New research has found that rural LGBTQ+ teens experience significant challenges in their communities and turn to the internet for support.
The research from Hopelab and the Born This Way Foundation looked at what more than 1,200 LGBTQ+ teens faced and compared the experiences of those in rural communities with those of teens in suburban and urban communities. The research found that rural teens are more likely to give and receive support through their online communities and friends than via their in-person relationships.
“The rural young people we’re seeing were reporting having a lot less support in their homes, in their communities, and their schools,” Mike Parent, a principal researcher at Hopelab, said in an interview with the Daily Yonder. “They weren’t doing too well in terms of feeling supported in the places they were living, though they were feeling supported online.”
However, the research found that rural LGBTQ+ teens had the same sense of pride in who they were as suburban and urban teens.
“The parallel, interesting finding was that we didn’t see differences in their internal sense of pride, which you might kind of expect if they feel all less supported,” he said. “What was surprising, in a very good way, was that indication of resilience or being able to feel a strong sense of their internal selves despite this kind of harsh environment they might be in.”
Researchers recruited young people between the ages of 15 and 24 who identified as LGBTQ+ through targeted ads on social media. After surveying the respondents during August and September of last year, the researchers also followed up some of the surveys with interviews, Parent said.
According to the study, rural teens were more likely than their urban and suburban counterparts to find support online. Of the rural respondents, 56% of rural young people reported receiving support from others online several times a month compared to 51% of urban and suburban respondents, and 76% reported giving support online, compared to 70% of urban and suburban respondents.
Conversely, only 28% of rural respondents reported feeling supported by their schools, compared to 49% of urban and suburban respondents, the study found, and 13% of rural respondents felt supported by their communities, compared to 35% of urban and suburban respondents.
Rural LGBTQ+ young people are significantly more likely to suffer mental health issues because of the lack of support where they live, researchers said. Rural LGBTQ+ young people were more likely to meet the threshold for depression (57% compared to 45%), and more likely to report less flourishing than their suburban/urban counterparts (43% to 52%).
The study found that those LGBTQ+ young people who received support from those they lived with, regardless of where they live, are more likely to report flourishing (50% compared to 35%) and less likely to meet the threshold for depression (52% compared to 63%).
One respondent said the impact of lack of support impacted every aspect of their lives.
“Not being able to be who you truly are around the people that you love most or the communities that you’re in is going to make somebody depressed or give them mental issues,” they said in survey interviews, according to Hopelab. “Because if you can’t be who you are around the people that you love most and people who surround you, you’re not gonna be able to feel the best about your well-being.”
Respondents said connecting with those online communities saved their lives.
“Throughout my entire life, I have been bullied relentlessly. However, when I’m online, I find that it is easier to make friends… I met my best friend through role play [games],” one teen told researchers. “Without it, I wouldn’t be here today. So, in the long run, it’s the friendships I’ve made online that have kept me alive all these years.”
Having support in rural areas, especially, can provide rural LGBTQ+ teens with a feeling of belonging, researchers said.
“Our findings highlight the urgent need for safe, affirming in-person spaces and the importance of including young people in shaping the solutions,” Claudia-Santi F. Fernandes, vice president of research and evaluation at Born This Way Foundation, said in a statement. “If we want to improve outcomes, especially for LGBTQ+ young people in rural communities, their voices–and scientific evidence–must guide the work.”
Parent said the survey respondents stressed the importance of having safe spaces for LGBTQ+ young people to gather in their own communities.
“I think most of the participants recognize that you can’t do a lot to change your family if they’re not supportive,” he said. “What they were saying was that finding ways for schools to be supportive and for communities to be supportive in terms of physical spaces (that allowed them) to express themselves safely (and) having places where they can gather and feel safe, uh, were really important to them.”
Hopelab seeks to address mental health in young people through evidence-based innovation, according to its organizers. The Born This Way Foundation was co-founded by Lady Gaga and her mother, West Virginia native Cynthia Bisset Germanotta.
The organization is focused on ending bullying and building up communities, while using research, programming, grants, and partnerships to engage young people and connect them to mental health resources, according to the foundation’s website.
Indianapolis Public Schools will put one closed school building up for lease or sale to charter schools for $1 and will sell another to a local nonprofit, the district announced Friday.
The transfer of the buildings that used to house Raymond Brandes School 65 and Francis Bellamy School 102 stems from an Indiana Court of Appeals ruling in a lengthy battle over the state’s so-called $1 law, which requires districts to transfer unused school buildings to charter schools for the sale or lease price of $1. The court ruled in May that IPS must sell School 65.
The district said in a statement that Damar Charter Academy, a school for students with developmental and behavioral challenges in Decatur Township, had reached out to IPS to express interest in School 65 — which is located on the southeast side of IPS. The district does not have the power to pick which charter school it will sell a building to — if more than one charter school is interested, state law requires a committee to decide.
On Monday, Damar confirmed to Chalkbeat that it is interested in School 65.
In the statement, the district said it would prefer to “move forward with disposition” of School 65 through a collaborative community process.
“But, we respect the court’s decision and will proceed in full compliance with that order,” IPS Superintendent Aleesia Johnson said. “If the building is claimed by a charter school, we think Damar has a strong record of serving some of the most vulnerable and underserved students in our city and I have confidence that acquiring Raymond Brandes will allow them to expand their operations to serve even more students.”
Meanwhile, the district will sell School 102 to Voices, a nonprofit that works with youth, for $550,000. The district had already leased the school on the Far Eastside to Voices, which also shares the space with two other youth programs.
“Indianapolis Public Schools is committed to continuing to engage with our community on thoughtful re-use of our facilities and to being good stewards of our public assets,” Johnson said in a statement. “We are excited to move forward with our planned sale of the Francis Bellamy 102 building to VOICES and to see their impact in serving our community continue for many years into the future.”
This story was originally published on Chalkbeat. Chalkbeat is a nonprofit news site covering educational change in public schools.
Veronica Alvarez was 4 when her family came to the U.S. from Cotija in Michoacán, Mexico, a small town famed for its cheese. Her father picked avocados amid the scorching heat in the San Fernando Valley, while her mother cleaned houses. One of nine children, she learned how to scrimp and save, how to work hard and how to dream big.
“We were so poor, I knew not to ask for much,” said Alvarez, 52, now executive director of Los Angeles-based Create CA, one of the state’s leading arts education advocacy organizations. “Looking back on those years now, I don’t know how my parents did it. I have a white-color job and two sons, and I can barely afford it.”
