Abstract
Throughout history, Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) have overcome countless challenges to achieve their goals of maintaining cultural traditions, providing key leadership and role models, assuring economic functions, addressing issues between minority and majority populations, and producing Black agents for research, institutional training, and information dissemination within the Black and other minority communities. Using a Scholarly Personal Narrative (SPN), this article focuses on the function, legacy, and relevance of current HBCUs. Using W. E. B. Du Bois’s “double consciousness” as a theoretical framework, each of the 12 contributing scholars address these questions: How have you reconciled your individual strivings? Has the HBCU placed a role in your reconciliation process? What SPN is emblematic of your reconciliation process? These questions are addressed through vivid narrative accounts that speak to the critical constructs of belonging—Black identity; gifted education, selfhood, spirituality, and theoretical frameworks. Each of these constructs represents an identity vector that points inward to the core—the HBCU.
Keywords
The journey of engaging with HBCUs reveals a delicate dance between upholding tradition and pursuing progress.”
W.E.B. Du Bois (1903) wrote in his landmark tome The Souls of Black Folk, “One ever feels his two-ness, an American, a Negro, two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings, too many ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder” (p. 194). Du Bois words became the cynosure for a nation that was grappling with deep racial divisions, and the intractable vestiges of chattel slavery that left Black people trying to find a sense of agency and identity in a land that had seemingly reneged on the promise of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness the forefathers claimed was their birthright as citizens of the United States of America. While the fight for liberty and justice has always been in the foreground of Black Americans struggle in this country, in the background has always been the specter of race and racism, often found as concomitants with hegemony, marginalization, nativism, and patriarchy. The 1619 Project: A New American Origin Story (Hannah-Jones & Watson, 2021) asserts, “While history is what happened, it is also, just as important, how we think about what happened and what we unearth and choose to remember about what happened” (p. 5).
From the historical rumblings of Du Bois to the contemporary diatribes advanced by Nikole Hannah-Jones, the vicissitudes of Black life in America have been at best complicated, and at worst constrained. However, what has been a constant among Black populations has been, in a word, resilience. One of the most forthright manifestations of Black resilience has been the ability of Blacks to use counterculture and counternarrative to combat endemic and systemic racism. One such approach proffered by Feagin (2020) has been the use of home culture. He states, …since the first century of their enslavement, African Americans have maintained a home culture that is a hybrid, with important cultural features stemming in part from African cultural backgrounds and in part from their specific experiences and adaptations in North America. Confronted regularly by extreme oppression that included White attempts to eradicate their African cultures, the many African groups among those enslaved eventually became a single African people with a home culture that drew substantially on family, spiritual, and moral elements from their African backgrounds. (p. 31)
Inasmuch as home culture has served as an approach to combat Black oppression and systemic racism, the Historically Black College and University (HBCU) has been agentive space to operationalize counterculture and counter narrative frameworks that scaffold Black progress and success. These critical enclaves have been the incubators for Black creativity, giftedness, and high-achievement since their inception. Most compelling is that the man who is revered as the father of Black gifted children—Martin Jenkins—received his bachelor’s degree in mathematics from one of our nation’s HBCUs—Howard University (Bonner, 2010). What is this institution we have come to know as the HBCU?
The Historically Black College and University (HBCU): Providing Critical Context
Although many HBCUs were established after the Morrill Act of 1890 that provided for state-supported, land-grant HBCUs, most were established before 1890, the oldest of which include Cheyney State University in Pennsylvania in 1837, Lincoln University in Pennsylvania in 1854, Wilberforce University in Ohio in 1856, Bowie State University in Maryland in 1865, Lincoln University in Missouri in 1866, and Howard University in Washington, DC in 1867. Fewer than twelve of the HBCUs are located in the North (Evans et al., 2002, p. 4).
“The Higher Education Act of 1965, as amended, defines an HBCU as: ‘…any historically black college or university that was established prior to 1964, whose principal mission was, and is, the education of black Americans, and that is accredited by a nationally recognized accrediting agency or association determined by the Secretary [of Education] to be a reliable authority as to the quality of training offered or is, according to such an agency or association, making reasonable progress toward accreditation’.” (U. S. Department of Education, n.d., para. 1). In addition, the National Center for Education Statistics (2021) located 99 HBCUs in 19 states, the District of Columbia, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Of the 99 HBCUs, 50 were public institutions and 49 were private non-profit institutions (Mango, 2023).
The Thurgood Marshall College Fund (n.d.), one of the main arbiters of HBCU success, emphasizes, “It is important to mention that HBCUs have also survived historical challenges: Jim Crow, inadequate funding, deferred maintenance, and accreditation issues” (HBCUs Today, 2nd para.). Their historical account reveals the underpinnings of the philosophical frameworks that have played a part in the evolution of these institutions since their inception. Booker T. Washington with his keen insight regarding the benefits of an industrial education, and the promise it offered newly emancipated slaves that provided grist for his philosophical mill. A vision crafted during his experiences in both Hampton and Tuskegee Institutes. Yet it was, the counternarrative, the alternative frame advanced by Du Bois, that presented the promises offered by an elite education, similar to his experiences as free man in Massachusetts, and later as a student at both Fisk Institute and Harvard University. Thus, at the core of the HBCU haven been philosophical frameworks that embrace both classical and industrial/technical education.
What Makes the HBCU Unique?
Beyond the primary focus on the progress, resilience, and uplift of all people, especially Black people, the HBCU is distinctive and unique in myriad ways. Research shows African American students at HBCUs are more integrated into campus life, enjoy closer relationships with faculty, and participate more fully in campus organizations and activities (Stewart et al., 2008, p. 29). Stewart et al. (2008) also mention the positive environment that these students experience on campus being around like-minded peers who provide key cultural and ethnic affirmation that is sometimes missing in Predominantly White Institution (PWI) settings.
More than two decades ago, Allen et al. (1991) identified what they then called the six goals of HBCUs: 1. Maintaining the Black American historical and cultural tradition; 2. Providing key leadership for the Black American community; 3. Providing Black American role models for social, political, and economic purposes in the Black community; 4. Assuring economic function in the Black American community; 5. Providing Black American role models for social, political, and economic purposes in the Black community to address issues between minority and majority population; 6. Producing Black agents for research, institutional training, and information dissemination in the Black and other minority communities. (p. 220)
There are still other novel attributes and nuanced proclivities that make the HBCU an entity that is unparalleled in the postsecondary space. Perhaps one of the more noted HBCU practices is what has been termed intrusive advising. According to Varney (2007), Intrusive Advising differs from the more traditional prescriptive and developmental models of advising because advisors are not only helpful and encouraging of students, but they proactively make the initial contact with students…a pre-emptive strike, of sorts. Most students know they have an advisor but may be unaware of how and when they are able to contact the advisor or what the advisor can help them accomplish. (p. 11)
HBCUs are known for their in loco parentis approach with their respective student bodies. Part and parcel to the college-going process in the Black community is establishing a bond with the institution in which not only the collegians education is entrusted, but also their holistic well-being. A key aspect of this adjustment to college life is understanding how to negotiate and navigate all aspects of the Academy, the academic and social. However, it is the academic navigation that more often than not tends to place neophyte students in jeopardy of persistence and retention (Bonner et al., 2023). To address these perils the HBCU is noted for stepping in and making preemptive strikes to ensure that the student is successfully matriculating. In the Black community, the notion of “getting all up in your business” is an apt expression of how community, family, and friends erect guardrails to keep its members moving in a positive direction, goal, or task notwithstanding. A first exposure to the term was in a doctoral course in the 1990s on college student development theory. The extant literature chronicled a story of a young African American male who attended an HBCU in the South. The student’s parents had been trying, unsuccessfully to reach him by telephone. Luckily, the student was safe and sound, and was simply executing his rights to newfound freedom, a life without the specter of parental eyes. The frustrated parents reached out to the institution’s president. The president took it upon himself to personally walk over to the student’s residence hall, knocked on the door, entered and offered the following rejoinder, “Boy, call your mother—your folks are looking for you!”
