Original Research

The illusion of change: The unfulfilled promise of decolonisation in a South African private higher education institution

Prince Leburu

Received: 15 Sept. 2025; Accepted: 02 Dec. 2025; Published: 09 Feb. 2026

Copyright: © 2026. The Author. Licensee: AOSIS.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) license (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/).

Abstract

While decolonisation discourse has surged in South African public universities, private higher education institutions (PHEIs) remain a significant, under-researched site of market-driven education. This study aimed to identify the structural and cultural conditions that reproduce coloniality within a large, Johannesburg Stock Exchange-listed South African PHEI. Using a qualitative case study design, this research applies a critical realist and critical discourse analysis lens to move beyond surface-level rhetoric. It seeks to identify the deep, unobservable generative mechanisms (profit, governance) that shape the institutional landscape. Findings from interviews with six experienced lecturers show that while they are conceptually fluent in decolonisation, their agency is severely curtailed by a non-negotiable, profit-driven institutional ethos and a rigid, centralised curriculum governance. This combination produces a state of ‘colonial morphostasis’, an active reproduction of the status quo. The study concludes that meaningful, structural decolonisation is antithetical to the institution’s current corporate model. It reveals the mechanisms by which neoliberal and colonial logics merge to reproduce the coloniality of power, knowledge and being.

Contribution: This study advances decolonisation debates by providing a rare empirical analysis of the under-explored PHEI sector. It uses a critical realism and social realism framework to offer a causal explanation for why transformation is inhibited, concluding that the institution’s core business model is a primary mechanism of colonial reproduction. It proposes ‘pathways for bounded agency’ as a form of critical micro-resistance for lecturers in similar corporate contexts.

Keywords: decolonisation; private higher education; lecturer agency; critical realism; curriculum transformation; epistemic justice; critical discourse analysis; South Africa.

Introduction

The call to decolonise higher education in South Africa has gained urgent prominence. Student movements, such as #FeesMustFall, have amplified this demand, bringing it to the forefront of academic and public discourse (Heleta 2016; Le Grange 2016). This discourse examines the lingering grip of coloniality, an enduring logic of power, knowledge and being (Mignolo 2007; Quijano 2007) that outlived formal colonialism. It scrutinises knowledge systems and social hierarchies that continue to shape higher education long after the end of formal colonial rule (Ndlovu-Gatsheni 2015). The debate challenges institutions to confront these legacies and rethink who produces and benefits from knowledge.

While much of the focus has been on public universities, the rapidly growing sector of private higher education institutions (PHEIs) presents a distinct and complex context. This study focuses on one such significant player, a college operating under the umbrella of a large, registered South African company listed on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange (JSE).

Private higher education institutions like this occupy a paradoxical space. On the one hand, they expand access to education for a market priced out of, or excluded from, public universities. On the other hand, as market-driven, for-profit entities, they risk perpetuating social stratification through prohibitive tuition fees and a commercialised ethos (Madhav & Baron 2022; Mbembe 2016). This commercial imperative, as Badat (2024) notes in the context of public HE, represents a ‘commodification’ and ‘corporatisation’ of education that aligns seamlessly with neoliberal logics and creates a powerful counter-current to transformative, justice-oriented projects. This article investigates the gap in the literature by focusing on this PHEI, where the decolonisation discourse appears muted. The central problem is the perception that while decolonisation may be acknowledged rhetorically, institutional structures, cultures and curricula remain steeped in coloniality. This is sustained by a highly centralised governance model, whose leadership is predominantly composed of white academics. Academics are crucial agents in curriculum transformation, yet their ability to act is mediated by this institutional context (Sathorar & Geduld 2018). This study, therefore, asks:

What are the structural and cultural conditions that reproduce coloniality and inhibit decolonisation at a private higher education institution in South Africa?

To answer this question, the study explores the following sub-questions:

• What are the perceptions of lecturers about the nature of the curriculum and decolonisation?
• How do these lecturers exercise agency to mediate structural and cultural challenges in the effort to decolonise?

This article contends that at the PHEI under study, a highly centralised and largely untransformed governance structure, coupled with a dominant profit motive, severely constrains lecturer agency. In such an environment, decision-making is tightly controlled from the top, leaving little room for academics to influence curriculum or pedagogical practices. These conditions give rise to morphostasis, or structural inertia (Archer 1995), where the institution resists change and retains the status quo despite pressures for transformation. This interplay between rigid governance, commercial priorities and limited academic agency creates a landscape in which the decolonisation project is systematically stifled.

Theoretical framing: Coloniality and critical realism

The theoretical grounding for this study is built upon decolonial theory, with its methodological analysis informed by critical realism and social realism. However, engaging with decoloniality requires acknowledging the critiques within the discourse itself. Scholars such as Tuck and Yang (2012) argue that the language of decolonisation often circulates in ways that are repeated yet lack real depth, a sentiment echoed by Balogun and Woldegiorgis (2025), who warn against ‘distractions’ that obscure the core political project. In a similar vein, Senekal and Lenz (2020) point to the persistent scarcity of theoretical frameworks capable of fully engaging with a decolonisation discourse grounded in indigenous knowledge systems. This study proceeds with an awareness of these challenges, aiming for practical analysis over mere rhetoric.