Her sunny disposition belies a steely resolve. She remembers well the sting of being an undocumented immigrant in the age of Gov. Pete Wilson, an era when some felt ashamed to even speak Spanish in public. She brings that fire to her arts education mission.
“I believe access to the arts is a social justice issue,” as she puts it.
“Unfortunately, students that have the most need do not get equal access and opportunities.”
Her chops as a fighter, someone who doesn’t give up on a cause, are part of what makes her special, arts advocates say.
“Veronica is an inspiring and dedicated arts education advocate and leader,” said Merryl Goldberg, a veteran music and arts professor at Cal State San Marcos, who also serves on the Create CA board. “Her commitment to equity and lifting student voices is front and center.”
Alvarez didn’t become fluent in English until about the fourth grade, but she instinctively understood that education was the key to escaping poverty.
Education was my path out of poverty. That was always my thing. I loved school.
Veronica Alvarez
The only one in her family to graduate from high school, for her, school was always a matter of sink or swim. She chose to dive deep. She paid her way through college working at Chuck E. Cheese, where she honed her chops in engaging children.
“I’ve always been pretty driven,” said Alvarez, a mother of two boys with a doctorate in education and a master’s in ancient history. “Education was my path out of poverty. That was always my thing. I loved school.”
She also loved to walk to the library. It conjured an oasis of calm amid her raucous household.
“I’d come home with bags of books and sit in a corner to read and immerse myself in the world created by the author,” she remembers. “That love of reading has lasted to this day.”
At first, she wanted to be an artist, but her fourth grade teacher said she lacked talent.
“I loved making art as a child,” said Alvarez. “But I had always been taught to respect your elders. I didn’t think it was my place to question it.”
So, she stopped trying to make art, channeling her drive into academics. Determined to graduate early, she took every AP class she could in high school and found her happy place in art history. A self-professed nerd, she always felt drawn to the world of books and ideas.
“To be able to sit and read and learn always seemed like a luxury to me,” she said.
As a child, she was first entranced by Caravaggio and Bernini, and later became beguiled by the works of Frida Kahlo and Graciela Iturbide.
Making sure everyone can participate in the arts is what drives Veronica Alvarez, now head of Create CA. (Courtesy of Veronica Alvarez)
“I loved Bernini’s ‘David’ because of his teeth biting his lip; he looked vulnerable and intense — along with the fact that he was mid-motion as he threw the rock at Goliath,” she remembers. “The ‘Barberini Faun’ made me blush. A big piece of marble made me blush.”
She’s a full-fledged museum addict and a politics junkie with a passion for the place of women in antiquity, particularly Greek and Roman history. That expertise is what led her to the Getty Museum, where she helped launch the Getty Villa.
“My parents would’ve never dreamed of taking us to museums; that was not a place for us,” said Alvarez, who later became the director of school and teacher programs at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. “My passion has always been about access and equity, making a place for everyone.”
While at the Getty, she worked on an English learners program with migrant workers who often start work at 4 a.m., which means language classes happened at all hours of the day and night. It was a struggle to convey the meanings of words until she landed on using the visual realm.
“When you learn a new language, you learn ‘manzana’ means apple, and then you see a picture of an apple,” she recalls. “I thought, why don’t we use Cézanne’s ‘Still Life with Apples’? And the conversations suddenly got so much more interesting. We got the students to really engage, centered around the artwork.”
That obsession with making sure everyone, not just the lucky few, can feel the transformative power of the arts is why she feels right at home at Create CA, which has been helping schools navigate the rules around Proposition 28, the state’s arts education mandate.
The organization has long fought for expanding access to arts education and helped advocate for arts educators and teaching artists in the classroom. One of the biggest challenges facing the organization now is making sure Prop. 28 funds are spent as they were intended, as well as pushing for more funding.
“With the passage of Prop. 28 and dedicated funds for arts education, people may think we have solved arts education,” she said. “However, while a billion dollars may sound like a lot of money, we have 6 million students in CA. When we parcel out what that means to individual school districts, especially in rural areas, sometimes the funds aren’t sufficient to hire one art teacher.”
Alvarez is known for her poise and her ability to keep the peace amid intense personalities.
“I’ve been struck by her powerfully calm demeanor and her openness to advocacy as a ground-up endeavor versus a top-down activity,” said Goldberg. “Being an arts leader can be challenging in so much as there are many voices in the mix and they don’t all agree.”
Alvarez has the polish to be diplomatic in a deeply divided world, partly because she puts the cause first.
“She brings a worldly and positive energy to the discussions, and she strikes me as very much always in the problem-solving and equity-centered mode,” said Letty Kraus, director of the California County Superintendents Statewide Arts Initiative. “I also have experienced her as hands-on, participatory, and collegial in her approach.”
For Alvarez, art is the tether that connects us to our shared human heritage. It’s a bridge to the past that all should be encouraged to cross.
“Human beings are unique,” she said. “Out of all the animals, we have the ability to create art, to connect across time and culture. That’s why I love the arts so much. The craftsmanship of the human hand, the human eye, is so important to me.”
As an educator, the elusive nature of cognition — why the human mind absorbs some concepts while discarding others — also fascinates her.
“To me, what you have to teach is the love of learning,” she said. “How does the mind retain information? It’s all about making connections. You learn something in history, and then you apply it in English. It’s about providing the full context; that’s how you retain information.”
If something truly moves us, she suggests, we may remember it forever. That’s why the arts can push us to transcend boundaries and grasp universal truths.
“The arts are essential to students’ creativity,” she said. “When students can’t access the traditional curriculum, the arts allow them to express themselves, their feelings, and tell their stories. The arts are essential to our well-being.”
As students returned to class earlier this month, Hawaiʻi schools reported the lowest number of teacher vacancies the state has seen in more than five years. As of last week, only 73 teacher positions were unfilled, compared to more than 1,000 in the aftermath of the Covid-19 pandemic.
But schools are employing a growing number of unlicensed teachers, also known as emergency hires, to fill those vacancies. Last August, Hawaiʻi schools started the year with 670 emergency hires, an 80% increase from four years ago.
Emergency hires can work in schools for up to three years but must make progress toward earning their licenses.
The recent increase in emergency hires partly stems from state efforts to put more teachers in classrooms, including increasing pay for unlicensed educators in 2023. But while research shows that emergency hires tend to have higher retention rates, they may also be less effective than licensed teachers, who typically have more training and classroom experience.
While the Hawaiʻi teacher licensing board tracks emergency hires in schools, it doesn’t publish regular data on how many of these teachers go on to earn their teacher licenses and continue working in public schools here.
