

Red & Yellow Creative School of Business
Based on recent customer reviews, Red & Yellow Creative School of Business is widely praised for its well-structured, practical digital marketing and copywriting courses. Students frequently highlight engaging tutors, responsive support teams and industry-relevant content that builds real-world confidence. Weekly tutorials and personalised assignment feedback are noted as standout features. However, a small number of students report serious administrative failures, including delayed certificate issuance, missing email communications and confusion around module completion, suggesting operational processes need significant improvement to match the quality of the academic experience.
TrustIndex
0
Ranking
#13
in Education & Training
Avg Reply
30m
NPS Score
50
Recommended: Very Likely
Jun '25 - May '26
Based on recent customer reviews, Red & Yellow Creative School of Business is widely praised for its well-structured, practical digital marketing and copywriting courses. Students frequently highlight engaging tutors, responsive support teams and industry-relevant content that builds real-world confidence. Weekly tutorials and personalised assignment feedback are noted as standout features. However, a small number of students report serious administrative failures, including delayed certificate issuance, missing email communications and confusion around module completion, suggesting operational processes need significant improvement to match the quality of the academic experience.
Red & Yellow Creative School of Business has a TrustIndex of 0 out of 10 on Hellopeter, based on 12 reviews in the last 12 months. Hellopeter has tracked Red & Yellow Creative School of Business across 62 total reviews. How is the TrustIndex calculated? →
Used this business recently? Share your experience to help others decide.
Used this business recently? Share your experience to help others decide.
Share Your Experience1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Completing the Digital Marketing course with Red & Yellow has been an incredibly rewarding experience. The curriculum was comprehensive, well-structured, and perfectly balanced between theory and practical application. It provided me with valuable insights into SEO, content strategy, social media marketing, paid advertising, and analytics, basically equipping me with the tools to confidently apply digital strategies in real-world campaigns. A special mention goes to Matthew, my tutor, whose expertise, guidance, and constructive feedback made complex concepts easy to grasp and apply. His teaching style encouraged curiosity and creativity, making the learning journey both challenging and enjoyable. I also want to acknowledge Litha, who provided excellent support and ensured a smooth, engaging learning experience from start to finish. Overall, Red & Yellow delivered a dynamic and industry-relevant program that exceeded my expectations. I would highly recommend this course to anyone looking to enhance their digital marketing skills or break into the field with confidence.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Completing the Digital Marketing course with Red & Yellow has been an incredibly rewarding experience. The curriculum was comprehensive, well-structured, and perfectly balanced between theory and practical application. It provided me with valuable insights into SEO, content strategy, social media marketing, paid advertising, and analytics, basically equipping me with the tools to confidently apply digital strategies in real-world campaigns. A special mention goes to Matthew, my tutor, whose expertise, guidance, and constructive feedback made complex concepts easy to grasp and apply. His teaching style encouraged curiosity and creativity, making the learning journey both challenging and enjoyable. I also want to acknowledge Litha, who provided excellent support and ensured a smooth, engaging learning experience from start to finish. Overall, Red & Yellow delivered a dynamic and industry-relevant program that exceeded my expectations. I would highly recommend this course to anyone looking to enhance their digital marketing skills or break into the field with confidence.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
I recently completed the Digital Marketing course at Red & Yellow and had a great experience overall. The course was well-structured and gave me practical insights into creating digital ads and setting SMART objectives—tools I’ll definitely use going forward. The support team was excellent. Matthew was incredibly helpful and patient, answering every question with clarity and care. Litha was also fantastic—quick to respond and always professional, which made the learning process smooth and stress-free. I’m very happy with the outcome and the feedback I received throughout. If you’re looking to upskill in digital marketing with a responsive and knowledgeable team, I highly recommend Red & Yellow.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
I recently completed the Digital Marketing course at Red & Yellow and had a great experience overall. The course was well-structured and gave me practical insights into creating digital ads and setting SMART objectives—tools I’ll definitely use going forward. The support team was excellent. Matthew was incredibly helpful and patient, answering every question with clarity and care. Litha was also fantastic—quick to respond and always professional, which made the learning process smooth and stress-free. I’m very happy with the outcome and the feedback I received throughout. If you’re looking to upskill in digital marketing with a responsive and knowledgeable team, I highly recommend Red & Yellow.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
If you were looking for a sign, THIS. IS. IT! I had such a wonderful journey with Red and Yellow and will forever be recommending them!! The schedule was considrate towards working persons and yet still strict enough for fellow procrastinators👀 The assignments were full of knowledge and one hell of a lot of fun. Chantelle Arpesella was our excellent tutor and I truly enjoyed every virtual meeting with her and her wit if I may add😁 Fadlar was our course coordinator and never missed a beat with any single questions I had, I am truly grateful to have been a part of this team, you will NOT regret one second if you choose Red & Yellow!!
