Decolonising the curriculum is an initiative focusing on the action of decolonising ourselves (students and staff) and the teaching environments in which we operate. The founding frameworks of this movement are generally agreed to be the areas of decolonial and postcolonial studies. Postcolonial studies tend to focus on the social, economic, political, and cultural impact of colonial powers on past colonies and their peoples. Decolonial scholars arise from a variety of disciplines and are generally concerned with epistemology – questioning the dominance of Eurocentric knowledge systems. Both decolonial and postcolonial studies have been around for several decades and are generally studied by Indigenous scholars. Decolonising the curriculum is at different stages around the globe. Postcolonial nations (nations that were once colonies) are leading the way with several examples of Indigenous knowledge systems or methodologies being embedded within curricula; Manathunga (2020), for example, provides several vivid examples from New Zealand and Australia.

Although there is no single definition or understanding of what a curriculum is (Egan, 1978; Young, 2014), a curriculum can generally be described as the total sum of the knowledge, skills, social norms, and experiences that a student learns or is exposed to within a designed educational process. A curriculum is formed of/based on the knowledge, skills, and experiences considered to be valuable for a discipline and, certainly for geology, any industry that has influenced it.

Decolonising the curriculum is not an initiative looking to shame individuals for the content they teach nor for the work they make use of. It is not about cherry-picking diverse content for the sake of diversity or deleting certain works, and it is not an outright ban on teaching the work of old, dead, white men (Pett, 2015). It is not about change for the sake of change, and it is not about the formerly colonised and the colonised switching places either. Decolonising the curriculum recognises that a total or outright dismantling or destruction of all imperially created structures and processes is not likely to happen overnight nor without resistance.

However, a restructuring would be helpful; a rebalance of power to decrease the marginalisation and “othering” (see Sect. 6) of groups and knowledge sets could result in better pedagogy and greater understanding. It would also aid inclusivity through improved representation and diversity. Decolonising the curriculum has also been highlighted as a method towards closing the degree awarding gap between white students and those from a Black, Asian, or minority ethnic background (UUK and NUS, 2019). Thus, while decolonising the curriculum does not call for the abandonment of all Western theory, it does flag up that Western theory “does not in fact describe or map the entire planet, and that despite pretensions to universalism it suffers from gaps and lacunae, and for this reason needs to be revised in the light of local empirical conditions” (Jackson, 2003, p. 73; in Hönke and Müller, 2012, p. 390).

There are several definitions of decolonisation and decolonising the curriculum. Mbembe (2016) highlights that there is little agreement on what decolonisation is and that it is an ever-changing and evolving “Beast”. Here, as did Charles (2019), we support this definition taken from part of Keele University's Decolonising the Curriculum Manifesto (Keele University, 2018):

Decolonising the curriculum means creating spaces and resources for a dialogue among all members of the university on how to imagine and envision all cultures and knowledge systems in the curriculum, and with respect to what is being taught and how it frames the world.

Decolonising the curriculum is sure to mean different things to different people and will involve different actions for different disciplines. This seems particularly true if we compare subjects from STEM, the social sciences, and humanities. The process requires us to reflect on our backgrounds, experiences, ideologies, and discipline-specific narratives. Drawing on Tuck and Yang's (2012) work calling for the non-domestication of decolonisation, Esson et al. (2017) eloquently argue that “Decolonisation is a radical challenge to “unsettle” the architecture of privilege” (p. 387). As academics who occupy positions of privilege and are sometimes said to dwell in ivory towers, decolonising our curriculums has to be a deeply self-reflexive process, involving capturing the experiences of historically marginalised groups (decolonising aims to address and rebalance injustices for all marginalised groups – it is not to be mistaken solely as a race/ethnicity issue). We need to acknowledge the biases in our world views (including social and political) (Holmes, 2020), be aware of our relationship to curricula/research, and fully understand ourselves as educators and researchers in order to address the context in which curricula design (both in terms of content and in terms of practice) (Rose, 1997) is taking place. To some extent, this is a complex manoeuvre where we sometimes have to pull the rug out from under our own feet. Furthermore, while decolonisation of anything, let alone curricula, is clearly many pronged, multi-levelled, and complex, one thing it definitely will also be is discomfiting; those who undertake to decolonise must be prepared to step outside of comfort zones and interrogate assumptions and privileges, perhaps even unlearning some of the latter (as Spivak advocates; Spivak, 1990; Andreotti, 2007).