Even so, principals and researchers say hiring unlicensed teachers is better than leaving positions vacant, which can leave schools scrambling for substitutes. The state has also explored other options to recruit and retain educators, like raising teacher pay and bringing in workers from the Philippines, but some solutions may only be temporary.
“There’s a united front to attract qualified educators that are already certified,” said Chris Sanita, principal at Hāna High and Elementary. “I think it’s a larger state issue on housing and affordability.”
A Growing Population
In 2018, Brandon Galarita began teaching at Ke’elikōlani Middle School as an emergency hire, hoping to build on his experience as a substitute teacher and use his college degree in English. While the pay was low, Galarita said, working full-time as an emergency hire allowed him to earn a living while also completing the requirements for a teacher license.
“At least it starts building a teacher if they want to go into education,” said Galarita, who earned his license from the University of Hawaiʻi Mānoa in 2020. “I would hope that the influx of emergency hires will result in more teachers that are staying in the profession.”
University of Hawaiʻi Mānoa’s College of Education offers a program that helps cover the costs of tuition and fees for residents pursuing their teacher’s license. (Kevin Fujii/Civil Beat/2024)
Osa Tui Jr., president of the state teachers’ union, said he attributes the big jump in emergency hires to the pay raise they received two years ago. Currently, emergency hires earn about $50,300 a year, compared to $38,500 previously.
“These numbers reflect exactly what we were hoping to accomplish,” Tui said.
The state has encouraged prospective educators, including emergency hires, to earn their licenses through the Grow Our Own initiative at UH Mānoa, which helps cover the costs of tuition for teacher preparation programs. Teachers who complete the program and earn their licenses must work in public schools for at least three years.
Emergency hire numbers don’t always reflect teachers’ progress toward earning their licenses, said Waiʻanae Intermediate School Principal John Wataoka. While he has around 11 emergency hires on staff this year, only one of the teachers has yet to complete a teacher preparation program.
The rest have finished their training but are waiting to take a licensing exam or haven’t received the results of their final tests yet, Wataoka said.
“Right now, it’s just a waiting game,” he said.
But a recent study of emergency hires entering Massachusetts schools during the pandemic suggests that unlicensed teachers may be less effective than other educators. Students taught by emergency hires tended to have lower math and science test scores compared to their peers, according to research from the National Center for Analysis of Longitudinal Data in Education Research.
Jonathon Medeiros, a teacher at Kauaʻi High School and vice president of the Hawaiʻi Education Association, said he understands parents’ possible concerns about emergency hires and the quality of education students are receiving. But it’s still preferable to have an emergency hire in a classroom than a substitute — or nobody at all.
In the past, Medeiros said, students were occasionally sent to the library or cafeteria for study hall when there weren’t enough educators to teach every class and the state faced a shortage of substitute teachers.
Unlike emergency hires, DOE doesn’t require substitute teachers to have a college degree.
“We all want skilled, caring, talented teachers who are from the community and committed to their schools,” Medeiros said. “How do we make sure we get those people in every single classroom is the key question.”
Expanding The Pool
While the boost in emergency hire pay has attracted more teachers to public schools, the state is still searching for other solutions to increase the hiring pool.
At Waiʻanae Intermediate, Wataoka said he’s hired seven international teachers to fill staff positions over the past two years. The J-1 visa program, which DOE has participated in since 2019, allows teachers from other countries, primarily the Philippines, to teach in the state for up to five years.
This year, the department hired around 100 new teachers through the visa program, Superintendent Keith Hayashi said in a Board of Education meeting earlier this month. International teachers’ interest in working in Hawaiʻi is comparable to past years, he said, despite concerns that participation could drop after Immigration Customs and Enforcement agents raided the shared Maui home of teachers from the Philippines last spring.
On Maui, Sanita said he’s also seeing the impact of the bonuses introduced for teachers in hard-to-fill positions five years ago. While it’s difficult to attract people to Hāna — a town with limited housing and no stop signs – the $8,000 bonus for remote schools helps retain teachers who would otherwise struggle with the high cost of living, Sanita said.
“The differentials have really helped people, our teachers in Hana, not to have five different side hustles,” Sanita said. “They can actually teach and make ends meet.”
The bonuses have also incentivized teachers to remain at Waiʻanae Intermediate even when they face long commutes from other parts of the island, Wataoka said. While the Leeward Coast has the greatest concentration of new teachers in the state, the $8,000 bonus has helped experienced teachers cover the cost of gas to West Oʻahu and remain at Waiʻanae Intermediate.
But despite more retention measures in place, the department saw a jump in the number of teachers leaving schools last year. Over 1,200 teachers voluntarily resigned or retired from DOE in the 2023-24 school year, compared to roughly 1,000 the year before.
Tui said there’s no single answer as to why the number of teachers leaving schools jumped. In some cases, teachers may have felt more comfortable changing jobs after the pandemic as they faced less uncertainty in the job market, he said.
This year, educators continuing to work in public schools will receive a 3% pay raise, with some veteran teachers receiving a larger raise of around 7%. While the pay increase will encourage teachers to stay in schools longer, Tui said, it’s possible the state will see a wave of educators retiring after three years as they qualify for higher state pensions.
For teachers hired before 2012, the state uses their three highest years of pay to determine their pensions.
“We have to make sure that we can get people into the profession that we can recruit to handle a drop off like that,” Tui said.
Civil Beat’s education reporting is supported by a grant from Chamberlin Family Philanthropy.
Join our zero2eight Substack community for more discussion about the latest news in early care and education. Sign up now.
This story was originally published by CalMatters. Sign up for their newsletters.
Break out the crayons and finger paint: Every 4-year-old in California is now eligible for transitional kindergarten.
Fifteen years after a handful of school districts opened the first TK classrooms, California now has the largest — and fastest growing — early education program in the country. At least 200,000 youngsters will attend TK this fall, enjoying low teacher-student ratios, age-appropriate curriculum and plenty of music, art and circle time.
“This really is something to celebrate,” said Carolyne Crolotte, policy director for Early Edge California, an advocacy group. “Now, there’s no question about who’s eligible and who isn’t. Everyone is eligible.”
TK is meant to be a bridge between preschool and kindergarten, preparing 4-year-olds for the routine and expectations of elementary school while honing their social skills and self-confidence. In TK, children learn how to make friends, write their names and do basic math. Mostly, they’re supposed to fall in love with learning.