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
If you were looking for a sign, THIS. IS. IT! I had such a wonderful journey with Red and Yellow and will forever be recommending them!! The schedule was considrate towards working persons and yet still strict enough for fellow procrastinators👀 The assignments were full of knowledge and one hell of a lot of fun. Chantelle Arpesella was our excellent tutor and I truly enjoyed every virtual meeting with her and her wit if I may add😁 Fadlar was our course coordinator and never missed a beat with any single questions I had, I am truly grateful to have been a part of this team, you will NOT regret one second if you choose Red & Yellow!!
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Incredible value and practical learning! This SEO course gave me the tools and confidence to build better content for my freelance business. The assignments were challenging but rewarding, and the support throughout was top-notch. A fantastic experience for anyone looking to grow in the digital space. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Incredible value and practical learning! This SEO course gave me the tools and confidence to build better content for my freelance business. The assignments were challenging but rewarding, and the support throughout was top-notch. A fantastic experience for anyone looking to grow in the digital space. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Surviving the Red and Yellow Circus: Part II Confessions from the lion’s den “To work here is to perform. To stay here is to survive. To speak here is to disappear.” I didn’t write last week’s review. But I could have. When I read it, I felt something I haven’t felt in months: seen. It was raw. It was uncomfortable. And it was painfully accurate. Since then, the campus has been electric with speculation. Who wrote it? Why now? And my personal favourite: “They’ve clearly exaggerated - it’s not that bad.” But here’s the truth: for many of us, it is that bad. And some days, it’s worse. Working here demands a strange sort of performance. You learn to smile while unraveling. To write creative strategies while dodging structural chaos. To clap for initiatives you know won’t land. Everything is branded - even burnout. You’re expected to juggle three jobs while maintaining the illusion of balance. Say you're overwhelmed? You’re “not agile enough.” Struggle with unclear expectations? You're “not solution-oriented.” We’ve learned to mute the symptoms. We’ve learned to adapt to dysfunction. And we’ve learned that silence is safer than honesty. There’s a unique brand of manipulation here — soft-spoken, professionally worded, and backed by just enough plausible deniability to avoid accountability. You’ll attend meetings labelled “constructive alignment” and leave feeling steamrolled. You’ll be told to speak your mind, only to be told you’re being “negative.” You’ll ask for clarity, and receive performance targets wrapped in motivational jargon. Micromanagement thrives in the form of “support.” And every mistake — real or perceived — becomes a warning story told in whispers. One of the hardest truths here? Not all pain is treated equally. Some colleagues have access to empathy. Their discomfort moves mountains. Their feedback triggers urgent action. Others? We’re told to be resilient. To “assume positive intent.” To “trust the process.” Over time, you learn who gets to have feelings — and who gets labelled as “too emotional” or “difficult to manage.” The whispers are getting smarter. We’ve stopped venting and started documenting. There are receipts. There are timelines. There are stories waiting for oxygen. We are screenshotting the inconsistencies. We are tracking the shifting expectations. We are backing up the files they think we don’t keep. No one is trying to burn it all down. But many of us are quietly preparing for the moment when the truth is no longer deniable. “Last week’s review wasn’t a scandal. It was a mirror.” I’m not the first to speak. And I won’t be the last. You can try to find the author of the original piece. You can hold closed-door meetings and look for suspects. But you’ll miss the point entirely if you don’t ask: why does this story resonate with so many of us? So here’s to the anonymous suggestion box. Here’s to the second voice, and the third, and the tenth. Here’s to speaking while we still have the strength. Signed, A colleague who's still here. For now.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Surviving the Red and Yellow Circus: Part II Confessions from the lion’s den “To work here is to perform. To stay here is to survive. To speak here is to disappear.” I didn’t write last week’s review. But I could have. When I read it, I felt something I haven’t felt in months: seen. It was raw. It was uncomfortable. And it was painfully accurate. Since then, the campus has been electric with speculation. Who wrote it? Why now? And my personal favourite: “They’ve clearly exaggerated - it’s not that bad.” But here’s the truth: for many of us, it is that bad. And some days, it’s worse. Working here demands a strange sort of performance. You learn to smile while unraveling. To write creative strategies while dodging structural chaos. To clap for initiatives you know won’t land. Everything is branded - even burnout. You’re expected to juggle three jobs while maintaining the illusion of balance. Say you're overwhelmed? You’re “not agile enough.” Struggle with unclear