Academia as a Bubble
Let me begin my discussion by taking a closer look at Descartes’s thoughts on the consciousness of animals. Known as "the father of modern philosophy" and famous for meditating by the fireplace about so called ‘mind and body dualism’, he argued that animals cannot consciously feel or react to stimuli as they lack the awareness necessary to perceive them. His claim about their lack of awareness is deduced from another misguided assumption—that animals lack linguistic and cognitive capacities. This shallow figure, who believed that human perception is the only system capable of making emotional sense of any stimulus, is one of the prominent individuals of the Enlightenment era upon which academia proudly rests. My question, then, is this: how can we expect this human-centric field of knowledge to cultivate gentle individuals?
After receiving a multi-disciplinary psychology education that included neuropsychology and ethology, I can confidently assert that Descartes’s claims about animal cognition are false. One doesn’t need to study psychology to notice this; even a child can observe an animal’s understanding of pain or intimacy simply by disturbing or petting a cat. However, it seems Descartes was too preoccupied with meditating and philosophizing to engage with actual animals. His bold shallowness, while unsurprising—given that even his thought process reflects the negligence of a privileged white man—is deeply troubling. What disturbs me most is that his work continues to be taught as essential reading in philosophy classes, where the most radical stance a student can take is to write a critical paper arguing against his outdated ideas, much like I am doing now.
I aim to critique the privileged, colonial, neoliberal, and dysfunctional structure of Western academia by reflecting on my experiences in higher education and drawing on the works of Harney & Moten and Cupples. My previous university, also founded by Americans, mandated a Humanities course in which I was required to critically read and analyze the works of uninspiring "dead men" such as Descartes, J.J. Rousseau, Kant, and others. While I was introduced to novel concepts that lacked equivalent terms in Turkish, my intellectual development became deeply shaped by Eurocentric literature.
Fortunately, many of our lecturers encouraged us to engage critically with the material, challenging its assumptions and fostering open discussion that allowed us to explore our perspectives. While I acquired skills to critically deconstruct and even satirize the so-called "fathers" of modern philosophy, my linguistic cognition was subtly being colonized by the Western school of thought. This left me thinking in a fragmented manner—half in English and half in Turkish—further highlighting the cultural and intellectual dominance embedded in this system.
I can confirm that the aforementioned issue of liminality is a valid experience for the vast majority of Boğaziçi University students and academics. In our daily conversations, for instance, we often found ourselves unintentionally using a hybrid language (Turkish-English), which friends from other universities struggled to follow. They would frequently mock us for speaking what they called "Boğaziçi Turkish," deeming it cringe-worthy. Now that I have taken this course, I am better equipped to understand why "Boğaziçi Turkish" might feel so jarring—it can be interpreted as a symptom of the pathology caused by the colonial and elitist structure of education.
This cringe-worthy linguistic development can be traced back to the way knowledge is produced by our lecturers. Many social scientists at top-ranking universities in Turkey contribute to scholarly literature exclusively in English, which I see as a serious and global issue. This phenomenon can be attributed to the standardized methods used to measure academic success, which rely heavily on the number of citations and publications achieved. Harney and Moten address this as a "teaching for food" moment, and I find this critique particularly relevant in the context of Turkish academia. Producing knowledge in Turkish is far less financially rewarding, especially when dollars are significantly more valuable than Turkish liras.
This creates a critical problem, as it binds researchers to the colonized framework of Western knowledge production. Additionally, it isolates scholars from their sociocultural realities, further widening the intellectual gap between those with access to higher education and those without it. By doing so, standardized academic production not only reinforces but perpetuates colonial knowledge structures in the isolated spaces of university campuses, further entrenching their dominance.
My former university’s campus was so beautiful that Tayyip Erdoğan appointed a government trustee to take control, allowing him to rent the space to his allies and business partners. Before this interference, it was the perfect place to study, play sports, relax, and party. Politics was never our main agenda—until our isolated safe space was invaded. When he imposed his rule, we stood against it, and I eventually ended up under house arrest. After being released and arrested again, I decided to leave the country. The most practical way to do so was by enrolling in another university to obtain a student visa.
In line with Harney and Moten’s observations, I sought refuge in academia—a space that, despite being deeply entangled in capitalist, patriarchal, colonial, sexist, and racist structures, offered a temporary escape. Yet, this reliance is troubling, as it highlights academia’s role in perpetuating systems of inequality. My time in academia has made me increasingly critical of its shortcomings. It often operates as an insular bubble, detached from the realities it claims to address, inhabited by the privileged and those seeking refuge from oppressive systems. Its language is inaccessible to the broader public, reinforcing elitism.
Despite its mission to "know better," academia has minimal influence on politics and fails to inspire meaningful social change. The solutions it proposes for societal issues remain theoretical, disconnected from practical implementation. Instead of challenging neoliberal systems, academia has become an extension of them, producing professional labor to serve the industries that benefit those in power. In this way, education itself has become industrialized, further entrenching the systems it should be dismantling.