Holding frogs and counting marshmallows
That was the case at Silverwood Elementary in Concord last week as a dozen bright-eyed 4-year-olds hovered around their teacher, Elizabeth Swanson, as she gingerly held out a tree frog for their inspection.
Several got a chance to hold the docile, turquoise amphibian.
“What does the frog feel like? What do you wonder about the frog?” said Swanson, who was recently named Mt. Diablo Unified’s Teacher of the Year. “How does he use his hands? How do you use your hands?”
But the tree frog — one of several critters in her classroom — was not the most popular attraction that afternoon. That honor belonged to the “home living” station, a corner of the classroom dedicated to costumes, dollhouses, a mini kitchen and everything else an imaginative youngster would need to play house.
Last year, an enterprising group of students, inspired by the opening of a Dutch Bros. near the school, used the home living station to open their own coffee shop. They ordered lattes and made coffee and collected money. Swanson turned it into a math lesson by asking them to count marshmallows and decide how many should go into each cup of hot chocolate.
“One child would be the barista and one would be the customer, so they learned how to share and take turns,” Swanson said. “They were getting so much practice with social language and communication. And everything was integrated into play.”
Importance of fun
Judy Krause, executive director of early childhood programs at Pacific Oaks College in Pasadena, said that’s exactly what a TK classroom should be like. The focus should be on experimentation and hands-on activities, based on students’ interests. TK, she said, is not a version of kindergarten; 4-year-olds have unique developmental needs. The main one, she said, is having fun.
If children are enjoying themselves, they’ll learn naturally, she said. If they feel overly pressured or bored, they’ll lose interest and miss out on valuable skills they’ll need for kindergarten and beyond.
“It’s a really big deal that we have this opportunity for all 4-year-olds,” Krause said. “But we have to make sure we’re doing it right.”
15-year rollout of TK
California introduced TK in 2010, and a decade later began expanding it to all districts. This year is the culmination of that effort, with all 4-year-olds now eligible and 91% of districts offering the program. The only districts that are exempt are those that don’t receive money through the state’s funding formula because they receive more money through their local property taxes.
Like kindergarten, TK is optional. But many districts, including Mt. Diablo Unified, have seen strong interest from families. A recent report from the Public Policy Institute of California predicted that about 70% of 4-year-olds will enroll in TK this fall, with waiting lists in some districts. Black, Latino and Native American students have been slightly underrepresented so far, although those not enrolled might be enrolled in other programs. The state doesn’t track that data.
Nearly everyone agrees TK is a good idea. Children who’ve attended TK tend to do better in reading and math, and those with disabilities can be identified early and receive services, research shows.
TK, which is free, can be a financial boon for families. Because of California’s high cost of living, child care and preschool costs are among the highest in the country, with families paying up to $20,000 annually — more than the cost of in-state tuition at the University of California.
Gov. Gavin Newsom has long championed TK, setting aside more than $2.7 billion in the years when the state had a budget surplus. The money is to help school districts pay teachers, keep class sizes small and provide other services to the new learners. Ongoing funds will come from the state’s Local Control Funding Formula.
“California is making a big commitment to making transitional kindergarten free and accessible to all 4-year-olds,” Newsom said in a 2023 video. “When we’re finished, California will have the largest free preschool program in the country, where every 4-year-old can start their schooling on the right track, setting them up for success further down the road.”
Teacher shortage and other challenges
But the TK rollout has had some hiccups. The chief one is finding enough qualified teachers. Because of the small class sizes and the extra qualifications required to teach 4-year-olds, there’s a shortfall of at least 12,000 TK teachers, according to Early Edge California. Last year the state introduced a new TK-through-third-grade credential and more districts are partnering with local colleges to recruit and train future teachers, which has eased the shortage somewhat.
Another obstacle has been finding classroom space. Like kindergarten classrooms, TK classrooms must contain bathrooms, which means that districts had to find money to remodel existing classrooms, or build new ones altogether. Last year’s $10 billion school construction bond has funding available for TK projects.
TK has also had an impact on preschools. Families in California have several early education options: state-funded preschools for low-income families, federal Head Start preschool for very low-income families, and private preschools. Now that 4-year-olds have a free option, existing preschools have seen an enrollment decline that, in some cases, has led schools to raise prices or even close. A recent report from UC Berkeley showed that TK expansion has led to “pre-K deserts” in some parts of the state.
Bruce Fuller, an education professor at UC Berkeley who’s researched TK, said it’s too early to tell who’s benefitting from the program.
“We’re seeing a shift away from preschool and toward TK, but we don’t know if TK is actually reaching new families,” Fuller said. “We might just be seeing families who would have enrolled anyway.”
Dual-language programs
A handful of districts offer dual-language TK classes, which have been popular with parents. Karina Galustians, a parent in the Tujunga neighborhood of Los Angeles, enrolled her daughter Julianna last fall in an Armenian-English TK class in Los Angeles Unified’s Pinewood Early Education Center.
Galustians’ husband speaks fluent Armenian, and the couple was eager for Julianna to be able to communicate with the extended family and learn more about the culture.
“The more languages you know, the better off you are,” said Galustians, whose first language is Spanish. “To find a school where she can get those academic skills and practice her Armenian — me and my husband were beyond grateful. We hit the jackpot.”
Julianna starts kindergarten this fall at another Los Angeles Unified school, where she’ll be part of the Armenian dual language program. “We feel like she’s very well prepared,” Galustians said.
‘Everyone feels included’
Meanwhile, at Silverwood Elementary in Concord, Swanson ended the day by having students put away the blocks and plastic bugs and Eric Carle books. Then she sat with them in a circle and praised each child’s efforts and told them how excited she was to see them again tomorrow.
“David, you were super responsible today,” Swanson told an awed 4-year-old as she handed him a personalized certificate. “Lindsay, you were a good friend. Zaire, you were so respectful.”
Then it was time for the children to go meet their parents, who were waiting at the side of the playground. Swanson chatted with nearly every parent, telling them how much she enjoys their children.
“I think TK should be the same as what we want for society generally,” Swanson said. “It should be a place where everyone feels included and valued. We want everyone to be curious and non-judgmental and happy to be here.”
Faculty and administrators’ opinions about generative artificial intelligence abound. But students—path breakers in their own right in this new era of learning and teaching—have opinions, too. That’s why Inside Higher Ed is dedicating the second installment of its 2025–26 Student Voice survey series to generative AI.
About the Survey
Student Voice is an ongoing survey and reporting series that seeks to elevate the student perspective in institutional student success efforts and in broader conversations about college.