Contemporary Challenges and Future Opportunities
A congeries of challenges and opportunities in past and especially in contemporary times have beset higher education in general and the HBCU in particular. The postsecondary zeitgeist has ushered in challenges associated with diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging (DEIB). Also, recalcitrant financial markets have upended plans to invest in these institutions in meaningful ways particularly to support critical academic and infrastructure needs. “Rising college costs, the student loan crisis and federal budget cuts have broadly hamstrung higher education. But they’re killing HBCUs, where nearly three in five attendees are low-income, first-generation students and over 70 percent of students have limited financial resources” (Smith-Barrow, 2019). Lynch (2023) lists these challenges facing HBCUs: 1. Funding: HBCUs often lack adequate funding, which affects their ability to provide the necessary resources for quality education. 2. Accreditation: Accreditation is crucial for HBCUs to validate their academic programs and remain relevant in the education sector. 3. Enrollment: HBCUs struggle to maintain consistent enrollment levels, which negatively impacts their financial stability. 4. Staffing: HBCUs struggle to attract and retain highly qualified staff, which affects academic programs’ quality. 5. Student Debt: Many African American students who attend HBCUs face high levels of student debt, which affects their post-graduation opportunities. 6. Infrastructure: HBCUs often have inadequate physical infrastructure, which negatively affects the quality of education they provide. 7. Endowment: HBCUs typically have smaller endowments than other institutions, which limits their ability to invest in new academic programs and initiatives. 8. Marketing: HBCUs struggle to promote themselves effectively, which limits their visibility and attractiveness to prospective students. 9. Competition: HBCUs face competition from other institutions that offer similar academic programs and opportunities. 10. Retention: HBCUs struggle to retain students, which affects their graduation rates and reputation as an institution. 11. Education Quality: HBCUs are often stigmatized as providing lower-quality education, which affects their ability to attract and retain top-performing students. 12. Campus Safety: HBCUs have to actively address campus safety concerns to maintain trust and student satisfaction. 13. Leadership: HBCUs face challenges in leadership, with some institutions struggling to find the right leadership to drive growth and success. 14. Technology: HBCUs have to keep up with technological advancements to provide a competitive edge in the education sector. 15. Public Perception: HBCUs often have to combat negative perceptions from the public, which harms their long-term success. 16. Diversity: HBCUs have struggled to attract students from diverse backgrounds, thus limiting their general appeal. 17. Marketing Efforts: HBCUs struggle with effective marketing campaigns to showcase their institutional value. 18. Shifting Demographics: The changing demographics of the country affect the HBCUs’ appeal to traditional and non-traditional students. 19. Limited Degree Offerings: Many students look for more specialized degrees, and HBCUs have to find a way to offer these programs without sacrificing their identity or quality of education. 20. Community Relations: HBCUs have to foster relationships with their surrounding communities and develop strategies that benefit both the community and the institution.
While Lynch’s list of challenges might appear daunting, it is refreshing to see that the counternarrative to these challenges is the legacy of excellence and resilience HBCUs continue to foreground, despite formidable challenges. While institutional funding is indeed a challenge, the Thurgood Marshall College Fund reported, “HBCUs have a long history of being underfunded, so the deluge of the last few years has been like blessed rain to parched fields. About one-third of the nation’s 107 historically Black colleges and universities, or HCBUs, received the largest gifts in their history between July 2020 and December 2021, according to We Are HBCUs, a non-profit group that maintains a database tracking HBCU gifts. Nineteen of those schools saw donations of $10 million or greater for the first time after July 2020, nearly double the ten schools that had such gifts prior” (Thurgood Marshall College Fund Council, 2022, para. 3).
The United Negro College Fund (2023) also noted the financial security of Black students at HBCUs: Some of the most heartening statistics come from our nation’s HBCUs. Though HBCUs make up only three percent of the country’s colleges and universities, they enroll 10% of all African American students and produce almost 20% of all African American graduates. HBCUs actively work to address the financial obstacles Black students face. On average, the cost of attendance at an HBCU is 28% less than attending comparable non-HBCUs. Forty percent of HBCU students report feeling financially secure during college as opposed to 29% of Black students at other schools. (para. 3)
Moreover, the American Association of University Professors (AAUP) underscored the importance of HBCUs (Guy-Sheftall & Jackson, 2021): Historically, HBCUs have produced 50% of Black teachers and doctors and 80% of Black judges. They continue to graduate the largest percentage of African American students with degrees in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. According to the National Science Foundation, Spelman College has produced the highest number of Black women doctoral recipients in science and engineering. Xavier University of Louisiana and Howard University have been the top producers of African American medical school graduates. HBCUs deliberately focus on brokering access to STEM through a variety of policies, practices, and activities. Howard University now has the distinction of having graduated the first woman vice president in the nation’s history. Other outstanding alumni and alumnae include Toni Morrison, Thurgood Marshall, Martin Luther King Jr., Oprah Winfrey, Common, Stacey Abrams, Rosalind Brewer, Andrew Young, Levi Watkins Jr., Jesse Jackson, Samuel L. Jackson, and Chadwick Boseman. (para. 3)
Much like the refrain found in Negro National Anthem, “stony the road we trod”—the HBCU throughout history has overcome countless challenges that on the surface might have appeared to be intractable. But, like the words of the Anthem “yet with a steady beat” these institutions have continued to move onward and upward for the uplift of the masses.
Scholarly Personal Narratives: Reconciling the Strivings
The key focus of this article is the function, legacy, and relevance of the HBCU; however, these foci are addressed through the use of a qualitative research approach—Scholarly Personal Narrative (SPN). Unique to this piece is the concomitant use of Scholarly Personal Narrative (SPN) (Nash, 2004) and Counter-Storytelling (Solórzano & Yosso, 2002) to illuminate critical aspects of the institution we know, love, and refer to as the HBCU.
Contributing Scholars
The Counter-Stories/Scholarly Personal Narratives of an array of Black academicians, practitioners, scholars, researchers, and thinkers, all speak from their respective positionalities (Bonner et al., 2015). Each contributing scholar was selected based on their current and past engagements with HBCUs. At some point, all had previously shared that the HBCU had made an indelible mark on their lives whether through their direct involvement with these institutions or through vicarious connections they had made through others who too experienced HBCUs in critically important and often in life-changing ways. While every contributing scholar speaks from a place of authenticity, some speak from authentic spaces that have been orthogonal to the HBCU. Said differently, several authors are graduates of HBCUs, and some come to the HBCU by way of engagements through colleagues, family, friends, and work-related projects. Yet, these voices provide contour and texture to the grand narrative that underscores the critical role that HBCUs play in various communities and spheres of influence (Bonner et al., 2014).
Theoretical Framework and Questions
Using Du Bois’s concept of “double consciousness” as a theoretical framework (Du Bois, 1903), the following questions were posed to each contributing scholar to provide an organizing center to assist with the development of their respective SPNs: 1. How have you reconciled your individual strivings? 2. Has the Historically Black College and University (HBCU) played a role in your reconciliation process? 3. What Scholarly Personal Narrative (SPN) is emblematic of your reconciliation process? 4. What Counternarrative/Counter-Story is emblematic of your reconciliation process?
Scholars’ Personnel Narratives
The scholars provide a nuanced respective of their relative positionality vis-à-vis HBCUs. Mainly, they contextualize their past and current engagements with HBCUs by providing an SPN that is both representative and tethered to some aspect of their prior and present engagements with HBCUs. Thus, the overarching goal reveals through narrative, a holistic rendering of how the HBCU has provided, and continues to provide, reconciliatory space and a home culture for Black populations to thrive.
