This past week, Morehouse College, a historically black, all-male college, instituted a dress code, which details what students should wear to various college functions and activities and what they should not. The items that are not allowed include: caps, do-rags, and hoods in the classrooms, cafeteria and indoors; sun glasses and grillz; clothing with lewd comments; sagging pants and pajamas in public; and women’s clothing and accessories.
Morehouse students have had mixed reactions to the new policies. Some students feel that these rules hinder their freedom of speech and expression – as adults, they should be able to wear what they want when they want. Other students think the policy is long overdue. When you are admitted to Morehouse, they feel, you become a Morehouse man and follow in a long tradition of great African American men such as civil rights leaders Martin Luther King Jr. and Julian Bond or national health leaders Louis W. Sullivan and David Satcher. This kind of legacy requires dressing and carrying oneself in a professional way.
Last year, my colleague Shaun Harper and I wrote an article published in the Journal of Negro Education entitled “The Consequences of Conservatism at Historically Black Colleges and Universities.” Ironically, much of the article focused on campus dress codes at black colleges. As part of our research, we reviewed the dress codes at all of the black colleges in the United States. We found similar dress codes to the one instituted at Morehouse and we called these codes into question as scholars typically do. We wondered what kind of impact conservative dress codes would have on the individual autonomy of students and argued that these often puritanical codes are part of a long history of black colleges compensating for negative views by white society of black people.
However, as I think about the new Morehouse dress code, I am reminded that much of America (read: white America) does not see African Americans as individuals. If a young white male dresses in pajamas or saggy pants, and a lewd t-shirt on a predominantly white campus, he is seen neither as a representative of his race nor his campus. And let’s be honest, anyone who visits campuses these days, including some of the most prestigious in the country, will see many white male students displaying more of their underwear than most of us want to see, wearing caps inside, and displaying crude T-shirts. But when a young black male wears saggy pants, pajamas, or a do-rag, many Americans see him as a representative of all black America (and in this case, Morehouse College). The stakes are higher for black men because of American racism. The stakes are higher for Morehouse College as well.
There are those who argue that when one gains admission to a college, one signs up for the rules of that college – to be a Morehouse man in this case. There are others who claim that more learning takes place when we take decisions about clothing and fashion out of students’ hands. For me, the most convincing argument is made by those who want to change the nation’s perceptions of young black men and it seems that Morehouse College is making this argument. The institution’s president wants the students to dress like professional men because he wants them to become professional men.
When I first saw the dress code, I immediately forwarded it to a good friend who graduated from Morehouse about 20 years ago. He was happy to see the code and responded that with regard to Morehouse, “Many are called but few are chosen” – reminding me that Morehouse was a standard setter, not a trend follower.
Yet, it does seem like there could be a middle ground. Perhaps when attending school functions and classes, these young men could be expected to dress professionally but in their personal time, they could be free to express their individuality – seems like that is what most adults do once they are in the “real world.” But then again, the stakes are higher for the young, black men at Morehouse, aren’t they?
One of the most controversial aspects of the dress code is the banning of women’s clothing and garb. Even though the Morehouse administration consulted the college’s gay students group and the majority of these students voted in favor of the rules, including the ban on women’s garb, this rule may give some pause. I am not an expert on this topic, but I do wonder what will happen if a Morehouse man wants to become a Morehouse woman? What happens to the transgender Morehouse man? Does he go to another college or stay at Morehouse? I don’t have the answer, but I think the Morehouse dress code raises some important questions about race, sexuality, and masculinity that we in higher education should tackle head on and hesitate to avoid. As my friend said, Morehouse College is a standard setter and has the opportunity to be out in front on discussing these issues.
By raising issues about cross-dressing and dress and appearance generally, Morehouse is forcing discussions and more thought about the way society views black men. And Morehouse is making sure that its black men – who already defy stereotypes with their ambition and intelligence – will do so with their attire as well.
