“You Are My Other Me”: Reflections on AERA 2017

Ginsberg

Alice E. Ginsberg

The American Education Research Association’s (AERA) annual meeting was noticeably different for me this year. After watching our country start rolling back civil rights at an alarming rate, and seeing so much unabashed racism drive our national dialogue, I went to AERA with hopes of feeling empowered. The conference did not disappoint me.

Today began bright and early at 8:15 a.m. at a panel discussion “College Curriculum at the Crossroads: Women of Color Reflect and Resist.”  According to the description: “With increased interest in issues of equity and access, there remains a dearth of scholarship focused on the complexities of women of color’s experiences.” The seven panelists were diverse in race, age, academic credentials, and surprisingly, gender too. (One panelist was an African American male, who spoke poignantly about being an advocate and ally across race and gender.) Although they taught at colleges and universities as geographically diverse as Illinois, Oklahoma, Texas, and Georgia, it was significant that none of the panelists were from Minority Serving Institutions.

The panelists each spoke about how difficult it was to be a woman of color in primarily white institutions as they navigated dissertations, teaching evaluations, publishing, and facing tenure review.   With remarkable honesty, they talked about what it was like to center issues of racism while standing in front of a classroom and staring into the eyes of a majority of young white faces.   When they left the classroom, they stared into the faces of white male colleagues who didn’t take them seriously as academics. As one panelist, Ebony Pope from the University of Oklahoma, declared: “As Black women walk into white classrooms, we are subjected to the terms and expectations of operating in whiteness – and to the judgment of whiteness. This includes teaching and learning in the right white ways that seek to invalidate our existence and disrupt the acknowledgement of one another’s existence.”

Panelist Marelsie Velazquez, also from The University of Oklahoma, likewise noted: “To teach in Predominantly White Institutions is to contemplate and internalize feelings of isolation, not only in the halls of academia and faculty meetings, but in the lack of curriculum interventions that would place us, our ideas, and histories, within larger curriculum meetings. Who we are and what we teach in always in question.”

Bridget Turner Kelly, from Loyola University in Chicago, agreed that: “Isolation often compounds essentialism as female faculty of color, often the only people of color in their program, department or college, are asked to teach the diversity ‘add-on’ that is perceived as not core to the academic mission.” Perhaps it was not surprising then, when the next panelist, Altheria Caldera, from Texas A&M – Commerce reflected before she began her prepared talk: “It’s just a powerful experience being surrounded by other academic women of color. That in itself doesn’t happen very often.”

Although I knew that sexism and racism have not been totally eliminated at Minority Serving Institutions, I was acutely aware that my experience working at the Penn Center for Minority Serving Institutions affords me the privilege of listening to, learning from, and being immersed in the lives of academic women of color on a daily basis. Over the last three years I have been able to travel to and meet faculty and students at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), Tribal Colleges and Universities (TCUs), Hispanic Serving Institutions (HSIs) and Asian American and Pacific Islanders Institutions (AANAPISIs) across the country and one of the most profound parts of these experiences has been seeing women of color at the center rather than the margins. I was happy for the panelists that — even for this brief ninety- minute session – they were surrounded by allies.

At the same time, however, there was an elephant in the room. The panelists were told that the session would be a roundtable. Instead, they sat in a straight line, behind a row of desks, while a mere eight audience members sat awkwardly in stray chairs in front of them. While I was very honored to be there I was also reminded why academic conferences are often not very powerful sites of social activism. Yes, AERA is a huge conference, with a phone-book size program of concurrent events, but still: Why did only eight people choose this session? Why weren’t we sitting in a roundtable? Forget the roundtable, why weren’t we even sitting next to each other? Why weren’t we looking each other in the eye?

The next panel I went to, immediately afterwards, was as different as night and day. The discussion was titled: “Linking Knowledge to Action Through Youth Participatory Action Research to Reduce Latino/a Educational Disparities.” While the discussants at this session were also from a PWI (The University of Arizona), their work was intricately “linked” to a marginalized and minoritized community. Their commitment to using youth participatory action research (YPAR) as the cornerstone of their own academic research mirrored many of the same methodologies that I have witnessed at MSIs. The community and the college worked together to produce new knowledge, and advocate for social justice, in a genuine partnership.

Indeed, the very organization of the session reflected the ethos of re-centering the voices of people of color.   While it was only slightly larger than the previous session I attended – there were about 12 attendees –the organizers immediately asked everyone to put their chairs in an intimate circle. One of the organizers then began by reminding us that we were sitting on Indigenous Land. [The conference took place in San Antonio, Texas]. Next, she then led us all in a common reading of “In Lak’ech: You Are My Other Me,” a Mayan law and greeting:

In Lak’ech

Tú eres mi otro yo.
You are my other me.
Si te hago daño a ti,
If I do harm to you,
Me hago daño a mi mismo.
I do harm to myself.
Si te amo y respeto,
If I love and respect you,
Me amo y respeto yo.
I love and respect myself.

This was an unusual and very emotionally moving experience for an academic conference, that was followed by an even more unlikely event. We went around the circle and shared our first names only, and what we felt we were each “bringing” to the discussion. To be clear: this was not about listing our qualifications and expertise. This was about a common interest in being challenged, in collaboration, and scaling good ideas. This was about honoring the coming together of the group, and making sure that everyone was listening and felt represented. I was reminded of my visit to Stone Child College, a TCU in Montana, where we began our “business” meeting with the college President listening to stories from a Tribal elder.

Although the larger discussion at this panel was about research methodology, typically dry descriptions of theory and numbers were grounded in beautiful illustrations of students’ community maps.   The presenters explained that they worked with Mexican American youth living in poverty to help them design and create their own maps of their neighborhoods, including places that symbolized college-going resources and college-going barriers. Resources, for example, included out-of-school time youth centers, library and schools, while barriers included high density of graffiti, vendors of alcohol, tobacco, and drug paraphernalia in their community.

As we talked about the maps, terms such as “homelessness” were redefined as “houselessness.” In other words, not having a house does not necessarily prevent someone from having a family, a community, and a lineage. Breaking from a deficit perspective, the presenters honored the fact that the young people they worked with – though poor, Latino/a and perhaps undocumented – had dignity, agency, and precious knowledge. At the end of their mapping, youth created new spaces in their communities, literally opening new avenues of access to college.