SPN 1: Beyond the Horizon: Navigating HBCU Research and Advocacy as an External
Scholar Observer: Alonzo M. Flowers, PhD, University of Texas San Antonio
Higher Education Institutions have long been recognized as catalysts for intellectual growth, societal change, and empowerment (Tierney, 2021). Among these institutions, Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) have long served as bastions of educational access and social justice advocacy (Allen et al., 2007; Tierney, 2021). As an external scholar observer engaged with these institutions, I will draw on W.E.B. Du Bois’s (2008) concept of “double consciousness” and Caroline Humphrey’s (2008) “inside-out, outside-in” framework to elucidate the intricate relationship between research and advocacy within HBCUs. Through this scholarly personal narrative, I will own experience to highlight the challenges and opportunities of partnering with HBCUs. Further, my application of Du Bois’s “double consciousness” and Humphrey’s “inside-out, outside-in” perspectives provide valuable insight into the complex dynamics between research and advocacy roles at HBCUs. Collectively, this account delves into the perspective of an external scholar, as I seek to unravel the complex interplay of scholarship and the progression of social justice within the context of HBCUs.
Although not a physical member of the HBCU community, I have actively engaged with it through academic publication, conferences, and professional collaborations. These interactions with HBCU students, alumni, and faculty have offered me a direct perspective on their distinct experiences and challenges. As an external ally, I have aimed to listen, learn, and elevate their narratives with respect and empathy. My outsider status has motivated me to become an advocate who amplifies HBCU voices. As an external researcher, I feel the dichotomy of being both inside and outside the HBCU world—similar to Du Bois’s concept of “double consciousness.” On one hand, HBCU affiliates have welcomed me into their community and trusted me to spotlight their stories as a qualitative researcher. Yet, on the other, my outsider status means I can never fully embody the HBCU journey. This two-ness of insider-outsider status has shaped my scholarly work, making me strive to represent HBCU narratives with nuance and integrity. My aim is to be an ally who amplifies HBCU voices while also interrogating my positionality as an external observer. I hope my research honors the legacy of HBCUs even as I wrestle with my own incomplete perspective.
Double Consciousness and HBCUs: Tradition and Transformation
Du Bois introduced the concept of “double consciousness” to depict the complex identity formation of individuals navigating a society that simultaneously oppresses and alienates them (Du Bois & Edwards, 2008). This sense of two-ness—of being both part of and excluded from the dominant culture—has parallels to the experience of HBCUs. HBCUs embody a juxtaposition of tradition and adaptation, as they grapple with historical significance while responding to contemporary challenges (Williams, 2015). As an external scholar involved with HBCUs, I’ve developed a unique sense of double consciousness. While I’m embraced by the HBCU community and tasked with conveying their narratives, my position as an outsider prevents me from fully immersing myself in the HBCU experience. For instance, a significant portion of my initial research was dedicated to investigating the lived experiences of men of color within the HBCU environment. Despite my own identity as a Black scholar, the process of accessing my intended research participants was met with numerous institutional hurdles specific to HBCUs. In this regard, the invaluable guidance and connections provided by a mentor with well-established affiliations within HBCU spaces proved instrumental in facilitating complete access to my designated study population. In light of these experiences, I assert the critical importance of HBCUs taking deliberate measures to ensure the protection of their student body against the possible adverse consequences arising from insufficiently examined research findings. This insider-outsider duality has shaped my approach to research and advocacy. Like Du Bois’s concept, it reveals the subtleties of engaging with HBCUs as an external ally. My aim is to uplift HBCU voices while interrogating my positionality as an observer (Gasman & Commodore, 2014). My journey of engaging with HBCUs from the periphery has led me to reconsider my strivings. While my direct experiences differ from HBCU affiliates, this work has become integral to my identity. My efforts in researching and advocating for HBCUs allow me to align my passions with a cause larger than myself. This dual awareness enables a delicate balance between respectful observation and active allyship.
Inside-Out, Outside-In Dynamics in HBCU Context
The journey of engaging with HBCUs reveals a delicate dance between upholding tradition and pursuing progress. The rich legacy of HBCUs, characterized by academic excellence and belonging, is inextricable from their commitment to social justice (Gasman & Commodore, 2014; Williams, 2015). As an external observer, I aim to honor tradition while critically examining challenges. This demands an active role as a bridge between past and future. The historical significance of HBCUs must be acknowledged even while advocating for continued evolution (Williams, 2015). My outsider lens offers additional perspectives to enrich HBCUs' impact. At the same time, I recognize the limits of my understanding. Collaborative efforts that elevate insider voices are vital. In this way, the external observer becomes an ally in upholding tradition through forward progress. By nurturing this symbiosis, the HBCU retains its identity while adapting to serve students' emerging needs (Patton, 2011). Overall, my engagement with HBCUs has illuminated a complex interplay between legacy and change. In occupying this liminal space, I hope to contribute to the empowerment and advancement of these historic institutions as they navigate between tradition and progress in our ever-changing world.
In conclusion, my engagement with HBCUs as an external scholar has been a journey characterized by the dualities of “double consciousness” and the “inside-out, outside-in” perspective (Du Bois, 2008; Humphrey, 2008). This underscores the complex interplay between historical legacy and contemporary context. It reveals a symbiotic relationship where observer and observed evolve together. Approaching HBCU research and advocacy demands humility, respect, and commitment to meaningfully contribute to the ongoing narrative (Freeman & Gasman, 2014; Gasman & Commodore, 2014). My outsider lens provides a unique viewpoint but also has inherent limitations in fully capturing the insider experience. Therefore, elevating insider voices through collaboration is essential (Freeman & Gasman, 2014). In the broader context, this journey has transformed my role from a mere bystander to an engaged ally and advocate. Embracing the interactive essence of research, my intention is to contribute towards propelling HBCUs' mission of transformation (Freeman & Thomas, 2002). This demands consistent self-interrogation and centering of insider perspectives. The pathway forward will involve nurturing symbiotic relationships that honor the past while cultivating progress. My hope is that through reflective engagement, I can contribute to the empowerment and advancement of these invaluable institutions.
SPN 2: Degrees from PWIs but Gifted and Educated on an HBCU Campus
Scholar Observer: aretha f. marbley, PhD, Texas Tech University
I sat with crossed legs and squinted eyes on the third step of Mr. Vic’s porch, talking with Mr. H., his friend and boarder. Mr. Vic’s house was located on Spruce Street, one block north on the edge of the campus of what was then Arkansas Agricultural, Mechanical and Normal College (AM&N). It had been an HBCU—originally known as Branch Normal College—since 1875, but I knew nothing of that. I did know that Mr. H. never looked as if he noticed that I had no shoes, my clothes were tattered, and I had walked across the pasture to see him alone. The first year of mandatory desegregation of Pine Bluff public schools was about to begin, and unbeknownst to me, I would be one of the few seventh graders academically prepared to compete with the White students.
As always, I sat on the front steps smugly and with too much self-confidence. Mr. H., as usual, was enjoying our intellectual volleyball game. Looking across the pasture, he would tell me about cows, vegetation, and forage species. He also told me about the basic principles of algebra, and he seemed satisfied with my interest and answers. We were deadlocked in one of our games akin to mental chess, and I had just declared an unspoken checkmate when Mr. Haley asked me what large numbers came after millions, billions, and trillions. I had no idea. However, Mr. H. just smiled and patiently introduced me to quadrillion, quintillion, sextillion, septillion, octillion, nonillion, and decillion. I smiled the word checkmate and told him that I was born in December. Knowing the answer ignited my passion for higher learning and cultivated my giftedness.
As an African American child who grew up in the backwoods of Southern Arkansas, I had no idea or understanding of the history, mission, struggle, and importance of the HBCU literally and figuratively centered in my backyard, literally anchored in my segregated Black community. I was a young child, arguably gifted and indisputably curious. Ironically, as an academically gifted student, no one at school had ever encouraged me to attend college, nor was I interested in going. In my world of surviving, there was simply no space or place for the notion of college. Nevertheless, AM&N (now the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff, UAPB) stood, big as life, an academic playground for my young mind’s thirst to learn, and it was a significant force in my community and my village.