Some 1,047 students from 166 two- and four-year institutions, public and private nonprofit, responded to this flash survey about generative artificial intelligence and higher education, conducted in July. Explore the data, captured by our survey partner Generation Lab, at this link. The margin of error is plus or minus three percentage points.
See what students have to say about trust in colleges and universities here, and look out for future student polls and reporting from our 2025–26 survey cycle, Student Voice: Amplified.
Some of the results are perhaps surprising: Relatively few students say that generative AI has diminished the value of college, in their view, and nearly all of them want their institutions to address academic integrity concerns—albeit via a proactive approach rather than a punitive one. Another standout: Half of students who use AI for coursework say it’s having mixed effects on their critical thinking abilities, while a quarter report it’s helping them learn better.
Here are seven things to know from the survey, plus some expert takes on what it all means, as higher education enters its fourth year of this new era and continues to struggle to lead on AI.
Most students are using generative AI for coursework, but many are doing so in ways that can support, not outsource, their learning.
The majority of students, some 85 percent, indicate they’ve used generative AI for coursework in the last year. The top three uses from a long list of options are: brainstorming ideas (55 percent), asking it questions like a tutor (50 percent) and studying for exams or quizzes (46 percent). Treating it like an advanced search engine also ranks high. Some other options present more of a gray area for supporting authentic learning, such as editing work and generating summaries. (Questions for educators include: Did the student first read what was summarized? How substantial were the edits?)
Fewer students report using generative AI to complete assignments for them (25 percent) or write full essays (19 percent). But elsewhere in the survey, students who report using AI to write essays are somewhat more likely than those using it to study to say AI has negatively impacted their critical thinking (12 percent versus 6 percent, respectively). Still, the responses taken as a whole add nuance to ongoing discussions about the potential rewards, not just risks, of AI. One difference: Community college students are less likely to report using AI for coursework, for specific use cases and over all. Twenty-one percent of two-year students say they haven’t used it in the last year, compared to 14 percent of four-year students.
Performance pressures, among other factors, are driving cheating.
The top reason students say some of their peers use generative AI in ways that violate academic integrity policies is pressure to get good grades (37 percent over all). Being pressed for time (27 percent) and not really caring about academic integrity policies (26 percent) are other reasons students chose. There are some differences across student subgroups, including by age: Adult learners over 25 are more likely than younger peers to cite lack of time due to work, family or other obligations, as well as lack of confidence in their abilities, for example. Younger students, meanwhile, are more likely to say that peers don’t really care about such policies, or don’t connect with course content. Despite the patchwork of academic integrity policies within and across institutions, few students—just 6 percent over all—blame unclear policies or expectations from professors about what constitutes cheating with AI.
Nearly all students want action on academic integrity, but most reject policing.
Some 97 percent believe that institutions should respond to academic integrity threats in the age of generative AI. Yet approaches such as AI-detection software and limiting technology use in classrooms are relatively unpopular options,selected by 21 percent and 18 percentof students, respectively. Instead, more students want education on ethical AI use (53 percent) and—somewhat contradicting the prior set of responses about what’s driving cheating—clearer, standardized policies on when and how AI tools can be used. Transparency seems to be a value: Nearly half of students want their institutions to allow more flexibility in using AI tools, as long as students are transparent about it.
Fewer support a return to handwritten tests or bluebooks for some courses, though this option is more popular among students at private nonprofit institutions than among their public institution peers, at 33 percent versus 22 percent. Those at private nonprofit institutions are also much more in favor of assessments that are generally harder to complete with AI, such as oral exams and in-class essays.
Students have mixed views on faculty use of generative AI for teaching.
The slight plurality of students (29 percent) is somewhat positive about faculty use of AI for creating assignments and other tasks, as long as it’s used thoughtfully and transparently. This of course parallels the stance that many students want from their institutions on student AI use, flexibility underpinned by transparency.
Another 14 percent are very positive about faculty use of AI, saying it could make instruction more relevant or efficient. But 39 percent of students feel somewhat or very negatively about it, raising concerns about quality and overreliance—the same concerns faculty members and administrators tend to have about student use. The remainder, 15 percent, are neutral on this point.
Generative AI is influencing students’ learning and critical thinking abilities.
More than half of students (55 percent) who have used AI for coursework in the last year say it’s had mixed effects on their learning and critical thinking skills: It helps sometimes but can also make them think less deeply. Another 27 percent say that the effects have actually been positive. Fewer, 7 percent, estimate that the net effect has been negative, and they’re concerned about overreliance. Men—who also report using generative AI for things like brainstorming ideas and completing assignments at higher rates than their women and nonbinary peers—are also more likely to indicate that the net effect has been positive: More than a third of men say generative AI is improving their thinking, compared to closer to one in five women.
Students want information and support in preparing for a world shaped by AI.
When thinking about their futures, not just academic integrity in the present, students again say they want their institutions to offer—but not necessarily require—training on how to use AI tools professionally and ethically, and to provide clearer guidance on ethical versus misuse of AI tools. Many students also say they want space to openly discuss AI’s risks and benefits. Just 16 percent say preparing them for a future shaped by generative AI should be left up to individual professors or departments, underscoring the importance of an institutional response. And just 5 percent say colleges don’t need to take any specific action at all here. Adult students—many of whom are already working—are most likely to say that institutions should offer training on how to use AI tools professionally and ethically, at 57 percent.
Less popular options from the full list:
Integrate AI-related content into courses across majors: 18 percent
Leave it up to individual professors or departments: 16 percent
Create new majors or academic programs focused on AI: 11 percent
Connect students with employers or internships that involve AI: 9 percent
Colleges don’t need to take any specific actions around AI: 5 percent
On the whole, generative AI isn’t devaluing college for students—and it’s increasing its value for some.
Students have mixed views on whether generative AI has influenced how they think of the value of college. But 35 percent say there’s been no change, and 23 percent say it’s more valuable now. Fewer, 18 percent, say they now question the value of college more than they used to. Roughly another quarter of students say it has changed how they think about college value, they’re just not sure in what way. So college value hasn’t plummeted in students’ eyes due to generative AI—but the technology is influencing how they think about it.
‘There Is No Instruction Manual’
Student Voice poll respondent Daisy Partey, 22, agreed with her peers that institutions should take action on student use of generative AI—and said that faculty members and other leaders need to understand how accessible and potent it is.
Daisy Partey
“I’d stress that it’s super easy to use,” she said in an interview. “It’s just so simple to get what you need from it.”