Decolonising the curriculum should ideally be a reflective and honest process in which we recognise the emergence and use of the knowledge, or set(s) of knowledge, that we choose to apply in any given circumstance. Under what circumstances was the knowledge we use made, and why do we use this set of knowledge in particular? Several authors outline what decolonisation might entail, and they include themes such as recovering knowledge, reflecting on the exclusion of other knowledge, ethics, the use of language, and the internationalisation of Indigenous experience (e.g. Smith, 1999; Chilisa, 2020; Le Grange, 2020).

Whilst decolonising the curriculum is not a call for the vilification of past individuals, this does not mean we cannot judge and be disappointed, embarrassed, or angry at some of the unjust assumptions, beliefs, and actions of figures in the past. It is a call to understand, reflect, and call out the norms and actions of those who provided important advances to our knowledge. How might those behaviours have arisen, and how did they impact the formation of the knowledge we use? Were there others involved in the formation of that knowledge, and who were forgotten or marginalised collaborators? How might that have led to the continued exclusion of some groups in the present? The process acknowledges how certain knowledge was created, for example by explaining where authors held views which are found repugnant today, or where data were gained at the expense of others. For example, Lam (2021) provides an informative piece outlining (amongst other colonial links to geosciences) the history of Henry De la Beche, a slave owner who advocated for slavery reforms rather than abolition (De la Beche, 1825) and who is credited with creating the first geological map of Jamaica whilst visiting his slave plantation.

Decolonisation calls for us to consider the broader pool of knowledge available outside of our Eurocentric curricula (Hall and Tandon, 2017). Teaching geology from a single perspective (often framed by the works of dead, white men) leads to uneven power relations, particularly in relation to race, class, and gender (Begum and Saini, 2019). Where knowledge is ignored or ownership of knowledge is denied as to originating or belonging to Indigenous peoples, damage and hurt can be caused (Whitt, 2009). What we say and do matters.

Importantly, decolonising the curriculum seeks to highlight how injustice in the past has led to some of the most fundamental aspects of modern thinking, discipline identities, and continuing inequities (Harding, 2006) – and how, by acknowledging and understanding this, we can be better and strive to make a just, fair, equitable, and accessible modern system that provides a curriculum relevant to modern challenges. An issue not just for geology but for all STEM subjects is that science is often presented as being apolitical or neutral, where social relations have little bearing or influence. Gracio (2014) highlights this issue – “Science is made by people with interests, intentions and ambitions; and it's funded by governments and companies with agendas.” – and calls out the absence of ethics and politics teaching in science curricula. The idea of “political geology”, an inter-/multi-/transdisciplinary area relating to geopolitics, the Anthropocene, technology, cartography, history, and other themes has been identified as an emerging area of work (Bobbette and Donovan, 2019).

Some of the conversations around decolonising the curriculum focus (in an unnecessarily constrained and limited way) solely on diversifying reading lists and case studies used across educational units. Diversity of representation in reading lists is important; ensuring reading lists are not just from Western male perspectives can enrich content and open the door to different frames of knowledge, experiences, and points of view. However, piecemeal developments like diversifying reading lists, whilst useful, do not fulfil the scope of decolonising the curriculum. Decolonising the curriculum is a holistic process. It needs time, thought, collaboration, and willingness to not only take fragmentary steps but for a major overhaul. A common criticism of decolonising the curriculum is that it “removes” or conveniently effaces historical knowledge (e.g. by removing certain case studies, authors, or contexts). Done properly, it should in fact broaden frames of reference, recognising other knowledge systems and ways of thinking, and opening global dialogue. Vandeyar (2020, p. 5) provides a useful quote emphasising how we must go beyond the diversification of materials and ensure we challenge and interrogate the knowledge we use: “Decolonisation of the curriculum requires much more than just changing the curriculum. How things are taught and academics' attitudes, perceptions and beliefs in this process are pivotal to the decolonisation project. Decolonisation is more than just a “choice of materials” (Wa Thiong'o, 1992). The attitude and disposition to materials used in the curriculum is critical.”