Thinking of mapping, after these two AERA sessions, I went to explore San Antonio. I visited the Alamo and visited a Mexican marketplace. I marveled at foods I had never tasted, and watched as families settled in to watch the upcoming Fiesta parade.  Aside from being very humid, it was a near perfect experience. A mingling of cultures combined with a strong sense of ethnic pride permeated the city.

I wish I could end this here. But something else happened today. I got back to my hotel room, turned on the television and saw Donald Trump speaking at a rally in Pennsylvania (my home state) to mark his first 100 days as president.   Every word out his mouth was one of hatred and divisiveness. As he talked about securing the border, and keeping all the “bad people” out, he outdid his own record of fear mongering warning that people who cross the border illegally will be in direct danger of being deported “back where they belong,” or put in jail.

Trump then read a poem called “The Snake” by Al Wilson, wherein a woman shows compassion for a hurt snake, bringing him into her home and giving him sustenance, only to be bitten mercilessly and mocked by the snake for being so gullible:

“I saved you,” cried that woman
“And you’ve bit me even, why?
You know your bite is poisonous and now I’m going to die”
“Oh shut up, silly woman,” said the reptile with a grin
“You knew damn well I was a snake before you took me in.”

The moral of the story being that certain people will always be bad to the core, that we shouldn’t try to help other people, and that if we do, we have only ourselves to blame for being so stupid. Trump told the story with great relish, savoring the anticipation of the moment when the snake is once again vilified and the old lady humiliated.

As I tearfully watched his supporters stand, cheer, and chant “build the wall,” I was reminded that I began the day reciting In Lak’ech with a group of total strangers at an academic conference.   If I do harm to you, I do harm to myself. If I love and respect you, I love and respect myself. What would our future look like if all Americans could say these words with the same conviction that Trump and his supporters brag about eradicating the enemy by any means necessary?

I didn’t leave AERA with the answer, but, as I’d hoped, I did leave feeling more empowered to keep fighting for social justice – inside the academy and out. I also left feeling more grateful than ever to be representing the Penn Center for Minority Serving Institutions, where I do not have to travel to a national conference to gain wisdom from, and hear about the first-hand experiences of academics of color.

Alice E. Ginsberg is Assistant Director for Research at the Penn Center for Minority Serving Institutions. She also teaches urban education and teacher research in Penn’s Teach for America masters program.

Shaping Teacher Education to Meet our Distinct Needs

Danielle Lansing headshot

Danielle Lansing

This is the third post in a three-part MSIs Unplugged series on teacher education at federally-designated Minority Serving Institutions from the contributors to Teacher Education across Minority Serving Institutions: Programs Policies, and Social Justice, edited by Emery Petchauer and Lynnette Mawhinney. Authors will draw from their chapter to illustrate some of the important work happening in MSI teacher education programs. We hope this series helps move MSI teacher education into the view of both education scholars and the general public.

Tribal Colleges and Universities (TCU) across the United States were founded to specifically meet the needs of tribal communities through access to higher education and capacity building. More than half of TCUs include teacher education as part of their academic programming. At many TCUs, teacher education programs tend to have the highest student enrollment compared to other offerings. This is due to the motivation of tribal community members who seek to improve the education systems that directly serve their children.

In the past, tribal nations have been excluded from determining how their children might best be served. Generations of American Indian and Alaska Native (AIAN) families have experienced assimilationist curriculums that necessitated the exclusion of parents to be effective. Consequently, parents and community members have been left out of the equation and were expected to trust in the schools they sent their children too. As a result, many AIAN communities have felt the negative impact of unresponsive educational systems.

I remember the stories my mother told me when I was a child. These stories included being sent away to school as early as third grade. My mother left home to attend off-reservation schools hundreds of miles away from home. She was only allowed to come home during the summers. Much of what she learned was incongruent with the teachings of our family as she was expected to leave her culture at home. As a result, her home life and schooling were very disconnected. Unfortunately, her story is not an isolated one. I often wondered how much potential was lost as future community members experienced an education that could not be translated back into their communities.

Tribal communities continue to grapple with the loss of language and culture as well as the pervasive achievement gap. For many school systems that serve AIAN children, their focus continues to rely heavily on mainstream curriculum and remediation. Teachers trained in mainstream teacher education programs often learn very little about how to shape their curriculum to meet the unique needs of AIAN students. In order for a change to take place, a new cadre of teachers and leaders need to be developed. One that is ready to provide effective educational programs that support the unique needs of AIAN communities.

Part of why I was drawn to become part of the Tribal College Movement, was to participate in developing a foundation for educational sovereignty to emerge in tribal communities. It begins by partnering with tribal communities and including them in determining how educational programs, schools, early childhood centers, and teachers can be instrumental in solving the complex problems that impact student success. For many communities, this necessitates striking a balance with mainstream curriculum and culturally relevant curriculum. In order to develop teacher education programs that can train teachers to maintain a curriculum balanced with AIAN community needs, tribal voices will have to be heard.

As a TCU faculty member, I consider myself privileged to participate in a community of practice that includes AIAN students who represent the distinct needs of their communities. In the safe spaces of our classrooms, we are able to learn mainstream early childhood education concepts but also develop a discourse of how these concepts may or may not support the distinct traditional learning systems already present in our communities. We think critically about how mainstream educational concepts can be enhanced and modified to better address the issues in AIAN communities. These deep discussions come from a shared history that we bring to the classroom. I believe that it is within this focused discourse lies the beginnings of educational sovereignty and solutions to the complex issues that continue to challenge our nations.

We continue to learn that tribal communities are very unique. Generalizations can seldom be made across tribal nations. For teachers to be effective in AIAN communities, understanding these realities is of utmost importance. As a teacher myself, I remember going through a period of relearning each time I entered a tribal community. As a teacher who was trained in a mainstream institution, I don’t ever remember being taught how to enter a community through a learning perspective. I must admit, I felt that I knew what had to be taught. However, as I entered each of the four tribal communities I served, I learned that I was expected to support a great deal more than the academic needs of students. Luckily, I learned quickly that including parents and community members to “school me” on what they felt was important would serve me well. In retrospect, I would have been better off initially if I had entered the field with the expectation that, in addition to the delivery of curriculum, each tribal community also had its own needs that needed to be considered.

For tribal colleges, our missions explicitly necessitate partnerships with tribal communities. Our hope is to continue to work towards striking a balance between the mainstream curriculum and what is culturally relevant. In this way, our teacher education program continues to be informed by the AIAN communities we serve. Our hope is that we are always moving towards building our own systems. We are on that journey now.