In my opinion, a university should be a public space that provides free education for anyone who wishes to receive a proper education. However, what we have today is the complete opposite of what I envision. At BCB, student ID cards are required to open literally any door on campus, and the cost of obtaining this card, which is only valid for one year, exceeds 20,000 euros. Fortunately, thanks to the institution funding my scholarship, I was able to obtain the card—but the doors are heavy.
The scholarship agreement I signed now feels like a burden, as it requires me to maintain academic success to have a chance at renewal next year. I feel immense pressure, knowing that students in situations worse than mine are likely to be prioritized for the scholarship in the future. Although my initial reason for escaping to Berlin was to continue protesting through art and activism against the patriarchy in a safer environment, I have found myself stuck in Pankow ever since I arrived. The scholarship agreement also doubles as a student loan, which must be justified through academic responsibility to ensure continued funding.
Meanwhile, I am simultaneously studying psychology at e-Boğaziçi because I must graduate in order to apply for a master’s degree, which would allow me to secure a visa and a new scholarship program. Balancing these two schools at the same time is draining my passion for activism, art, and resistance, leaving me exhausted and hopeless. This sense of disillusionment is exacerbated by situations like having to purchase a book about slavery from Amazon—a company I find abhorrent, as I see Jeff Bezos as a modern-day slave owner. It feels like I am not the one truly benefiting from this scholarship. In the next paragraph, I will discuss the broader issue of student loans and the people who truly profit from the indebtedness they create.
Let me begin discussing the issue of indebtedness by highlighting how normalized it has become to take student loans. Since higher education is presented as a prerequisite for securing a well-paying job, its demand increases, leading to a corresponding rise in tuition fees. Due to the unequal distribution of wealth, these overpriced tuition fees don’t affect the children of wealthy families, whose jobs are often guaranteed after graduation.
For children from middle- or low-income families, however, enrolling in a university represents both a struggle and a potential opportunity to climb the social ladder. One can infer that the state systematically makes children from low-income families dependent on banks, enticing them with the promise of higher social status in the future. This, in turn, reinforces the neoliberal status quo. Unfortunately, these students are forced to begin their adult lives burdened with debt. While people from wealthy families start adding to their family wealth soon after graduation, those from the undercommons must first grapple with the initial struggle of merely achieving economic neutrality.
I guess the people who benefit the most from overpriced tuition fees are the owners of the institution and its permanent academic staff. By "permanent academic staff," I refer to the faculty professionals—professors, deans, the rectorate, and so on. These are the individuals who hold power by virtue of their titles, though one could argue that many of these titles are purchased rather than earned. As I discussed in the previous paragraph, those who can afford higher education are predominantly born and raised in upper-class families, thanks to their white and wealthy fathers.
For those whose fathers are not rich or white enough, receiving higher education is a far more difficult task, and only a small percentage get the opportunity to pursue an academic career—often through scholarships, student loans, or the intervention of a generous white man eager to "wipe off the good old burden." The capitalist nature of academia systematically prevents people of color, individuals from the Global South, women, and queer people from attaining permanent positions as faculty members.
As Julie Cupples discusses, universities are fundamentally colonial establishments, with many of the most prestigious institutions having been built by enslaved people. Their buildings are often named after the most powerful slave owners, whose statues are prominently displayed on campuses. This highlights how academia remains haunted by the legacy of white men whose capitalist, sexist, and racist ideologies are embedded in the very fabric of these institutions. I question whether decolonial efforts can ever truly succeed, as the university system appears fundamentally rotten from its foundation. To me, it seems as futile as Victoria’s Secret attempting to rebrand itself.
In conclusion, I see academia as yet another neoliberal institution designed to breed professional labor, grooming future leaders and managers to serve and benefit capitalist corporations. The conventional mode of knowledge production in Western universities is fundamentally colonial and Eurocentric. I don’t believe that the practice of critical thought is enough to decolonize the field, as the decolonial debate remains confined within the borders of the campus. The outdated mode of production is inaccessible to the public, and its language is incomprehensible to most people.
What I mean by this is that the majority of people don’t engage with academic texts—they watch YouTube videos instead. I don’t understand why academics insist on delivering their ideas through boring articles. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, where scholars search for higher truths by crafting novel abstract concepts and endlessly citing one another. Academia, as a competitive institution, is also harmful to mental health.
Many campuses are still haunted by the legacy of slave owners, yet the university is seen as a place of refuge for individuals like me from the undercommons, as it provides comfortable facilities in a safe and isolated environment. As university degrees are now standardized requirements, neoliberal states systematically bind young people to student loans with the promise of a better, more prosperous future. Ultimately, academia is a place to hear stories about how corrupt the world is while conveniently avoiding the experience of its hideousness firsthand.
References
Cupples, J., & Grosfoguel, R. (2018). Unsettling Eurocentrism in the Westernized University.
Harney, S., & Moten, F. (2013). The undercommons : fugitive planning & black study. Minor Compositions.
Harney, S., & Moten, F. (2013). The undercommons : fugitive planning & black study. Minor Compositions.