Two philosophical orientations underpinned this study. The first is coloniality because of its relationship with neoliberalism and market fundamentalism (Hlatshwayo 2022), and the second is decoloniality.

The concept of coloniality was first coined by Quijano ([1989] 2000) in an essay titled ‘Coloniality of Power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America’, to make sense of and articulate the enduring impact and continued effects of colonialism on the structures of power, knowledge, being and culture on the entire world generally and the global South in its entirety. However, some decolonial theorists such as Grosfuguel (2007) have since argued that coloniality cannot be reduced to the absence or presence of colonial administration, nor to the economic and political structures of power. Because of this, coloniality has since been differentiated from colonialism, and according to Maldonado-Torres (2007):

Essentially, coloniality is the manifestation of colonialism in the present and was introduced simultaneously with the beginning of the violent Euro-Western modernity (Ford 2023). It appears and is expressed in many guises (Davids 2019). For instance, it is visible and evidenced in curricula (knowledge), pedagogies, assessment strategies, as well as ‘the general operative logic of the school [or university], i.e., learners’ [or students] codes of conduct, schools’ [or university’s] visions, mission statements’ (Maluleka 2021a:75). This is because it reproduces itself in various dialectical yet interrelated domains that include and not limited to ‘coloniality of power’, ‘coloniality of knowledge’ and ‘coloniality of being’, that is, the colonial matrix of power (Mignolo 2007; Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2013).

The first dimension of this matrix is the coloniality of power, which refers to a logic of domination and subjugation by the global North to the rest of the world, especially the global South. This power is expressed through dialectical yet interrelated domains, which include the control of the economy, control of (political authority), control of gender and sexuality, as well as control of knowledge and subjectivity (see Grosfuguel 2007; Mignolo 2005). In Africa, Kwame Nkrumah (1966) termed this kind of power ‘neo-colonialism’, and then, Walter Rodney (1972) delineated how this power is articulated on the continent.

The second dimension is the coloniality of knowledge, which explains the continued monopolisation of knowledge production by the global North – what Ndlovu-Gatsheni (2018) calls the ‘cognitive empire’. In other words, it speaks to the intellectual and epistemological colonisation that the global South continues to suffer at the hands of the global North (Hlatshwayo 2022). In turn, this form of colonisation continues to result in the systematic and institutional exclusion of other forms of knowledge and pedagogies, especially in the public university (Boughey & McKenna 2021).

The third dimension is the coloniality of being, which explains the Manichean allegoric mode of binaries that continue to be used to categorise people and their culture as either Christian or barbarian, good or evil, primitive or civilised, inferior or superior, rational or irrational, white or black, knowledge or myths and developed or undeveloped (Maldonado-Torres 2016). This is best captured by René Descartes’ famous statement cogito ergo sum:

However, this position fails to recognise that indigenous people of the global South understood existentialism to be inclusive and collective. For instance, in many parts of the African continent, they speak of an Ubuntu perspective – I am because we are, that is, an existential cognatus sum, ergo sumus [I am related, therefore we are].

Therefore, I use coloniality as a philosophical orientation to make sense of how a neoliberalised public university in South Africa, through the use of pedagogical approaches aligned to it, perpetuates colonial ways of knowing, being and becoming. I also make use of coloniality to explore, understand and theorise about how the public university in South Africa continues to promulgate pedagogies of neoliberalism through hegemonic networks aided by the existence of coloniality itself.

To counter the neoliberalisation of the public university and its teachings, I employed decoloniality as another philosophical orientation, which centres decolonial love. Ndlovu-Gatsheni considers decoloniality as ‘aimed at setting afoot a new humanity free from racial hierarchization and asymmetrical power relations in place since conquest’ (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015:488). In other words, decoloniality speaks to various efforts, be it pedagogical, epistemic, political or ontological, meant to contribute to the rehumanisation of both the dehumaniser and the dehumanised (Freire 1970). To rehumanise also means disregarding any form of hierarchy that perpetuates the imposed superiority and inferiority complexes that human beings harbour (Dube 2021; Wynter 2003), as well as an attempt to break away from:

This is where love for humanity finds most expression because by rehumanising all human beings through decolonial love as decoloniality, we can recognise and embrace all forms of knowledge, ways of being, becoming, thinking and acting (Davids 2019).

So, I use decoloniality as a philosophical orientation to argue for the centrality of decolonial love by university teachers in exercising their pedagogy. In other words, I use decolonial love to make sense of and theorise about how public university teachers can counter the dehumanising colonial and neoliberal pedagogical influences in the lecture rooms and in the university in general for pedagogies that are humanising and underpinned by love.