Danielle Lansing is a faculty member in Early Childhood Education at the Southwestern Indian Polytechnic Institute (SIPI). She is a scholar and practitioner who has spent the majority of her career teaching the primary grades in Bureau of Indian Education and tribal contract schools in various tribal communities. Dr. Lansing’s research interests include Participatory Action Research in American Indian and Alaskan Native communities as well as Indigenous research methodologies. She is an enrolled member of the Navajo Nation and credits her family history as shaping her motivation to improve Indian education.

Teacher Certification Exams as Barriers to the Diversification of the Teacher Workforce

This is the second in a three-part MSIs Unplugged series on teacher education at federally-designated Minority Serving Institutions from the contributors to Teacher Education across Minority Serving Institutions: Programs Policies, and Social Justice, edited by Emery Petchauer and Lynnette Mawhinney. Authors will draw from their chapter to illustrate some of the important work happening in MSI teacher education programs. We hope this series helps move MSI teacher education into the view of both education scholars and the general public.

This is the time of year when the emails and phone calls from worried teacher candidates start to ratchet up at our minority serving institutions. Candidates are concerned about the possibility they will not pass all of the exams or be certified in time to take a full-time teaching job come the fall. Last year, a teacher candidate, Maria, approached us about her persistent failure on one of the state-required content exams for teacher certification. It was her third time taking it and despite the time she spent studying and reviewing, a few points on the exam continued to elude her. Is this an indicator that this teacher candidate is not going be effective in the classroom?

Teacher certification exams are designed, in theory, to prevent ill-equipped teachers from entering our public school classrooms. The research suggests, however, that most certification exams are poor measures of a teacher’s ability to effectively teach the diversity of children in classrooms or of a teacher’s readiness to teach. Performance assessments, like the edTPA, are theoretically better indicators of these capacities, but the research is still emerging. Maria is a creative and purposeful teacher, with deep content knowledge, who is invested in working in urban schools and teaching all students effectively. She knows her students and we can attest that her lessons were consistently designed with each and every one of them in mind. It is possible that these paper-and-pencil exams might keep her from the classroom. Moreover, while she was less concerned about the edTPA, Maria mentioned to us that she faced the choice between paying her electricity bill and paying the $300 required to submit her edTPA.

As faculty at minority serving institutions, who are invested in the diversification of the teacher workforce, we consider supporting our teacher candidates through the hurdles of teacher certification exams as critical to our work. Our teacher candidate populations speak a variety of languages other than English; identify with different racial, ethnic, and religious groups that are highly underrepresented in the teacher workforce; and describe themselves as low- or working-class. Cost is a huge barrier to certification for many of these candidates who, like Maria, find the approximately $800 fee to complete all of the required exams daunting and, sometimes, impossible.

Our institutions have worked to find vouchers to support initial costs, and also to create zero-cost, faculty-led workshops designed to prepare candidates for the content and structure of the exams to reduce the need for retakes. Many of our candidates’ K-12 educations poorly prepared them for college-level work and few received strong feedback on their reading and writing. Moreover, most teacher certification exams are no longer pencil-and-paper tests, creating a need for candidates—whose K-12 educations integrated little technology—to practice reading and writing responses on a computer.Thus, within these workshops, candidates are supported in increasing their efficiency as readers and writers; familiarity with a wide variety of genres and content;and knowledge of techniques for taking computer-based exams.

Our teacher candidates often describe extreme fear and anxiety of the unknown at testing centers where they will take these computer-based exams. Rarely are they aware of the ways in which these actual testing situations, beliefs about self-efficacy, and their mindset about test-taking, shape their success. We have found that providing some familiarity with the situation within courses and the workshops (e.g., what identification will be required; the process for getting a new whiteboard on which to write; going to use the restroom) alleviates much of this anxiety. For the edTPA, we have found that it is also important that candidates feel they have permission to request the necessary time and assistance to complete the lesson sequence in classrooms. Mobilizing faculty members and university supervisors to work with candidates on the language and approach for these discussions with their cooperating teachers has made a significant difference in their confidence to advocate for themselves.

These exams are daunting for many of our candidates, but we have seen them thrive with targeted preparation that addresses gaps in their skills, knowledge, familiarity, and concerns. Finding avenues to seek out vouchers, ensuring candidates are well-prepared for the exams, and preparing them for the realities of testing centers, can help qualified and talented individuals from being kept out of the profession. However, supporting teacher candidates’ success on these exams does not diminish the responsibilities we, as teacher educators, have to be guardians of the profession. Our commitments to access, excellence, and the diversification of the teacher workforce drive our work, and this includes being mindful that not all individuals are appropriate for the profession despite their ability to pass certification exams.

Joni Kolman is an Assistant Professor of Teaching and Learning in the School of Education at California State University San Marcos; from 2013-2016 she served as an Assistant Professor of Teacher Education at City College of New York, CUNY. Her research and teaching focuses on teacher quality and is situated at the intersection of teacher education in/for high-need schools, K-12 inclusive classroom practice, and education policy.

Laura M. Gellert is Associate Professor of Mathematics Education/Childhood Education at City College (CUNY), where she also is the director of the childhood education program. Her work focuses on such topics as in-service teacher mentorship, inclusive education with mathematics education and integrated STEM education that meets the needs of underrepresented minority populations.

It’s a Family Affair: Teacher Education at Minority Serving Institutions

This blog entry begins a month-long MSIs Unplugged series on teacher education at federally-designated Minority Serving Institutions from the contributors to Teacher Education across Minority Serving Institutions: Programs Policies, and Social Justice, edited by Emery Petchauer and Lynnette Mawhinney. Authors will draw from their chapter to illustrate some of the important work happening in MSI teacher education programs. We hope this series helps move MSI teacher education into the view of both education scholars and the general public.

As educators working at an HBCU in the past, we have been surprised by the lack of awareness around HBCUs and MSIs more broadly, particularly in the world of teacher education where there are consistent calls for a more racially diverse teaching profession. Often times, when people asked where we worked, we often responded with pride, “At an HBCU!” To our dismay, people didn’t know what that was or would reply, “You work in banking?” mistaking the acronym for Historically Black College and University acronym for the international bank, HSBC.

Little did they know: Teacher education programs at MSIs have been answering the call for a more racially diverse teaching profession for quite some time. In fact, many MSI teacher education programs are ahead of the curve in responding to challenges that historically and predominantly white institutions are only starting to confront.

