theme of envisioning a transformed university also calls for a re-evaluation of academic practices and expectations. N.S. reflects on having developed her teaching philosophy retrospectively, aware that this development served her promotion rather than being a genuine reflection of her approach to teaching: ‘All of this is, [written] in retrospect, sort of, because I didn’t come into the space and go, OK, this is my teaching philosophy’. During the conversation, she further qualified this by saying that, having come from a clinical environment into academia, there was no clear encouragement to think mindfully about her approach to teaching. Mindlessness in what we do, especially in the training of healthcare professionals, ought to be something that sits uncomfortably. Not knowing that one’s teaching philosophy is something one continuously engages in, coupled with it being understood as an exercise for portfolio development when getting promoted, does not encourage faith in the university doing what it claims to do. There is a need for more authentic and meaningful engagement with pedagogy, one that values developing a teaching philosophy over time and in response to the unique needs of students and the academic community (Kincheloe & McLaren 2011).

Ultimately, envisioning a transformed university calls for a shift from the commodification of academic success towards a more holistic and nurturing approach that values the well-being and growth of the academic community. As C.M. reflects: ‘what sort of came to mind for me was mutual vulnerability, which is a … I guess this ties to the teaching philosophy’. This acknowledgement of mutual vulnerability (Keet, Zinn & Proteus 2009) and fostering a sense of co-belonging in pedagogical encounters (Waghid 2020) would allow academics and students alike to be free to become, to freely make up their minds and co-create the university space. Opening up spaces for academics to share, instead of assuming what others are experiencing, is crucial. In these spaces, it is envisaged that academics can engage without the constraints of formal meetings or fear of being silenced.

By engaging in dialogue, advocating for change and creating supportive environments, academics can work towards realising a vision of HE that is truly transformative and responsive to the needs of society. As N.S. powerfully states, ‘If anything, I don’t want to be that kind of academic and I don’t want to, to be a vacant person because the structure has sucked the life out of me’. This impactful sentiment captures the essence of the university we refuse. To address this, the university we envision would provide targeted support for emerging academics. For example, Canham (2020) suggests that emerging scholars should be given room to do what scholars do. That is to engage in thinking, research and teaching. He proposes a balance of this by mentioning that that our teaching responsibilities are important but that we ought not to be stuck in the trenches of heavy teaching loads (Canham 2020; Ivancheva, Lynch & Keating 2019). Efforts have been made at our institution to closely look at the reduction of teaching loads for emerging scholars. This is a great start as it allows emerging academics to take advantage of existing supports, such as capacity building workshops and mentoring sessions, which often conflict with their heavy teaching schedules (Gill 2010). This approach not only supports early-career scholars but also addresses why there are so few professors, particularly black professors, in the first place; the current system demands high productivity in research and grant acquisition, often at the expense of teaching and mentoring (Tomaselli 2018). Additionally, offering protected time for research and flexible teaching arrangements would recognise the unique challenges faced by early-career scholars as they establish their research profiles (Canham 2020). The transformed university we envision is one that nurtures the passion, creativity and well-being of its members (Parker 2014), enabling them to make meaningful contributions to society without sacrificing their own vitality in the process (Ball 2013).

Conclusion

While there was an effort to contextualise thoughts into experiences, this was a heavy feat. So, drawing on our armamentarium as psychologists, we thought we would offer a conceptualisation of how we understand the thoughts we presented that formed our data. At times (given the secrecy and lack of conversation around what is happening in academia), some of what we experience happens in our inner worlds – having not made sense of how these thoughts may influence what we do or do not do (which could constitute the day-to-day experience of academia). This may be an ode to not having sat with the thoughts for longer than what was necessary for the article to carve out experience in a more concrete way. We acknowledge the need to explicate this experience, and perhaps as more people reflect on their journeys, some language around specific experiences may emerge. For now, we offer more thoughts to form our conclusion.

The journey through the neoliberal university, as illuminated by our collaborative autoethnographic exploration, reveals the complex tapestry of challenges, aspirations and possibilities that define the experiences of emerging scholars. By engaging in critical reflection and collective dialogue, we have uncovered the pervasive impact of commodification, and the ‘carrying on’ culture that shapes the contemporary HE landscape. Yet, amidst these challenges, we have also discovered the transformative potential of refusal – a generative force that empowers us to challenge the status quo, disrupt normative structures and advocate for a more inclusive, nurturing and socially responsive university. As we navigate the intersections of our identities, professional experiences and the broader sociopolitical context, we recognise that the path towards genuine transformation requires sustained effort, solidarity and a commitment to decoloniality. By envisioning a university that prioritises meaningful intellectual pursuits, fosters personal growth and contributes to societal well-being, we lay the foundation for a future in which emerging scholars can thrive authentically and make a lasting impact. It is through this collective reimagining and unwavering dedication to change that we can break free from the constraints of the neoliberal paradigm and create an academic environment that truly embodies the principles of equity, inclusivity and transformative education.

Acknowledgements

The authors acknowledge the valuable support and insights gained from participating in the British Academy International Writing Workshop on Publishing Qualitative and Visual Mental Health Research. The authors extend a special thanks to Erminia Colucci (Middlesex University) for her thoughtful comments and feedback on the manuscript, which greatly improved the quality of this work.

The authors are also grateful for the opportunity to participate in the Accelerated Academic Mentorship Programme (AAMP) writing retreat organised by the University of Johannesburg. The constructive input and suggestions provided by Dr Christel Troskie de Bruin during this retreat were instrumental in refining the manuscript.

The authors declare that they have no financial or personal relationships that may have inappropriately influenced them in writing this article.

N.S. was responsible for conceptualising the project, writing the introduction, theory and methods sections, as well as transcribing and assisting with the analysis. C.M. wrote the abstract, findings, analysis and conclusion.

This article followed all ethical standards for research without direct contact with human or animal subjects other than the authors.

This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial or not-for-profit sectors.

The data supporting the findings of this study are not publicly available because of confidentiality restrictions. However, the data can be obtained upon reasonable request from the corresponding author, N.S.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and are the product of professional research. It does not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any affiliated institution, funder, agency or that of the publisher. The authors are responsible for this article’s results, findings and content.

References