The Global Majority Mentoring Programme, delivered by London Higher, aims to support career progression for Black, Asian, and minority ethnic (BAME) staff by providing tailored mentoring relationships and learning opportunities for academics and professional services staff.
I joined the programme as a mentee in 2023–24 while seeking support during my time as head of two merged divisions in the School of Law and Social Sciences. For me, mentoring is an exchange of knowledge and experience, and I was looking for a woman of colour in a leadership role outside my own institution with whom I could turn to for advice on navigating the unique challenges I was facing in confidence.
The programme was recommended to me by a colleague who recognised that, as the only non-white member of the school leadership team, I faced specific challenges which, although acknowledged by the rest of the team, could only be supported to a limited extent given that the remainder of the team were white. They understood that someone with lived experience of both race and gender might be better placed to offer the kind of support I needed. I was matched with someone in an Associate Dean role who I met with regularly for three months. She validated my experiences especially when I was second guessing myself, she also offered me guidance and advice on navigating career progression and insights on HE headhunters.
In addition to the mentoring, I also took part in the two-day Learning Leaders Workshop, delivered in partnership with the mentoring programme and the University of Westminster. I approached the workshop ambivalently while hoping it would offer more than the surface-level training I had experienced in the past. Previous programmes had often been underwhelming, failing to meet expectations and lacking depth. One in particular was overcrowded, with more than twenty participants, which made it difficult to engage in the kind of deep thinking that individual and collective inquiry needs.
Surface pressure
Reflecting on these past experiences, I began to question the broader purpose and structure of leadership development in higher education. Despite good intentions, many leadership development initiatives in higher education appear to remain disconnected from the structural changes reshaping the sector. And it is not always clear why line managers support staff participation in these programmes when, in practice, there appears to be limited opportunities to apply or build on the learning.
This concern feels especially pressing now, as the sector undergoes significant transformation, with widespread voluntary redundancies affecting many institutions across the UK. I fear that higher education is losing emerging talent at an alarming rate. While the current focus is largely on financial viability, we may be overlooking a more profound long-term issue, the need to reimagine what leadership in higher education looks like. The urgency of building a future-focused leadership pipeline is growing, particularly as ongoing threats to equity, diversity and inclusion continue to challenge the sector’s values and resilience.
Amid this context of uncertainty, where many of us are increasingly time-poor and juggling demanding workloads, I hoped the Learning Leaders workshop would offer a more meaningful and impactful experience. Taking time out of our busy schedules for training must feel worthwhile, rather than merely another tick-box exercise to meet 360 performance management targets. To my surprise, several aspects of the workshop turned out to be both unusual and thought-provoking.
Leadership through lived experience
Notably, there were just six of us in the room, all women, all from the global majority. Throughout the two days, I found myself reflecting on this. Why is it that I so often see more women than men who feel the need to be “trained up” for leadership? This prompted broader questions about gender, expectations and who is seen as ‘ready’ for leadership roles in our institutions. Women lead in many areas of life, particularly those of us who are parents or and carers. We are skilled problem-solvers, strong networkers, and we manage complex responsibilities every day.
In my role as Head of Division, I noticed a recurring frustration among female academics who felt that the emotional labour involved in providing pastoral care to students often went unrecognised. There was a shared sense that this responsibility frequently fell to them, with both students and male colleagues appearing to expect them to take it on. Yet we rarely describe care and pastoral work as leadership.
The programme was not a traditional form of training in any sense. Instead, it offered a series of facilitated sessions that created space for us to reflect, share, and learn from one another’s experiences. Together, we explored how we each learn which was presented in four quadrants – body, heart, mind, and spirit – and how to make the most of this intel within a team setting. This deeper understanding uncovered the strengths within our own leadership styles and helped us consider how best to apply them in our professional contexts. We took time to reflect on how leadership is defined and, more importantly, where it is learned and practised.
Leadership, we came to understand, is not something taught in a conventional way but rather something that evolves through lived experience. It happens in both personal and professional settings, though we might not always recognise it as leadership in a formal or professionalised sense. The workshop took a holistic approach and illustrated how knowledge can emerge through embodied learning, incorporating philosophical inquiry to uncover deeper insights into our individual and collective strengths. This is when it occurred to me, for the first time, that developing leadership practice is best done in communities of practice.
By the end of the two days, we weren’t “trained” by the facilitator in any traditional sense. Instead, the leadership wisdom we uncovered emerged from within our own group, the Super Six, which is what we have come to be known as and was brought to light through Keith’s expert and highly unconventional facilitation, which gently led us to that shared discovery.
Many paths to leadership
In hindsight, the Learning Leaders workshop gave me the space to actively explore the “what next” and “how next” of leadership. A series of thoughtful one-to-one conversations with one of the Super Six proved particularly impactful. Their questions led me to reflect deeply on new possibilities for academic leadership, including working as a freelance scholar, moving to a different institution, or stepping outside the sector altogether. I have always held a personal principle not to remain in one institution for more than ten years, out of concern for becoming institutionalised and limiting my professional growth. After several thoughtful conversations with my Dean, I came to the difficult but right decision to leave at the end of 2024.
Since then, I have had the privilege of working with several universities and organisations from teaching, advising, researching and collaborating on projects – all of which have been intellectually energising and impactful. There is no one way to lead, and the Learning Leaders workshop reminded me that there are many paths to leadership, each shaped by context, values and personal experience.
If there is any advice that I could offer to emerging leaders from global majority backgrounds, it would be to identify a sponsor with decision making power within the institution, a mentor outside of the university for confidential developmental advice and identify role models across different sectors and who do leadership well so you can begin building your own community of practice.
This article is one of four exploring London Higher’s Global Majority Mentoring Programme – you can find the others here.
Selina Likely, a child care director in Columbus, Ohio, understands the desperation that parents feel when they can’t find a good placement for their children with disabilities. When Likely’s daughter was a child, the little girl was abruptly kicked out of her daycare center for biting, leaving her mother with little recourse.
“I was so angry and mad at the time,” said Likely, whose daughter is now an adult. “How are you going to kick out a 1-year-old?”
Thanks to a new state initiative, Likely and other child care providers like her can now receive additional training on how to support children with disabilities, who are far more likely than other children to be expelled from child care programs. Some states have similar programs, with the ultimate goal of creating more child care slots where young children with disabilities and delays can thrive.
How Hechinger inspired a bill
Earlier this year, my colleague Sarah Carr published a piece revealing that in Illinois and other states many families of premature babies are leaving the hospital with no information or guidance on critical therapies they are entitled to. In June, the Illinois Legislature passed a bill that would require hospitals to distribute detailed information on early intervention — those required therapies for babies and toddlers with disabilities and developmental delays — to most families with severely premature infants. The new law was proposed by state Rep. Janet Yang Rohr after Sarah’s story was published.
The bill, which awaits action by the governor, would also require the state’s early childhood systems to prioritize, in a public awareness campaign, the early identification of infants who automatically qualify for the therapies because of their low birth weight.
This story about children with disabilities was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter.
The Hechinger Report provides in-depth, fact-based, unbiased reporting on education that is free to all readers. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to produce. Our work keeps educators and the public informed about pressing issues at schools and on campuses throughout the country. We tell the whole story, even when the details are inconvenient. Help us keep doing that.
The Trump administration moved quickly after taking office to open dozens of investigations into schools and universities nationwide. Most of those announced publicly mark a dramatic shift in priorities from previous administrations.
The Education Department and other agencies are looking into allegations of antisemitism and racial discrimination against white students at dozens of colleges. The agency also has begun investigating policies that protect transgender athletes and, in some cases, targeted entire state departments of education as part of that work.
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Here’s a look at investigations the Trump administration has announced. This map and list will be updated. Know of an investigation we missed? Tell us: [email protected].
Although the majority of investigations that have been opened are in states considered to be liberal, almost every state in the country has at least one entity under scrutiny. And many institutions face more than one investigation.
To date, colleges and universities have received the most attention from the administration, with more than 60 targeted over alleged incidents of antisemitism and another 45 under scrutiny over their work with a program that aims to increase diversity among Ph.D. candidates. Most of the K-12 investigations involve transgender policies, including those about access to sports and locker rooms.