I came to Howard University in 1972 because of two people who had substantial impact on my career aspirations. My grandmother lived outside a small town in Alabama -- quite a distance from New York City, where I grew up, so I only saw her a few times when I was a child. But somehow she instilled a profound notion in my small brain: to become "a credit to my race" -- an ambition that was commonly encouraged back then. My mother's oldest brother, the patriarch of our extended family, was my "Uncle Doc"; but in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, he was "Doc Cromwell," a highly-respected member of the black community. He was a successful dentist/entrepreneur who had graduated from Howard University's School of Dentistry. His success convinced me that I could also succeed.
By the time I was 17, I knew that I wanted to become a college professor; and by the time I completed my doctoral courses at Harvard University, I knew that I wanted to teach black students. Back then, it seemed to me that historically black colleges and universities, or HBCUs, provided the best opportunities to pursue this goal. My uncle's influence focused my attention on Howard.
Like the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Dr. Mordecai Wyatt Johnson, the first black president of Howard University (from 1926 till 1960), had a dream. He dreamed that Howard could recruit talented black students from the smallest backwater towns in the Deep South or from the most dismal inner-city neighborhoods of the Northeast -- students who might have significant academic shortcomings. Through the brilliance of our teaching we would provide these diamonds in the rough with an excellent education that would enable them to graduate in four years and enjoy successful careers thereafter. Arriving at Howard in 1972, I was not indoctrinated by President Johnson himself, but by successors who subscribed to a more pragmatic version of his dream. If students lacked academic prerequisites and/or had financial problems, they might need five years to graduate while working part-time jobs; but certainly the vast majority of our serious students would complete their studies in six years. Graduate students might also need one or two more years than was normally required to complete their programs.
From 1972 until 1988, while I was a full-time classroom instructor, I was firmly committed to this amended vision and I was proud of the fact that most of the students in my department did, in fact, graduate more or less on time and enjoyed considerable success after graduation. And in my capacity as editor of the Gateway to HBCUs website since 1995, I have come to understand that most, if not all HBCUs embraced some version of Dr. Johnson's dream. As HBCUs, it was our raison d'etre, our most impressive claim to fame.
I did not come to Howard nor did I stay at Howard all of these years because it was one of the nation's premier research universities. Indeed, I am deeply offended by suggestions that Howard's lack of the stellar research record of a Stanford or a Harvard invalidates the powerful vision that generated so many extraordinary contributions to our nation and to the world in years past. I came to Howard and I have remained at Howard because of my abiding commitment to the education of black students. This was my personal "ministry" and I have gained immense personal satisfaction from its pursuit.
But in recent years I have been troubled by the realization that, were I a much younger version of myself today and had a newly minted Ph.D. from Harvard, Stanford, or some other comparably-esteemed university, I might not choose to teach at Howard or at any other HBCU. Why? Because the historic tenet that HBCUs provided the best opportunities for teaching black students has become a debatable proposition, not just because of the desegregation of non-HBCUs, but because most HBCUs have not adapted their historic missions to the changing circumstances of today's academic environment. In other words, I have become concerned that Mordecai's dream is in serious jeopardy.
If the nation's non-HBCUs were doing a satisfactory job in educating African American students, there would be no need for HBCUs. Unfortunately, the graduation rates for African Americans at all but the most selective non-HBCUs remain substantially lower than the graduation rates for white and Asian American students. In other words, almost 60 years after African Americans entered the mainstream of U.S. higher education, the results have been far less satisfactory than we hoped. Closing the gaps between the academic achievements of African American students and their white and Asian American peers is taking much longer than we expected. Why?
Accordingly, in the desegregated New Millennium, all of the nation's colleges and universities are challenged to become more effective educators of the nation's black students; hence all must embrace some version of Mordecai's dream. The following paragraphs present a version of the dream that I developed over the course of the last six months while providing technical support for a comprehensive academic renewal process at Howard.