MSIs produce an oversized proportion of teachers of color in the country, as illustrated by figures from 2015. Enrolling about 20 percent of all students in higher education, MSI teacher education programs produced:

  • 54.1 percent of Latinx students who received undergraduate degrees in education
  • 32.8 percent of Black or African American students who received undergraduate degrees in education
  • 57.7 percent of Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander students who received undergraduate degrees in education
  • 17.4 percent of Asian American students who received undergraduate degrees in education
  • 11.7 percent of American Indian and Alaskan Native students who received undergraduate degrees in education

Given this lack of awareness toward MSI teacher education, we set out two years ago on a mission to co-edit a book on this topic. Our goal was to make the teacher education work at MSIs more visible to teacher educators, education scholars, and policy makers. We wanted to shed light on this work that is so often overshadowed.

It was important for us in this project to work with scholars at MSIs, especially teacher educators, because their knowledge and expertise is often invisibilized. Over the course of this project, we worked with seventeen 17 authors, most of whom were teacher educators at MSIs. As we and our interviewees have experienced, scholars at MSIs often have some of the heaviest teaching loads in all of higher education. While professors at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania, we routinely taught 16 credit hours each semester in addition to administering multiple programs, mentoring students, and maintaining a presence on campus often every day of the week. At teaching-heavy institutions, these duties leave little time to pursue book contracts and peer-reviewed articles. Knowing how real the struggle is at some institutions, we wanted this book to identify and insert the work of MSI teacher educators directly into the purview of scholars, policy makers, and the public.

Through this project, we came to see that the goal of creating a more racially diverse teaching profession only scratches the surface of what is happening in MSI teacher education programs. For instance, tribal institutions are building teacher education around the Native communities their teachers will serve. Hispanic Serving Institutions are leaders in “grow your own” teacher education programs that recruit young adults to become teachers in their own communities. Asian American and Native American Pacific Islander Institutions are building support systems around their students to pass teacher licensure exams that often unfairly screen candidates of color out of teacher education programs. Historically Black Colleges and Universities are the originators of justice-oriented pedagogy and continue pushing teachers to think about equity and justice in a changing world. We came to understand that MSI teacher education programs do much more than create a more racially diverse teaching profession. They shape teacher education in important ways not always evident at historically and predominantly white institutions.

From completing this project, we also came to see MSIs not as four separate institution types under one umbrella term but as a family of institutions. We think about this term “family” and what it offers to the ways we think about institutions. Individual family members are not identical, but they share a common lineage. Of course, there are families by birth and families by earth. Some family members might not share biological lineage, but their circumstances and journeys (like adoption) have given them family bonds nonetheless. The diversity among family members is what makes them sturdy and strong. We see something similar among MSIs and their teacher education programs. Although there is great variety among them, it is useful to see their commonalities and intersections. Doing so reveals the collective thrust they can have on teacher education.

What came from this year of work was Teacher Education Across Minority Serving Institutions: Programs, Policies, and Social Justice, which was just released by Rutgers University press. This blog entry starts a month-long series on MSIs Unplugged based upon the contents of the book. Authors will draw from their chapter in our volume to illustrate some of important work happening in MSI teacher education programs. We hope this series helps move MSI teacher education into the view of both education scholars and the general public.

Lynnette Mawhinney Ph.D., is associate professor and co-coordinator of urban education program at The College of New Jersey, where her work focuses on the professional lives of aspiring and current urban teachers and urban schooling. She began her career in teacher education at Lincoln University (PA), the oldest historically black university in the country. She is the author of We Got Next: Urban Education and the Next Generation of Black Teachers (Peter Lang, 2014), co-editor of Teacher Education across Minority Serving Institutions: Programs, Policies, and Social Justice (Rutgers University Press, 2017), and co-author of her upcoming book There Has to Be a Better Way: Lessons from Former Urban Teachers.

Emery Petchauer, Ed.D., is associate professor of English and Teacher Education at Michigan State University, where he also coordinates the English education program. His work has focused on urban education, teacher education, high-stakes testing, and hip-hop studies. He is the author of Hip-Hop Culture in College Students’ Lives (Routledge, 2012) and the co-editor of Schooling Hip-Hop: Expanding Hip-Hop Based Education Across the Curriculum (Teachers College Press, 2013). He began his career in teacher education at Lincoln University, the oldest historically Black university in the country.

Guide for Educators To Feature Tribal College Professionals’ Work

 

DINAHEDSHOT

Dina Horwedel

Teacher Education Across Minority Serving Institutions: Programs, Policies, and Social Justice, edited by Emery Petchauer and Lynnette Mawhinney, is a new guide for educators that shares successful teaching practices and teacher education programs from minority-serving institutions and how they are creating social change and transforming communities in the process.

Two TCU professors’ work cites the importance of community relationships when creating education programs. The Native approach to teaching, in which educators collaborate with parents and the community to integrate Native knowledge and cultural understanding into curriculum, best reflects Native community values. The approach is also proven: it grounds children in their identity, building healthy approaches to learning and healthy relationships, and creates positive validation of community ideas, helping students to succeed academically and socially.

The Navajo nation established the first tribal college in 1968 to provide place-based education steeped in language and culture for its community. Other tribal communities followed in the spirit of self-determination to create higher education institutions to serve their communities. Today, 37 TCUs serve American Indian communities across the United States, located on or near Indian reservations, 34 of which are accredited.

In “Learning from the Community: Innovative Partnerships That Inform Tribal College Teacher Education Programming,” Danielle Lansing, an instructor at Southwestern Indian Polytechnic Institute (SIPI), a TCU in Albuquerque, New Mexico, details how community-based partnerships created a strong, culturally based early childhood education curriculum and preservice teaching opportunities.

Lansing shares that for generations Native parents were excluded because they were seen as an impediment to their children’s assimilation. Yet consulting parents is paramount in defining community culture when creating education programs to develop engaged tribal citizens.

SIPI engaged early childhood education parents through a Photovoice Project. Using photographs, they answered research questions that allowed them to act as change agents for their children’s education, many for the first time.

Parents shared the need for their children to learn about their tribal heritage and cultures, a connection to ancestral homelands, kinship connections, the value of Native teachings and knowledge, and creating harmonious relationships.