It became a wondrous playground due to its renovation and expansion following the unprecedented growth of its student body between 1949 and 1964. By the time I started grade school, new facilities and buildings had been constructed throughout the campus, including a student union, gymnasium, infirmary, two dormitories, a library, and a fine arts center. When we were allowed to explore the campus, my friends and I would sneak into dormitories, ghost the female students in their rooms, ease into the library, play hide and seek in the stacks, and visit the science labs. It was like visiting the big city, as I had grown up in the country.
The intellectual spaces and highly charged energy apparent within the campus’s streets, walls, and hallways ignited a light that lit a match to my already overly active imagination. When I moved through the campus, I could see a world filled with bright and brilliant colors of many shades bursting and shining with books, people, possibilities, knowledge, fun, and futures, and I could see God’s gifts everywhere. When we were chased out of the girls’ dorms, shushed out of the library, escorted out of the student union, and sent home (with food) by the parents of some of us who worked in the cafeteria, it was part of the experience we craved—enclosed in unspeakable joy, sheltered from harm, and welcomed and loved. I felt that I not only belonged on that campus, but the campus also belonged to me. As we grew, the resources we needed for school were on campus: student teachers, space to study, library resources, tutoring, and the campus extracurricular activities.
In 2020, I learned that “Mr.” H., whom I had known, was Simon Haley, a college professor. Unbeknownst to me, Mr. H. graduated from Lane College, (HBCU) and Cornell University (PWI and Ivy League) and headed the Agriculture Department at AM&N. He was also the father of Alex Haley (the author of the 1976 novel, Roots: The Saga of an American Family) and George Hayley (activist and civil rights attorney instrumental in the success of Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas).
In 2010, I would write the afterword to the book, Remembrances in Black: Personal Perspectives of the African American Experience at the University of Ark., 1940 s-2000 s (Robinson & Williams, 2010), a historical monograph about integration of Blacks at the University of Arkansas. His son George, featured in this book, was one of the legendary Six Pioneers, the first African American students to attend and graduate from a southern White college after Reconstruction. His father, Mr. H., had urged George to attend the University of Arkansas (UARK) in Fayetteville, and decades later, but without his urging, I did the same. I titled my afterword for the book “Write This Down” because of the momentous victory in Exodus 17, where God instructed Moses to record testimonials and evidence for future generations to know.
The man I knew as Mr. H., a product of an HBCU, showed me that I was smart, and that college was for me, encouragement I am incalculably glad I took. He did not live to know that I was the first African American to graduate with a doctorate in Counselor Education and Supervision from UARK. But, like his son, George, I hope I made Mr. H. proud. Likewise, I am forever grateful for Mr. H and for my education on the campus of this HBCU; I am also grateful for the forever-forged bond with my community, village, and people and my people’s plight. I thank AM&N for my strong sense of duty to serve and help and the knowledge that education is more important than degrees. I will not forget Exodus 17 lesson and AM&N/UAPB will forever be my roots and forever hold a special place in my heart, soul, and education.
SPN 3: Making Theory to Make Sense: A Journey of Narrative and Practice in Black Educational Research
Scholar Observer: Michael E. Jennings, PhD, Furman University
I’ve always been caught between theory and practice. The idea of learning theory was something that always fascinated me, but it just didn’t seem to connect with my reality as a Black man in America. Being caught between the Whiteness of theory and the reality of my Black existence reflected what Du Bois referred to as double consciousness (Du Bois, 1903). Du Bois (1903) framed the central question of Black life at the turn of the 20th century by asking the question, “How does it feel to be a problem?” (1903). To explicate his ideas about the complexities of blackness, Du Bois (1903) delineated the concept of double consciousness which he described as: …a peculiar sensation, this double consciousness, this sense of always looking at oneself through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels this twoness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings (p. 215).
As an elementary school student, my favorite subject was social studies. Learning about the world and its people and the places they lived took center stage in my growing intellectual curiosity. I rarely saw myself in many of these lessons. Most of the people that we studied were in far off places that seemed to have little connection to my reality. We studied lots of European history and a smattering of information about Asia, Latin America, and Africa. Even in our students of the United States, the focus was on “big picture” events like elections, wars, and large-scale migrations. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the actors in most of these events were White men. Little was said about people of color outside our victimhood in the “original sin” of slavery or the long-suffering masses who marched to “overcome” in the Civil Rights Movement. Dealing with a null curriculum (Flinders, et al., 1986) that was absent of any meaningful study of the Black experience reflected a double consciousness that I regularly experienced as a student and later faculty member.
It was this experience of double consciousness that fueled my intellectual curiosity. As a student, I wanted to devour stories and ideas about peoples, places, and things all over the world. More specifically, I wanted to know more about my own people and our place in history and in the contemporary world. I found little in my formal schooling that talked specifically about the Black experience in America. I overcame this dilemma by reading as much as I possibly could about Black people.
During my adolescence, I was given a copy of The Autobiography of Malcolm X (1966) as a gift and things were never again the same. In Malcolm’s story, I was finally able to fully see myself. My experiences as a Black male growing up in urban America during the 1970s and 1980s seemed to suddenly make sense in light of Malcolm’s experiences a generation before. Infused with the increasing militancy that fueled hip hop culture during the mid-1980s, I reveled in Malcolm’s narrative and his aggressive stance on reconciling Black America’s dilemma of double consciousness. Malcom’s ideas about Black Nationalism encouraged me to attend an historically black college/university (HBCU) for my undergraduate education. While there, I was able to further develop my understanding of the Black experience through an interdisciplinary exploration of several disciplines (Berry & Jennings, 2016). Upon graduation, I attended a predominately White institution (PWI) to pursue my doctoral studies. As a graduate student at a PWI in the southeast United States, I faced major issues regarding my role as a minoritized student in an institutional context steeped in White supremacy. As the uncertainties of graduate student life unfolded, the pursuit of theory once again played a prominent role in my growth and development.
As background to writing my master’s thesis in political science, I read the book Revolutionary Suicide (2009) by Dr. Huey P. Newton, co-founder of the Black Panther Party. I was again startled to find that someone else’s struggles, in many ways, reflected my own. Newton’s writings helped me further understand that racial self-realization is a continuous and dangerous process. Like Malcolm X, Newton’s lived experiences emphasized that living as Black man in America is a complex navigation that must be learned and practiced in order to resist and survive. This learning represented a pedagogy of race that focuses on an important question, “How do Black people learn to survive and thrive in the racialized landscape inherent in American society?”
As a graduate student, I was learning the power and importance of theory and endeavored to find a theory that explained the condition(s) of Black people in America and that offered guidance to enact positive change. I immersed myself in the study of theory. This was easy to do in graduate school since the study of theory was part and parcel of the enterprise of graduate school. I studied Marxism, Socialism, Critical Theory, critical ethnography, and other ideologies that promoted emancipatory action in support of the oppressed. Nothing seemed to “fit” what I was looking for. Many theories were seemingly too obtuse and complex while seemingly disconnected from the reality needed to make social justice a reality. Others seemed more suited to action but lacked sufficient analysis of race and racism. The theory that resonated the most with me was Critical Race Theory (CRT). CRT is a powerful theoretical construct that emphasizes the endemic nature of race and racism, the pervasiveness race in the structures of American society, and the limits of liberal ideology in limiting or ending racism (Jennings, 2015; Jennings & Lynn, 2005).
I was particularly interested in how CRT worked within the concept of learning and teaching in both formal and informal settings. Specifically, I wanted to understand how CRT worked both within institutions of learning and its potential to explain how race is taught and learned through institutions beyond formal schooling. In exploring this understanding, I found mention of a theoretical concept that explored race and education in all the ways that I found important. That concept was Critical Race Pedagogy (Lynn, 1999).