There is no doubt that the public university and its educational offerings play a vital role in making sure that nation states, individually and collectively, can contribute to the development of their people in ways, including and not limited to economic, sociocultural and political development (Akala 2021). These public good efforts have been well articulated and theorised (see Badat 2011; Naidoo 2010; Nussbaum 1999; Sen 1993). However, since the 1970s and the 1980s, both in the global South and global North, there have been concerted attempts towards making sure that neoliberal regimes underpin public institutions such as the public university (Akala 2021; Hlatshwayo 2022). These efforts were largely informed by the adoption of austerity policies by governments that were an attempt then, even today, to reduce government investments and spending in public institutions such as the public university (Mamdani 2007). The reduction of government spending in its public institutions and social targets was largely informed by a new economic model underpinned by neoliberalism. This economic model was introduced and led by institutions such as the World Bank (WB) and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). It was sold to the global South as a model meant to reduce in the interim and certainly in the long run the rampant corruption by the elite class, bad governance structures and leadership, poorly formulated economic policies, as well as ease and mitigate financial woes that many countries of global South continue to experience (see Collins & Rhoades 2010; Hahn 2007). Because of this, the WB and the IMF as lending institutions imposed to the countries of the global South that they were and are lending money too – to commodify, marketise and corporatise their economic policies. In other words, part of the terms and conditions of their loans forced and continues to force these governments to adopt austerity measures that translated to higher taxes imposed on ordinary citizens and the reduction of public spending meant to eliminate budget deficits and consolidate debt. All of these have been justified by the WB and IMF as calculated measures meant to make sure that those governments receiving loans from them are self-sustainable in future. This meant that public institutions such as the public university were and continue to operate in a very competitive environment with limited budgetary resources. To mitigate this reality, the public university has since been compelled to adopt neoliberal policies, especially in its operational and epistemic logics, in order to stay afloat. However, this was done despite the serious implications that this move might have on the academic project itself, the physical and mental well-being of faculty and their students (Brock-Utne 2003; Peet 2002), as well as on the notion of the public university and its education as a public good (Akala 2021; Brown 2015; Shore 2010).

For instance, most global South nations are still trying to make sense of and recover from the colonial moments and experiences that they had to endure; many of these nations were forced to ignore the lived experiences and contexts of their people (Akala 2021). That is why some theorists (see Saunders 2015; Ward 2012) and, more recently, Hlatshwayo (2022) have argued that the ‘corporate colonisation’ of the public university from the 1970s and 1980s had amended:

In South Africa, the Council on Higher Education (CHE) (2000) has since advocated for the need to strike a balance between the market demands and the public university:

This decision by the CHE is informed by the White Paper 3 on Higher Education that was published by the then Department of Education (DoE) in 1997, which emphasised the need for the South African public university to work towards fulfilling the needs of the labour market ‘in a knowledge-driven and knowledge-dependent society, with the ever-changing high-level competencies and expertise necessary for growth and prosperity of a modern economy’ (DoE 1997:10).

All of these decisions by both the CHE and DoE continue to have unfortunate outcomes for those of us who exist in and teach in a neoliberalised public university in South Africa.

Over the years, a lot has been theorised about existing and teaching in a neoliberalised public university in South Africa. Some of these theorisations argue that the neoliberalisation of the public university in South Africa resulted in significant shifts in the priorities and practices of the public university in South Africa (Koopman & Koopman 2021). Hence, Ndofirepi and Hungwe (2022) argued that neoliberalisation of the public university in South Africa is responsible for perpetuating Eurocentric canons, on the one hand, and overshadowing the public good agenda of a public university, on the other hand.

Hlatshwayo and Ngcobo (2023) argued that the ‘publish or perish’ discourse rooted in neoliberalism and its pitfalls is partly responsible for the current state of the public university in South Africa that continues to dehumanise and compromise the mental well-being of faculty and their students. Because of this, Hlatshwayo and Majozi (2024) observed and argued that the neoliberalisation of the public university in South Africa has led to a situation whereby research outputs and research grant accumulations are most valued because of their ability to generate money for the university to stay aloft over the mental state of faculty and their students, as well as the mandate of the university as a site for the promotion of public good initiatives. Mahabeer and Pirtheepal (2019) lamented the ‘massification’ of the public university because of its adverse effects on the quality of teaching, learning and assessment. Nyoni (2024) raised concerns about the massification of education within the public university as a phenomenon that continues to inform and shape the development of curricula that are exclusionary and fail to address the diverse needs of faculty and their students.

