At Wits, decolonisation remains incomplete as English dominance continues to limit true multilingual inclusion in learning and assessment.
In 2015, during the #FeesMustFall movement, South African universities were forced into a reckoning that extends beyond protest and policy reform. At the University of the Witwatersrand, this moment led to a language policy that introduced English, isiZulu, Sesotho, and South African Sign Language (SASL) into its academic framework. Yet, as Wits advances through its 2023 Strategic Framework, a plan guiding the university’s goals around transformation, inclusion, research, and global competitiveness, though a contradiction remains: the institution speaks of decolonising knowledge while leaving the language of learning largely unchanged.
Decolonisation without linguistic transformation is incomplete. A curriculum may diversify its content but if access to knowledge remains dependent on English, exclusion is not removed but relocated into the medium of instruction. This dynamic can be understood through what Miranda Fricker terms epistemic injustice, which is a condition in which certain forms of knowledge are undervalued because of the language in which they are expressed. In this context, students are not excluded from knowing, but from having their knowledge fully recognised unless it is articulated in English.
As Steve Biko warned, “the most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed”, a condition sustained not only through content, but through the very language in which knowledge is delivered and recognised. His insistence that education must cultivate critical consciousness rather than reproduce subordination sharpens this argument: when students are compelled to translate their intellectual lives into English to be legible, the system does not liberate thought; it disciplines it.
This is not abstract. In lecture halls across Wits, language shapes how students learn and are assessed. In science and health sciences courses, students encounter, process, and are tested on complex ideas in English, even when understanding often begins in other languages during peer discussion. Learning in familiar languages can improve comprehension, participation, and confidence, reduce cognitive load and also allow students to engage more fully with complex material.
In engineering tutorials, students switch to isiZulu or Sesotho in order to unpack difficult concepts, only for that cognitive work to disappear in formal assessment, where only English counts. In Sociolinguistics, this is understood as code-switching, a skilled practice rather than a deficiency. What appears as hesitation is, in reality, intellectual labour: students are learning disciplinary content while translating it across linguistic systems; a demand not equally placed on all. They are not struggling with content; they are performing unpaid intellectual labour to make that content legible within a single dominant language.
This extends beyond technical disciplines and reflects a broader experience across faculties where language shapes who can fully access knowledge.
As third-year industrial engineering student Tshedza Tsiololi explains, “some engineering terms, such as dynamic system or torque, do not translate easily into everyday language… This makes learning time-consuming, especially in the absence of accessible translation tools”. This translation process carries material consequences. When comprehension is delayed, so too is performance, affecting assessment outcomes, time to completion, and the cost of education. Language barriers are therefore not only pedagogical concerns but structural inefficiencies.
The result is not a lack of understanding but a delay in it. Students carry an invisible cognitive burden, constantly translating their thinking. Language cannot be treated as a secondary issue in curriculum reform.
Language shapes how knowledge is accessed, processed, and recognised. When a medical student must translate reasoning to communicate with a patient, or an engineering student is assessed in a language that can flatten thinking processes, language becomes a gatekeeping mechanism. Yet the persistence of English is often justified through its role in global academia. While not unfounded, this argument is incomplete. Countries such as Germany, Japan, and South Korea demonstrate that strong language production can occur in national languages alongside English. Multilingualism is not a barrier to global relevance but a source of intellectual flexibility.
Wits’ current approach reflects both progress and limitations. As noted by the Head of African Languages, Dr Soyiso Khetoa, “the university’s focus on English, South African Sign Language, isiZulu, and Sesotho is informed by demographic research”. Institutional efforts, such as language-learning applications, support isiZulu acquisition. However, this raises a deeper question: what happens to students whose linguistic identities fall outside these dominant categories?
A comparative perspective complicates this further. In Tanzania, the adoption of Swahili under Julius Nyerere aimed to democratise education and strengthen national identity. This model significantly expanded access and participation at foundational levels, enabling students to learn in a familiar linguistic context. While access improved at foundational levels, challenges emerged in higher education, including limited technical terminology. This illustrates that linguistic transformation is both possible and complex, requiring sustained commitment rather than selective implementation.
Accommodation based on geographic prevalence may be efficient, but it is not neutral. It creates new margins. Students who speak other African Languages remain excluded, not because their languages lack value, but because they fall outside institutional feasibility. In this way, multilingualism risks becoming selective rather than transformative. South Africa’s own history offers parallels. Institutions such as Stellenbosch University and the University of Pretoria have shown that full academic systems can be developed in Afrikaans, raising the question of why similar levels of investment have not been extended to African languages in a democratic context, while also revealing how language can function as both inclusion and exclusion.
Bert van Pinxteren argues that expanding the language of learning is expensive and complex. “Developing academic terminology in African languages, training staff, and redesigning assessments require time and resources”, he notes. These challenges are real, but difficulty is not a justification for permanence. Technology tools, from translation software to AI-assisted terminology development, are reshaping what is feasible. The limitation is increasingly institutional: whether universities are willing to invest in systems that reflect their students’ realities.
When African languages are used informally for explanation but excluded from formal assessment, universities reinforce a hierarchy where legitimacy remains tied to English. Inclusion becomes conditional.
The 2015 policy was a meaningful step, but without implementation, it risks becoming symbolic. If students must translate their intellectual lives into one dominant language to be recognised, decolonisation remains incomplete. The issue is the distinction between symbolic and material transformation: policy signals intent, but assessment determines whose knowledge is legitimised.
A serious commitment to transformation does not require abandoning English. It requires building multilingual academic systems where English is one of several legitimate languages of learning. This could include bilingual modules, expanded language support, and discipline-specific terminology across a broader range of African languages.
And perhaps the most uncomfortable question is this: must students once again protest to be heard? The 2015 moment demonstrated that institutional change often follows student pressure. If language remains a barrier, it raises concerns about whether dialogue alone is sufficient.
Decolonisation, if it is to mean anything, must be a dialogue, not only between institution and student, but between languages themselves. The question is not whether English will remain at Wits; it will. The question is whether students will continue to think in multiple languages but be recognised in only one language. Until students can be recognised in the languages in which they think, decolonisation remains a translation exercise, not a transformation. More fundamentally, it is whether Wits is willing to move from being a university that is merely in Africa to one that is truly of Africa.
FEATURED IMAGE: A student points toward an emergency assembly point at Wits, symbolising urgent questions around language, access, and transformation in higher education. Photo: Alice Dhlamini.
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