Eventually, I connected with Marvin Lynn, the original progenitor of the term Critical Race Pedagogy. Together we worked on refining and extending the concept in ways that both contextualize and problematize the role of race in educational institutions and beyond. Doing this has provided me a theoretical construct that pushes the envelope in contemporary educational thought by promoting educational practices that are transformative in nature and supports teachers, students, administrators, and researchers to bear witness to the possibilities of a truly liberatory pedagogy that encourages an interrogation of race and identity that is both intersectional and democratic (Lynn et al., 2013). This theoretical concept has helped me to understand and push the limits of theory both as a tool for change but also as a tool for understanding. Perhaps more importantly, it has also shown me the importance of Black researchers creating and utilizing theoretical constructs that can be used in research endeavors that serves the interest of Black communities.
SPN 4: AM I My Brother’s Keeper?
Scholar Observer: Edward Tarlton, PhD, Higher Education and Learning Professional Consulting, Inc.
The writing of this narrative really took me to a deep place. I realized that I am a product of HBCU’s without ever formally attending one. Being born in Hampton, Virginia, with a father who actually grew up on Hampton Institute’s campus, attended and played football for three years but didn’t graduate, a mother who graduated from there, and attending Zion Baptist Church as a child, which is literally seven tenths of a mile away from the school, for me to say that I am not a product of an HBCU and realizing the role it has played in my parents’ and my life would be a gross understatement. Outside of the familial life lessons that my parents’ parents taught them, their academic and professional lives were not only framed and changed by their attendance at Hampton, but they had raised me and my siblings with what they had learned while there. Basically, HBCU is in my DNA.
Fast forward. I was fifty years old with an undergraduate degree from the University of Georgia, in Landscape Architecture, and a PhD in Agricultural Leadership, Education, and Communication focused on “college and career readiness” from Texas A&M University. Already following my passion for assisting students to reach their personal, academic, and career goals through my non-profit, Higher Education and Learning Professional Consulting, Inc. (HELP), I received an opportunity to deliver some graduate school workshops at both Morehouse and Spelman Colleges, in Atlanta, GA, but with a particular focus. While they have very structured graduate school prep programs to assist students to pursue law, medical, and MBA graduate school programs, their resources for students outside of those areas was limited to non-existent. I have delivered graduate school workshops at colleges before, but this was different as Morehouse and Spelman are peculiar in the fact that they do not have graduate school programs, only undergraduate (Morehouse School of Medicine is a totally separate school). As I started to plan out my presentation, what I had to figure out was, “How would I connect with them?” and “Would they see me as irrelevant if I only attended PWIs?”
Then one lazy COVID-Sunday morning I was listening to a cable network preacher, and it hit me. He was preaching from Genesis 4:9. “And the Lord said unto Cain, where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?” (King James Bible, Gen. 4.9). I had a spiritual awakening but probably not the way you think. My mind went straight to the scene in the movie Nu Jack City when Nino Brown and the CMB (Cash Money Brothers) family were toasting to their success, and Nino said, “This is the fruit of our hard work. The belief in the entrepreneurial spirit, and the new American dream.” Then they toasted and he stood up in the chair and asked them three times, “Am I my Brother’s keeper?” And they replied “Yes, I am!” (Van Peebles, 1991). And it came to me. I would connect with them via the use of familiar constructs that I nicknamed: Booker T., Carter G., W.E.B., and Harriet. In essence it was a 360 for me.
SPN 5: Sankofa: In My Bones and In My Spirit
Scholar Observer: Kala Burrell-Craft, PhD, University of Maryland Eastern Shore
The Black affirming spaces that I have created, joined, and navigated have been essential for my soul, my sanity, and my development. Like Du Bois, I have a double consciousness which transcends understanding for some people. As a light-skinned (colorism is a real thing) Black woman who was raised by college-educated Black parents, I have a dual identity that allows me partial membership into a group of educated Whites. But because of how I walk into my Blackness, I am also excluded from that same group. This group invites you to the party because you can afford the seats at the table, but then will block you once they sense you trying to buy the restaurant. This double consciousness is nothing new as Blacks have had to create and navigate this space all of their lives, and those outsiders-within are well versed in code-switching.
Collins (1998) coined the term “outsider-within” as she described Black womanist scholars’ tethering between Black/White educational spaces. Outsiders-within are able to gain access to the knowledge of a group in which they will be allowed access (within), but the power structure within the group will remain unequal (outsider). As an outsider-within, I have a distinct understanding of the paradoxes between the dominant group’s actions and philosophies (Baxley, 2012). I have come to understand my thirst to push the race agenda forward. Race has played a central role in my perception of life since I can remember; therefore, it has shaped my identity development and has led me to this point in time where I am an associate professor at a HBCU, University of Maryland Eastern Shore. Note, I am here because I want to be here. This is where I am needed, this is where I get filled up, and where I can make the biggest impact.
Being forced to navigate and create spaces that do not confine and compartmentalize me, in reflection of my outsider self, has been an integral part of my educational journey. Blackwell (1981) designates the term “compartmentalization” to describe Blacks’ separation of the two cultures in which they exist daily. My double consciousness began around the age of five years old in a small, rural town in Louisiana where dirt roads, farmland, and livestock cover a total area of 1.7 miles, and the demographics reflect an approximate 59.5% White and 37.1% Black population split (City-Data, 2021). A place where Walmart is the mall, Sonic is still the hangout spot, local shops and grocery stores still survive, and Friday nights are all about football; not exactly a place where my Blackness was nurtured and my spirit fed.
However, my spirit was fed, and my Blackness was nurtured every Saturday when Grambling State University (GSU) had a home game. The energy at GSU was electric! Both of my parents were HBCU grads and very active alumni. I loved the energy, the excitement, the foolishness, and the Blackness of being in the space of a HBCU. It was my weekends at Grambling, and my weekends in Baton Rouge at Southern University (SU) that led me to attend an HBCU as an undergraduate. Being overexposed to GSU and SU growing up, I wanted to attend college out of state. Fully aware of my Blackness by then, I chose Fisk University; after all, Du Bois had attended this institution, as well as Nikki Giovanni, James Weldon Johnson, and Ida B. Wells, just to name a few. There was a soulful kindred spirit at Fisk that is unlike any other institution. If you are open to it, you can hear our ancestors and feel their spirit. Even though I started my undergraduate studies at Fisk, I completed my degree as a bulldog at Bowie State University.
Everything I do and have done is “for the culture.” I have always felt that it was my job to do whatever I could for my community, my family, my friends, and my people. Representation matters and my identity is tied deeply to my culture. Sankofa is the process of reaching back and bringing forth. I feel like the spirit of my ancestors is what fuels me. They have reached back for me and are pulling me forth, and I must do the same for others. I am keenly aware of my outsider-within status and my double consciousness. They are my superpowers. I am highly effective in predominantly White spaces because I grew up in a sea of Whiteness. I speak up when I see injustices, and I address them when power and control are in my favor. In my various roles as an educator, I have always been cognizant of the culturally responsive and empowering curriculum choices I made for my students. I know exactly why I do what I do. My double consciousness allows me to be literate of my intersecting identities, and how they continue to be shaped by my experiences. Burrell-Craft (2021) defined identity literacy as the process through which one can identify, understand, and apply the knowledge of intersecting dimensions of identity to daily tasks and interactions with people and processes that help to understand oneself and each other. I am Black and educated, and a force to be reckoned with that does not accept the status quo. I use my position, power, and privilege to reach back for others in true Sankofa spirit. I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams.