Decolonial theory posits that the end of colonialism did not end coloniality. Quijano (2007) and Mignolo (2007) identify three interwoven dimensions of coloniality, that is, the coloniality of power, which refers to the racialised and hierarchical structures of authority; the coloniality of knowledge, which privileges Eurocentric epistemologies and marginalises other ways of knowing; and the coloniality of being, which dehumanises colonised subjects and denies their ontological value (Wynter 2003). This is far from an abstract idea. Its effects ripple through the very fabric of South African academia. With 84% of faculty professors being white (Albertus 2019), non-white academics often confront subtle and overt pressures that erode confidence, leaving many to silently internalise the belief that they are ‘not good enough’. Wynter’s (2003) concept of the over-representation of one form of the human comes alive here, exposing how systemic structures continue to uphold a singular standard of worth while marginalising those who do not fit its mould. The consequences are both personal and institutional, shaping who is heard and valued within the academy. Decolonisation, therefore, is not a superficial curriculum change but a profound ‘delinking’ from this enduring colonial power matrix.

Critically, these structures of coloniality work hand in hand with contemporary economic forces. There is a clear nexus between neoliberalism, coloniality and market fundamentalism. This relationship, as Hlatshwayo (2023) argues, reshapes the educational project. Knowledge becomes a ‘commodity’ (Badat 2024; Hlatshwayo 2022), and academics are positioned as sellers while students are treated as customers. The system prioritises Western economic expectations over social justice, marginalising transformative goals. As Heleta and Dilraj (2024:2) argue, such ‘dominant ideologies and smokescreens’ (like ‘market-readiness’ and ‘global competitiveness’) are used to ensure that decolonisation ‘is not even a footnote’ in institutional strategy. In this way, education risks serving profit rather than people, reinforcing old hierarchies under the guise of modern efficiency.

To analyse the social structures that enable or constrain this process, we turn to critical realism. Critical realism is particularly suited for this study, as it seeks to explain social phenomena by identifying underlying, often unobservable, causal mechanisms (Bhaskar 2008). Its stratified ontology, distinguishing between the empirical (experiences), the actual (events), and the real (structures and mechanisms), allows us to look beyond the surface-level rhetoric of transformation to identify the deeper structures that reproduce coloniality within the institution.

Archer’s (1995) social realism, an extension of critical realism, provides a precise framework for examining the interplay between structure, culture and agency. For this study, ‘structure’ refers to the institutional hierarchy, rules and allocation of resources. ‘Culture’ encompasses the shared ideas, beliefs and values that circulate within the PHEI. ‘Agency’ is the capacity of lecturers to act upon, challenge, or transform these conditions. Archer argues that the dynamic interaction of these three elements over time produces either morphogenesis, which is social change, or morphostasis, which is social reproduction. This framework is invaluable for understanding how institutional arrangements and cultural norms shape lecturer behaviour and possibilities. The findings suggest that, in this PHEI, structure and culture often constrain agency rather than enable it. This results in a persistent state of stasis, where existing patterns are reproduced, and the potential for meaningful decolonisation remains unrealised. The study highlights the need to align structural reform with cultural change to enable lecturer agency and institutional transformation.

Another critical dimension often sidelined in institutional decolonisation debates is the role of language as both a vehicle of coloniality and a potential site of transformation. Scholars such as Prah (2017) emphasise that the privileging of colonial languages in higher education continues to marginalise indigenous epistemologies. Despite policy gestures towards multilingualism, English remains the unquestioned medium of instruction in most institutions, particularly in PHEIs where efficiency and ‘market readiness’ dominate. As Prah (2017) argues, true decolonisation requires that African languages be foregrounded not as optional add-ons but as central instruments of pedagogy. The pursuit of epistemic justice is inseparable from linguistic justice. Without such shifts, the very grammar of higher education reproduces hierarchies of knowledge.

Closely related is the coloniality of being, which Wynter (2003) and Maldonado-Torres (2016) describe as the existential and ontological violence wrought by coloniality. Beyond structures and curricula, coloniality works by shaping who counts as fully human within the academy. Fanon (1967) reminds us that colonialism produced not only material dispossession but also psychic dismemberment, where Black academics and students are subtly disciplined into feelings of inadequacy. In the South African context, Albertus (2019) notes that the over-representation of white academics in professorial ranks contributes to this sense of exclusion, particularly within PHEIs that are less publicly scrutinised than universities. This ontological dimension helps explain why lecturers in this study, though conceptually fluent in the language of decolonisation, often expressed a profound sense of impotence when asked about its practice. Their agency was curtailed by governance structures and by an internalised sense of marginality shaped by these enduring colonial logics.