expectations? You're “not solution-oriented.” We’ve learned to mute the symptoms. We’ve learned to adapt to dysfunction. And we’ve learned that silence is safer than honesty. There’s a unique brand of manipulation here — soft-spoken, professionally worded, and backed by just enough plausible deniability to avoid accountability. You’ll attend meetings labelled “constructive alignment” and leave feeling steamrolled. You’ll be told to speak your mind, only to be told you’re being “negative.” You’ll ask for clarity, and receive performance targets wrapped in motivational jargon. Micromanagement thrives in the form of “support.” And every mistake — real or perceived — becomes a warning story told in whispers. One of the hardest truths here? Not all pain is treated equally. Some colleagues have access to empathy. Their discomfort moves mountains. Their feedback triggers urgent action. Others? We’re told to be resilient. To “assume positive intent.” To “trust the process.” Over time, you learn who gets to have feelings — and who gets labelled as “too emotional” or “difficult to manage.” The whispers are getting smarter. We’ve stopped venting and started documenting. There are receipts. There are timelines. There are stories waiting for oxygen. We are screenshotting the inconsistencies. We are tracking the shifting expectations. We are backing up the files they think we don’t keep. No one is trying to burn it all down. But many of us are quietly preparing for the moment when the truth is no longer deniable. “Last week’s review wasn’t a scandal. It was a mirror.” I’m not the first to speak. And I won’t be the last. You can try to find the author of the original piece. You can hold closed-door meetings and look for suspects. But you’ll miss the point entirely if you don’t ask: why does this story resonate with so many of us? So here’s to the anonymous suggestion box. Here’s to the second voice, and the third, and the tenth. Here’s to speaking while we still have the strength. Signed, A colleague who's still here. For now.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Boom. Let’s not pretend — you felt the aftershocks. It’s the weekend — and oddly enough, we’re looking forward to Monday. That’s what emotional liberation does: it stirs something bold, something untamed. But don’t get too comfortable. Behind the smiles and side-eyes, a storm is brewing. The curtains are up, the scripts have been flipped, and in true dramatic fashion — someone must now be dragged to the butchering table. Egos have been bruised. Power has been questioned. And in places like this, that means one thing — a sacrificial lamb must be offered. Someone will be thrown under the bus, whether guilty or not, just to soothe wounded pride and maintain the illusion of control. The shadow meetings have ended. The whispering has turned into planning. So, while you sip your weekend coffee, here’s something to feed your appetite — because come Monday, the knives will be out. The moment that last letter hit, the atmosphere shifted. You could feel it in the stairwells. The air grew heavier. HR was suddenly more visible than Wi-Fi issues on deadline day. People stopped mid-sentence. Some blinked too fast. Others walked slower, like guilt might trip them. Meetings sprang up in strange corners. Whispered strategy sessions disguised as “quick check-ins.” But what they weren’t checking was the root of the problem — only the source of the noise. Now let’s be clear: this isn’t fiction. This isn’t drama. This is a documentary filmed in real-time, by those who live it. You can roll your eyes, but deep down, you know every line from the last letter was dressed in uncomfortable truth. The system isn’t broken — it’s functioning exactly as designed: hierarchical, fearful, and wildly performative. Since then, many of you have expressed gratitude — yes, I am listening, I heard you say — “Thank you, to whomever person who wrote this.” And I thank you right back. Your stories , your bravery, your refusal to keep swallowing the toxic poison — that’s what fuels this. Let’s face it: Red & Yellow is not a workplace. It’s a performance space, where survival depends on your ability to smile through disempowerment. A place where creative thinking is encouraged — as long as it doesn’t challenge authority. And what a show it’s been. Friday at 14:30 felt like a crime scene. People vanished from desks. Others returned with tension stitched into their faces. HR parked at reception like a friendly interrogator — clipboard in spirit if not in hand. The message was clear: We’re watching you, but not listening to you. The paranoia was louder than the coffee machine. Then the Favorite Child took center stage - We watched her play innocent, forgetting we’ve all witnessed the tantrums, the manipulation, the sudden exits of those who dared to challenge her. A walking red flag dressed in approval. Protected not by merit, but by proximity to power. And the Head of Academics? She continues to rule not with leadership, but with panic-fuelled micromanagement. Every email feels like a commandment. Every meeting a tribunal. There are no boundaries — she’s in admin, HR, operations, curriculum, enrolments. Control is her currency. Power, her oxygen. And when she told staff in a recorded meeting to “resign if you're unhappy,” people did. Not out of drama, but out of desperation. Because under her leadership, survival means silence. HR, meanwhile, continues to perform its most consistent role: the illusion of support. They