How do we make sure that Black students matter?
Let's have a really uncomfortable dialogue about retention and graduation in higher education.
Over the last ten years that I’ve been in higher education—as an undergraduate student, a PhD student, and as an employee—I have seen educators, administrators, and policymakers constantly ask some version of the following question:
How do we improve the retention and graduation rates of Black undergraduate and graduate students?
The most popular answers, as far as I can tell, tend to focus on psychological and cultural troubles. Diversity trainings are supposedly useful because they reduce individuals’ ignorance about the unique experiences, perspectives, and problems that arise for people identified as racial minorities. Efforts to increase the “representation” of Black people in senior level administrative positions and amongst the tenured faculty are supposed to be useful because Black students get a psychological benefit from having role models “who look like us,” which is a very conservative line of reasoning when you critically think about it. Diversity managers are supposed to be useful because they can reengineer the culture so that it is more “inclusive” so that Black people can feel like they “belong” in the school. Even the fashionable language of help-seeking behavior presumes and reinforces the view that Black students’ problems would be solved if they weren’t so afraid or unwilling to use the so-called “proper channels.”
I do not intend to minimize the importance of the psychological and cultural barriers to Black students’ retention and graduation. Instead, I want us to think seriously about the problems that aren’t discussed when we focus on psychological and cultural solutions. Specifically, the focus on psychology and culture tends to sidestep the economic problems that arise for Black students that pursue undergraduate and graduate degrees.
As a homeless undergraduate student at Ithaca College, for example, the diversity trainings were far less important than financial aid; the aid from the federal government and a scholarship that is called the “Martin Luther King Jr. Scholars Program” helped me pay the bills associated with tuition, housing, and any other practical needs of students. Providing uncompensated labor for various culture clubs and as the president of Student Government Association was far less important for my survival than having a variety of decent paying jobs to choose from. Having role models “who look like me” was far less important than an apartment to live on a daily basis, especially when the campus was officially closed to students during holidays and the breaks between semesters; it was far more important to have have faculty and administrators who made sure that I could supply the down-payment for housing when I started graduate school. The diversity offices weren’t as important as finding fellowships and jobs to supplement the low stipend of $20,000 to live in Boston, MA—which is obviously a bias in favor of students who come from middle class and upper-class families. Panel discussions about equity weren’t really that important when they said nothing about exploitation, unlike my graduate employees union. The “proper channels” tend to be less helpful if you want to do anything that challenges the values and interests of the most powerful and wealthy people on campus (i.e. the Board of Trustees), like the eradication of my $70,000 in student debt and better wages.
To state it plainly: the main reason why I am close to finishing my PhD in sociology, even as someone who lived in a program for homeless youth only ten years ago, is because people gave me money. If I didn’t have the money to stay in school and pay the bills, thanks to financial aid from the government and particular individuals, then the remedies for psychological and cultural issues wouldn’t even be an option.
If we really care about improving the retention and graduation rates of Black undergraduate and graduate students, we should move beyond the psychological and cultural solutions. Instead, we should do things like give Black students more money so they can survive and pay the ridiculous bills that exist for people simply trying to pursue an education. If you disagree, then let’s make the campus-climate surveys, town hall forums, and anti-racist research centers more useful by asking Black students (and all students, for that matter) whether they want more diversity trainings or more money in their bank accounts? Based on my knowledge as a Black student, sociologist, and a person who doesn’t come from a wealthy family, I would bet at least $70,000 that the vast majority of people would choose “more money.”
Cedrick-Michael Simmons is a sociologist studying racism and anti-racism in higher education, diversity management, and Racecraft (the best alternative to books like White Fragility) in the United States. In addition, Cedrick-Michael is an instructor at Ithaca College and a proud member of Class Unity. If you would like to read more from Cedrick-Michael Simmons, subscribe to his new blog titled 70,000 Mustard Seeds.
Photo credit: Brendan Smialowski/AFP via Getty Images