SPN 6: Beyond Borders: HBCUs’ Global Legacy
Scholar Observer: Stephanie Tilley, PhD Student, Prairie View A&M University
Black people have always found value in and made meaning of travel and movement. From the removal of our ancestral homelands in the 16th century to seeking social relief, and educational or professional advancement abroad, we have forged a global legacy staunched in resilience, change, and progression. We are and always have been a global people. Our global appreciation and mindset are reflected within our Historically Black Universities and Colleges (HBCUs). HBCUs have an enduring and rich history of inclusivity and educating and serving beyond their system borders of influence (Hope, 2022). As early as the 18th century, HBCUs welcomed and enrolled international students from diverse locales and served as an educational refuge for various cultural communities such as Jewish refugee scholars during a time of Nazi persecution (Brown- Grier, 2021; Hope, 2022). With this understanding, my experience with HBCUs has been rooted in community, global learning, and appreciation for diversity of thought.
My first, educational introduction to HBCUs was as a Study Abroad Program Coordinator at Prairie View A&M University (PVAMU) and later as a doctoral student for my education continuum. As a Louisiana native, HBCUs have been a respected symbol in my life as I have family members who are alumni of Grambling State University and Southern University and Agricultural and Mechanical College, and I have memories of frequenting Southern’s campus during my formative and adolescent years. However, the genesis of personally experiencing the developmental and nourishing power of HBCUs began as a professional and as an emerging scholar. For over four years, I served as a Study Abroad Program Coordinator (PVAMU) where I advised Black and HBCU students on various global learning opportunities and helped develop cultural programming for our international and domestic students. This season of my professional career was culturally rich and stimulating as I experienced and fellowshipped with varying Black and diverse learners. This experience coupled with my previous travels to Africa (the Motherland), broadened my understanding of the depth, opulence, plurality, and complexity of Blackness in culture, narrative, and definition. Furthermore, I was introduced to the study, practice, and scholarship of HBCU and Black Internationalization; during this time, I gained understanding of HBCUs’ global reach and how the concept of our being extends beyond the US American borders (Hope, 2022).
Introduction to HBCU internationalization and recognizing that the preservation and advancement of Black knowledge production through formal and informal education systems include and reach beyond US American HBCUs, was and is prolific to me. Although unique in classification and designation, awareness of global Black knowledge production and its shared narrative with American HBCUs deeply moved me and birthed an insatiable curiosity, appreciation, and passion for HBCU and Black internationalization. More than anything, it shaped how I view our legendary HBCUs. From my perspective, the presence and positionality of HBCUs have not only served as a nexus for minority thought and progress within an American context but have been an influential powerhouse in employing practices that support communities of African ancestry and fostering transnational networks and collaboration (Hayes, 2007; Hope, 2022). Therefore, for these reasons and more, I view HBCUs as international incubators and deeply revere them for their continued global legacy and impact.
SPN 7: Transformational, fortifying, redemptive, and soul-filling: A Narrative Ode to my Black College experience
Scholar Observer: Dave A. Louis, PhD, University of Houston
Kush and Nubia were not words I had ever heard in my life. His face lit up with excitement as he paced around the classroom, and every ear was bent listening to his voice. He spoke of Imhotep… and pharaohs such as Khafre, Amenhotep, Ramesses, and Seti. My mind and my soul were entranced by his tutelage and by the door opening to something my spirit always knew but society had held hostage. This was my freshman History course at Morehouse College. It was finally my history… my story… everything that I knew that was silenced in the noisy clamor of Westernized Europeanized spewing. Du Bois (1897) shares in the Strivings of the Negro People, “It dawned upon me with a certain suddenness that I was different from the others; or like, mayhap, in heart and life and longing, but shut out from their world by a vast veil” (p. 194). I was different from what I was “told” I was by society but in that pivotal moment I realized that I was part of something much larger and it was the society that systematically and intentionally sidelined me was actually the “other.” It was in that history class at that college who lauds its legacy of defiance of enslaved Africans lighting a candle in the dark to read and educate themselves when society deemed it illegal. That is the magnificence of the Black college in America.
The Black college space is not perfect, it has its problems, and issues, and personalities, and egos. Well, indeed, it is still a product of a foreign paradigm; but it is also the power of the Black African spirit seeping through the cracks to create something transformational. It was a place where I learned to be me. To be unapologetically me. But also, it was a place to witness in glory all my brothers and sisters also be unabashedly themselves. It was a place for them to finally express themselves in a manner in which they would not immediately and publicly be “judged.” Voices, smiles, expressions existing undisturbed for the first time for thousands of lives. Walking across campus without fear of being stopped for simply being Black. In fact, it was amazing to walk freely at any time of day or night and know that I was not in a threatening situation nor a threat. My mind rested. My soul rested. My heart rested. Many a night I sat on the steps of Harkness Hall looking across the grass, with Danforth Chapel to my right, staring at the sky. Breathing. Watching people walk by. Couples walking by. Folks walking back from the library after studying. Sitting on the steps and simply being myself. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll get to my homework. I’ll get back to my room and get what needs to get done. But my mental and spiritual education was happening right now, and I am not going to disturb that. My soul is preparing for something more. Something occurring later. Something bigger than books or equations or theories. Something that will connect me to my Black ancestry and hopefully benefit the Black future. I realized and recognized my place in my existence. There was an inner acknowledgment and confirmation that I am here because other Black people had paved the way and that my responsibility, in the midst of all of this, was for me to ensure that the way continues to be paved. Paved by my work, and my sweat, and my determination and my love. And this is what the Black college is. A recognition of who we are and why we are.
My Black college experience was transformational and that is what made it a successful endeavor. I have conversations with my friends and colleagues from other Black colleges such as Grambling, Howard, Fisk, Spelman (of course), Southern, Langston and Florida A&M. And the story is indeed the same… we had long lines for class registration; he had dorms that were not comfortable; we had classrooms that were almost not as equipped as they should be; we had sport teams that operated in substandard facilities. But we had faculty members who cared, people who nurtured us, and peers who looked out for us. The education was honest and genuine, and the atmosphere was one of a family within a village. I could approach a faculty member about coursework, or I can discuss the meaning of life with them. They saw me… they saw me as someone with potential. They saw me as promise. I wasn’t a “Negro problem,” I was the Black potential, the Black promise. I was seen as the Black future. And those eyes gazed upon me the same way it gazed upon every other student at Morehouse. Those gazes signaled that we were all here for a purpose. The degree was the credential, and indeed a testimony of our intellectual journey. But it was our inner development that was the true prize and purpose of this endeavor. When the world perpetually cast you out as the “other,” the Black college reclaims you as the “standard.” Du Bois (1897) exclaimed: “The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife,—this longing to attain self-conscious… he does not wish to bleach his Negro blood in a flood of White Americanism, for he believes—foolishly, perhaps, but fervently—that Negro blood has yet a message for the world” (p. 195). The Black college enables us, fortifies us, and provides us with the mechanics to positions us to tell our necessary and authentic stories to the world. Black colleges fill our soul, feed our minds, fortifies our purpose, and redeems our hearts.
SPN 8: Soulful Inspiration to Purposeful Context: A Transformational Journey
Scholar Observer: Stella L. Smith, PhD, Prairie View A&M University
In this scholarly personal narrative, I want to tell you how Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) have been pivotal as I develop both personally and professionally as a scholar and leader in education. Although I could cite the research related to the importance of HBCUs, it was not until February 15, 2017 that I could fully connect to and understand the impact of the institution.
I knew there was something special about HBCUs from my dissertation research on African American female senior-leader administrators and their experiences at predominately White institutions. Study participants shared how their formative experiences at HBCUs provided them with a set of skills that made them competent, compassionate, innovative, and resourceful. One of the theoretical frameworks that I used for this research was biculturalism. At its root, biculturalism is a restatement of Du Bois “double consciousness” concept (Du Bois & Edwards, 2008). In 1903, W.E. B. Du Bois wrote about the two-ness of being both American and Negro as well as the convergence of Afro-American tradition with values and social behavior of the dominant American society. The bicultural perspective was used to determine how African American female senior-level administrators adapted to be successful at Predominately White Institutions (PWIs). A finding in my research was the impact of my participant’s experiences at HBCUs and how they informed their leadership. I did not realize at the time the impact moving to a Historically Black Colleges and University (HBCU) would also have on my leadership development. Nor did I realize the impact biculturalism had on my lived experience in academia until the moment that it was not required to be embraced in the educational environment.