Partey, who graduated from the University of Nevada at Reno in May with a major in communications and minor in public health, said using generative AI became the default for some peers—even for something as simple as a personal introduction statement. That dynamic, coupled with fear of false positives from AI-detection tools, generally chilled her own use of AI throughout college.
She did sometimes use ChatGPT as a study partner or search tool, but tried to limit her use: “Sometimes I’d find myself thinking, ‘Well, I could just ChatGPT it.’ But in reality, figuring it out on my own or talking to another physical human being—that’s good for you,’” she said.
As for how institutions should address generative AI, Partey—like many Student Voice respondents—advocated a consistent, education-based approach, versus contradictory policies from class to class and policing student use. Similarly, Partey said, students need to know how and when to use AI responsibly for work, even as it’s still unknown how the technology will impact fields she’s interested in, such as social media marketing. (As for AI’s impact on the job market for new graduates, the picture is starting to form.)
“Provide training so that students know what they’re going into and the expectations for AI use in the workplace,” she emphasized.
Another Student Voice respondent at a community college in Texas, who asked to remain anonymous to speak about AI, said she uses generative AI to stay organized with tasks, create flash cards for tests and exams, and come up with new ideas.
“AI isn’t just about cheating,” she said. “For some students, it’s like having a 24-7 tutor.”
Jason Gulya, a professor of English and media communications at Berkeley College who reviewed the survey results, said they challenge what he called the “AI is going to kill college and democratize all knowledge” messaging pervading social media.
That the majority of students say AI has made their degree equally or more valuable means that this topic is “extremely nuanced” and “AI might not change the perceived value of a college degrees in the ways we expect,” he added.
Relatedly, Gulya called the link between pressure to get good grades and overreliance on AI “essential.” AI tools that have been “marketed to students as quick and efficient ways to get the highest grades” play into a “model of education that places point-getting and grade-earning over learning,” he said. One possible implication for faculty? Using alternative assessment practices “that take pressure away from earning a grade and that instead recenter learning.”
Jill Abney, associate director of the Center for the Enhancement of Learning and Teaching at the University of Kentucky, said it makes “total sense” that students also report thattime constraints are fueling academic dishonesty, since many are “stretched to the limits with jobs and other responsibilities on top of schoolwork.” To this point, one of the main interventions she and colleagues recommend to concerned instructors is “scaffolding assignments so students are making gradual progress and not waiting until the last minute.”
On clarity of guidelines around AI use, Abney said that most instructors she works with have, in fact, “put a lot of time into crafting clear AI policies.” Some have even moved beyond course-level policies toward an assignment-by-assignment labeling approach, “to ensure clear communication with students.” Tools to this end include the university’s own Student AI Use Scale.
Mark Watkins, assistant director of academic innovation and lecturer of writing and rhetoric at the University of Mississippi, underscored that both faculty-set policies for student use of AI and expectations for faculty use of AI have implications for faculty academic freedom, which “should be respected.”
At the same time, he said, “there needs to be leadership and a sense of direction from institutions about AI integration that is guided. To me, that means institutions should invest in consensus-building around what use cases are appropriate and publish frameworks for all stakeholders,” including faculty, staff and administrators.” Watkins has proposed his own “VALUES” framework for faculty use of AI in education, which addresses such topics as validating and assessing student learning.
Ultimately, Abney said, it’s a good thing students are thinking about how AI is impacting their cognition—a developing area of research—adding that students tend to “crave shared spaces of conversation where they can have open dialogues about AI with their instructors and peers.”
That’s what learning about generative AI and establishing effective approaches requires, she said, “since there is no instruction manual.”
This independent editorial project is produced with the Generation Lab and supported by the Gates Foundation.
As of 2024, 55 percent of law schools offered courses on AI.
Photo illustration by Justin Morrison/Inside Higher Ed | Maxxa_Satori and PhonlamaiPhoto/iStock/Getty Images
As more and more law firms integrate generative artificial intelligence into their practices, a growing number of law schools are preparing future lawyers to adapt.
Nearly three years after OpenAI’s ChatGPT went mainstream—followed by Anthropic’s Claude, Google’s Gemini and a host of other similar platforms—some 30 percent of law offices are using AI-based technology tools, according to data published by the American Bar Association this past spring. While ChatGPT is the most widely used, legal research–specific tools, such as Thomson Reuters’ CoCounsel, Lexis+ AI and Westlaw AI, are also catching on in the sector.
At the same time, 62 percent of law schools have incorporated formal opportunities to learn about or use AI into their first-year curriculum; 93 percent are considering updating their curriculum to incorporate AI education. In practice, however, many of those offerings may not be adequate, said Daniel W. Linna Jr., director of law and technology initiatives at Northwestern University’s Pritzker School of Law.
“Law firms are starting to expect more and more that students will be exposed to this in law school,” he said. “But they also understand that the current reality is that not many law schools are doing much more than basic training. And some may not even be doing that.”
AI-Savvy Will Have ‘Leg Up’
At its best, experts believe AI has the power to make lawyers more efficient and accurate, as well as the potential to expand public access to legal services. But as fake citations and misquotes appearing in AI-generated legal filings have already shown, lawyers need more than access to these tools to get the most out of using them. They need to know how they work and recognize their limitations.
“Law schools have to prepare students to be intentional users of this technology, which will require them to have foundational knowledge and understanding in the first place,” said Caitlin Moon, a professor and founding co-director of Vanderbilt Law School’s AI Law Lab. “We have to preserve that core learning process so that they remain the human expert and this technology complements and supports their expertise.”
It’s not clear yet the extent to which AI will reshape the legal job market over the next several years, especially for new lawyers whose first jobs after law school have historically involved reviewing documents and conducting legal research—two areas where AI tools excel. According to one interpretation of a new report from Goldman Sachs on how AI could affect the workforce, 17 percent of jobs in the legal sector may be at risk.
“Law firms on the cutting edge of innovation are certainly trying to figure out how leveraging this technology improves their bottom line,” Moon said. “For recent graduates, those who are coming into firms with an understanding and familiarity with AI have a leg up.”
Pressure on Law Schools
Regardless of what’s to come, all this uncertainty is putting pressure on law schools across the country to meet the moment, said Gary Marchant, faculty director of the Center for Law, Science and Innovation at Arizona State University’s Sandra Day O’Connor College of Law, which began offering an AI specialization last year.
“It creates a requirement for law schools and law firms to train future lawyers differently, so that they learn some of the third- and fourth-year associate skills while they’re still in law school,” Marchant said. “Even if AI doesn’t advance any further, it’s already come so far that it’s transforming the practice of law, and it could change even more. Right now, the conclusion is that lawyers who know AI will replace lawyers who don’t know AI.”