Contact investigations editor Sarah Butrymowicz at [email protected] or on Signal: @sbutry.04
The Hechinger Report provides in-depth, fact-based, unbiased reporting on education that is free to all readers. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to produce. Our work keeps educators and the public informed about pressing issues at schools and on campuses throughout the country. We tell the whole story, even when the details are inconvenient. Help us keep doing that.
The first time someone told me I was “too loud” in Latvia, I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I genuinely hadn’t realized I was being loud. We were eating pizza one evening at Easy Wine in Riga, and despite being the only one not tipsy on the refreshments, I was still somehow the rowdiest at the table.
I shrank down an inch in my seat. The moment gave me pause. It was oddly familiar, like déjà vu. Everything around me felt almost known, just slightly askew, like it had been tilted on its axis.
The shame of taking up too much space? That I knew. But this time, it didn’t come from being Brown. It came from being American.
In the United States, my race is always top of mind. I’m a university student, and as a Government major, it’s a regular feature of my coursework. Having grown up in a nearly all-White town, I’ve been explaining my identity to others since I could talk.
With nearly two decades of practice under my belt, I’m well-versed in how my skin color and ancestry shape the world around me, and how to articulate that for others. So, the longer I spent in Riga, the more unsettled I felt by how absent race seemed from the conversation.
Conversations not had
Hours spent gazing out the windows of trolleybuses gliding through the city confirmed what I suspected: Riga is not very diverse. Among the small number of people of color I did see, most were other South Asians, like me. In the United States, race is an ever-present topic, whether it’s in political debates, academic syllabi or heated threads on X. In Latvia, it felt like race had slipped out of the cultural vocabulary altogether.
As part of my study abroad program, we often heard from expert guest lecturers. And as each one spoke, a quiet confusion grew inside me: Why is nobody talking about race? I started to feel like a foreign lunatic, playing an internal game of “spot the non-white person” on every street. But the more I searched, the more questions I had. Where was the discussion? Why wasn’t it happening?
So, I brought it up with a friend I’d made in my hostel. Arsh is an Indian student studying mechanical engineering at Riga Technical University. He had been living in the city since February. When I asked if he’d experienced discrimination as a visibly Punjabi Sikh, his answer surprised me.
“No,” he said.
And then he added something that completely shifted my perspective.
“Nobody talks.”
Silence and race
I’d known Latvians were famously quiet, but I’d never considered how that silence might shape their understanding and construction of race.
In the United States, your racial identity is often the first thing people ask about. Strangers want to know what you are and where you’re from. Race in America is personal, political and inescapable. The constant conversation can be both exhausting and empowering: it pushes systems to change, creates space for shared stories of resilience and holds people accountable.
But it also creates a kind of fatigue. As a person of color, you’re constantly on: explaining, reacting, defending. You’re visible, but often through a lens of trauma or tension.
In Latvia, it was different. What I came to think of as a kind of “quiet neutrality” reigned. People didn’t ask where I was from. They didn’t comment on my skin tone. They didn’t bring up diversity or inclusion, mainly because they weren’t speaking to me in the first place.
At first, that silence felt like relief. But eventually, it began to feel like an absence, because bias still exists, even if no one’s talking about it.
The power of passive racism
After speaking with Arsh, I turned to the Internet, searching for other South Asian perspectives on racism in Latvia. I found plenty.
One Quora user bluntly wrote, “Indians are treated like shit here in Latvia.” Another shared that she didn’t know if others felt negatively about her brown skin, but if they did, they didn’t confront her about it. A Redditor described being told to “go back to your own country.” These stories varied wildly from hate crimes to total indifference, but they painted a clear picture: racism existed here. It just didn’t look the same.
Curious to dig deeper, I reached out to Gokul from @lifeinlatviaa on Instagram. A popular Indian content creator who’s lived in Latvia for seven years, Gokul shares his takes on life in the Baltics. Many of his videos humorously cover topics of social culture, stereotypes, education and work. He also co-hosts the podcast Baltic Banter with Brigita Reisone.
When I asked Gokul about his experience, he described the racism in Latvia as mostly “passive.” Latvians, he said, are reserved. “If they don’t like something, they won’t be in your face about it,” he said.
Still, he shared more overt examples, like housing ads that openly say Indians need not call. He noted persistent stereotypes, too: that Brown people are dirty kebab shop owners or delivery drivers.
The familiarity of bias
None of this was unfamiliar to me. I’ve experienced housing discrimination. I’ve been called dirty by a White person. The common style of racism in Latvia was new to me: distant and quiet. In the United States, I once had a tween boy bike past me and mock an Indian accent — it was less traumatic than it was bizarre. There was certainly nothing subtle about it though.
Looking further, I found several reports from Latvian Public Broadcasting documenting hate crimes and prejudice against South Asians. So no, it’s not that racism doesn’t exist in Latvia. It’s that it shows up differently, and more importantly, it’s not widely discussed.
That difference matters.
Race is fluid and contextual; its meaning shifts with time, place and history. In the United States, racism is foundational. It began with colonization and slavery, extending through the systemic injustice known as Jim Crow in the 19th and 20th centuries, to modern-day Islamophobia and racial profiling by police. Racial violence and resistance are woven into the country’s DNA.
Latvia’s history tells a different story. Latvia is a nation shaped more by being colonized than by colonizing. Ethnic Latvians have fought for sovereignty under foreign rule, whether by Germans or Soviets. Today, its population is overwhelmingly White, and ethnic tensions tend to focus on Latvians and Russians, or Roma communities. Immigration is relatively new here, so the language to talk about race may simply not have developed yet.
And that brings me back to volume.
In the United States, being loud is often classed and racialized as “trashy,” especially when tied to communities of color. In Latvia, loudness is framed differently: it’s seen as a kind of cultural rudeness. It’s not about being Brown, it’s about being foreign. And because everyone is generally quieter, the social cues around race, identity and belonging shift, too.
Little things like volume, friendliness and eye contact build the scaffolding around how race is perceived in different societies. They may seem like surface-level quirks, but they shape deep-rooted assumptions.
And they remind us: racism may look different in various places, but it doesn’t disappear. It just changes form. And recognizing that change is the first step to dismantling it.
Questions to consider:
1. Why do many people outside the United States connect loudness with being American?
2. Why was the author troubled about the lack of conversation about racism in Latvia?
3. What kind of conversations do you have about race and do they make you feel more or less comfortable?
I recently stood before hundreds of young people in California’s Central Valley; more than 60 percent were on that day becoming the first in their family to earn a bachelor’s degree.
Their very presence at University of California, Merced’s spring commencement ceremony disrupted a major narrative in our nation about who college is for — and the value of a degree.
Many of these young people arrived already balancing jobs, caregiving responsibilities and family obligations. Many were Pell Grant-eligible and came from communities that are constantly underestimated and where a higher education experience is a rarity.
These students graduated college at a critical moment in American history: a time when the value of a bachelor’s degree is being called into question, when public trust in higher education is vulnerable and when supports for first-generation college students are eroding. Yet an affordable bachelor’s degree remains the No. 1 lever for financial, professional and social mobility in this country.
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A recent Gallup poll showed that the number of Americans who have a great deal of confidence in higher education is dwindling, with a nearly equal amount responding that they have little to none. In 2015, when Gallup first asked this question, those expressing confidence outnumbered those without by nearly six to one.
There is no doubt that higher education must continue to evolve — to be more accessible, more relevant and more affordable — but the impact of a bachelor’s degree remains undeniable.
And the bigger truth is this: America’s long-term strength — its economic competitiveness, its innovation pipeline, its social fabric — depends on whether we invest in the education of the young people who reflect the future of this country.
There are many challenges for today’s workforce, from a shrinking talent pipeline to growing demands in STEM, healthcare and the public sector. These challenges can’t be solved unless we ensure that more first-generation students and those from underserved communities earn their degrees in affordable ways and leverage their strengths in ways they feel have purpose.
Those of us in education must create conditions in which students’ talent is met with opportunity and higher education institutions demonstrate that they believe in the potential of every student who comes to their campuses to learn.
UC Merced is a fantastic example of what this can look like. The youngest institution in the University of California system, it was recently designated a top-tier “R1” research university. At the same time, it earned a spot on Carnegie’s list of “Opportunity Colleges and Universities,” a new classification that recognizes institutions based on the success of their students and alumni. It is one of only 21 institutions in the country to be nationally ranked for both elite research and student success and is proving that excellence and equity can — and must — go hand in hand.