Because of these factors and others that were not highlighted because of the limited scope of this study, some senior African academics and students have recently theorised about their experiences as members of faculty in the South African Academy that is neoliberalised and characterised by forms of violence that include, but not limited to, racism, sexism, homophobia, discrimination and others (Khunou et al. 2019). One of these senior academics, Associate Professor Khoza-Shangase, has since pronounced that she now suffers from ‘intellectual and emotional toxicity’ for existing and teaching in a historically white university, which is now neoliberalised and is a space that continues to be anti-black in nature and form. She articulates her experiences below:

Similarly, in a study conducted by Hlatshwayo (2015), one of the participants, a student named Mariah, reflected on her experiences with her choice of study that left her feeling marginalised epistemically and ontologically because of existing in a black body that could not articulate itself quite well in the English language. This is what she had to say:

In a similar study by Zulu (2021) exploring experiences of black women faculty existing in and teaching in neoliberalised public university, one of the participants, named Zulu (2021), lamented that:

However, such moments of violence, marginality and oppression that Khoza-Shangase et al. have experienced and then elected to speak about are not unique to them. This is because for many who continue to experience such forms of brutality, disparage and abuse at the hands of the university itself, other faculty members, curricula, institutional culture and so on; it is difficult for them to make sense of those moments first, in order to then have the courage to speak about their experiences. Hence, according to Kiguwa, such moments ‘are often characterised by struggles in naming moments … Part of the struggle concerns ambivalent feelings of knowing and unknowing: second-guessing personal experiences of subjectification’ (Kiguwa 2019:11). Because of this, Kiguwa has since urged the black faculty to work towards ‘creating our own home’ within and across different public institutions (Kiguwa 2019:13).

This is important to do especially since having a strong presence of black faculty in the South African Academy can ensure diversity within the academic community is further entrenched. This can, in turn, result in a situation where united black faculty are then in a position to create and establish their own spaces within the academy that enable and empower them to then take ownership of their narratives, research agendas and educational initiatives. Moreover, these spaces can also be sites for rehumanisation, reassurance and reaffirmations, as well as sites where mentorship and support occur and where institutional barriers and forms of violence can be debated and challenged.

In essence, the neoliberalisation of the public university in South Africa continues to have dire consequences on teaching and learning practices, as well as the mental well-being of faculty and their students. Thus, it has become crucial that the public university in South Africa critically evaluate the impact of neoliberal ideologies on teaching and learning, as well as the mental state of the university community as a whole in order to safeguard the core mission of a public university, which is a mission rooted in cognitive, epistemic, social and ontological justice, and not solely informed, shaped and compromised by market-driven objectives. Equally, it is an opportune moment for university teachers to reimagine their pedagogical orientations and how they contribute to the public good of the academic project.

The violent legacies of colonialism, apartheid and, more recently, the presence of coloniality and neoliberal regimes that inflict pain and dehumanise those on the receiving end continue to characterise our public university and how teaching and learning occur in these spaces. Part of the issues is that:

How then do we work towards becoming better humans for ourselves and others in these neoliberalised public universities? How do we make a shift in our pedagogical orientations to create teaching and learning spaces that are (re)venerated and are characterised by love? How do we continuously work towards humanising each other? Maldonado-Torres (2016:22) suggested that we adopt what he calls ‘decolonial attitudes’ because such attitudes can create conditions necessary for love to flourish (Davids 2019).

What then is decolonial love? Sandoval describes decolonial love as a form of love, ‘a synchronic process that punctures through traditional, older narratives of love, that ruptures everyday being’ (Sandoval 2000:142). This love can be thought of as a humanising form of love that is concerned with radically embracing those of us who have been constructed as being unworthy of being loved, because ‘it compels [one] to choose [one]self, [it] has no space for any form of violence or abuse, [pedagogical, epistemic,] racial, sexual, ethnic, cultural and religious’ (Mbongwa cited in Makhubu & Mbongwa 2019:23). However, it also seeks to humanise those of us who are guilty of constructing others as being unworthy of being loved to be loved too (Maluleka 2021b). In other words, decolonial love ‘operates between those rendered other by hegemonic forces. In its acceptance of fluid identities and a redefined but shared humanity’ (Gräbner 2014:53). It also ‘promotes loving as an active, intersubjective process, and in so doing articulates an anti-hegemonic, anti-imperialist affect and attitude that can guide the actions that work to dismantle oppressive regimes’ (Gräbner 2014:54). Therefore, decolonial love encourages both the dehumanised and the dehumaniser to affirm, recognise and respect each other despite their differences (Hlatshwayo, Zondi & Mokoena 2023; Maluleka 2023a). This is because this kind of love recognises ‘alliance[s] and affection across lines of difference’. It is thus ‘the humanising task of building a world in which genuine ethical relations become the norm and not the exception’ (Maldonado-Torres 2008:187).