Geology is a discipline created by colonial forces/parties at a time of active (explicit) colonial expansion (Yusoff, 2018; Figueiredo, 2020; Zeller, 2000). Because of its global relevance and common use of international case studies, it might be felt by some that geology is no longer colonial or that the colonial roots of geology no longer influence the subject's arena. However, the discipline born during imperial expansion is still very much the discipline taught across Western institutions today (albeit with adaptations as technologies/methods/nomenclatures/schemas have developed). It is important to recognise that this colonial version of geology, known to most geologists as the accepted global norm or canon (and adopted by many non-Western countries, likely as a result of colonial legacy), is not the only form of geological knowledge practised today or in the past. What makes the geological knowledge of a range of groups incompatible with the accepted geological canon? Many of the core aspects of geological teaching and learning focus on the identification, classification, and physical/mechanical characteristics of Earth materials, echoing the geological activities promoted during the rise of geology as a military science and latterly an academic pursuit (see Sect. 4.2 below).

Many Indigenous peoples have described and used their local geology for thousands of years (Nyblade and McDonald, 2021 and references therein). Reano and Ridgway (2015) highlight some of the geological workings of the Acoma people (western central New Mexico), who, rather than use the stratigraphic framework and classifications familiar to institutional geology (i.e. education, academia, industry) use an interpretive framework passed down generation to generation (called a “cultural framework” in their paper). This framework groups lithologies by their cultural or resource significance (e.g. farmland, building materials, pottery materials, water resources). These alternative frameworks can be linked and compared to “standard” frameworks to better welcome minority groups into geology (Reano and Ridgway, 2015). For wider cohorts, cultural frameworks also encourage better understanding of world views and the relationship between Indigenous populations and their lands as well as highlighting how cultural tensions can arise from modern colonisation (e.g. resource exploitation on Indigenous lands).

There are many more examples of traditional and local knowledge, oral histories, and mythology that are dismissed or ignored (and/or belittled) by the Western knowledge system but are grounded in the truth of observation. Oral histories include details of past environmental and climate change, of cataclysms, and the resulting environmental response. Oral histories are cumulative through generations and can often cover large parts of human (and non-human – animals, plants, rivers etc.) history. Whilst Western scientific method can (unquestionably) answer many questions, decolonisation of what counts as knowledge is needed to integrate Indigenous knowledge systems. Nunn (2018) demonstrates this excellently by bringing together the knowledge systems of the Western climate science canon and the oral histories of the Aboriginal First Nations peoples. For future climate action, this sort of integrated dialogue will be invaluable – for example, we could potentially predict the effects of sea-level rise to a coastline whilst integrating knowledge of the environmental impact (including how animals and plants react to such events) as evidenced through historical knowledge.

Most UK/Eurocentric/Western geologists probably do not think that cultural/Indigenous/alternative frameworks of knowledge even exist locally – often regarding the local knowledge as “less developed” (a colonial attitude!); however, that is far from the truth. Within the Global North, some areas that were themselves formerly colonial powers and/or internally colonised have (or had) a wealth of unacknowledged local geological knowledge, some of which persists. For example, in South Shropshire (England) many locals refer to “dhustone” for a hard, black igneous rock quarried from a place called Clee Hill. If asked about dhustone, many locals would likely be able to tell you where this rock can be found and why it is quarried. If, however, you were to ask locals if they knew where you could find microgabbro in the area, they would likely not know. This sort of geological knowledge, which exists across the globe, is often downplayed or explained as “not proper” geology – why? The knowledge serves a purpose and is successfully disseminated. Many of the terms used locally for rock types with decorative aspects (such as Cotham marble, Purbeck marble, Sussex marble, and Puddingstone in the UK) are often dismissed as “incorrect” by geologists. This narrow acceptance of what is “correct” geological knowledge potentially damages the image of the geological discipline, with individuals being made to feel inferior and therefore being unwilling to engage further. Learning about and working with local knowledge is not an onerous task and could lead to a more engaged and responsive reaction to geological activities (e.g. Palmer et al., 2009).

The connection between the geoscience industry and active harm to sites of cultural significance is a tangible result of the erasure and belittlement (or wilful misunderstanding and ignoring) of local and Indigenous knowledge. Geologists working for the extractive industry can hold power over the future of landscapes and peoples that have coexisted for thousands of years. Colonial legacy of land ownership and legalities over material extraction (supported by powerful and wealthy groups) is very much persistent today. The destruction of a 46 000-year-old First Nations heritage site of rock shelters in Western Australia to access higher volumes of high-grade ore is just one recent example (Wahlquist and Allam, 2020a). The responses to these inexcusable actions have been positive; all mining companies in Australia have been recommended to review all agreements with traditional landowners, and Rio Tinto have had several recommendations imposed on them, including remediation work, restitution packages, and a commitment to halt actions on 1700 First Nations heritage sites that it has permission to destroy (Wahlquist and Allam, 2020b). Geoscience researchers have been responsible for similarly destructive activities, with several well-documented cases of rock core/samples being taken from sites of cultural significance (e.g. Sahagún, 2021) and from areas of natural beauty (MacFadyen, 2010), in spite of codes of conduct existing to mitigate this (e.g. Scottish National Heritage & the Geologists' Association, 2011).