collect complaints like souvenirs, only to bury them in polite responses and forced smiles. People are not protected — they are profiled. Speak too much, and you disappear. Show too much emotion, and you’re labelled “difficult.” Ask too many questions, and you’re “not the right culture fit.” Let’s be real: ice cream is not wellness. It's a distraction. A silent message that says, "Have a cone. Shut your mouth." But we’re full. Of sugar, and of your games. Lecturers are burnt out. Admin staff are juggling ten roles with two hands. Programmes run short-staffed, under-resourced, and over-enrolled. And when people leave, we’re expected to carry the weight — quietly, smiling. So here we are again — the curtain lifted once more. And if you’re still focused on who wrote this instead of why it had to be written, you are the problem. Stop calling it gossip. Call it what it really is — grief. We are mourning the version of this place we once believed in. And the more you ignore it, the louder the mourning gets. To my colleagues — those still hanging on, those halfway out the door, and those already gone: Don’t be silenced. Open a Yahoo account. Send your truth. Reach out to Honoris. Email the CHE. Speak. Before they brand your pain as politics. This isn’t personal. It’s systemic. And this? - This is bigger than you think. More are coming. Because we are prepared.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Boom. Let’s not pretend — you felt the aftershocks. It’s the weekend — and oddly enough, we’re looking forward to Monday. That’s what emotional liberation does: it stirs something bold, something untamed. But don’t get too comfortable. Behind the smiles and side-eyes, a storm is brewing. The curtains are up, the scripts have been flipped, and in true dramatic fashion — someone must now be dragged to the butchering table. Egos have been bruised. Power has been questioned. And in places like this, that means one thing — a sacrificial lamb must be offered. Someone will be thrown under the bus, whether guilty or not, just to soothe wounded pride and maintain the illusion of control. The shadow meetings have ended. The whispering has turned into planning. So, while you sip your weekend coffee, here’s something to feed your appetite — because come Monday, the knives will be out. The moment that last letter hit, the atmosphere shifted. You could feel it in the stairwells. The air grew heavier. HR was suddenly more visible than Wi-Fi issues on deadline day. People stopped mid-sentence. Some blinked too fast. Others walked slower, like guilt might trip them. Meetings sprang up in strange corners. Whispered strategy sessions disguised as “quick check-ins.” But what they weren’t checking was the root of the problem — only the source of the noise. Now let’s be clear: this isn’t fiction. This isn’t drama. This is a documentary filmed in real-time, by those who live it. You can roll your eyes, but deep down, you know every line from the last letter was dressed in uncomfortable truth. The system isn’t broken — it’s functioning exactly as designed: hierarchical, fearful, and wildly performative. Since then, many of you have expressed gratitude — yes, I am listening, I heard you say — “Thank you, to whomever person who wrote this.” And I thank you right back. Your stories , your bravery, your refusal to keep swallowing the toxic poison — that’s what fuels this. Let’s face it: Red & Yellow is not a workplace. It’s a performance space, where survival depends on your ability to smile through disempowerment. A place where creative thinking is encouraged — as long as it doesn’t challenge authority. And what a show it’s been. Friday at 14:30 felt like a crime scene. People vanished from desks. Others returned with tension stitched into their faces. HR parked at reception like a friendly interrogator — clipboard in spirit if not in hand. The message was clear: We’re watching you, but not listening to you. The paranoia was louder than the coffee machine. Then the Favorite Child took center stage - We watched her play innocent, forgetting we’ve all witnessed the tantrums, the manipulation, the sudden exits of those who dared to challenge her. A walking red flag dressed in approval. Protected not by merit, but by proximity to power. And the Head of Academics? She continues to rule not with leadership, but with panic-fuelled micromanagement. Every email feels like a commandment. Every meeting a tribunal. There are no boundaries — she’s in admin, HR, operations, curriculum, enrolments. Control is her currency. Power, her oxygen. And when she told staff in a recorded meeting to “resign if you're unhappy,” people did. Not out of drama, but out of desperation. Because under her leadership, survival means silence. HR, meanwhile, continues to perform its most consistent role: the illusion of support. They collect complaints like souvenirs, only to bury them in polite responses and forced smiles. People are not protected — they are profiled. Speak too much, and you disappear. Show too much emotion, and you’re labelled “difficult.” Ask too many questions, and you’re “not the right culture fit.” Let’s be real: ice cream is not wellness. It's a distraction. A silent message that says, "Have a cone. Shut your mouth." But we’re full. Of sugar, and of your games. Lecturers are burnt out. Admin staff are juggling ten roles with two hands. Programmes run short-staffed, under-resourced, and over-enrolled. And when people leave, we’re expected to carry the weight — quietly, smiling. So here we are again — the curtain lifted once more. And if you’re still focused on who wrote this instead of why it had to be written, you are the problem. Stop calling it gossip. Call it what it really is — grief. We are mourning the version of this place we once believed in. And the more you ignore it, the louder the mourning gets. To my colleagues — those still hanging on, those halfway out the door, and those already gone: Don’t be silenced. Open a Yahoo account. Send your truth. Reach out to Honoris. Email the CHE. Speak. Before they brand your pain as politics. This isn’t personal. It’s systemic. And this? - This is bigger than you think. More are coming. Because we are prepared.