The university has removed the presence of the national anthem at graduation ceremonies for being ‘too old-fashioned’. Surely the death of subjugated people in the global south is even more offensive and morally evil?
As Gaza is ravished by war and disease alike, global debates have been reignited around the subjects of militarisation, colonial history and the role of educational institutions in perpetuating systemic violence. As our university faces mounting pressure to sever its ties with arms companies, such as BAE systems, a critical question emerges: does this relationship undermine its ambitious goals of academic decolonisation and the creation of a more just and equitable future, as it expresses in its ‘Reparative Futures’ programme?
Decolonising academia involves challenging the colonial legacies embedded in institutional structures as well as global power dynamics. Universities have gone about it in multiple ways over the past few years, ranging from scholarship schemes aimed towards students from racially black backgrounds, to roundtable discussions on university buildings whose names have links to wealth derived from the slave trade.
The university’s ‘Reparative Futures’ programme was launched to address legacies of colonialism in research, teaching, and institutional culture. Academic decolonisation involves the dismantling of settler-colonial legacies and epistemology within education, as well as challenging the dominance of Western-centred thought and addressing historical injustices. These goals demand not only critical reflection on curriculum, but also institutional practices. The ‘Reparative Futures’ initiative is an effort to create space for marginalised students’ voices, and acknowledge the role that institutions like Bristol have played in upholding systems of exploitation and colonial power.
But the University of Bristol, like many major academic institutions, has faced growing scrutiny over its ties to arms companies, especially since the escalation of the conflict in Gaza. Activists, students, and even some staff members have raised the alarm, demanding the university sever its links to these companies. This pressure comes at a critical moment for Bristol, as it actively engages in an ambitious project to ‘decolonise’ academia.
Arms companies are implicated in contemporary forms of violence and exploitation; the global arms trade fuels conflicts, many of which disproportionately affect former colonies in the Global South. Countries in the Middle East, Africa, and South Asia—regions that still bear the scars of colonial violence—continue to be recipients of weapons used in devastating conflicts, while students who study at Western institutions such as Bristol watch from the sidelines as they receive vast funding from the sector which is rendering their land of origin uninhabitable. For instance, in the context of Gaza, the use of arms by state actors in violent conflicts can often be traced to Western-made weapons, with arms companies profiting from the devastation of lives and communities.
It's paradoxical and insulting that an ethnically Palestinian or Sudanese student will receive emails regarding removal of Colston’s infamous dolphin symbol from university-affiliated logos. The university had even removed the presence of the national anthem at graduation ceremonies for being ‘too old-fashioned’. Surely the death of subjugated people in the global south is even more offensive and morally evil?
Despite these contradictions, the University of Bristol has defended its collaborations with organisations operating in the defence sector on several grounds. Research funding is one of the most cited justifications: arms companies provide substantial financial support for research in areas like engineering, aerospace, and technology. Further justification rests on a removal of accountability; the university may invest in entities where up to 10% of turnover might be from manufacture of anti-personnel weapons if the organisation develops civilian-related technology that may have practical, military-related benefits.
But even if these justifications hold merit, it’s not clear that the university can credibly claim to promote social justice, equality and decolonisation while accepting funding from entities linked to war and destruction. Even if arms companies fund ostensibly ‘benign’ research, their primary purpose is still the development of weapons and technology for military use. The university’s failure to separate itself from this industry raises difficult ethical questions about where it draws the line between moral integrity and financial necessity.
Decolonisation is not a brand-new fad that should be limited to a change in curriculum or an increase in diversity among staff and students. It requires a fundamental transformation in how universities understand and engage with the world, and a reconsideration of their relationships with systems of violence and oppression. It’s a political project, and accountability is a key component in showing dedication to the promises the university is making. Selective justice is not one of the stepping stones in the path of decolonisation; financial interests that allow the subjugation of oppressed people have no place on campus.
Bristol’s position becomes increasingly difficult to defend as the devastating consequence of militarisation is evident in the latest headlines. To claim to commit to decolonisation while maintaining links with arms companies that benefit from violence in historically colonised regions is a glaringly obvious contradiction, which must be addressed if Bristol is serious about creating a more just and equitable future through its ‘Reparative Futures’ programme. Severing ties with arms companies would be a powerful step toward aligning its financial and research practices with the values of justice, equity, and decolonisation that it supposedly espouses.
In the end, if the university truly aims to be a leader in decolonisation, it can’t afford to ignore the broader implications of its choices. Otherwise, its efforts may be seen as little more than hollow rhetoric that enables postcolonial injustices to live on.