In too many cases, students who make it to college campuses are asked to navigate an educational experience that wasn’t built with their lived experiences and dreams in mind. In fact, only 24 percent of first-generation college students earn a bachelor’s degree in six years, compared to nearly 59 percent of students who have a parent with a bachelor’s. This results in not just a missed opportunity for individual first-generation students — it’s a collective loss for our country.
The graduates I spoke to in the Central Valley that day will become future engineers, climate scientists, public health leaders, artists and educators. Their bachelor’s degrees equip them with critical thinking skills, confidence and the emotional intelligence needed to lead in an increasingly complex world.
Their future success will be an equal reflection of their education and the qualities they already possess as first-generation college graduates: persistence, focus and unwavering drive. Because of this combination, they will be the greatest contributors to the future of work in our nation.
This is a reality I know well. As the Brooklyn-born daughter of Dominican immigrants, I never planned to go away from home to a four-year college. My father drove a taxi, and my mother worked in a factory. I was the first in my family to earn a bachelor’s degree. I attended college as part of an experimental program to get kids from neighborhoods like mine into “top” schools. When it was time for me to leave for college, my mother and I boarded a bus with five other students and their moms for a 26-hour ride to Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee.
Like so many first-generation college students, I carried with me the dreams and sacrifices of my family and community. I had one suitcase, a box of belongings and no idea what to expect at a place I’d never been to before. That trip — and the bachelor’s degree I earned — changed the course of my life.
First-generation college students from underserved communities reflect the future of America. Their success is proof that the American Dream is not only alive but thriving. And right now, the stakes are national, and they are high.
That is why we must collectively remove the obstacles to first-generation students’ individual success and our collective success as a nation. That’s the narrative that we need to keep writing — together.
Shirley M. Collado is president emerita at Ithaca College and the president and CEO ofCollege Track, a college completion program dedicated to democratizing potential among first-generation college students from underserved communities.
The Hechinger Report provides in-depth, fact-based, unbiased reporting on education that is free to all readers. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to produce. Our work keeps educators and the public informed about pressing issues at schools and on campuses throughout the country. We tell the whole story, even when the details are inconvenient. Help us keep doing that.
A Black History Month event, canceled. A lab working to fight hunger, shuttered. Student visas revoked, then reinstated, uncertain for how long. Opportunities for students pursuing science careers, fading.
The first six months of the Trump administration have brought a hailstorm of changes to the nation’s colleges and universities. While the president’s faceoffs with Harvard and Columbia have generated the most attention, students on campuses throughout the country are noticing the effects of the administration’s cuts to scientific and medical research, clampdown on any efforts promoting diversity equity and inclusion (DEI), newly aggressive policies for students with loan debt, revoking of visas for international students and more.
Many of the administration’s actions are being challenged in court, but they are influencing the way students interact with each other, what support they can get from their institutions — and even whether they feel safe in this nation.
The Hechinger Report traveled to campuses around the country to look at what these changes mean for students. Reporters visited universities in four states — California, Illinois, Louisiana and Texas — to understand this new era for higher education.
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Louisiana State University
BATON ROUGE, La. — Last fall, Louisiana State University student A’shawna Smith had an idea for a new campus group to educate students about their legal rights and broader problems in the criminal justice system. Smith, a sociology major, had spent the prior summer interning at a law firm and noticed how many clients didn’t know their rights after an arrest.
Smith, now a rising senior, called it The Injustice Reform and soon recruited classmates and a campus adviser. They wrote a mission statement and trained as student group leaders. On Feb. 20, LSU’s student government, which awards money to campus groups that comes from student fees, gave them $1,200; Smith and her classmates planned to use the award to recruit members and organize events.
At Louisiana State University, in Baton Rouge, students say actions taken by the school’s administration in response to the federal crackdown on diversity, equity and inclusion are changing the campus culture and harming the operations of student government. Credit: Tyler Kaufman/AP Photo
But on April 8, Injustice Reform’s treasurer received a text message from Cortney Greavis, LSU’s student government adviser. She said LSU was rescinding the money: The group’s mission statement ran afoul of new federal and state restrictions on DEI. Its mission mentions racial disparities and police brutality, but the organizers were never told which words violated the rules. Smith and fellow leaders started chipping in their own money to keep the group going: $10 here and there, whatever they could afford, said Bella Porché, a rising senior on the group’s executive board.
Canceling awards to student groups is one way students say administrators at LSU, the state’s flagship university, have restricted what they can do and say since the U.S. Department of Education wrote to schools and colleges nationwide on Valentine’s Day. The letter described DEI efforts — designed to rectify current and historic discrimination — as discriminatory and threatened schools with the loss of federal money unless they ended the consideration of race in admissions, financial aid, housing, training and other practices.
Since the letter, discussion of DEI on campus “has become an anti-gay, anti-Black sort of conversation,” said Emma Miller, a rising senior and elected student senator. “People who are minorities don’t feel safe anymore, don’t feel represented, don’t feel seen, because DEI is being wiped away and their university is not saying anything.”
In a March 7 report, the university detailed dozens of changes made to comply with the letter’s demands. For example, it ended any preference granted to students from historically underrepresented groups for certain privately funded scholarships; opened membership in school-funded student organizations — like a women-in-business group — to all; and canceled activities perceived to emphasize race, even a fitness class kicking off Black History Month.
Student government leaders say the restrictions hinder their ability to operate. Rising junior Tyhlar Holliway, a member of the student government’s Black Caucus, said school administrators essentially shut down the caucus’ proposal that the student government issue a statement after the Department of Education letter in support of DEI programs and initiatives.
LSU public relations staff did not respond to interview requests or to an emailed list of questions, and the school’s civil rights and Title IX division director declined to speak.
Miller said administrators have told student leaders that all their proposed legislation must be reviewed by the school’s general counsel for compliance with the March 7 guidelines. The administration, for example, blocked a student government bill to fund a Black hair care event designed to help students prepare for career and professional opportunities, said senior Paris Holman, a student government member. “We have conferences and interviews and need to know how to take care of our hair,” said Holman, who is Black.
Students have also tailored the language of other bills to avoid the appearance of support for DEI. Holman said that in one case the student senate changed the language in a bill funding an end-of-year event for a minority student organization to remove any reference to the organization as serving minority students.
The school also overrode student government decisions about which groups, like A’shawna Smith’s, could be funded by student fees. In February, the student government voted to provide $641 to help a pre-med student, who is Black, attend a student medical education conference, in part so she could share what she’d learn with other pre-med students. A few weeks later, she received an email from Greavis, the student government adviser, saying she wouldn’t be able to attend with university funds because that money could no longer be used for “DEI-related events, initiatives, programs, or travel.” Greavis didn’t respond to requests for an interview.
The email didn’t specify why the medical conference crossed the line. But the sponsoring organization’s mission statement notes its commitment to “supporting current and future underrepresented minority medical students,” and a conference plenary speaker was scheduled to address the “enduring case for DEI in medicine.” Fewer than 6 percent of doctors are Black and research has shown improved health outcomes for Black patients who are seen by physicians of the same race.
“It doesn’t feel like a democracy,” said Holman of serving in student government at this moment.
She and other students say the university’s actions are starting to change the broader culture at LSU, which serves nearly 40,000 undergraduate and graduate students on its campus of Italian Renaissance buildings shaded by magnolias and Southern live oaks. About 60 percent of students are white and 18 percent are Black, according to federal data.
Mila Fair, a rising sophomore journalism major and a reporter for the campus TV station, said students tell her they’re afraid to join protests, in part because of LSU’s new anti-DEI rules and the national crackdown on student demonstrations. Those who do attend are often afraid to go on camera with her, she said.
Professor Andrew Sluyter of Louisiana State University. The university purged hundreds of webpages referencing DEI-related content, including a press release announcing a prestigious fellowship he’d won that mentioned “higher education’s racial inequities.” Credit: Steven Yoder for The Hechinger Report
Latin American studies professor Andrew Sluyter said administrators normally listen to the student government — even more than to the faculty government — but now worry about students getting the school into “political hot water.” He had his own run-in with the DEI ban: As part of a February effort to scrub school websites of diversity references, in which the university purged hundreds of webpages referencing DEI-related content, LSU deleted a 2022 press release announcing a prestigious fellowship he’d won that mentioned “higher education’s racial inequities.”