The Photovoice Project also provided preservice teachers with new opportunities to implement a locally created curriculum; experience fully developed practicum experiences and curriculum that integrate language and culture; and develop strong connections with teachers and community members.

Lansing says TCUs are ideal institutions for creating community-based partnerships between tribal nations and families because of their unique missions and tribal communities. These partnerships strengthen early childhood education by creating innovative education practices and culturally infused curriculum, and positively impact preservice teachers by building their capacity to create community change.

In “The Future of Teacher Education at TCUs: A Talking Circle of Education Warriors,” Dr. Carmelita Lamb, a former TCU a former TCU chair at Turtle Mountain Community College (serving the Turtle Mountain Chippewa Reservation in North Dakota) and current Chair of Graduate Studies and Distance Education-University of Mary, Bismarck, North Dakota, shares how intertribal and inter-institutional collaboration in the Native community helped empower more Native students in their educational journey without requiring them to leave their communities. She illustrates how collaboration and grassroots-based education have transformed how TCUs implement higher education to meet their communities’ needs.

Using the Native tradition of Talking Circles, Lamb interviewed education department chairs to deepen relationships and discern the current status of education programs at TCUs, current challenges, and their vision for teacher education in Indian Country.

Lamb delves into professional relationships at TCUs and a shared mission of promoting student success with a focus on “deeply personal [student] relationships.”

Lamb worked with institutions offering education programs to identify the concerns and successes of TCU department chairs, including inadequate funding to maintain courses of study, the need for technological resources, and disparity in federal funding opportunities across institutions for TCU teacher education programs. Students also face transportation challenges, lack of or shortage of student housing, and funding issues that prevent enrollment or completion.

It is not surprising to anyone involved with TCUs that the same programmatic and institutional successes Lamb’s interviews reveal are those Lansing identifies as the underpinnings of SIPI’s early childhood education program success. The work of TCUs shows that collaborative and culturally based curriculum help Native students succeed while furthering “…the efforts of their ancestors to pursue a better future for all Native people.”

Dina Horwedel is the director of public education for the American Indian College Fund, the nation’s largest charity supporting Native higher education. She holds a B.S. degree in journalism with honors from Bowling Green State University and a J.D. degree from Cleveland State University.

Pioneers on the Pathway to the Professoriate: How the B.A. in Latin American Studies best prepares Latino/as and HSI students to pursue humanities Ph.D.s

Andrew Millin

Andrew Millin

In anticipation of the rapidly diversifying young population, an increasing number of education initiatives seek to increase the percentage of Latino/a students from Hispanic Serving Institutions (HSIs) who seek to become humanities professors. While Latino/as in the U.S. make up 4.1% of the professoriate and 6.1% of humanities Ph.D.s, they make up 20% of adults aged 18-44, and 62% (1.75 million) of these undergraduates are enrolled in HSIs. The National Endowment for the Humanities is taking action to modify Ph.D.s to prepare students for careers in business, government, and non-profits. Dr. Marybeth Gasman, Director of the Center for Minority Serving Institutions at the University of Pennsylvania, announced in 2016 that she received a $5.1 million grant to launch “Pathways to the Professoriate.” Gasman constructed this initiative with the goal to increase Latino/a humanities professors at U.S. institutions. As part of the initiative, 90 students from Hispanic Serving Institutions (HSIs) will prepare for and enter Ph.D. programs over five years.

Due to the culturally relevant and interdisciplinary nature of a Latin American Studies major, Latino HSI scholars who receive a bachelor’s with this major would have the transferable skills to research, acquire foreign languages, and teach within a humanities Ph.D. program.

Why pursue a Ph.D. in Latin American History? Compared to a Ph.D. in European History, there may be at least one position per graduate, versus positions for only a handful.

Program requirements and student learning outcomes from California State University Northridge’s B.A. in Central American Studies can increase overall demand toward humanities. 86% of students spent at least six hours per week preparing for their classes, and 18% of these students worked on a research project with a faculty member. With their interests, building on the advisement from faculty, Latino/as and HSI students will succeed in identifying faculty mentors when applying to Ph.D.s, and constructing dissertations. There is also a trend toward team-based inquiry in the development of research skills. Within the major there are required survey courses, fieldwork, and seminars. Coupled with qualitative skills, awareness of historical development complexities, and understanding of transnational communities, these students will have both the professional development and training to minimize bias in their field research.

Acquisition skills are not just skills that humanities Ph.D. students will develop by the end of their studies; they are employer expectations. Employers will seek cognitive skills such as communication and analytics from job applicants rather than physical skills.

With study abroad opportunities, and faculty who have expertise in human rights debates, Latino students have available opportunities to minister across cultural and linguistic divisions. New York University B.A. in Latin American Studies students must demonstrate fluency in Spanish, Portuguese, or Quechua. For many humanities Ph.D. programs, students will be required to demonstrate proficiency in two foreign languages. It is projected that only 37% of Latinos will complete Ph.D.s in Humanities, versus 46% of Asian Americans, 51% of Whites, and 52% of African Americans over ten years.

Foreign language preparation is not the only hallmark of advanced preparation the Latin American Studies major will provide. NYU also offers an accelerated B.A./M.A. in Latin American and Caribbean Studies with a 50% discount on graduate tuition. With the discounted tuition comes an extra year of engaging with faculty. Research has shown that 1) students of color will better persist toward degree completion with faculty of color as role models and 2) Latino/a faculty members are more likely to produce scholarship relevant to Latino/a communities and individuals. Faculty will not only help these students persevere toward the Ph.D. They will be vital in helping these students communicate to their communities the mobility and relevance a college degree can provide. HSIs have proven determined and effective in producing motivated Ph.D. candidates.

Whether serving as a teaching assistant or as an instructor, in some capacity students pursuing Ph.D.s in humanities will be teaching and building relationships with undergraduates and graduates. The major not only qualifies students to excel as TAs in the U.S. From the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, graduates were reported to be Fulbright Teaching Assistants in Brazil and Argentina, and salaries for students knowing multiple foreign languages were 20% higher.

The demand for TAs who address the developmental needs of Hispanics caused the Hispanic Association of Colleges and Universities to propose a $20 million grant to address these deficits. The B.A. in Latin American Studies at the University of California, Berkeley specifically prepares students to teach foreign languages and social sciences.

