The problem is that such claims are largely false, and they feed popular misunderstandings of the role of HBCUs in the 21st century. The data are clear: while a small handful of HBCUs experienced a slight increase in non-black enrollment over the last decade, most HBCUs did not. In a re-segregating society, where race and economic class matter more than ever and contemporary accounts from students of color reveal chilly racial climates at predominantly white universities across the country, the future of HBCUs is most important for black Americans. Many of these students rightly view HBCUs as one of the few remaining safe spaces for black intellectual and personal development.
There are 100 HBCUs in the United States, and over 80 percent of them are four-year colleges and universities. A tiny number, however, make most of the news — think Spelman and Morehouse Colleges, Howard and Florida A&M Universities. Despite representing only 3 percent of all U.S. higher education institutions, HBCUs enroll approximately 9 percent of all black undergraduates in higher education today, including almost 11 percent of all black students attending bachelor’s degree-granting institutions.
That’s the real story. But journalists are distracted by the idea that non-black students also attend HBCUs, because that story seems to fuel the narrative of a post-racial movement in America and leads the public to believe that HBCUs are in danger of losing the unique culture that produces the “HBCU experience.”
The fact is that between 2000 and 2010, there were as many non-black students enrolled at 10 HBCUs (mostly community colleges) as were enrolled at all other four-year HBCUs combined. Fully 50 percent of all non-black students at all HBCUs attended just those 10 colleges and universities. But four-year HBCUs experienced no increase in non-black enrollment during the 2000s. In fact, three out of four public HBCUs and many HBCUs with the largest shares of non-black enrollment experienced significant decreases in non-black enrollment between 2000-2010. In other words, most HBCUs are becoming more, not less, segregated.
These facts have been presented before, yet ignored. In 2005, the Journal for Blacks in Higher Education released a report titled, The Persisting Myth That the Black Colleges Are Becoming Whiter, which received very little attention. Contrary to what today’s headlines suggest, the facts have not changed much since 2005.
It is not only important to know that most HBCU student bodies are not becoming less black, but to understand why that is OK. Even though the overwhelming majority of black college students are enrolled at predominantly white institutions, HBCUs continue to pull their (disproportionate) weight and remain the top producers of black graduates in many disciplines. They are able to produce such results because of their explicit commitment to educating black students in nurturing and supportive environments — facts that are missed on state and federal policymakers who still largely ignore and neglect HBCUs when developing higher education policies.
For examples of this, look no further than recent policies that had detrimental consequences for HBCUs, such as the change in federal Parent PLUS loans that cost many HBCUs millions of dollars in funding through steep and sudden declines in student enrollment. Many HBCUs must already deal with being persistently and significantly underfunded compared to predominantly white universities in their state, so policy changes that may be financially inconsequential to larger state institutions have far different implications on HBCU campuses. Another more extreme, yet very real, example of the genuine disinterest for HBCUs is the constant efforts of policymakers to simply get rid of HBCUs. In 2014, North Carolina legislators proposed shutting down Elizabeth City State University because it is “small” and “unprofitable,” even though it has consistently been a top performer when it comes to graduation rates among HBCUs across the country (and because that’s what public universities are supposed to be: profitable, right? Insert sarcasm.). Even the new College Scorecard ratings system proposed by the federal government has received criticism from the HBCU community for using metrics that inherently disadvantage these institutions.
These are just a few examples out of many, but it demonstrates that these attacks on HBCUs are not relics of history. Policymakers continue to regularly demonstrate their apparent disregard for HBCUs and channel their support — both financial and otherwise — to larger, predominantly white flagships despite the accomplishments of HBCUs. So until there is evidence that equitable outcomes are being achieved when it comes to access and success for black students more broadly, and until more students of color are reporting positive experiences with regard to race on predominantly white campuses, HBCUs should and will remain critical support systems for black intellectual development in the U.S. higher education system.
C. Rob Shorette II is a Ph.D. candidate at Michigan State University, a former HBCU presidential aide, and a graduate of Florida A&M University. He is also the co-editor, along with Robert Palmer and Marybeth Gasman, of a forthcoming monograph in New Directions in Higher Education, Exploring Diversity at Historically Black Colleges and Universities: Implications for Policy and Practice.