Students recognize the pressure LSU is under from the federal government, but they want administrators to stand up for them, said graduate student Alicia Cerquone, a student senator. “We want some sort of communication from the university that shows commitment to its community, that they have our backs and they’ll protect students,” she said.
— Steven Yoder
The University of California, Berkeley
BERKELEY, Calif. — Since early April, Rayne Xue, a junior at the University of California, Berkeley, has watched with trepidation as the Trump administration has taken one step after another to limit international students’ access to American higher education.
First came the abrupt cancellation, then reinstatement, of visas for 23 Berkeley students and recent graduates. Then the government cut off Harvard’s ability to enroll international students — a move since blocked by a federal judge — raising fears that something similar could happen at Berkeley. And late last month, as this year’s graduates were celebrating their recent commencements, Secretary of State Marco Rubio paused interviews for all new student visas and announced he would “aggressively revoke” those of Chinese students.
About 16 percent of University of California, Berkeley, students come from outside the United States. Credit: Eric Risberg/AP Photo
Xue, who is from Beijing and won a student senate seat this past spring on a platform of supporting international students, said the administration’s actions strike at a critical part of campus life at Berkeley.
“College is the opportunity of a lifetime to unlearn prejudices and embrace new perspectives, neither of which is possible without a student body that comes from a wide range of geographic and cultural backgrounds,” she said.
About 16 percent of UC Berkeley’s more than 45,000 students come from outside the United States to study at the crown jewel of California’s public research university system, where creeks run through campus beneath cooling redwoods and parking spaces are set aside for Nobel laureates. China, India, South Korea and Canada send the biggest numbers. International students pay higher tuition than California residents, boosting the university’s coffers and subsidizing some of their peers. Many of them conduct cutting-edge research in fields like computer science, engineering and chemistry.
Now the Trump administration’s immigration crackdown, magnified by the yanking of billions in federal research dollars, has international students worried about their future on campus. Many are changing their behavior to avoid scrutiny: Some canceled travel plans and many said they avoid walking near any campus protests in fear of being photographed.
“It’s difficult for international students to feel secure when they cannot anticipate what the administration might charge against them next — or whether they might be unfairly targeted,” said one global studies major who asked not to be identified for fear of attracting retaliation.
Tomba Morreau, a rising junior from the Netherlands studying sociology, said he stopped posting about politics on social media — just in case.
That kind of self-censorship troubles Paul Fine, co-chair of the Berkeley Faculty Association, which represents about a fifth of the university’s tenure-track faculty.
Federal policies are “creating this culture of fear where people start to censor themselves and try to stay under the radar and not show up in their full selves, whether for academic work or activism,” he said.
International students in Fine’s classes told him they wanted to attend a recent protest against federal threats to higher education but were afraid of the consequences, he said. Others told him they were skipping academic conferences outside the United States that they otherwise would have attended.
“Berkeley really prides ourselves on being an intellectual hub that convenes people from all over the world to work on the most important problems,” Fine said. Now that identity is at risk, he said, especially as actual and threatened cuts to grants make it harder for faculty to hire international graduate students and postdocs.
Most poignant, he said, was hearing from demoralized Chinese students who left a repressive government to come to the United States only to see attacks on academic freedom replicated here.
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Xue said she hopes the crisis facing universities would draw attention to the challenges international students face, including limited financial aid and the stereotype that all of them are wealthy. With her colleagues in student government, she is lobbying for Berkeley to spend more on the international office, which provides one-on-one advising on visa issues and employment.
For Lily Liu, a Chinese computer scientist, 2025 was shaping up to be a year of milestones. She graduated with a doctorate last month, has a job lined up at a leading artificial intelligence company and is engaged to be married in November.
But the Trump administration’s changing policies toward international scholars have complicated celebrations for Liu, who’s in a federal program that extends her visa for up to a year beyond graduation so she can gain work experience here. She canceled summer travel plans with her family, concerned she might not be let back into the country. And she’s considering moving her wedding to the United States from China, even though many of her relatives wouldn’t be able to attend.
“For international students, every policy affects us a lot,” she said. So Liu is careful. After the publication of her thesis was delayed, she visited Berkeley’s international office to make sure the setback wouldn’t affect her work permit. Her fiancé has a green card, which should theoretically mean his immigration status is more stable. But these days, she said, who knows?
— Felicia Mello
The University of Texas at San Antonio
SAN ANTONIO, Texas — Growing up here, Reina Saldivar had always loved science — all she wanted to watch on TV was “Animal Planet.” Yet until she applied on a whim to a program for aspiring researchers after her first year at the University of Texas at San Antonio, she assumed she would spend her life as a lab technician, running cultures.
The program, Maximizing Access to Research Careers, or MARC, was started by the National Institutes of Health decades ago at colleges around the country to prepare students, especially those from historically underrepresented backgrounds, for livelihoods in the biomedical sciences.
Saldivar got in. And through the program, she spent much of her time on campus in a university lab, helping develop a carrier molecule for a new Lyme disease vaccine. Now Saldivar, who graduated this spring, plans to eventually return to academia for a doctorate.
“What MARC taught me was that my dreams aren’t out of reach,” she said.
Saldivar is among hundreds who’ve participated in the MARC program since its 1980 founding at the University of Texas at San Antonio. She may also be among the last. In April, the university’s MARC program director, Edwin Barea-Rodriguez, opened his email inbox to find a form letter terminating the initiative and advising against recruiting more cohorts.
The letter cited “changes in NIH/HHS [Health and Human Services] priorities.” In recent months, the Trump administration has canceled at least half a dozen programs meant to train scholars and diversify the sciences as part of an effort to root out what the president labels illegal DEI.
In a statement to The Hechinger Report, NIH said that it “is committed to restoring the agency to its tradition of upholding gold-standard, evidence-based science” and is reviewing grants to make sure the agency is “addressing the United States chronic disease epidemic.”
With MARC ending, Barea-Rodriguez is searching for a way to continue supporting current participants until they graduate next academic year. Without access to federal money, however, the young scientists are anxious about their futures — and that of public health in general.
“It took years to be where we are now,” said Barea-Rodriguez, who said he was not speaking on behalf of his university, “and in a hundred days everything was destroyed.”
UTSA’s sprawling campus sits on the northwest edge of San Antonio, far from tourist sites like the Alamo and the River Walk. Forty-four percent of the nearly 31,000 undergraduate students are the first in their families to attend college; more than 61 percent identify as Hispanic or Latino. The university was one of the first nationwide to earn Department of Education recognition as a Hispanic-serving institution, a designation for colleges where at least a quarter of full-time undergraduates are Hispanic.
When Barea-Rodriguez arrived to teach at the school in 1995, many locals considered it a glorified community college, he said. But in the three decades since, the investments NIH made through MARC and other federal programs have helped it become a top-tier research university. That provided students like Saldivar with access to world-class opportunities close to home and fostered talent that propelled the economy in San Antonio and beyond.
The Trump administration has quickly upended much of that infrastructure, not only by terminating career pipeline programs for scholars, but also by pulling more than $8.2 million in National Science Foundation money from UTSA.
One of those canceled grants paid for student researchers and the development of new technologies to improve equity in math education and better serve elementary school kids from underrepresented backgrounds in a city that is about 64 percent Hispanic. Another aimed to provide science, technology, engineering and math programming to bilingual and low-income communities.
UTSA administrators did not respond to requests for comment about how federal funding freezes and cuts are affecting the university. Nationwide, more than 1,600 NSF grants have been axed since January.
In San Antonio, undergraduates said MARC and other now-dead programs helped prepare them for academic and professional careers that might have otherwise been elusive. Speaking in a lab remodeled and furnished with NIH money, where leftover notes and diagrams on glass erase boards showed the research questions students had been noodling, they described how the programs taught them about drafting an abstract, honing public speaking and writing skills, networking, putting together a résumé and applying for summer research positions, travel scholarships and graduate opportunities.
“All of the achievements that I’ve collected have pretty much been, like, a direct result of the program,” said Seth Fremin, a senior biochemistry major who transferred to UTSA from community college and has co-authored five articles in major journals, with more in the pipeline. After graduation, he will start a fully funded doctoral program at the University of Pittsburgh to continue his research on better understanding chemical reactions.