It's time to leave the "historical" HBCUs to history. Whereas back in the early 1970s, over 80 percent of African American college students still attended HBCUs, not even 20 percent do so today; and the long-term trend is further downward. In other words, the days in which HBCUs were the largest suppliers of postsecondary educational opportunities for African Americans are over. Given the magnitude of the new challenges, the nation would be well advised to stimulate the development of a number of innovative institutions which, for now, I will call "BCUs.” Their core mission would have two components, the first of which would be to develop, demonstrate, and disseminate more effective methods for educating the nation's African American students.Please note that the following paragraphs propose specifications for BCUs that are already met in whole or in part by many existing HBCUs, but their core missions are different.
Development and transfer of more effective teaching methods (core mission). BCUs would provide leadership for other colleges and universities by conducting research that identified more effective methods for teaching black students; by their success in using their findings; and by their subsequent efforts to disseminate their innovations throughout the U.S. system of higher education via publications, conferences, training programs, etc.
Racially diverse student body. While black enrollments at BCUs might be higher than at non-BCUs, the effectiveness of BCUs as leaders of non-BCUs would be undermined if BCUs had black enrollments that were substantially higher than 50 percent. Methods that only worked in predominantly black environments (if such methods exist) could not be adopted by non-BCUs.
Racially diverse faculty. Most of the faculty at non-BCUs are not black, so innovations that only enhanced the performance of black students if they were carried out by black instructors could not be adopted by non-BCUs. This can't be a "black thing." Furthermore, in STEM fields -- science, technology, engineering, and mathematics -- this ideal becomes an inescapable reality. The persistence of the Digital Divide guarantees that BCUs would be hard pressed to hire all-black faculty in STEM even if they wanted to. Fortunately, non-black academics who are devoted to providing better educational opportunities for black students have always been available. Since my arrival at Howard in 1972, I have had the pleasure of working with many dedicated, non-black professors who shared my "ministry." And one more thing: being black may provide black instructors with an initial edge, but it certainly does not confer a lifelong monopoly on insights as to how to teach black students more effectively.
Gender balance in enrollments, retention, and graduation. The loss of black males at every level of our school system is a national catastrophe ... and white males are also fading. Therefore, BCUs would be charged with conducting research whose findings would enable them to recruit entering classes (and transfers) that were more or less 50 percent male regardless of race; to retain males at high levels regardless of race; and to graduate male students at more or less the same rate as female students, again regardless of race.
Racially diverse administration. In the New Millennium even the smallest college or university becomes a complex institution whose conflicting obligations to its faculty, staff, students, and alumni; its donors and creditors; and its federal, state, and local regulators require comparably complex managerial skills that have no demonstrable relationship to a manager's race. Therefore I submit that it would be counterproductive to insist that a BCU's management -- i.e., its president, provost, deans and chairs -- be predominantly black. Just as being black does not give black instructors a monopoly on insights as to how to teach black students more effectively, I can't see how being black confers superior managerial insights. The primary qualifications should be proven skills as academic leaders and the capacity to fully commit to the defining mission of the BCU.
Undergraduate STEM programs. One of the most pernicious manifestations of the persistence of racism in our society is embodied in the phenomenon called "stereotype threat" wherein black students (and members of other groups afflicted by prejudice) underperform whenever they perceive (rightly or wrongly) that other people expect them to do poorly just because they are black. Not only do black students underperform, they also tend to avoid stereotype threat situations by changing majors and/or by not seeking careers in fields wherein they think that they might be more likely to encounter stereotype threat. Needless to say, stereotype threat is strongest in STEM fields. Consequently, BCUs must focus considerable energies on developing more effective methods for teaching STEM subjects to black students.
Two-year and four-year BCUs. It's not enough for BCUs to provide a better education for their own black students; they must also determine why they were more effective and which factors were most significant. Answers to these questions will be obtained through multi-year research projects that employ sophisticated statistical assessment procedures. Although the faculty at most two-year and four-year colleges don't have the time or the technical expertise to conduct such research, two-year and four-year BCUs can finesse both shortfalls by entering into strategic partnerships with university-level BCUs.