Together, the axes of language and being extend the analysis of decolonisation beyond policy rhetoric. They illustrate how coloniality persists at the most intimate levels of identity and expression. Thus, it reminds us that transformation cannot be achieved through structural adjustments alone but requires a reimagining of the cultural and epistemic foundations of higher education itself.

Research methods and design

This study employed a qualitative, interpretive case study design, ideal for an in-depth, ‘thick’ exploration of the complex social phenomenon of decolonisation within a bounded, real-world context (Yin 2003). Such an approach, characterised by an ‘intimate interaction with the data’ (Baxter & Jack 2008), is particularly suited to the study’s critical realist (Bhaskar 2008) and social realist (Archer 1995) framework, which seeks to explicate underlying, often unobservable, causal mechanisms. Providing an analytical compass that grounds a commitment to social emancipation (Horkheimer 1982) in a rigorous, stratified ontology, this framework distinguishes between the empirical (lecturers’ experiences), the actual (institutional events like ‘briefings’) and the real (the generative mechanisms of profit and coloniality) to move beyond description towards causal explanation.

A purposive sampling strategy was used to select six experienced lecturers from diverse disciplines, including Commerce, Humanities and Information Technology (see Table 1). While not intended for statistical generalisability, this sample was chosen for representational depth. The key criterion was an institutional tenure of over 3 years, ensuring participants possessed deep, tacit knowledge of the institution’s culture and structural realities. Thematic saturation was reached when interviews ceased to yield new insights into the core mechanisms of institutional power and constraint.

Data were gathered through individual, one-off, semi-structured interviews, allowing for confidential and candid reflection. This method was informed by decolonial methodologies, particularly the concept of counter-storytelling (Zavala 2016), which treats the lived experience of the marginalised as a legitimate source of knowledge. The interview process was designed as a reflexive dialogue to create a safe space where participants could articulate their experiences without fear of institutional censure, thus challenging the institution’s dominant, top-down narrative. All interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed verbatim.

Data analysis was conducted using critical discourse analysis, which aligns with the critical realism framework by focusing on how power relations are produced, reproduced and resisted through language (Fairclough & Wodak 1997; Jørgensen & Phillips 2007). The critical discourse analysis process was multi-staged. The analysis began with open coding, where initial transcription data were coded to identify recurring themes and linguistic choices such as ‘profit’, ‘top-down’ and ‘self-censorship’. Moving beyond the simple identification of themes, the analysis then focused on how lecturers constructed their arguments, often invoking a shared interpretive repertoire that cast the PHEI as a ‘business’ first and an ‘academic’ institution second. Finally, these identified repertoires were linked to broader institutional ideologies, such as neoliberalism and marketisation, and to the underlying generative mechanisms of coloniality that the discourse served to uphold; this process enabled the tracing of connections from the lecturers’ words (the empirical) to the system’s logic (the real).

To ensure the study’s rigour, I adhered to established criteria for qualitative trustworthiness. Credibility was established through prolonged engagement (the researcher’s insider status) and peer debriefing, where emerging themes were discussed with academic colleagues outside the institution. Dependability and confirmability were addressed through a clear audit trail of verbatim transcripts and analytical notes. Finally, transferability is offered not as a claim of universal truth, but as a ‘thick description’ (Geertz 1973) of a single case, allowing readers to judge the resonance of these findings in other, similar market-driven educational contexts.

Researcher positionality and reflexivity

In line with decolonial methodologies that reject the ‘myth of objectivity’ (Zavala 2016), I must disclose my own positionality. I am not a detached observer; I am a Black South African academic who has worked within the very PHEI system I am investigating. This insider status afforded me a nuanced understanding of the institution’s implicit codes and unwritten rules, granting me a level of access and trust that an outsider may have struggled to achieve. Participants spoke to me as a colleague who ‘gets it’.

This position, however, is fraught with tension. My own biography, shaped by the disempowerment I witnessed growing up in the Free State and my lived experiences of marginality within South Africa’s HE sector, fuels my commitment to decoloniality. This deep-seated drive sharpened my sensitivity to the mechanisms of coloniality, but it also carried the risk of over-identification or analytical bias, where I might see only barriers and not possibilities.

To mitigate this, I adopted a rigorous reflexive practice. I maintained a detailed research journal to separate my own emotional responses from the participants’ accounts and engaged in regular peer debriefing with external colleagues to stress test my interpretations against the data.

This paper acknowledges the irony inherent in deploying the ‘colonial research grammar’ (Heleta & Dilraj 2024), a linear and objective academic form, to critique colonial structures. Such adherence to convention may itself risk ‘epistemic violence’ (Heleta 2016). However, the adoption of this format is made with reflexive intent, positioning the paper as a ‘situated’ (Haraway 1988) act of counter-storytelling from within the very system it interrogates.