Seth Fremin, a senior biochemistry major at the University of Texas at San Antonio, with Edwin Barea-Rodriguez. Credit: Alexandra Villareal for The Hechinger Report
Similarly, Elizabeth Negron, a rising senior, is spending this summer at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, researching skin microbiomes to see if certain bacteria predispose some people to cancers.
“It’s weird when you meet students who didn’t get into these programs,” Negron said, referring to MARC. “They haven’t gone to conferences. They haven’t done research. They haven’t been able to mentor students. … It’s very strange to acknowledge what life would have been without it. I don’t know if I could say I’d be as successful as I am now.”
With money for MARC erased, Negron said she will probably need a job once she returns to campus in the fall so she can afford day-to-day expenses. Before, research was her job.
“Without MARC,” she said, “it becomes a question of can I at least cover my tuition and my very basic needs.”
— Alexandra Villarreal
The University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
CHAMPAIGN, Ill. — When Peter Goldsmith received notice in late January that his Soybean Innovation Lab at the University of Illinois would soon lose all of its funding, he had no idea it was coming. Suddenly Goldsmith, the lab’s director, had to tell his 30 employees they would soon be out of a job and tell research partners across Africa that operations would come to a halt. The lab didn’t even have money to water its soybean fields in Africa.
One employee, Julia Paniago, was in Malawi when she got the news. “We came back the next day,” she said of her team, “and it was a lot of uncertainty. And a lot of people cried.”
The University of Illinois’ Soybean Innovation Lab (SIL) was part of a network of 17 labs at universities across the country, all working on research related to food production and reducing global hunger, and all funded through the U.S. Agency for International Development — until the Trump administration shut down USAID.
Brian Diers is former deputy director of the University of Illinois’ Soybean Innovation Lab. The lab lost its funding because of cuts to the U.S. Agency for International Development. Credit: Miles MacClure for The Hechinger Report
Soybeans — which provide both oil and high-protein food — aren’t yet commonly grown in Malawi. SIL researchers have been working toward two related goals: helping local farmers increase soybean production and ameliorate malnutrition and generating enough interest in the crop there that a new export market will open for American farmers.
The lab’s researchers work in soybean breeding, economics and mechanical research as well as education. They hope to show that soybean production in Africa is worth further investment so that eventually the private sector will come in after them.
“The people who work at SIL, they like being right at the frontier of change,” Goldsmith said. “It’s high-risk work — that’s what the universities do, that’s what scientific research is about.”
UI, the state’s flagship with a sprawling campus spread between the cities of Urbana and Champaign, is noted for its research work, especially agricultural research.
Labs and researchers across the university lost funding in cuts made by the Trump administration; more than $25 million from agencies including NIH, NSF and the National Endowment for the Humanities was cut, Melissa Edwards, associate vice chancellor for research and innovation, said, a total of 59 grants amounting to 3.6 percent of their overall federal grant portfolio.
Annette Donnelly, who just received her doctorate in education, is among those affected. Her research focuses on educating malnourished children in Africa and developing courses to help Africans learn how to process soybeans into oil.
In April, SIL was handed a lifeline — an anonymous $1 million gift that will keep the lab running through April 2026. The donation wasn’t enough for Goldsmith to rehire all of his employees; SIL’s annual operating budget before the USAID cuts was $3.3 million (and would have kept things running through 2027). But, he said, the money will allow SIL to continue its research in the Lower Shire Valley in Malawi, a project he hopes will attract future donors to fund the lab’s work.
The April donation saved Donnelly’s job, but her priorities shifted. “We’re doing research,” she said, “but we’re also doing a lot of proposal writing. It has taken on a much greater priority.”
Donnelly hopes to attract more funding so she can resume research she had started in western Kenya, demonstrating that introducing soy into children’s diets increased their protein intake by up to 65 percent, she said.
The impact that funding cuts will have on researchers at the soybean lab pales in comparison to the impact on their partners in Africa, Donnelly emphasized. There, she said, the cuts mean processors will likely slow production, limiting their ability to deliver soy products. “The consequences there are much bigger,” she said.
The Soybean Innovation Lab was funded through the Feed the Future initiative, a program to help partner countries develop better agricultural practices that began under the Obama administration in 2010. All 17 Feed the Future innovation labs funded through USAID lost funding, except for the one at Kansas State University, which studies heat-tolerant wheat.
The soybean lab’s office is housed on a quiet edge of the Illinois campus in a building once occupied by the university’s veterinary medicine program. Across the street, rows of greenhouses are home to the Crop Science Department’s experiments.
There, Brian Diers is breeding soybean varieties that resist soybean rust, a disease that’s been an obstacle to ramping up soybean production across sub-Saharan Africa. A professor emeritus who is retired, Diers works part-time at SIL to assist with soybean breeding. The April donation wasn’t enough to cover his work. Now he volunteers his time.
“ If we can help African agriculture take off and become more productive, that’s eventually going to help their economies and then provide more opportunities for American farmers to export to Africa,” he said.
Goldsmith drew an analogy between his lab’s work and the state of American agriculture in the 1930s. As the Dust Bowl swept through the Great Plains, Monsanto or another company could have stepped in to help combat it, but didn’t. Public land-grant universities did.
“That’s where the innovation comes from, from the public land grants in the U.S.,” Goldsmith said. “And now the public land grants still work in U.S. agriculture but also in the developing world.”
Commercial soybean producers hesitate to dip their toes into unproven markets, he said, so it’s SIL’s job to demonstrate that a viable market exists. “That was our secret sauce, in that lots of commercial players liked the products, the technologies we had, and wanted to move into the soybean space, but it wasn’t a profitable market,” Goldsmith said of the African soybean market.
Diers said federal funding cuts imperil not just the development of commerce and global food production but the next generation of scientists as well.
“We could potentially lose a generation of scientists who won’t go into science because there’s no funding right now,” he said.
— Miles MacClure
Contact editor Lawrie Mifflin at [email protected] or 212-678-4078. Contact editor Caroline Preston at 212-870-8965, via Signal at CarolineP.83 or on email at [email protected].
The Hechinger Report provides in-depth, fact-based, unbiased reporting on education that is free to all readers. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to produce. Our work keeps educators and the public informed about pressing issues at schools and on campuses throughout the country. We tell the whole story, even when the details are inconvenient. Help us keep doing that.
El College Board modificó este mes los criterios de concesión de becas del Programa Nacional de Reconocimiento o National Recognition Program, en una medida que podría desplazar decenas de miles de dólares de becas de estudiantes negros y latinos a estudiantes blancos.
Las universidades utilizaban los premios para contratar y ofrecer becas a estudiantes de alto rendimiento procedentes de grupos subrepresentados en la enseñanza superior. Anteriormente, el premio reconocía los logros académicos de estudiantes de cinco categorías: negros, hispanos, indígenas americanos, de primera generación y residentes en zonas rurales o ciudades pequeñas.
Las categorías raciales fueron eliminadas.
Ahora, los estudiantes que viven en ciudades pequeñas y zonas rurales pueden seguir obteniendo el premio si obtienen en el PSAT -precursor del SAT que se administra en las escuelas secundarias de todo el país- una puntuación que se sitúe en el 10% superior de todos los estudiantes de ciudades pequeñas y zonas rurales de su estado. Lo mismo ocurre con los estudiantes de primera generación, pero no con los de categorías raciales subrepresentadas.
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Los críticos se mostraron decepcionados por la decisión del College Board.
“Creían que la desigualdad racial era algo importante que había que abordar ayer, y al cambiar eso, están dando a entender que no es algo importante por lo que luchar ahora”, dijo Rachel Perera, investigadora de estudios gubernamentales en la liberal Brookings Institution. “Esa es la cuestión central que se debate, aunque no se haga de forma explícita: ¿existe la discriminación racial?”.
En una declaración en su sitio web, el College Board recordó la sentencia del Tribunal Supremo de 2023 que prohibió el uso de la raza como criterio en las admisiones, aunque los premios del Programa Nacional de Reconocimiento se utilizaban para becas y contratación, no para admisiones.
“Las recientes acciones legales y regulatorias han limitado aún más la utilidad de estos premios para los estudiantes y las universidades”, dice la declaración. Además, el presidente Donald Trump ha dejado claro en repetidas ocasiones que desaprueba las políticas que tienen en cuenta la raza en la educación superior, y algunos estados han prohibido la consideración de la raza en las decisiones sobre becas.
