Huey Would’ve Asked: Are HBCUs Really Serving Black Men?

 

The Panthers didn’t wait for permission—they built what our people needed. Free breakfast programs. Health clinics. Liberation schools. They didn’t ask anyone to validate their vision. They created it.

Huey P. Newton wasn’t just theorizing in lecture halls—he was building infrastructure in the streets. He understood that real power isn’t granted. It’s claimed.

“We must create our own institutions that serve our needs and reflect our values. This is not just resistance—it’s revolution.”
—Huey P. Newton

So let’s talk about what Huey might say today—about a truth that should stop us in our tracks:

Black male enrollment at HBCUs is at its lowest level in over 50 years.

Read that again. And feel the weight of it.

Howard. Florida A&M. North Carolina A&T. These institutions were built to affirm us, to launch us, to pour back into us. And yet, today, on many of these campuses, only 1 in 4 students is a Black man. In some cases, non-Black students make up nearly the same share of enrollment.

So we have to ask—if these schools are no longer reaching, welcoming, or retaining Black men, are they still serving the mission we built them for?

That’s not a rhetorical question.
That’s a generational one.

Because if the house we built no longer has room for our sons, are we calling it home out of tradition, or out of truth?

Huey Warned Us

“Always, the rulers of an order… have employed what to them seemed to be the most optimal and efficient means of maintaining unquestioned social and economic advantage.”

Translation?

Sometimes the system doesn’t show up in a uniform.
It shows up in curriculum.
In policy.
In leadership that looks like us but doesn’t build for us.

This isn’t an anti-HBCU message.
It’s a call-in. And it’s personal.

My Story

So I stayed in California. I attended a local state university. Found a strong Black community there. It wasn’t Howard, but it was mine. And I know I’m not alone.

In my book Beyond Grit & Resilience, I wrote about the Black Academic Trauma Tax—the emotional cost we pay just to show up in academic and professional spaces. That tax starts long before college. By the time we reach higher education, many of us are already exhausted. Already doubting, already bracing ourselves to be misunderstood.

And even when we get in, the fight doesn’t stop.

What They Told Me

What I’ve heard, over and over again, is this:

“I didn’t feel like I belonged.”

“The classrooms didn’t speak to me.”

“Everything felt soft, performative, or anti-masculine.”

“I wasn’t learning to lead—I was learning to shrink.”

Many said they felt more empowered working, hustling, or building something outside the classroom than they did inside it.

And honestly? I get it.

When I was an undergrad, I carried 20 units, worked two jobs, and released a book. Not for clout—but because I had to. That was the grind. Not for prestige—for survival.

That’s why I wrote a completely free pamphlet, Stop Hustling Backwards, some years back. Not as a pep talk, but as a toolkit for brothers navigating campuses that don’t know how to hold us. I laid out how to budget, how to find mentors, how to protect your mental health, and how to stay grounded in your “why.”

But here’s the truth: none of that matters if Black men don’t even see college itself as a space worth entering.

So Let’s Talk Plain

It’s not the only path.
But it can be a launchpad.
It can be a platform.
It can be a place to train, to grow, to network, to create—if it’s built with you in mind. When it is not built for you, then you have to take it.

Right now, most of our educational structures were not built for us. That’s not on us. But what is on us is what we do next.

“The oppressor will never educate the oppressed to overthrow them. That is our job.”
—Huey P. Newton

Systemic Recommendations

• Start early. Build recruitment pipelines beginning in middle school, not senior year.

• Make it affordable. Financial aid should match the actual lives of low-income Black boys.

• Hire wisely. Staff and faculty should understand Black male identity—not just in theory, but through lived experience.

• Design safe and strong spaces. Don’t pathologize Black masculinity—make space for healthy forms of it.

• Offer mental health resources rooted in real trauma, not low expectations.

• Teach mastery with meaning. The curriculum must center on both skill and self-worth.

Agentic Recommendations

• Own your “why”. Before you enroll, get clear on why you're doing it. Write it down. Revisit it when things get hard.

• Redefine the grind. Working three jobs and burning out isn’t the flex. Build systems that sustain you. Protect your peace.

• Build your tribe. Find the other students, staff, and mentors who see you. Create your own circle if necessary.

• Ask hard questions. Be critical. Be vocal. You belong there—not as a guest, but as a stakeholder.

• Build while you learn. Start your business. Launch your nonprofit. Make your documentary. College isn’t the destination—it’s the lab.

• Walk your own path. Whether it’s a university, trade school, certification, or a creative hustle—make it yours. No shame in pivoting. No shame in taking the scenic route.

We cannot grit our way through a system that was never designed with us in mind.

We cannot diversity-train our way to freedom.

We must build.

And we must build boldly—not just for access, but for ownership. Not just for representation, but for restoration.

Because if we don’t create institutions that see us, serve us, and uplift us, then this system will keep doing what it does best: Make Black men feel like strangers in spaces we helped build.

This is not about getting a seat at their table.

It’s about building our own.

This isn’t reform—it’s revolution.