On my first day at Prairie View A&M University I was not sure what to expect. The day was full of training needed to be on-boarded at the institution. What I didn’t realize would happen was the connection I would feel to the institution, particularly the campus itself. Walking the grounds and remembering the historical significance of “The Hill” was affirming and somewhat overwhelming. The campus itself exemplifies the struggle that African Americans have historically had to endure to access an equitable education. The impact of HBCUs is not limited to the students who attend the institutions. Faculty, staff, administrators, alumni, and visitors also benefit from the welcoming and nurturing HBCU environment.
Although I’ve always felt comfortable on college campuses, there is something more at this institution. No matter where I go on this campus, I understand that I am the fulfillment of a generational dream. Feeling that connection to the campus helped me to see how double consciousness and biculturalism showed up in my own academic experience. Having attended predominately White colleges and universities, I too often felt that I needed to translate my lived experience so that it was appropriate for the academic space. Darlene Clark Hine’s concept of cultural dissemblance and the politics of respectability purports that African American women have taken on historically White, traditional, middle-class values to overcome their perception in society and achieve the status of “womanhood” (Hine, 1989). This dissemblance is synergistic with the theory of biculturalism and exemplary of how I felt.
For me, the benefit and value of HBCUs manifests in the ways the institution supports and welcomes your presence and the value you bring. It was in those first few days of being at Prairie View A&M University (PVAMU) that I knew, in addition to conducting research, I wanted to be a part of creating a compassionate space for students from diverse backgrounds to express themselves academically and realize the impact they will have on the world.
HBCUs aren’t just about education, they have a more transformational role in society. They helped me to bring the parts of myself together and go from living in siloed pieces to showing up completely and authentically. Being at an HBCU allows me to be and hold others to academically rigorous standards while also engaging with and staying connected to my cultural roots. I would not be the leader and more importantly the person that I am today without the influence of HBCUs in my journey. Having the opportunity to work and lead at an HBCU has provided me with soulful inspiration to make a purposeful difference.
SPN 9: Higher Learning: Virtual Lessons in Selfhood, Solidarity, and Strivings
Scholar Observer: Barbara L. Garcia-Powell, PhD Candidate, Prairie View A&M University
Cameras on. Mikes off. The gallery view spanned across both monitors in my office, organizing the videos of sixteen students, ten professors, one dean, and three program alumni into a neat 6 x 5 configuration. After completing three degrees, I was quite familiar with the flow of an orientation event; yet, this experience was uncommon. The pandemic forced such introductory events into virtual spaces where etiquette, or netiquette, dictated one person spoke at a time while other participants listened actively by responding with non-verbal gestures, emoji reactions, or relevant comments typed into a chat box. The experience challenged everything I heard about the Historically Black College and University (HBCU) experience. How was I to network and make lifelong connections? Would I get to know my professors like family? Would I be able to form authentic bonds with my cohort remotely? How could I possibly experience “The Hill” online?
As the agenda moved forward, the attendees moved very little, but that changed when professors began to unmute and present myself and my cohort peers with a series of calls to action. One professor asked us to adopt a Baptist church custom and participate in a “turn to your neighbor” exercise. Modified for the virtual sanctuary, we were tasked with looking at the video to the left of ours as well as the video to the right and planning for how we would contact both individuals and forge a relationship with them. He let it be known that a doctoral program is one no one should go at alone, especially when learning remotely. He encouraged that we create or join a village of life-minded individuals, as the journey could be arduous. Another professor acknowledged the virtual space as one that could limit interaction; however, she proclaimed it need not become a space that minimizes effort on our behalf. She charged every new doctoral student with using the virtual experience to get to know oneself as a learner and a doer. She presented each of us with three questions to which we should prepare and internalize a response. Why Prairie View? Why a PhD? How are you going to use a PhD to help others? As the assignments piled up, another professor’s video moved into speaker view as he presented what was arguably the most challenging task yet. He commissioned each of us to write a message to the version of ourselves who is on the brink of quitting reminding that individual why they started and why it is paramount that they finish.
I had a lot to think about and this was just Day 0. I was used to leaving orientations with swag, not assignments. However, orientation set the tone for what I consider to be the cognitively, personally, and socially challenging experience of my life.
Since the introduction of higher education to the African American, there has been a strong debate by society about which institution type is best suited to educate us. In the state of Texas, Governor Greg Abbott and Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick have stated they feel HBCUs are unnecessary and should be done away with. This paper intends to describe my experience at both institution types, thereby giving the reader an in-depth understanding of why the HBCU environment is the better atmosphere for me. The HBCU has granted me the more access to the best opportunities, the ability to gain access to resources and enter rooms that are typically impossible to walk in and above all, the confidence and strength to feel a sense of belonging (Strayhorn, 2012) in this elevated educational atmosphere. My professors have been some of the best in the business and even legends of various industries. I found out who I am at the HBCU while connecting to the ancestry who paved the way for me to arrive here.
SPN 10: Ebony and Ivory: The Increasing Desire of HBCU Attendance for African American Men
Scholar Observer: Terrance J. Bolton, PhD Student, Prairie View A&M University
There has been a long debate about the impact the HBCU and the PWI truly have on the success rate of the African American. Beginning my higher educational journey in 2009, I began at the University of Houston, (in Houston, TX) immediately after the approval of the Post 9/11 GI Bill. My experiences at the University of Houston (A Predominantly White Institution) as a student did not give me any connectivity to its livelihood other than accesses to blatant tokenism and second handed leadership opportunities. My time at this institution did not grant me any insight as to how I was supposed to conduct myself as a student of color seeking avenues to the greatness within my degree field. Instead of beginning to build us into the leaders of tomorrow, our professors looked at us more as numbers rather than individual people. The classrooms were full at least with 50–60 people and no intimate settings to where there was a connectivity between the class and the instructor. I was even presented to the football team in an effort to enhance their defensive line. You would think that someone of my size and stature would have been welcomed with open arms; however, it was totally the opposite. I was not welcome there. The team strength and conditioning coach even recommended that I have a surgery that would have damaged my knee if I had taken his advice. That is when I knew I had to seek refuge in a place that I truly felt as though I belonged.
In the fall of 2011, my entire life changed. I was admitted to Texas Southern University as a transfer student, and it was fantastic. I was offered personal mentorship by the 12th President, Dr. John M. Rudley, The Dean of Students, Dr. William Saunders, and my now godfather, Dr. James Wesley Ward, (who was the Dean of the School of Communications in which I was enrolled). Based upon the numerous opportunities that were afforded me through these great men, I was able to matriculate my way through Texas Southern as not only one of its most celebrated student legacies, but ultimately would become a football, cheerleading, theatrical and musical success. I even achieved the ultimate dream of becoming the 67th Student Government Association President. It was not because of the color of my skin, but because I finally found a family environment of educational geniuses in which I felt as though I belonged (Strayhorn, 2012). The faculty and staff cared about our personal and professional development as we went through our years of undergraduate degree tutelage. This particular type of time and attention was not granted to me at the University of Houston, (even though I did ask for it). Being at the PWI, I felt like an outsider.
According to the writings of Strayhorn (2019), “Campus administrators and college student educators will likely find the practical recommendations for nurturing students’ sense of belonging provocative, useful, and possible to enact on their own campus” (preface, p. xv). I couldn’t have said it better myself. Because of the strength behind my sense of belonging at the Historically Black College/University. I have gained a brand-new sense of pride and professional confidence. “If schools take the required steps to improve the experiences and outcomes of black males, undoubtedly all other groups will become direct and indirect beneficiaries” (Howard, 2014, p. 2). The basis of this statement has been lived by me personally. Look at the differences in my scholastic outcomes based on the experience I had at each institution. Taking a true interest in your student body and giving them that nurturing spirit will help to guide them into a brighter future. The road of loneliness in education is a dark one. Having support will always yield a better result in your pursuits.
