Autumn graduation ceremonies at South African universities have become a celebration, joy and cultural display spectacle. Dancing, ululating and traditional performances such as indlamu fill auditoriums and social media feeds. On the surface, these jubilant ceremonies reflect pride and achievement, especially among Black students who have traversed significant socio-economic and structural hurdles to obtain their degrees.
However, behind the rhythmic steps and colourful gowns lies a sobering contradiction: the persistent failure of South African universities to respond meaningfully to the country’s deepening social crises. These over-celebrated rites of passage risk becoming symbolic funerals, honouring young people who are being expertly ushered not into the workforce or positions of leadership, but into a future of poverty, unemployment and exclusion.
The situation parallels the spectacle surrounding the release of South Africa’s matric results. In January 2024, the Basic Education Department lauded the Class of 2023 for achieving an 82.9% pass rate. However, as education scholar Michael Le Cordeur rightly cautions, these figures obscure the whole story. When dropout rates are considered, the “real” pass rate falls to just above 55%. For example, high rankings in provinces like the Free State mask severe systemic educational issues like high dropouts, “manufactured” pass rates, overcrowding, poor resources and underqualified teachers, creating a deceptive cycle of quantitative success and qualitative decline for students.
As South Africa continues to grapple with entrenched social challenges, such as inequality, poverty, unemployment, crime, and the enduring legacy of apartheid, its universities face mounting pressure to prove their relevance and impact. This article adopts an intentionally provocative tone, foregoing “balance” to heighten a sense of urgency. This rhetorical choice, aligned with the critical commentary genre, rejects calls for success stories in favour of spotlighting systemic crises. In contexts of inequality, moral clarity trumps complicit neutrality.
South African society stands at a crossroads. Universities, long revered as the engines of societal advancement, are increasingly being called into question for their failure to lead the transformation of society. The country is simultaneously grappling with illiteracy, poverty, racism, social exclusion, economic stagnation, rising social violence and an unemployment crisis, particularly among youth. This plays out in an increasingly volatile and unequal global environment.
For the Black majority, especially its youth, the implications are devastating, but this is something the likes of the Democratic Alliance (DA) fail to grasp in their blind market logic. The DA’s legal challenge to aspects of the Employment Equity Amendment Act illustrates this ideological disconnect. By opposing race-based targets and claiming that such policies may lead to job losses, the DA ignores the systemic barriers and historical disadvantages that Black youth face.
What they fail to recognise is the phenomenon of artificial unemployment. In this condition, joblessness is not caused solely by individual shortcomings or a lack of jobs, but is inflated by structural inequalities. Even when Black youth are qualified, willing and eager to work, they encounter systemic hurdles rooted in apartheid legacies, racism, spatial injustices and economic exclusion. This artificiality is not a fiction but a reality that defines the job-seeking experiences of millions.
Therefore, some are increasingly seeing graduations as meaningless—little more than hyped-up, hollow ceremonies that mark entry not into the professional world but into unemployment. In reality, the graduation celebrations resemble burial ceremonies rather than celebrations. Some universities have failed to make graduation a meaningful step ladder to opportunity. Instead, they have become distractions from the crisis: The country is headed towards an iceberg, with nearly 62% of youth unemployment. While celebration is understandable, especially for those who have fought against odds to earn a degree, the disconnect between joy on stage and despair in life is profound.
South African universities, particularly the University of KwaZulu-Natal and the University of Zululand, have turned graduation ceremonies into viral cultural moments. Hashtags such as #UKZingrad trend online, showcasing graduates dancing, crying and celebrating their moment of triumph. While culturally affirming and emotionally charged, these events also obscure the broader context: that most of these graduates will enter a stagnant job market with little hope.
For many young Black South Africans, the degree has become a bridge not to opportunity, but to despair. The concept of ‘artificial unemployment’ helps describe the phenomenon: graduates possess qualifications, but due to systemic barriers, such as racism, economic exclusion and a “mismatch” between degrees and labour market needs, they are unable to find employment. Institutions of higher learning have not meaningfully interrogated this dynamic. Instead, they rely on the pomp of graduation to present an illusion of success. In this way, universities collude in the betrayal of their students by offering celebration without transformation.
The question must be asked: What is the purpose of higher education in a society marked by inequality, violence and economic stagnation? Geoff Mapaya of the University of Venda critiques the continued use of Gaudeamus igitur, a Latin hymn, at African graduations. For Mapaya, this song represents epistemicide, or the erasure of African knowledge systems. The song, once used by German students in the 19th century, is still sung today, symbolising how deeply colonial rituals remain embedded in African academic spaces. The juxtaposition of Gaudeamus igitur with indlamu in this article underscores the unresolved tension between inherited Western traditions and African attempts at reclaiming space.