For years now, the main trend in public university policy has been to impose budgetary austerity on them. Regardless of the revenue level that universities seek or the efficiencies they announce, the result is always the same: inadequate public funding coupled with rising tuition and student debt.
On the surface, 2015 promises more of the same: more austerity, more fees, more adjuncts, more tech, more management, and more metrics— metrics as a substitute for money. Years of attacks on austerity economics by prominent critics like Paul Krugman have not damaged austerity politics, which favors some powerful interests and which has hardened into a political culture. Our public universities have been stuck in a policy deadlock that I think of as halfway privatization. This has meant the worst of both worlds: not enough tuition and endowment income to escape the perma-austerity of state legislatures, and not enough public funding to rebuild the educational core.
University officials opened with their only revenue move — a tuition hike. UC President Janet Napolitano, who had been the Democratic governor of Arizona and then President Obama’s Secretary of Homeland Security, proposed an annual 5 percent hike for UC students for each of the next five years. The state’s Democratic governor, Jerry Brown, responded by saying the hike would break an agreement in which the state is to increase California State University and University of California funding 4 to 5 percent per year on the condition that tuition stays frozen, as it had been for three years.
From there, the parties made a series of scripted points. Napolitano responded that UC couldn’t maintain academic quality with funding levels that were lower that when the recession began. The state replied that UC had more than made up for the massive cuts with its even more massive tuition increases. UC officials countered that the state’s math was wrong. An existing line was redrawn in the sand: we need more versus you have plenty. Much of the state’s top brass showed up to argue against Napolitano and the regents. Though the speeches were especially passionate, no votes were changed. The tuition hikes passed 14-7, with every politician on the board voting no.
Some editorialists were impressed that Janet Napolitano had started a new public discussion of the university’s fate, and yet the austerity script generated the standard follow-up gesture of split-the-difference. UC officials said they would rather have the state buy out the tuition increase by adding $100 million to the general fund allocation of about $3 billion. In response, Democratic leaders hatched his-and-hers halfway measures. His, from the Democratic president pro tem of the state Senate, was a full tuition hike buyout funded by a raid on the legislature’s halfway measure of last year, a “middle class scholarship” plan, plus a hike in the triple-tuition paid by non-resident students. Hers, from the Democratic speaker of the Assembly, was half a tuition buyout linked to higher teaching loads for faculty and a gesture toward “zero-base budgeting.”
Regardless of which components prevail, the austerity outcome is already programmed: not enough money to fix basic problems. The California tuition fight is about who would pay an additional $100 million, but that comes to 1.4 percent of the university’s core budget of $7 billion, and is a drop in the bucket of its $27 billion overall budget. UC also says it has a structural deficit: exact size varies, but one estimate was $2.4 billion by 2015-16. The tuition increase (or state buyout) comes to 3.3 percent of that, so that the university system would need about 25 years of such increases to close the deficit it will have next year.
UC managers and state politicians are debating mirror versions of the same austerity molecule. Either way, academic planning is ruled by insufficient funds, and quality upgrades are kicked further down the road. The university system actually needs 16 to 20 percent annual increases in funding for five years to get back on track, and yet the budget script assures that the university will neither ask for nor receive the reinvestment to do so, defined as growing at the same rate as state personal income. The tuition debate and its larger narrative aren’t about advancing public higher education but about sustaining the austerity already imposed on it. The outcome for students, year after year, is that they pay more tuition to get less education.
And yet something has happened in the last few months. The three leading players began to tire of their roles.
First, there are the university’s senior managers. Their deal was to accept austerity, but instead they were getting insolvency. They had spent every year since 2008 announcing major efficiency programs, but political leaders were never satisfied. Operated from the Office of the President in Oakland (UCOP), these programs had nine-figure savings goals, consumed immeasurable amounts of staff time, pushed expenses onto already-suffering campuses, cost the central administration most of whatever good will had remained among the rank and file, and yet still didn’t help the university.