It is implied that in teaching a subject that there is background in it. Students will be prepared to enter, teach, and engage students within multiple programs. Latino/a students attending predominantly white institutions (PWIs) and HSIs had similar scores on the National Survey of Student Engagement in terms of satisfaction with college and gains in overall development. This speaks to the increasing quality of both PWIs and HSIs in producing students who take initiative to inspire social change. Students at UC Berkeley can focus their four upper division electives on central themes such as gender and society. The curriculum structure enables students to develop research interests and engage what they want to study.

The B.A. in Latin American Studies will continue to produce expert scholars who inspire new findings and students in the humanities.

Andrew Millin holds his M.S.Ed. in Higher Education from the University of Pennsylvania.  He serves as the Program Coordinator of the Medical Office Assistant Certificate of Proficiency and volunteers with the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at Mercer County Community College in West Windsor, NJ.  He is an active member of NACADA:  The Global Community for Academic Advising, and will be serving as the Selection Chair on the 2018 Region 2 Conference Committee.  His research interests include applying theory to practice in academic advising, ethics in transfer credit evaluation, and interpersonal communication and relationships between faculty and administrators in higher education.

The History We Don’t Know

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Karen Gross

Note: This is an expanded and edited version of a piece posted on LinkedIn on January 13, 2017.

The topic of this essay came to life in the context of two recent events: (1) a public conversation at the Aspen Institute with Henry Louis “Skip” Gates, Jr., who spoke about his work on race and class, as well as his recent documentation of the civil rights movement; and (2) the truly remarkable movie, Hidden Figures, that details the lives of three African American women “computers” who worked at NASA and enabled the U.S. space program to successfully launch its early flights and the moon shot. Both events displayed actual footage from the 1950s and 1960s. It was footage I knew—and remembered when they appeared on the screen.

Here’s one important realization: at these two events, I treated times in my life as if they were already history. Seriously: I somehow didn’t think of events in my own experience as “history;” at least psychologically, “ancient” is the word that precedes “history” in my mind. Perhaps that is why I look in the mirror and see a person who is decades younger than I am in real life.

But the truth is that the Civil Rights Movement and the space program’s early years were decades ago and are history. I lived through and was a part of them. I am old enough that it is time that I admit that parts of my life are now “history.” And with that insight should come the capacity to reflect back with some clarity of vision and some wisdom.

I should have already known that parts of my past are “history.” When I teach younger students and raise certain topics that seem fully integrated into the lexicon and are just part and parcel of my life, they look at me (quite understandably) as if I were making things up. My “lived life” is history to them. They did not live through the Civil Rights Movement (though discrimination surrounds them still, albeit evidenced somewhat differently). They don’t remember Ed Sullivan and The Beatles. They don’t recall Patty Hearst and her life with the Symbionese Liberation Army. They don’t know about Kent State. They are unaware of how we treated returning Vietnam Veterans. Timothy Leary’s name doesn’t even ring a bell. They would not be able to name 10 colleges, let alone a historically black college or university.

But, what is most striking to me is not the history I lived and of which I have some awareness (even if my contextualization of it is incomplete). It is the vast history that many of us do not even know about—that rich history, filled with insights into who we are/were as a nation and who we are/were as individuals. It is the history about institutions that educated many Americans when no one else did or would. That missing history has lessons to teach and wisdom to proffer and too many people do not even know this history exists. It’s hard to know what you don’t know.

Let me be clear: we all know some bits of history that is not widely shared. Take our own family histories (something Skip Gates knows all about and has shared with many). We know about the immigration of family members and their escape from frightful regimes. We know about family members who went off the beaten path and landed in strange places, and even stranger situations. We know of basement inventions and illicit, and then illegal, relationships. We know about hidden treasures and collections packed in boxes. We know about traditions even if we don’t know how they came to be part of us. (The best example is the Marranos lighting candles on Friday in their basements even to this day.) We know about educational institutions our family attended (assuming they pursued post-secondary education).

Many people (myself included) have done research and have written about people and institutions time forgot. These individuals and organizations contributed mightily to our world and they have gone unrecognized. These are often individuals toiling in the trenches when even their peers and sometimes families were unaware of their influence and impact. You can find these people in business, in education, in religion, in medicine, in science, in law. They were and are everywhere.

One example: when many scholars were exiled from Germany in the 1930s, they came to the United States. Those who were older and famous were taken in by well-known universities—Princeton, Michigan, Harvard. But, there were younger, excellent scholars who did not find academic positions easily and over 1,000 of them went to historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs); they went from being the persecuted to the perceived persecutors. And, some of these professors, like Dr. Ernest Manasse, stayed at “their” HBCU (in his case, North Carolina Central University) for their entire academic career, despite opportunities to “move up.” Indeed, in a recently released book, the previously unknown role of Dr. Manasse and his wife in improving the integration of faculty and students in North Carolina was disclosed. This book, The Secret Game, is being made into a movie and perhaps then, as with the movie Hidden Figures, the world will meet some extraordinary men and women who changed how race, ethnicity, and religion played out in some parts of our nation.

By not recognizing or learning about these individuals, we are deprived on many levels. First, their impact is worthy of recognition. Second, their experiences can inform the story of our past; these are people who changed the trajectory of what has happened across the disciplines and in their communities. In a sense, these hidden figures are treasures we have yet to discover. And, perhaps most sadly, these are individuals who lived lives we did not respect,honor, or even acknowledge—except on rare occasion. Perhaps that’s why I feel compelled to write an essay about Dr. Manasse. His remarkable life and influence need to see the light of day—for educators, for students, for civil rights leaders and religious leaders.

Events like that at the Aspen Institute and depicted by the film “Hidden Figures” do more than expose us to people and events of which we were unaware and about which we would be enriched if we knew about them. That is the easy part. These events make me (and I hope others) poignantly aware of how incomplete and distorted our history and storytelling have been. And, it suggests that that defect persists. Not only do we not write these people back into history, but we do not recognize those among us—today—who are reifying a false history and obscuring or obliterating a past that is often ugly and harsh and embarrassing for us. It is far easier to tell a pretty history, even if incomplete.

There is no easy solution to these deficiencies in history telling. The problem is actually more about who we recognize as history-makers. But, here’s the real issue: it’s that we don’t know that we don’t know that is debilitating. We have this assumption that we have learned “history.” But the truth is that we progress ahead, unaware of vast quantities of history—of people, of cultures, of struggles, of discrimination and marginalization and values and quests and talents and improvements and contributions. Think about it this way: it is as if we have a detached retina that has blinded us to so much around us. We don’t see. Literally.