Ethical considerations

Ethical clearance to conduct this study was obtained from the University of Cape Town School of Education Ethics Review Committee on 14 September 2024. The ethical clearance number is EDNREC20230902. All participants provided informed written consent and were assured of confidentiality, voluntary participation and the right to withdraw. Pseudonyms were used to protect identities, and all data were stored securely with password protection. Interviews took place in neutral settings to minimise power dynamics, and the study was guided throughout by the principles of respect and justice.

Results

The analysis of the interviews revealed several powerful and interlocking themes that collectively illustrate the conditions inhibiting decolonisation at the institution.

Surface-level understanding and disconnected discourse

While lecturers were conversant with the theoretical concept of decolonisation, their understanding was largely academic and disconnected from their professional practice. Lecturer-C defined it as a movement ‘aimed at re-evaluating and transforming colonial structures’, while Lecturer-E spoke of the need to ‘foster a non-colonial identity and mindset’. However, this theoretical fluency was consistently paired with an admission of practical impotence. As Lecturer-A starkly put it, ‘My focus will therefore be on the episteme and not on practice’. This statement exemplifies the chasm between intellectual awareness and institutional reality.

Constrained agency and lack of institutional commitment

A profound sense of powerlessness was a unanimous theme. Lecturers felt their agency was severely curtailed by a rigid, top-down governance structure. While the institution’s official teaching strategy promoted constructivism, in practice, lecturers felt like mere implementers. Lecturer-E explained this contradiction: ‘While lecturers are nominally given the freedom to innovate, they are constrained by prescriptive syllabi and pacers. Thus, there is not much room for deviation’. Here, the language of ‘freedom’ is immediately undercut by the reality of control. What looks like autonomy is, in practice, a tightly managed illusion.

This constrained agency was seen as a direct result of a lack of institutional commitment. The decolonisation discourse, vibrant in the public sphere, was absent from institutional life. Lecturer-A stated, ‘I believe the institution is not showing enough commitment towards decolonisation. I have never been in a committee meeting where this matter has been discussed’. Another lecturer noted with concern that among the institution’s 30 policies, ‘not one of them, not once and not even mentions decolonisation even in passing’. The absence, they suggested, is not accidental but symptomatic of an institution unwilling to name what it refuses to confront. For these lecturers, silence in policy was louder than outright rejection, signalling that decolonisation was not merely overlooked but strategically excluded. The effect, as one participant put it, was a climate where ‘we all know it matters, but it never finds a place on the agenda’.

The overriding inhibitor: The profit motive

The most significant inhibitor identified by all participants was the institution’s fundamental identity as a for-profit business. The commercial imperative was seen to supplant all other considerations, framing the curriculum as a product to be sold rather than a site for critical transformation.

Lecturer-A was unequivocal:

‘I think profit maximisation tops the charts and topics of decolonisation take the backseat. I think the private institution being investigated here treats decolonisation as something for public institutions to bother about and so they remain indifferent.’ (Lecturer-A, Male, Economics)

This blunt phrasing retort shows that profit outweighs pedagogy.

This sentiment was echoed by Lecturer-F, who located this priority within the corporate structure itself:

‘The very nature that we are a private business institution, the owners have their eye on the return on investment and are not much concerned about being viewed right by the public.’ (Lecturer-F, Female, Marketing)

In this account, transformation is rejected not as unworthy but as unprofitable.

Lecturer-C expanded on this by observing:

‘When proposals are made that do not have a clear financial value, they are ignored. We are constantly reminded that the ‘market’ decides what we teach, not our own academic priorities.’ (Lecturer-C, Male, Law)

Similarly, Lecturer-D pointed to the dominance of marketing language in academic meetings:

‘Students are referred to as clients, modules as products, and innovation is measured by enrolment growth rather than intellectual depth. This makes it very difficult to push for social justice-oriented content.’ (Lecturer-D, Female, Education)

This profit-driven logic creates a culture where social justice issues are not only ignored but actively cordoned off. Lecturer-A described the difficulty of even raising the topic in official spaces, noting that opportunities to do so are limited because ‘this committee has a fixed agenda and sometimes trying to foist such a discussion might be difficult’.

Even more tellingly, Lecturer-E observed that the profit motive is internalised by staff themselves:

‘Over time, you start to self-censor. You think twice before suggesting something radical because you know it will be dismissed as not marketable. So, people stop trying’. (Lecturer-E, Male, IT)

The writing is on the wall in that profit drives top decisions and colonises staff imagination. What might begin as creative ideas for transformation quickly dissolves into resignation when weighed against financial imperatives. In this way, coloniality is not enforced through open prohibition but through the quiet disciplining power of market logic.

Centralised governance and stasis

The Central Curriculum Council (CCC) was identified as the specific locus of power and the primary structural barrier to change. This body was described as the sole determinant of the curriculum, operating with minimal consultation.