En 2023-24, el College Board concedió 115.000 premios de reconocimiento y algo menos de la mitad correspondieron a categorías raciales. El año anterior hubo más de 80.000 premios y la mayoría fueron para estudiantes negros, hispanos e indígenas americanos. Aunque el College Board no reparte dinero por sí mismo, las universidades lo utilizan para seleccionar a los estudiantes que recibirán becas. Según Holly Stepp, directora de comunicaciones del College Board, éste no mantiene una lista de las instituciones que utilizaron las categorías raciales.
El College Board inició el programa en 1983 para reconocer a los estudiantes hispanos de alto rendimiento. En 2020, se añadieron las otras dos categorías raciales y las designaciones de ciudad pequeña y rural. Los estudiantes de primera generación pudieron ganar el premio a partir del año pasado. Las ciudades pequeñas podían incluir aquellas con ingresos modestos o enclaves ricos como Aspen (Colorado). Además, todos los estudiantes deben tener al menos una media de B+.
Aunque ahora estudiantes de todas las razas pueden obtener los premios, la supresión de las categorías raciales afectará probablemente de forma desproporcionada a los estudiantes negros e hispanos.
En promedio, los estudiantes asiáticos y blancos obtienen puntuaciones más altas en el PSAT. La puntuación media de los estudiantes blancos en el PSAT del año pasado fue de 994, frente a los 821 de los estudiantes negros, lo que supone una diferencia de 173 puntos. La media de los estudiantes asiáticos fue aún mayor, 1108, mientras que la de los hispanos y los indígenas americanos fue de 852 y 828 puntos, respectivamente.
“Se trata de un avance hacia las categorías que no tienen en cuenta la raza, cuando sabemos que la educación y el acceso a la educación no son independientes de la raza”, afirmó Wil Del Pilar, vicepresidente senior de EdTrust, un grupo político de tendencia izquierdista.
Sin embargo, algunos conservadores elogiaron la medida, argumentando que los programas de becas y contratación en función de la raza eran formas de eludir las sentencias de la Corte Suprema sobre la acción afirmativa y que constituían una forma de discriminación inversa.
Jonathan Butcher, investigador principal de política educativa en la conservadora Heritage Foundation, dijo que cree que la discriminación racial existe y debe abordarse, pero que las políticas educativas que tienen en cuenta la raza son ilegales e ineficaces.
“Si se utilizan preferencias raciales, se está preparando a los estudiantes para que pierdan la confianza en sí mismos cuando se enfrenten a una situación para la que no están preparados”, afirma Butcher.
En lugar de las categorías raciales, este año se ha añadido una nueva designación que reconoce a los estudiantes que obtienen una puntuación en el PSAT dentro del 10% de los mejores de su escuela secundaria.
Los expertos afirman que es poco probable que las universidades ofrezcan becas a todos los estudiantes que obtengan las mejores notas del 10% de todos las escuelas secundarias del país, dado el coste que ello supondría. Funcionarios de la Universidad de Nuevo México, por ejemplo, dijeron que dejarían de utilizar las designaciones del College Board a partir del año escolar 2026-27.
“Actualmente estamos analizando nuestra estrategia de becas, pero se harán cambios en todos los ámbitos”, dijo Steve Carr, director de comunicaciones de la universidad, en un correo electrónico.
En 2023-24, la Universidad de Nuevo México concedió becas por valor de 15.000 dólares cada una a 149 estudiantes negros, hispanos e indígenas americanos.
La Universidad de Arizona también ofreció becas a los estudiantes que obtuvieron premios del Programa de Reconocimiento Nacional en las designaciones raciales el año pasado.
“La universidad ya estaba evaluando su estrategia de becas y tendrá en cuenta el anuncio del College Board a la hora de determinar la mejor manera de avanzar y apoyar a nuestros estudiantes”, dijo Mitch Zak, portavoz de la Universidad de Arizona, en un correo electrónico.
Además de las puntuaciones obtenidas en el PSAT, los estudiantes pueden optar al premio del College Board si obtienen una puntuación de 3 o más en dos de los cinco exámenes de Colocación Avanzada o Advanced Placement realizados durante su noveno y/o décimo curso, aunque muchas escuelas secundarias no ofrecen de manera uniforme cursos AP a los estudiantes de primer y segundo año.
“No podemos hablar de méritos si no estamos todos en el mismo punto de partida en cuanto a lo que recibimos de nuestra educación primaria y secundaria”, dijo Del Pilar, “y cómo podemos desenvolvernos en el entorno de preparación de exámenes, o la falta de preparación de exámenes que reciben ciertas comunidades”.
Comunícate Meredith Kolodner en el 212-870-1063 o en [email protected] o en Signal en merkolodner.04
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The Hechinger Report provides in-depth, fact-based, unbiased reporting on education that is free to all readers. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to produce. Our work keeps educators and the public informed about pressing issues at schools and on campuses throughout the country. We tell the whole story, even when the details are inconvenient. Help us keep doing that.
By mirroring gender pay gap reporting, which was made mandatory in 2018, the Equality (Race and Disability) Bill would introduce mandatory ethnicity and disability pay gap reporting for large employers with 250 or more employers.
Diving into the data, we were concerned to find that no progress has been made in reducing the median gross hourly pay gap for Black, African, Caribbean or Black British employees compared to white employees, remaining “consistent since 2012”. The disability pay gap is even more pronounced, at 12.7 per cent, having remained “relatively stable since 2014.” The lack of progress in closing these pay gaps is as concerning as the lack of awareness of the problem.
Conversely, the practice of gender pay gap reporting will have contributed to the gender pay gap declining by approximately a quarter among full-time employees over the past decade. Greater transparency helped build the foundations for positive transformation, creating a strategic imperative to root out systemic inequalities and leading to many employers developing, and proactively publishing, action plans to close the gap within their organisations.
In pursuing the noble aim of creating a more equal – and socially cohesive – society, the same focus must now be placed on tackling racial and disability inequalities. Economic inequalities between ethnic groups are an important contributor to social unrest.
The government should be supported in its proposed introduction of the Equality (Race and Disability) Bill and, speaking as vice chancellor of Birmingham City University (BCU), David would encourage fellow higher education leaders to join him in lending our public support to the government for this proposal.
There are two key reasons for higher education institutions publicising their ethnicity pay gaps in particular: to build trust with their internal community, and to strengthen authentically social cohesiveness in their local communities.
Building trust
BCU’s new strategy articulates a clear commitment to improve the diversity of our organisation at all levels and eradicate pay gaps. The first step in this will be to publish all our pay gaps with a clear plan to close them by 2030.
There are persistent racial inequalities in higher education. This is demonstrated most evidently in awarding gaps for ethnic minority students and Black students achieving a good honours degrees compared to white students, at 14.1 per cent and 21.6 per cent respectively in 2024. A lack of representation of ethnic minority staff in senior positions also conveys persistent inequities. Ethnic minorities now comprise one in three undergraduate students, but only one in four (20.2 per cent) of academic staff. Their representation is even lower among professors (15.1 per cent), senior managers (9.1 per cent) and executives (7 per cent).
The picture is more concerning in terms of Black representation in higher education. One in ten undergraduate students is Black (9.6 per cent), but only one in every roughly 27 academics share their ethnic identity. Only 1.6 per cent of all professors are black and 0.7 per cent of executives.
In contrast to the gender pay gap, information on the ethnicity pay gap in higher education is not routinely published. Combined with the lack of proportional representation of ethnic minority staff in senior positions, the lack of published data and strategy to tackle pay gaps has caused many staff to lose trust in institutional leadership and its commitment to tackle racial inequalities. The Equality (Race and Disability) Bill would bring parity with mandatory gender pay gap reporting and offer greater transparency to our communities.
Working effectively with our diverse local communities necessitates trust and the transparent reporting of systemic racial inequalities is paramount. For BCU, this means better reflecting and working in partnership with a community in which no ethnic group has a majority; the 2021 census identified that Birmingham’s population is more than twice as likely to come from an ethnic minority than the overall population in England. 51.4 per cent of people living in Birmingham are from an ethnic minority group, compared to a national average in England of 19 per cent. The data is much more profound for Ladywood, the constituency in which BCU’s city centre campus is based. Here, more than three in four (76.6 per cent) come from an ethnic minority, with the greater proportions of Asian (38.6 per cent) and Black (25.9 per cent) than White (23.4 per cent) citizens.