One flagship efficiency measure, an IT centralization plan called UCPath, has missed all its time and cost milestones and is now being funded through borrowing. The most likely outcome is that the university will spend $220 million to save a net $5 million per year over a couple of decades while going into debt to do it. The university could get real savings through major structural simplification, but that would take knowledge, money, and trust that UCOP doesn’t have, and bottom-up initiative that it doesn’t support. All this efficiency programming has done little to close the deficit.
Faced with weak results and mounting unpopularity, an administrative glove or two finally came off. The university’s senior budget official used phrases like “I fundamentally disagree with the notion that tuition increases have made up for cuts”— fighting words in the deference culture that normally prevails — and appeared on multiple radio and TV shows to plead the university’s case. Political leaders can keep forcing university officials to accept their lump of coal, but the change this year is that perma-austerity has undermined their united austerity front.
As for the Board of Regents, the deal was that cooperation would maintain prestige and not produce humiliation. Board members have been very good at taking their austerity medicine — with the expectation that someday it would reward them with improved fiscal health.
One sign of health would be for the state to rescue the regents from their single biggest fiduciary mistake, which was to have stopped employer and employee contributions to UC’s retirement fund and not to have restarted them for almost 20 years. But the state’s Democrats have been as unwilling as its Republicans to fund the state share of the employer’s re-started contributions, now at 14 percent of payroll, although it has always done this for the California State University system. Since the state has also been unwilling to fund cost of living increases, the result of the restart in employee contributions was a 12 percent faculty pay cut between 2010 and 2013.
The board resembles the faculty in one way, which is its lack of political clout, and they are now angrier about this than I have ever seen them. One regent described the state’s relation to higher education funding as “breach of contract,” and this was just one of many expressions of frustration and disgust. Cost-free complicity between the university board and state leaders has come to an end in California. Its days may be numbered elsewhere.
The third major player is the undergraduate student body, for whom the deal was to pay more for the same, not to pay more for less. Worried about jobs and skills, they have started to zero in on declines in educational quality. As part of the tuition hike debate, Caitlin Quinn, a student government leader at UC Berkeley, said, students “aren’t seeing this supposed quality education. I've been [at UC Berkeley] for three years and ever since I've been here students have been struggling to see the value of a UC education. We’re in huge classes. I’ve been in classes as big as 800 people. I don't think there's more than one or two professors who know me by name.” Students increasingly doubt that public universities can give them the individual attention they need to build the special capabilities now required by a permanently demanding job market.
As a result, UC students were as disgusted with the austerity Democrats who opposed tuition hikes as they were with the UC officials who proposed them. The tone was nicely captured by a UCLA Daily Bruineditorial that began, “State Senate Democrats say they ‘stand with California’s students and their families’ with their new proposal for funding the University of California.... But this is an outright lie.”
Students were now calling not just for flat tuition but also for the public reinvestment that would rebuild quality. They were clear that no decision-maker was offering this. There was a new multilateral hostility to all of the solutions proposed by the university and the political establishment — a pox on all your houses! Events this past fall began to decouple mainstream students from the mainstream policy options in a way the country hasn’t seen since the 60s.
The weakening of higher ed's austerity front reflects the weakening of Democratic fiscal politics. For years, Democrats called for inclusive progress without paying for it through the taxation levels of the high-growth postwar economy. This has helped them to hang onto wealthy liberal donors and the progressive upper-middle class, but lost them the confidence of most working people. Their “politics of drift” allowed them to coast along with Republicans on the investments of the past, even as the freeways, laboratories, electrical grid, and everything else aged and declined.
By 2000, the country no longer had the world-leading pubic infrastructure that would sustain the inclusive economy Democrats still said they wanted. Public research universities were primary victims of their austerity drift. Austerity Democrats have been as invested as Republicans in the fantasy that prosperity’s infrastructure didn’t need high levels of investment, just more techno-efficiency that somehow needed no investment itself.
Although austerity theory still rules public colleges, three of its major players no longer project future benefit from following their scripted roles: cutting and squeezing (administration), political compliance (governing boards), and tolerance for higher tuition and debt (students). It has become clear to them that these austerity policies will never make things better.
