We are entering an era where federal protections and civil rights work are not just under threat but actively being dismantled. The recent announcement that all civil rights work within the Department of Justice will be halted is a devastating reminder of how vulnerable state-sanctioned “progress” can be. For years, we’ve used the available civil rights and disability laws to carve out pathways to justice, making significant strides even in the face of systems built to exclude us.
But this announcement does not mark the end of our fight. If anything, it reinforces the urgency of our collective action. While the government may pause, we cannot. Black students, advocates, and accomplices have always been the architects of social change, working outside of systems that often refuse to recognize our humanity. And we will continue—because this fight was never just about what the law could do but about what we must demand and build for ourselves.
For some, these rollbacks reveal that progress has always been too incremental to begin with. Gains that felt monumental have been insufficient in addressing the root causes of systemic inequity, especially for Black students with mental illness. While this epiphany is disheartening, it is also clarifying. The way forward requires boldness, care, and an unrelenting commitment to each other.
The Role of Mental Health at Black Institutions
In 2017, I was a freshman at Howard University, struggling with severe depression and suicidal ideation. After being hospitalized, I hoped for support from my university—a place I had dreamed of attending since childhood. Instead, I was met with police policies and practices that left me stranded.
At Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), students often face unique challenges. Chronic underfunding, systemic inequities, and cultural stigmas around mental illness create barriers that can feel insurmountable. Black college students are more likely than their peers to experience mental health challenges but less likely to receive support. And in an anti-Black political climate hostile to Black achievement & self-determination—from attacks on Black studies and DEI programs to the rollback of civil rights protections—the weight on students is heavier than ever.
But let’s be clear: what we are witnessing is not just a political agenda—it is a calculated effort to exhaust us, to make us too anxious, too afraid, and too overwhelmed to fight back. And while it is natural to feel the weight of that fear, we must also remember our ancestors’ struggles have always continued.
We carry their legacy not as a burden but as proof that survival is in our DNA. That’s the hope we can hold onto as we confront the challenges ahead—not unchecked optimism, but the unwavering belief that we can care for ourselves and each other in ways that make us stronger. The return to pre-1970s policies, coupled with the rise of overt fascism, understandably makes us more anxious. For those with pre-existing or undiagnosed mental illnesses, the strain is even more profound. Mental health cannot be pushed to the back burner while we fight other battles; it is central to our ability to endure and ultimately win.
Seven years later, I reached a landmark settlement with Howard—an outcome I achieved without legal representation—and used it as an opportunity to advocate for change. My efforts, alongside those of students, alumni, and advocates, have aimed to address longstanding mental health inequities at Black institutions.
A Path Forward That Centers Care
The path forward must prioritize solutions that are bold yet mindful of the financial and political constraints HBCUs face. It is critical to remember that doing the right thing is often a cost we cannot afford to ignore. Simple, low-cost measures can make a profound difference, such as:
● Implementing comprehensive leave of absence policies that allow students to pause their studies without punitive consequences. This policy is not just compassionate but essential for students navigating crises and one that would have certainly safeguarded me from much of the pain I endured as a result of leaving Howard.
● Expanding access to mental health care in ways that go beyond traditional talk therapy, such as incorporating culturally resonant healing practices like community support groups, mindfulness workshops, and trauma-informed art therapy, can make mental health services more accessible and effective. Partnerships with organizations like The Steve Fund, the Black Emotional and Mental Health Collective, etc., can bridge resource gaps and ensure that diverse modalities of care are available to all.
● Training faculty and staff to recognize signs of mental distress and provide culturally competent support instead of shame or harmful notions of resilience that teach us to ignore our own wellness.
These measures do not impose prohibitive costs but demonstrate a commitment to doing what is right– steps that institutions can take even in times of financial and political uncertainty.
Hope Amid Uncertainty
Despite the challenges we face, I am hopeful. HBCUs have always been sanctuaries for resilience and transformation, creating opportunities amidst and against the odds. Our legacy is not one of complacency but of radical action and bold expressions of love. While the current political climate exacerbates mental pressures, it also underscores the importance of our interconnectedness.
We must care for ourselves and each other with the understanding that our collective well-being is our greatest strength. As we push forward, we have to remember that progress has never come from waiting for systems to save us. It has come from within—from our ability to demand, to build, and to care for one another.
Howard’s shortcomings taught me the cost of neglect, but they also refueled a passion to create meaningful change. The fight for mental health equity at HBCUs is not just about addressing what’s wrong but about envisioning what’s possible. In the face of mounting obstacles, we can and must lead—not just for ourselves but for the generations to come.
Mental health cannot be seen as a competing priority or a luxury we can’t afford to address. It is the foundation of our ability to withstand the onslaught of anti-Blackness and continue the fight for justice. Inaction leaves our students vulnerable—not just to academic and personal failure but to becoming further politicized as evidence against the very institutions meant to serve them.
Caring for Black minds is integral to resistance, and resistance is our only path forward.
This moment demands that we see mental health not as a secondary issue but as a cornerstone of our fight. The stakes have never been higher, but the opportunity to choose care and, thereby, choose power is within our grasp.
Howard, and every HBCU, has an opportunity to lead. Let’s not let this moment pass us by.