Birmingham’s “super-diversity” is seen as one of its biggest strengths, the city council opining that it stems from the city’s long-standing history for welcoming people from around the world. However, we must recognise that challenges persist, most notably in terms of engendering social harmony and tackling inequality. Those two challenges are interlinked: social harmony rests on our different racial and ethnic groups feeling valued and having trust in their local institutions providing equal opportunities and equitable outcomes, regardless of background.
Our 2030 strategy sets out a clear vision to be an exemplar anchor institution by 2030. This vision was co-created with representatives from our communities, who recognise and value the crucial role that universities like ours play in their locality. Our strategy explicitly recognises the responsibility we have in strengthening social cohesion in our home city of Birmingham.
From speaking with many vice chancellors, I know that we at BCU are not alone in championing our civic mission. Notwithstanding this, until we collective publish data on ethnicity pay gaps – alongside action plans to overcome these – our sector may find it difficult to build and sustain trust with our diverse internal and external communities. The Equality (Race and Disability) Bill offers a timely opportunity for our sector to demonstrate its commitment to racial justice.
My fellow vice-chancellors would do well in voicing their support through this government consultation.
The College Board this month changed the criteria for its National Recognition Program awards in a move that could shift tens of thousands of scholarship dollars from Black and Latino students to white students.
Colleges used the awards to recruit and offer scholarships to high-performing students from groups underrepresented in higher education. The award previously recognized academic achievement by students in five categories — Black, Hispanic, Native American, first-generation and those living in rural areas or small towns.
The racial categories have been eliminated.
Now, students living in small towns and rural areas can still earn the award if they score in the top 10 percent among all small-town and rural students in their state on the PSAT — a precursor to the SAT that is administered in high schools around the country. The same is true for first-generation students but not for students in underrepresented racial categories.
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Critics said they were disappointed by the College Board’s decision.
“They believed racial inequality was something important to address yesterday, and by changing that, they’re implying that it’s not something important to fight for now,” said Rachel Perera, a fellow in government studies at the liberal Brookings Institution. “That’s the heart of the question that’s being debated — although it’s not being debated in explicit terms — does racial discrimination exist?”
In a statement on its website, the College Board noted the 2023 Supreme Court ruling that prohibited the use of race in admissions, although the National Recognition Program awards were used for scholarships and recruitment, not admissions.
“Recent legal and regulatory actions have further limited the utility of these awards for students and colleges,” the statement says. Also, President Donald Trump has repeatedly made clear his disapproval of race-conscious policies in higher education, and some states have banned consideration of race in scholarship decisions.
In 2023-24, the College Board issued 115,000 recognition awards, and a little less than half were in the racial categories. The previous year there were more than 80,000 awards and the majority were for Black, Hispanic and Native American students. While the College Board doesn’t hand out money itself, universities use it to select students for scholarships. The Board has not maintained a list of which institutions used the racial categories, according to Holly Stepp, College Board’s director of communications.
The College Board started the program in 1983 to recognize high-performing Hispanic students. In 2020, the other two racial categories and the small town and rural designations were added. First-generation students could win the award starting last year. Small towns could include those with modest incomes or wealthy enclaves like Aspen, Colorado. All students must also have at least a B+ average.
While students of all races can now earn the awards, the removal of the racial categories will likely disproportionately affect Black and Hispanic students.
On average, Asian and white students score higher on PSATs. White students’ average score on the PSAT last year was 994 last year compared with 821 for Black students — a gap of 173 points. Asian students’ average was even higher at 1108 while Hispanic and Native American students averaged 852 and 828 respectively.
“It’s a move towards race-blind categories when we know that education and access to education isn’t race-blind,” said Wil Del Pilar, senior vice president at the left-leaning policy and advocacy group EdTrust.
Some conservatives praised the move, however, arguing that race-conscious scholarship and recruitment programs were ways to get around the Supreme Court’s rulings on affirmative action and that they were a form of reverse discrimination.
Jonathan Butcher, senior research fellow in education policy at the conservative Heritage Foundation, said he believes that racial discrimination does exist and should be addressed, but that race-conscious education policies were both illegal and ineffective.
“If you are using racial preferences, you are setting students up for a loss of confidence when they struggle in a situation they’re not prepared for,” Butcher said.
In place of the racial categories, a new designation has been added this year that recognizes students who score in the top 10 percent of their high school on the PSAT.
Experts say colleges are unlikely to offer scholarships to all students who score in the top 10 percent of every high school in the country, given the cost that would entail. Officials at the University of New Mexico, for example, said they would stop using the College Board designations beginning in the 2026-27 school year.
“We’re currently analyzing our scholarship strategy, but changes will be made across the board,” said Steve Carr, the university’s director of communications, in an email.
In 2023-24, the University of New Mexico awarded scholarships based on the College Board designations worth $15,000 each to 149 Black, Hispanic and Native American students.
The University of Arizona also offered scholarships to students who earned National Recognition Program awards in the racial designations last year.
“The university was already evaluating its scholarship strategy and will consider the College Board’s announcement as we determine how best to move forward and support our students,” said Mitch Zak, spokesman for the University of Arizona, in an email.
In addition to the PSAT scores, students are eligible for the College Board award if they score a 3 or higher out of 5 on two Advanced Placement exams taken during their ninth and/or 10th grade year, although many high schools don’t uniformly offer AP courses to freshmen and sophomores.
“We can’t really have a conversation around merit if we’re not all at the same starting point in terms of what we receive from our K-12 education,” said Del Pilar, “and how we’re able to navigate the test prep environment, or the lack of test prep that certain communities receive.”
Contact senior investigative reporter Meredith Kolodner at 212-870-1063 or [email protected] or on Signal at merkolodner.04
The Hechinger Report provides in-depth, fact-based, unbiased reporting on education that is free to all readers. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to produce. Our work keeps educators and the public informed about pressing issues at schools and on campuses throughout the country. We tell the whole story, even when the details are inconvenient. Help us keep doing that.
RIVER FOREST, Illinois — Cuando Jacqueline Quintero empezó a explorar opciones para ir a la universidad cuando se graduara de secundaria, se dio cuenta de algo que muchas parecían tener en común.
“No me gusta decirlo, pero todo el mundo parecía tan blanco”, dijo Quintero, cuyos padres llegaron a Estados Unidos desde México. “Simplemente no sentía que yo pertenecía allí”.
Hasta que fue a una recepción para estudiantes admitidos en la Dominican University, cerca de donde creció en los suburbios del oeste de Chicago. Entre las cosas que la hicieron decidirse casi de inmediato a ir allí: Se proporcionaba información a las familias tanto en inglés como en español.
“Por fin mis padres pudieron hacer preguntas” en su lengua materna, dice Quintero, que ahora cursa el penúltimo año de la carrera de Derecho. “Estaba acostumbrada a traducirles toda mi vida. Me puse a llorar, literalmente”.
Este aparentemente pequeño detalle es uno de los muchos que han ayudado a impulsar la matrícula de Dominican en casi un 25 por ciento desde 2021, un período durante el cual las instituciones comparables han luchado por atraer estudiantes y cuando el número de jóvenes de 18 años está a punto de comenzar un largo declive.
Esto se debe a que la universidad ha aprovechado un grupo de clientes potenciales que está creciendo: Los graduados hispanos como Quintero.
Históricamente, a las universidades y escuelas superiores no les ha ido bien a la hora de reclutar estudiantes hispanos. Ahora su propio éxito puede depender en gran medida de ello.
“La demografía de nuestro país está cambiando, y la enseñanza superior tiene que adaptarse”, afirma Glena Temple, presidenta de Dominican.
O, como dijo Quintero, sonriendo: “Ahora nos necesitan”.
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Jacqueline Quintero, hija de inmigrantes mexicanos, estudia en la Dominican University y tiene previsto estudiar Derecho. “Ahora nos necesitan”, dice refiriéndose a las universidades que reclutan estudiantes hispanos como ella. Credit: Camilla Forte/The Hechinger Report
Mientras que se prevé que en 2041 las cifras de graduados en enseñanza secundaria blancos, negros y asiáticos disminuyan en un 26%, un 22% y un 10%, respectivamente, se prevé que el número de graduados hispanos en enseñanza secundaria durante ese periodo aumente un 16%, según la Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, que realiza el seguimiento de estos datos.