The findings reveal a deeply hierarchical institutional culture where communication flows downward rather than laterally. Lecturer-E described a disconnect where ‘national agendas and institutional policies’ are imposed with ‘zero to minimal consultation at the grassroots level’. This sentiment was echoed by colleagues who felt reduced to mere implementers. As Lecturer-B noted, meetings with the council are perceived not as discussions but as ‘briefings’ where ‘decisions have already been made’. Even when lecturers attempt to engage through written submissions, Lecturer-F lamented that these often ‘disappear into a vacuum’, with standardised curricula rolled out later without acknowledgement. This exclusionary dynamic is compounded by the composition of the CCC itself, which Lecturer-C observed is dominated by a ‘narrow demographic’ that fails to reflect the diversity of staff or students, making genuine decolonisation difficult to imagine. Consequently, the centralised control fosters a culture of surveillance rather than innovation, with Lecturer-D noting that local campuses feel ‘constantly monitored’, creating an environment where ‘no one wants to take risks’ for fear of punishment.

This top-down control, combined with a perceived lack of transformation within the CCC itself, creates a closed loop that ensures the institutional ethos remains unchanged. In doing so, it effectively locks the system in a state of morphostasis. Decisions circulate within the same small circle. New ideas struggle to gain entry, and critical voices are silenced before they gather momentum. The result is continuity masked as change, as it were. As Lecturer-F lamented, ‘we raise issues, but they come back to us unchanged, as if nothing was ever said’. This cyclical silencing demonstrates how coloniality persists through decision-making mechanisms, making alternatives impossible.

Lecturer perceptions of institutional needs

While lecturers identified barriers that sustained coloniality, they also articulated broader institutional needs that could enable transformation if taken seriously. Several participants highlighted the importance of cultivating a culture of reflexivity within the institution. Lecturer-B explained that ‘without deliberate spaces for critical conversations, we default to technicalities and lose sight of why we teach in the first place’. Others suggested that professional development opportunities could help equip lecturers with the theoretical and pedagogical tools needed to engage meaningfully with decolonisation.

Importantly, some participants called for structural changes that extend beyond the curriculum. Lecturer-D emphasised the need for greater diversity in leadership, noting that ‘representation at the top filters down into how transformation is prioritised or ignored’. In this sense, the lecturers recognised that addressing institutional inertia required not only changes to syllabi but also shifts in governance composition, policy orientation and organisational ethos. These observations point to a latent awareness among staff that decolonisation is a multi-dimensional project. It is as much about reconfiguring power relations as it is about content delivery. Lecturers recognised that transformation cannot be confined to the syllabus alone but must extend into governance and institutional culture.

Lecturer recommendations for decolonisation

Despite their frustrations, lecturers did not view decolonisation as an unattainable aspiration. Instead, they offered concrete suggestions for how the institution might begin to engage with it. Some advocated for the integration of African scholarship into reading lists, arguing that such inclusion would both validate indigenous intellectual traditions and expose students to a broader spectrum of knowledge. Lecturer-C proposed that ‘modules should be reframed to reflect African realities rather than treating them as supplementary case studies’.

Others called for more participatory curriculum design processes, where lecturers and even students could contribute meaningfully. Lecturer-E suggested that ‘a consultative model, where campuses can adapt certain modules to local contexts, would create room for authentic innovation’. The recommendations were not radical overhauls but pragmatic steps: developing mentorship programmes for junior black academics, embedding indigenous languages into certain modules, and creating forums for sustained dialogue on decolonisation.

Taken together, these proposals underscore a striking paradox. On the one hand, lecturers felt disempowered and constrained by a centralised, profit-driven system. On the other hand, they demonstrated imaginative capacity and a readiness to participate in transformation if institutional conditions were enabling. Their recommendations reveal not only a critique of the status quo but also an embryonic vision of what a decolonised PHEI might look like.

Discussion: The causal mechanisms of colonial morphostasis

The findings of this study point to a powerful and pervasive state of institutional inertia, which Archer’s (1995) social realism framework identifies as morphostasis. This is not merely a slow pace of change, but a state of active structural and cultural reproduction that constrains agentic possibilities and ensures that the system’s ‘form’ remains stable. While the institution may employ the rhetoric of innovation and constructivism, its underlying generative mechanisms lock it in a state of colonial continuity. This discussion analyses how this morphostasis is achieved. This is achieved by first identifying its causal mechanisms as demanded by a critical realist approach and then examining their manifestations through the three dimensions of coloniality.

The findings clearly identify two interlocking generative mechanisms that produce this stasis. Firstly, there is a dominant and non-negotiable profit motive. Secondly, there is a rigid and centralised governance structure. These are not separate factors, but they are mutually reinforcing. The profit motive, which frames education as a ‘product’ and students as ‘clients’ (Lecturer-D), necessitates a high degree of standardisation and control to ensure ‘marketability’ (Lecturer-E). This, in turn, legitimises the ‘top-down’ (Lecturer-E) and ‘hierarchical’ (Lecturer-E) governance of the CCC, which is described by lecturers as a closed loop of ‘briefings, not discussions’ (Lecturer-B).