We need more than new glasses. Glasses won’t illuminate the dark. We need the equivalent of laser surgery to reattach our collective and individual retinas. And we need to know they need to be reattached. For me at least, the Gates event, the movie “Hidden Figures” and my work on the life and times of Dr. Manasse serve as a clarion call.

I worry about those in power today who think they know all there is to know. I worry if folks don’t know enough to ask questions. I am concerned when folks cannot admit they have much to learn. I am troubled by distortions caused by a failure to see and a willingness to change. I worry for our children to whom we tell a history that is incomplete at best and distorted or false at worst.

There are no easy answers to uncovering our real “history” (and what is “real” is in and of itself a complexity). But, we could do well to recognize “history” as we know it as if it were a book with missing pages and absent illustrations and the lack of key names and events in the indices. I f we see the emptiness, even if we don’t know what fills it, we are one step ahead of where we are now. And we can start to fill in the deep existing trenches when we stumble into them – knowingly or unknowingly.

And we can ask questions. Good questions. Tough questions. There are no stupid questions. And, without these questions, our history as we know it and tell it will be flawed. You don’t get answers if you don’t ask questions. Start with this one: Who was Dr. Ernst Manasse?

Karen Gross serves as Senior Counsel at Widmeyer Communications and is the Former President of Southern Vermont College. Karen also serves as an affiliate of the Penn Center for Minority Serving Institutions.

MSI Perspectives on the 2016 Presidential Election: What MSIs Can Do Next

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Edgardo Sanabria-Valentin

In the aftermath of this presidential election, an undercurrent of anxiety and uncertainty towards the future emerged in academic circles. These feelings are amplified within Minority Serving Institutions (MSIs). I came to work the day after the election to find scared students, nervous faculty, and tense administrators and staff. I was nervous, too; about my students, about the changes that were certain to come, about the effect that the ugly rhetoric of the campaign would have on our country. It only took a day or two for reports to trickle down about incidents at other schools. Someone attacked the Black community at Penn by subscribing them to a hate-filled group chatroom. The door to a Muslim prayer room at NYU was defaced. Latinx college students reported harassment by white Trump supporters throughout the country. In just two weeks’ time, daily incidents like these have been documented in high schools and colleges throughout the U.S., raising concerns that this alarming trend could continue.

I kept asking myself: “Are my students next?”

As a result of incidents like these, “What happened?” quickly became “What can I do?” for many of us. What could I do to make sure our students, all our students, felt safe, respected, and supported? My first step was to show my students I am with them in any way I could. I wore a safety pin, posted encouraging signs on my door, sent them an email, and actively discussed with them their concerns, both publicly and privately. I believe these small acts of support have value to someone who feels lost or fearful.

Second, I identified resources that can provide support to my students who are part of a group directly targeted by the policy positions of the incoming administration. There are many advocacy groups, like CUNY Citizenship Now!, that provide free, high quality, and confidential immigration law services to help individuals and families on their path to U.S. citizenship. I am working with other academic and student support programs to pool resources and compare notes, and I am participating in events led by student organizations on campus.

Third, I tried to inform myself. I am learning how DACA works and what my undocumented students can do to improve their chances to gain citizenship. I know now whom I am supposed to call if I witness harassment in my school. I am trying to keep up-to-date with new policy positions coming in from the Transition team in my spare time.

Fourth, I am getting prepared to stand up and push back in any way I can.

John Jay College of Criminal Justice is unique among other MSIs (and indeed, among most U.S. colleges) for having a college mission to “educate fierce advocates for justice” in a “community of motivated and intellectually committed individuals who explore justice in its many dimensions.” Our institution’s response has been thoughtful and paced. Academic programs and the College leadership have sent messages showing support and providing guidance to students, staff, and faculty. Open discussions and forums have been organized throughout the college to promote open dialogue. Our Teaching & Learning Center organized a “Teach-In” for our faculty to discuss the meaning of the incoming administration’s policies and strategies for how to talk to students. Academic lectures on the reach and power of the executive branch and the meaning of the proposed policies have been scheduled. As our President Jeremy Travis stated in an email to our students, John Jay’s mission remains “committed to the cause of justice… racial justice, gender justice, environmental justice, international justice, criminal justice, social justice, economic justice, and others.”

Change is coming and it might come in ways we don’t expect. The President and his team change their minds about policies frequently; the only thing that is for certain is that these policies are likely to impact our minoritized, underserved, underrepresented, and vulnerable students. Action must be taken by people in schools like ours to defend and stand up for and with our students; to uphold the values and missions that MSIs stand for. I believe we are up to this task and invite you to join us.

Edgardo Sanabria-Valentin, Ph.D., serves as Research Coordinator and Project Director at the Program for Research Initiatives in Science and Math (PRISM) at John Jay College, one of the largest HSIs in the Northeastern U.S. He is also an Adjunct Assistant Professor of Biology at John Jay.

Advancing HBCU Opportunities: National Black Greek Organizations

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Jessica Elmore

I have three suggestions for HBCU advancement departments, national alumni associations and foundations. But first, a little background:

Recently an email was sent out to the membership of my sorority from the national president. The message was about giving back to historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs). Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. has always had a focus on giving back and supporting HBCUs, but this message was urging all of us to support now because of the financial challenges that some HBCUs are experiencing like budget cuts, reduced government funding and even declining enrollments. As an HBCU graduate and an educational advancement professional, I was happy to see this message. I was also thinking about how HBCUs and their affiliates (national alumni associations and foundations) need to capitalize on face-to-face action opportunities that Black Greek organizations have available.

In 2015, Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. hosted their national convention in Houston, Texas. During the national convention, time was set aside for individual chapters to host meetups. I decided to participate in my birth chapter’s meetup, Delta Iota chapter in Grambling State University. Months before the national convention, alumni of the Delta Iota chapter were communicating about meeting up in Houston. The meetup was held at an alumnae’s home and it quickly filled, with over 60 women laughing, hugging and sharing stories about their time at Grambling. This gathering was a family reunion and Grambling and Delta was our connection.

During the meetup two major themes were communicated: stay financially active in Delta Sigma Theta (pay your dues) and give back to Grambling State University. The organizers of the meetup shared that they wanted the alumnae members of the chapter to raise $100,000 by Delta Iota’s 70th chapter anniversary. The opportunity to raise money is a wonderful way to help our alma mater, but they will need an advancement professional to help them reach this goal. It’s 2016 and I have not heard about the $100,000 goal. I share this example of the $100,000 goal because when HBCU advancement professionals are not in these spaces great opportunities can be missed.