Según el Centro Nacional de Estadísticas Educativas, casi 1 de cada 3 alumnos desde preescolar hasta 12º curso es hispano. Esta cifra es superior a la de menos de 1 de cada 4 de hace una década. La proporción de alumnos hispanos en las escuelas públicas es aún mayor en algunos estados, como California (56%), Texas (53%) y Florida (38%).
Esto hace que estos jóvenes – a menudo hijos o nietos de inmigrantes, o inmigrantes ellos mismos – adquieran una nueva importancia para las universidades, que históricamente no han conseguido atraer a tantos estudiantes hispanos como a gente de otros orígenes raciales.
Sin embargo, en un momento en que la educación superior necesita que aumente, la proporción de estudiantes hispanos que van a la universidad ha ido disminuyendo. Invertir esa tendencia es todo un reto, por muchas razones – el elevado costo, la necesidad de encontrar un trabajo inmediatamente después de la secundaria, el hecho de que muchos proceden de familias sin experiencia universitaria a las que pedir consejo – agravadas por los ataques cada vez más agresivos a los programas de diversidad de los campus, que podrían dificultar aún más la captación y el apoyo a estos estudiantes.
En el pasado, según Deborah Santiago, directora ejecutiva de la organización de defensa de los hispanos Excelencia in Education, las instituciones de enseñanza superior “podían alcanzar sus cifras [de matriculación] sin implicar a esta población. Eso ya no es así”.
Ese gran número de estudiantes hispanos que se acercan a la edad universitaria “es para lo que tenemos que prepararnos como instituciones de enseñanza superior y para satisfacer las necesidades de nuestras comunidades”, afirma Greg Mosier, presidente del Kansas City Kansas Community College, que ahora se anuncia en periódicos en español y en la radio en español.
“A medida que los baby boomers se jubilan, la población joven es mucho menor y tiene que sostener a una población de más edad”, afirma Michael Collins, vicepresidente del Centro para la Equidad Económica Racial de la organización sin fines de lucro Jobs for the Future.
El Centro para la Liberación Cultural de la Dominican University, cerca de Chicago. La sala es un lugar de estudio, conversación y encuentro para estudiantes de todas las procedencias. Credit: Camilla Forte/The Hechinger Report
A menos que las universidades construyan redes más amplias, dijo Collins – incluyendo la ayuda para que más hispanoamericanos puedan acceder a empleos mejor pagados – “nuestra calidad de vida será menor. Es un panorama bastante desolador”.
Incluso los más pequeños esfuerzos por matricular y apoyar a los estudiantes hispanos se complican aún más con la retirada de los programas de diversidad y las ayudas económicas a los estudiantes indocumentados, muchos de ellos hispanos.
Aunque la base jurídica de esa decisión ha sido ampliamente cuestionada, tiene en vilo a las instituciones de enseñanza superior. Incluso muchos colegios y universidades que los activistas elogiaron por impulsar la matriculación de hispanos no quisieron hablar de ello.
Algunos expertos dicen que la mayoría de los programas para reclutar y apoyar a los estudiantes hispanos no se verían afectados por las campañas anti DEI, ya que se ofrecen a cualquiera que los necesite. “Estas cosas funcionan para todos los estudiantes”, dijo Anne-Marie Núñez, directora ejecutiva del Instituto para el Éxito de los Estudiantes Hispanos de la Universidad de Texas en El Paso.
La proporción de graduados de secundaria hispanos que van directamente a la universidad es inferior a la de sus compañeros blancos, y está disminuyendo: del 70% al 58% entre 2012 y 2022. Ese es el último periodo para el que se dispone de cifras del Centro Nacional de Estadísticas Educativas. Los estudiantes hispanos que se matriculan en la universidad también la abandonan en mayor proporción.
Hay razones económicas y culturales para ello.
Según la Oficina del Censo, el ingreso medio anual de las familias hispanas es más de un 25% inferior al de las familias blancas, lo que significa que la universidad puede parecer fuera de su alcance. El Center for Law and Social Policy ha calculado que más de tres cuartas partes de los estudiantes hispanos que acuden incluso a colegios comunitarios de bajo coste tienen necesidades financieras no cubiertas.
Esto empuja a muchos directamente al mercado laboral. Muchos estudiantes universitarios hispanos trabajan al menos a tiempo parcial mientras estudian, algo que, según las investigaciones, reduce la probabilidad de graduarse.
Cuando Eddie Rivera terminó la secundaria en Carolina del Norte, “la universidad no era realmente una opción. Mi consejero no me ayudó. Sólo seguí lo que mi cultura hispana nos dice, que es ir a trabajar”.
Cuando Eddie Rivera terminó la secundaria en Carolina del Norte, “sólo seguí lo que mi cultura hispana nos dice, que es ir a trabajar”. Animado por sus compañeros, acabó matriculándose en la Dominican University. Credit: Camilla Forte/The Hechinger Report
Rivera, que tiene el estatus DACA, o Acción Diferida para los Llegados en la Infancia, trabajó en una residencia de ancianos, en un parque de trampolines cubierto y en un hospital durante la pandemia, donde sus colegas le animaron a ir a la universidad. Con la ayuda de un programa de becas para estudiantes indocumentados, también terminó en Dominican, donde a sus 28 años es estudiante de tercer año y se especializa en relaciones internacionales y diplomacia, con planes de obtener una maestría en política exterior y seguridad nacional.
Dominican, una pequeña universidad católica que data de 1922 y que antes se llamaba Rosary College, tiene una historia de educación de hijos de inmigrantes, del norte y centro de Europa, inicialmente.
Hoy, de las farolas del campus de 30 acres cuelgan pancartas con fotos de antiguos alumnos hispanos de éxito, y una banda de mariachis dirige las celebraciones del Día de los Muertos.
Las visitas a la institución se realizan en inglés y español, se ofrece a los estudiantes trabajo en el campus y el personal ayuda a familias enteras a superar crisis sanitarias, de vivienda y financieras. Dominican añadió un campus satélite en otoño en el barrio mexicano-americano de Pilsen, en Chicago, que ofrece titulaciones de dos años orientadas al empleo. Todos los estudiantes de la universidad reciben ayuda financiera, según datos federales.
“Todos los días me encuentro con un miembro del personal o un profesor que me pregunta qué me pasa en la vida y cómo pueden ayudarme”, dice Aldo Cervantes, estudiante de tercer año de Negocios con especialización en Contabilidad, que quiere dedicarse a la banca o a los recursos humanos.
También hay una Academia Familiar para que los padres, abuelos, hermanos y primos de los estudiantes conozcan los recursos de la universidad; como incentivo, las familias que acudan a cinco sesiones obtienen créditos para que su estudiante realice un curso de verano sin costo alguno.
Un armario de ropa en la Dominican University para estudiantes que necesitan trajes de negocios para entrevistas de trabajo. Uno de los factores que frenan la matriculación de hispanos en la universidad es la menor renta media de los hogares. Credit: Camilla Forte/The Hechinger Report
“Cuando observamos a la población latina que va a la universidad, no se trata de una elección individual”, afirma Gabe Lara, Vicepresidente de Éxito y Compromiso Estudiantil, utilizando el término preferido por la universidad para referirse a las personas de ascendencia latinoamericana. “Es una elección familiar”.
Estas y otras medidas han contribuido a más que duplicar la proporción de estudiantes hispanos en los últimos 10 años, hasta casi el 70% de los 2.570 estudiantes de Dominican, según cifras facilitadas por la universidad.
Genaro Balcazar dirige las estrategias de matriculación y marketing como director de operaciones de la universidad, tiene una forma pragmátuca de ver la situación.
“Atendemos las necesidades de los alumnos no por quiénes son”, dijo Balcázar, “sino porque necesitan la ayuda”.
Este artículo sobre la enseñanza superior y el reclutamiento de alumnos hispanos fue producido por The Hechinger Report, una organización de noticias independiente sin fines de lucro centrada en la desigualdad y la innovación en la educación. Suscríbete a nuestro boletín. Escucha nuestro podcast sobre educación.
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