This nexus of neoliberal marketisation and colonial hierarchy is precisely what scholars like Badat (2024) describe as the ‘corporatisation’ and ‘commodification’ of the South African university, which runs in parallel to any decolonial project. It creates what Heleta and Dilraj (2024) might term an ideological ‘smokescreen’. The institution appears to be a modern, innovative educational provider while using this very identity to obscure and reproduce deep-seated colonial logics. These generative mechanisms are the engine of morphostasis. We now turn to how this engine manifests through the three dimensions of coloniality.

The reproduction of the coloniality of power

The coloniality of power, as conceptualised by Quijano (2007), refers to the enduring hierarchical structures that classify and dominate, originally established through race. In this PHEI, this logic is reproduced through the architecture of governance. The findings paint a clear picture of a system where power is concentrated, untransformed and non-negotiable. Lecturers experienced this as a total ‘lack of institutional commitment’ (Lecturer-A), evidenced by decolonisation ‘not even mentioned’ in over 30 institutional policies.

This is the coloniality of power in action. The CCC, with its ‘narrow demographic’ (Lecturer-C) and ‘zero consultation at the grassroots level’ (Lecturer-E), functions as a direct mechanism for reproducing this hierarchy. It operates as a contemporary ‘overrepresentation’ (Wynter 2003) of a specific managerial and epistemological worldview. The result is that the lecturer agency is structurally nullified. Lecturers are repositioned as ‘implementers’, not critical agents, who ‘work to instruction’ (Lecturer-F). Their role is to deliver the ‘product’, not to question its design. Any attempts to ‘foist such a discussion’ (Lecturer-A) are seen as disruptive, not constructive. Thus, the institutional structure actively produces the powerlessness that lecturers describe, short-circuiting the ‘collective agency’ that Archer (1995) identifies as necessary for morphogenesis (social change) and locking the system in stasis.

The reproduction of the coloniality of knowledge

The coloniality of power (the ‘who’) directly enables the coloniality of knowledge (the ‘what’). As Mignolo (2007) argues, this dimension involves the privileging of Eurocentric epistemologies and the marginalisation of all other ways of knowing. In this case, the profit motive is the generative mechanism that actively enforces this. The curriculum is not a site for intellectual inquiry but a ‘commodity’ (Hlatshwayo 2022) that must be ‘marketable’ (Lecturer-E).

This logic is the ultimate arbiter of epistemic inclusion. Knowledge that aligns with dominant, Global North, ‘market-ready’ paradigms is validated. Knowledge that is critical, indigenous or local, the very core of decolonisation, is dismissed as ‘not marketable’ (Lecturer-E). This is a profound form of epistemic violence (Heleta 2016). It is not a passive omission but an active, market-driven exclusion. The ‘prescriptive syllabi and pacers’ (Lecturer-E) are the instruments of this exclusion, ensuring uniformity and control, and preventing any ‘deviation’ (Lecturer-E).

This framework helps us understand the lecturers’ frustration. Their attempts to decolonise, such as using local examples or African authors, are acts of ‘micro-resistance’. However, these acts are epistemically superficial. They cannot change the structure of the ‘product’ they are tasked to deliver. They can only change the ‘flavour’ of their individual delivery, which has no lasting impact on the institution’s morphostatic state. The institution, in its demand for a standardised ‘product’, denies the very possibility of epistemic justice.

The reproduction of the coloniality of being

This combination of structural powerlessness (coloniality of power) and epistemic futility (coloniality of knowledge) culminates in the most insidious dimension termed the coloniality of being. This refers to the psychic, existential impact of coloniality, the internalisation of one’s own marginality (Fanon 1967; Wynter 2003). The findings show this mechanism in heartbreaking clarity.

The most potent finding in this regard is Lecturer-E’s admission that ‘Over time, you start to self-censor’. This ‘self-censorship’ is the coloniality of being made manifest. It is the point at which the external structure of oppression is internalised, becoming part of the lecturer’s own ‘being’. The agent, recognising the futility of resistance, pre-emptively silences themself. They internalise the market logic (‘it will be dismissed’) and a sense of ‘fear’ (Lecturer-D) until they ‘stop trying’ (Lecturer-E). This is Fanon’s psychic dismemberment in a 21st-century corporate guise.

This internalisation also manifests in the belief that decolonisation is simply not for them. Lecturer-A’s comment that the institution ‘treats decolonisation as something for public institutions to bother about’ is a devastating insight. It suggests that the PHEI is perceived, even by its own staff, as an ontologically separate space, a commercial zone exempt from the moral and political work of the nation. The ‘being’ of the lecturer is thus split in that they are a critical intellectual in theory (‘episteme’) but a compliant employee in ‘practice’ (Lecturer-A).