Recognition of that reality drove the University of San Francisco School of Law to become the first in the country to integrate generative AI education throughout its curriculum. Those efforts will be aided through partnerships with Accordance and Anthropic, the school announced last week.
“AI is something every student needs to understand, no matter what kind of law they want to do,” said Johanna Kalb, dean of USF’s law school. “Given how quickly these AI tools are improving and becoming more specialized, each of these innovations is going to change what lawyers are being asked to do and what skills they really need.”
While USF may be one of the few law schools with an AI curriculum mandate, 55 percent of programs offered specialized courses designed to teach students about AI in 2024, according to the most recent available ABA data.
That percentage has likely increased over the past year, said Andrew Perlman, dean of Suffolk University Law School and a member of the ABA’s Task Force on Law and Artificial Intelligence.
This fall Suffolk’s law school, which launched one of the country’s first legal technology programs nearly a decade ago, is requiring all first-year students to complete a custom generative AI learning track as part of its course on legal practice skills.
“There was a lot of hesitation early on about how useful AI may be inside law practices, but there is now an increasingly widespread recognition that hiring lawyers who understand both the traditional methods of practicing law and have the ability to embrace AI is a useful combination,” Perlman said. “Training students with that new skill set is going to put our graduates in a better position to succeed in the long run.”
Jacob Levine, a second-year student at Harvard Law School, got a taste of the demand for that balance during an internship at a law firm this summer.
“AI was a tool that was present and using it was permitted, but there was a lot of emphasis on gauging the ability of the individual to be able to do the analytical work that’s expected of a young attorney,” he said. “It’s important to know how to use AI but not purely rely on it and use it blindly. A big part of being able to do that is knowing how to do everything yourself.”
It is hard not to feel at least occasionally helpless these days trying to operate between the twinned pincers of a Trump administration steamrolling our democracy and an AI industry pursuing its goal of automating all means and matter of human expression.
It seems like, combined, they can take away just about anything: our grants, our international students, our jobs, our freedom.
Things get worse when those of us toiling away as laborers see those in positions of leadership at the institutions that should be bollards blocking the path of antihuman, antifreedom movements instead lying down so as to be more easily run over.
(Looking at you, Columbia University.)
Arguments about how we should consider some measure of accommodation (to fascism, to AI) abound, and some are even reasonable-sounding. These are powerful forces with their hands around the throat of our futures. Certainly no one can be blamed for doing what it takes to nudge those hands back a few millimeters so you can get enough air to breathe.
Those with the power to do so can seemingly take just about anything they want, except for one thing: your dignity.
Your dignity must be given away by an act of free will. Maybe I was naïve to think that more people would be protective of their dignity in these times, but I see so many instances of the opposite that I’m frequently stunned by the eagerness with which people are willing to hurl their dignity into the abyss for some perceived benefit.
The worst examples are found in the members of Donald Trump’s cabinet, who are occasionally tasked with a public performance of sycophantic fealty to their dear leader. It is amazing to see accomplished people treat the president of the United States like a toddler in need of a level of affirmation that would make Stuart Smalley blush. I think I understand the motives of these people: They are wielding power at a level that allows them to literally remake society or even the world.
But the decision to jettison one’s dignity made by the New York Times writer who looked at these displays and decided they are an example of leadership via reality television host rather than aspiring authoritarian is tougher for me to figure. While the article correctly identifies some of the lies conveyed during the spectacle, the overall tone is more of a “can you believe he’s getting away with this shit?” approach, rather than a “shouldn’t we be concerned he’s getting away with this shit?” approach, which would be far more accurate to the occasion.
I can believe he’s getting away with it when the paper of record continually covers Trump like a novel spectacle practicing unusual politics rather than an authoritarian.
I don’t know how one maintains their dignity when writing a story about Trump deploying the United States military in the nation’s capital that gives any credence to a “crackdown on crime” given that this is transparently BS, and yet the Times reflexively characterizes what is happening as a “crackdown” (see here, here and here), rather than, I don’t know, an “occupation.”
In other jettisoning of dignity for strategic gain news, I have been, to a degree, sympathetic to the pre–Trump II stance of Vanderbilt chancellor Daniel Diermeier and WashU chancellor Andrew D. Martin’s views of higher ed reform anchored in institutional neutrality.
I disagreed with that view as a matter of principle and policy approach, but this is a debate over principles.
Now that we find ourselves in the midst of the overt Trump II attempts to destroy the independence of higher education institutions, I found their answers to a series of questions from The Chronicle’s Megan Zahneis about an apparent dispute between them and Princeton president Christopher Eisgruber about higher ed’s stance in relationship to Trump astounding as a performance of willed ignorance.
This debate is taking place at a time when, obviously, the Trump administration has taken aim at higher ed. Are either of you concerned about this debate weakening the sector’s sense of autonomy?
Martin: I would say the fact there is a public debate about the future of American higher education has no relationship whatsoever to what actions that the administration is taking.
So you don’t see debate between leaders as detracting from that autonomy?
Diermeier: I’m not 100 percent sure what we do about that. We have a point of view. We’ve had the point of view for a long time. We’re going to continue to argue for a point of view, because we think it’s essential. Now, if people disagree with that, I think that’s their decision. That’s the nature of civil discourse. We think that it’s important to get this right. We don’t think that the alternative, to hide under the desk, is appropriate.
These answers would make Hogan’s Heroes’ Sergeant Schultz proud: “I know nothing! I see nothing.”
Earlier in the interview, both chancellors make it clear that they are seeing a benefit to their institutions in the current climate, potentially enrolling more students who have been turned off by the turbulence being visited on their elite university brethren of the Northeast.
They have apparently decided that they now have an advantage in the competitive market of higher education by their willingness to wink at an authoritarian push.
Speaking of their fellow institutional leaders, Diermeier says there that there has been “no despising or disrespect or hatred among the sets of colleagues we’ve been engaged with,” and while I’m not a colleague of these gentlemen, let me publicly register my strong disrespect for their performative cluelessness in the interview.
Let me also suggest I can’t imagine someone who respects themselves following that path, and I’m grateful to the institutional leaders like Christopher Eisgruber who are willing to express reality.
I don’t know what the future holds. It’s possible that WashU and Vanderbilt are positioning themselves as the favored elite institutions of the authoritarian regime, ready to hoover up that federal cash that Trump is threatening to withhold from the schools that will not bend to his will.