As promised at the beginning of this post, I have three suggestions for HBCU advancement departments, national alumni associations and foundations:

  1. Stop hosting your own alumni conventions and have alumni association and foundation leaders travel to various national conventions of Black sororities and fraternities and set up as a vendor. Set up a booth to raise money for your institution and tell your story about the wonderful impact your institution is having. Be equipped to collect donations and collect information on individuals that you can engage as a major prospect and be sure to follow up with everyone.
  2. Be cognizant of the national events hosted by the various Black Greek organizations and reach out to your alumni who are members of the organization. Find out if there is an event or activity hosted by your alumni and if you can attend or send information to share.
  3. Have the local HBCU chapter president and other HBCU representatives attend the public events and bring greetings and network.

Many individuals and organizations have the desire to financially support HBCUs, but it will only be the action of people giving that will help our HBCUs. We have to seize the “now” if we want the desire of people to give to turn it the action of giving.

Jessica Elmore is a doctoral candidate in Educational Leadership at Kansas State University and an assistant director of multicultural Programs at the K-State Alumni Association. She is responsible for the creation and implementation of programs and activities that include engaging multicultural and international students and alumni.

Why PWI Grads of Color Should Consider Supporting MSIs

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Briana O’Neal

It’s giving season again, which means my voicemail and inbox are full of requests for donations to one organization or another. Among the requests I usually receive this time of year is one from my alma mater. As an undergraduate, I attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and I loved every minute of it. I credit UNC for giving me some of my most memorable experiences and facilitating much of my personal and professional growth; my heart will always bleed Carolina blue. That being said, over time I have come to recognize my privilege in that space. I was part of the roughly 10% of the student population that identified as Black at a predominately white institution (PWI) where over two-thirds of the student body was in the top 10% of their high school class and the average admitted student has an SAT composite score of over 1300. I was privileged enough to have the support and resources I needed growing up to fit that profile, but it is important to recognize that a lot of students who look like me don’t. That is why this giving season not only did I make an alumni donation to UNC, but I also supported the Penn Center for Minority Serving Institutions’ Annual Giving Campaign.

To be a member of a marginalized group in this country is to be constantly taxed mentally and emotionally. With all the increased media coverage of incidents of police brutality, the perpetuation of rape culture, the presidential election, etc., this year has been particularly rough for me. Marginalized groups are constantly at war with systems of oppression, but we remain unmoved in our resolve to fight back. I see examples of this every day, from student protests on campus to the resistance against the Dakota Access Pipeline, and I am inspired to keep pushing back against gross abuses of power and privilege.

This year, I had to ask myself how I can be inspired by protests across the country, support the Black Lives Matter movement and condemn the systemic oppression that targets Black and brown bodies, all the while planning to give to my PWI without considering how that same system of oppression plays out in the classroom? We know that public K12 education doesn’t always give students of color a fair shake—we are tracked, disproportionately disciplined, and denied resources. All of these practices conspire to deny us equal preparation and place highly selective institutions safely out of our reach.

If I am going to give, I want to make sure I am supporting those who need it the most and as a first-generation college student who believes in equity and access, I can’t ignore the facts: MSIs are doing it better. They are bastions of college access, enrolling a disproportionate number of low income and first generation college students of color. Over 60% of all Hispanic students in higher education attend Hispanic Serving Institutions. Three-quarters of all low-income Asian American or Pacific Islander students in higher education study at an AANAPISI. Not only do Tribal Colleges educate over 30,000 students in rural areas, they also are highly concerned with preserving and supporting tribal culture. Over 75% of all students who attend HBCUs are Pell Grant eligible. Even though they account for only 3% of all institutions in the US, HBCUs serve 11% of all Black students in higher education and are responsible for providing one fifth of bachelor’s degrees earned by Black students.

Take a moment to let those numbers sink in and realize just how important these institutions are when it comes to caring for our communities. While PWIs are busy making five- and ten-year plans to create inclusive environments and increase their diversity by a few percentage points, MSIs have been opening doors, cultivating excellence and producing leaders. If you are a PWI grad of color like me, there is no shame in giving back to an institution that gave to you, but let’s also put our money where our mouths are and fight back against education inequalities this season.

This past year, I had the pleasure and privilege of working as a graduate research assistant at the Penn Center for MSIs (CMSI). During my time there, I had the chance to meet MSI presidents, faculty and students from across the country and get involved in research that has really helped me understand the importance and value of these institutions. I can attest first-hand to all the wonderful work that CMSI does to support these institutions—from providing professional development to MSI faculty members to encouraging MSI students to pursue graduate degrees to creating partnerships that provide funding to send MSI students abroad. Even though I am not there this year to give my time to supporting these wonderful programs, I did make sure to donate.

My giving to my alma mater this year was an act of love and gratitude. My giving to CMSI was a political act. It was a move in direct opposition to the narrative that MSIs are inferior institutions- that anything designed by or for people of color is somehow second-class. The media is rife with stories about how some MSIs are failing institutions, struggling with graduation rates and poor money management. They question their relevancy, suggest that there is minimal return on investment in these institutions, and want to merge them with PWIs.

What they don’t tell us is that many MSIs have been doing more with less. They are building up communities of color, accepting and educating students with a range of abilities and preparedness, meeting them where they are and providing them with a college level education—all with fewer resources. For example, in some states, like North Carolina, flagship institutions have received twice as much in state funding per student as HBCUs. Many state funding formulas were designed to give more money to “institutions where the majority of students who attend are overrepresented in public higher education.”

I could spend hours explaining all the reasons why this is a real shame, but instead I will challenge you to learn more about the value of MSIs and their impact on communities of color. Maybe you have a sibling or parent who attended one. Or maybe, like me, you are the first in your family to even go to college and you know very little about different institutional types. The CMSI website is full of great resources and keeps a running list of MSIs. Learn a little bit more about an MSI near you, or an organization like CMSI that advocates for them, and consider giving this season.

Briana O’Neal holds an M.S.Ed in Higher Education from the University of Pennsylvania and currently works at the University of Maryland, College Park. Her interests include underrepresented students in higher education, minority serving institutions, and transfer pathways for community college students. She is a former research assistant at the Penn Center for MSIs.