Sandoval (2000) also argued that love can be re-invented into many things such as pedagogical approaches that can, in turn, contribute to the reimagination of the self, the other and the world. Consequently, decolonial love can be considered an ethical pedagogical imperative that responds to the legacies of colonialism and apartheid, neoliberal capitalism and coloniality – all of which are characterised by instances of cognitive, epistemic, ontological and social harm.

Data for this article were drawn from the literature reviewed, especially literature concerned with existing and working in a neoliberalised public university in South Africa and how that is largely informed by the legacies of colonialism, apartheid and now coloniality. I was able to do this by employing a narrative and systemic review approach that, in turn, enabled me to engage existing research and its contributions towards our understanding of the lived experiences of those tasked and expected to teach in neoliberalised public university in South Africa. These methodological approaches also assisted me in positioning and contextualising this study within an already existing body of knowledge (Snyder 2019). They also allowed me to identify research gaps that need further research (Snyder 2019).

There is certainly a need for pedagogies that perpetuate neoliberalism to be disrupted as they are rooted in colonial and apartheid logics, which continue to exist in and find expression in the public university. These are pedagogical forms that ‘seek to control bodies and bodies of knowledge’ (Ford & Jaramillo 2023:1). So, by disrupting them, that is, working towards transcending them, we would be contributing to the creation of teaching and learning spaces that do not continue to exile the dejected and marginalised among us. We would also ‘move against not only those forces which dehumanise us from the outside, but also against those oppressive values which we have been forced to take into ourselves’ (Lorde [1987] 2007:135). That is why decolonial love thought of as a radical pedagogy of love can assist in this endeavour. This is the kind of love that bells hooks refers to as ‘a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect and trust’ (hooks 1994:131).

However, the act of disrupting pedagogies used in the public university that are underpinned by the neoliberal logic might be considered an inconsequential contribution, especially considering how massive the neoliberal project is and how far and wide its entrenchment is within the public university. Walsh’s (2016) concept of ‘decolonial cracks’ is very useful in not only justifying the need to employ decolonial praxis such as decolonial love as pedagogy but also framing how such praxis could be applied. Therefore, ‘decolonial cracks’ can enable university teachers to think about and use decolonial love as pedagogy to breathe life into tiny spaces, such as teaching and learning spaces, that have been consumed by neoliberal logics, as well as the legacies of colonialism and apartheid – with the hope of contributing to the disruption of the colossal through the tiny¹. In other words, the cracks become sites from which action, resistance, insurgence and transgression are nurtured and advanced through alliances established within the said cracks.

This disruption process ought to begin with faculty and their students establishing and building authentic, reciprocal relationships between and among themselves (Hlatshwayo et al. 2023). This would, in turn, enable them to be in relationships that are grounded in care, compassion, love, respect, empathy and a commitment to mutual growth, liberation and rehumanisation. In this way, ‘genuine ethical relations become the norm and not the exception’ (Maluleka 2021b:84). These are relations that decolonial love advocates for them to be based on ‘an ethical principle, a basic negation of the system of domination, rather than a modulation of its conditions’ (De Lissovoy 2010:289). It is through the establishment of such relationships that faculty and their students can be better positioned to challenge and resist neoliberal logics that seek to reduce teaching and learning to a market-driven transaction that prioritises individual success, competition and profit over the collective’s humanity, success and well-being.

Then, decolonial love as a pedagogical approach can enable university teachers to adopt and apply Freire’s (1970) concept of conscientização into their teaching. However, this can also happen when and if faculty recognise, accept and understand their own fallibility and then rethink and reimagine the pedagogic relations between themselves and their students (Hlatshwayo et al. 2023). In so doing, they (faculty) will begin to recognise their students as knowers in their own right and that the knowledge that those students come with to their lecture rooms should also be valued and engaged (Maluleka 2023b). After this, faculty would be better positioned to empower their students, both the marginalised and the privileged, through critical reflections about historical inequalities and injustices that continue to find expression today. With this, the students will then be empowered and informed about what needs to be done, through dialogue and collaboration, in order to transform oppressive epistemic, cognitive, pedagogical, ontological and social structures.

Lastly, it is through pedagogical approaches, underpinned and anchored by decolonial love, that faculty can challenge Eurocentrism and colonial mentality that continue to be perpetuated through neoliberal logics. This would encourage students to question dominant narratives that seek to maintain the status quo within the academy and the world at large, challenge colonial stereotypes, as well as explore and apply alternative ways of acting, knowing and being that acknowledge and embrace other ways of acting, knowing and being.