Perhaps the most important aspect of acknowledging geology's colonial present, as well as its debts to marginalised peoples and damage to environments, is to ensure that present and future actions work towards a more collaborative discipline in which the co-production of knowledge with all involved parties is normalised (Adame, 2021; Adams et al., 2014; Wilkinson et al., 2020; Sheffield et al., 2021). The geosciences are often overlooked (or misunderstood) in policy (Stow and Laming, 1991; Gill and Smith, 2021), process, and considerations for sustainable development, and this is undoubtedly linked to past geological activities being associated with extractive and damaging processes.

The history of the discipline of geology is rarely taught in detail in geology courses. Many of the “Fathers of Geology” and their achievements are included in teaching programmes, but little (or no) content centres on how the current discipline was formed. The colonial influence and exploitative actions underpinning the subject's foundations are not part of the discipline's canon (and neither is the discipline's colonial present). This section gives a very brief overview of the discipline's colonial origins. Some of this will be familiar to geologists, particularly the names of certain individuals and their geological contribution. What may not be known by some geologists are the wider systems, actions, and processes that these geological contributions were made under.

In the 17th century, individuals such as Nicolas Steno began drawing up ideas about the deposition of sediments and the origin of fossils, questioning the accepted views of Earth science at the time (Adams, 1938; Gohau, 1990). The 18th century saw a realisation that minerals and ores (often inaccessible at the surface) could be found by studying certain natural phenomena. At this time, two main schools of thought arose to explain the creation of Earth materials – Neptunism (also called Diluvianism) and Plutonism. Neptunism argued that geological materials precipitated from water (much of this thinking was linked to Christian Bible teaching, particularly the great flood) (Gohau, 1990). Plutonists believed that volcanism was mainly responsible for rock formation – and alluded to the age of the Earth being very old and not understandable from the limited span of teachings from the Bible (Gohau, 1990). It was in the 19th century that the foundations of the discipline we know today (from Western education and industry) were founded. Uniformitarianism (and the opposing catastrophism) was proposed by Charles Lyell in his “Principles of Geology” (Lyell, 1830). Ideas around stratigraphic principles and relative dating began to be developed at this time.

In the 19th century, geological investigation often included historical and ethnographic elements; geologists would investigate a wide variety of subjects, including antiquities, ancestral, and Indigenous myths and past civilisation/human activity, and used texts and oral history to investigate local geology (Chakrabarti, 2020). For example, Alexander von Humboldt, a German polymath and geographer, integrated his experiences around the globe to try and explain/explore the distribution of a number of natural features (e.g. animals, plants, mountains, volcanoes) through the measurement and recording of them on maps (Secord, 2018).

Geological expeditions/surveys (although not necessarily solely geological – many aspects of fields such as trade, botany, and anthropology were also included) were an instrumental tool of colonial expansion (e.g. Stafford, 1984, 1988; Sangwan, 1993; Yusoff, 2018; Figueiredo, 2020; Zeller, 2000). Expeditions and surveys played an important role in the economic, technological, and cultural development of colonial powers (Britain and Spain in particular). Spanish engineers surveyed much of South America during the period from 1750 to the 1840s, and British surveyors operated across the British Empire from the 1830s to the 1870s (Teale, 1945; Chakrabarti, 2019; Stafford, 1984, 1988; Miller, 2020). Many expeditions, surveys, and “missions” to countries and territories where colonies were later established included a geological element. Geological surveys were undertaken, and estimates of natural resources were made, with the colonial party often being guided by locals; these guides and the knowledge they shared was erased, “rewritten”, or taken without recognition, which is a system that can still be observed today (see Sect. 4.3 below). Many cases of colonial expansion and occupation were based on the findings of these “exploratory” parties, particularly where natural resources were involved (Stafford, 1988). Other reasons for colonial expansion included strategic military/trade locations (including the slave trade), areas for European settlers to live, and the desire to push colonial frontiers further into lands occupied by “savages” and “barbarians” (Webb, 2017). The importance of mineral wealth to the British imperial effort was so commonly understood that military, naval, and commercial (e.g. the East India Company) officers were offered training to better equip them to make scientific observations and enquiry, with mineral wealth from the colonies permanently held on display in London (Stafford, 1984). Official (British) Geological Surveys (i.e organisations, rather than the action of surveying/exploring) were established in nearly all UK colonial territories from 1918 (Colonial Geological Surveys, 1944). At a similar time to European colonial expansion, a similar expansion of colonial settlers was occurring in the United States of America, where geology surveys evaluated the economic value of land and drove expansion into resource-rich areas (Nyblade and McDonald, 2021). As British colonialism and the British Empire were rising, modern-day nations were being established and territories were being fought for in South America (Spanish America in particular). These nations had little or no access to Spanish mineral survey data, conducted in the territories by colonial expansionists (Miller, 2020). Miller (2020) argues that these fledgling nations (and ultimately all nations) are most closely defined by shared knowledge and knowledge systems – in the case of Spanish America, knowledge exchange between Indigenous peoples and Spanish colonials had been ongoing for centuries.