I’m genuinely curious if that scenario is worth one’s dignity.
Loyal Inside Higher Ed readers who wake up to our daily newsletter will soon have an easier time finding each day’s edition in their crowded inboxes.
Starting Tuesday, Sept. 2, the Daily News Update will arrive between 5:30 and 6:00 a.m. Eastern, several hours later than the current 3:15 a.m. This may upset the morning routines of the handful of souls on the East Coast who rise before the sun, but for most readers, we hope this change means our newsletter is there at the top of your inbox when you log in, ready to inform your day.
The one week my Yale graduate Anthropology 101 class spent studying Zora Neale Hurston’s Mules and Men felt like a glass of cool water on a hot summer day. Learning about her scholarship and her refusal to accept the way her white colleagues recentered whiteness through their research on nonwhite people reminded me of the anthropologists who first led me to the discipline.
But the fact that Hurston was the sole Black woman anthropologist whose work we studied suggested that she was the only Black woman anthropologist whose work was worthy of the ivory tower. As if she was the only Black person committed to using the tools of anthropology to create knowledge about the people relegated to the Global South in ways that are mutually beneficial to the researcher and their interlocutors. Hurston’s singular inclusion in my graduate training paired with the general exclusion of Black and brown scholars aimed to pacify the problematics of anthropology without upending the infrastructure of a discipline that is in crisis.
As my graduate school years continued, I grew increasingly disillusioned by the idea of a career in academia. Even though I had come to terms with a definition and practice of anthropology that felt useful, identifying as an anthropologist myself felt wrong. How could I proudly claim affinity to a discipline that knowingly promulgated the othering of Black and brown people around the world and within the discipline itself? The answer would come through my research on Black Capitalists, and through my own experience beyond grad school as a Black entrepreneur and Wall Street professional.
My experience as a Ghanaian American on Wall Street at Goldman Sachs and JPMorganChase exposed me to the ways in which Black people use the tools of capitalism to create new outcomes centered on collective thriving. They led me to my definition of what it means to be a Black Capitalist: a Black person who is a strategic participant in capitalism with the intention to benefit from the political economy in order to create social good. What they were doing was complicated, contradictory and, for many, oxymoronic.
To many, to be a Black Capitalist is to be in an identity crisis. Black studies scholars I’ve spoken to have gone so far as to say, “Black Capitalists don’t exist!” or “It’s impossible for any good to come from capitalism!” I’m usually taken aback by such rebuttals. Because if the Black people I spent hours talking to who identified themselves as Black Capitalists don’t actually exist in real life, are they fictions of my imagination? And is my own experience invalid? Black Capitalists are as real as the version of capitalism we experience today that aims to entrap us all. Black Capitalists are merely trying to get free and help others do the same while facets of society attempt to place limits on how they can narrate, and ultimately live, their own lives.
Surely, one’s ability to disavow capitalism depends on what continent they are on, or come from. For the Black Capitalists I’ve spoken to who are from Africa, for example, it’s neither a matter of loving capitalism nor wanting to dismantle it. Living in and through capitalism is the reality of trying to build a life in countries that imperialist capitalist forces have already destroyed and continue to exploit. If they are to live their later years comfortably in their homeland, leaving it in the meantime is a requirement. And hustling in the Western world to achieve this dream is so often the method. So for them, much like it was for my mother, who emigrated to America from Ghana with the haunting knowledge that her family was counting on her and that “failure was not an option,” the question becomes: For our own collective thriving, how do we game a system that was founded on us as its pawns?
So how are Black Capitalists using the tools of capitalism to create new outcomes that allow them to secure the bag and the people they care for? Their methods are as diverse as Black people themselves. But the common denominator between all of their practices is a focus on communal uplift.
Some are strategizing throughout key industries within corporate America to develop sustainable initiatives that subversively promote diversity, equity and inclusion—especially in the wake of its demise. Some are leveraging grassroots approaches to build community-forward real estate clubs that make the dream of homeownership and passive income possible through the resources—money, credit, knowledge and social connections—that are shared among members.
Others are teaching aspiring entrepreneurs in their community the fundamentals of effective entrepreneurship and shepherding them through the process of collectively buying successful small businesses formerly owned by white entrepreneurs. Some are using the skills they developed during their tenures on Wall Street to create investment firms on the African continent to help grow pan-African businesses focused on health care, technology and agriculture that generate value for the African consumer. Some of the companies these Black Capitalists are building are worth millions of dollars—even billions. Irrespective of the spaces Black Capitalists occupy, their impact in Black communities globally is invaluable in the fight to close the racial wealth gap that has Black people lagging behind across key wealth indicators including homeownership, small business ownership and financial health.
But their existence is unnerving to both Black and white people alike, for very different reasons. For many Black people, the very idea of a Black Capitalist makes their toes curl, because when you’ve been on the wrong side of capitalism for so long—as its most valued commodity but never its greatest beneficiary—it’s hard to believe that another relationship to capitalism, or a more equitable version of it on our journey to collective liberation, is even possible.
And for white people invested in upholding the racial hierarchy that shapes social, political and economic life, they worry and wonder what they are set to lose when Black people are organized and move as one unified body in an economic system that nurtures individualism. Both perspectives reveal the underlying truth that money and our obsession with it is a culture of its own. And this revelation presents a growing problem society has created but has yet to solve: What do we do when money becomes the dominant culture in a society wherein most people don’t have enough of it to live?
In the face of paralyzing social anxiety about the expansiveness of Black life, anthropology’s superpower lies in its ability to use evidence from the human experience to upend our social scripts and create space for us to dream up new ways of being that are both scalable and sustainable. I realized that being a Black Capitalist and being a Black anthropologist were both seen as oxymorons. I now gravitate toward the spirit of Zora Neale Hurston and other exceptional Black anthropologists. I learned that I can be a different kind of anthropologist who uses the tools of anthropology, like ethnography, oral histories and participant observation, to tell new stories about Black life that are restorative, hopeful and reflective of the power Black people carry.
But even so, my existence as a Black anthropologist is unnerving to “scholars” who benefit from and are invested in perpetuating the harms of traditional anthropology. To raise the standard of knowledge production to ensure it is created in community with those who play a role in developing it threatens the validity of how scholars have traditionally conducted research and the scholarship that is held in high esteem. It’s damning enough that anthropology is like a snake eating its tail. My presence is the proverbial pain in the discipline’s side—a reminder of the work that is needed to transform the discipline, and realize what anthropology can be, but has yet to become.