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Working at Red & Yellow Creative School of Business is not just a job — it’s a psychological experience that few are prepared for. At first glance, everything seems vibrant and hopeful. The students are brilliant — kind, innovative, and refreshingly creative. Some of your colleagues appear warm and supportive. But give it time, and the cracks start to show. The deeper you go, the more you realise: this isn’t your typical workplace. It’s a pressure cooker disguised as a creative institution. And at the heart of that pressure lies a deeply toxic work culture — one perpetuated and protected by certain members of senior management. We are chronically understaffed. There’s always a vacancy. Always a role that’s waiting to be filled — usually left behind by someone who couldn’t take it anymore. And those who remain? We simply absorb the work. It’s become normal to juggle multiple roles, often outside your job description, while pretending everything is manageable. There’s also an unspoken culture of throwing each other under the bus. Accountability is rarely upward — it flows sideways and downward, with whispers behind closed doors. And after this review? The corridors will be filled with suspicious glances and finger-pointing — “Who wrote it?” — instead of the more important question: “What are we doing wrong?” The answer? Start with how the Head of Academics treats staff. Her panic-fuelled leadership style forces her direct reports and managers to bend over backwards to satisfy her ever-changing moods. She feeds off urgency and fear, creating an environment where no one feels secure. The male senior manager, equally problematic, has a tendency to speak over others, override decisions, and take over people’s projects without regard for boundaries or roles. Staff are bogged down in endless, unnecessary meetings. Micromanagement is a daily reality. And the biggest cancer of all? Gossip. It’s not just a bad habit here — it’s part of the institutional culture. It’s how information moves, how reputations are shaped, and how decisions are often made. Shockingly, even the MD participates. Rather than curbing it, she enables and perpetuates it. It’s no wonder we’re working in fear. Most of us don’t know when our time will be up. There’s a well-known, disturbing tale of someone who was allegedly dismissed after the reception camera recorded their voice. Yes — apparently, voice surveillance. Is that even legal? The fact that this story is widely accepted shows just how deep the fear runs. To survive, some staff have resigned themselves to playing the game — becoming the “teacher’s pet,” staying close to power, and keeping their head down. Speaking up feels like self-sabotage. And honestly? No one is coming to save us. Many of us are quietly preparing to leave — or staying for now while scanning job boards during lunch breaks. If only those who already left could speak up. Their silence hides a deeper truth: the Head of Academics and her favourite manager have played leading roles in their departure. There’s a particular staff member — often treated as the golden child — who has developed a reputation for overreacting, blowing things out of proportion, and triggering disciplinary chaos over personal feelings. Her influence is disproportionate, and her emotional instability has cost good people their jobs. Let’s not forget: programme design is often handed to the favourite, regardless of actual leadership capability. And while the organisation praises creativity externally, the human cost of that creativity is brutal. Staff are burnt out. Lecturers are abruptly cut off because “someone doesn’t like them.” Underqualified individuals are hired for convenience. Some programmes run with only one lecturer, while others carry the load of three. Overworked. Under-resourced. Undervalued. There are still good people here — kind, thoughtful, talented professionals — but fear has twisted even them. Some have begun to reflect the very toxicity they once stood against. It’s survival. It’s self-preservation. But it’s also incredibly sad. We need Honoris to conduct a real investigation — anonymous, thorough, and uncensored. We need CHE to ask the hard questions: At what human cost is this creativity being produced? Why are so many staff members quietly leaving? Why is silence the only form of safety? Until then, we remain in this well-branded chaos, watching the circus from within. We work in fear, hold our breath in meetings, and carry the weight of a hundred small indignities. And as the internal hunt for this review begins — yes, they’ll look for the author — know that this isn’t about one person. This is about a system that is long overdue for accountability. Let the circus begin.