The decline of austerity’s political coalition offers a second chance to two other parties. One is the body of university faculty, whose senate voices have largely echoed those of their administrations. The other consists of the families of college students, who are poorly organized and have not held politicians accountable for their destructive cuts. Each has a crucial piece of the puzzle. Educational quality can’t be defined and pursued without the faculty. The full impact of student debt can’t be understood without the families who, through mechanisms like Parent PLUS loans, are now indebted for college along with their children.
Were these groups to push for real public reinvestment, they would face weaker opposition from the austerity coalition than they would have faced in the past. A strong push would make 2015 the year that the country finally started to rebuild its public universities and colleges.
Christopher Newfield is professor of literature and American studies at the University of California at Santa Barbara.
On September 9, a breast cancer diagnosis shattered my plans for the new academic year. At the moment I heard the words spoken by the radiologist, my vision of the future simply dissolved. Later in the day, as my surgeon described the treatment plan, I was thinking about how it would affect me, my family, and my work at Simmons College. With barely any time to consider it, I made the instinctive decision to live my new future publicly, sharing my experience with the Simmons students, professors and staff in a real-time fashion. I am convinced this was the right decision for me.
Why I arrived at that conclusion so quickly is, I think, self-evident: I am president of a university that has an all-women's undergraduate college, graduate schools serving women and men, and a culture that emphasizes gender equality and celebrates diversity and inclusion. In this environment, how could I imagine maintaining a leadership role while combating a challenging disease in secret? Further, how could I not share my new and evolving learning about an affliction that affects 12 percent of the women in the United States? I could not. I would live this battle publicly.
Each week, I write to the Simmons community about things that are on my mind; it has become the natural way to share my breast cancer journey, and I have found the response to be overwhelmingly supportive. If I had a moment's hesitation over my decision to go public, it faded quickly once I recognized the opportunity to reassure my community that it is possible to contend with a challenging diagnosis and to continue meaningful work, as have many before me. I hope that by writing candidly, I can help make a difference for those who may be experiencing similar challenges.
As the semester moved along, I tried to keep the same robust schedule I’ve always maintained with a few modifications for my treatment. For example, many people are shocked to find themselves scheduled in a meeting with me the day after chemo. It’s two to four days after these treatments that become challenging for me because the steroids in my system are wearing off. Through the generosity of the college’s trustees, I am now driven to work and to my daily professional appointments. It was difficult for me to accept such support given how much I value self-reliance, but not having to personally drive has made a huge difference in my ability to maintain my working schedule.
One aspect of my treatment that I find particularly difficult is the requirement that I avoid large groups because of my weakened immune system. For a college president who regularly meets with students, faculty, alumni, staff, community members, and donors, this was a tough change. However, there is really no way to get around this important requirement. I have had to make adjustments such as canceling my annual fall community meeting and missing the annual faculty and staff holiday party.
A cancer diagnosis of any kind constitutes an unspeakable event for many people. There is no escaping the facts: cancer affects one in two American men and one in three American women, according to the American Cancer Society. Changing societal attitudes about cancer so that we talk about it in honest and authentic terms and arm ourselves with knowledge can only help us in dealing with the No. 2 cause of death in the United States.
Fear of breast cancer plagues patients, survivors and women who do not have the disease. Even women who acknowledge knowing that heart disease is the number one cause of death in the United States fear that they will most likely die from breast cancer. Such fear too often leads to avoidance of screening or even seeing a physician for self-identified symptoms, creating great risk of more serious disease.
I have generally shared these fears, particularly as I visited the Avon Foundation Comprehensive Breast Evaluation Center at Massachusetts General Hospital (MGH) every year for several decades for my annual mammogram. Many who participate in this important test will say that the waiting room is a quiet and sober place. All of us know why: Most of us will leave with a clean bill of health, while others require further review. This year I was in the second group, and while the anticipation was terrifying, it prepared me for my important learning that putting my life before my fear was the best way for me to handle the fear.
During diagnosis, surgery, and now chemotherapy, I have seen that my single greatest source of fear is lack of any sense of understanding or control over what will happen. My response has been to be as engaged a patient as I can be while soliciting as much information about my treatment from my care team as I can handle. Facing the fear head-on is empowering, oddly enough, and finding role models who have done so in any circumstance has been especially helpful. When I write about my experiences with breast cancer, I try to be as explicit as possible about how I am dealing with the fears associated both with the disease and the treatment.
