We often speak of colonization as a closed historical chapter, a period of empire that began and ended. But this is a comforting illusion. What if it wasn’t a chapter, but the very theme of the story? The impulse to dominate, to impose one’s order upon another, appears woven into the human condition itself. From ancient empires to the European projects forged in the Enlightenment’s furnace, the pattern repeats: a group, convinced of its superiority, imposes its power, values, and gods upon others.

“The European colonial project did not just conquer land; it set out to conquer reality itself.”

The European colonial project was uniquely devastating because it didn’t just conquer land; it set out to conquer reality itself. It weaponized knowledge, creating racial hierarchies and a “civilizing mission” to justify its violence. This was a psychological siege designed to reprogram the minds of the colonized, to bury a deep and lasting sense of inferiority within their very souls. This enduring structure of power, long after the flags were lowered, is what philosopher Aníbal Quijano called “coloniality.”

This leads us to the great, painful paradox of our time: the loudest voices preaching against this coloniality often speak in the language of the colonizer. The theories we use to diagnose our pain, postcolonialism, and decoloniality, are largely Western constructs, taught in Western-style universities and debated in English. We use their frameworks, their logic, and their jargon to plead for the value of our own. It feels like trying to use the master’s key to unlock a door the master himself built. This leaves us with a profound confusion: in our righteous fight to decolonize, are we unknowingly building a new colony of the mind?

This abstract struggle finds its most potent expression in the mundane rituals of daily life. I recall an incident at a news channel. On a break, a colleague noticed our News head (Director News) approaching. Suddenly flustered, he advised us all to stop talking and “look busy.” This was not a request born of genuine dedication, but a conditioned reflex of fear and subservience.

In that moment, the grand narrative of coloniality collapsed into a single, telling act. Here was no foreign oppressor, but a local elite. The demand was not for tribute or conversion, but for the performance of productivity, a drama of admiration for unearned authority. My response was to appeal to logic and equality: why should we perform during our designated time? The DN was a colleague, a worker like us.

This incident is a microcosm of the internalized colonial mentality. It reveals how we perpetuate the very hierarchies we claim to oppose through our own passive acceptance. We create gods of our superiors and accept the role of supplicants, believing subservience is necessary for survival. The colonizer, in this sense, doesn’t always come from outside; we are often colonized by our own elite, a pervasive “local coloniality” that must be studied with the same rigor as its foreign counterpart.

“The colonizer doesn’t always come from outside; we are often colonized by our own elite.”

This phenomenon extends to our intellectual endeavors. While academics rightly trace the formal school of Decolonial Studies to South American thinkers like José Carlos Mariátegui, Frantz Fanon, and Sylvia Wynter, a critical question remains: what inspired their critique? For many, the foundational lens was the socialist ideology of Karl Marx, another white European philosopher whose work is a product of the Western intellectual tradition, a critique of capitalism from within its own paradigm.  Were they using the master’s tools to dismantle a part of the master’s house, even if they used other tools for other parts?

Thus, we find ourselves in a circular trap: using a Western-derived theory (socialism) to critique the Western-derived system (capitalism/coloniality) that subjugated us. We “beat about the bush,” strengthening the very epistemic coloniality we seek to escape. We become, as the saying goes, hostages using the language of our captors to negotiate our freedom, all while remaining within the prison walls.

This intellectual dissonance mirrors a spiritual one. We are reminded of the saying of Imam Ali (Karam Allahu Wajhu): “Religion has been reduced to a mere taste of the tongue. It is adopted only to the extent that it provides a benefit and is then abandoned.” In our society, religiosity often becomes a tool to deceive ourselves and others. While we live under coloniality and reap the benefits of its power structures, our actions cause both epistemic and mental torture to those around us.

If the intellectual tools are compromised, how do we achieve true emancipation? The answer lies not in a new theory, but in a return to fundamental principles, starting with the reclamation of our own civilizational frameworks.

Language and Knowledge are the primary instruments of colonizing minds. Every word carries a historical root and constructs a specific reality. The English word “Love” often conjures a materialistic image, while the Urdu/Persian “Ishq” (عشق) evokes a deeply spiritual, transcendent feeling. Similarly, “Freedom” in the West prioritizes individual autonomy, often at the expense of communal harmony. Understood through an Islamic framework, however, it is inseparable from moral order and social stability, discouraging any individual liberty that harms the collective.

Decoloniality, therefore, is the process of reclaiming one’s own civilizational ethos. It is understanding and living by frameworks that affirm one’s true identity. Human progress lies not in rejecting external ideas but in discerningly adopting what is beneficial while remaining rooted in one’s own ideology.

“Every word carries a historical root and constructs a specific reality.”

Even this reclamation requires a foundational anchor, a source of authority beyond any human system. This is where faith provides the ultimate antithesis to coloniality. Tawheed (the Oneness of God) is the master key to a door we ourselves design. It establishes a supreme authority that transcends all earthly power structures, foreign or local. When one internalizes that ultimate sovereignty belongs only to the Divine, the authority of every DN, every elite, and every system is radically relativized. They are diminished to mere mortals, temporary occupants of a fleeting status.

This belief system does not require Western jargon to articulate; it is an internal, spiritual revolution that provides the epistemological independence we seek. It emancipates the mind and body by freeing us from the idolatry of man-made authority. It is the foundational act of decolonization, asserting that our worth, identity, and purpose are derived from a source beyond the grasp of any empire or elite.

The journey to decolonize our world begins with the most personal of victories: the liberation of our own souls from all chains, seen and unseen. It begins with self-accountability. We must:

• Critically examine our impulses. Is our desire to “look busy” a genuine ethic or a performance for a perceived master?
• Reclaim our language and knowledge. Seek to understand concepts through our own cultural and spiritual lenses, not merely through translated Western paradigms.
• Anchor ourselves in a transcendent truth. Like Tawheed, which relativizes all temporal power and prevents the idolatry of any individual, system, or ideology.

“Tawheed relativizes all temporal power and prevents the idolatry of any individual, system, or ideology.”

Only then can we stop performing for any master. Only then can we finally stand tall, not in a borrowed identity, but in genuine and unperformed freedom. The decolonial journey doesn’t start in the lecture hall; it starts in the mirror.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author. They do not represent the views, beliefs, or policies of the Stratheia.