1 reviews | Active since Jan 2020
Working at Red & Yellow Creative School of Business is not just a job — it’s a psychological experience that few are prepared for. At first glance, everything seems vibrant and hopeful. The students are brilliant — kind, innovative, and refreshingly creative. Some of your colleagues appear warm and supportive. But give it time, and the cracks start to show. The deeper you go, the more you realise: this isn’t your typical workplace. It’s a pressure cooker disguised as a creative institution. And at the heart of that pressure lies a deeply toxic work culture — one perpetuated and protected by certain members of senior management. We are chronically understaffed. There’s always a vacancy. Always a role that’s waiting to be filled — usually left behind by someone who couldn’t take it anymore. And those who remain? We simply absorb the work. It’s become normal to juggle multiple roles, often outside your job description, while pretending everything is manageable. There’s also an unspoken culture of throwing each other under the bus. Accountability is rarely upward — it flows sideways and downward, with whispers behind closed doors. And after this review? The corridors will be filled with suspicious glances and finger-pointing — “Who wrote it?” — instead of the more important question: “What are we doing wrong?” The answer? Start with how the Head of Academics treats staff. Her panic-fuelled leadership style forces her direct reports and managers to bend over backwards to satisfy her ever-changing moods. She feeds off urgency and fear, creating an environment where no one feels secure. The male senior manager, equally problematic, has a tendency to speak over others, override decisions, and take over people’s projects without regard for boundaries or roles. Staff are bogged down in endless, unnecessary meetings. Micromanagement is a daily reality. And the biggest cancer of all? Gossip. It’s not just a bad habit here — it’s part of the institutional culture. It’s how information moves, how reputations are shaped, and how decisions are often made. Shockingly, even the MD participates. Rather than curbing it, she enables and perpetuates it. It’s no wonder we’re working in fear. Most of us don’t know when our time will be up. There’s a well-known, disturbing tale of someone who was allegedly dismissed after the reception camera recorded their voice. Yes — apparently, voice surveillance. Is that even legal? The fact that this story is widely accepted shows just how deep the fear runs. To survive, some staff have resigned themselves to playing the game — becoming the “teacher’s pet,” staying close to power, and keeping their head down. Speaking up feels like self-sabotage. And honestly? No one is coming to save us. Many of us are quietly preparing to leave — or staying for now while scanning job boards during lunch breaks. If only those who already left could speak up. Their silence hides a deeper truth: the Head of Academics and her favourite manager have played leading roles in their departure. There’s a particular staff member — often treated as the golden child — who has developed a reputation for overreacting, blowing things out of proportion, and triggering disciplinary chaos over personal feelings. Her influence is disproportionate, and her emotional instability has cost good people their jobs. Let’s not forget: programme design is often handed to the favourite, regardless of actual leadership capability. And while the organisation praises creativity externally, the human cost of that creativity is brutal. Staff are burnt out. Lecturers are abruptly cut off because “someone doesn’t like them.” Underqualified individuals are hired for convenience. Some programmes run with only one lecturer, while others carry the load of three. Overworked. Under-resourced. Undervalued. There are still good people here — kind, thoughtful, talented professionals — but fear has twisted even them. Some have begun to reflect the very toxicity they once stood against. It’s survival. It’s self-preservation. But it’s also incredibly sad. We need Honoris to conduct a real investigation — anonymous, thorough, and uncensored. We need CHE to ask the hard questions: At what human cost is this creativity being produced? Why are so many staff members quietly leaving? Why is silence the only form of safety? Until then, we remain in this well-branded chaos, watching the circus from within. We work in fear, hold our breath in meetings, and carry the weight of a hundred small indignities. And as the internal hunt for this review begins — yes, they’ll look for the author — know that this isn’t about one person. This is about a system that is long overdue for accountability. Let the circus begin.
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