Writing on the colonial roots of African universities, Saleem Badat stresses that most institutions remain replicas of their European counterparts. Their knowledge production is Eurocentric, and their pedagogies seldom reflect African realities. As Achille Mbembe argues, the African university is often a “Westernised” institution, local in geography but foreign in epistemology. However, including traditional dances and songs in graduation ceremonies does little to shift this deeper dynamic. Without a transformation in curriculum, institutional purpose and research priorities, such celebrations amount to cosmetic gestures.
Michael Gibbons’ theory of ‘Mode 1’ and ‘Mode 2’ knowledge offers a framework for rethinking university relevance. While Mode 1 knowledge is disciplinary and hierarchical, Mode 2 knowledge is transdisciplinary, problem-solving and socially embedded. Most South African universities continue to operate under the Mode 1 paradigm, rewarding abstract research with little bearing on the communities they serve. Meanwhile, real-world problems, including inequality, gender-based violence and economic exclusion, cry out for attention. This implies that institutions must transition to producing collaborative, contextually relevant knowledge to solve pressing social challenges.
The role of universities is not merely to certify graduates but to empower them to be agents of change. Authors Kate Abramowitz, Wendy Fischman and Howard Gardner note that many modern universities suffer from “mission sprawl,” trying to serve too many objectives without a clear identity. Political pressure, market expectations and residual colonial frameworks compound this lack of clarity in South Africa. Universities must redefine their missions through audience, content, place and impact. For African universities, this means prioritising curricula that align with local economic and social development, serve marginalised communities and promote epistemic justice.
This includes addressing the crisis of certification without education. One commentator notes that many graduates are “certified but not educated.” Their degrees do not correspond to labour market needs, nor do they equip them with practical skills or critical thinking capabilities. A misalignment between qualifications and employment opportunities worsens the problem. Some faculties overproduce graduates in fields that offer little absorption into the economy. Others operate like hotels, focusing on student intake for financial sustainability while neglecting graduate outcomes.
Urbi Ghosh observes that leading universities are evolving into innovation hubs focused on interdisciplinary problem-solving and real-world impact. Thus, South African institutions must follow suit. The future belongs to knowledge workers capable of adapting, collaborating and innovating within shifting economic landscapes. Yet for this to happen, higher education must move beyond rote learning and embrace practical, project-based education that links theory to lived experience.
Graduations must not become sedatives that numb young people to their marginalisation. Instead, they should be transformed into platforms of truth, reflection and commitment to social justice.
As Sabelo Ndlovu-Gatsheni argues, reclaiming African epistemologies requires rethinking knowledge production itself. Africa’s intellectual traditions—from Timbuktu to Ifa—offer communal, holistic and spiritually grounded education models. Ndlovu-Gatsheni suggests that these must be revived not in opposition to global knowledge but as complements that enrich the broader epistemic landscape. Universities must become spaces for African self-definition, rooted in the continent’s histories, realities and aspirations. This is not about romanticising indigeneity but making higher education relevant, accessible and empowering for African contexts.
The calls for transformation are not new. The #RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall movements demanded not only the removal of statues and the reduction of fees, but a complete overhaul of the university system. They asked for decolonised curricula, African-centred research agendas and inclusive institutional cultures. Almost a decade later, little has changed. Graduation ceremonies still rely on inherited symbols, graduates remain unemployed, and the poor continue to subsidise an ineffective higher education system through their dreams and desperation.
South African universities must choose: Will they remain colonial relics celebrating performative milestones, or will they become transformative institutions aligned with the needs of their people? The former path leads to irrelevance; the latter leads to regeneration. A decolonised, relevant and socially accountable university is not an abstract ideal. It is necessary in a society riven by inequality, hunger and hopelessness.
The exuberance of graduation ceremonies is understandable. For many, it is a once-in-a-lifetime achievement culminating in sacrifice and perseverance. But to stop there is to fail. True celebration must be matched with real transformation. Universities must not only graduate students but also mentor them into futures where they can thrive. That requires a serious reckoning with the colonial hangovers, economic misalignments and pedagogical irrelevance that define too many South African institutions today.
Let us not dance around the truth. A university that cannot equip its graduates with the means to navigate and transform their society is a university that has failed. Therefore, the solution lies not in cancelling indlamu or banning Gaudeamus igitur, but in dismantling the illusion that graduation alone opens the gates to success. It is time to repurpose the South African university into a place of hope, action and meaningful engagement, not just a stage for celebration.
Industry is also not spared from criticism, since it is an extension of these university failures: it demands ‘work-ready’ graduates while doing little to support curriculum development, mentorship or inclusive hiring practices. Instead, it outsources responsibility to institutions while preserving elitist recruitment models and excluding those without social capital. The disconnect between education and employment is not merely academic, but a structural and manufactured crisis designed to ‘other’ Blacks, who are encouraged to dance by institutions of betrayal and entrenched colonial practice.
Siya yi banga le economy!