SPN 11: The (Re)Education from My Miseducation
Scholar Observer: Ramon Goings, PhD, University of Maryland, Baltimore County
My journey to attending Morgan State University to earn my doctorate was a journey initially riddled with miseducation. Seventeen years earlier as a highly recruited high school basketball player, I had the opportunity to attend two HBCUs who had expressed interest in me as a student-athlete; however, due to my own miseducation I subscribed to what Woodson (1933/1993) would explain nearly 70 years earlier in the following quote from the Miseducation of the Negro: The same educational process which inspires and stimulates the oppressor with the thought he is everything and has accomplished everything worthwhile, depresses and crushes at the same time the spark of genius in the Negro by making him feel that his race does not amount to much and never will measure up to the standards of other people. (p. xiii)
Throughout the next six years I attended two predominantly White institutions for my undergraduate and master’s degrees. While I enjoyed the experience, I knew something was missing. I missed the ability to see myself reflected in the curriculum. For example, during my collegiate experience I was never assigned a reading by a Black author (Goings, 2021). Consequently, these past experiences made the thought of attending Morgan State University very appealing in addition to the fact that other doctoral programs I applied to did not see the value in my research which would focus on Black male students from an anti-deficit lens.
As I discuss in greater detail in a chapter dedicated to one of my professors Dr. Kmt Shockley (see Goings, 2021), it was not until I attended Morgan State University and encountered the Afrocentric teaching and prospective of Dr. Shockley that I begin to find myself as a scholar. There was something special as a Black man being in a class with a Black male educator who was brilliant and looking to push me intellectually. While, like other classmates I complained about the rigor of the doctoral program, I felt Dr. Shockley along with my other professors had a sense of urgency in developing scholars who would be theoretically sound, but also have the ability to apply these perspectives in practice.
On example that has directly impacted my academic journey and even how I mentor doctoral students now as a professor was when I submitted my first paper for Dr. Shockley’s class. When I received my feedback there was a note in the margin that stated, “You will need an editor and/or writing coach in order to improve this.” As you can imagine as a new doctoral student, I was devastated given I went through my previous degree programs being touted for my writing ability. It was during this moment that I had a decision to make. Either I cave in and blame Dr. Shockley and do nothing to improve, or I teach myself the craft of academic writing and lean into his feedback. I chose the latter and spent the next two years being a student of academic writing.
Where I find the magic of being on an HBCU campus was that when Dr. Shockley saw that I was investing the time to improve myself as an academic writer, he went above and beyond to support me. This included meeting with me on the weekends at a local university to go over my writing as I wanted to write for publication. It was through these sessions of getting feedback and being mentored that shaped me into the writer I have become. Those interactions even shaped the ways I push my own doctoral students and my Done Dissertation clients to reach expectations that they cannot even see in themselves.
While HBCUs are touted for the fact that Black students have access to Black faculty, there is more to the student experience. It is the fact that for students attending HBCUs, it is a space to see themselves centered in the curriculum and to have professors like Dr. Shockley who recognize their roles in cultivating the next leaders in the Black community, even at the sacrifice of their own career success and economic mobility given the limited funding of HBCUs (Palmer & Walker, 2023) and the faculty experience of lower salaries (Renzulli et al., 2006). While the value of HBCUs continue to be put into question despite their overwhelming success, there is no doubt that without Morgan State University I would not be the scholar I am today. They indeed were the catalysts of my (re)education.
SPN 12: HBCUs and The Circle of Life: Ain’t God Good?
Scholar Observer: Fred A. Bonner, II, EdD, Prairie View A&M University
“HBCUs Look to Court Superstar Black Faculty” was the title of the July 2014 opinion editorial penned in Diverse Issues in Higher Education (Watson, 2014). The smile that came over my face when I read the piece was due in part to knowing that someone thought that the work I was doing warranted the label “superstar.” The remaining part of my smile came from an overwhelming a sense of completion and feeling of deep satisfaction that my long-standing vision to work my way into a Historically Black College and University (HBCU) was coming into view.
For me, this transition to the HBCU context was the icing on the proverbial cake that I had been “putting together” across my decade-long scholarly sojourn. HBCUs had not only served as a place for exploration and theorizing about the population, academically gifted African American males, that became the central focus of my scholarly agenda, but it also represented an ontological ground zero for legions of others who influenced my life—especially Black educators, researchers, and thinkers, including my parents and grandparents. I cannot think of a time that HBCUs were not a part of my world. I vividly remember my grandmother’s bachelor’s degree being prominently affixed to the textured wall in her little study that was situated right off the family room in her home. And, somehow in that room filled with family vintage photos and the slight hint of moth balls and Pine-Sol, I somehow understood that Bishop College had to be a place of great importance.
While my grandmother’s wall was my introduction to HBCUs, it was the many conversations I engaged in with my parents that brought the picture of what these great institutions were into full technicolor. My dad often chronicled his undergraduate days as a student at Paul Quinn College (PQC) in Waco, Texas. “Son, I was blessed—I didn’t have money, but I had a work ethic, knew how to get along with people, and understood sports. My two jobs were serving as a dormitory monitor, and driver for the PQC baseball team.” Dad’s stories about his HBCU experiences became even more meaningful when he drove me from our hometown in East Texas to Waco to enroll in graduate school at Baylor University.
Although Baylor was in physical proximity, a collection of blocks away from the Paul Quinn College campus, the campus might as well have been one million miles away given the era in which he lived. After a full day of convenings, meetings, and sessions, I was ready—at least I thought I was ready to return during the fall term to begin my graduate school experience. “Wait just 1 minute” he said. I turned and there he was standing looking at the Bear Pit. One of the highlights of visiting the Baylor campus is taking time to stop in the area between the bookstore and the Student Union to view the Bear Pit. The Bear Pit is where on occasion you might get a chance to see a bear, Baylor University’s mascot, and if you are really lucky a couple of bears—daddy, momma, and baby.
However, dad’s pause and quiet repose signaled to me that it was something deeper than a few minutes of zoological pleasure. “You know, this is really something.” I responded, “What’s that? Something?” He said, “Yes, here it is my son has been accepted and will be starting graduate school here at this University—you know when I lived here, I would come and look at the bears during my break.” I queried, “During your break?” “Yes” he said, “The only time that I was free to see parts of the campus is when I worked as a waiter for special events, and yet here it is my son is about to go for his master’s degree here…. Ain’t God good?!”
Conclusion: HBCUs, Crucibles for Reconciliation
We end just as we began, recognizing the reconciliatory foundations upon which we stand—the Historically Black College and University (HBCU) as incubator, and W.E.B. Du Bois as innovator. “One ever feels his two-ness, an American, a Negro, two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings, too many ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.” Through our SPNs, the goal to reveal how both Du Bois and HBCUs have contributed in unique ways to our collective and individual stories. The questions that we posed—How have you reconciled your individual strivings? Has the Historically Black College and University (HBCU) played a role in your reconciliation process? What Scholarly Personal Narrative (SPN) is emblematic of your reconciliation process? What Counternarrative/Counter-Story is emblematic of your reconciliation process?—were addressed through vivid narrative accounts that spoke to reconciliatory processes that foregrounded critical constructs like belonging; Black identity; gifted education, selfhood, spirituality, and theoretical frameworks. Profound is how each construct represents an identity vector that points inward to the core—the HBCU. While the HBCU provided us with the stage, and W.E.B. Du Bois with the script, we are delighted that the reader could experience our final production.
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Bios
), which helps doctoral students, doctoral programs, and graduate student organizations break down the dissertation process into manageable pieces so that doctoral students can finish their dissertations in one year (or less).