Secord (2018) introduce the idea that resource extraction was not the sole geological motivation during the time of colonial expansion (particularly of northern European empires). Geology, as well as the idea that the Earth held multiple “lost worlds” and natural wonders, became entangled with philosophy and literary works of the time, for example, Secord (2018) suggests that Conrad's The Heart of Darkness (1899) and Conan Doyle's The Lost World (1912) allowed readers to share and experience the thrill of exploration to wondrous lands with contemporary geologists.

Some of the leaders of exploratory parties are well-known geologists and scientists today, with Alexander von Humboldt, Charles Darwin, Henry De la Beche, and Roderick Murchison being key players in the use of surveys for colonial expansion (Stafford, 1984; Secord, 2018). These surveys and the organisations responsible for them were funded by colonial and ruling powers, for example the Spanish Crown (e.g. funding expeditions to Peru, Chile, and New Spain – Mexico) and the British Crown and Government – often directly through military organisations (e.g. the Board of Ordinance) (Rose, 1996). Early geological activities of the British Empire had such strong military ties that for much of the 19th century, certainly in the UK, geology was perceived as a military science (Rose et al., 2019). Colonial geologists are responsible for the creation of most of the “first geological survey of ...[somewhere]...” and are often associated with the first geological interpretations of the areas they surveyed. In some cases, they are attributed with the “first discovery” of mineral wealth or of features they observed. This is, of course, absurd. Locals often provided valuable knowledge, guided and worked for these parties without formal credit or recognition, and were clearly aware of many geological features prior to their reported “discovery”. For example, Frank Dixey, the first Director of the Directorate of Colonial Geological Surveys talks about “native information”, carriers, and escorts in his personal memoirs on surveying Sierra Leone (Dunham, 1983). This phenomenon is commonly known as “firsting” (see Sect. 6). It was these types of activities that led to the establishment of the geological discipline we know today. In Spanish and Portuguese America, Indigenous populations were clearly successful mineral surveyors, as proven by the quantities of gold, silver, and copper looted by the Spanish and Portuguese in the early 1500s. After this initial period of looting, the colonial forces then surveyed and extracted vast amounts gold and silver (Bakewell, 1984). The colonial forces took their survey data with them when withdrawing from colonies, and the Indigenous peoples once again surveyed their lands for minerals (Miller, 2020).

Individuals such as De la Beche and Murchison were likely driven by the same excitement and inquisitiveness that many geologists share about how the world works. The “exciting” debates held by prominent geologists at the time concerning the establishment of geological periods was a factor in influencing members of parliament, noblemen, military officers, and colonial administrators that geological knowledge and exploration could promote economic growth (Stafford, 1984). However, many of these individuals were in the privileged position of being able to pursue an academic lifestyle due to injustices towards others, both domestically and internationally (e.g. Hyde, 2020). The theme of lone geniuses making exciting discoveries, giving talks, and moving specimens to research institutes/museums etc. persists today. Rarely (never?) is knowledge creation the achievement of the individual. The idea that knowledge is validated through certain associations or groups of individuals is also observable today; thus, whilst many of the individuals who were prominent in the establishment of geology as the discipline we know today are long gone, the systems which they formed and supported are still very much alive.

