Dr Matt Mears (University of Sheffield)
The physics community wants to change its curriculum. What it needs now is confidence, capacity, and shared resources.
Why I wanted to run this workshop
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed a familiar pattern whenever decolonising the physics curriculum comes up in conversations with colleagues. There is often genuine interest, a recognition that something about the stories we tell students is incomplete and then usually a pause. Someone will say “I agree in principle, but…” and the discussion loses momentum.
I don’t think this reflects a lack of care or commitment. Instead, it points to a gap between aspiration and confidence, between recognising a problem and knowing how to address it in a way that feels rigorous, defensible, and sustainable.
That gap was my motivation for organising an Institute of Physics Higher Education Group–funded workshop on decolonising the physics curriculum in July 2025. My aim was not to debate whether physics should engage with decolonisation, but to understand why progress feels difficult across institutions and what kinds of support might actually help colleagues move forward. Fourteen physicists from nine UK universities took part, and the findings of the workshop are now captured in the published report Decolonising the Physics Curriculum. This nugget reflects on what I learned from that process.
Structuring difficult conversations
I went into the workshop aware that conversations about decolonising the curriculum, like many aspects of equality, diversity, and inclusion in education, can be emotionally charged. They can surface enthusiasm, uncertainty, defensiveness, frustration, and fear, sometimes simultaneously. Rather than trying to suppress this, I wanted to make space for it in a way that wouldn’t derail the discussion.
To do this, we used Edward de Bono’s Six Thinking Hats framework to structure the session. One of its strengths is that it explicitly legitimises different modes of thinking. In particular, the “red hat” gives participants permission to articulate emotional responses without having to justify or defend them. Feelings could be expressed and acknowledged, then set aside as the group moved into more analytical discussions around evidence, risks, benefits, creativity, and process.
This structure proved invaluable. It meant that concerns about confidence, workload, reputational risk, and uncertainty were surfaced early rather than silently shaping the conversation. At the same time, it prevented the discussion from becoming stuck in those concerns. Participants could say how they felt and then move on.
What participants said about the curriculum itself
When the workshop turned to the “white hat” (the question of what is currently taught) there was striking consensus across those in the room. Participants agreed that the physics curriculum presents a narrow and often distorted historical narrative. This is not usually the result of deliberate exclusion, but of tradition, shorthand, and omission.
Two ideas recurred repeatedly. The first was what participants referred to as the “custodian myth”: the implicit framing of non-European scholars as passive preservers of Greek knowledge rather than as active contributors to scientific discovery. The second was the “history cutoff”, where mathematical and physical concepts are taught as if they emerge suddenly in early modern Europe, with little acknowledgement of earlier work from India, China, or the Islamic world.
What struck me was that colleagues framed this not only as a social justice issue, but as a matter of historical accuracy. Teaching physics without these contexts gives students an incomplete picture of how scientific knowledge develops through translation, application, experimentation, and cultural exchange.
Confidence, anxiety, and the burden of isolation
When participants spoke under the red and black hats, a consistent emotional pattern emerged. Many colleagues expressed what the report later describes as competence anxiety. Physicists are trained to value precision and correctness, and many felt uncomfortable teaching historical or sociological material outside their formal expertise. There were worries about mispronouncing names, oversimplifying complex histories, or inadvertently saying something incorrect or inappropriate.
This anxiety was closely linked to workload and isolation. Several participants described decolonisation as feeling like “another thing” added to an already crowded curriculum, often falling to a single motivated individual. There was also concern about reputational risk in a polarised public climate, with fears that well-intentioned changes could be misinterpreted or criticised.
What became clear is that hesitation is not driven by opposition, but by a lack of confidence and structural support.
Risks, benefits, and reframing the problem
The workshop deliberately explored both the risks of action and the risks of inaction. Participants were clear-eyed about the dangers of tokenism (superficial gestures that add a diverse name or image without meaningful context) and about the constraints imposed by accreditation and content-heavy degree programmes.
But one moment shifted the discussion. A participant asked what the risk of not acting might be. Framed this way, the status quo began to look less neutral. Continuing to erase or marginalise global contributions to physics risks what some described as epistemic harm: teaching a partial truth about how science works and who produces it.
Importantly, many participants argued that decolonisation does not dilute physics. Instead, it can strengthen it. Encouraging students to question sources, interrogate assumptions, and consider ethics and context are not “soft” additions: they are central to modern scientific practice.
From individual effort to shared infrastructure
Perhaps the strongest conclusion I took from the workshop is that relying on individual lecturers to make piecemeal changes is not sustainable. Even highly motivated staff struggle with time, confidence, and continuity. When individuals leave, their work often disappears with them.
That’s why the report’s central recommendation is a shift toward sector-level resource creation. Participants consistently argued for shared, rigorously researched materials that reduce duplication of effort and lower the emotional barrier to engagement. Key proposals included a central Case Study Bank linked to common physics topics, guidance for visual audits of teaching materials, student partnerships to support research, and a podcast series pairing historians of science with physics academics.
Taken together, these ideas aim to normalise learning, uncertainty, and gradual progress, and to move the burden of change away from isolated individuals.
Why this matters for PER-HE
For those of us working in physics education research, this work highlights that decolonising the curriculum is not just a content issue, but a change-management problem. It raises questions about how confidence is built, how expertise is shared, and how institutions can support staff to teach differently without fear.
The published report is not a final answer, but a starting point. One that invites further research, collaboration, and critical engagement.
Concluding reflections
I came away from this project cautiously optimistic. The appetite for change is real. The ideas are thoughtful and practical. What’s missing is not goodwill, but coordination.
If we want physics curricula that reflect the true global history of the discipline and prepare students to think critically about science and themselves as physicists in society, then we need to stop asking individuals to carry this work alone. The next phase must be collective.