Continuing education and distance learning. As information technology accelerates innovation throughout all sectors of our society, everybody will have to go back to school from time to time. Therefore BCUs would also run programs for non-traditional students, i.e., older students whose family and/or work obligations preclude their enrolling in courses that meet during daytime hours on weekdays -- in other words, students who have to take courses on evenings and weekends or via distance learning.
Research initiatives and related graduate programs (core mission). Repeated mention has been made of BCU research designed to identify more effective methods for teaching African American students. The second component of a BCU's mission would be its commitment to conducting high-quality research on issues that have disproportionately negative impact on African Americans and on other peoples of color in Africa and throughout the African Diaspora. BCUs would also offer masters and Ph.D. programs whose students would learn how to extend or apply this research. Some examples of these “real world” research issues are noted below:
Dysfunctional urban school systems, especially as they impact underperforming black males.
Hypertension, obesity, diabetes, drug addiction, AIDS, and other health problems related to diet and lifestyle that have disproportionate impacts on black communities.
Environmental impact of toxic waste disposal.
Development and transfer of low cost technologies for housing, water purification, and energy (wind, solar, etc).
Recovery from earthquakes, floods, and other catastrophes whose negative impact on poor communities is exacerbated by inadequate infrastructures -- e.g. New Orleans and Haiti.
On a personal note with regard to the last example, I was recently gratified to learn that one of my former graduate students provided tangible relief to the victims of the Haitian earthquake (January 2010) via the low-cost, solar-powered bakeries that she had organized in the hill country outside of the earthquake's epicenter. So while I was watching the depressing video clips like millions of other sympathetic but ineffectual TV tourists, she was in thick of things, feeding 1500 earthquake victims per week! Wouldn't it be great if BCUs became THE "go to" sources of expertise that provided reliable relief whenever such "catastrophes of color" occurred?
Given these core components, which HBCUs will evolve into BCUs? How many other MSIs ("minority-serving institutions") will elect to do so? And how many of the highly profitable for-profit universities that have been so successful in their recent efforts to recruit African American students -- e.g., Phoenix, Kaplan, Strayer, and DeVry -- will see the long-term profit opportunities to be gained from the know-how they might derive from sponsoring successful BCUs? Given the magnitude of the challenges, I submit that the nation should actively encourage the emergence of high-quality BCUs within each of these groups.
Roy L. Beasley
Roy L. Beasley is academic systems analyst in the Office of the Provost at Howard University.
My first year as an undergraduate at Jackson State University was in the wake of the 1992 landmark FordiceSupreme Court decision. Almost 20 years ago I marched in a demonstration to oppose merging Mississippi’s public universities as a way to desegregate enrollment. With firm resistance that initiative dissolved. Since that time proposals for institutional mergers that combine public historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) with traditionally white state institutions occasionally pop up like unwanted weeds in a landscape that is already difficult to maintain.
In the most recent case, Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal proposed a merger that would have combined Southern University at New Orleans (SUNO), which is an HBCU, with traditionally white University of New Orleans. Soon after, the governor yielded to an independent study commissioned by his office that recommended changing the governance structure of public institutions in a way that would remove SUNO from the larger, historically black Southern University System. Aside from the historical and sociopolitical turbulence this created, the proposed legislation has very little to do with solving the problems of public higher education in Louisiana.
With the help of the Louisiana Legislative Black Caucus and others, Southern University supporters won a tough political chess match last week, defeating the measure. Some feared that this kind of merger in Louisiana, if successful, would somehow set a precedent putting public HBCUs in other states at risk. The context for these conversations must be reframed. HBCUs are not "at-risk." Instead, this case reminds us that their success is becoming ever more important for meeting the educational demands of their respective states. The signal for HBCU leaders to observe is that even in pursuing their mission HBCUs are not exempt from this environment of accountability.