Of course, there are individuals in the history of geology who were advocates for justice; for example, William and Richard Phillips and William Allen, who were pivotal in the establishment of the Geological Society of London, were abolitionists (Lam, 2021). These individuals, however, were still part of a group that encouraged the removal of materials from colonial territories for “metropolitan analysis” (Stafford, 1984). Imperial resource extraction may seem like an action of the distant past; however, geology as an essential tool for colonial expansion was celebrated as recently as the 1940s and 1950s (Teale, 1945), was a dominant economic process until relatively recently, and arguably still continues via modern corporations. Reports of mineral extraction from colonial territories and scientific work resulting from such activities were published in the Bulletin of the Imperial Institute and latterly in The Quarterly Bulletin of the Colonial Geological Surveys up to at least 1957 (Beard, 1950).

Parachute knowledge creation is a phenomenon not restricted to geology or STEM disciplines. It is the act of researchers (typically from the Global North) travelling to conduct fieldwork in a “Majority World” region (typically the Global South) and either not collaborating with or not recognising the participation of local researchers, landowners, or guides (e.g. Greshko, 2020; North et al.,  2020). Spivak argues that field data collection (which she refers to as “information retrieval”) is another form of imperialism, which centres the Western academy (Andreotti, 2007; Nordling, 2021).

Parachute knowledge creation may involve the removal of samples or specimens from countries to be held or exhibited elsewhere without full collaboration or agreement from the country/area/people of origin, often referred to as “extractivism” (see Sect. 6). Although long the norm and even common practice in academia, extractivism is inherently exploitative. It may lead to the creation of academic outputs (e.g. articles published in academic journals) where the authorship team is exclusively from the Global North, and collaborators from the study area are not included or acknowledged. These extractive practices have been shown to lead to biases in data, and they still occur today (Raja et al., 2022). This process leads to the perception of the need for external experts to local issues; it does not meet nor help local research efforts and can even hinder these local efforts (Stefanoudis et al., 2021). The practice of hindering local efforts has been recently highlighted by local geologists working on Nyiragongo volcano, Democratic Republic of Congo (Nordling, 2021).

Parachute/colonial science often leads to the phenomenon of firsting (see Sect. 6). A recent example of this practice has been reasonably visible and involves a unique Brazilian fossil that ended up in a German museum and was subsequently published on by a group with no Brazilian collaborators (Vogel, 2020). The example of the Brazilian fossil also raised questions on the ethical (and legal) practices of obtaining materials; Brazilian law forbids the exportation of fossils, other than for loans (Vogel, 2020). It is important to recognise that these behaviours can cause hurt to those being othered and result in the breakdown of engagement, trust, and willingness to help from these parties. Cisneros et al. (2022) outline additional examples of parachute and extractive science from Mexico and Brazil, as well as outlining the impacts (and excuses) of such practice. They suggest that scientists should be required to provide documentation proving the ethical and legal position of sample collection/acquisition and that journals should refuse to publish without these.

Yozwiak et al. (2016) highlight that international collaboration is fundamental to tackling major global health emergencies. This is also true for tackling geoscience-related challenges, such as climate change, critical material extraction, disaster risk reduction, and water extraction. Equitable collaborations between global experts, including those with invaluable local knowledge, are essential to avoid the damage caused by colonial science. Building research collaborations with support, training, and educational opportunities for local communities helps engage key stakeholders and creates more equitable partnerships (Whiteford and Vindrola-Padros, 2015). These collaborative actions may seem daunting to those without the experience, time, resources, or incentives to carry them out (Roldan-Hernandez et al., 2020), but they should be normalised and built into ethical planning and research grant submissions.

Decolonising the curriculum may initially feel inaccessible to scientists, with its own set of terminology/jargon and its basis in historical context. However, it is vital to a more equitable future for geology and many other disciplines, with value to both academics and students. It also serves as a reminder that the work we conduct is not apolitical, neutral, nor divorced from society – people, places, knowledge, power, and the environment are interwoven with our science.

Decolonising any curriculum involves not just the contents of the syllabi but also the pedagogical structures underpinning the curriculum, from delivery right through to assessment methods. Decolonising the curriculum is a set of processes, a pedagogical approach, and an ideology, which seeks to enhance knowledge and learning, to make disciplines richer and more enthralling. It seeks to include more; to dig deeper; to encompass more viewpoints, representations, and voices; and to welcome diversity rather than stay narrow and limited. Decolonising is a democratic and collaborative process, breaking down hierarchies to heighten productivity and effectiveness. It talks truth to power, exposing power structures that have shored up practices and processes unseen and uncalled out for most of their existence. Decolonising curricula, if done well, should be a liberating process and an education enhancer for both staff and students.