In conclusion, the institution is locked in a state of colonial morphostasis, where its form is perfectly reproduced. The generative mechanism of the profit motive, enforced by a centralised, untransformed power structure, activates all three dimensions of coloniality. It strips lecturers of power, dictates a marketable, colonial knowledge, and ultimately disciplines their very being into self-censoring compliance. This creates a closed causal loop from which, as the findings show, there is no obvious structural escape.

Strengths and limitations

A key strength of this study lies in its qualitative case study design, which enabled a ‘thick description’ (Geertz 1973) and a critical realist analysis of a single, bounded system. This approach allowed the researcher to move beyond describing what lecturers felt (the empirical) to explaining the underlying causal mechanisms (the real) that produced those feelings, namely, the generative mechanisms of profit and centralised governance. The reflexive disclosure of the researcher’s insider positionality is also a strength, enhancing the transparency and interpretive depth of the counter-storytelling process.

Notwithstanding, the study has several limitations that must be critically examined, as their implications shape the boundaries of the claims made.

Firstly, the study is a single-case design with a small, purposive sample of six lecturers. This is a clear limitation. The findings are therefore not statistically generalisable to all PHEIs in South Africa. The implication of this is that while a set of causal mechanisms has been identified in-depth, it cannot be claimed that they operate identically in all corporate HE contexts. Rather than claiming generalisability, this study offers transferability through a ‘thick description’ that presents an analytical model other researchers can apply or contest in comparable contexts.

Secondly, the study is limited to the perspectives of lecturers. The voices of students, administrators, and, most critically, the members of the CCC are absent. This is a significant limitation. The implication is that the understanding of institutional logic presented here is, by necessity, partial. What is visible are the effects of the CCC’s decisions, not the rationales or pressures that inform them. The analysis is therefore derived from the ‘briefings’ (Lecturer-B), without access to the ‘boardroom’. Future research would benefit from triangulating these perspectives to provide a more comprehensive account.

Thirdly, this study confronts the profound methodological and theoretical irony of using theories from the Global North, such as Archer’s social realism and Bhaskar’s critical realism, to analyse a problem of decoloniality. This is a tension and a limitation. However, it could be argued that it is a productive one. Drawing on decolonial theorists (Fanon 1967; Mignolo 2007; Wynter 2003) to define the problem, the analysis employs critical realism and social realism to uncover the generative mechanisms of power that decolonial theory aims to challenge. It is a case of using the ‘master’s tools’ (Lorde 1984), in this instance, to methodically map the structural architecture of the ‘master’s house’, revealing the load-bearing walls of profit and hierarchy that must be understood before they can ever be challenged.

Finally, while the theoretical framework identified the ‘coloniality of language’ (Prah 2017) as a key axis of coloniality, the empirical data from these specific interviews did not yield rich findings on this point. The implication is that this remains a crucial, yet under-interrogated, mechanism within this specific corporate context, requiring its own dedicated future study.

The implications of morphostasis: A contradiction of terms

This study set out to investigate the conditions that inhibit decolonisation at a South African PHEI. The findings, analysed through a critical realist lens, reveal a reality far more profound than mere inhibition. They expose a fundamental and structural contradiction that the institutional generative mechanisms of a profit-driven and centrally controlled corporation are not just slowing decolonisation; they are antithetical to it. The institution is not failing at decolonisation; it is succeeding at reproducing coloniality, precisely because its core business model depends on it.

This finding addresses a critical disconnect in the understanding of institutional transformation within the PHEI sector. The original recommendations, which emerged from the lecturers’ own hopes (e.g. ‘decentralise the CCC’, ‘create new policies’), are shown by the study’s own data to be an illusion. The institution cannot decentralise the CCC because doing so would risk the standardisation required to sell its ‘product’ (Lecturer-D) at scale. It cannot prioritise indigenous epistemologies because they are not ‘marketable’ (Lecturer-E). Therefore, the primary implication of this study is that meaningful, structural decolonisation, a true Archerian morphogenesis, is impossible in this context without a complete rupture of the institution’s foundational business model.

This is a stark conclusion, but one that critical realism analysis demands. It affirms that the ‘illusion of change’ is the belief that one can decolonise a system while leaving its generative mechanisms of profit and control intact. The mechanisms of coloniality (power, knowledge, being) and the mechanisms of neoliberal corporatisation (profit, standardisation, hierarchy) are, in this case, one and the same.

Pathways for bounded agency

Given this reality, what is to be done? To offer recommendations for institutional reform would be to ignore the findings of this study. However, to conclude that lecturers are simply ‘victims’ of this structure would be to ignore their agency. The findings show that even within this closed causal loop, lecturers are not passive. They articulate a profound ‘conceptual fluency’ (Lecturer-C) and a deep desire for change.