In addition to the fear factor, I have observed what I consider is the diabolical confusion in the marketplace about the efficacy of mammography screening. The American Cancer Society advises annual mammograms for all women age 40 and over, while the United States Preventative Task Force (USPTF) a government agency, recommends biennial mammography after age 50 until age 74. In addition to confusion, this government advice opens the door to changes in reimbursement for testing done outside guidelines, particularly worrisome as we consider the ongoing national concerns about health care affordability.
Daniel Kopans, a physician at MGH, has been a particularly committed advocate for mammography in the face of this confusion, and cites both the poor quality of the Canadian studies, which are the basis for the USPTF guidelines, and the lack of media attention to the new Canadian studies, which demonstrate results supporting the value of mammography. As a woman who clearly benefited from annual mammography, I think anything less is a disservice to all of us.
My primary care physician has steadfastly advised me to have annual mammograms over the course of our 20-year relationship, and I have never missed one. All previous tests revealed nothing abnormal, but in the fall, the test revealed a stage 1, grade 3 tumor. Stage 1 is an early finding of a tumor less than 2 centimeters in size, while a grade 3 tumor is the most aggressive kind of tumor. Had I delayed this mammogram, the progress of the disease was inevitable. My story is the classic scenario in support of annual mammograms. However, women in the United States face great confusion due to significant differences in the recommendations of key advisers.
My battle with breast cancer is now fully engaged, and I am committed to all aspects of the fight – surgery, chemotherapy, radiation and long-term medication – and to doing everything in my power to defeat this disease. One of the unexpected gifts of this experience is that I see life with more clarity and in a more intense light than ever before and I feel a sense of urgency in everything that I do – for myself, for my family, for the college. We just need to get on with it – face our challenges squarely and make every minute count. There is no time to waste.
I trust that by sharing my experiences with those in the Simmons College community, I can help them face the challenges in their lives, too, whatever those are, and inspire them to engage their own challenges with tenacity.
The Lumina Foundation and Indiana University’s Center for Postsecondary Education will be taking over the important Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education, from the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. Lumina announced that its Degree Qualifications Profile (DQP) will inform the 2015 edition of the classification. This development is yet another step away from the original intent of the classification -- to provide an objective and easy-to-understand categorization of American postsecondary institutions.
In recent years, the Carnegie Foundation made its categories more complex: in part to suit the foundation’s specific policy orientations at the time, and in part to reflect the increased complexity of higher education institutions. As a result, the classification became less useful as an easy yet reasonably accurate and objective way to understand the shape of the system, and the roles of more than 4,500 individual postsecondary institutions.
Among the great advantages of the original classification were its simplicity and its objectivity, and the fact that it did not rank institutions but rather put them into recognizable categories. Unlike the U.S. News and World Report and other rankings, the Carnegie Classification did not use reputational measures—asking academics and administrators to rank competing colleges and universities. It relied entirely on objective data.
It is not clear how the classification’s new sponsors will change its basic orientation, and its new director says that the 2015 version will not be fundamentally altered. Yet, given Lumina’s strong emphasis on access, equity, and degree completion, as well as designing a new national credential framework — highly laudable goals of course — it is likely that the classification in the longer term will be shaped to be aligned with Lumina’s policy agenda, as it was more subtly changed in its later Carnegie years.
The original Carnegie Classification contributed immensely to clarifying the role of postsecondary institutions and made it possible for policy-makers as well as individuals in the United States and abroad to basically understand the American higher education landscape as a whole and see where each institution fit in it. The classification was also quite useful internationally — it provided a roadmap to America’s many kinds of academic institutions. An overseas institution interested in working with a research university, a community college, or a drama school could easily locate a suitable partner. We are likely to lose this valuable resource.
A Historical Perspective
The classification dates back to 1973, when the legendary Clark Kerr, having devised the California Master Plan a decade earlier and leading the Carnegie Commission on Higher Education, wanted to get a sense of America’s diverse and at the time rapidly expanding higher education landscape. The original classification broadly resembled Kerr’s vision of a differentiated higher education system, with different kinds of institutions serving varied goals, needs, and constituencies. It included only five categories of institutions — doctoral granting, comprehensive universities and colleges, liberal arts colleges, two-year colleges and institutes, and professional schools and other specialized institutions, along with several subcategories.