According to some estimates the nation will need to produce a million new degree holders each year for the next decade in order to meet workforce demands and to remain globally competitive. The public institutions that serve greater New Orleans (the University of New Orleans, SUNO, and Delgado Community College) each rank dead last among their national peers when comparing graduation rates. None of these institutions graduate more than 21 percent of their students as calculated by the federal government. Just 2 percent of students who begin at Delgado Community College complete or transfer within three years. This is the issue that Governor Jindal (a former president of the University of Louisiana System) is trying to alleviate. There is virtue in trying to reform an underperforming higher education system, but equally important is our newfound national (and local) understanding of the economic importance of having better-educated citizens.
No one could disagree about the need to pay closer attention to improving the outcomes for students attending college in the New Orleans area. The problem is that proposals to merge HBCUs create unnecessary political hurdles and have little promise of actually improving outcomes. I liken it to bowling down the wrong lane and then getting a split. There is virtually no evidence that these kinds of mergers, born from business models, actually produce better student outcomes. And, any potential savings from combining a few administrative functions have not been associated with institutional effectiveness. A lot of time, energy, resources, and political currency have been expended on both sides of the debate and none of it has been leveraged to actually improve student success in the state.
An old friend and colleague always warns about the usefulness of arguing over seats on the Titanic. I am in no way comparing Louisiana’s higher education system to the Titanic, but I do question the focus and value of the current debate. Instead of quarreling about who should control underperforming institutions, it is worth considering what might be accomplished if Louisianans netted the energy expended over the last six months to focus intensely on student success. One could argue that no matter where the votes fell on the bills, once the political dust settles little will change this fall for the students trying really hard to pass college algebra or those seeking the financial aid they need to persist towards a degree.
For example, the 2009-2010 Louisiana budget projected $129 million dollars in appropriations for the merit-based Taylor Opportunity Programs for Students (TOPS) attending public institutions versus just $29 million for need-based grants to help low-income students pay for college. According to the state’s office of budget and planning, the LSU system, which enrolls the fewest poor and minority students among Louisiana’s public institutions, received the largest appropriation from the state ($1.49 billion). This was nearly $500 million more than the University of Louisiana System, Southern University System, and the Community College System combined, which collectively serve 100,000 more students. These seem to be better legislative priorities if the goal is improving college completion.
For the last three months I have been peppered with questions, from all angles, about the righteousness of merging HBCUs with traditionally white institutions. To be clear, I have consistently argued that it is generally a bad idea followed by the specifics given the context or particular question. HBCUs are a critically important sector of higher education. They enrich institutional diversity, which is hallmark of American higher education, and still disproportionately produce African American graduates, especially much-needed teachers, those earning degrees in the STEM fields, and those who enroll in graduate programs. HBCUs are not the problem, and the framing of this policy debate is all wrong.
According to a recent report by the American Council on Education, Louisiana is the only state in the union that experienced a decline between 2002 and 2007 in the percentage of minority students enrolled in college. Meanwhile, minority students now constitute the majority of K-12 students in public schools in the South. Neighboring states like Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi and Alabama all experienced double digit-gains in minority student college enrollment during the same years.
Given this context, I wince when I see HBCU leaders and supporters working hard to validate their existence or to protect their institutions, which diverts their focus on serving students. In the same way, I am disappointed when legislators who should be finding ways to support institutions that serve high percentages of poor and minority students advance bills aimed at merging them — a pseudo-solution to the real problems.
Yes, we should hold institutions accountable for graduating students. Regulators will have it no other way in this era of accountability in higher education. Still, legislative measures intended to improve performance must consider the contextual factors and policy actions that are more likely to promote success. The institutions committed to serving the neediest students receive the fewest resources from the state. This represents what I call policy incongruence, which should be on the governor’s list of priorities, not mergers. Reorganizing institutions that will have the same faculty, the same students, the same academic programs, and disproportionate funding makes little sense especially when precious time and resources are spent arguing about how to do it.
The latest e-mail alert I received warned that the political battle in Louisiana is not yet over. The Louisiana legislative session does not end until June 23. A series of amendments, hearings, and legislative sessions are expected to continue. For the sake of the students in the Bayou, I am hoping that they soon become the true focus of debate.
James T. Minor
James T. Minor is director of higher education programs at the Southern Education Foundation.