The pathway forward, then, is not through institutional reform, but through what I term pathways for bounded agency. These are the micro-resistances that agents can perform within their constraints. If the structure cannot be changed, the experience of the classroom can still be a site of critical consciousness.

From ‘curriculum change’ to ‘critical conscientização’

Lecturers know they cannot change the ‘prescriptive syllabi’ (Lecturer-E). However, they can change how that syllabus is taught. Instead of attempting to ‘sneak in’ (Lecturer-A) African authors in a tokenistic way, bounded agency involves using the prescribed colonial curriculum itself as an object of critique. This resonates with Freire’s (1970) conscientização. The lecturer’s role shifts from ‘implementer’ (Lecturer-F) to ‘critical facilitator’, asking students: Why are all the authors in this module European? Whose interests does this ‘marketable’ knowledge serve? What is the ‘financial value’ (Lecturer-C) of silencing other epistemologies? This approach does not violate the syllabus, but it decolonises the act of learning, fostering a critical awareness of the coloniality of knowledge that the students are, in fact, ‘clients’ of.

Activating ‘reflexive spaces’ as micro-resistance

The findings showed that decolonisation is ‘never discussed’ (Lecturer-A) in official committees, which are ‘briefings’ (Lecturer-B). This structural silencing can be countered by agentic action. The professional development and forums for dialogue that lecturers recommended in the findings should not be seen as recommendations for the institution, but as a call to each other. Lecturers can and must create their own parallel, informal and perhaps subversive reflexive spaces, reading groups, lunchtime seminars and peer-mentorship circles where the ‘self-censorship’ (Lecturer-E) is actively undone. This collective agentic act (Archer 1995) is essential for moving from individual frustration to a shared critical consciousness, which is the first step towards any potential collective action.

Reframing language as epistemic justice

While the institution’s English-only policy is a structural inhibitor, lecturers retain agency over their own pedagogical language. As Prah (2017) insists, language is central. Lecturers can practice epistemic justice in small ways. These could include validating students’ use of indigenous-language concepts in discussion and by critiquing the market-readiness of English-only mores. This small act challenges the coloniality of being by signalling to students that their own linguistic ‘being’ is valid within the academic space.

These pathways do not lead to institutional transformation. They will not decolonise the PHEI. Let us be clear on that. However, they are not futile. They are acts of intellectual and pedagogical integrity. They are designed to awaken the critical consciousness of the next generation of students who pass through this corporate system, equipping them with the tools to see the ‘illusion’ for what it is.

Conclusion

This study concludes that decolonisation at a South African PHEI, under its current corporate model, remains an illusion. Its foundational generative mechanisms, like a profit motive and a centralised, untransformed governance structure, are not simply barriers to change but are the very engines of colonial morphostasis. They actively reproduce all three dimensions of coloniality, encompassing a coloniality of power (through a rigid hierarchy), a coloniality of knowledge (by defining it as a marketable ‘product’), and a coloniality of being (by fostering ‘self-censorship’ and compliance in its staff).

The case of this PHEI, while specific, holds global resonance. It serves as a microcosm of the intense conflict between decolonial imperatives and the relentless ‘corporatisation’ (Badat 2024) of higher education worldwide. It illustrates how the logics of late capitalism and coloniality have merged, creating new, hybrid structures of exclusion that are highly resistant to change.

The path forward, therefore, is not one of naive hope for institutional reform. It is one of sober and bounded agency. It demands that we see the illusion and, rather than trying to reform it, commit to the more difficult work of conscientização, of awakening the critical awareness of those who pass through it. This study, in revealing the mechanisms of this illusion, is a call for such critical and subversive work to begin.

Acknowledgements

This article is derived from research originally conducted for Prince Leburu’s master’s dissertation, Investigating the structural and cultural conditions that reproduce coloniality and inhibit decolonisation at a private higher education institution in South Africa, submitted to the University of Cape Town in 2025. The dissertation was supervised by Professor Kasturi Behari-Leak, whose scholarly guidance during the initial research phase is gratefully acknowledged. The preparation of this journal article, including its conceptual framing and argumentation, was undertaken independently by the author. Portions of the original work have been substantially revised and extended for publication. The original dissertation is available at: http://hdl.handle.net/11427/41718. The author further expresses sincere gratitude to Professor Kasturi Behari-Leak for her mentorship and to Mr Amos Wutawunashe for his encouragement and collegial support.

The author declares that no financial or personal relationships inappropriately influenced the writing of this article.

Prince Leburu: Conceptualisation, Data curation, Formal analysis, Funding acquisition, Investigation, Project administration, Resources, Software, Visualisation, Writing – original draft, Writing – review & editing. The author confirms that this work is entirely their own, has reviewed the article, approved the final version for submission and publication, and takes full responsibility for the integrity of its findings.

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

Derived data supporting the findings of this study are available from the corresponding author, Prince Leburu, on reasonable request.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and are the product of professional research. They do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any affiliated institution, funder, agency or that of the publisher.

References