Because the classification was the first effort to categorize the system, it quickly became influential — policy-makers valued an objective data based categorization of institutions and academic leaders found it useful to understand where their own institutions fit. The classification had the advantage of simplicity, and its sponsor was trusted as neutral. Although the classification was not a ranking — it listed institutions by category in alphabetical order, many came to see it in competitive terms. Some universities wanted to join the ranks of the subcategory of “research university–I,” those institutions that had the largest research budgets and offered the most doctoral degrees — and were overjoyed when their institution was listed in that category. Similarly, the most selective liberal arts colleges were in “liberal arts colleges–I,” and many wanted to join that group. Over time, the classification became a kind of informal measure, if not of rank, at least of academic status.
Fiddling and Changing
The classification’s categories and methodology remained quite stable over several decades of major transformation in American higher education. In 2005, with new leadership at the Carnegie Foundation, major changes were introduced. Foundation leaders argued that the realities of American higher education required rethinking the methodology. It is also likely that the foundation’s focus changed and it wanted to shape the classification to serve its new orientation and support its policy foci. The foundation revised the basic classification, added new categories such as instructional programs, student enrollment profiles, and others. The classification became significantly more complex, and over time became less influential. People found that the new categories confused the basic purpose of the classification and introduced variable that did not seem entirely relevant. The basic simplicity was compromised. Indeed, people still refer to “Carnegie Research 1” (top research universities) even though they have not existed in the Carnegie lexicon for two decades.
There may well be more fiddling — the U.S. federal government’s desire to rank postsecondary institutions by cost and degree completion rates may add a further dimension to the enterprise. A further dilemma is the role of the for-profit higher education sector — these entities are fundamentally different in their orientations and management from traditional non-profit institutions — so also are the new online degree providers. Should these new additions to the higher education landscape be included in the classification? These elements will contribute to “classification creep” — a bad idea.
What Is Really Needed
It is surprising that, in the four decades since Clark Kerr conceptualized the Carnegie Classification, no one has stepped forward to provide a clear and reasonably objective and comprehensive guide to the more than 4,500 postsecondary institutions in the United States. Resurrecting the basic purpose and organization of Kerr’s original Carnegie Classification is not rocket science, nor would it be extraordinarily expensive.
It is of course true that the postsecondary education has become more complex. How would one deal with the for-profit sector? Probably by adding a special category for them. Many community colleges now offer four-year bachelors degrees, but their basic purpose and organization has not essentially changed. There are a larger number of specialized institutions, and many colleges and universities have expanded and diversified their degree and other offerings. Technology has to some extent become part of teaching programs of some postsecondary institutions — and the MOOC revolution continues to unfold. Research productivity has grown dramatically, and research is reported in more ways. Intellectual property of all kinds has become more central to the academic enterprise — at least in the research university sector.
Yet, the basic elements of the original classification — those that help to determine the main purposes and functions of postsecondary institutions — remain largely unchanged, if somewhat more complicated to describe. The key metrics are clear enough:
Types of degrees offered
Number of faculty, full-time and part-time
Income from research and intellectual property
Internationalization as measured by student mobility.
A few more might be added — but again, simplicity is the watchword.
The types of institutions — six main and eight major subcategories — seem about right. These might be expanded somewhat to accommodate the growth in complexity and diversity of the system. Later iterations confusingly expanded the categories, in part to reflect the policy and philosophical orientations of the foundation. The basic purpose of the classification will be best served by keeping the institutional typology as simple and straightforward as possible.
While it is clear that these metrics may not provide a sophisticated or complete measure of each institution — and they require additional definitions — they will provide basic information that will make reasonably categorization possible. They lack the philosophical and policy orientations that have crept into the Carnegie Classification in recent years, and return the enterprise to its original purpose — describing the richness, diversity, and complexity of the American higher education landscape.
Philip G. Altbach is research professor and director of the Center for International Higher Education at Boston College.